by Claire Marti
Now she needed to fly under the radar of Amanda’s eagle eye. Would she be able to keep the ridiculously smug, satisfied expression from surfacing?
And how in the world would she act normally at dinner with her family and Holt?
Holt nodded at Harry, although he had no frickin’ clue what he’d said. He kept his eyes glued on his boss and studiously worked not to keep staring at Samantha, who walked with her sister in front of him. Beads of sweat popped up on the back of his neck, and his gut tightened. Focus man, focus.
Damn, Sam looked incredible tonight. Her fiery red hair spilled down her back and he would swear she smelled like the wildflowers from the ranch. His hand itched to stroke down the silky length of her mane. She had on some tiny scrap of black fabric and some type of high-heeled sandals that made her toned legs look a mile long.
Was she trying to kill him?
Would she wear the shoes and nothing else for him later? His step hitched and he adjusted his suddenly uncomfortable dark jeans.
“Holt. Did you hear a word I just said?” Harry did not like being ignored.
“Sorry. Just admiring the view.” Would he survive this meal?
“That’s what I was saying about The Inn. I’d love to film here sometime. Doesn’t it remind you of the Ahwanee?”
He managed to tear his gaze from Sam’s chiseled calves and focus on the lobby as they entered the building. He whistled below his breath. The soaring wood-beamed ceilings, huge roaring fireplace, and dramatic chandelier in the lobby did remind him of the old Ahwanee in Yosemite, more of an old-style grand mountain lodge than the boutique-y L.A.-style hotel he’d expected. Nice.
“Yeah, pretty sweet.”
The place was like something off a movie set. A fire blazed in the enormous woodburning fireplace. A low slung leather couch and several comfortable chairs clustered around the hearth. An elegant older couple sipped wine in a pair of brown low-slung aviator style armchairs. The silver-haired gentleman waved at Chris and Angela, who returned the gesture.
He was out of his league here. The place reeked of money and privilege. He was just the hired help.
A glamorous young hostess in all black, who could have been in Hollywood or New York City, greeted the McNeills by name and quickly escorted them to the restaurant. They crossed through the Morada Bar, a high-ceilinged, comfortable lounge area with high top booths, a few tables, and an L-shaped buffed zinc bar.
A slick-looking bartender, who was shaking martinis in a shiny silver mixer, called out, “Hey Sam and Amanda.”
“Hey Max.” Samantha waved and sent him a playful grin.
Holt jerked to a stop and glared at the guy.
What the hell? Who the hell was this guy and why was Sam all flirty with him? Where was his bad-tempered boss lady? He squared his shoulders.
His lady? Where had that come from? The only thing he called his own was his guitar.
“Holt, keep moving buddy.” Chris said from directly behind him. “We need to get to the table sometime tonight. You can check out the bar later if you want.”
“Uh, sorry.” He was an idiot.
They finally reached the back corner of the restaurant where the lights were dim. Jack and Ella, the stars of the movie, were already seated on the far end of the high-backed booth, so you couldn’t see them unless you were standing in front of the table. Private and discreet. Perfect.
Although he’d learned many celebrities lived in and visited The Inn at Rancho Santa Fe, A-list movie stars were commodities to be protected. This wasn’t Hollywood, after all.
Amanda and Sam were smiling at Jack, People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive. Why was she suddenly so friendly? She definitely hadn’t smiled at him like that when they first met. He clenched his jaw. For god’s sake, was he actually jealous of her looking at the movie star?
Harry made introductions and then somehow Holt ended up sitting next to Samantha in the enormous shadowed booth.
He jolted when a strand of her long hair brushed against his forearm when she leaned forward to chat with Jack and Ella. Her hair’s clean fruity fragrance assaulted him. Her bare skin, all of her creamy skin, was inches away. If he reached his hand over he could run a finger down her lightly muscled shoulder. He grabbed his napkin and dropped it on his lap. He needed the camouflage since he’d apparently morphed into a horny teenager.
But did Sam have to beam at the movie star quite so intently?
Hard to hate the actor and actually, he really liked Jack Hanson. They’d worked well together back on the daredevil flick where he’d been his stand-in. Jack was the kind of guy men wanted to be buddies with and women just wanted.
“Holt?” Harry stared at him from across the table, his salt and pepper eyebrows raised. “Did you hear a word I just said?”
“Uh, no, sorry.” Damn it. Way to sound like an idiot. Again.
“Please tell me you aren’t getting sick or something. We were just talking about tomorrow morning.”
“No, no, I’m good. Go on.” He nodded.
Harry continued and Holt forced himself to keep his gaze trained on his boss.
He jerked up straight in his seat. Sam’s fingers stroked up his thigh underneath the long tablecloth. He grabbed her hand and stopped her progress before he groaned.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the smirk on her full lips. Brat. Her dad was only a few feet away from them. Sweat popped up on the back of his neck.
“Hello everyone, have you had a chance to peruse the menu? Mr. and Mrs. McNeill, shall I bring your regular cocktails?” A tall waiter asked from the edge of the table.
“We’ll have a bottle of Cristal for the table to start, Matthew, and then we’ll let you know,” Chris answered.
“Very good sir.” The waiter rushed away.
“Thanks so much for letting us film at your ranch, Mr. McNeill, we’re all so excited about being a part of this movie and you made it possible.” Ella, the current It girl in Hollywood, smiled at Sam’s dad.
“Yeah, thank you. I’m looking forward to a closed set and some peace and quiet. The media has been a royal pain. The more privacy the better.” Jack smiled.
“No problem. I’m glad it all worked out.” Chris nodded.
“Are you both planning on keeping a low profile while you’re here in Rancho Santa Fe or are you spending time around San Diego county?” Sam asked, her voice casual, although her death grip on his thigh under the table belied her tone.
“Well, I love San Diego and the beaches are amazing, but we’ve got a really tight filming schedule, so I doubt we’ll leave Rancho Santa Fe much. We want to make sure we finish in the time frame you gave us,” Jack said.
Sam’s talon-like grip softened and she smiled at the movie star’s reply.
“Great. It’s discreet here in the Ranch, but all bets are off if you go to the beach or into downtown San Diego. We value our privacy.” A hint of warning threaded through Chris’s deep voice.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you down. Once we’ve finished filming, it will be like we were never here. You’ll see.” Harry clapped his hand on Chris’s shoulder.
“Excuse me.” The waiter stood at the edge of the table, a magnum of champagne in his hands. A deeply tanned, skinny brunette, holding an ice bucket and silver stand, stood by his side. Her eyes widened the moment she recognized Jack and Ella, but her face remained impassive. “This is Suzanne and she’s in training. She’ll be shadowing me tonight.”
Once the champagne was poured, Harry offered a toast. “Here’s to shooting a top-box office winner.”
When they clinked glasses, Holt caught the waitress-trainee staring at Jack and Ella again. Although Matthew’s service was impeccable, something about the woman caused his instincts to kick into overdrive. He shook it off. If the McNeills thought the restaurant and Inn were discreet enough to dine in with the famous actors, it had to be, right? Confidentiality was essential to them and they wouldn’t jeopardize their own blessed and hard-won privacy.
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He had enough to worry about sitting in such close proximity to Samantha. Here’s to a chilled drink cooling him the hell down during dinner. Her fresh scent surrounded him and each time she turned her head, a silky strand of flame-colored hair brushed him, causing him to clench his jaw on more than one occasion.
In profile, her beauty––the curve of her creamy cheek, the fullness of her cherry red lips, and the sweep of her impossibly long lashes over enormous doe eyes, blew him away. He tried not to check his watch more than every two minutes, but if he had to sit through one more course before he could drag her back to the guesthouse he might explode.
When half the table ordered after-dinner drinks and dessert, he cursed under his breath. How much longer could he keep shifting in his seat? He jolted when Sam’s hand curved around his thigh again and inched higher up his leg. Not cool at all. He moved her hand back onto her own leg. When he looked up, Angela was watching them, a shrewd half-smile gracing her lips. Damn it, she suspected something.
Act nonchalant. He asked Amanda about the latest horse he’d seen going to her rehab facility, hoping to allay Angela’s suspicions. He was just being friendly to all the McNeills. Personal discretion. Professional discretion. Deflect. He wasn’t ready to admit to himself what he was feeling about Ms. Samantha McNeill and he certainly didn’t want to be questioned about it by her family.
No, for now, he would try to make it through the rest of the meal.
Minute by excruciating minute.
21
Hello?” Holt had left the door unlocked for her, so where was he?
Silence greeted her when she wandered into the guesthouse. Suddenly, her throat was parched and nerves skittered down her spine. Water, she needed water. Maybe he was in the kitchen?
Nope, the room was empty. She grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and stuck it under the stainless-steel refrigerator water dispenser. She guzzled some of the cool liquid and then rubbed the chilled glass against her overheated cheeks. She closed her eyes. What was she doing here?
At dinner she’d felt seductive and womanly in her borrowed cocktail dress and sky-high stilettos, confident in Holt’s attraction to her. Now, all her old insecurities rose to the surface. She was too boyish, too awkward. What did she know about seduction?
Her prior relationships, if you could call them relationships, had been casual and convenient. Not one of her guy friends had ever made her angry or even intrigued her.
After flirting with Holt at the restaurant for the last few hours, she’d been ready to pounce on him. She missed half the dinner conversation and truth be told, hadn’t paid a whit of attention to the Hollywood heartthrob across the table. In fact, when she’d studied his golden god looks, all she could do was compare him to Holt.
They could have been brothers, but Holt’s cheekbones were a little more chiseled, and his jaw slightly more square.
Where Jack Hanson’s eyes were a cerulean blue, Holt’s eyes had a shimmer of silver, giving them a more mysterious look.
Jack’s face was flawless, but Holt’s pale scar above his left eyebrow saved him from being too pretty.
And although the movie star’s voice was deep and sexy, Holt’s voice had a raspiness to it that sent chills down her spine. Not to mention how the sound conjured up vivid memories of him whispering passionate demands in her ear.
So here she was.
Irresistibly drawn to him.
Where the hell was he?
“Make yourself at home.” Holt’s husky voice murmured against her ear.
She jumped and the rest of the water sloshed over the edge of her glass onto the floor. “You’re like a cat––how do you always manage to sneak up on me like that?”
“Me sneak? You’re the one breaking into my house, drinking my water.” He nuzzled her neck and her body went limp against his muscular one. Sparks shot down her spine and goose bumps popped up on her arms.
“I wasn’t sneaking. You left the door open.” Her heart knocked against her ribcage. She leaned back into his rock hard torso and her hands reached up to grip his powerful sinewy forearms.
He spun her around and grasped her shoulders. His pupils were dilated, rendering his blue eyes almost black. His sculpted lips were parted and he stared intently at her mouth.
“What punishment does such a bold intruder deserve?” He murmured and moved to stand between her thighs.
“Punishment?” Had she really squeaked? How could her voice even work when all her attention was focused on his eyes, his lips, his powerful leg nudging hers apart, and his obvious arousal pressed against her center?
“Maybe a spanking?” His lips were a breath away from hers.
“Spanking?” Outraged, she jerked back only to find the unforgiving granite countertop impeded her movement. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“Do you want me to be joking?” He didn’t allow her to escape, his warm minty breath mingled with hers, but his lips still hadn’t touched hers. All she needed to do was shift forward a centimeter to end the torture, but she wouldn’t. Spanking––seriously?
“I do.” Although her skin was on fire and her pulse hammered, it was just his proximity, not the suggestion of getting kinky. “Not my thing.”
“Hmmm…I love how fast you react––I’m sure I can come up with something. Maybe I’ll tickle you again.” He brushed his mouth against hers between each word, torturing her with the softness of his lips.
“No. Just kiss me.” She thrust her fingers into his hair and yanked his head down to meet hers.
His lips descended upon hers with satisfying pressure and their tongues danced together in perfect harmony. She stroked her fingers through his thick silky hair and pressed herself closer. His bare chest was hot, singeing through her thin tank top and spiking her own already over-heated skin.
Lost in his embrace, she reveled in his possessive kiss. His strong hands slid down her waist to grasp her hips and then back up her ribcage and cupped her breasts. She moaned and arched into his calloused palms. She couldn’t seem to get close enough to him. Suddenly, a cold breeze hit her and her eyes flew open. He’d stepped back a few inches and without his heat, the temperature plummeted.
He wound his fingers through hers and smiled as he led her to the bedroom. Bemused, she followed and allowed him to lead her to the massive king-sized bed. His touch was gentle as he eased them down onto the bed together and he cradled her in his arms and rolled them so they were lying facing each other. He stroked one hand down from her shoulder to her waist and curved around her hip possessively. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his lips curved into a lazy smile.
His intense gaze pinned her in place. She couldn’t move. His kiss was tender this time. Gentle. He tugged her tank top from her denim shorts and helped her slide out of her clothes.
“You’re exquisite.” He whispered against her collarbone. “I’m going to worship every single inch of you.” He nibbled along her skin and burned a trail of kisses down her body.
When his tongue found her navel, her eyes blurred and her head dropped back onto the pillow. She could barely breathe. Her skin glistened with sweat, the sheets rustled as they moved, and his clean masculine scent surrounded her. He traveled lower, dropping feather light kisses on her hipbones before smiling up at her. He lowered his head and kissed her most sensitive place, continuing his torture until she was a quivering mess, and only when he’d pleasured her until she’d lost track of any sense of time or place did he slide up her body.
“Look at me, Samantha.” He hovered over her, braced on sinewy powerful arms and his gaze locked on her face.
“Holt.” The connection between them was beyond. Beyond anything she’d had before.
He didn’t release her gaze as he entered her with exquisite slowness. Only when he was buried inside her did he groan and close his eyes.
Tonight, they made sweet, beautiful love. Somehow his gentleness and attention slayed her more than their passionate first encounter. Nobody had ever tak
en such care with her, given her such attention before. When he brought her to the edge one more time, they both shattered together.
Satiated not just physically, but somehow utterly relaxed mind and heart as well, she drifted off to sleep in his arms.
Samantha eased the front door shut and tiptoed through the still-dark house. Nobody needed to know she hadn’t spent the night in her own bed. She stretched her arms over her head and grinned. Holt’s sweetness last night had caught her by surprise. Every time they were together, another layer of his personality was revealed. Beneath his sexy, cocky exterior resided a complex, fascinating man.
“Someone looks like the cat who swallowed the cream,” Amanda said from the doorway to her room. “Where have you been?”
Drat. Why had she lingered in the hallway daydreaming about her incredible night with Holt? In front of her big sister’s doorway no less. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but Amanda was a habitual early riser.
“Um, in the kitchen for a snack?” Maybe she could escape her sister’s scrutiny with a teeny white lie.
Her sister snorted. “Right. More like snacking on the stud of a stuntman. I thought the two of you were going to burst into flames at The Inn last night.” Amanda leaned against the doorjamb, her blonde hair mussed and her sensible white cotton robe belted tight around her narrow waist.
“Oh crap, do you think anyone else noticed?” Wouldn’t her dad have said something? Although, she hadn’t been aware of anyone or anything except for Holt.
“No, I don’t think so. Dad and Harry were engrossed in discussing the movie with Jack and Ella, who were both really nice by the way. Angela doesn’t miss much so she probably did. So spill––what is going on with you two? Were you down at the guesthouse?”
Sam bit her lip. She had never been able to hide anything from her sisters. At work, she had to be strong and a leader so masking her emotions wasn’t difficult. Most people at the ranch or those she dealt with for the breeding business had no clue what she was truly feeling beneath her often-tough exterior. Her college friends knew her to a point. She’d created her outer shell to only reveal what she wanted to reveal, except for her family.