by Debra Dixon
Spending two weeks with Clare had given him glimpses of the woman inside the tidy package—the woman vulnerable enough to trigger his protective instincts, sexy enough to plague his dreams, and complex enough to fascinate him. Not to mention clever enough to involve him in her scheme to fool Ellie. His neat little plan to settle down with a comfortable woman had fallen apart the moment Clare crossed her legs and challenged him to prove he could teach her anything. The hell of it was, if he didn’t teach her to want people in her life, he’d lose her. If he couldn’t teach her to lose control, and fast, he was in for a lot of hard, lonely nights. Patience, he told himself. He needed patience.
“The everyday silverware is to the right of the sink,” he said as she tightened the last bow. “Company silver is in the butler’s pantry. But William will handle the table setting if you have dinner guests.”
Clare laughed suddenly. “Guests? Practically everyone I know will be under this roof. Whom would I invite?”
“Your boarder, of course.” Sam grinned and tried to convince himself that he could outlast Clare’s demons.
After wrestling a large suitcase onto Sam’s bed, Clare began to unpack. While she had made the trip to the condo to pick up her cat and her clothes, William had efficiently emptied the mahogany bureau. The clothes of Sam’s closet not moved to the carriage house had been relocated to an unused guest room, and Clare had no doubt that William had already changed the sheets.
William’s attention to detail had stripped the room of any physical reminders of Sam. So why did Sam’s presence still fill the room, pressing against her? Because when she’d arrived, Sam gave her one of those heart-stopping looks before deserting her in favor of the carriage house. That look had been both a threat and a promise. William, on the other hand, had been nothing but gracious, as though her stay would give him nothing but pleasure.
Clare groaned, realizing that Sam’s behavior sent the exact same message but with a completely different affect on her nerves. Methodically, Clare transferred her clothes to the bureau and sternly told herself to forget him. Sam’s room was nothing more than a hotel room. The only difference was that Sam probably didn’t have stationery and a Bible in the nightstand drawer. She reached for the drawer handle and pulled, not really expecting anything, but irresistibly curious. What she found made her suck in her breath and sit down on the bed.
Why would a man who hadn’t made love in this room have condoms in the nightstand? And why should she be shocked? Or care? Either William had overlooked a few personal items, or Sam was making a subtle point.
Clare picked up one of the foil packets and knew William hadn’t forgotten anything. Sam had slipped them into the drawer. She had to close her eyes against the rush of sensation that spilled through her body. This was Sam’s way of telling her that he was impulsive but not reckless. His way of telling her that he wouldn’t ignore the chemistry between them and that she’d better be ready.
Heat seeped into her bones as she fought the memory of his thigh riding high between her legs as she arched and rubbed against him. Throwing the packet back into the drawer, Clare slammed it shut and paced the room. Good Lord, what was she going to do? He wouldn’t give up, and he wasn’t the kind of man who’d settle for pure and simple sex. If there was such a thing as pure and simple sex! At least not with Sam. Not the way he put his hands on her and turned the world upside down.
“Meow.”
Slick broke her train of thought as he leapt up onto the bed and fell over, rubbing his head along the pillows. Clare stared at him and envied his ability to make himself at home so easily. No, don’t you dare envy that damn cat! she cautioned herself. You’ve got no business relaxing right now. This was Sam’s house; she was only trespassing. So no relaxing. No ties. No emotional involvement. What she didn’t have, she couldn’t lose.
She believed in safe. She believed in secure. No risk. No hurt. Sam believed in rolling the dice and taking the chance. Not her. No sir.
By the time she’d finished unpacking, she had control of her emotions, and the clock read almost midnight. Every muscle in her body ached from the tension of fending off Sam. Her shoulders were impossibly knotted. Her head throbbed, and her conscience pinched her for planning an elaborate charade to fool Ellie. Wearily, she ran water in the old-fashioned claw-foot tub in the adjoining bathroom and then added foaming bath oil. After a day like today, she needed a good, long soak with no distractions. Returning to the bedroom, she pulled her white gown out from under her contented cat, who’d curled up on it the minute she laid it out, and grabbed her cosmetic bag.
“Clare?” Sam called from the hallway and knocked on the door. “I saw the light from the carriage house. It’s late. Anything wrong?”
Stunned, Clare glanced at the clock again and then at the window. Sam could see her room—his room—from the carriage house. He’d been watching? Crossing the room, Clare threw the gown over her shoulder and opened the door a crack. Sam leaned against the door facing, his shirt unbuttoned as though he’d thrown it on at the last minute. While his chest wasn’t completely bared, she could see the definition of his pectorals and the flat stomach that disappeared into the low-slung jeans. Half-dressed. Hurriedly dressed.
“I’m fine,” Clare managed to say, and dragged her gaze to his face. She’d never known a man more casually masculine than Sam. “Thank you for asking.”
As Sam listened to her polite conversation, disappointment nagged at him. He’d expected to find Clare ready for bed, and to be painfully honest, he’d hoped to find her soft and drowsy, not fully dressed and wary. “Mind if I come in?”
“Yes.”
“Suspicion does not become you, Clare.”
“I have reason to be suspicious.”
A grin appeared on Sam’s face. “You have good reason to be suspicious. However, right now I need my toothbrush. William is efficient but not perfect.”
“Oh.” Clare blushed, pulled her gown off her shoulder, and stepped back. “I’ll get it.”
Sam pushed opened the door and caught her around the waist as she turned. “Don’t bother. I know the way.”
“Oh,” Clare repeated as his hand slipped away, and she watched him disappear into the large bathroom. Dimly, her mind registered the fact that he was barefoot. She told herself that’s why he moved so confidently. That explanation was better than comparing him to a predator who’d cornered his quarry. And knew it.
Retrieving his toothbrush should have taken only a second, but Sam lingered. A black silk robe with neonpink flamingos lay carelessly across the closed toilet seat. His tub churned with the unfamiliar sight of iridescent bubbles, and the heat of the water sent an incredible fragrance of hot spiced apples into the air. Knowing that Clare would soon be naked and submerged in the perfumed water gave Sam ideas that would keep him up all night. Regretfully, he turned off the running water which had pushed the shimmering bubbles almost to the edge of the tub.
As he reached for his toothbrush, he saw one of his shirts hanging on the back of the door. The toothbrush he took; the shirt he left. And he grinned at himself in the mirror. That old shirt was about to become very important.
“Got it,” Sam said, gently waving the toothbrush as he reentered the bedroom and found Clare still standing by the door, nervously clutching her white gown. He crossed the room and stopped in front of her. As always, when he looked down at Clare, he became fascinated by the shape of her lips and the deep blue of her eyes. Everything about her turned him on. He wanted to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands again. He wanted to hear her sigh his name as he entered her.
His voice was raspy when he said, “I turned off your water.”
“Thanks.” The word sounded as though it had been scraped across her vocal cords, and Clare wished she could ignore the hunger in Sam’s eyes. But she couldn’t. She parted her lips and leaned a fraction of an inch closer, willing him to kiss her, willing him to end the suspense, willing him to make the decision she couldn’t make.
�
� ’Night, sweet Clare. Your water’s getting cold,” he whispered, and left her, an odd smile on his lips.
“ ’Night, Tucker,” Clare echoed, purposely using his last name to regain some distance from the emotions that pulled at her every time Sam walked into a room.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Clare crumpled her gown into a ball and tossed it on the bed. Sexual frustration was a new and unfamiliar sensation for her. Angry, she began to strip, throwing her shoes across the room to the closet before she realized that Sam had accomplished exactly what he wanted. She was losing control. The temper she’d held in check for years was beginning to slip away from her more often. She’d yelled at Dave that morning, Sam that night, and now she was throwing shoes.
“No,” Clare said as she flipped off the overhead light and headed for the bath. “I won’t let him get to me. I like my life. I am not changing. Not even for him.”
A sigh escaped her as she slid into the hot water and leaned her head against the tub’s rolled edge, which felt as if it were made to support her neck. “A few days and this will all be over,” she promised herself. She could go back to her normal routine, and Sam could go back to creating chaos in someone else’s life.
Why did that idea bother her so much?
Sam sat on the top step of the staircase, whistling softly and waiting. Five minutes should be enough time for Clare to undress and sink into the bubble bath. Just five more minutes, and he’d have her right where he wanted her. Again. He could have kissed her when he said good night. She’d wanted him to kiss her, but she’d also wanted him to hurry up and get it over with.
He grinned at the thought of his kiss being as anticipated as cherry-flavored cough syrup—necessary medicine with a taste that was not exactly horrible. From any other woman the attitude would have been insulting, but in Clare the attitude signaled progress. Grudging progress, but progress nonetheless.
Consulting his watch, Sam pushed himself up and walked back down the hall to his door. He knocked once, loud enough to be heard in the bedroom, but not nearly loud enough to be heard in the bathroom. Any twinge of guilt he felt at his devious actions was ignored. All was fair in love and war, and Sam knew his relationship with Clare was definitely one or the other. He just wasn’t sure which.
When he didn’t hear an answer to his knock, he eased open the door and called her name softly, hoping he wouldn’t get a response. He didn’t. The room was dark, but a shaft of light spilled through the partially open bathroom door. An unfamiliar pink flamingo night light glowed beneath the bedside table, drawing his attention. Practical Clare either had a weakness for flamingos, or she was afraid of the dark. Considering the robe he’d seen earlier, he had to believe she liked flamingos.
Slick hopped off the bed and wove himself between Sam’s ankles, purring loudly. Sam grinned, placed a finger across his lips as though the cat were a co-conspirator, and continued to the bathroom.
“Clare?” he said softly as he rapped on the door with one knuckle. “Are you decent?”
A gasp and the sound of sloshing water answered his question. Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then Clare said in a strained voice, “I’m taking a bath.”
Grinning, Sam said, “Good. Then you’re decent. I saw the bubbles earlier.” When Sam pushed open the door and found Clare reaching for a towel, he stopped her with a gesture. “No, don’t get up. I won’t be long.”
Clare snatched her hand back and drew her arms across her breasts, which were barely concealed by the foam, and sank deeper into the water. A blush flamed her cheeks, and anger flashed at him from her eyes. God, she was gorgeous. Sam felt his manhood jump as a sudden pulse of desire ripped through him.
“Go away,” she ordered calmly, but the ragged rhythm of her breathing suggested she was anything but calm.
“I expected that.”
“Then why did you come in?” She pressed her lips together and tilted her head, waiting for an explanation, silently telling him that the explanation had better be a good one.
“I’m missing a shirt, and I thought it might be in here.” Sam made a pretext of looking behind the door and feigned surprise. “Ah, here it is.”
“And that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” Clare snapped.
“Probably.” Sam tossed the shirt into the hamper and scooped up her flamingo-covered robe from the toilet seat before making himself comfortable. “But I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”
Clare gasped, her control and her dignity hanging by the same thin, frayed thread. The world suddenly closed in around her, narrowing to exclude everything except Sam Tucker and his incredible brown eyes, which seared her with every gaze and advertised his hunger. Although she tried, she couldn’t look away. Absurdly, she felt like a satellite trapped in a disintegrating orbit headed for destruction. The heat of her body suddenly made the water feel cold, causing her nipples to harden and pebble beneath her hands.
“You’ve got nowhere to hide, Clare. You can’t evade me or my questions unless you leave the room. To do that, you’re going to have to stand up, and I warned you once before”—Sam paused for emphasis—“I like watching. What’s it going to be, Clare? Conversation or my heart’s desire?”
His question sucked the oxygen from the air, leaving Clare breathless. How could he sit there as though they were across the breakfast table and admit that he wanted to watch her rise naked from the bath so he could look at her? A shiver ran up her spine as she wondered what it would be like to have Sam watch her, enjoy her. He made her feel strange and wild, and for a moment she almost stood up. Almost. Then sanity returned, and her brain began to work.
“William wouldn’t approve of this.”
Sam threw back his head and laughed. “You have no idea exactly how much William does approve. He even tolerates your cat.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Worried by the steady disappearance of her frothy white shield, Clare gathered more of the concealing foam around her and drew her knees up so that the only parts of her body exposed were her shoulders and kneecaps. “I want only the house, Sam. You can’t just walk in on me anytime you feel like it! We had a deal.”
“Not anymore. And I warned you that a few hundred feet wouldn’t keep you safe.” Sam let the silken material of the robe he held flow through his fingers. “Besides, I didn’t walk in. I knocked. You didn’t answer.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to wander into my bath and settle in like you belonged here, like you were invited. Dammit, Tucker. There’s an invisible line that a gentleman doesn’t cross.”
“I crossed that line this afternoon, Clare.”
Memories invaded Clare’s consciousness, and she closed her eyes against the longing that shot through her body. She could still feel every touch, hear every word he had breathed against her skin. With an effort she pushed the longing away and simply looked at Sam, afraid to trust her voice with any reply.
“Great robe,” Sam whispered huskily as he rubbed it against his chest. His eyes closed briefly, and then he looked at her, considering her as his hand trailed the silk across his flat belly. “I’ll bet it feels even better with you in it.”
Sam didn’t bother to disguise his passion. He devoured her with his gaze. For a heart-stopping moment she was afraid he was going to lean over and touch her. And then she was afraid that she was going to beg him to slide his hand beneath the water and caress her. Below the disappearing foam, she fisted her hands and fought for control.
“Sam, I don’t want you here,” she forced out.
“Liar. You want me every bit as much as I want you. The only difference is you refuse to admit that you need anyone—for anything.”
Clare’s chin came up as he knew it would.
“Get out of my head, Sam.”
“Then tell me why you run like a scared rabbit every time I show you that I want you.”
She stiffened, and shifted her knees back to beneath the water, covering herself with her arms. “I do
n’t run away.”
“Yes, you do, sweet Clare. Why don’t you have people in your life?” Sam asked softly, wondering if she knew just how much he wanted to be a part of her life.
“I’m not in your class anymore. I don’t have to answer.”
“Okay. I’ll try an easy one. Who’s your best friend?”
Clare’s eyes dipped to stare at the white foam, but she didn’t answer.
“Come on,” Sam encouraged. “Who knows more of your secrets than anyone?”
When Clare looked at him, sadness turned up the corners of her mouth, making the smile bittersweet. “You. You know more of my secrets than anyone. Happy now? You’ve gotten another confession out of me. Will you go?”
Instead of making Sam happy, her answer twisted unpleasantly in his gut. He pitched the robe over the hamper and dropped to his knees on the rug beside the tub, heedless of the dampness and cold of the porcelain against his belly. Without giving her a chance to pull away, he captured her face with his hands.
“What are you afraid of, Clare? That I’ll find out too much? What do you keep buried inside you?” For a moment he searched her eyes, trying to find the answers he wanted from her, wondering why he needed answers. “If I keep looking, what will I find, Clare?”
“Nothing you’ll like,” she whispered.
“You’d be surprised by what I like,” Sam told her as he eased his hands down her neck, massaging her shoulders with his fingertips. As he drew her up and forward, the scent of apples made him hungry for a taste of her, as did the feel of her water-softened skin and the slippery texture created by the foaming oil. “Perfect women bore me, Clare.”
“Then I must be driving you crazy,” she said unsteadily.
“That’s one word for it,” he rasped, and let go of her shoulders before he forgot that he had no business seducing her in the middle of the night. Patience, he reminded himself. Firmly, he pushed himself to a standing position, ignoring the fact that bath foam no longer covered the creamy skin of her breasts. “The first night we met, you asked me if I ever had an impulse I didn’t act on. Remember what I said?”