by Debra Dixon
Knowing that, he understood her terror when she burst into the carriage house, and he understood her genuine anger because she thought he’d taken her cat. He wanted to gather her up and make the fear go away, but he didn’t. Touching Clare while she was vulnerable was too much like taking advantage of her, like offering a starving child food.
Gently, as if he were afraid to upset her, Sam said, “William asked me to take Slick. He was in the way in the kitchen when he was trying to clean up.”
Clare’s eyes widened. “William asked you to take my cat away?”
“Slick was making a pest of himself.” Sam smiled. “Cats and garbage cans don’t mix. Especially when chicken bones are involved. Since I didn’t mind the company, I took him with me. William promised he’d tell you.” Sam traced the fading path of the tear on her cheek until she pulled away. “I’m sorry, Clare. We didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I wasn’t frightened!” Lifting her chin, Clare tried to ignore the blood that had begun to race through her veins at the realization he was barefoot and bare-chested. Even to her ears she sounded out of breath as she said, “W-worried, of course, but not frightened.”
“Right.” Sam raised a brow and raked her from head to toe with his eyes, lingering at her breasts. “You always run around barefoot, wearing next to nothing and breaking down doors?”
Clare groaned something inarticulate, shifted Slick, and pulled her robe closed over her gown. Right now she didn’t really remember what gown she’d put on. Not that it mattered. Since she liked pale silks, any of her gowns were sheer enough to be embarrassing. She had no doubt that this one revealed details of her anatomy that were better left concealed.
“No, I do not normally run around breaking down doors, but then, I’m not usually subjected to the practical jokes of southern gentlemen and their butlers.”
Sam advanced toward her. “Clare, I would never intentionally frighten you. And neither would William.” Once again he flicked his gaze over her. This time he smiled. “Since you obviously weren’t planning to leave us, he didn’t see the need to tell you.”
“But I am leaving.” Clare backed toward the door, wishing now that she hadn’t slammed it in anger. “Tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t you go tonight?” Sam asked. “Why wait?”
Slick made an unhappy noise and began to struggle against her tight grip. Clare calmed him, uncomfortably aware that she’d run out of room. Her back touched the door. As Sam closed the distance between them, she was reminded that when he walked barefoot, Sam moved like a predatory animal closing in.
Without a shirt, Sam lost the civilized veneer. He truly became the wolf at the door, and she found herself wanting to invite him in, to let him devour her, to be lost in the rush of feeling.
Another step, and he’d be so close, only light could pass between them. Another step, and it would be too late. Too much had happened that day; she couldn’t trust her instincts. So Clare whirled and reached for the knob.
Sam’s palm shoved the door closed again almost before she’d opened it. “Why did you wait, Clare?”
As she tried to decide on an answer, Slick wiggled free and hit the floor with a thud. Without him she felt defenseless, deserted, under siege. “It was late.”
“Why did you wait, Clare?” Sam repeated as his other hand flattened against the wall, framing her body between his arms.
Sam surrounded her from behind, invaded her space, made her knees weak, and he hadn’t even touched her. He did all this to her and still wanted her to think clearly enough to answer questions. She couldn’t. Each movement magnified the tiny rustle of silk against silk and brought to mind the image of Sam with the robe cascading through his fingers.
“Why did you wait, Clare?” Leaning into her, Sam aligned his body with hers, letting the flamingo robe tease his chest with memories. “Tell me,” he whispered, wanting her to admit she needed them. “Why didn’t you leave?”
EIGHT
“I was lonely.” Clare rested her head against the door. “I didn’t want to go home to the quiet and the dark.”
Sam closed his eyes against the swift rush of satisfaction that swept through him. Halfway. She’d come halfway. He hadn’t realized the hole in his life was so big until he’d decided he wanted Clare to fill it. The muscles in his abdomen tightened as he waited. He wanted her to acknowledge what had been building between them. She had to want to make love as much as he did.
“That’s not true. Not completely,” she said, and braced her hands, palms flat, against the door. “What have you done to me, Sam? Why do I keep thinking about the way you touch me? I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to be lonely.”
Sam smiled. Close enough. He pulled aside the collar of her robe and feathered the back of her neck with kisses as he promised, “Sweet Clare, I can make the lonely go away. At least for tonight.”
Slowly, he pulled the robe down her shoulders and tossed it aside, exposing creamy skin and the thin white straps of her gown. She started to turn in his arms, but he stopped her by circling her waist and pulling her hips into the cradle of his thighs. “We’ll do this my way.”
Clare closed her eyes and leaned back into the strength of his chest. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this at all.”
“Wrong. We should have done this a long time ago.”
Sam slid his hands across her belly and downward to explore contours of her body, the rise created by her hipbones, the edge of her panties, and the swell of her womanhood. Although she tensed and laid her hands against his forearms, she didn’t stop him. Sam gently pressed his lips to her shoulder and began to gather the gown with his fingers, reeling in the silk fabric, inch by inch. He felt as though he were unveiling a work of art he had waited a long time to possess.
When the hem of the gown reached her waist, Sam let one hand sample the warmth of her skin and glide over the lace that edged her panties. Her belly quivered beneath his touch, and he marveled at the perfect fit of her body. His tongue teased the shell of her ear as his hand pressed her more snugly against his arousal. He wanted her to feel his desire, to know how hard he was for her.
Clare concentrated on breathing and controlling the shudder that threatened to shimmy through her. Sam’s hands were magic. With gentle pressure between her thighs, he let her know he wanted her to open for him. Instinctively, Clare adjusted her legs. When he cupped her, letting his fingers slide into the narrow space between her legs, she gasped and arched her back. To be held so intimately was ecstasy. To be separated from the touch of his hand by a scrap of fabric was torture.
With deliberate care, he drew his hand away, his fingers stroking the sensitive valley. The feeling of loss Clare experienced was quickly replaced by the unexpected sensation of having her breasts bared to the cool air as Sam pushed up her gown and found the aroused buds of her nipples with thumb and forefingers. Impatiently, she tugged the gown over her head and flung it away.
Now nothing separated her bare back from the taut muscles of Sam’s chest. Each time he caressed her nipples, he pulled desire through her abdomen and sent need snaking through her limbs. Clare wet her lips as she looked down at his hands, so strong and tan against her pale skin.
Sam stilled the motion of his fingers and tested the weight of one breast in his hands, letting the soft flesh mold itself to the shape of his curved palm. “So soft,” he whispered. “So right. God, Clare. Do you know how crazy you could make a man?”
Finally, he turned her in his arms and brought her to his chest. He savored the electric charge that washed over him as flesh met flesh. This is how he’d dreamed of Clare, soft and pliant in his arms. He wanted all of her.
He felt a pulsing need to be inside her, a part of her. But he couldn’t satisfy the hunger yet. The fire in his gut was too strong to control. Taking Clare too quickly would be a mistake. He had to wait until the explosion of desire that ripped through his body had settled into a slow burn. Just the thought of burying himself inside her almost t
ook him over the edge.
Sam let out his breath in a rush. “Open your mouth, Clare. Let the wolf in.”
When she did, his tongue swept inside, taking what he wanted. With one hand he cupped the back of her neck. With the other he unbuttoned his jeans and slid down the zipper. Sam groaned against her mouth when she helped him by shoving his jeans open. Suddenly the need to have her touch him was as great as his need to touch and be inside her. When her hand closed around him, and slid downward, Sam sucked in some air and adjusted his stance.
His response to her touch gave Clare the courage to satisfy her curiosity about the feel of his body. The masculine contradiction of velvet and steel fascinated her. The muscles beneath her fingers pulsed with life and jumped as she smoothed her palms up his belly and over his nipples which, judging by the swift tightening of his fingers on the back of her neck, had hardened into nubs as sensitive as hers.
Pulling his mouth from hers, Sam studied her, memorizing her face and rubbing his thumb along the line of her jaw. “I don’t know which I like more. Me touching you or you touching me.”
Clare slid her arms around his waist and leaned into his chest. Very quietly, she said, “You touching me.”
Caught off guard, Sam asked, “What?”
“Which I like better.”
Her words were like a match to kindling, and in their own way erotic. Sam enfolded her in his arms for a moment before swinging her off her feet bride-fashion and carrying her to the spiral staircase. When he let her down at the bottom step, his voice was unmistakably husky. “I’m going to do a hell of a lot more than touch you.”
Once again Sam had become the predator. Clare backed up the narrow, winding stairs as he followed, purpose and desire showing in every step he took. Not once did his eyes waver from her face, but she felt as if his gaze raked every inch of her body. When she topped the final stair, she could feel the heat from the flush of excitement that colored her cheeks and breasts.
“Don’t,” Sam ordered as she covered her chest with her arms. He stepped up onto the landing with her and pulled her hands away, replacing them with his own, which cupped and pushed her breasts gently upward so he could admire them. He took each areola into his mouth and swirled his tongue across the pebble-hard peaks before he said, “You’re beautiful. Don’t cover yourself.”
Standing quietly and watching Sam touch her was almost more than Clare could take. She’d never felt such a surge of erotic energy and power. Nor had she ever had such little control of her body. Her breasts seemed to swell and push themselves into his palms, begging him to sample her flesh again. An incessant pulse had begun between her legs.
Worst of all, Clare knew she liked Sam’s penchant for watching her, looking at her, studying her. She liked knowing she fascinated him.
Sam led her to the edge of the double bed that dominated the spartan bedroom alcove. “Last chance to run from the wolf, Clare. If you don’t, I am going to make love to you. And there won’t be a thing you or William can do about it.”
While he waited, he pulled her toward him, making sure they were belly to belly. Searching his face, Clare found promises in his eyes, dark promises, bright promises, promises that made the ache between her legs worsen. He had wrapped her in desire so tightly, she knew she’d never undo the knot unless she finished what they’d started.
“Make love to me, Sam.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He said the words against her mouth, but instead of kissing her, he let his lips trail down her neck, between the valley of her breasts, and then knelt to continue his exploration down the center of her abdomen.
When Sam flicked his tongue into her belly button and whisked down her lace panties, Clare felt her heart skip a beat. He’d invaded her space again by holding her thighs apart and gently forcing her back onto the bed. Suddenly Sam abandoned his slow, deliberate seduction and kissed the springy curls at the apex of her thighs, making Clare gasp as his tongue touched her intimately.
She felt as though everything around her—colors, sounds, textures—were suddenly more intense. Sam’s touch made the world come to life. Within her own body she felt the stirrings of something so intense, she held her breath against the feeling.
“No.” Her reaction was the result of some self-preservation instinct, some inner knowledge that she was reaching the point of no return, a place where she wouldn’t be able to hold back any part of herself from Sam.
Knowing that she wasn’t ready for complete intimacy, Sam contented himself with one last brush of his lips against her sweetness and stood back up, swiftly ridding himself of his jeans.
Clare shivered. Every inch of her skin was suddenly sensitive. When Sam stripped, she discovered that he wasn’t wearing his infamous boxers. She remembered the way the jeans hugged his body and the feel of his arousal pressed against her buttocks. As she watched him retrieve a foil packet from between the mattress and box spring, she realized he’d been expecting her. He’d known before she’d known herself. Somehow that knowledge left her feeling dizzy, as if she were losing her grip on the world.
“You were waiting for me tonight,” she said before she could stop herself.
“No.” Sam leaned one knee on the bed and stared down at her. “Hoping for you.”
The mattress was old and slightly sunken in the middle, which suited Sam perfectly, because Clare fell neatly into his arms the moment his weight joined hers on the bed. Once again her hands found his chest. Her fingers roamed over muscle as if she were soaking up the heat of his body. “Tell me you’re sure, Clare. I feel like I’m going to come apart right now if I can’t slip inside you, feel you around me.”
He pulled her beneath him and pushed the tip of his manhood into the wet softness he found between her legs. “Tell me, Clare.”
She answered him by closing her eyes, lifting her hips, and taking more of him.
“God, Clare,” he rasped, and sank into her. “You feel so good. Look at me,” he whispered. “I want to watch you fall off the world.”
Slowly Clare drew in a deep breath and opened her eyes. Just looking at him tilted her world and squeezed her heart. Emotions she wasn’t prepared to deal with were there in his eyes, unspoken and dangerous. She knew what he wanted from her, and she wasn’t prepared for total surrender, wordless intimacy.
Dear God, was this what he meant when he asked if she was sure? That she’d have to let herself splinter into a thousand pieces at his touch? Every sensation was too much, too quick. Every stroke of Sam’s shaft brought her closer to the edge, and she fought the climax building inside her, tensing against the onslaught.
“Don’t, Clare,” Sam ordered, and groaned sharply at the quicksilver touch of pleasure that shot through him as she tightened. “Don’t tense. I can’t hold—Clare!”
She felt the fulfillment shudder through Sam as he buried himself deep inside her. Even now her body threatened to spill satisfaction through her, and if that happened, she’d never be able to walk away from Sam. Not if she ever gave him that much of herself. She rode out the wave of his passion, holding him as close as she dared.
Why him? Why now? As she buried her face in the side of his neck, Clare repeated the questions that had never left her mind since meeting Sam. Why was he the one who could finally bring her to the edge of sanity? She’d known other men, but even when the sex was good, she’d never come close to climaxing.
So why Sam? Why now? Sam didn’t want to love her; he wanted to fix her, change her. She felt like a fly caught in his web, unable to walk away and scared to death of being trapped.
Sam let deep breathing settle his emotions before he tried to speak. Anger mixed with the warm afterglow of climax, a climax he knew Clare hadn’t shared. He felt anger at himself for not taking her with him, anger at Clare’s need to control her sensual feelings, anger at the people who’d forgotten to reassure a young orphan that she was loved.
More than anything, Sam was angry that if he told Clare he loved her, the words would send her p
acking. She wasn’t ready for lust, much less love.
How could she ever learn to love him if her instinctive need for control kept her from trusting him? Sam clung to the hope that after that night, the sensual side of Clare’s nature would be just as strong as the logical part of her soul. If he was ever going to break down the wall around her heart, he would have to fight fire with fire, instinct with instinct. He’d have to make Clare want him so badly, she’d lose herself in his arms.
Finally Sam rolled away and covered her with a light quilt. “I’ll be right back.”
The bed creaked slightly as Clare adjusted the geometric-patterned quilt nervously and looked at the stereo alarm beside the bed. The digital readout glowed angrily into the dark, chastising her for losing track of time. “I can’t stay. It’s after midnight.”
Sam grinned and headed for the bathroom. “Yeah, I know. That’s why you aren’t going back to the house.”
“What do you mean?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, the porch light goes out at midnight. You wouldn’t want William to hit you with a baseball bat, would you?” Sam asked as he shut the bathroom door.
“I’ll take my chances with William,” Clare whispered, and slid off the bed, wrapping herself tightly in the quilt. “At least with him I’d know what hit me.”
Before she could worry about the baseball bat, she had to find her underwear. With one eye on the bathroom door and one eye on the floor, Clare quickly circled the bed and retrieved the scrap of lace and silk. Somehow, the simple act of pulling on a pair of panties made her feel infintely less vulnerable. She readjusted the quilt and made a dash for the stairs, but didn’t manage to get down them before the bathroom door opened. Clare froze with one foot on the first step and her heart in her throat.
“I guess baseball bats don’t scare you,” Sam observed dryly from across the room.
“Not really,” Clare said in a small voice, still not moving from the stairs or turning around. He’d be naked, and she didn’t want to be caught staring at him. God, she was such a coward, but if she turned around, she would stare, and she didn’t know if she could hold back from Sam again. She couldn’t afford to give him any excuse to tumble her back into bed. Not when it had taken every ounce of willpower she had to maintain control the last time.