The Diva Diaries

by Karen Anders

  “Sure. Is that all you need?”

  His gentle fingers found the zipper and he fiddled with the tab, separating the fabric from the zipper’s teeth. His fingers brushed her skin. She shivered and felt his body heat against her back like a lick of flame. He pulled the tab down her back. His fingers trailed along her spine in a tingling slide. They were strong, masculine hands that were very good at holding a woman, stroking, caressing. Every touch seemed intimate beyond her belief.

  “That’s all I need for now,” she replied.

  The need flared in her, hot and urgent. His lower body pressed up against her softly rounded buttocks. His heat scorched her. She could feel the hardness of his arousal press into her. An ache tied her stomach in knots, sent a rush of heat over her exposed skin and sparked a fire that began to burn.

  He lifted her heavy hair off her left shoulder, pushing the mass aside. Then she felt his lips on the curve of her neck and heat burst through her. Right now everything seemed as it should be. God help her, but she desired him, his touch, his body. His mouth moved to the top of her shoulder and he very softly kissed her exposed skin.

  His hand settled at her waist and she reached down and covered his hand.

  “I never did tell you last night how beautifully you play.” He whispered against her ear, sending prickles of heat stabbing into the tips of her breasts.

  Gently she squeezed his hand. “Thanks.” His breath gusted out. She released his fingers, and he removed his hand.

  His fingertips brushed along her scalp, sending little prickles of heat into her neck as he gathered her hair in his hands and smoothed it down her back.

  “Are you on your way out to do chores?”

  “I have to get into the hayloft today and tidy up. I have meetings this afternoon with the Savannah Hospital fund-raising group.” He was silent for a moment as if weighing his next words. “Would you like to come?”

  The seductive cadence to his voice made her almost want to agree with everything he said. She took a deep, shuddering breath. Joy leaped inside her. It would give her ample time to search. “Sounds like you’ll be busy all day. I’m sorry, so will I. I have a reception with the faculty and chair of the music department at one o’clock at Savannah College along with a rehearsal at three. I have to get in some practice time today, as well.”

  She clasped her hands together, desperately needing something to do with them or she’d soon have them all over his enticing, hard-muscled body.

  Unabashed and unapologetic, she escaped. There was no other word for the way she scampered away from him, gave him a quick smile and shut the door.

  Was it because she wanted the morning to find the desk or was it because he unnerved her like no other man ever had? Made her insides curl into knots and her heart beat hard and uneven. Or was she just being…well, practical?

  Maybe not. Practical women knew how to retreat gracefully.

  Cowards knew when to run and Jenna had been running as she backed away from the door. She shucked her dress, her hose, and hotfooted it for the safety of the bathroom before she did something really foolish like throw the door open, grab Sam and slake her desire with the hardness of his body.

  The water was steaming hot and relaxing as she sighed beneath its spray. She was determined to get to that desk this morning and remove the diary. Then she could go to her events this afternoon secure in the knowledge that she’d fulfilled her gran’s dying wish.

  Guilt stabbed at her when she realized she’d barely thought of Gran in the past twenty-four hours. Gran had been a staunch supporter for as long as Jenna could remember. It used to pain her that her mother only breezed through her life. Her disappointment and dislike of her mother had never left her. It’d been hard for a five-year-old to take, but now she had learned to live with her mother’s behavior, and realized that love and music couldn’t mix. One had to lose. It was the same with her gran. Susanna had left the opera for her husband and tiny granddaughter. Jenna thanked God every day for her gran’s sacrifice.

  Jenna had no intention of letting her feelings get in the way of her music career. She was at the height of her fame and she intended to stay there as long as she could. Music was a safe pursuit. She understood it, unlike the emotions of desire and need, which were confusing and always led to a loss of control.

  The second time she opened her door that morning it was quiet in the house. Sam was at the barn and it was still very early. She glanced at Sam’s bedroom door, wondering if the desk could be inside. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the hall and turned the knob. The door swung open on silent hinges.

  She stepped inside the sunny room. Her eyes roamed over the simple cedar furniture, the big double bed with a colorful Native American comforter, a dresser and a nightstand. Near a window, a big overstuffed chair sat, and beyond were the pastures where longhorn cattle grazed.

  No rolltop desk, and that should have been the end of it. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

  She went to the dresser and scanned the contents: a man’s very old pocket watch, a simple star with a circle and some loose change. Jenna picked up the watch and examined the silver timepiece. It was a priceless antique. Jenna had been around them enough in her life to know one when she saw it. She pushed on the winder. The faceplate snapped up, revealing the clock beneath. Inside, the inscription read, To My Beloved Husband, Silas, with All My Heart. Love, Savannah.

  The personal words made her realize that she was snooping through Sam’s private belongings. Appalled at herself but unable to stop, she gently closed the timepiece.

  Next, she picked up the star and easily identified it as a Texas Ranger badge. Bringing it close to her eyes, she could see that around the circle it read, Department of Public Safety, Texas Rangers, Company A. Sam was a man with a rich past, just like Jenna, who had the burden of her gran’s scandalous diaries.

  Perhaps a man like Sam would understand if Jenna just explained to him how important her gran’s mementos were to her. Except she remembered her expectation that a judge would understand the legalities of an illegally auctioned desk and return all items found in that desk. She couldn’t take the chance.

  She approached the bed and imagined his big body sprawled there among the blankets and pillows and her stomach jumped. She ran her hand over the footboard, carved with the skull of a longhorn, the long, thin horns reaching from one end to the other. Belts and chaps were draped over one corner, along with the white shirt he’d worn to the concert. Stepping around the numerous boots in jumbled disarray at the foot of the bed, she reached out and snagged the shirt, bringing it to her nose. She was used to sweet-smelling men, but Sam didn’t wear cologne. He didn’t need the artificial scent. Breathing deep, she took in the wonderful, enticing fragrance of Sam.

  She closed her eyes and savored the aroma. It was like no other: leather, wind, soap, raw and all-consuming.

  The front door slammed and Jenna heard quick footsteps cross the foyer and start up the stairs. She hooked the shirt back on the post and headed for the door. She made the threshold just as Maria came to the foot of the stairs.

  Jenna stepped through the open door. She could hardly believe she’d been going so thoroughly through his things. A blush rushed into her cheeks.

  “If you’re looking for Sam, he’s in the barn. I saw him when I dropped Cal off twenty minutes ago. I’m way behind schedule because of that talkative Tooter. Would you mind telling Sam breakfast will be served in a jiffy?”

  Jenna smiled and tried to ease her fast-beating heart. “I’d be happy to. Thanks.”

  She headed for the stairs as Maria went into his bedroom. Jenna could see her gathering up his dirty clothes. She sighed, her only thought was that Sam’s shirt would get washed.

  Halfway to the barn, Jenna started to get nervous, feel as if she’d gotten a glimpse into Sam’s soul. The star and the pocket watch said so much about him and she hungered for more.

  “Sam, are you in here?” The floor of the loft above squ
eaked, and hay and dirt rained down.

  When he came into view, he was naked from the waist up, except for a blue bandanna tied around his strong throat. His dark hair lay thick and wet against the back of his neck.

  The black Stetson sat on his head, she presumed to keep the hair off his face, the brim pulled down so that his intense eyes were in shadow. Shadow that kissed the sleek line of his bare arms and pooled in the hollow of his throat.

  All that was visible was the stubble on his cheeks and chin, which only accentuated his chiseled lips and strong cheekbones. Well-used brown leather gloves covered his hands for protection.

  Her words dried up. She was struck dumb and all she could do was stare. She watched as a trickle of perspiration slid down his chest, over the taut muscles of his stomach to soak into the already wet waistband of his jeans. Jenna licked her lips, almost able to taste the sleek saltiness of his skin.

  He crouched and lowered his voice. “What’s the matter, darlin’? Cat got your tongue?”

  She watched the soft beaten denim stretch and remembered the heavy muscles of Sam’s thighs as he had straddled her the night before. Her voice came out hoarse. “No. Just got a little bit of dust in my eyes.”

  She couldn’t help watching him, her eyes roaming over the sleekness of his chest.

  He hesitated, his blue eyes flashing in the semidarkness of the barn.

  Sam put his hands on the edge of the loft’s floor. With a deft turn, he swung his body off the lip and let himself drop down to the hay below, landing securely on his black-booted feet.

  Sam strode, then stopped just inches from her. Heat radiated off him. The musky smell of him made for a heady combination.

  His eyes caressed her face and she knew that her desire for him was written there. So easy for him to read.

  He stripped off the gloves and moved close to her. “Let me see that dust.”

  He stuck the gloves in his back pocket and leaned even closer. Instinctively she reached out to steady herself and her hand came into contact with his wide chest. His breathing quickened as he peered into her eyes. His hands came up to her face and she flinched suddenly.

  “Steady,” he murmured in a coaxing voice he probably used on his horses and longhorns. His hands were rough and callused from hard work. How could they be so gentle? Jenna ached with the comfort of his hand on her face, with the warmth of his breath on her forehead, stirring the fine strands at her hairline. She could feel the steady strength of his heartbeat beneath her hand where it lay against moist, hard flesh.

  He frowned slightly and said, “They look fine to me. You telling me stories?”

  She gulped, desperate for composure, knowing she wasn’t going to find it with him standing so close. “Okay, I lied. I was a little taken aback by your lack of attire. You don’t see many males running around like that in New York.”

  “My lack of…well, shoot. Does it bother your delicate sensibilities?”

  “No.”

  “No? So it doesn’t bother you?”

  “Yes.”

  “It does.”

  “Not really…Sam, you’re confusing me.” She closed her eyes, hoping, praying for composure.

  He smiled and stepped closer. “Want me to put on a shirt?”

  “No…I mean, yes.”

  He crowded against her. “What is it? Yes or no?”

  “You are exasperating. Your body doesn’t offend me.” She took a deep breath. “I came down here because I thought you might be hungry and Maria’s about to serve.”

  “I know all about hunger, Jenna. The kind that burns in my gut every time you look at me like you’re doing right now.”

  Jenna, feeling trapped, tried to take the upper hand. “Sam, are you going soft on me?”

  Her words died as he slipped his arm around her waist, his forearm tightening against her lower back. Dragging in a ragged breath, he pulled her against him. “Darlin’, there isn’t anything soft about me right now.”

  His hot mouth came down on hers. He was right. Everything about him was hard—his muscles, his demanding mouth, his grim determination, and the part of him that was pressed tightly to her.

  His lips were like warm, moist velvet. She shivered and groaned as his hot mouth closed over hers, so seductively gentle that she leaned into him, heedless of involving her heart, heedless of the consequences. Heedless of her own doubts, her arms went around his neck, knocking the Stetson to the barn floor. Her hands cupped the back of his head, delving into the damp raw silk of his hair. With a soft growl in his throat, he deepened the kiss, his tongue darting into her mouth like a hungry flame that burned hotly yet so sweetly.

  Sam pulled away. He closed his eyes, his face belying the struggle waging within himself. His body shook beneath her hands, evidence of the powerful emotions that were locked inside him.

  She touched his face. His eyes opened, and the vulnerability she saw there once again made her heart ache. This Sam scared her. She liked it better when he used that slow-simmering cowboy charm on her. This open, yearning Sam was alarming and, she had to admit, thrilling.

  For a full minute, he looked down into her face. His free hand came up and he pressed his thumb along her bottom lip. Jenna groaned, her head falling back. She let out a long sigh when he traced her upper lip.

  “Ever done it in the hay?” he whispered. Cupping her face in his hands, he lowered his lips, barely touching her mouth, teasing and tempting her with wispy, nipping bites and a soft brushing. Her breathing quickened when his tongue snaked out and touched her mouth. He tasted rich, dark and forbidden. Without any further urging from her, he once again closed his hungry mouth over hers.

  Her knees buckled and he caught her around the waist, dragging her against his hard body. “Now, darlin’?” he murmured. “How about now?”

  She didn’t have time to respond as his mouth closed over hers again. It was a shock to her that hunger could be so luscious, that domination could taste so sweet. He brushed her lips lightly, a slow slide, his mouth as gentle as the kiss of morning dew. His hand twined into her hair, lifted a strand and let it cascade through his fingers. His eyes were lit from within by an intense, tangible fire. And then he stopped playing games and plundered her mouth, bruised with a fervor that astounded Jenna to the depths of her soul, that ignited a hot flood of desire Jenna never recognized she possessed. She met him, succumbed to him, danced with him in a honeyed waltz of desire and need.

  Jenna dissolved into his sizzling touch, into his heady scent and harsh moans. His mouth moved over her as if he couldn’t get enough and she offered her own sigh of surprise. Heat scorched from his fingertips and crackled from his mouth. Fascination coalesced to craving, sweeping away resistance. Jenna arched against him, her breasts aching for the brush of him. She tortured her own fingers with the silky mantle of his hair and partnered her tongue with his. And when she felt his hand drop to cup her breast, she knew that this was what her grandmother had been talking about.

  Passion.

  She burned with it like an incandescent flame. She knew that if she didn’t grab this time with Sam, she might not find this perfect harmony, this intense meshing ever again.

  He cradled her against the sleek, tough contours of his chest.

  He pulled his mouth away from hers, his breathing ragged, his eyes dilated. She was struck by how thick and long his eyelashes were. His dark, hungry gaze bored into her.

  “Sam?” Tooter’s voice filled the entrance to the barn.

  “Damn,” he muttered, and let her go. “I guess we’ll have to make hay some other time. Damn,” he said again, his voice harsh. He stepped away from her, pulled the gloves out of his back pocket and slid them on, using the simple task to compose himself. Jenna tried, but all she wanted to do was get her hands on Sam. “Go on up to the house and I’ll be up shortly. Tell Maria she can serve in thirty minutes. Can you wait that long?”

  “I don’t think I can wait much longer,” she said quietly, but didn’t give Sam time to s
ay anything as she walked past him. When she saw Tooter, she started to give him an easy smile, but the old man only glared at her as he passed. She stopped and turned to look at his retreating back. Oh, so that was the way it was going to be. The old man kept interrupting them on purpose. She wondered what he had against her personally. When she got a moment, she’d ask Sam. She was accustomed to people liking her and it bothered her that such a nice old man didn’t.

  “SAM?”

  “Back here, Tooter.”

  When the old man came into view, Sam had completely composed himself. Although his blood still pumped heavily through his system, outwardly he was calm. “What is it?”

  “The fella with the feed is here.”

  “Tooter, why are you bothering me with this?”

  “Thought you’d want to know.”

  Sam faced off with the foreman, irritated, frustrated, furious. “That’s interesting, because ever since you were hired on this ranch which was, what, more than twenty years ago, you’ve been handling the feed fella without letting me know a damn thing about it.”

  Tooter shuffled his feet and glared right back at him, just as frustrated. He definitely looked like a man who had something powerful on his chest.

  “Does this have to do with keeping me and Miss Sinclair apart?”

  Tooter scowled mightily. “She’s no good for you, Sam. You can’t see beyond your hormones. She’s just like the ol’ missus.”

  Heat suffused Sam’s chest, mostly because he knew Tooter was right. She was too much like his ex-wife, but at this moment, he just didn’t care. He wanted her. “What I do or don’t do with Miss Sinclair is my business. I don’t need you handling me, Tooter. Just do the job I pay you for.”

  The sudden anger deflated the moment Sam saw the hurt on the old man’s face. Sam bent down and picked up his fallen hat, slicked his hand impatiently through his hair and jammed the hat back on his head. “Look, I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for, but what I’m trying to say is that I’m a grown man and I know what I’m doing.”

  “Do you? I saw the way you were looking at her yesterday when I came to tell you about Black Beauty. I might not be as young as I once was, but I’m not blind.”