There was nothing they could do but wait.
And talk.
And open a second bottle of Bob’s expensive champagne.
Ellen had told Sam a little bit—just a little bit—about her twelve-year farce of a marriage to Richard. He’d told her a little bit about his childhood in Brooklyn—growing up the son of a second-generation New York City cop, and the pressure he’d felt as the eldest son to follow in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps and join the police force. They’d talked about books and movies. They’d touched on the latest fashion trends and argued about the future of pop music. They’d talked about the best place to get Chinese food in the city, and the best place in the Village to get a Middle Eastern meal.
She hadn’t told him about her children. As dearly as she loved Lydia and Jamie, she wanted—for just one night—to feel young and wild. And someone young and wild and on the verge of kissing a man nearly ten years her junior surely didn’t have a fifteen-year-old daughter and a thirteen-year-old son.
And he was going to kiss her. Ellen realized he was simply taking his time. She liked him even more for that, and she loved the anticipation that seemed to stretch way out with each passing second.
He was gazing at her lips now, and he glanced up into her eyes one last time before he leaned forward and covered her mouth with his own.
He skipped all the rules of a traditional first kiss and swept his tongue possessively into her mouth, as if they’d been lovers for years. He tasted like champagne, sweet and delicious as he kissed her deeply, passionately. She felt herself respond to him completely, fire racing through her veins. Lord, it had been so long….
She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but she was still holding her wineglass.
Sam lifted his head long enough to take the glass from her hand and set it down next to his. And then he kissed her again, as if he’d never stopped—as if he never intended to stop again.
His hair was impossibly soft as she ran her fingers through it. His arms and his back were incredibly hard, his muscles taut and firm. But even as her hands explored his body, his hands did the same to her, touching her hair and the bare skin of her arms, sending shivers of desire down her back.
She was in big trouble here….
“Ellen, I want to make love to you.” His fingers found the edge of her shirt and swept up along her skin, covering the softness of her breast, caressing her, touching her so intimately.
She may not have been scared before, but now she was scared to death—not from the way Sam touched her, but from the way his touch made her feel.
Ellen wanted to make love to him too.
Desperately.
She pulled away from him, nearly leaping all the way across the limo.
Sam knew he’d gone too far, and he apologized instantly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I didn’t mean to…”
From the other side of the limo, Ellen laughed. It was shaky, but it was a laugh. “If that was the way you kiss when you don’t mean to, I’m afraid to have you kiss me when you do mean to.”
She was gorgeous. With her blouse half untucked from her skirt and her hair disheveled and her mouth slightly swollen from the roughness of his five o’clock shadow, she was breathtakingly sexy. Her pulling away from him that way should have made him start to cool down. Instead he felt himself grow even harder.
She reached for her glass and took a long, bracing swallow. As Sam watched, she licked a drop of wine from her beautiful lips, and about a hundred incredible fantasies flashed crazily through his mind.
None of which were going to happen tonight, he told himself firmly. Yes, he’d kissed her, and yes, she’d kissed him back as if she’d spent the past decade on a desert island without a man. Yes, she’d surprised him and totally turned him on with the intensity of her response. Yes, she’d kissed him in a way he’d never been kissed before, but the reality of the situation was that she wasn’t going to sleep with him tonight.
He took a deep breath, and let it out quickly, shifting slightly in his seat. “So, why did you come to New York? Most people go to Connecticut for the summer to escape the heat.”
The telephone rang, and Sam laughed. “I’m destined to never hear the answer to that question.” He reached to switch on the speakerphone as he’d seen her do earlier.
“Heard another traffic report,” Ron announced. “They got that little girl out of that car, and the last of the choppers left for the hospital. They’re going to start working now to clear the road. Should be no more than another ten minutes before we start moving.”
“Thanks, Ron,” Ellen said.
Sam switched off the phone. “Maybe we should call the deli and order so that we don’t have to wait—we can just pick up the food.”
“You still want to have dinner?”
“Yeah, I’m starving, aren’t you?”
Ellen moved back across the limo so that she could reach the phone. It also put her within his reach, but he was careful to stay securely in his corner, hoping that after she made her phone call she’d stay where she was too. And then he could start inching his way in her direction….
“Hi, Ron?” she said into the phone. “Are you still up for stopping at Carnegie Deli? You are? Great. We’re going to call in our order—what can we get for you?” She paused. “I’m probably going to have a Reuben sandwich. You too? Excellent. We’ll call it in.” She hung up the phone and quickly dialed another number.
“How long have you been in town?” Sam asked.
She glanced at him. “Four days.”
“And you’ve already memorized the phone number of Carnegie Deli? I’m impressed.”
Ellen smiled at him. “I made a vow not to cook all summer long. And since Bob takes his chef with him when he goes out of town, we’ve—I’ve—been living on takeout—Hello? Darn, they put me on hold. Ron and I are having a Reuben. What do you want, Sam?”
What do you want, Sam? It was one hell of a loaded question. Her cheeks flushed slightly as he simply gazed at her. He wanted her, and she knew it.
“Just make it three,” he finally said. “Get us some potato knishes, too, and a half a pound of cole slaw. Oh, and cheesecake. Definitely cheesecake.”
Ellen placed the order, then hung up the phone. Sam willed her not to move, and she didn’t.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” she said. “Take the entire summer off and come to New York City, I mean. I usually teach a summer course or two.”
“You’re a teacher?”
“College professor. Freshman English.”
He moved a little closer. “What colleges are in Connecticut? I can’t think of a single one besides the University of Hartford—”
“I teach at Yale,” she told him.
“Yale,” he repeated. “Yeah, Yale would be in Connecticut, wouldn’t it? Yale, huh? As in really smart kids and even smarter professors?”
“It’s not that big a deal.”
“I think I’m intimidated,” he said, inching toward her.
Ellen laughed. “You? I don’t think the word’s in your vocabulary.”
“Do you have, like, a master’s degree or something?”
“A Ph.D.”
“So I’m sitting here, about to put the moves on Doctor Ellen Layne?”
“Are you intending to put ‘the moves’ on me again?”
Sam inched closer. “I have a thing for smart women.”
Ellen rolled her eyes. “Something tells me you have a thing for women. Period.”
“We’re not talking about me right now,” Sam pointed out as he moved close enough to take her hand. “We’re talking about you. So, you blew off your summer teaching gig to come to the city for the summer—obviously not to make the rounds of the art museums.”
She had nice hands—fingers that were nearly as long as his but much more slender, with well-manicured nails, and soft, smooth skin. She wore no jewelry, no rings. She wasn’t one of those divorced peop
le who clung to the past by refusing to remove her wedding band. That was a good sign.
Ellen gazed down at their hands, at the way he caressed the inside of her wrist with a slow movement of one finger.
“Actually,” her voice was slightly breathless, “I came to New York to try my hand at being an actress.” She looked up into his eyes and smiled. “In addition to memorizing Carnegie’s phone number, I’ve also gone on five different auditions in the past four days. One of them was for a part in a soap opera.” She laughed. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I actually get the job.”
“Move to New York.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Hey, it sounds like it’s been pretty easy so far. Most people come to New York to be an actor and it takes them years just to find an agent to send them on auditions. First week you’re here, you’re reading for what, Guiding Light? As the World Turns?”
“Actually, it’s a new show in development. How do you know so much about this?”
“An…ex-neighbor of mine finally got a part on ATWT, only to get killed off a few weeks later—her character, that is. I, um, helped her load her truck when she decided to head for Los Angeles.” He didn’t quite meet Ellen’s eyes, using the fact that the limo was moving as an excuse to look out the window. “Here we go,” he said. “Finally.”
Ex-neighbor, huh? Ellen somehow doubted the ex-neighbor, whoever she was, would have described her relationship with Sam in quite those words. Ex-girlfriend, perhaps. Or maybe ex-lover.
But Ellen didn’t really want to know. She didn’t want to care. In fact, she refused to care. Sam Schaefer was with her tonight. She wasn’t interested in anything more than right here and right now. The past didn’t matter, nor the future. All she had to worry about was this single moment in time, with his fingers caressing her hand, and his eyes caressing her face.
Ellen knew in that moment that she was going to kiss Sam again. Probably more than once. But she was a big girl. She was a full-grown woman. She could tell the difference between reality and fantasy—and what was happening here in this limousine was definitely fantasy. This man was not only far too young for her, but he was clearly not the type who invested in the long term when it came to relationships. It was more than obvious that everything they said and did in this protective bubble inside the limo would dry up and blow away the second they tried to bring it out into the real world.
“So, how’d you get an agent so quickly?” he asked, once more able to look into her eyes.
“It’s usually one of these weird vicious-circle things,” she said. “You know, you can’t get an agent until you land a job, and you can’t get a job until you have an agent?”
Sam nodded. “So I’ve heard.”
“Well, I lucked out last spring. I was in the right place at the right time, and—trumpet fanfare please—I was cast in a national TV commercial. After that, I got to pick my agent. I picked a good one.”
“What’s the commercial for? Have I seen it?”
Ellen shook her head. “Probably not. It’s supposed to start running some time this summer, but I don’t think it’s out yet. It’s one of those awful laundry detergent commercials. I play a mom who’s mistaken for her teenage daughter because her clothes are so clean. Or something.”
“There’s no way you’re old enough to have a teenage daughter.”
Ellen just smiled.
“So…what if you do get this soap opera job? Would you leave Yale?”
She answered him as honestly as she could. “If it were simply a question of what I wanted to do, yeah, maybe I would. When I first started out, I loved teaching, but…” She shook her head. “These past few years I’ve been dragging myself to work. I’m afraid I’m burned out. I feel like I’m wasting my students’ time and money. I feel so ineffective and exhausted and why am I telling you this? You don’t want to hear this.”
Sam squeezed her hand. “Hey, don’t try to second-guess what I do or don’t want to hear. This is obviously something that’s bothering you, and, as a matter of fact, I can relate.”
Without his devil-may-care smile, he looked harder, older, and remarkably world-weary.
“To tell you the truth, Ellen, I’ve been trying to deal with burnout too. It’s hard to walk away, though, when the precinct’s staffed with too few people who know what the hell’s going on and too many people who don’t.” He laughed, but it was a harsh, brittle sound. “And of course, there’s my father. I don’t know how the hell to tell him I’m tired of living his dream. And what do I do if I do leave? I’ve got to weigh all that baggage against the fact that I feel like I’m not getting the job done. I’ve started wondering if maybe I’m a risk to the men and women I’m working with, and…It makes for some sleepless nights, if you know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Ellen whispered. “How can I give up my tenure and my position at Yale for a short-term contract as an actress in a soap opera? If the job doesn’t work out, then what? I’ve got bills to pay.” College educations to help pay for. Lord, the thought was terrifying. “Yet at the same time, I’ve got to think about the kids I’m trying to teach. They deserve a teacher who wants to be there with them. I’m hoping this summer in New York will give me what I need. Maybe I don’t need a major change in my life.” She snorted. “Other than the obvious change I got when I kicked Richard out. I’m hoping I just need a vacation.”
“Maybe what you need is a summer romance.”
Their gazes locked. Ellen could feel her heart pounding, feel the recent memory of his lips against hers. And then he touched her, lightly trailing his fingers through her hair, along her cheek, down to her chin.
All of his charming, cheerful, lighthearted facade was still stripped away, leaving bare the emotions on his face and the stark heat in his eyes. “Maybe this summer we’ll both find what we’re looking for,” he added quietly.
What awful things had he seen with those seemingly ancient eyes? Ellen had to wonder what had happened to make this man doubt himself so completely. Or maybe it wasn’t any one specific thing. She’d watched her share of police dramas on TV, and she’d turned her head away at the sight of ghastly, awful crimes. But that was just fiction. Sam’s life was real. He lived the awfulness and the danger every single day.
He tugged her closer, and she went into his arms, lifting her mouth to his.
Again his lips seemed so familiar, his kiss like coming home. It was the strangest thing. Because for years no one had touched her but Richard.
She’d been scared to become sexually involved again after her divorce. For the past three years, she’d stayed far away from men because she’d been afraid that she wouldn’t care for another man’s touch. She was frightened she’d regret her decision, terrified she’d be forced to face the fact that she’d left the only man she’d ever wanted. Richard, despite his failures in the fidelity department, had been an extremely accomplished lover.
But she had been wrong—really wrong.
She wanted Sam with a dizziness that made her glad his arms were around her, holding her tightly, keeping her from falling.
His kisses were familiar and at the same time so utterly different, so passionate, so alive. He kissed her fiercely, possessively, with a scarcely contained desperation.
How long had it been since she’d felt needed like this?
There were other differences too. The way he smelled. Like Richard, he wore a cologne, but his was less spicy, more natural. It was lighter, fresher, more elusive. His lips were softer, his beard sharper, his hair silkier, his arms bigger.
Sam was both bigger and smaller than Richard. He was shorter than Richard by at least three inches. But while Richard had been slender, almost willowy, Sam was muscular and powerfully built. His legs were stronger, his chest broader, his shoulders wider, his arms harder, his hands larger. It was a strange sensation to feel those strange arms around her, to feel those strange hands exploring her body, touching her breasts.
Sam pulled back, breathing hard. “We’re almost at the deli. But suddenly I’m not so hungry anymore.”
Ellen looked into the eyes of this man who wasn’t Richard as she extracted herself from his arms. “I’m not either,” she admitted, losing herself in the crackling blue fire burning there. She smiled and began putting on her sandals. “But someone’s got to buy Ron his sandwich.”
FOUR
Ron still thinks you’re T. S. Harrison,” Ellen told Sam as she unwrapped one of the Reuben sandwiches. “He told me he used his car phone to call his wife and tell her he was driving you around. He was so excited, I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.”
She was sitting across from him, her sandals once again kicked off, her legs tucked up underneath her. As Sam watched, she took a bite of her sandwich. She held it up and used her tongue to catch some of the Thousand Island dressing spilling out from between the bread.
He was staring. He knew he was staring, but he was mesmerized by her mouth. He couldn’t think of anything besides how much he wanted to kiss her again.
That wasn’t entirely true. He could think of one other thing—the condom he had bought from the vending machine in the deli men’s room. It was burning a hole in his pocket.
He wasn’t really sure why he’d bought it. Maybe it was the way she’d kissed him right before they arrived at the deli. Maybe it was wishful thinking.
He’d spent most of the past few hours believing that if he was going to get lucky with Ellen Layne, it wasn’t going to happen tonight. But then he was standing there in front of that vending machine, and he had a sudden, incredibly sharp, amazingly clear image in his head of Ellen, in his arms, minus most of her clothes, stretched out in the backseat of that limousine. So he bought a condom. God forbid he be caught without one.
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