This man wanted him dead, and it was entirely possible that he was going to succeed.
Sam had been wrong about a lot of things, but the most obvious was that he’d been mistaken about the stalker. This guy wasn’t after Ellen. He was after Bob. In the smoke and the darkness, this man thought that Sam was Bob.
Sam had made a mistake with Ellen too. He’d spent the past two evenings under the same roof and he hadn’t gone to her room either night and demanded they talk. He hadn’t fallen down on his knees and confessed his feelings for her.
Maybe she would’ve laughed in his face. But maybe she wouldn’t have.
Maybe she would’ve kissed him. Maybe she would’ve admitted that she felt something for him too. Maybe.
Dammit, he wasn’t going to die without knowing. With a strength he didn’t know he had, Sam rolled over, exposing the back of his head to the sharp wood of the broken chair. The blow nearly took the last of his consciousness, but somehow he managed to turn, gun drawn, and face his attacker. He fired, but the man was gone, vanished into the smoke.
Sam rolled across the table, desperate for air. He could see the flames reflecting off the window, and he pushed himself harder, propelling himself through the air, tucking his head under and diving through the already broken glass.
He hit the sidewalk hard, pain ripping through his battered body. And then there was only black.
TEN
Ellen was in the kitchen when Bob and Sam came home.
She cursed softly at her bad timing. She’d been planning to be upstairs, safely behind her closed bedroom door. She’d been planning not to have to see Sam until the next evening at the earliest.
She briefly considered abandoning the kettle of water that was heating on the stove and the mug with the herbal tea bag she was holding in her hands, and dashing for the stairs.
But she didn’t move quickly enough, and the back door opened.
“You sure you’re all right?” Bob asked, turning to look behind him.
“I need a shower.” Sam’s voice sounded raspy and hoarse.
“You and me both,” Bob agreed.
Ellen dropped the mug she was holding onto the floor, where it bounced before spinning and coming to a rest on its side.
Both men looked as if they’d recently taken jobs as chimney sweeps. Streaks of soot and dirt covered their clothes and faces and hands. And Sam…Sam had an angry welt across his left cheekbone and a cut at the corner of his mouth, along with bright stains of blood on his shirt and in his hair. Blood.
“Hey, babe,” he said, smiling crookedly, painfully at Ellen. “I know I’m risking being lambasted by saying that, but as you can see, I’ve already had my beating tonight, thanks.”
He was trying to be funny, but Ellen didn’t laugh. She crossed her arms, holding on to herself tightly to keep from rushing toward him.
“What happened?” she asked, looking to Bob for a real explanation.
But Sam answered. “Our crazy stalker tried to burn down the Cafe Allessandra. I had a little run-in with him. I think he thought I was Bob.”
Bob?
“We were probably wrong,” Bob admitted. “This guy’s probably been after me this whole time. It would’ve been easy, in the smoke, to think Schaefer was me. We both went back into the room together. But there was no way this guy could’ve mistaken Sam for you. The only part we haven’t quite figured out is the obscene phone calls.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. It’s possible this guy doesn’t want to talk to you, Bob. He just wants to kill you. He did say, ‘He’s back,’ right after you returned from Boston,” Sam pointed out.
“Wait a minute,” Ellen interrupted. “What happened tonight? Start from the beginning.”
Sam pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and painfully lowered himself into it. “Someone—probably our stalker—threw a smoke bomb through the window of the back dining room. Then someone—probably the same man—came in and, in the confusion, lit the curtains and some gasoline-soaked rags on fire, heating up the place. Someone previously—and it’s not a long stretch to assume we’re talking about the same guy—disconnected the restaurant’s sprinkler system.”
“And then, after Sam and I went back to search for Verna Horton, who was missing, someone wearing a gas mask and fireman’s getup tried to bludgeon Sam to death with a wooden chair,” Bob added. “I, of course, was no help during this, because I had found Verna about three steps away from the door and had taken her out the back. By then the fire department had arrived, and they wouldn’t let me back inside to help Sam.
“I went around to the front of the restaurant, where the window was, because that’s where Sam told me he’d meet me, but before I even got there, I saw him come flying out of the window like Batman.”
“Batman would’ve landed on his feet,” Sam told Bob.
“After the paramedics revived him—”
Ellen couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Revived him? My God!”
“…we took a little side trip to the hospital, where Sam toured the X-ray department—”
“Nothing’s broken,” Sam volunteered. “Just bruised.”
“Those restaurant chairs are heavy,” Bob said. “If this guy had swung it hard enough and connected with Sam’s head…I could damn well be coming home alone right now.”
Ellen drew in a sharp breath. Sam glanced up at her, but he didn’t deny what Bob had said. He could have been killed.
“I was just glad you weren’t there, Ellen,” Sam said quietly, his eyes so somber.
Ellen couldn’t help herself. She took a step toward Sam, and then another step.
He pushed himself up and out of that chair, holding his arms open for her.
She held him as tightly as she dared, uncaring of the grime and soot that stained his clothes.
“This looks like my cue to leave,” Bob said. “See you kids in the morning.”
She could hear his footsteps fading away down the hall. She could hear Sam’s heart pounding in his chest. It sounded so strong, so powerful. But while she was sitting at home, reading a book, that heart had very nearly stopped beating.
“I want to be with you tonight,” he said softly.
Ellen’s voice shook. “You should be in the hospital.”
She lifted her head to look up at him, and she could see exhaustion in his face. Still, somehow he managed to smile.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I probably should be. But I wanted to be here more.” He pushed her hair back from her face, and his smile faded away, leaving behind only lines of pain at the corners of his mouth and a soft vulnerability in his eyes. “There’s something about almost dying that makes you want to be near the people you love,” he whispered.
Ellen couldn’t breathe. He didn’t mean that. He couldn’t have meant that. He was exaggerating. He was simply using this emotion-fraught situation to secure himself a place in her bed.
But Ellen didn’t care about his motivation or his exaggerations. She only knew that what he wanted, she wanted too. She had no choice.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll help you get cleaned up.”
He tried not to lean on her as she helped him into the elevator, but she knew that every step he took hurt. He met her eyes after she pushed the button for the third floor—after he realized that she was taking him to her room.
“Amazing,” Sam said. “I feel better already.”
The human body had a truly remarkable resilience. Sam had a bruise on his shoulder that had already started turning rainbow shades when he’d had it X-rayed at the hospital. He’d come damn close to death from suffocation, and he’d had a blow to the head that had made him see stars and still made him feel a little dizzy. He wasn’t completely sure that there weren’t stray pieces of glass in his backside, he was dead tired, and he couldn’t remember the last time so many parts of his body had hurt or stung or ached.
Except for one part of his body. One part of his body didn’t hurt at all. And it was that
part of his body—his heart—that was beating in triple time as Ellen led him out of the elevator and down the hall to her bedroom.
She locked the door behind them. Sam loved the sound of that bolt sliding home. It promised other, softer, far more intimate sounds.
“This room has a Jacuzzi in the bathroom,” Ellen told him. “Do you want me to run you a bath?”
“Is it big enough for two?”
She led him to the bathroom door. It was. It was enormous. The bathroom with its separate shower stall and double sinks was almost larger than his entire studio apartment.
“Will you join me?” he asked softly.
She gently disengaged herself from his grasp and began running warm water into the gleaming tub. She looked incredibly good, dressed in a pair of baggy sweatshorts and a tank top with a row of tiny buttons down the front. Her long, gracefully shaped legs were bare, as were her feet. She had red nail polish on her toes, and her skin seemed to glisten in the soft light.
“Please?” he added, his heart in his throat.
She looked up at him and smiled crookedly. “You know that I will. Do you really think I’d bring you in here, lock the door, and then not get naked with you?”
“With you, I don’t know,” he admitted.
“You just have to promise to tell me if you’re in pain.”
“I’m in pain.” He smiled. “But it has nothing to do with getting beat up.”
She dried her hands and crossed toward him. “Just do me a favor? What you said before? Downstairs? Don’t say it again.”
Love. He’d used the dreaded L-word. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I scared myself too. But…it’s true.”
“Truth can be so difficult to measure.”
“Stop quoting cryptic Chinese cookie fortunes,” he told her, “and kiss me.”
She came willingly into his arms. Her mouth was so gentle, her lips so sweet.
Sam had never been quite so glad to be alive.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” she murmured, her fingers unbuttoning the tattered remains of his shirt.
He winced as he tried to push his shirt off his bruised shoulder, then gave up trying and just let Ellen do it.
She gasped as she saw the purple and brown of his skin. “Oh, Sam.”
It was worth it. Every last bump and bruise and welt was worth it—just to know that she cared. “It looks worse than it really is,” he lied.
“That must hurt so badly.”
“I’m fine.”
She gave him a long look and he knew she wasn’t fooled. But she didn’t say anything. She just knelt down and untied his sneakers, then supported him while he kicked them off.
She glanced briefly up into his eyes as she unfastened the buckle of his belt. There was no doubt that she’d noticed his arousal. He pulled her closer, lifting her mouth to his for a long, searing kiss as he pressed the palm of her hand against the hard bulge in his pants. He heard her moan, felt her fingers curl around him.
Oh, yes, he was very glad to be alive. “Told you I was feeling fine,” he murmured.
He fumbled with the tiny buttons on her top until he gave up and just pulled it over her head, with her help. Her bra followed just as easily, and he staggered at the incredible sensation of her full breasts pressed against his chest as she kissed him again. He hooked his fingers in both her shorts and her panties, sweeping them down her smooth legs in one swift motion. And then she was naked.
And embarrassed. He could see it in her eyes and on her face as he pulled back to look at her, and he didn’t know why. She was beautiful—all soft curves and smooth skin and sweet female flesh.
“No fair,” she said, trying to hide the blush that tinged her cheeks. “You still have your pants on.”
“We can change that in a second.” He skimmed his pants down his legs and stepped gingerly out of them. His shorts were a little more difficult to get rid of, but with Ellen’s help, he finally succeeded.
She went into the tub then, slipping under the cover of the water. Sam stepped in more slowly, gingerly lowering himself down. He had about a thousand scrapes on his arms, shoulders, and back that he knew would sting really badly.
But it barely hurt at all when Ellen smiled at him. She rubbed her hands with a bar of soap and, starting with his fingers, began to wash him with her hands.
It felt decadently good as her hands traveled up his arms. She was so gentle and careful of his bruises, yet at the same time, she succeeded in washing him clean. And turning him totally on.
He used his own hands to quickly wash his face, wincing as the soap stung the scrape on his cheek. He dunked his head back, rinsing his hair. When he came back up, he used his hands to squeeze the water from his hair and his face.
Ellen straddled his thighs so that she could gently wash his chest and shoulders. “You’ve got some bruises along your ribs too. You’re going to be sore tomorrow.”
She leaned forward to kiss him and he moved her hips forward so that she was pressed against the length of him. It was a dangerous thing to do. One thrust of his hips would send him deeply inside of her. And without birth control or protection, that would be sheer insanity.
But sheer insanity had never been so tempting before.
“I’m going to be better than fine—especially if I can wake up in your bed, next to you.” He moved to kiss her again, but she pulled back.
“Oops,” she said. “You don’t know. Of course you don’t know—I didn’t tell you.”
He tried to pull her back to him, burying his face in the cool, wet softness of her breasts, not completely paying attention. “Didn’t tell me what?”
“I got cast in a commercial. I have to be at the studio tomorrow at six A.M.”
He sat very still, her words finally penetrating. “Six A.M. in the morning?”
Ellen smiled. “That’s generally what A.M. means.”
Sam closed his eyes. “Man, that sucks.” He opened his eyes. “I mean, God, it’s great that you got the job, babe, but, wow. Six A.M.” It already was long after midnight. He was going to be hurting big time tomorrow if he had to be somewhere at six.
“You can wake up in my bed,” Ellen told him, “but I won’t be next to you.”
“Yes, you will. Because I’m going to get up and go with you.”
She moved against him, so agonizingly tempting, he had to clench his teeth to keep from groaning aloud. He had to find a condom. Now. Right now.
“You’re so sweet,” she whispered, taking his earlobe between her teeth. “I guess I won’t yell at you for calling me babe.”
“No, did I really?”
She was poised over him, driving him slowly insane, testing the edge of his control. “You most certainly did,” she told him as he ignored the pain in his shoulder and reached for his pants and the condom in his wallet, pulling Ellen out of the water with him as he covered himself.
“God,” he said, glancing up and smiling into her gorgeous brown eyes. “Sorry, babe.”
She dissolved into laughter, and he felt it again—that incredible sense of joy and happiness he’d felt the last time they’d made love. It wasn’t going to get any better than this.
But when he lowered them both back down into the water, and she shifted her hips, pushing herself down on top of him, it did get better.
Sam kissed her, afraid if he didn’t occupy his mouth he’d try to tell her the way she made him feel.
He loved her.
It was almost absurd. He was always the one backing away from the L-word, running for cover from the threat of the C-word—commitment. Yet somehow he’d managed to fall for a woman who needed him to damn near die before she could admit that she cared even the least little bit about him.
He wanted to shout that he loved her, but he didn’t dare.
Still, she’d seemed to be okay with the idea that he would spend what little remained of the night in her bed. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?
God, he was scar
ed to death. He was terrified of the emotions he was feeling, and terrified that she’d be terrified of the way he felt, too, if she found out just how deeply he loved her. It was one giant terrorfest.
Not only that, but he was afraid he was going to wake up tomorrow and the intensity of his emotions would be totally gone. At the same time, he was also afraid he was going to wake up tomorrow and all of his feelings would still be there, that he’d still love her. He was afraid she didn’t see him as more than a short, hot fling. He was afraid she was going to break his heart, the way he’d broken dozens of hearts before. Casually. Callously. Barely even aware of the damage done.
He was afraid to talk to her, afraid to find out that she actually did find him beneath her because he hadn’t gone to college. He was afraid even to think about it.
The only thing he wasn’t afraid of was making love to Ellen. He knew without a doubt that it was the only time he truly had power over her. When he made love to her, she was his, completely.
He drove himself more deeply inside of her, again and again, setting a rhythm he knew she loved, and she clung to him, her head thrown back, her full breasts taut with her arousal. He felt the beginnings of her release, and it pushed him over the edge. His own release was hot and fierce, a scorching fireball of sensation that made him cry out her name, leaving him dizzy and near delirious in its aftermath.
He couldn’t keep from laughing. It seemed impossible that he could feel so incredibly, mind-blowingly good after the hell of the past evening.
Ellen sighed, her face pressed against his neck. “Hold me,” she breathed. “My muscles have turned to mush, and if you let me go, I’ll be just another Jacuzzi drowning statistic.”
“I won’t ever let you go,” Sam whispered, wishing with all of his heart that she would let him make his words be true.
She was silent then, as if she, too, caught his underlying meaning. She drew in another deep breath, and it seemed to catch, as if on a sob.
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