He fumbled with her nightgown, sliding it up above her hips. She knew if she was going to stop him that it had to be now. And even as she knew it she knew she was wrong—the moment to stop him was past. He couldn’t stop now.
And neither could she.
Perhaps she’d been kidding herself, thinking she could marry Kurt. She loved him, of course she did. But like a brother, never like this.
The feelings Sam was provoking in her tonight had been building since time out of mind. They were so strong they seemed inevitable. Preordained.
He groped to unfasten the button on his jeans, but his fingers behaved like so many thumbs. He muttered a soft curse and shook his head. His fingers trembled.
Josie smiled. “Let me.”
He stilled, his head dropped against her shoulder, his breath coming quick and harsh while she wrestled to undo the button of his fly and ease down the zipper. Her fingers brushed the urgent press of flesh beneath his briefs and she heard him suck in his breath sharply.
As soon as she had his jeans unfastened, he shrugged them off, then kicked off his briefs.
Now it was Josie’s turn to draw in a sharp breath. She’d seen Sam in swimming trunks. She’d imagined often enough the masculinity concealed beneath them. But the reality of a wholly naked Sam Fletcher was worth appreciating.
Unfortunately there wasn’t time. Not when the wholly naked Sam Fletcher was raising himself over her and settling in between her thighs. Not when she was wrapping her arms and her legs around him, learning—and loving—every warm hard inch of him.
She had never done this with Kurt, had never done it with any man. She should have been frightened, should have been wary. She should have fumbled, stumbled, panicked. She didn’t.
Because no matter how wrong she might later think it was, at the time it only seemed right Because it was Sam—and because even if her mind knew she was making a mistake, her heart knew she’d loved him since the beginning of time.
There was pain, quick and sharp. Sudden stillness as Sam braced himself above her, a look of shock, of sudden recognition in his eyes. They met hers.
Time stopped.
Sam stopped. A fine desperate tremor shook his body. He shuddered with the strain of holding so still. She saw him swallow, saw him bite down hard on his lower lip, holding himself back.
With one finger she lightly traced the hairline at the nape of his neck.
He quivered. He arched his back. His eyes shut tight in his taut face. She eased her hand around and touched his cheek. “Sam,” she whispered, and drew a line toward his mouth. “My Sam.”
His control snapped.
“Ah, Josie,” he muttered, and dropped his head against her shoulder, then surged into her fully. And as Josie’s pain faded her need grew, and she arched up to meet him, to complete him.
She felt him shatter in her arms and drew him close, held him and pressed her face into his shoulder even as he did the same to her. A series of gentle shocks seemed to ripple out from the core of her. There were no fireworks. There was no cataclysm.
But, heaven help her, there was love.
And, because she was a fool, there still was.
Because she was a fool, knowing that he was lying only a few inches from her, albeit on the other side of a wall, Josie remembered—and relived that love again.
The more fool she, because clearly he hadn’t loved her.
She’d learned that quickly enough.
Oh, for the remainder of that night she’d been able to fool herself into believing that he did. She’d stayed in his room, in his bed, holding him in her arms as he slept, and she’d told herself that everything would be all right.
In the morning she would tell Kurt that their engagement had been a mistake. She wasn’t the girl for him. It was only the truth. She’d agreed to the engagement after she’d learned that Sam was going to marry Isobel. Why not? she’d thought, though perhaps not in so many words.
Perhaps she’d even convinced herself that what she felt for Kurt was love. Perhaps it was. But not the sort of love she felt for Sam.
She’d had no power against him that night. When he’d come to her, she could not have said no.
And now she was paying the price.
Marry Sam?
Once she’d thought it was the only thing that would ever make her really happy. Now she knew that to marry him when he loved another woman would be the quickest trip to heartbreak she could take.
No, she’d said. No.
She said it again now. “No.” The sound was faint and empty in the stillness of the night. She tried to hang on to it.
He would be glad, she told herself. He didn’t love her. It had been the whiskey talking that night—whiskey and misery and a loneliness he’d needed to assuage.
“No.” She said it again, more strongly.
She should have said it seven months ago and she knew it.
She knew equally well that she was glad she hadn’t. She pressed her hand to her taut, distended abdomen where Sam’s child curled beneath her heart.
Only to their child did she dare to say yes.
CHAPTER FOUR
JOSIE was three breakfasts away from sanity when she tripped over Humphrey Bogart and dropped the apple cinnamon French toast all over the kitchen floor. “Damn!”
It was the last straw.
She’d been awake most of the night tossing and turning. She’d been remembering—reliving—and listening to Sam toss and turn, too. The walls were thin enough, the beds were close enough—or perhaps she was simply attuned enough—to hear him in the next room.
What had he been thinking?
She didn’t want to know. Her own thoughts were disturbing enough. And the baby seemed to have sensed her distress for it had been equally restless. It seemed she had barely closed her eyes when the alarm pealed at six-thirty.
Slapping it into silence, Josie had staggered up and got dressed, being careful not to look at her ghastly reflection in the mirror while she combed her hair and brushed her teeth. Then she’d crept down the stairs to put breakfast on.
She had four guests doing a daylong bike ride on the Heritage Trail—the path along an old rail bed leading west from Dubuque to Dyersville. They’d asked for an early breakfast so they could leave by eight.
Josie generally had no trouble coping with such requests. This morning she could barely function.
She’d cut her thumb making fruit cups and bled into the bananas. She’d thrown them out. Then she’d burned a pan of sausages. At the rate she was going, Sam would fire her and she could be the one who would leave.
She’d given Errol Flynn Wallace Beery’s slimming food by mistake and spent half an hour tripping over the complaining cat before she’d realized it. Then she’d forgotten that one of her guests was a vegetarian, and had to dash out to retrieve the nicely browned sausages, apologizing because she’d been told and usually she didn’t make mistakes like that. Dashing wasn’t the simple proposition it used to be, either, now that she had a front seat passenger. She’d misgauged where the counter ended and bumped hard into it. To thank her for the bruise, the baby had kicked her.
Five more guests had appeared at the table before she had been ready for them. And then four more before she’d got those fed.
The last three were late, thank goodness, and she had been ready for them—until Humphrey Bogart got in the way and sent French toast and sausages and Josie all over the kitchen floor.
“Oh, drat!”
But before she could do more than gasp, strong arms were lifting her. Sam had her upright in an instant, but he didn’t let go. It was the first time he’d touched her since the night they’d made love, and, while Josie had been telling herself she didn’t want him, one touch and a night’s worth of effort went right out the window.
“Are you all right?”
Shaken as much from his proximity as from her tumble, Josie jerked back. “Fine! I just fell over the dog.” She tried to slip out of his grasp,
but he hung on.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, of course.” It hadn’t been much of a tumble, and she hadn’t landed on her belly. Bumping her hip against the cabinet as she went down had broken her fall, though it would probably leave a bruise. Still, it wasn’t rattling her nearly as much as he was.
“Please,” she said, “let me go. I have to serve breakfast.” I have to get away from you.
“You have to sit down.”
“No, I—”
But Sam turned her, took her by her shoulders, and steered her not toward one of the kitchen chairs but right out the door and into the tiny butler’s pantry. He aimed her at the love seat. “Sit.”
“I can’t! I have to—”
“You have to do what I tell you.”
“Why should I?”
Sam gave her an equable smile. “Because I’ll fire you if you don’t.”
She scowled. “Trust you to pull rank.”
“Whatever it takes,” he said mildly. “If it will make you feel better to fight about it, by all means, go ahead.” He gave her a gentle shove and she toppled back onto the love seat. “But fight sitting down.”
She started to struggle up, but the love seat was deep and the baby was pressing down on her. “The guests need their breakfast!”
“The guests will get their breakfast—as soon as I don’t have to stand over you making sure you stay put.” He tapped a foot so she could see how impatient he was to begin serving. Yeah, right.
Josie narrowed her eyes at him and did her best to look disapproving. Sam didn’t budge. He just kept looming. She had the feeling he would stay there all day if she kept arguing with him.
“Someone has to clean up,” she said.
“Not you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but his brows drew down in a fierce frown.
“Josie. Enough.”
Exasperated, she said, “Fine. Do it yourself. Serve. Clean.” She folded her arms across her breasts. “Stand on your hands and whistle Dixie, for all I care.”
He grinned.
Sam Fletcher had a heart-stopping grin. Quickly she turned her head and reached to pick up a magazine, feigning indifference.
“That’s better.” Sam gave a nod of satisfaction. Then, still grinning, he turned and headed for the kitchen—whistling Dixie.
Josie sat on the love seat and fumed for the better part of an hour, listening to the murmur of Sam’s voice as he talked to the guests. She wished she knew what he was saying, but she couldn’t hear. Probably what a clumsy oaf she was, she thought irritably.
She started to stand and go to the door to listen, but her legs felt oddly rubbery. Had the fall rattled her more than she’d realized? The baby stirred inside her womb, stretching, then thumping.
“You are all right, aren’t you?” Josie asked it worriedly. She sat very still, nervous now, waiting to see if she felt anything that might remotely be described as a contraction.
She’d had some lately. The first few times she’d felt a sort of vague tightening across her abdomen she hadn’t known what it was. The last time she was at the doctor’s she’d asked.
“Contractions,” he’d told her. “A few irregular ones won’t hurt. You don’t want them coming steadily, though. Not yet. Too early.”
“It’s still too early,” she told her unborn child now. “Much too early.”
They had two months to go yet. Josie kept her hand lightly against her abdomen, as if by doing so she could stop them coming. She felt the baby shift again, but that was all. Josie breathed a sign of relief.
Plates clattered in the sink. She heard silverware follow. Breakfast must have adjourned. A cupboard door banged. There was a hiss and an indignant meow. Sam cursed.
The door opened and Sam strode into the room, depositing a protesting Errol Flynn in Josie’s arms. “Here. Take him. Keep him. I’ll be right back with the other two. And the dog. I don’t know how you haven’t killed yourself in there. Those damn animals are underfoot every minute.”
“I’m used to them.” Josie put a protective arm around a still annoyed Errol.
“Well, I’m not.” Sam started back into the kitchen, then stopped. “How are you doing?” The sudden gentleness in his voice cut right through to her heart.
She tried desperately to fend it off. “Fine. I told you.”
“I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”
“I don’t need—”
But apparently he didn’t care what she didn’t need. He left. Moments later he was back, with Wallace Beery and Clark Gable in his arms and Humphrey Bogart tagging along behind.
“They won’t stay,” Josie began.
“They will.” He went out and came back with a treat for the dog and a bowl of milk for the cats.
“They aren’t supposed to have milk.”
“They aren’t supposed to be underfoot, either. It’s a trade-off.”
Josie frowned at him. But the cats seemed pleased. Errol wiggled in her arms until she let him go. Then he hopped down and joined Wallace and Clark around the milk bowl. They all purred. Humphrey looked at Sam and wagged his tail, obviously hoping for another biscuit. Sam gave him one.
“Bribery,” Josie groused.
He flashed her that damnable grin again. “Whatever it takes.” Then, giving her a wink that she pretended not to notice, he shut the door between the kitchen and the sitting room and left her alone with the menagerie.
“‘Whatever it takes,’” she said in irritable mockery.
The door opened again. He was back. “Milk, no sugar. Right?”
At her startled nod, he was gone again.
She slumped against the love seat, rocking back and forth. “Go away,” she said softly. “Please, please. Just go.”
She thought he’d forgotten. It was ten minutes at least. She was glad. Relieved. And then the door opened again and he was there, holding out a cup of tea.
“Thank you.” She said the words warily. She was wary. But she was also thirsty. She took a sip. An involuntary shiver of pleasure coursed through her.
“All right?”
Josie nodded, not trusting her voice.
“That’s okay, then.” He gave her a crooked smile. His hand lifted slightly, opened, then closed into a fist. He turned to go back to the kitchen.
Josie watched him leave and felt tears pricking behind her eyelids. The lump in her throat grew even bigger.
“All right?” she asked herself, just as he had.
No, it wasn’t all right. It wasn’t all right at all.
“Every young woman should have a husband like yours,” Mrs. Jensen said as she handed over her credit card later that morning.
Josie almost ran the slide of the credit card terminal right over her fingers. “What?”
“Such a thoughtful young man. He told us he was serving breakfast so you could rest.”
“Um,” Josie said. “Yes, well, he was a little... insistent.”
“Enjoy it, dear,” Mrs. Jensen urged her. “Not every man is like yours.”
“No.” Josie had no trouble acknowledging that. She fumbled with the charge slip and handed the credit card back.
Mrs. Jensen patted Josie’s hand. “It’s so thoughtful of him to have your rings resized, too.”
Josie’s ringless fingers jerked. “My rings?” she echoed wildly, her eyes bugging.
“Oh, dear. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said. Do you suppose he meant it to be a surprise?”
Josie shook her head numbly. Rings? What rings?
“I noticed you weren’t wearing your wedding ring,” Mrs. Jensen confided. “So I asked him if you’d had the same trouble I had during my pregnancy. My hands and feet swelled up like sausages. I thought the same thing was happening to you.”
Josie felt an uncomfortable warmth steal into her cheeks. She made a vain effort to pull her hand out of Mrs. Jensen’s grasp, but the older lady hung on.
“And Sam—that is his name, isn’t it?—Sam said, yes, you ha
d gotten quite puffy so he’d taken the rings to be resized.”
“P-puffy?” Josie sputtered.
Mrs. Jensen beamed. “That’s kinder than Tom here—” She cast a fond glance over her shoulder at her husband. “He just told everyone I was getting fat.”
“Here, now, I never...” Mr. Jensen protested.
But Mrs. Jensen laughed. “Don’t worry, my dear. I slimmed down again right after the baby came. I’m sure you will, too,” she said to Josie, and gave her hand one last pat while her gaze dropped to study Josie’s ample abdomen. “We’ll be looking forward to meeting your new arrival when we come back in July.”
“Uh, yes.” Josie was floundering and she knew it. Usually she was quite good at remembering her guests’ plans, but she only vaguely remembered the Jensens having made another reservation to stay during the summer.
“Our family reunion, don’t you know?” Mrs. Jensen said cheerfully. “All three of our daughters and their families. Lizzie had a baby at Christmas, so Ashley will be just a few months older than yours. You can compare notes. Your Sam can compare notes with her Mark, too. When Ashley was born, Mark fainted. I bet your Sam won’t.”
Josie didn’t even venture a reply to that.
She just smiled her best cheery-innkeeper smile and prayed the Jensens would leave while she still had a little of her sanity intact.
“Why did you tell them you were my husband?”
Sam, who was standing on the front porch, waving goodbye to the third set of guests he had convinced that he was her spouse, stepped back at the ferocity in her tone.
“I didn’t.”
“No? You didn’t say anything about having my rings resized?”
“Well, one lady said something about your not having any and she didn’t give me the impression of someone who would approve of us living together.”
“We don’t live together!”
“We do now.”
Josie’s teeth came together with a snap. “You know what I mean. And I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t mislead the guests. Especially not ones who will be back in three months expecting to see us all together as one big happy family.”
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