Her? Now that was a laugh. His heroines were known for their feistiness, their fiery tempers and vivacity, their ability to take someone in hand and whip him into shape--except the hero, of course. Was that why she liked his heroines so much, because they were all the things she wasn't, but secretly longed to be?
She smiled in spite of herself. She wasn't sure she'd want to change even if she could. "Not a chance."
"Oh, come on." Jason's tone was cajoling. "So what if you're not a woman with a past?" He tipped his head to the side and smiled engagingly, while eyeing her a bit quizzically. "If you're not originally from Astoria, where are you from?"
Samantha gave in with a sigh. This was a man who could probably charm a pirate into walking the plank-ever so willingly. "I was born in Kansas City, Missouri," she finally told him.
He nodded. "And raised there, too, I'll bet—" He stopped when she smilingly shook her head. "No? Well, then, spit it out! Where were you raised?"
A smile curved her lips. "Here, there and everywhere," she murmured lightly.
Jason stopped his shredding long enough to survey her with a curious squint. "Where--exactly?"
She began to slice the cucumber into the bowl, took a deep breath and began her spiel. "Toledo, Ohio; Lincoln, Nebraska; Reno, Nevada; Billings, Montana; Evansville, Indiana; Waco, Texas; Flagstaff, Arizona; Oshkosh, Wiscon—"
"Whoa, slow down!" He eyed her in disbelief. "You're not serious!"
"Oh, but I am." Her lashes shielding her eyes, she continued her slicing. "And all before the age of twelve." Though the memory wasn't what she would call welcome, she kept her smile firmly glued in place. "But at least I can say I've been relatively stable the last few years. I've stayed in the same state, and any move I made was my choice."
There was an empty silence. Samantha could feel Jason's eyes on her but didn't look up. He'd wanted to know—well, now he did. "Don't tell me," he said slowly, "your father was a pilot who decided to move his family along with every flight."
"For all I know, he could be by now." Her light tone wasn't at all in keeping with the dark shadow of memory creeping over her. "It would be the perfect job for dear old dad."
Gentle fingers firmly removed the knife from her grasp. Jason took her by the shoulders and raised her chin with a finger. "Not a pleasant childhood, I presume?"
Samantha reluctantly met his eyes. If he laughed at her now! "It had its moments," she admitted a bit grudgingly. All too few, though. She'd hated being constantly on the move; it seemed she had no more than gotten settled in school when her father was yanking her out. She'd soon learned there was little point in making friends; she wouldn't be there long enough to keep them before her father uprooted his family once again in search of another harebrained scheme. Real estate ventures, restaurant partnerships, car sales. . . too many jobs to count. "It's the opportunity of a lifetime," he'd always proclaimed enthusiastically. And so it was . . . until the next one came along.
Jason's voice was strangely gentle. "You haven't seen your father in quite some time?"
Fourteen years. Yes, that was quite some time. Her lashes dropped and she nodded.
"What happened?" There was a kind of gentle insistence in his voice.
"Can't you tell? I'm the product of a broken home," she responded lightly. And a broken marriage. She pushed the thought aside. "My parents divorced after dear old dad faded into the sunset one day." She shrugged and turned her lips up in an artificial smile, trying to shake the sudden dark mood. Gently disengaging herself from Jason's grip, she began to toss the salad. "What about you?" she asked with false brightness. "Any ghosts lurking in your past?"
There was an instant's silence. He took the hint and moved away, searching in the drawer for a pair of hot mitts. "None that you'd be interested in," he finally responded. He pressed a warm kiss on the back of her neck before turning to the oven.
"Unfair," Samantha objected, ignoring the sudden lurch of her heart at his touch. He turned around, a steaming dish in his hands. She picked up the salad bowl and followed him into the dining room. "That's an evasive answer if ever I've heard one."
Jason merely shrugged and set the dish on a trivet in the center of the table. It was elegantly set, complete with gleaming crystal and china, linen table cloth and napkin. Before they sat down, he dimmed the lights and struck a match to the slender taper in the center of the table.
In spite of the disturbing conversation about her father, Samantha found herself relaxing. The talk between them was light and sporadic but altogether comfortable. It wasn't until they had both finished eating that he pushed aside their plates and caught her eye, his brown eyes gleaming.
"Well, did I lie?"
Samantha eyed him over the flickering flame of the candle. "About what?"
He sighed. "My lasagna--best in the west. How was it?"
She laughed, unable to stop herself. The sauce had been rich, meaty and flavorful, seasoned with fresh herbs and spices. It had been delicious. The salad, too, had been light and crisp, the flavor enhanced by the dressing Jason claimed to have stirred up himself. It had been a perfect meal. "It was fantastic," she said warmly. "Everything you said and more."
"At last a woman who appreciates the finer things in life." His eyes met hers across the table, warm and glowing, and Samantha was reminded of that gentle kiss on her nape. A sudden heat warmed her body.
She took a nervous sip of the full-bodied red wine he'd served with the meal. "Where did you learn to cook like that?"
"My parents have an Italian restaurant in Los Angeles. My mother makes the pasta, my father the sauce."
She looked up with interest. "Any brothers or sisters?"
Jason nodded his head good-naturedly. "Two older sisters. When I was growing up, I never knew if I was supposed to play with dolls or trucks."
A tiny smile curved her lips as she eyed him beneath half-closed lids. He was leaning back in his chair and smiling across at her. The smile lines around his eyes and near his mouth were oddly appealing. His shirt was open at the throat, revealing a tangle of crisp curling hairs. He'd rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, and her eyes lingered on those muscular forearms. Her pulse skittered alarmingly and she stifled an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. No, living with two sisters had certainly never had the slightest effect on his masculinity. He was as intensely virile as any man she had ever met--either in the flesh or between the pages of a book!
"You know, I think my mother would like you."
Samantha's eyes flew up to his. "Would she?"
"I know she would. There's a lot to like." His voice was undeniably warm, but Samantha felt her cheeks color slightly. She wasn't quite sure how to take the remark. Did he mean inside or outside? Surely not outside. She was an average American female in looks, manner and every other way. The type of woman a man wouldn't mind taking home to his mother, the type who would never pose a threat to another woman, be it mother, sister or lover. She'd never minded before. Why was she suddenly wishing for cover-girl looks?
The answer was sitting across from her in the form of an undeniably attractive man, a man who could probably have any woman of his choosing. So what was he doing here with an ordinary-looking nobody like her?
She cleared her throat and traced a finger around the rim of her glass. "How long did you say you'd be staying?"
"Here in Neskowin?"
"Yes."
"Most of the summer, I imagine." He shrugged. "However the mood strikes me."
Somehow that grated against her, but she ignored it. "You mentioned yesterday that this was a working vacation. You're writing another book then?"
He nodded and pushed back his chair, then came to her and pulled her to her feet. "Not that I'm trying to change the subject, but I hope you weren't counting on dessert. It completely slipped my mind." He gave a gentle tug on both her hands and drew her a step closer. "Unless you don't mind a substitute?"
Samantha's gaze focused on the strongly beating pulse in his thr
oat, faintly obscured by bristly dark hairs. Something in his tone brought her eyes to his in a flash. She moistened suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue. "I have the feeling this is the male version of coffee, tea or me."
A slow smile spread across his lean features. His eyes followed the movement of her tongue on its unconsciously provocative path around her mouth. "You're a perceptive woman, Samantha Monroe," he said softly.
A blatant invitation to his bed couldn't have been more clear. Something leaped inside her for a second but she stilled the wild impulse and deliberately chose to misunderstand. She looked quickly away. "That's a tall order," she said lightly. "A little too tall for my tastes."
Jason shrugged his wide shoulders. "Only if you make it that way."
Samantha swallowed. Her eyes slid back to his face. "I—I thought we settled this yesterday."
"And I thought maybe you'd had a change of heart."
His easy smile pulled at her heartstrings, but she tugged her hands free. "We just met yesterday," she began uncertainly, wishing she could be more sure of him, and herself, as well. "We really shouldn't—"
His hearty chuckle pulled her up short. "Ever the soul of discretion, aren't you?" He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him tightly. "Just kidding, Samantha," he said with a soft laugh. "Just kidding."
But moments later she wasn't so sure. Samantha found herself drawn along with him to the wide expanse of glass facing the ocean. The sun was a fiery ball of orange as it prepared to slip below the horizon. The endless sheet of water was bathed in a shimmering shade of amber and gold. Wispy clouds tinged with lavender and pink lay just above the surface.
"Made to order just for us, wasn't it?"
Samantha made no comment, barely able to breathe for the warmth of the muscular arm still wrapped around her.
"The view is even better from upstairs."
His fingers burned a fiery imprint into her upper arms. She swallowed. "Is it?" was all she could manage from the tight knot of awareness in her throat.
"Mmm." A warm mouth brushed her temple.
"From.. .the bedroom, I suppose." That whisper of sound--was it really hers?
"As a matter of fact, yes. We could watch that mystical moment when the sun falls below the earth, and sun-warmed day becomes moon-kissed night..." It would have sounded corny coming from anyone else's lips. Something jangled in her brain, but all she could focus on was the sensual magic of his voice. "All totally innocuous, of course." That voice was now wrapped in laughter. Did she only imagine the hint of velvet beneath? Wishful thinking perhaps?
Ever so gently Jason turned her to face him. Samantha gazed up into his face, those lean features almost tender. Those warm, brown eyes were the shade of chocolate and just as addictive.
"Of course," she echoed calmly, pulling away and retreating a few steps. Her eyes swept around the room as if seeking an escape, stopping on the table, which hadn't yet been cleared. It was there that she directed her steps, gathering up the plates and empty casserole dish.
Jason trailed along behind her, glasses and cutlery in hand. "Something tells me I've just made a fatal faux pas," he said, casting a look at her from the corner of his eye. "Are you telling me my efforts to please were all in vain?"
A ghost of a smile hovered on her lips at his valiant attempt to try to look wounded. She emptied her armload onto the kitchen counter. "Not exactly," she conceded in a carefully neutral tone.
He raised both eyebrows in a silent question.
Samantha made a vague gesture with one hand. It was clear that the entire atmosphere he'd created, the wine, the food, the candlelight, was entirely for her benefit. Was their disturbing exchange yesterday afternoon and his ultimate challenge to her this morning behind it? What was it he'd said? Give me an education. Show me how wrong I am about love. Well, who wouldn't be impressed by such an effort? It was designed to appeal to a woman's romantic soul, and wasn't hers more romantic than most?
She couldn't help but wonder if he was the one trying to teach her a lesson. Even more importantly, if they hadn't had that disturbing conversation, would he have put himself out? For another woman he was trying to lure into his bed perhaps, but for her?
On second thought, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"I really am flattered, Jason." At least I think I am. "But it's just that..." She stopped, unsure of what she wanted to say.
He gave her an engaging smile, his teeth very white against his tan.
"Well . . ." Damn! Why did he have to smile like that now? It made her legs feel like melting wax. "The wine, the candlelight—" all that he had done drifted into her mind "—the dinner and the..." The balloons! She'd completely forgotten about them. Small wonder, when one was faced with a man like Jason Armstrong. What was a houseful of balloons compared to a face and body like his?
Jason laughed at her sudden stricken look. "You did get my present?" he inquired blandly.
"I... yes. Yes, and they're really very precious! In fact, it looks like you bought out an entire store..." She was rattling, he'd think she was a complete idiot! A simple thank-you would have sufficed, wouldn't it? "I... Thank you. Thank you so much," she finally finished hurriedly.
"After seeing your underwear this morning, I thought you might fancy Valentine's Day in June." A warm smile curved his lips, and he calmly led her into the living room and seated her on the low-slung leather couch in front of the fireplace. Her head still whirling, Samantha watched as he turned away to strike a match to the kindling and cedar logs already in place
in the grate. Orange-tipped flames licked upward. Once again, something prodded at her brain, just out of reach.
Jason sat down beside her and slipped a long arm along the back of the couch so that his fingertips lay nearly touching the bare skin of her upper arm. "Now," he began lightly, "you were saying?"
Samantha frowned as he sat down beside her. "About tonight," he prodded gently. "All my wasted effort."
She cleared her throat. "Yes, well—"
"Wait! Don't start yet—-I'll be back in just a minute!" Jason suddenly jumped up and strode into the kitchen, coming back with two more glasses of wine. He set them on the raised hearth, extinguished the single lamp that burned on the end table so that the only light came from a dim lamp burning in a corner of the dining room, then switched on the stereo and tuned in some soft background music. Finally he pulled her down onto the plush carpet in front of the fireplace.
"Jason—" A protest hovered on her lips as he pressed a glass into her hand and joined her on the floor. He'd refilled her glass frequently during dinner and she was beginning to feel the effects. She looked at him suspiciously. "Are you trying to get the two of us drunk?"
"Not to worry." He broke into an audacious grin. "Alcohol affects a man's ability—don't you remember? You pointed that out just yesterday."
"It's supposed to affect his performance—not his ability!" Sitting up straight, she inched back from him, arranged her skirt over her knees and darted him an indignant glance. "And I distinctly remember you telling me that you've never had that problem!"
He shrugged and leaned back against the hearth. "Always a first time, always a first time." Looking wholly innocent, he patted the spot beside him. "why don't you come and sit by the fire? If it doesn't keep you warm, I think I can manage."
She glared at him. "Jason Armstrong, you just never quit, do you? I'm beginning to think you have a serious problem with the word 'no.'"
"Funny, I don't remember you saying that."
Samantha ignored him. "And furthermore," she continued hotly, "it's as plain as the nose on your face—"
"Whose?" He stared pointedly at the sunburned tip of her nose.
She said a silent prayer and counted to twenty. "And furthermore," she reiterated, "it's as plain as the nose on your face that the dinner and the music are all part of a little planned seduction scene on your part." Suddenly she stopped. That elusive something that had been dancing aro
und in her brain the last few minutes was back again.
"Wait a minute," she breathed. "Wait just a minute. What you said before... about watching the sunset..." She snapped her fingers and began to quote. '"We could watch that mystical moment when the sun goes down and...'"
"And sun-warmed day becomes moon-kissed night," he finished, a triumphant gleam in his eye.
Samantha jerked upright to her knees. "You used that line in Midnight Enchantment! That's what Beau said to Pauline the first time they—" Her mouth clamped shut and an angry finger sliced through the air. It was the same, almost exactly! Both fists landed on her slim hips. "He set her up! He knew she'd never be able to say no once he turned on the charm! He had everything planned, right down to the sheets on the bed!"
Jason lifted his glass in a silent toast. "You see why females were known as the weaker sex in those days," he said mildly. "Pauline deserved what she got, to say nothing of wanting it. She was trying to blackmail him into marriage."
"Beau was a scoundrel, especially at first! And Pauline only did it to save her family!"
Jason sighed. "Oh, yes, those southern belles. Noble if not wise." His brown eyes crinkled as he looked at her. "But if you'll recall, they didn't end up using the bed."
"Is that why you dragged me down in front of the fireplace?" His smile set her teeth on edge. "I can't believe it! Your own private version of Midnight Enchantment! Dammit, how could you?"
"I couldn't resist." He shrugged, sending her a teasing smile. "My heroes get to have all the fun and I have to do all the work."
And he thought she was ripe for the taking? Samantha seethed. "I suppose if I checked the bed I'd find satin sheets?"
Jason snapped his fingers. "Darn! I knew I forgot something. Beau had a lot of trouble smuggling crimson satin sheets through the blockade." One corner of his mouth turned up ruefully. "I don't have any excuse, though. I guess I should have borrowed your copy and checked." Looking up at her, he smiled apologetically. "I suppose that means you're safe for tonight. My heroes might be rather unscrupulous, but I'm not."
The Unsung Hero Page 6