The Unsung Hero

by Samantha James

  "I didn't know if you were dead or alive." The accusing voice was directed at the sink. "For all I knew you could have drowned in your coffee cup or—or been eaten alive by your computer!"

  She could feel his eyes on her face. "You're upset because you haven't heard from me." It was a statement, not a question.

  Samantha grimaced and turned off the rush of water. He'd been working . . . writing. Why did it come as such a surprise that he took it so seriously? He could hardly churn out a five-hundred-page novel a year--sometimes two a year--and not work at it. She was suddenly reminded of the last year with Alan. Fresh out of college, he'd been offered a fantastic job with a firm in Portland. But the hours were long and demanding ... and that was when things began to sour.

  She had felt left out. And wasn't that how she was feeling now--left out?

  "And you thought I might have been hurt."

  She nodded, aware that it wasn't quite the truth. She took particular pains in wiping the watery trails of grayish paint from the stainless steel sink, aware of a twinge of shame at her pettiness, but it wasn't enough to erase the feeling of hurt.

  "And of course there's no other reason you're upset with me."

  She hated the knowing tone of his voice, as well as the note of dry humor. "No," she said shortly. Reluctantly she reached for a towel.

  "I have no objection to you keeping an eye on me, Samantha. In fact, I have the perfect solution. We could move in together."

  It was too much. She whirled to face him. "Oh, you know that's not it at all!" She scowled. "I'm not a nosy little busybody who spies on her neighbors. I just thought that after—after that night you would have..." Her voice trailed off.

  "You thought I'd forgotten about you, that you were no more than a voluptuous body and a comely face. You thought that after I'd gotten what I wanted from you—"

  "Oh, stop!" She threw the towel at him. "You didn't get what you wanted, did you?" The minute the words were out she could have bitten off her tongue. It was stupid to be so upset, especially when she had no claim on him, but how she wished she did! And it hadn't been anger so much as disappointment... and he was conceited enough to know it! But she hated being so transparent. "Oh, of all the... I'm not voluptuous and you know it!"

  There was a seemingly endless silence. Jason moved closer, so close she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "No, I didn't get what I wanted," he said finally. "And don't make the mistake of taking that the way it sounds." He paused, then added quietly, "And you're not voluptuous . . . you're perfect."

  He knew exactly how to get to her, Samantha thought weakly. The words were precious as gold, his tone smooth as honey. And if only she could believe him. She bit her lip and turned aside. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really shouldn't have jumped down your throat. I should have known you were working . . ."

  He moved to take a seat at the small maple table. "You're just not used to my working habits. I dive in and don't come up for air for days. And while I'd much rather be with you, I do have a deadline to meet." He stopped and she could feel his eyes on her. "But it's nice to know you care," he added softly.

  "I—I didn't say that." Nervously she wiped her hands on her jeans.

  Jason made no comment. Instead he turned his head to look at her. "Just because I haven't seen you didn't mean I wasn't thinking of you. In fact—-" a satisfied smile spread across his features and he propped his chin on his hands to look at her "--thinking of you was very inspiring." He grinned wickedly. "Especially during the love scenes."

  The love scenes. She noticed he didn't call them sex scenes this time. Her heart leaped. Did that mean...? But no, she was reading too much into it. No doubt his womanizing was a reflex reaction. She sat down at the table across from him. "What's this one about?"

  He raised a dark eyebrow. "I thought you'd read the last of my books."

  Samantha shrugged, a little embarrassed. Despite what she'd said to him the other day, she'd picked up Love's Sweet Bondage just last night. But she still couldn't bring herself to read more than a few pages. She liked Jason--liked him? She was fascinated by him, but she still felt cheated in knowing he'd never emotionally thrown all of himself into his books.

  She put her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together. "That doesn't mean I can't ask what this one is about, does it?"

  He studied her for a moment. "I guess it doesn't," he finally conceded, then launched into an account of the book. It was a lusty tale, a medieval romance with an added blend of intrigue and a case of mistaken identity. Samantha was well- acquainted with the theme, yet she listened intently, knowing Jason would probably have no trouble at all making this book unique and stand head and shoulders above the rest.

  "Sounds like you have another bestseller on your hands," she observed with a smile. "Do you ever visit the places in which your books are set?"

  "I try to. There's usually some research involved, and I think it improves the sense of atmosphere."

  Samantha eyed him quizzically. Love's Sweet Bondage was set in Scotland and Wales. She was thoroughly captivated by cliff-top castles and knights practicing at the tilt-yard. What she wouldn't give to visit there, and so she said.

  He shrugged.

  "Your first book, Desert Fires, you went to Morocco?"

  Jason chuckled. "Actually that was the only one where I did strictly armchair traveling. I was writing for a television sitcom then and I just couldn't take the time—"

  "A sitcom? You wrote comedy for TV?"

  His lips curved up in a smile. "That surprises you, doesn't it?"

  "A little," she admitted. "I could easily see you writing a swashbuckling Errol Flynn-type movie or something." She pushed back her chair and smiled at him a little hesitantly. "I don't suppose you'd like to stay for lunch?"

  The question was asked over her shoulder as she crossed to the refrigerator. She caught his eye, but suddenly her breath rattled unevenly in her throat at the lazily seductive look in his eyes. The merest glimmer of a smile hovered on his lips as he turned in his chair to watch her.

  "Is that an invitation this time?"

  Samantha wanted to look away but couldn't. She was caught in the dark velvet of his voice; the faintly husky tone, which was both an invitation and a plea, had dropped by subtle degrees. "Yes," she answered softly, and suddenly felt that it wasn't an invitation to lunch she'd just issued.

  His eyes moved over her, slowly, seductively, making her blood soar in a sudden rush of sensation. Never had she been more achingly aware of her femininity and how very much a man Jason was. A man in the flesh. A man she could reach out and touch. Not a dream, but alive and real.

  She had to tear her eyes away from him. What was it about him that made her retreat into a dream world, a fantasy world, a world where only the two of them existed? She looked down at her hands, laughing a little shakily, and caught sight of her worn paint-spattered jeans.

  Oh, Lord, she was a mess, she had to be! Until now it had never failed to amuse her that she always managed to use twice as much paint as she really needed, half on the walls and half on herself. "Why do you always manage to catch me with egg on my face!" she muttered, half to herself, half to him. She made a mad dash for the hall. "I should go change—"

  "Don't bother, you look absolutely enchanting. And it's not egg on your face, it's paint--right on the end of your nose." That velvet-edged tone was wrapped in laughter. Stricken, Samantha paused in mid-flight and encountered a pair of amused brown eyes. But suddenly his voice once again softened. "I really can't stay. Actually I came over to tell you I'm leaving later this afternoon for New York."

  "New York?" Her eyes darted frantically toward the mirror perched on the living-room wall only to return in a flash to his muscled form. He had already moved to stand near the front door. New York. Her heart sank. It might as well be the moon. Her appearance was all but forgotten. She caught her breath and trailed behind him. "I always seem to catch you on the run, either coming or going. Business again?"<
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  He nodded and stopped in the tiny entryway. "My agent called this morning. There's a movie deal in the works for Midnight Enchantment."

  "A movie deal." She managed a shaky smile. "That's fantastic."

  Jason shrugged and smiled. "If it goes well, I should be able to wrap things up in New York after a few days. Then I'll be stopping off in L.A. to see my attorney." His last words were distinctly reluctant. A shade of disapproval lingered just under the surface. "My ex-wife is stirring up trouble again."

  His ex-wife. There was barely time to assimilate the thought. Jason's eyes captured hers in a gaze so intense, so searching that Samantha felt herself slowly drawn into the dark void of his eyes. It was like silk sliding slowly, sensually, deliciously over every inch of her body. A sensation not unlike fire warmed her skin, quickened her breath.

  "You didn't mean it, you know."

  Her tongue darted out to moisten suddenly dry lips. Her whisper came haltingly. "What?"

  "What you said about the two of us not being friends." There was something distinctly sensual in the honeyed warmth of his voice. "We are, you know, and I'm hoping it won't be long before it's much more than that."

  Her head whirled giddily. Certainly it was what she had hoped for—-that and more. But as far as it going any further... that was her own private fantasy. "Are you? That sounds almost like a promise." She meant the words to be light and flip. Instead they sounded breathy and faintly excited, exactly the way she felt, exactly the way Jason always made her feel.

  "Not a promise, more like a prayer. And I give you fair warning . . . I'm going to do everything in my power to see that it happens."

  Still caught in his spell, Samantha laughed a little shakily and tried to blithely dismiss the remark. "Spoken like a true hero."

  "Spoken like a man who knows what he wants."

  The quiet intensity of the words almost shocked her. Much as she longed for it to be otherwise, this verbal sparring was a game between them . . . or was it? She eyed him tentatively and caught a glimpse of something almost deadly serious in the back of his eyes. She hesitated, and her gaze dropped to the frankly sensual curve of his mouth to find him smiling slightly.

  "Jason..." Her eyes were unknowingly wide and uncertain as they locked on his face. "After Los Angeles..." She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak. "This is goodbye then?"

  His reply was adamant and instantaneous. "Not on your life." He paused and added softly, "And that is a promise."

  As much a promise as the smoldering look he gave her before he left, a look that sent her blood pressure zipping skyward and her heart in undaunted pursuit. Her legs weren't entirely steady as she finally made her way over to the mirror, but by the time she reached it she was walking on air. A slow smile spread across her face as she eyed her reflection. The grayish-tinged paint wasn't on the end of her nose at all. It was on her cheeks, her chin, her eyebrows, even her bangs were streaked with blue-gray. She laughed out loud. She was a sorry sight. She looked like a child bent on mischief who had tumbled headfirst into a bucket of paint!

  But for the first time in her life she was aware of herself, aware of her femininity, aware of her womanhood, in a way that she had never been before--even with Alan.

  Jason had done this to her, she mused wonderingly. She'd been charmed, bewitched, captivated and possessed. And he hadn't laid so much as a finger on her.

  Who but a fantasy man could do that to a woman? Who but a fantasy man could do that to her? She grinned rather wickedly to herself as she made her way back outside. It was like one of her favorite books come to life . . . the irresistible hero tamed by a woman's love, but with one tremendous advantage. Jason Armstrong was real.

  And living right next door.

  Chapter 6

  Samantha walked around in a haze the rest of the afternoon, amazed at the change that had taken place in herself in the space of an hour. Only that morning, she'd been burning with resentment at Jason for ignoring her. Now she was almost convinced she had him practically eating out of her hand, pining away for the sight of her.

  Her mouth turned down at the corners as she got ready for bed that night. Pining away indeed! Who was she trying to kid? It should be patently obvious to even the most untried of hearts that Jason was a practiced charmer when it came to women and she was a fool if she let herself believe she was any different to him . . . which only brought her around to the subject of his wife.

  His wife. A pang of unexpected jealousy shot through her until she remembered he was no longer married. And he hadn't exactly sounded thrilled when he'd mentioned his wife, not at all. A tiny feeling of self-satisfaction pierced her sudden ill-humor but died just as swiftly. The elusive Jason Armstrong, as elusive as the man behind Cathryn James. He'd wasted no time in making sure she knew it--and still knew it, for that matter. The man whose heart would remain forever unchained. The man no woman could capture no matter how tempting her wiles.

  But some woman had captured him. And she couldn't help but think it very likely that he had decided marriage was too confining, that he had discovered he could never attain a lifetime's happiness with one woman. Still, she couldn't stop herself from wondering about his ex-wife.

  Samantha's mind continued to wander once she was snuggled beneath the blanket, thinking of Jason in New York. Many of his books had lush exotic locations--India, Spain, the Caribbean . . . so many places. And he'd been to almost all of them. He said his home was in Los Angeles, yet she wondered how much time he actually spent there. Didn't he ever feel the need to settle in one place?

  The thought was jarring. Her father had never wanted to. She rolled over in bed and propped her hands behind her head, staring at the eerie shadows dancing on the ceiling. She could hear the gentle motion of the ocean undulating against the shore, but the sound, usually so soothing, had no effect on her unsettled emotions. She and Jason were so... so different. They were on opposite ends of the earth when it came to the subject of love. Jason obviously thought nothing of jetting across the world, while to Samantha there was nothing more welcome in the world than coming home, whether from a hectic day dealing with her second-graders, or from a quick trip to Astoria to see her mother.

  A faint feeling of unease crept into her heart. Jason had promised he would be back, but considering the way he flitted around the world she wouldn't hold her breath. Her father had made promises, too. Some he'd broken, some he hadn't. He had shown her that promises were something easily given, not so easily kept.

  On that cautious note, Samantha finally turned over and slept.

  ***

  She spent the next few days finishing up the paint job on her house, somehow half expecting Jason to sneak up behind her with some outrageous teasing remark and that devastating grin. Impatient with herself for letting him dominate her thoughts to such an extent, she finally decided to call her mother early Wednesday morning.

  "Samantha! I was going to call you tonight! How are you, dear?"

  Somehow her mother's bright chirpy voice was slightly irritating. Samantha lifted a hand to her forehead and massaged her aching temples. Damn! Why was she so edgy? Because Jason was gone, a niggling voice insisted.

  She pushed aside the thought. "Fine, Mom," she answered absently. "I thought I'd come visit for a few days. Feel like company this weekend?"

  "You know better than to ask! I've been expecting you for several weeks already!"

  "I've just been tying up some loose ends around here." And trying to corral Jason Armstrong? The thought vaulted into her mind without warning.

  "What time can I expect you, Samantha? Will you be stopping in Seaside to see your friend?"

  "My friend?" Samantha drew a complete blank.

  "Your friend in Seaside--your roommate in college."

  Her friend the sex fiend. The memory overtook her as she recalled the morning Jason had surprised her stepping from the shower, and a heady feeling of warmth suffused her body despite the fact that she was alone. She took a
deep breath. "I've decided not to after all. I'll probably leave early in the afternoon but I'll stop by the shop as soon as I get in."

  As it was, Samantha debated telling her mother about Jason as she loaded her suitcase into the back seat of her dark blue Volkswagen on Friday. She and her mother had a very close relationship. They'd had to, since all they'd had was each other for so many years. But what could she say? "Mom, I've met the most fantastic man. He's all I ever wanted..."

  She could almost hear her mother's cheerful hopeful tone. "Sounds serious, Samantha. Is it?"

  And then what would she say? "It could be, if I let it. At least for me. But never for him. You see, he doesn't believe in love." No, the subject of Jason was better left untouched.

  She had a very pleasant visit with her mother and some old friends, stayed five days, and came home on Wednesday. But the slight upswing in her mood didn't last more than a few minutes after she pulled into the driveway. She couldn't help but notice that Jason's silver BMW was conspicuously absent from the driveway next door. A thick layer of sand covered the small block of asphalt, crunching under her sandals as she stepped out. The surf was roiling and vicious looking as it washed up on the sand, the foam-flecked waves matching the leaden-gray color of the sky. Overhead was a thick layer of clouds, churning and twisting as they forged their way north.

  A fierce gust of wind blew her hair across her face as she searched her purse for the key. She was still combing her fingers through it to restore a little order when she set her suitcase down in the living room and walked toward the kitchen.

  She stopped short on the threshold. She was never sure why, but her eyes were drawn upward to the plaster ceiling. "Oh, no!" she groaned. What she saw made her heart sink. Several large splotches marred the surface of the plaster. Dammit, her roof was leaking! It had rained lightly in Astoria the night before and that morning, but there must have been a downpour here. Her mouth drooping, she changed into jeans and an old plaid shirt, heaved a ladder from the garage and clambered onto the roof.