“Trust me, while I was trying to make them this morning, I thought about giving up on the project.”
Setting his suitcase in the corner of the bedroom, Holt went over to Megan as she opened the bathroom door. Sliding his arm around her, he kissed her tenderly. When Megan’s lashes swept upward, he saw happiness in her eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t. Look, I’m going to get a quick shower and cr—” He was going to say “crash,” but it wasn’t a wise choice of words to use around Megan. “I need sleep.”
“I know you’re exhausted, Sam. When you wake up, we’ll have dinner.”
He embraced her, running his hands down her small but strong spine. “Thanks for understanding.”
“I can remember the times my father would come off duty and sleep for fifteen hours straight, get up the next morning and go back to work.”
With a grimace, Sam released her. “That’s not going to happen to us. I’ve set the clock.” He glanced at his watch. It was noon. If he got five or six hours under his belt, he’d be decent company for the evening. By Christmas morning, he’d be in good shape. “I’ll get up at five.”
Megan stepped away, moving to the door of the bedroom. “Fine. See you then.”
Nodding, Sam watched as Megan quietly closed the door behind her. He stripped out of his smelly flight suit and let it drop on the carpet. All he wanted was a shower and bed.
The streams of hot water not only cleansed him, but also brought him to the edge of drowsiness. Getting out of the shower and wrapping a white towel around his hips, Sam glanced in the steamy mirror. He needed to shave. To hell with it. He needed sleep worse. Holt stumbled out of the bathroom to Megan’s canopied Victorian bed.
As he laid down on top of the covers, he groaned, feeling his muscles begin to relax immediately. Rolling on his side, he realized he should have pulled back the covers. Shaping the lace-bordered pillow, he fell into a deep sleep, the clean, fresh scent of lavender in his nostrils. His last thought, if it could even be called that, was that he’d never felt as content as now. It was because of Megan, he was sure. He loved her.
Megan quietly entered her bedroom. Light from the living room filtered in, allowing her to see Sam, who was sleeping soundly. Only an occasional snore broke the silence as she went to the closet and retrieved a light wool blanket. It was 8:00 p.m., and she knew he’d sleep the rest of the night without awakening—-just as her father used to do.
As she approached the bed, her gaze moved appreciatively down across his naked body. Holt was lean and tight, the dark hair on his chest emphasizing his maleness. The white towel that had once been around his waist had long since fallen away. Until recently, Megan hadn’t thought of men as being beautiful, but Sam was. There was a steel-cable strength that ran through his body. Even in sleep, he looked powerful and sleek. As she carefully placed the blanket over him, she felt shaky with need for him. The urge to lean down, to kiss those parted lips that were used to giving orders, was very real.
Instead, Megan gently moved several dried strands of dark hair off his brow. Sam didn’t even move, telling her the depth of strain he’d been under the last week. In a perverse way, Megan was glad she knew about the demands put on a test pilot, because it neutralized her worry.
Unable to move away from him, Megan crouched down. The darkness accented Sam’s beard, his cheeks hollowed—he almost appeared gaunt. Had he lost weight this week? No doubt Sam had been in marathon brain-drain sessions with other design experts. Both he and Lauren Porter had looked exhausted upon their return. Megan’s gaze lingered on his features. The shadows beneath his eyes were disappearing, and his brow, which had been furrowed earlier, was smooth. A soft smile pulled at her mouth, and she lightly caressed his stubbled cheek, a fierce feeling of love sweeping through her.
How had Sam become so important to her life? He looked natural lying in her bed, this apartment—as if he’d always belonged here. Straightening, Megan felt so many new and joyous feelings move through her that the fear she felt dissolved. Turning, she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
The pierogies were refrigerated, along with the salad, mashed potatoes and gravy. Megan ate a small tossed salad, had some French bread and decided to decorate the tree. When Sam awoke on Christmas morning, it would look beautiful. She pulled out the cardboard boxes laden with pretty Victorian ornaments she’d collected over the years. Some had bits of ivory lace and colorful ribbon. Others were carefully crafted wooden ornaments.
Just knowing Sam slept in the next room brought a wonderful new kind of contentment to Megan. He was with her in spirit, even though he slept. That was a nice kind of feeling—another new one Megan had never experienced. Had her mother had such feelings about her father in the early days of their marriage?
Chewing on her lower, lip, Megan continued to decorate the five-foot Scotch pine that sat in the corner of the living room. She remembered that many of her Christmases as a child were sordid affairs. Her mother always pouted, took verbal shots at her father, and he retaliated by going over to the O Club to drink with the single pilots who had nowhere to go during the holidays. How many times had she sat next to the tree with her gifts, watched her father depart in anger, and her mother go back to her room?
“Not this time,” she told the tree. No, she and Sam would have a wonderful Christmas—together. Hope moved powerfully through Megan as she placed the delicate carved angel on top of the tree. The gown was made but of purple velvet and white lace. The wings had been painstakingly crocheted and starched. Megan loved the antique more than any other. Making sure it was stable, Megan stood back, admiring her efforts. Victorian trees would have candles on the limbs, but she didn’t carry the tradition that far, in fear of a fire.
Admiring her handiwork, she hummed along with a Christmas tune coming softly from the radio. The few gifts beneath the tree made it look complete. Megan could hardly wait to see Sam’s expression when he saw the tree, because he loved the Victorian era as much as she did. It was time to go to bed.
The thought of sleeping with Sam was heated, filled with promise. Perhaps, when Sam awoke tomorrow morning, they would make love together, a special kind of Christmas gift to one another. Her hands trembled slightly as she wrapped his gift, the thought delicious. And then she laughed at herself.
“Megan Roberts, you are going to go to bed, sleep at his side and not wake him up. He needs his sleep. Hands off!”
“No…Russ…no….”
Megan frowned, awakened from her deep sleep. She lay curved against Sam’s back. He muttered once again, and moved restlessly. Sleep gradually left her as his mumbling increased. She felt him jerk beside her, and she moved away, dragging her eyes open. What was wrong with him? Automatically, she reached over, making contact with Sam’s shoulder. His flesh was sweaty, muscles hard and strained. What time was it?
Before Megan could roll over and look at the clock on the nightstand, she heard Holt shriek.
“Eject! Eject!”
A cry escaped Megan, and she watched in terror as Holt lurched into a sitting position, his gasps punctuating the darkness that surrounded them. Instantly, Megan got to her knees, hesitantly reaching out and touching him.
“Sam, Sam, it’s all right, it’s all right. You’re having a bad dream.” He was trembling, and Megan’s fear increased. Holt buried his face in his hands with a groan. Glancing over at the clock, she saw it was 3:00 a.m. “My God, you’re soaked with sweat,” she murmured worriedly, moving her hand across his taut arm and shoulder. “Sam? Are you okay?”
His heart wouldn’t steady in his chest. It felt like someone was pounding a kettle drum inside him. The nightmare still flashed across the lids of his closed eyes. The terrible G-forces were pulling at him, a trap that could kill him. Worst of all, he could hear Russ’s scream in his ears. The blackness of the night surrounded them in that cockpit, heightening his terror.
Megan got up, moving around the end of the bed. Sam sat there shaking badly, the blanket pooled around his wais
t. Alarmed, she turned on a light in the bathroom, came back and sat down next to him. Gently, she laid one hand on his drawn-up knees, the other on his right arm. A very old, frightening memory surfaced within Megan. She recalled her father had had punishing nightmares for months on end when she was twelve. His voice would caterwaul off the bedroom walls. She remembered waking up in her room, frightened, not knowing why her father was screaming like that.
“Oh, Sam,” she whispered, caressing his damp hair, “it’s all right. You’re safe, do you hear me? Safe.” She rested her cheek against his knees, the trembling that gripped him beginning to abate. Softly, she repeated the words over and over, not knowing what else to do.
Holt felt Megan’s touch on his hair, neck, and shoulder. The fear in his gut was going away sooner than it normally did. Lifting his head, he slid his hand forward across her shoulder, the cool, smooth cotton of her gown pulling him back to reality. Megan was real. Megan was here, with him. He released a ragged sigh and watched her lift her head.
“I’m okay,” he said thickly.
“You were having a nightmare.”
“Yes…” He clung to her shadowed features, her green eyes compassionate, the line of her lips mirroring the pain he felt. That unruly red hair of hers was a lovely frame, emphasizing her honest beauty. A compelling need to love Megan, to bury himself into something good and positive, overwhelmed him.
Before Megan could ask him more about the nightmare, she saw the remnants of it leave his haunted eyes. The smoldering look that replaced it sent her heart skittering and made her tremble with anticipation. Sam laid her down beside him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he uttered softly, running his fingers through her hair. The light was suffused, and revealed the full length of the white cotton gown she wore. It was like her, Sam thought as he released the first satin bow from her shoulder, sliding his hand beneath it. There was something so good and clean about Megan. The second satin bow fell away, and he eased the gown away, revealing her lovely breasts, torso and hips.
A sigh escaped Megan’s lips as she felt him remove the gown from her. The intensity of his gaze, that predator look that excited her, heightened as he caressed her rounded belly. The thought that she wanted to bear his children seared through her. The predator look disappeared from Sam’s sweaty features. In it’s place was a warmth, a silent invitation that made her lift her arms and slide them around his neck.
She wasn’t disappointed as he leaned down, his mouth capturing hers, swift, hot and sharing. A moan rose in her throat as he cupped her breast and moved his thumb across the hardening nipple. He left her lips, his mouth settling on its peak, and Megan arched against his strong body.
There was an urgency to his hands, mouth and body. Her world spun crazily, tilted, and she was swept up in his demand to have her quickly. Sensing his urgency, vaguely aware that she represented reality as opposed to the terror of his dream that had mercilessly stalked him, Megan matched his drive, more than ready to receive him, to celebrate her love for him within herself.
The taste of his salty flesh aroused her senses. His breath mingled hotly with her own as he moved on top of her. They were both trembling, and she opened her thighs to receive him. The instant he thrust deeply into her, she gasped, but it was one of surprised pleasure, not discomfort. Her world blended and melted into a cauldron of heat. The rhythm was wild, starving and frantic. Exalting in his male strength, joined and equaled to her own feminine demands, Megan cried out as the heat deep within her exploded, spreading searing pleasure throughout her. As she felt the orgasm surge through her, it made her feel floating and joyous. Sam groaned, tensing, gripping her hard, and released within her.
Smiling weakly, Megan lay there in the aftermath and savored his weight upon her. He buried his face in her hair, his breath punctuated against her neck and shoulder. It was several minutes before she could speak. His hand moved in a caress across her cheek, and she turned, kissing it.
“Fantastic,” Sam murmured. “You’re something else, lady. Something else…”
Bereft when Holt moved off her, Megan was content when he brought her into his arms after he rolled over on his back. Megan liked the way their damp bodies molded perfectly to one another. She placed her arm across his chest, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder.
“So are you,” she said faintly.
Sam opened his eyes, and stared up at the shadowy canopy above them. Worried, he stroked her shoulder and felt the firm pliancy of her flesh beneath his fingers. “I’m sorry, Megan. I shouldn’t have been in such a hell of a hurry.”
With a shake of her head, she answered his unspoken question. “I enjoyed it just as much as you did.”
“Seven days apart kind of takes the civilized veneer off us, doesn’t it?” Sam commented wryly, satisfied that Megan hadn’t been hurt by his urgency. Miraculously, the nightmare wasn’t as potent as it usually was in the aftermath of waking. No, Megan’s sweet body, her fire, had burned some of it out of him.
Megan lifted herself up on one elbow. Sam’s hair was mussed, making him appear boyish. Moving her fingers across his damp brow, she whispered, “I like what we are together.” The smoldering cobalt heat in his eyes made her feel shaky all over again. “It’s not always going to be tender. I like wild, too.” And when he reached over, placing his hand against her belly, she had to stop herself from speaking. The words I love you were there, begging to be said.
“It was a little wild,” he admitted. “But I care that you are pleased, too.” He knew she was, had felt the orgasm flood her. She didn’t have red hair for nothing. He rasped, “I like your belly,” Sam admitted huskily, running his hand gently across it. “Soft, rounded, filled with promise.” Looking up into her eyes that were lustrous with unshed-tears, he wanted to say: You’d make one hell of a mother. The mother of our children. Made out of the love we hold for one another. But he didn’t. Instead, he gently eased Megan on her back, leaned down and kissed her there. Then, he laid his head on her belly. He slid his hand slowly up and down her long, slender leg and allowed contentment to wash over him.
“All week,” he confided to her quietly, staring off into the darkness, “I thought about you. I’d catch two or three hours of sleep over at the bachelor officers’ quarters between design sessions, and I’d dream of you, of being here.”
Megan caressed his hair, a sharp ache centering within her. Sam had the ability to share, to make her a part of his life and world. She managed a laugh. “I think my children thought I was daydreaming all the time.” And then, softly, she added “I like the fact you can share with me what’s in your head, your heart.”
A wry smile crossed his mouth, and he lifted his head, kissing her belly gently. “Red, you’re the most important thing in my life. Why shouldn’t I share with you how I feel?”
Old memories swam before her. “My father never did it with my mother or myself. I—I guess I expected the same of you.” She felt Sam squeeze her legs in an embrace meant to take away the memories.
“Old ways die hard,” Holt agreed. “But as long as we talk, we’ll be fine.”
Megan began to feel a delicious drowsiness overtake her; All she wanted to do now was sleep in Sam’s arms and look forward to waking up with him in the morning. “What about that dream that woke you, Sam?”
His mouth twitched. He wouldn’t lie to her. “It’s an old nightmare. Nothing to worry about.” Moving, he got up and came back to her side, and pulled the covers over them. When he saw the concern in Megan’s eyes over his explanation, he added, “There isn’t a pilot alive that hasn’t ejected and gotten bad dreams about it.”
Convinced, Megan smiled and settled into Sam’s awaiting arms, head nestled against his shoulder. He was warm and strong, giving her happiness that she had never known could exist. “Good night, Sam.”
He kissed her hair, smiling gently. “I’ll see you in the morning, Red.” I love you.
“Well,” Sam goaded, holding out his gift to Megan, �
��go on. Open it.” He sat next to the tree, cross-legged. A cup of coffee was balanced on one knee. They had just finished a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast. For the holiday season, he wore a pair of jeans and a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The clock on the mantel read 9:00 a.m. A perfect time to open Christmas gifts in Sam’s opinion.
As Megan took the small box wrapped in red foil paper and a gold ribbon, she felt heat in her cheeks. “Oh, Sam, you didn’t have to get me anything. I knew you were out of town all last week.”
Sipping his coffee, he smiled. “I got this for you a long time before that.” How beautiful she was, dressed in the long, dark green velvet robe, her red hair a vivid contrast, and cheeks flushed the color of a pink rose. When Sam awoke this morning, he knew he held heaven in his arms. Their morning had been nothing but simmering happiness.
Megan sat down opposite him, arranging her voluminous gown so she could cross her legs. “I’m so excited,” she confided, tugging at the gold ribbon. “This has been such a wonderful morning.” The steamy shower they’d shared together earlier had been exquisite and molten.
Sam leaned forward, kissing her cheek. “I’ve liked it,” he told her huskily. When she lifted her chin and met his gaze, he added, “A lot.” Forever.
With a nervous laugh, Megan could hardly wait to find out what was inside the box. “I’m like a kid, Sam Holt,” she warned him, and tried to be ladylike about removing the wrapping.
“I like Megan Roberts, the kid.” And then his grin deepened. “Why don’t you tear into that thing and rip it open? I can see you hate doing it the slow way.”
Her laughter was rich and husky. “How could you possibly know that?”
He matched her joyous laughter with his own. Ruffling her hair playfully, he said, “Ladies with red hair are always precocious little girls at heart. Didn’t you know that?”
Megan sobered slightly and studied the unopened gift. “No…I didn’t know that.”
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