Delaney swallowed. But for reasons she didn’t understand, she’d expected more out of Sam. She’d really thought that he’d been different, had really thought she’d seen a real flash of genuine affection. That last look that he gave her right before he walked out the door still haunted her, had plagued her all the way back from North Carolina. He’d looked crushed and confused, hurt and wounded. For one agonizing second, she’d wondered if perhaps she’d read things wrong, had somehow made a mistake.
But ultimately, she’d berated herself and deemed it wishful thinking. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. She’d known better than to trust her judgment, had known that she was making a terrible mistake, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. He’d smiled that come-hither smile and the promise to sin had lurked in his heavy-lidded gaze and something about him allowed her to be the kind of woman she wanted to be. She’d lost her inhibitions, her insecurities, had felt more vibrant and alive in this past week with him than she had in…Well, ever. He turned her on in more ways than one.
While their relationship had ended in disaster, she couldn’t regret it. She’d learned that she was capable of being the kind of woman she wanted to be, had learned that she could be sexy and uninhibited, that she didn’t have to be ashamed of her body. Granted, she knew she’d never find that kind of freedom with another man—only him—but at least she knew she held the propensity for sensual behavior, knew that she wasn’t limited to simply designing her lingerie.
If she’d learned nothing else, that alone had made the whole experience worthwhile. True, she might have a broken heart, but she’d gained self-confidence and self-awareness. Her lips curled with watery humor. There was something to be said for that, anyway.
Beth knocked lightly at the door, then poked her head in. “I’ve got a couple of things for you to look over,” she said.
Delaney drew in a bolstering breath, dabbed her eyes and hastily slipped the photos back into the envelope. She cleared her throat. “Sure.”
“Okay,” Beth said as she made her way across the carpet. She handed over a folder for Delaney’s inspection. “This is the new copy for the Inspiration line.” Delaney perused the copy, instructed her to make a couple of changes, then nodded her approval. Done with that piece of business, Beth handed her a slim folder. “This guy called last—” she checked the Post-it note attached to the front of the book “—Wednesday morning and asked to withdraw his portfolio. I figured you’d want to have a look at it before I sent it back.” She shrugged optimistically. “It’s really good.”
The fine hairs on Delaney’s arms stood on end and her stomach churned as she accepted the folder. She opened the first page, wouldn’t have had to look at the name accompanying the work, to know that it belonged to none other than Sam Martelli.
Delaney swallowed tightly. “He wants to w-with-draw his portfolio?” she asked, an unnecessary confirmation. She’d heard Beth correctly.
Beth nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her brow drawing into a puzzled frown. “It was the oddest thing. He was adamant that I return it at once, but I knew that you’d want to see it first, so I held on to it. Should I send it back?”
Delaney’s mind spun. Her mouth parched. “Er…when did you say that he called and asked to have it withdrawn?”
“Wednesday morning.”
Wednesday morning, Delaney thought faintly. But… Her heart skipped a beat and the air in her lungs thinned, forcing her to drag in short, unsteady breaths. If he called on Wednesday morning, then that meant he’d called and made the request before he came to see her. Before he’d asked her to go to Martindale.
Before she’d fallen in love with him.
Blood buzzed in her ears. Why had he done that? Delaney wondered as a hopeful explanation sprouted in her breast. If he’d wanted a job with her company, then why had he called and withdrawn his portfolio after meeting her? After making the connection? Her head gave an imperceptible shake and a curious winging sensation commenced in her chest. It didn’t make any logical sense…but she’d never been good at thinking logically anyway. Her thoughts tended to run to the illogical and she illogically hoped that she wasn’t reading too much into this revelation.
For instance, she illogically hoped that he’d pulled his portfolio because he wanted her and not just a job with her company. Illogically hoped that he’d pulled it because he didn’t want her finding out about it later and then jumping to the wrong conclusion.
Which was exactly what she’d done, Delaney realized with a sickening start. She’d heard the one sentence about his portfolio, then completely refused to listen to any explanation. She’d cut him off at the knees, had cloaked herself in anger, and hadn’t let him say more than a handful of words. Hadn’t been able to see past the immediate hurt.
What had he said? You’ve got it all wrong, you know.
Oh, God.
And she hadn’t believed him.
Nervous tension suddenly vibrated her spine and she shot up from her chair, grabbed the portfolio, the packet of pictures and her purse. “I’ll see to this,” Delaney said in a somewhat strangled voice and strode briskly for the door. “I’m gone for the day.”
“O-okay,” Beth said, clearly dumbfounded at her boss’ erratic behavior.
You’ve got it all wrong, you know, Delaney thought again, remembering his bleak, hurt expression. She didn’t know whether that was true or not, but she was grimly determined to find out.
And illogically…she hoped she had.
SAM SLOWLY PULLED UP IN front of Delaney’s house and stared at her front door. Anxiety balled in his gut and tension settled in his backbone. Back again, with no plan, Sam thought, his lips curling into the shadow of a smile.
It had only been a couple of days since he’d seen her and yet it felt like forever. Like a damned eternity. He missed her terribly, missed the damn “quickening” and all the maddening sensations that went with it. The gooseflesh, the tingling scalp, the whirling behind his navel. He missed all of it. Since she’d left Saturday night—she’d rented a car to make the return trip—he’d felt disconnected from himself, curiously numb. Pre-Delaney, he’d come to call it. Pre-life.
Sam had decided when Delaney left Saturday night to give her a little space, to let her calm down and rationally consider what had happened between them. He’d known that if she didn’t come to realize he was different on her own—if she didn’t make the distinction—then he’d ultimately pay the price. He would constantly be paying for the sins of others, and dammit, that just wasn’t fair.
He wanted her to realize that he wasn’t like every other guy, and figured if he left her alone long enough, she would eventually reach that conclusion on her own, without any prodding on his part. She’d see past her pain, past her anger and would eventually discover that what they’d had was special, couldn’t be recreated, that ultimately he was different from all those other losers she’d previously been involved with. Bastards who weren’t good enough for her, Sam thought viciously. Bastards who’d used her to further themselves.
But that confidence had begun to rapidly deteriorate with each passing second he didn’t hear from her. What if she didn’t realize what they had was special? What if she didn’t realize that, while he might have gone into her shoot with a business-related ulterior motive, he’d come out of it with a personal one—to have her?
Sam couldn’t stand it any longer. He’d had to see her. He’d called her office and her assistant had told him that she’d left for the day. He’d assumed she’d be at home, yet her car was absent from her driveway. No matter. He’d wait it out. She had to come home sometime, right? When she did, he’d be waiting…provided Mrs. Carter—the pit bull in support hose, Delaney had called her—didn’t call her son, Sam thought as he caught her glaring at him from over the privet hedge.
Sam smiled and waved at her, then laughed when she immediately scowled and retreated hurriedly into her house.
Five minutes later a police cruiser pul
led in behind his Tahoe. Sam swore, saw Mrs. Carter’s curtains twitch. A couple of minutes passed, then a large officer who looked like he’d been weaned on steroids exited the cruiser, sauntered up and tapped on Sam’s glass.
Sam pasted on a smile free of irritation—no small feat when he literally seethed with it—and lowered the window. “Yes, sir?”
“Is there any particular reason you are parked here on this street?”
“I’m waiting for Ms. Walker,” Sam replied amiably. This guy could rip him limb from limb were he so inclined. He looked like a damned sasquatch.
“How long have you been here?”
Sam tapped the steering wheel, pretended to think about it. “Around thirty minutes.”
“He’s lying!” Mrs. Carter, who’d escaped his notice and who’d apparently come to join in the interrogation, said with a sniff. “He’s been here an hour, at least.”
Sam bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “That might be more accurate, however, last time I checked waiting wasn’t against the law.”
Mrs. Carter’s eyes flashed, then she turned a determined expression up at the officer. “Make him leave, son,” she ordered. “Delaney has had enough to deal with lately—she doesn’t need another one of these kooks plaguing her today.”
“I’m not a kook,” Sam insisted, vaguely recalling Delaney mentioning something to the same effect the first time he’d visited her house. He’d been so overwrought and out of sorts, he hadn’t been able to think clearly. “I’m a friend.”
“No, you’re not, sonny. You’re a kook,” she insisted. “If you were a friend, then you’d know to come when she was at home.” She bobbed her head. “Now move on. She doesn’t give interviews from her home. Not to any of the papers, not for possible employment.” Her eyes narrowed. “Not for anything.” She blew out a disgusted breath. “For pity’s sake, show some respect. Make an appointment—don’t bother her at home.”
Guilt pricked at the reminder that he too been one of those people who wanted something from her, and he truly understood why she’d be wary of anyone whom she suspected of an ulterior motive. But he hadn’t shown up at her house like one of the kooks, as Mrs. Carter had so eloquently put it. He’d sent his portfolio to her office and when he’d realized that their relationship was destined for something more, he’d pulled the damn thing. He was different, dammit. He wasn’t Roger, he wasn’t any other guy.
He was different. He had to prove it to her.
But if Officer Testosterone had anything to say about it, he wasn’t going to get the chance.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the officer said, much to Sam’s immense displeasure. He needed to see her now, more than ever.
“Look,” Sam said, striving for a calm he didn’t feel. “I’m not hurting anyone, I’m not breaking the law. I’m simply waiting on a friend. That’s all.”
The officer’s big chest swelled as he drew in a self-important breath. “I would hate for this to get ugly. I’ve told you to leave. We can do this one of two ways, you can go willingly—or unwillingly—but one way or the other, you will be going.” He cracked his knuckles. “Understand?”
“That’s telling him, John,” Mrs. Carter said with a succinct self-righteous nod.
Oh, hell, Sam thought as irritation twisted his insides into a huge seething knot. He couldn’t blame her for coming to Delaney’s defense—was glad that she did. He just wished that she’d nabbed a genuine kook—not him.
“Listen—”
“Okay. I warned you,” the officer said, then promptly opened Sam’s door and started to forcibly drag him out of the car. Sam instinctively resisted, outraged at the man’s gall. “Dammit, I haven’t done anything wrong!”
In short order Sam found himself flattened against the car, his arm wrenched up behind his back. He winced.
“Hey!” a familiar outraged voice screamed. “John, what the hell are you doing? Mrs. Carter, what’s going on?”
Sam tried to turn toward the sound of Delaney’s voice, but John had him in a death grip. He heard the sharp rap of her heels across the pavement drawing closer, then, “I said what the hell are you doing?” she repeated. “Let him go.”
“Do you know this man, Delaney?” John asked.
“He’s been lurking in his car,” Mrs. Carter shared knowingly. “Waiting for you to get home.”
Delaney huffed an exasperated breath. “Yes, I know him. He’s a friend. Now for heaven’s sake, let him go.”
“If you’re sure,” John hedged, clearly disappointed that he hadn’t been able to twist Sam’s arm clean out of the socket.
“I’m sure,” Delaney told him, her voice tight.
John reluctantly lowered Sam’s arm and stepped back, allowing Sam to finally turn around and meet Delaney’s tense gaze. To his vast relief, goose bumps peppered his skin and his scalp prickled with awareness. That curious whirling behind his navel started again, sucking the very air from his lungs with its intensity. He wanted to hug her more than anything, wanted to breathe in her sweet scent, feel that soft womanly body against his. The urge almost brought him to his knees, yet he resisted. He had a lot more riding on this than a mere hug and he instinctively knew the time wasn’t right.
“I didn’t mean to sic John on your friend, Delaney,” Mrs. Carter said with a regretful sniff, her voice contrite. “I was just trying to look out for you.”
Delaney tore her gaze from his and regarded her neighbor with a warm smile. “I know. Thank you.”
Seemingly satisfied, Mrs. Carter snagged her gigantic son’s arm and herded him efficiently toward her house. “Come along, John. I’ve got a nice mug of cocoa waiting.”
“Sorry,” Delaney murmured with a sheepish quirk of her lips. “She’s a little overzealous when it comes to looking out for me.”
“It’s fine,” Sam said, and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets to keep from reaching for her. “No harm done.”
“Er…” She cocked her head. “How long have you been waiting?”
“About an hour.”
She huffed a short breath, crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “Funny. That’s about how long I’ve been sitting in the parking lot of your apartment building.”
Sam’s senses heightened. “You have?”
She wore a curiously guarded, yet hopeful expression that made something near his heart shift. “Yeah,” she told him. “I’d decided to come home and try to call, try to catch up with you that way.”
“I’m eternally grateful.” His conjured a wry smile. “I’d undoubtedly be on my way to 201 Poplar if you hadn’t made such a timely appearance.”
Her eyes twinkled. “You know the address of the police department?”
Sam shrugged. “I make a yearly donation to the Widowed Officers Fund. It’s easy to remember.”
Seemingly impressed, her gaze softened and she gestured toward her house. “Would you like to come in?”
Sam nodded, heartened by the invitation and followed her inside. She shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the hall tree. Following her lead, Sam did the same.
A tense beat elapsed, then slid into five as they stood awkwardly in her foyer and stared at one another. They both swallowed, then…
“I owe you—”
“I’m sorry—”
They shared a laugh and, thankfully, that seemed to lighten the moment.
“Sorry,” Sam said. “You go first.”
Delaney pushed a hand through her hair, her lips curled into an endearingly nervous smile. “Thank you. I’d like to go first because one, I owe you an apology and, secondly, I have a question for you.” She took a deep breath, for courage, he supposed. “I, uh…I’m sorry for the way that I acted in Martindale. I should have let you explain, but I was so mad and I couldn’t get past that anger and I just—” she gestured wildly “—blew up.” She cast him a woeful glance. “I’m truly sorry.”
Something in Sam’s chest lightened, swelled with hope.
“Apology accepted.”
“Now for the question.” Her eyes searched his and the torturous emotion he read in those gorgeous green depths unwittingly propelled his feet toward her. “Why did you pull your portfolio from the Chifferobe?” she asked softly, and he could tell that his answer was incredibly important to her. She seemed to be holding her breath, silently praying for him to say the right thing.
Sam lovingly traced her face with his gaze. “Because I knew the first moment that I saw you that you were the one for me,” Sam replied with complete honesty, “and I didn’t want to give you any reason to suspect an ulterior motive. Not one.” Sam paused, let the sincerity of his words sink in. “I won’t lie to you, Delaney. I was initially thrilled that you’d booked your appointment. I wanted to use your boudoir photos to showcase my talent, wanted you to look at my portfolio and give me a shot at your magazine. There are so many ways I can see to make it better, so many—” Sam drew up short, momentarily derailed by his enthusiasm. He offered her a small smile. “Any photographer worth his salt would want to work for you.” Sam took another step forward and smoothed his fingers down the side of one heartbreakingly beautiful cheek. “But my motives took a drastic change after I saw you. Working for you no longer mattered…I wanted you. Just you,” he told her, his voice soft yet fierce with emotion. “Am I making myself clear?”
A sigh stuttered past her lips and her eyes welled with tears. Another hopeful smile trembled on her lips. “Would you have ever mentioned it if I hadn’t?”
“No. I knew you’d assume the worst and draw the wrong conclusion.”
“And that’s what I did,” she said miserably. “I assumed the worst of you, when you didn’t deserve it. I’m so sorry. I’ve just made so many wrong decisions, made so many mistakes. I wanted to believe the best about you, I really did…but I just couldn’t trust my own judgment.”
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