His dark-brown eyes bored into hers, intense and calming at the same time. Slowly she relaxed, but her eyes continued to watch his every move. There was a muscle twitching on the side of his jaw showing her just how tense he was.
"We didn't find anyone, Catherine," he said in a low voice. "But the police are still there, looking for more clues."
"Does that mean they've found some?" Jace questioned, and Sam's eyes darted to his before focusing back on Catherine.
"Too many. They thought they had his footprints, only to find the gardener's boots in the greenhouse. The flowerbeds are full of tracks now, it's hard to say which are the gardener's and which belong to the police." His voice was low and his frustration was evident.
Jace raised his brows then reached across Catherine to hold his hand out to April. "Let's make some tea or coffee or something," he said quietly, walking his wife out of the living room.
Catherine barely noticed Jace and April leaving. She had been concentrating solely on Sam since he walked in the door. But only when he was directly in front of her and his arms wound around her still-shaking form to enclose her in his warmth did she feel safe. But not safe enough to stop the trembling of her mouth and the tears from clouding her eyes. Her arms wrapped around his waist as if fearful of letting go and losing him.
"You saw?" she murmured into his shirt front.
"Yes," he answered grimly. "I saw." His hand stroked her cap of golden hair, his cheek rested against the top of her head.
"It was awful," she said with a shudder. "Those things… those vicious words written on the hall mirror." She choked back the sob that threatened to explode in her throat.
"Who did it, Catherine?" His voice was so low and soothing and tender that she almost missed the import of his words.
Her throat tightened even more. "I don't know."
"Yes, you do. There was more of the same scrawled on the mirrors and windows all over the upstairs. Only someone who knew you could have written those things. Someone who wanted to hurt you deeply. Who do you think it was?" Her face was still burrowed in his shirt, his hands still stroked her hair. Only the tension had changed.
When Sam had first walked in she had felt the invisible, but tangible, tension that always seemed to be between them. Now, with his words, the tension was all transferred to the inside of her, acting like a tightly wound rubber band around her stomach.
He leaned back, taking in the whiteness of her face, the tension that drew her mouth into a small "o." Her eyes looked like dark pools surrounded by stark white sand. "Who was it, Catherine?"
She slowly moved her head back and forth, denying any knowledge even before she could say the words. "I don't know." It was easy to twist out of his arms and walk across the room to the dark windows. Her hands stroked her upper arms as if warding off a chill. "I didn't see the upstairs, remember? I just walked in the door, saw the mirror in the hall and the mess in the living room."
Sam heaved a heavy sigh. "Catherine, please tell me what you know, or what you might suspect. I can't help you if I don't know what I'm looking for."
"I don't know who would do such a thing, either." Her voice was tight, strung wire-thin with tension.
"Yes, you do," he persisted quietly.
She whirled around. "No!"
"Why would someone hate you so much they would write on mirrors that you're a husband stealer and a slut?" His voice was almost conversational in tone. "Who would hate you so much that they would take the time to do that instead of just robbing you?"
Panic started at her toes and threaded its way up her body. Her hands clenched as if ready to strike out at him. "Because they think l am one? Because they read those rags called newspapers and believe that trash?" She was being caustic to keep the fear at bay, but even she could hear the near hysteria in her voice.
"I don't think so," he said calmly, his brown eyes narrowing as he watched her reaction to his next words. "And I don't think you believe that either. Whoever wrote those things has a personal stake or a gripe against you. Someone who read those trashy papers might think it, but they wouldn't go to such lengths to frighten you unless he or she had a grudge against you."
Her face had turned a pale, deathly white. "No," she murmured, almost to herself, but her expression had given her away.
"Who?"
Her voice was so low that it was almost inaudible. "My mother."
Stunned silence filled the room. Catherine turned back to the window, her arms once more folded so that she could hold herself together, like a tightly wound ball of string. Her entire body was singing with a tenseness that made her skin tremble. She had said it out loud. She had admitted for the first time that her mother hated her with such a vengeance that she would try to harm her. She choked back the bile that threatened to rise to her throat. Then ,she remembered. "Only it couldn't be, because she's in a hospital in Louisiana."
Sam cursed under his breath, his hands reaching out to draw her near only to drop to his sides once more. "Catherine, look at me."
"Go away."
He didn't ask again. With a sense of dread and futility she listened to Sam's receding footsteps as he joined his friends in the back of the house and left her alone.
She closed her eyes, shutting them tight against the thoughts that kept crowding her with visions best left in the past.
Her mother.
Everything she had ever read, ever seen on TV said that mothers were loving and sweet and concerned. Someone who would lead them to a clear-and-set path in life. Someone who cared about them when they were good and even when they were bad.
Then why had God given her to a woman who hated her so much from the moment she was born, she had spilled venom on her like a snake biting its victim? What had Catherine done when she was so young that would make her own mother hate her so?
No matter what she did or how hard she tried, she couldn't find the answer. She could come up with reasons, or excuses, for her mother's behavior in the past, but it still wasn't the same as knowing. All Catherine knew was that she was no longer sure if she'd turned out the way she had because that was what she was, in spite of the way she was raised.
Her shoulders slumped. It no longer mattered. Apart from the monthly check Catherine sent her, all communication between them was severed. Neither contacted the other.
Neither wanted to.
And now, this late in her life, she was too exhausted to care anymore. With defeat weighing on her shoulders, she walked to the couch and slumped into the cushions. Somewhere along the line the gods had decided to test her over and over again. Obviously she had failed.
"Catherine, come on." Sam's hand on her shoulder jolted her out of her reverie. "We're going home."
Her head ached. She looked up, her eyes void of expression as he took her hands and stood her on two wobbly feet. "Home? Is it safe?"
"My home is, and that's where you're staying."
"No, I'll stay in a hotel. I'll call my agent," she argued wearily. Suddenly she was coming to life again and losing that blessed numbness that had begun to invade her limbs earlier. She wished for it back. She didn't want to feel, to think, to do. She just wanted to sleep.
Sam's face was lined with hard-edged stubbornness. "No arguments. You're staying with me." He led her down the hall and out the door, -his arm possessively around her waist as he walked her toward the car.
They drove in silence, neither attempting to speak. The motor hummed quietly and soon lulled Catherine into a light, dreamless sleep.
The drone of the engine stopped and then her car door opened. She felt Sam's arms envelop her and snuggled into the breadth of his chest, wondering how she could have ever thought it wasn't large. A smile touched her lips, then turned into a whimper as thoughts that lay just beyond her consciousness began to batter once more against her brain.
"Shhh," Sam's low voice soothed as he gently stroked her hair and temples, and she cuddled into his arms again, no longer afraid. Somewhere in the back of he
r mind she realized that Sam was carrying her from the car into the house, but she was too tired to give it more thought.
Gentle hands removed her clothing and the soft slippery satin of the sheets felt cool on her body. A big, comforting arm held her waist as she curled into a tight ball and drifted into sleep once more.
One blue eye opened at a time, squinting at the bright morning sunlight pouring in from the undraped window. Catherine focused slowly, unable to see anything but the handsomely sculpted head that leaned over her. It had a funny, lopsided grin that turned up the corners of his mouth, and the corners of his eyes were riddled with the most delightful creases…
"Is this the way you treat a guest?" she murmured, snuggling down into the softness of the sheets and realizing she wore only a pair of panties. Sam must have undressed her and put her to bed. She should have been embarrassed, but she wasn't.
She closed her eyes, hoping to shut out the potency of Sam. It didn't work. She could feel his nearness and smell the tantalizing scent of his after shave. Careful, Catherine, something deep inside warned her. He was getting too close to the real Catherine and that was dangerous.
But her senses were still drugged with sleep, for when he leaned forward even more and his lips brushed hers, she unconsciously puckered in readiness. His mouth covered hers, swiftly and possessively. His hands reached to hold her temples and cheeks, his grip tightening as if she were fighting him off.
She didn't move, wanting to feel his mouth, his hands, his tongue. Even more than that, she wanted to feel the delicious weight of his body as it flattened against her breasts. Without thinking, she wound her arms around his heck, pulling him closer, close enough to feel his strength and warmth through the sheet and his shirt.
A tiny moan left her throat to be captured by his mouth. He savored it before giving it back as a small gentle breath.
Her fingernails combed through the tobacco-brown hair that felt so crisp and fresh, and he gave a slight shudder in response to her touch.
His hands left the side of her face to travel to her shoulders, testing, touching, feeling the silkiness of palm against pearlescent skin.
The weight of him was as welcome and delicious as she dreamed it would be, and though he pressed against her breasts, they swelled and peaked for him anyway. She knew that he could feel it, for he rubbed back and forth, reveling in her response.
"Touch me, Catherine," he said in an almost rasping whisper. "Touch me and tell me what you feel."
Without hesitating her hands sloped down his neck to his shoulders, feeling the cording of muscles as he poised over her. He was lean and hard, and the tightness of those muscles felt powerful.
"You're stronger than you look," she said huskily. "You feel good."
"What else?" His lips grazed her neck and cheek, stopping to tantalize her ear with warm breath and teasing words. "What else do you feel?"
"Whipcord strength," she said before her tongue darted out to savor the hollow at his throat. "And you taste like soap."
"I'll lather myself with chocolate if you promise to do that once more," he muttered shakily.
And her tongue darted again to feel the pulse that beat so rapidly. She was being caught up in his magic touch and wondrous words. Her breath was short and her heart pumped as fast as his, giving her a lightheaded feeling that was as heady as a bottle of the best champagne. It was so good…
"And again," he whispered once more, his breathing now coming faster than before. His lips nudged her lobe, teasing it, finally tasting it.
Her hands found his belt and followed the dark leather strap around to the front, knowing before she got there that she would find him aroused and ready. Almost as ready as she was for him…
"Do it, Catherine. Do it, darling." His voice was taut with feeling and she obeyed, knowing she needed his nearness and touch as much as he needed hers.
The belt almost magically undid itself, the snap was next, and then the raucous sound of a zipper filled the air. Sam pulled away momentarily to shed his clothing and then joined her on the bed. Slipping beneath the silken sheets, he gathered her close and rolled her beneath him.
Sam's warmth, the weight of his body on hers, his caressing hands were so very right that she had no choice but to fly with him into a never-never land of feelings that overwhelmed. Her sleepy desire for a closeness with another human being had changed into a fiery desire to make love, to be loved, to share love…with Sam.
Only Sam.
There were no thoughts in her head, no warnings, no bells that were supposed to peal disaster ahead. Her touch, her emotions, and her light breathing were all done as if she had been programmed for this with Sam.
Only Sam.
With mounting tension they claimed the right to pillage the other's body and both met on equal ground. She urged him, taunted him, silently pleaded with him to take her until he was as enraptured as she was and allowed only his feelings to lead him down the path with her. As his hands once more traveled to seek the warmth of her, she arched, knowing that nothing less than being filled with him would do. He accepted her invitation by allowing his lips to nibble at her breast-instead it teased her with more promises of sweet torture. The softness of her legs touching his, her hips moving in silent plea to continue his loving, they all marked her impatience and his undoing. He plunged into her and she met him, thrust for thrust, giving him what he had so wanted to be complete.
When tension mounted to sparks of showering fireworks, Sam's voice echoed in her ear. "So very sweet, so fine…" But she hardly let the words register before climbing her own pinnacle, awed at the wonder of it. Her hands clamped tightly on his shoulders, then suddenly loosened as she felt his tense muscles. They had come together, reached that spot that only lovers do, and shared it as closely as two people could. Slowly, slowly, she came down to land in the safe comfort of his arms.
The need for the feel of his body didn't leave her as Catherine returned from that memorable voyage. She still needed to know he was there, with her, and her arms automatically tightened to keep him at her side.
"I'm not leaving, Catherine. I couldn't," he murmured as he brushed her temple with his lips. A hand trailed down her hip, only this time with reverence, stirring feelings that Catherine had thought were long dead. "You're very special, you know that?"
"How?" Her voice quivered slightly. She silently prayed that he would not come up with all the old clichés. Please let him tell me the truth, she asked of the heavens.
"Because you give as good as you get. I gave my best, but so did you." He leaned on one arm to take the weight of himself off, but his brown eyes narrowed as they stared into the confusion of hers. "It made it beautiful, Catherine. Thank you."
No one could have said anything that would have touched her more. For once she didn't set out to disarm or charm. "Thank you."
"Are you hungry?" he asked, his voice still low and seductive.
"What did you have in mind?" she countered. An impish smile lit her eyes and he watched the dark blue change back to the sky blue of an hour ago. "Sam?" Her look was puzzled. What was he thinking that he could get so lost while lying next to her? Was he thinking of another woman? After the beauty of what they had just shared, the thought almost gagged her. She stiffened.
Sam shook his head as if stripping the cobwebs away. "Food," he said as if he had never drifted off, but it was too late.
"Fine. If you'll move, I'll get dressed." Catherine pushed against his shoulders.
Sam was implacable. "Not until I find out what I just said to get you in a snit." His hand tightened on her waist. "What was it? What made you freeze in my arms just now, Catherine? Tell me."
"Nothing," she said, still pushing against one shoulder and getting nowhere. "Move, please."
"Not until you tell me. I said I was hungry, you asked me what for, and I got lost in the blue of your eyes as they changed color. Then you stiffened and tried to push me away. What went wrong?"
Her hands stilled. "
The blue of your eyes as they changed color?' What does that mean? My eyes are always blue." She stared up at him suspiciously, wondering what new turn of events he was handing her now.
He slowly shook his head from side to side, a small smile denting his cheeks. "There must be fifteen shades of blue, and your eyes just went from dark blue to light blue. It was fascinating," he murmured, his eyes still locked with hers.
"That's impossible." She lowered her lashes.
"No, I once read somewhere that it happens in light-eyed people. It has something to do with the blood vessels opening and closing, but I've never seen it happen before. It's remarkable." His hand slipped off her waist to travel up and cup one breast, but his eyes continued to gaze at her. His thumb and forefinger gently tugged at her nipple, sending more messages through her slim body, messages that needed her movements as an answer.
"I thought you were hungry," she said, her voice lowered in the hope that she would have more control over it. She didn't. It still sounded breathless. His touch was doing crazy things to her.
"lam."
"Then, don't you think you ought to move so I can fix us something to eat?"
"No."
"No?" Now her voice was just a whisper of its former self.
"No. I haven't had my fill of this banquet yet." He glanced down at what his hand was doing, then down further to her undulating hips and her slender thighs. Then his eyes pierced hers again. "Have you?"
He had been so honest with her. She had no choice but to be the same with him. "No, I want you again."
For the first time he smiled, really smiled. It was so totally unexpected and so very, very endearing that her heart almost melted from the warmth of it. Her whole body seemed drawn to that wonderful, wide, sensuously wicked smile, "There. At least we're in total agreement about something. This may set a precedent."
And before she could answer, his lips were on hers and her mouth was parting to open like a flower in the brilliant rays of the sun.
A Woman's Choice Page 7