A Woman's Choice

by Rita Clay Estrada

  A soft breeze drifted through the open window, gently allowing the loose-weaved curtains to drift back and forth like a sensual dancer. From somewhere in another part of the house, music was playing. It was classical, and Catherine had no idea of its creator. She had never been exposed to classical music before, but strangely enough, she liked the soft, lilting quality of it. It fit with the room, her mood and the moment.

  She lay still, listening for other sounds, her mind content to drift along without worry right now. Worry would come later. Now was the time to savor, to touch, to reward herself with…

  Her nose twitched. The smell of bacon drifted toward her, making her stomach react with a growl. Then came the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Catherine's imagination played with the rest of the menu. Perhaps Sam had scrambled eggs… or maybe made a batch of muffins… or perhaps fried a few potatoes with onions…

  Sam appeared in the doorway, looking more endearing than ever. His hair was slightly damp and his jaw clean shaven. He was wearing a raggedy pair of jean cut-offs and a smile that warmed her with its intimacy. No shirt covered his broad shoulders and lean, slim waist. Dark crisp chest hair disappeared into the low waistband of his shorts. Her imagination picked up the line and drew it from there.

  "Good morning," he said huskily, his eyes roaming her body beneath the cover of the sheets, as if he could see right through them and enjoyed what he saw. "Breakfast is almost ready. There's a robe in the closet if you want to put it on."

  Catherine grinned back. "Thanks."

  "Don't thank me. I'd rather you joined me wrapped in that sheet or better still, nothing. But I have a suspicion that you wouldn't care for that."

  She tried to look shocked at his suggestion, but she couldn't pull it off and they both knew it. Giggling, she pulled at the sheet and began wrapping it around her breasts before she slipped from the bed. "I think it's a marvelous idea, Sam," she said primly after she got her giggles under control. "Thanks for the suggestion."

  Sam's eyes widened as she stood. The satin molded to her figure like creamy white paint, then flowed down past her feet to spill in rolling folds over the darkness of the carpet. She could have been a statue of a goddess. Her blond hair tumbled in delectable disarray over her shoulders, her eyes wide and bright blue with such a sexy impishness that he wanted to take her in his arms, satin sheet and all, and hold her close. Not make love…just hold her tight enough to imprint his body onto hers so that she would always know that she was irrevocably his.

  That last notion jarred him out of his stupor. He had never had a thought like that before, and it scared the hell out of him. But then every thought he'd had since he met the little witch had done that to him.

  "Thank goodness we're too old for toga parties," he muttered under his breath. "I'd be fighting all night long." He swallowed twice. Then he turned quickly, forcing a light note over the knot in his throat. "Hurry up, lady. Breakfast will be burned."

  Catherine grabbed the train of the sheet and hurried after him, her stomach telling her it was way past time to eat. But her acute disappointment at his apparent lack of reaction to her was what bothered her most.

  What was the matter with her? When she'd had him to dinner at her house, she had been pleased that he hadn't seen fit to pour compliments over her like oil on a salad. But now she was angry that he hadn't complimented her on her state of dress, or undress, she quietly corrected as she almost tripped over the hem of her toga. Wasn't that what Sam had called it? She wasn't sure, he had mumbled so.

  The kitchen was a cook's dream, all bright orange and crisp white, copper pots and cooking implements hanging from the ceiling and walls. The table was laminated white and held orange place mats and clear glass tableware.

  She stood in the doorway, her eyes taking it all in. "Why, it's just like a fresh glass of orange juice!" she exclaimed, her bright blue eyes lighting up in delight.

  Sam was standing by the stove, a spatula in his hand. He glanced over his shoulder at her comment, only to stare at the lovely picture she made. No wonder so much had been written about her; she was enough to stir any man and that alone would earn the censure of most women. She was so damn sexy and feminine! He forced himself to grin.

  "You like?"

  "Oh, Sam, it's beautiful." She looked at him, her eyes locking with his. She tilted her head, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "But can you cook?"

  "With all this paraphernalia around, I had to learn, or look like a fool."

  She chuckled. "Good! I'm starved!" Without another word she sat down and looked at him patiently but expectantly, as if to ask him where her food was.

  He laughed, slipping a perfect omelet on a warmed plate and setting it in front of her. It was garnished with thick slices of bacon and thin slices of fresh orange.

  Hands on his hips, he waited for her reaction.

  "Ummm, perfect," Catherine murmured, picking up her fork and digging in.

  "Just a minute, madam. The chef deserves an award for his efforts, you know." Bending down he brushed his lips across hers. It was supposed to be a quick peck, only the moment he touched her, he knew that he had to have more.

  But she pulled away, dipping her head down to receive the first mouthful of eggs.

  He grinned at the top of her head. He wanted to touch her, but kept his hands by his sides. She was shy. She was shy! Even after their being together earlier this morning! That didn't fit at all with the image of a conniving, wife-stealing husband the press had created.

  Catherine kept her head lowered, knowing her face was beet-red. How could she kiss him back with the fervor she felt when she hadn't even brushed her teeth yet? He had had a chance to clean up, but she hadn't. As soon as she ate breakfast she'd wash up and brush her teeth. Looking up quickly, she saw his smile and couldn't help the smile that lit her own face. Neither moved as they watched the other, grinning like two fat canaries in the same cage.

  The ringing of the telephone broke the spell. Catherine jumped and Sam reached for the phone to cut off the sound.

  "Hello, Sam Lewis here."

  She took another bite of her breakfast, pretending not to be interested in the telephone conversation. Was it a woman? Her eyes traveled the room once more. There was bound to be a dozen women in his life, and probably two dozen trying to make him aware of them. And here she was, sitting in his kitchen looking like a waif and acting like a star-struck child! Where was her polish, her sophisticated veneer, her indestructible wall that she had vowed no man would ever climb over? Obviously it was missing…

  "We'll be there in an hour," Sam promised grimly to whomever was on the other end of the line just before he hung up the white wall phone.

  The mouthful of food she had just eaten threatened to stick in her throat. A shiver of premonition skittered up her spine. She couldn't look at him, didn't want to hear what she knew he was going to say.

  "Catherine?" His voice was soft but implacable.

  "Uh-humm?" She still couldn't meet his gaze.

  "The police want us to meet them at the house. They need to question you."

  "I thought they had done their thing last night?" She picked up a piece of bacon and took a small bite. Two minutes ago it had tasted delicious, now it could have been thick shoelaces.

  "They need to talk to you, but I'll be with you." He walked around the table and sat down across from her. "But before we go, I need to know more about your mother." His insides tore a little as he watched the reaction his words had on her.

  "No."

  "Yes. Last night you said your mother might have done it. Did you mean it?"

  "No."

  "Then why did you say it?" he prodded gently.

  "Because you asked who hated me, and I answered you. But I know my mother didn't do it."

  "How can you be so certain?"

  Catherine took a deep breath, still staring at her food. Had she really thought she was hungry? "I told you. Because she's in a private hospital in Louisiana. She couldn't be in two
places at once."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes." Catherine would not go into the details. She kicked herself for being weak enough last night to even mention the hatred her mother held for her.

  Sam sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "All right. If you're sure then I won't press." He stood. "While we're there, we'll pick up your clothes and whatever else you need for the next week or so."

  Finally she looked up at him. "Does this mean you're my friend or my lover or my attorney?" Her voice was filled with bitterness. He had turned down helping her before. Did he just want her in his bed so he could brag about this relationship later?

  Sam leaned over the table, his broad strong hands flat on the surface. Dark brown eyes demanded attention. "It means that I'm all three rolled into one."

  "How nice. Less than a week ago you told me I had to find someone else to fill your legal duties," she said tightly, raising one delicate eyebrow. "Did my going to bed with you change your mind?"

  He didn't rise to the bait. He could have easily put her in her place with a million come-backs to her smart words, but he also knew enough to see below her surface. "No. I changed my mind."

  "I see."

  Suddenly his face was even closer than before, making his anger hard to ignore. "The hell you do," he said grimly. "But you will before long, Catherine Sinclair. You will." And with those parting words, he left the kitchen to stalk down the hall toward the bathroom.

  Catherine slowly put her knife and fork down and methodically clapped at his dramatic, final exit.

  The sound mocked him as it echoed through the house.

  6

  Catherine felt uncomfortable donning the same dressy jump suit she had worn the night before, but she had no choice. As she stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, she thought about asking Sam if he might have anything appropriate to wear, but she dismissed that notion as quickly as it came. The one thing she wouldn't be able to do was to wear someone else's clothing, especially another woman's, even though she had the feeling there was probably some around here. She didn't need to be reminded that she was just one of the girls, so she was better off not knowing. Where Sam was concerned, her ego was battered enough without hitting herself on purpose.

  She quickly applied what little makeup she had in her purse, realizing that she had only brought the essentials with her.

  "There's an extra toothbrush in the linen cabinet," Sam shouted through the door, and she yelled back a thanks even as she reached for the handle.

  The cabinet's contents made her eyes swim. There had to be at least twenty toothbrushes still in their original packages piled to one side on a shelf. They could have made a colorful bouquet, for every color imaginable was there. That, combined with the rest of the items, stunned her. Electric curlers, hairpins, hair-spray, a large economy jar of cold cream, mascara still in its plastic and cardboard wrapper, two tubes of clear lip gloss and…Catherine picked up the last item and stared incredulously at it. In a small clear plastic case sat a pair of carefully trimmed false eyelashes. They were brand new!

  "My God," she muttered as she attempted to tamp down the bubbling anger that swelled within her. He had an entire cosmetics market at his fingertips!

  Ever since meeting Sam Lewis she'd had the feeling he had struggled with himself concerning his ideas of what she should be versus what she really was. She had been drawn to him, even felt sorry for him at times. She had even thought he might be the only man she'd ever met who was willing to give her the real understanding she needed. The old guilt that used to haunt her had returned when she was with him, his company was so new, so delightful, so fresh. She felt bad because she had memories best left unsaid so it wouldn't sully him. But now. Now she should be able to get a good laugh out of this. Here she was, feeling guilty about her past only to find out she was far more pure than he could ever hope to be!

  Visions of his hands caressing her body flashed before her. She stared, unseeing, at the items in front of her. No wonder he was such a good lover. She hadn't inspired him to be his best: his undeniable and very well-trained talent with women had insured his ability!

  "Uh, Catherine? Let me in and I'll get the toothbrush for you." Sam's voice sounded almost sheepish. Apparently he had just remembered what she would find.

  Catherine grabbed a toothbrush and slammed the cabinet door. "Thanks, but I found it," she answered grimly as she walked over to the sink, tearing viciously at the wrapper.

  "Let me in, anyway. I want to explain."

  "In a pig's eye," she muttered, smearing toothpaste on the offending brush and sticking it in her mouth, barely escaping puncturing her tongue. "Ummmph," she groaned before brushing vigorously.

  "Catherine, open the door! I want to talk to you. Now!"

  Was that panic that laced his demand? No. She didn't think so.

  The door was opened so abruptly that Sam took a step back, expecting a small fist to hurtle toward him. He eyed her warily.

  Her hair and lush body were wrapped in primrose yellow towels. Her rosebud mouth was pinched together to resemble a persimmon and there was a toothbrush embedded in it. But her eyes told the real story, and Sam's stomach felt as if it were on an elevator ride… down. They blazed blue sparks at him as if she was willing him to catch on fire.

  He still couldn't help chuckling at the picture she made. Then suddenly the fist he had been so wary of earlier struck out to find its way directly to his middle.

  A whooshing sound left his lips as the smile quickly disappeared to be replaced with one of surprise.

  Catherine stood, hands on hips, toothbrush still in her mouth as she growled in a voice that would have made the Detroit Tigers proud. "Don't you dare laugh at me you big, overgrown Casanova! Don't you dare!"

  If he could have grinned, he would have; the picture before him was so funny. She looked like an overgrown, sunshine yellow, fluff ball who could be picked up and blown away by the wind. Only the light ache in his middle testified to the fact that she was slightly more solid than she appeared.

  He knew he-deserved the punch, but he wasn't going to let her get away with it! He narrowed his eyes, attempting to look at her as he would a guilty client. "And don't you dare ever hit me again, or I'll take you over my knee and spank you," he said in a deep voice that he hoped held a threatening tone. His eyes narrowed even more. She didn't look the least bit intimidated.

  She smiled but the laughter didn't fill her eyes as it usually did. Light blue, they were cold and filled with anger. "Did you want something, Sam? Or were you just scared I'd steal your, your…cosmetics?"

  "They aren't mine, and you know it!"

  She let out a theatrical sigh. "Oh, I'm so glad. For a minute there I was worried that perhaps you…" She let the thought dwindle off.

  That little vixen! She was intimating that he used that stuff. And if he admitted out loud that it wasn't his, she'd be proven right as far as his involvements with other women. Tricky little fluff. She paid back as good as she got—with everything.

  "Catherine, look. I…" he began, only to be interrupted.

  "Did I really hurt you, Sam?" she asked softly. "I'm sorry. I guess I just let your…your ministore get me upset. Will you forgive me?" Her eyes were wide, the toothbrush now in her hand instead of almost protruding from her cheek. She looked so clean and sweet and fluffy.

  He smiled slowly, giving it his charming all. "Sure. And about the drugstore in there—" his eyes shot to the now-closed cabinet "—it's not my stuff, it's April's. She used to live here and just never picked it up." Then he smiled brightly, hoping he'd alleviated her suspicions.

  Catherine's blue eyes widened even more. "April? As in April and Jace?"

  Sam nodded, unable to take his eyes from hers. They were so blue and so vulnerable. "Before she and Jace married, they had a difference of opinion and April moved in for a while."

  Catherine smiled sweetly again. "Oh, really? How nice for you," she said softly.

&nbs
p; "It wasn't that way. April and I have been friends for a long time. Where else would she go but to a friend when she needed one?"

  Catherine walked back to the sink and rinsed out her mouth. Wiping daintily with a third towel, she looked over her shoulder at him. "Does Jace know?"

  "Of course."

  "And does April have other fetishes? I mean besides carrying around hair curlers when her hair is so short, and a dozen or so toothbrushes?" Catherine's voice was still sweet and innocent sounding, but Sam could smell a trap a mile away.

  "No. I do," he said calmly, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorjamb.

  She unwrapped her hair from the towel and shook her head, allowing the damp locks to tumble in disarray on her now sweet-smelling shoulders.

  Sam stood a little straighter, the ache in his stomach had disappeared as an ache in his loins had begun. She looked so soft, so sweet, so delectable… she looked like a little blond, cuddly, curvy ball of fluff. He dropped that thought, reminding himself of the strength of her punch.

  She took the comb from her purse and began combing the tangles from her hair, arching her neck and curving her spine in delicious ways. Her eyes met his in the mirror and she slowly, sensuously smiled, the promise of another night shining brightly in her sky-blue eyes. All thoughts of the previous conversation left his mind as he became drawn into her gaze.

  "Sam? Are we… friends?" she asked softly.

  "Of course." He swallowed.

  Her eyes dropped. "Thank you," she said.

  It wasn't until they were in the car and headed toward Catherine's rental house that he wondered about her quick turn of behavior. Normally he would never have allowed a woman access to that cabinet, but he hadn't been thinking clearly. It took too many explanations and much soothing for most women to cope with his life-style. Other women would have questioned the toothbrushes more closely, putting him on the defensive or making themselves such nuisances that he would have taken them home and not asked them out again. He smiled. But then Catherine was a woman of the world and didn't need to question closer. She knew the game. She probably hadn't given the toothbrushes another thought…