Sam chuckled, but when he looked at the expression on Catherine's face, his arm instinctively circled her waist. Whatever deep emotion she was feeling both touched and hurt her. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in the stiffness of her body.
Back at the house they watched TV together, neither saying much. Tension built in the air like a child's set of blocks, one at a time. All he wanted to do was reach over and steal a kiss from her lips, but he didn't have the nerve to do so unless she gave him some sign, any sign, that she was willing. Occasionally he would stare at the wall above the TV and practically will her to say some-thing to him that he could take as encouragement, but nothing happened, adding to his frustration.
By ten o'clock Catherine's head was nodding.
"Catherine? Go to bed," he said softly in her ear, hoping for just one moment she would instead curl up in his lap.
"Good idea," she mumbled, standing before he could help her. "Good night."
He listened to her walking down the hall and into the bedroom, his heart sinking as he heard the door close. She hadn't gone into his room. She had entered the guest bedroom. Seconds later he heard the click of the small lock on the door, and his heart sank even more. She was silently telling him to stay away from her.
Why? Was he some kind of monster? Did he look like he was going to attack her? Didn't she trust him? He had to almost chuckle at the last thought. How could she trust him when he didn't trust himself around her? She must have felt the tension in the air, the urgency in his body. She had to have known and silently made her decision.
He gave a heavy sigh and began walking around the house, making sure the lights were out and the door and windows locked. He had subtly tried to push her, and she was pushing back the same way.
Give her time, his conscience said, but his body was impatient. In all fairness, he didn't just want to make love to her, he wanted to hold her close, to protect her, to let her feel that he had enough love for two.
He stripped naked and climbed into bed. Folding his arms behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. He told his body to unwind but it wasn't receiving the message. His muscles were tightly coiled and ready to react to the slightest sound.
Well, he'd give her time, if that's what she needed. But it wouldn't be his fault if he dwindled away to only a shadow of his former self by the time she was through with the havoc she played on his nerves!
Catherine lay in bed and listened to the sounds Sam made as he closed the house for the night. She had been sleepy as she had sat with him on the couch, but it had been a sleepiness caused by complete contentment and security. Once she had chosen to sleep in this room instead of his, though, her sleepiness had vanished. Now she was wide awake and hungering for his touch.
She had entered the guest room because she was afraid of Sam. Oh, not in the usual sense, for he was as gentle and kind as anyone she had ever met before. But she knew she was getting too attached to him and that frightened her. Everything seemed to frighten her these days. But especially Sam. She was relying on him when she should be relying on no one but herself. The present situation was too comfortable and she knew it had to come to an end.
Why, her other self asked, and she attempted to come up with an answer that wasn't built on panic.
Because there is too much of a difference between us to bridge the gap.
Baloney, was her other self's answer.
Because he's the type that wants a "forever."
Is that why he's had so many women floating through his life? Is that why he has toothbrushes in his linen closet, her other self questioned.
No, but he was after her. He was like a missile honing in on her. He'd get through her radar and smash her to smithereens before she could retaliate.
Was that the real reason she was afraid of him? Or was it something so elementary that she couldn't face it—elementary like… love?
She closed her eyes and her mind to the conversation. She needed sleep to get better, to gain her strength of mind and body back. Sam and the problems he caused could wait until another day.
She rolled over and dreamed of Sam, his arms around her, his smile shining on her like the warm sun. They were looking at children at play, their children, and he was so proud.
And so was she. Her children would never know what it was like to have childhood taken from them, snatched like a thief in the night. They would have a normal life. Her children would love and be loved. They would play dress up and march in parades, just like the children she had seen today and envied. Her children with the dark hair and big brown eyes and the tall athletic build of their father… her children would be happy and carefree and wonderful…
8
Catherine awoke to the banging of pots and pans. She listened for a moment, attempting to orient herself. Then she realized she was in Sam's house and he was probably in the kitchen making breakfast.
She wondered why he wasn't at work. He had come home early yesterday but he hadn't said why, and she'd been so happy to see him that she hadn't questioned him.
She jumped out of bed and dashed into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind her. She quickly ran a washcloth over her face, brushed her teeth with one of Sam's hated toothbrushes and slipped into her shorts and top from yesterday. Her stomach gave a loud growl. Coffee and toast were the order of the moment.
Sam's lightly breathed cursing was filling the air as she walked into the kitchen. A hand rubbing his head told the story.
She chuckled. "Hit your head?"
He glowered accusingly at the pots that dangled on brass hooks suspended from the ceiling and arrowed down toward the butcher block in the middle of the kitchen. "These damn things are out to get me. I need to move those chains so I don't get bumped every time I turn around."
"You do that and no one will be able to reach anything except you and the Jolly Green Giant."
He grinned. "Do I seem that tall to you?"
She grinned back, not thinking through her answer before giving it. "No, you're just right." At his surprised look, she quickly added, "For your pots and pans to wreak vengeance on the one who puts them to work most often."
"Thanks," he muttered. "By the way, put on a bathing suit and grab a few towels. We're going to the beach today." He paused. "Er, that is, do you like the beach? Would you like to go?"
Her eyes grew wide with delight. "I'd love to! I've never been before."
"Never?" His look was incredulous. "You grew up in New Orleans and never walked down to the beach?"
"I grew up around the docks, and the beach was a long way away," she corrected. "I always wanted to, but there was too much else to do."
He looked skeptical, but didn't ask the questions that seemed poised on his tongue. He couldn't imagine any teenager living near a beach and never going there. Turning away he poured another cup of coffee, then handed it to her. "Well, get ready for a fun experience."
She gratefully sipped on the coffee, wondering what could be so wonderful about a tour of a beach. One glance at the look that blazed from his eyes and she knew not to ask.
With Sam Lewis, One Hour at a Time was fast becoming her motto.
"Two perfect days in a row," Sam murmured contentedly as he pulled into the beach parking lot. "California is nothing if not full of surprises." The car came to a stop and Catherine slipped out, anxious to feel the salty wind. She took several deep breaths, losing the inhibitions that had tethered her this past week. Today was not the time to worry about the future. She had the rest of her life to do that. All she wanted to do was enjoy herself, enjoy Sam's company and enjoy the beach.
Sam pointed toward the old remains of a pier, then burrowed into the trunk of the car. "Head over there. I'll follow behind."
"Why? I'll wait for you." She turned, hands outstretched to carry some of the things he had decided were a necessity to this trip. He plopped blankets and towels in her open arms.
"Because I'm in charge of this expedition and I say I get to watch the scenery
as I walk. It's only fair."
"The scenery…?" She grinned beguilingly. "In that case, I have the same option."
"No, you don't. You've never seen the beach so you fill your eyes with that view. On the other hand, I've seen the beach plenty of times, so I get the view of my choice, and my choice is watching you walk."
She dimpled saucily. "Enjoy yourself," she caroled, strutting ahead toward the spot he had pointed to earlier. She couldn't help the extra swing she put in her walk, she felt buoyant with fun and freedom. Sam gave a mock growl, which only made her giggle and wiggle her hips more.
He had chosen a spot by an old, drunkenly-tilted pier beam and close to the ocean's edge. It was away from the crowd and she was glad. Sam was enough to deal with. Blankets were spread, towels divided and a picnic basket set to the side-before they stripped off T-shirts and jeans to worship the sun in their bathing suits.
Catherine's was a royal-blue two-piece that was far more modest than most on the beach. Sam wore a black knit that would have been more at home on the beaches of Europe. It showed everything, and he didn't seem to mind at all. Silently, Catherine agreed with him. She didn't mind, either.
"It's a wonder you're not attacked by every female within a hundred yards," she muttered in a voice she hoped was unappreciative of his looks.
His brown eyes twinkled. "Does that apply to you, too?"
"Forget it. When the game is obviously a win, the hunter moves on to more elusive game."
"Oh, Lord," he groaned, and she chuckled.
"Bad, huh?" she asked.
"Bad," he confirmed.
She shrugged, turning her back to him as she began rubbing suntan lotion on her legs and arms.
"Can I help?" His stomach was tightening again. She not only had the sweetest little derriere, but her back was soft and smooth and so beautifully sculptured.
"No, thanks." Her voice was muffled and soft, rasping along his nerves to tighten them even more.
He watched like a hungry man dying for sustenance as her long, tapered fingers swept over the very areas he would have loved to have caressed. His palms itched with every stroke. Her fingers massaged, they curved, then stroked, and he felt every curve, every indentation she touched. Not only was her skin beautiful and soft, but the oil made it delightfully sensuous and slippery. He could imagine his hand slipping to her stomach, then following the oiled path downward…
Finally, breathing shallowly and berating himself for being a masochist, he lay on his back and allowed the sun's rays to temporarily blind him. With his eyes closed he could still feel her nearness, and his body continued to react to her. When she scooted around, he heard her soft gasp and knew that she had seen the evidence of his arousal. It satisfied him. Let her know that she was the cause of his discomfort, it served her right.
Instead, all he heard was a very undignified, slightly muffled chuckle, which left a small quirk of a smile on his mouth. He should have known the situation would backfire.
Catherine leaned back and closed her eyes, mimicking Sam. It was heavenly. The sun seemed to seep into her very pores, and the sound of the softly lapping waves was almost mesmerizing. She was content. She knew that even with her eyes closed she could reach out and Sam would be there, next to her, and that feeling gave her another sense of peace. One she hadn't had in a long time. With that thought, she drifted into a light sleep.
Something tickled her upper lip, teasing it into puckering. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, coming into contact with something crusty and good smelling. Fried chicken. Her white teeth held on and grabbed a bite, not letting go until she had a healthy portion in her mouth. "Mmm."
"I thought you'd like that," Sam's low voice teased her, washing over her with the same feeling that the day had given her, relaxed and slightly daring.
"I loved it," she said with her eyes still closed. "Is there more where that came from?"
"Yes, and just as tasty."
Her brows rose over lidded eyes. "Tasty, yes, but what about crisp?"
"And crisp," he said, almost in a whisper. "And warm. And waiting for you."
"The perfect meal."
"For you, maybe. My appetite runs to other…delicacies." He cleared his throat, forcibly willing his mind back to safer ground.
"Can I have some more, please?"
"You bet. Only sit up before the sun fries you to a crisp." He sounded gruff to his own ears, but he couldn't help it.
She did as she was told and he handed her the drumstick. She chewed hungrily, finishing it in nothing flat.
Sam glanced away, staring at the ocean instead of Catherine until he felt more in control. The effort it took him to slow down his heartbeat almost exhausted him. But finally, he was able to take a deep breath and look at her without feeling like a hungry, slavering wolf. "Cold drink?"
"Please." And she drank it down quickly.
"If I'd known this was to be a marathon, I'd have entered the race," Sam said dryly.
"Listen," Catherine put in as she leaned back on her elbows enjoying the heat of the sun playing upon her body. "This sunbathing is hard work. It takes more muscle control being still than it does working."
"So I gather. Do you always work so hard?"
Suddenly the teasing left her voice. "I've had to. No one works for you, or haven't you noticed?" She laid back down so that she didn't have to face him. Her eyes were closed, her ears concentrating on the sound of the surf.
Suddenly his shadow fell across her, blocking the sun's rays, and she felt the change in temperature immediately. Her eyes opened just a little to see him watching her with narrowed eyes, searching her face for something, but she didn't know what.
"You're beautiful, do you know that?"
"I think I might have heard it once or twice before." Poor Sam. He was darling but he sure wasn't original.
"No, I mean beautiful. Both inside and out."
Her brows rose. "How would you know? You hardly know me."
"I know more than you think, Catherine. I know you seem to have an inferiority complex as big as the Pacific Ocean. I know you feel guilty at times, but I'm not sure why. I know you have an honest sense of fair play or you wouldn't have tried to reassure April of your relationship with Jace. I know that you try hard at everything you do, giving it your best whether it's sunbathing or cooking or reading a book."
"My, my, the attorney at work."
He smiled and her heart skipped a beat with the beauty of it. His head came down, ever so slowly, his lips barely touching hers. "No work today. Just play. I'd like to play with you, Catherine Sinclair, except that I'm not sure you know the rules of the game."
"To the victor goes the spoils?" Her voice was clipped, but breathless.
"No. Winner takes all and there are no losers." His lips took hers then, and the sun was blocked by his head, making her feel both hot and cold at the same time. Only it was reversed. Where the sun blazed down she was hot on the outside but cool on the inside, and where Sam shielded her body from the sun, she was cool on the outside and hot on the inside. She felt all soft and warm and melting. Her arms came up to circle his neck, only to stop at his nape and feel the texture of his hair in the palm of her hand. It felt so strong and fresh and vital.
His tongue probed hers, and she answered with her own soft thrusts, willing him to take more, to see if he could absorb her into him so that she'd be a part of him. A child cried and a mother soothed, a man yelled at his son, a radio blared out rock music, but it was all far away. It melded with sounds of ocean and breathing and needs and wants.
Then he pulled back and her mouth missed him. His lips strayed to the top of her breast and she sucked in the hot, salty air. One tanned finger pushed away the scrap of blue material that covered her nipple and before she could respond, his teeth and lips and tongue had captured it, sending even deeper spirals of heat surging through her. Her hands tightened on his shoulders as she arched to give him better access and he accommodated himself to her, knowing
his body blocked the view.
When she thought she could take no more, Sam's mouth left her breast to travel back to her lips, giving small nips on the way. One hand teased the edge! of her bikini pants, fingers slipping under the material to spread whatever oil was left on her skin.
A moan echoed in her throat to vibrate against his mouth. He drew away and took several deep breaths, resting his head against the curve of her shoulder.
Finally he spoke. "I want you, Catherine, you know that. I want to see you wearing nothing but nature, air soothing your body, light shimmering against your skin." He took another breath, then quickly replaced the bit of cloth over her breast. "But not here."
Her voice shook as she answered. "Why not? We could sell tickets and have an audience in no time."
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," he muttered. "And I won't share you with anyone. But if I keep it up I won't be able to stop, and that scares me even more."
"How can you talk about something that scares you, Sam?" He had pulled away, but his tobacco-brown eyes wouldn't allow her gaze to stray.
"Because when I talk about it, it becomes smaller than it really is. It's only when I keep it to myself that things grow until I can't control them."
She smiled but it was tinged with sadness. "Is this a paid commercial announcement?"
Still his eyes were locked with hers. "Yes."
"Thank you for trying to help."
"I'm here, Catherine. Whenever. I'm here."
Her hand came up to stroke his jaw, resting there to quiver with the wonder of wanting him and the joy of being with him. "I know," she whispered. "I know."
They passed the rest of the day in glib conversation, both hiding their private emotions behind easy answers and quick retorts. Catherine knew it couldn't last, but she didn't care right now. She needed a friend, and Sam was it.
A Woman's Choice Page 11