“Two hours.” He was already reaching for her.
Samara danced away, toward the door. “Then we have time to make a trip to the hardware store.”
“Trust me, if you want hardware, I’ve got—”
“I want paint,” she interrupted, laughing.
“Don’t we have enough paint?”
“Not for what I have in mind.”
“Is it kinky?” he asked hopefully.
“Only in your dreams.”
Steven took Samara to the hardware store and then out for lunch. And while there was a part of him that sincerely regretted not staying home and getting naked with her, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed just being with her. She wasn’t only beautiful and talented, she was bright and sweet and funny, and he was already completely infatuated with her.
He’d worried from the first that acting upon the attraction he felt could be a mistake. Getting involved with a woman who worked with him as well as being his brother’s wife’s best friend wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, but he couldn’t regret it. Especially not when she looked at him the way she was doing now, with her eyes sparkling and just the hint of a smile on her lips that made him so very glad his brother had taken the kids for the weekend.
Of course, that thought was immediately followed by a quick stab of guilt that he was, even for a moment, pleased that Caitlyn and Tyler were gone. But his children had been his focus for the last three years, the center of his world, and he knew they would be home on Sunday. In the meantime, he was looking forward to some adult conversation and bedroom entertainment that didn’t require a remote control.
But first, they had to finish Caitlin’s bedroom.
The second coat didn’t seem to take as long as the first. Maybe because they’d already established a routine and fell into it easily. Whatever the reason, he was pleased when it was done and looking forward to getting on with the “after-painting” part of the weekend.
He followed Samara into the basement, where she deposited her paint tray and brush into the laundry tub. Steven reached past her to dump his own tools and, in doing so, brushed his roller across the front of her shirt.
She stared at the wide slash of paint, then at him. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“I…uh…it slipped.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he could tell she wasn’t sure if she should believe him.
It had been an accident, but he couldn’t say that he was sorry, because the wet paint was making the fabric cling to her breasts, highlighting her peaked nipples.
“I think you should take that shirt off, though, before the paint soaks through.”
“You do, do you?”
He nodded solemnly.
She held his gaze for a long moment, as if considering. Then slowly, very slowly, she lifted the hem of her shirt. It slid upward, a fraction of an inch at a time, revealing smooth taut skin, then a glimpse of black lace, and finally, a barely-there demi-cup bra that displayed her breasts in an enticing manner.
“That’s…uh…better.”
Her brows disappeared beneath her neat fringe of bangs. “Is it?”
“Well, maybe you should get rid of the pants, too.”
She unsnapped the button, slowly lowered the zipper.
He was suddenly conscious of the activity taking place in the vicinity of his own zipper.
She wriggled a little, pushed the material over her hips, showing him a pair of lacy black bikinis that had been designed to match the bra.
She stepped out of her pants, kicked them aside before he pulled her into his arms.
They did it in the laundry room.
It was the only thought that seemed to register in Samara’s mind as she clung to Steven, her back still braced against the washing machine, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands draped over his shoulders.
“We did it in the laundry room,” he said, sounding just as baffled as she felt.
She laughed and let her head fall against his chest. “Yeah, we did.”
And it had been so totally spontaneous and hot—and crazier than anything she’d done in a very long time.
“I have a perfectly good bed upstairs,” he reminded her.
“Mmm,” she agreed. “We tried that out earlier.”
“Is this unusual, do you think?”
She tipped her head back to look at him. “Doing it in a laundry room?”
“I wasn’t questioning the location so much as the frequency,” he said. “Did you know we’ve gone through almost half a box of condoms in less than twenty-four hours?”
“Then we still have half left,” she said optimistically.
He chuckled. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or concerned.”
“You were the one who just happened to have the little square package in your pocket,” she felt compelled to point out.
“And aren’t you glad that I did?”
She couldn’t deny it, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, she slid out of his arms and started to gather her clothes up from the floor.
“Maybe it’s just the long overdue release of pent-up sexual energy,” she suggested.
“That’s one possible explanation,” he agreed. “Another is that there’s something between us that’s deeper, stronger and more compelling than mere physical attraction.”
“Do you think so?” she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. Because she knew that she was already more than halfway in love with him, and she’d been so afraid that she was the only one who was emotionally involved, that it was just sex to Steven.
But looking at him now, she realized she’d been wrong to think that. He wouldn’t be so wary or confused if his emotions weren’t involved at least a little.
“Yeah.” He brushed his lips against hers. “I think so.”
And that gentle kiss and wary admission were enough to have her falling the rest of the way.
Chapter Ten
In the morning light, with the paint finally dry and the furniture back in place, Caitlin’s room looked like any girl’s dream. While Samara put new bedding on the bed, Steven hung the matching curtains at the windows.
As they stepped back to survey their work, he said, “And within ten minutes of getting home, she’ll have Zac Efron posters tacked up all over the place.”
Samara smiled. “Which only proves she’s no different than any other teenage girl.”
He winced. “She’s not a teenager yet. Not for another four months.”
She only laughed. “What time are the kids supposed to get back?”
“Richard said he would have them home for lunch.”
She glanced at her watch, saw that it was nearly eleven. “I should be on my way then.”
He frowned. “Why don’t you stay?”
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be here when they get home.”
“Are you worried that they’ll somehow know you spent the night?”
She was worried—and about bigger issues than that. It wasn’t just that she’d spent the last two nights in his arms, but that every minute she spent with him, she seemed to fall even deeper into love. And while Steven had admitted there was more than physical attraction between them, she knew he wasn’t ready to complicate their relationship with heavy-duty emotions. “I think your children need some time to get used to the idea that we’re…seeing one another,” she decided, for lack of a better term.
“And how are they going to get used to that if they don’t see us…seeing one another?”
“They’ve been gone since Friday. They’re probably looking forward to spending some time with you, without anyone else around.”
“Well, stay for lunch at least.” He slid his arms around her waist, drew her closer. “Please.”
She leaned her head against his chest, and wondered how she’d gotten in so deep so fast. “Okay,” she finally relented. “But only because waiting for the kids to come home incr
eases my chances of catching a ride back with Jenny and Richard.”
“That’s the only reason?”
“That,” she agreed. “And the fact that I’m hungry.”
Caitlin couldn’t believe it when she got home Sunday afternoon and found she was there. And didn’t Dad and her look all cozy together, leaving no doubt as to what they’d been doing all weekend? He’d suggested that she and Ty spend some time with Uncle Richard and Aunt Jenny so that he could paint her bedroom, but she knew now that he’d only wanted them out of the way so he could do the deed with his new girlfriend.
Aunt Jenny didn’t say anything, but Caitlin could tell she was surprised to find Samara there, too. She wondered how it happened that Aunt Jenny and Samara had ever become friends when Aunt Jenny was so cool and Samara was…so not cool.
While Tyler was talking to Samara about his latest video game, Aunt Jenny was telling Dad about the emergency phone call that had dragged Uncle Richard into the office on a Sunday. Caitlin took advantage of their preoccupation to slip out of the room and upstairs to see how much painting—if any—had been done while she was gone.
She was already annoyed and prepared to be completely pissed that her room wasn’t finished.
Except that it was done—and it looked even better than she’d hoped.
“What do you think?” her dad asked from the doorway behind her.
She’d been so intent on inspecting her room she hadn’t heard him come up the stairs behind her. And when she turned to respond, she saw that he hadn’t come alone. Aunt Jenny and Tyler were there, too. And Samara.
But she ignored everyone else and responded to his question, “It’s…great.”
And it was. The glossy white trim around the windows and doors set off the pale-lavender walls. The new comforter she’d picked out when she went shopping with Aunt Jenny—white with tiny sprigs of violets embroidered along the edge—was on the bed and the matching curtains draped over the window. On closer inspection, she noticed that there were sprigs of violets on the walls, strategically placed in the corners and over the headboard of her bed.
“Where did you find the decals to match the bedding?” she asked her dad.
“Do you like them?”
“They’re perfect,” she said. “Everything’s perfect.” Then she did something she hadn’t done in a very long time—she threw her arms around him and squeezed tight. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I didn’t do it all by myself,” he told her. “And those pretty clusters of little flowers on the wall aren’t decals, they’re hand painted. Samara did them.”
“She did the boats and cars in the baby’s room, too,” Jenny said.
A comment that prompted Tyler to ask, “Can you do something for my room, too?”
Samara smiled at him. “It depends on what that ‘something’ is, but so long as you don’t want anything too complicated, I probably can.”
While they were all marveling over Samara’s talents, Caitlin was torn between amazement that she’d been able to match her chosen design so perfectly and resentment that she’d taken it upon herself to do so.
“Caitlin…” her father prompted.
She reluctantly shifted her eyes to Samara. “Thank you,” she said, but without much enthusiasm.
“You’re welcome,” Samara replied.
“All of your stuff is in boxes in the closet,” her dad told her. “I didn’t have a chance to put it back for you.”
“I can do it,” she said, and wished they would all go away now so she could get her room set up the way she wanted.
But then she had a better idea, and she turned to her father’s girlfriend. “Or maybe you could help me, Samara.”
Samara didn’t believe for a second that Steven’s daughter had suddenly changed her attitude just because she’d painted some flowers on her walls. But after the silent treatment of their first meeting, she couldn’t reject the overture Caitlin had made.
“I’d be happy to help,” she said.
Caitlin smiled, and Samara was struck by how truly pretty the girl was when she wasn’t walking around with a scowl on her face.
“I’ll get lunch started,” Steven said.
Then Jenny said, “Ty, why don’t you help me get the rest of your stuff out of the car?”
And they all traipsed out of the room, leaving Samara and Caitlin alone.
Samara didn’t know what Steven’s daughter was up to, but she knew she was up to something. However, she’d promised to help her set up her room, and she lifted a box out of the closet, determined to do just that.
“Careful with that,” Caitlin said. “My pictures are in there.”
The girl took the box from her and set it on the bed. She carefully removed the lid, then pulled out an ornate silver-colored frame.
“This is my mom,” she said, gently brushing a dusting cloth over the glass. “Me and my mom.”
Samara peered over her shoulder, noted that mother and daughter had the same blond curls, the same cupid’s-bow-shaped lips, the same heart-shaped face. But where Liz’s eyes had been blue-gray, Caitlin had inherited her father’s blue ones.
“Grandma says I look just like her.”
“You do,” Samara agreed.
Caitlin traced a finger around the curved edge of the frame. “My dad always said she was the most beautiful woman in the world.”
And Samara made the mental jump she knew Caitlin wanted her to—that if the woman Caitlin’s dad thought was the most beautiful in the world had blue-gray eyes and golden curls, how could he ever be attracted to a woman with dark eyes and straight black hair?
But he was attracted to her. After two nights—and mornings—Samara didn’t doubt that. Although he’d alluded to his feelings for her, she wasn’t sure how deep they were. But she was hopeful that they would grow, and that he might eventually fall in love with her, too.
She also knew, regardless of Steven’s feelings for her, their relationship didn’t have a chance if his daughter remained adamantly opposed to it.
She wished she could connect with Caitlin as she’d done so easily with Tyler, but the girl had rebuffed her efforts so far. Samara wasn’t giving up hope, though—not regarding Steven’s daughter, and especially not regarding the chance to build a future with the man she loved.
“They were happy together,” Caitlin said, finally setting the frame in its place of honor beside her bed. “Dad always said he knew from the first minute he set eyes on my mom that she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.”
Samara felt the knife in her heart twist, but she managed to respond gently. “Unfortunately, life doesn’t always turn out the way we’d planned.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Caitlin’s words dripped with sarcasm.
Samara took a deep breath and said, “How about the fact that I like your dad?”
“Yeah, that’s news.”
“And I think I could like you, too, if you gave me a chance.”
Caitlin plugged in her CD player, popped a disk into the tray.
Samara braced herself for the heavy pounding of metal or the pulsing throb of hip hop, and was surprised by the soft, soothing music that flowed from the speakers.
“Enya?” she asked.
Caitlin seemed startled that she’d recognized it, but she nodded. “She was one of my mom’s favorites.”
Samara didn’t dare mention that she liked the music, too. Instead, she pulled another box from the closet and began setting out the collection of perfume bottles on Caitlin’s dresser.
It was quite an extensive collection for a twelve-year-old girl and she knew, without needing to be told, the bottles had also belonged to Liz. Samara, in contrast, didn’t have anything that belonged to her own mother.
When Sakura had walked out on her family, she’d taken everything she wanted with her, and anything that was left behind had been tossed out by Samara’s father. He’d wanted nothing to remind him of the woman who’d abandoned the fam
ily and had forbidden any of his daughters even to speak her name in his presence. Samara had never figured out whether that was because he was callously uncaring or simply heartbroken by his wife’s desertion.
“You’re lucky,” she said to Caitlin now, “that you have so many things to remind you of your mom, to help you remember how much she loved you.”
Caitlin must have picked up on the regret in Samara’s tone, because she asked, “Is your mom dead?”
“I don’t know.”
The girl frowned. “How can you not know?”
“Because she left when I was four.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said again.
“There must have been a reason,” Caitlin insisted.
She shrugged. “Maybe there was. But like I said, I was four. If there was a reason, I certainly had no idea what it was.”
“She never told you?”
“I never saw her again.”
“Oh.” Caitlin hugged a lace-edged pillow against her chest. “So your dad raised you, too?”
Samara started to nod because it was easier to agree than to explain. But then she changed her mind, trusting that a dose of reality might help Steven’s daughter understand how truly lucky she was.
“I was raised by my great-grandmother,” she told her.
“Where was your dad?”
“Working.”
“All the time?”
“It seemed like it.”
“My dad used to work a lot, too,” Caitlin said. “When we lived in Crooked Oak, he was always at the garage. We got to hang out there with him sometimes, too, but he found the hours got to be too much after…”
She trailed off, but they both knew what had been left unsaid.
“That’s why he started restoring classic cars,” Samara guessed.
Caitlin nodded. “And he was doing it in North Carolina. There was no reason we had to come to Chicago. Everything was okay before we came here.
“Now—” she looked at Samara again “—now everything sucks.”
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