“Tell me about Saturday.”
“Coffee first.”
He poured her a cup. Carefully, she set the plate down beside her on the sofa, took the cup, and held it between her hands. She sipped it slowly, savoring its strength. As the caffeine seeped into her system, the fuzzy feeling faded.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Sam alternated between eating and watching her. He could hardly believe that she was in his home, and that she had entered it without a condescending quip. Though he adored the place, she was obviously used to far larger and more elaborate surroundings. He didn’t need large, and he didn’t want elaborate.
Nevertheless, Susan added class to the place.
“Saturday,” he prompted, lest he get carried away with his thoughts. “How was it?”
“Fine.” She helped herself to a piece of raisin toast.
“What did you do?”
“Shopped. Had lunch. Went to the exhibit of Dutch landscape painters at the museum. Shopped some more.”
“Did you buy anything?”
She gave him a look that answered him quite well—and adorably, he thought. He grinned. “Tell me.”
“A handbag, two pairs of shoes, a darling silk dress for spring, and a bunch of stuff that was black, intimate, and sexy.”
“Don’t stop there.”
“That’s all I bought.”
“What kind of stuff?”
She took another bite of toast and shrugged. “Silk stockings, garter belts—you know, Sam, personal stuff.”
He could picture it all too well. “When do you wear stuff like that?”
“All the time.”
“Are you serious?” he asked. His voice sounded strange, but there was nothing strange about the bulge in his pants. He had been hard a lot lately.
‘Of course, I’m serious. I like feeling feminine.”
Sam cleared his throat. “What about Savannah? Does she buy silk stockings and garter belts, too?”
Susan stared at him hard. “What’s Savannah got to do with this?”
Her vehemence startled him. “Not much. I was just asking.”
“I thought there wasn’t anything going on between Savannah and you.”
“There isn’t.”
“Then why do you want to know whether she was buying sexy underwear?”
“It was just a thought. Innocent conversation.”
“But why do you have thoughts like that about Savannah?”
“I don’t. I mean, it was just an extension of what you were saying. You and Savannah were shopping together. You bought something sexy. I wondered if she did, too.”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course not!” He sent a helpless glance skyward. “Christ, Susan, you’re making a big deal over nothing. I don’t give a good goddamn what Savannah wears under her clothes, but at the time it was the first thing that came to mind. If you want to go on talking about what you wear to feel sexy, be my guest. If I jump you before you make it to your eggs, it won’t be my fault.”
Susan studied him in silence. Then she said, “You want me?”
“Are you blind, deaf, and dumb?”
Her eyes flashed and she stood so quickly that her plate tottered on the next cushion. “No, I am not blind, deaf, and dumb.” Her arms were straight, her hands in fists by her sides. “Don’t you ever, ever suggest that I’m any one of those things. I may not be as brilliant as my sister Savannah, but I am not stupid.” She stormed to the side of the room, coming to an abrupt halt at the window, where she crossed her arms over her chest and stewed.
Sam was quickly at her side. His voice was a little uneven, but gentle. “My God, Susan, I didn’t mean any harm. It was an expression. I was being facetious. You sat there asking whether I wanted you—do you have any idea how much I do? Do you have any idea what looking at you does to me?” Taking one of her hands, he stroked her fingers open, then put her palm against his fly. It was pure torture. “That’s how much I want you.” He moved her hand to show her the extent of his arousal. “You. No one else, Susan. Just you.”
Susan’s anger had faded with the gentleness of his voice, and with his arousal beneath her palm, she was quickly aroused, herself. Unable to resist, she began touching him on her own, measuring his length, exploring his shape and fullness. He strained against her hand, and for a minute she was tempted to unzip his jeans and feel his bare flesh. But she wasn’t ready to make love. So she slid both hands under his shirt and up his chest.
He gave her a long, deep kiss. When it was done, she was nearly as short of breath as he. Still, she stepped back.
“I’m not an easy lay,” she announced and returned to the sofa.
“Susan…” he warned, still painfully aroused.
“Come have your breakfast, Sam.”
“I had breakfast at five o’clock this morning.”
“Five. What were you doing up at five?” She took in a healthy forkful of scrambled eggs.
“Coming home from work.”
“You worked all night?”
“That’s right.”
“And that,” she said, pointing her fork at him, “is why you and I would never work. I drank myself silly last night waiting for you to break into my house. I have certain needs. A man can’t fill them if he’s never around.”
Sam hadn’t moved. “I’m around now. That’s what this argument’s about. You come over here and I’ll fill your needs real good.”
She put the tines of the fork against her lips and looked at the ceiling. “To paraphrase the great Conway Twitty, I need a man with a slow hand.” She turned the fork toward his plate. “Eat, Sam. Then we’ll see how slow you can be.”
With an agonized moan, Sam did an about-face, hung his head, and wrapped a hand around his neck. “You’re a witch.”
“Mmm. Great bacon. I always burn mine.”
“Why are you being so cruel?”
“I guess I’m still a little hungover.”
Lips thinned, he turned around. “Bullshit. You just enjoy giving me a hard time. It gives you a feeling of power.”
She shrugged. There was no point in denying it.
Sam returned to the rug, poured himself a glass of juice, and drank the whole thing. Then he set down the glass. “So you had a nice time yesterday. I’m glad.”
Susan let her mind wander back to the day before. “It was nice.” After another minute, she added, “Interesting. Savannah was in a really good mood.”
“Isn’t she usually?” he asked, then held up a hand. “Look, you were the one who raised the issue of Savannah, not me. If you don’t want to talk about her, fine, but don’t say things and then expect that I’ll be a good little mummy and stare straight ahead. That’s not my way.”
She realized that. She also realized that she wanted to hear his opinion. “You have my permission to talk about Savannah, and to answer your question, yes, she’s usually in a good mood, but yesterday was different. I can’t quite put my finger on it. We stopped at the hospital to see Megan before we left, and I know that she was a little down about that. Then she made a phone call from the hospital, and that seemed to cheer her up. I think she’s got a guy on the side she’s not telling me about.”
“Not me,” Sam vowed, raising both hands this time. “Not me. I swear it.”
She believed him. “Any idea who it could be?”
Sam shrugged. “Savannah comes into daily contact with lots of men. It could be anyone. Didn’t you ask?”
“Sure, I asked. She said the phone call was to the FBI agent who’s heading Megan’s case. Has anything happened there?”
“Not that I know of, and I’d know.”
“She looked pleased while she was talking with him. Maybe he’s the one. When I asked, she laughed and denied it, but then, when we were shopping, she bought the most incredible teddy.” She arched a brow. “I’m not knocking Savannah’s taste, but it’s usually a little more sedate when it comes to lingerie. Sweet, maybe even lacy, but certainly m
ore sedate than that teddy.”
Sam grinned. “The teddy was real racy?”
Susan didn’t like his enthusiasm. “Why does that please you so?”
His grin vanished. “Why are you so fast to jump to conclusions? I am not interested in Savannah.” He palmed his crotch. “There’s nothing here. Totally soft.”
Susan dropped her eyes to the place he touched. “I wouldn’t say there’s nothing there,” she said, watched and waited for a minute, then added, “or that what’s there is totally soft.”
Gritting his teeth, Sam asked tightly, “Want it now?”
She shook her head.
“Then, ease up, honey. Push me too far, and you’ll get it whether you want it or not.”
His threat excited her. She supposed it had something to do with the fact that she trusted him. She knew he’d never hurt her. And she suspected that whenever he took her, she’d be ready.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He looked irritably off toward the wall, then dropped his head and shook it slowly. When he looked up again, he wore a sheepish grin. “You are incredible, do you know that?”
“Is incredible good or bad?”
“Only time will tell.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. We still haven’t figured out why you went home and drank last night.”
“I didn’t know we were here to find out.”
“Indirectly, we are. So. Why did you go home and drink?”
“That’s indirect?” When he gave her a warning look, she said, “I told you. I was waiting for you to break in and you didn’t come.”
“You also said that you suspect Savannah has a new man. Does that bother you?”
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure. Besides, maybe I’m imagining things. Savannah doesn’t have time for involvement with a man. She has a career.”
“Many women have men and careers.”
“But do they handle both well?” Susan asked in a knowing way. “It seems that every time I turn around another article’s being written about the plight of superwoman. Either she’s consumed by guilt that she’s depriving her family of something, or she’s angry that her husband isn’t doing his share, or she’s too tired to make love. A person only has one head; she can only wear one hat.”
Sam popped a rasher of bacon in his mouth whole and talked around it. “That’s an interesting statement.”
“It’s true.”
“On the other hand,” he swallowed and spoke more clearly, “if you were to say that she can only wear one hat at a time, the statement takes on new meaning. Men have to switch hats. I can’t wear my cop’s cap twenty-four hours a day.”
Staring at his complacent expression, Susan had the sinking feeling that she would lose the argument if she pursued it. So she decided a small detour was in order, particularly since he’d raised an interesting point. “I can’t picture you wearing any kind of cap,” she said and held out her coffee cup for a refill. “Why do you wear your hair so long?”
He poured the coffee. “I like it this way.”
“Wouldn’t short hair be easier to care for?”
He shrugged. “I have easy hair. Towel dry, and that’s it.”
“I’d think your superiors would prefer something more traditional.”
“Nope. I don’t look like a cop. Makes things better for undercover work.”
“Do you do much of that?”
“As much as I can. It’s interesting.”
“And dangerous.”
“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. What’s wrong with your car?”
Susan had no idea what her car had to do with the discussion, and her look told him so.
“You said something was wrong with it,” he explained patiently, “and I know just the person to fix it. Name’s Matty Stavanovich. He has the slickest fingers east of the Mississippi.”
“Is he an authorized Jaguar repairman?” she asked archly.
Sam laughed.
“What’s so funny? It’s a legitimate question.”
“But the way you said it. There are times when you forget who you are and where you’re from, and you say things that are totally uninhibited. Then there are other times when your breeding takes over. That was one of those times. You sounded like the very proper, very wealthy Newport matron.”
Susan wasn’t sure if he was making fun of her or not. “There’s nothing wrong with breeding. Maybe if you had a little more of it, you’d be better off in the world.”
“There are many kinds of breeding, Miss Susan. I’ve had breeding, just a different kind from you.”
“Oh?” She dared him. “Tell me about your breeding.”
To her surprise, he did just that. “I grew up in western Pennsylvania in a home that was nearly as Catholic as the Vatican. My parents were devout. They believed that there were certain ways to live and certain ways to think, and they taught me each of those ways, then had me live and breathe them until the day I graduated from high school.” He paused. “Wouldn’t you say that’s breeding?”
Susan’s eyes went wide for a minute. “I guess I’d have to. But what happened when you graduated from high school?”
“I left home.”
“Left? Just went away?”
“Went to college, actually, but I never went home again. I won a scholarship and got a small loan from an uncle, but otherwise I was on my own. My parents didn’t want anything to do with me.”
Susan didn’t understand. “But why? What had you done that was so awful?”
“I was their only son. I was supposed to be a priest.”
“Oh my.”
“When I told them that that wasn’t what I wanted in life,” he made a cutting motion with his hand across his neck, “that was it. I was as good as dead.”
Susan was stunned. “How can religious people do that?”
“Most can’t. Some, like my parents, are fanatics. They let their beliefs insulate them from the rest of the world. In the name of those beliefs, they commit a multitude of sins.”
Though he was sitting and speaking very calmly, the look on his face was anything but. Deep inside, he was hurt. And perhaps angry. Susan knew she would be. She wondered what Thanksgiving dinners were like at the Craig home.
“How is it when you see them now?”
“I don’t see them. I told you. In their eyes, I’m dead.”
“Still?”
“Still.”
It sounded so stark, so final. Susan cast about for something to soften the situation. “You said you were their only son. Do you have any sisters?”
“One. But she’s their daughter. She won’t see me either.”
“She won’t see you? She’s an adult and she goes along with that insanity?”
Sam had asked himself the same questions dozens of times. “She’s afraid of my dad, I guess. She’s seen what he’s capable of. She doesn’t want to be excommunicated, and in some respects, I can see her point. She’s three years younger than me. When all this first happened, she was in no position to go against dad’s dictum.”
“She’s a lot older now. She must have some resources of her own. She could call you on the phone, arrange to meet you somewhere.”
“Not really. She married a guy from home. From what I hear, he’s out of the same mold as Dad. They don’t have much money, and they have a baby girl. Time is as tight for her now as money.”
“A baby?” That made things even worse. “You have a niece you’ve never seen?”
Sam clearly did not like the direction the conversation was taking. “Yes, I have a niece I’ve never seen, and it hurts. I’ve tried to send her gifts but they were all returned unopened. She’s five, not much of a baby anymore, and doing just fine without me.” He held up the pitcher of orange juice.
Susan declined the offer. She was having trouble conceiving of going through life totally alone. “You must have other relatives. What about the uncle who loaned you money when you
started college?”
“He died four years ago, and there’s no one else worth seeing. Don’t look so stricken, Susan. I have plenty of friends. And I love my work.”
But Susan was trying to imagine what it would be like to sever oneself, or be severed from one’s roots. The very thought made her feel wobbly. While her father was far from attentive, she had aunts and uncles and cousins. And she had Savannah. Despite all the times in her life when she had resented that, at the moment it was reassuring.
“Easter’s coming up,” she said on impulse. “You can celebrate it with me.”
Sam got to his feet. “The beauty of my job,” he said, producing a grin, “is that I often get to work through things like Christmas and Easter and the Fourth of July.” He held out a hand. “Want to take a walk? It’s peaceful out on the pier.”
Without a second thought, Susan put her hand in his. A short time later, they were sitting side by side on the end of the small wooden dock. Susan was wrapped in her fur, Sam in a pea jacket. For a time they said nothing, but simply listened to the rush of the river. Sam was right. The spot was peaceful.
But Susan couldn’t stop thinking about what he had said. Peering at him over her collar, she asked, “Do you really like your work?”
“Yes, I really like my work. That’s not to say that I want to do it forever. There are other things out there that interest me, too.”
“Like?”
“Law. I’d like to be doing what your sister is.”
“So, go to law school.”
He tossed a splinter of wood into the wind. “Someday I will.”
“Why not now?”
“Because I’m not ready.”
“If it’s a matter of money—”
“It’s not. I’m just not ready. Who knows? Maybe I never will be.”
Susan stared at him. “How can you not be ready for something that would better your life?”
“I don’t know that it would better my life.”
“Of course it would. You’d be a lawyer. You’d have a profession. You’d be earning twice as much money as you are now, and you’d have the potential for earning even more.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“It sure comes close.”
He eyed her head-on. “You’ve got bundles of the stuff. I don’t see that you’re so happy with your life.”
Heart of the Night Page 25
