by Bird, Peggy
Loving Again
Peggy Bird
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2012 by Margaret Bird
ISBN 10: 1-4405-5192-8
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5192-5
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5189-8
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5189-5
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
For Maggie, Max, Sophie and Ben. I love you, but this is as far as you can read.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also Available
Chapter One
“Finally. The last load out the door.” Amanda St. Claire plopped herself on a footstool with a sigh. Most of the friends who’d been helping her pack for her move had just left, taking a truckload of boxes to her storage unit. Only Sam Richardson remained, a man who got her more hot and bothered than all the packing and moving in the world could. However, after what had happened last year, it was hard to know how to handle an attraction that was clearly mutual but which so far, other than one kiss — one wild, passionate kiss — she’d managed to keep tamped down.
She cleared her throat, which was closing in just thinking about that kiss. Or maybe it was the dust she’d inhaled while she was packing up the basement. Sure. Dust. Like that made her breathless. It would probably be better if he left, too, and let her figure this all out when she was in Seattle and he was here, in Portland. “Sam, you don’t have to hang around. You got suckered into helping when the only reason you were here was to say good-bye.”
“Funny, I don’t feel like a sucker,” he said. He was standing way too close. She swore she could almost feel his breath when he spoke, his voice low and husky, creating goose bumps all over her. And those eyes — warm, chocolate brown with an unreadable expression — amused, maybe affectionate. Maybe she shouldn’t overthink this and just enjoy the way he made her feel.
God, he was sexy. She’d wondered for months if there could be something between them. But her life had been so messed up by what happened last year that she wasn’t sure she could rationally say she was in any position to find out. “Sorry, that sounded unappreciative and you know I’m not. I’m just feeling guilty. I owe you more than I can ever repay and getting you involved in packing boxes of books for two hours wasn’t how I envisioned trying to make it up to you.”
“I keep telling you, you don’t owe me anything, Amanda.” He shrugged those broad shoulders of his, then grinned. “On the other hand, I’m not above playing on your guilt if it gets me dinner with you tonight.”
She ran her hands through her curls that hadn’t seen a comb or brush since early morning. “Dinner? I don’t know. It’s tempting but after the day I’ve had I’m not sure I’m up to going anywhere.”
“I was thinking more like getting a pizza delivered.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I have the best pizza place in Portland on speed dial.”
She paused before answering, knowing it probably wasn’t smart to start anything the evening before she was leaving for six months, before she had a chance to sort out how she felt about … well, pretty much everything. But instead of the “no, thanks” her head was telling her to say, her heart — or maybe her hormones — got control of her voice and squeaked out, “Pizza would work.” After she took a deep breath to get her voice under control, she said, “But first, I need to get out of these clothes and take a shower. Digging around in the basement I’ve avoided like the plague for years got me filthy and sweaty.”
The expression he had on his face now wasn’t hard to read at all. “I’ll volunteer to help with that, too, if you’d like,” he said, his voice rich with innuendo, as he tucked one of her wayward curls back behind her ear.
“Thanks, cowboy, I think I can manage it all by myself.” Although the feel of his fingers on her face and the idea of having him help her shower certainly made her heart beat a little faster.
When he smiled this time she noticed for the first time that he only had one dimple. How’d she miss that? It was cute. He was cute. Also hot, good at packing boxes and a genius at saving a girl’s life.
“It was worth a shot,” he said. “Okay then, if I can’t help, tell me what you like on your pizza.”
“My favorite is a Margherita.”
“Thought that was a cocktail,” he said.
“Mozzarella, basil and tomato.” She caught yet another of his amused expressions. “But you knew that, didn’t you?” Before disappearing up the steps she added, “And help yourself to a beer. I think there’s still a six-pack left in the refrigerator.”
• • •
Sam wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he stopped by her house. Not sure exactly what he wanted to happen. At least that’s what he told himself. His excuse for going to her house was to say good-bye, to give her a small gift, to see if it would be okay if he visited her in Seattle. But if he forced himself to think about it for more than two seconds, he would have to admit he wanted more. He just didn’t know how much more she was willing to give him the night before she left.
The first time he’d seen her it was like he’d been hit by lightening. Stuck his finger in a socket. Been Tasered. Something that jolting. But he’d kept his distance. At the beginning, it was because she was with someone else, even if she said he was not exactly a serious boyfriend. Later it was because things got complicated. Assuming that’s what you call having the woman you want arrested for murdering her son-of-a-bitch, cheating, low-life, not-exactly-serious-boyfriend.
And Sam was part of the organization that had done the arresting. No matter how much he helped her, he was still a police detective and she had been seriously unimpressed by the officers of the Portland Police Bureau. For the arrest, for ignoring what she’d found proving her boyfriend Tom Webster had been involved in drug dealing with a couple of dirty cops; for refusing to look further to find Webster’s real killer; for almost killing her by failing to send her to the hospital after she was badly beaten. Hell, for all he knew, she hated the bureau and everyone in it for merely existing.
He’d never believed that she’d killed Webster. Not once in the times he’d talked with her, including the night of the murder, had there been any indication she was capable of that. And if that hadn’t convinced him, what he’d seen a couple weeks after Webster’s death would have. She’d been beaten and terrified in her ho
me by hooded bad guys looking for something they said Webster owed them. No one could have been as convincing in her innocence as she was without actually being innocent. Not in his experience. She was a gifted artist, not a talented actress.
She was innocent and in danger that night. He’d risked his career by taking her from the scene to get medical attention when the responding officers hadn’t moved fast enough. He’d been put on administrative leave for interfering with procedure. But it was worth it. She’d had a pneumothorax — a collapsed lung — and much more delay could have been fatal. The up side was being on leave meant he’d had the time to help her defense attorney.
He succeeded. He found the evidence that identified the real killer, another of Webster’s girlfriends who’d set up Amanda as the perp. After the charges had been dismissed, the police took a second look at the case. Following up on information Amanda had found, they arrested a handful of minor dealers and thugs and the cops who’d siphoned drugs off from their busts to sell through Webster’s club, maybe even at the restaurant he ran in a building Amanda owned. Some of the bad guys were already in prison. The rest were awaiting trial.
Now, instead of being part of an organization that had her under arrest, he was her savior, a role he didn’t like any better. The one he was interested in was quite a bit more intimate.
In the three years since his divorce, joint custody of two sons and a job that sucked up huge amounts of time had made any sort of social life difficult. Then he met Amanda and knew he’d do whatever it took to overcome those obstacles if she was interested.
In the time he’d spent with her during her trial, he’d realized it wasn’t just attraction he felt for her, it was also admiration. She was simply the most amazing woman he’d ever met. He’d seen her physical bravery when she was beaten, seen the steel in her spine when she was in court. He’d also seen her talent — he’d first met her at an exhibit of her glass art.
And she packed a whole hell of a lot of beautiful into a small package. She was barely five feet tall but those wild, caramel-colored curls, that full, sensual mouth and gold-flecked hazel eyes, that curvaceous body …
An image of that body naked in the shower upstairs flashed through his mind. He shook his head to get rid of it. Damn. What that woman did to him. He hadn’t been on the dating scene for years but he was pretty sure it was still tacky to present a woman you’ve promised dinner to with a hard-on and no food.
He headed to the kitchen, his cell phone in hand, to cool off with the beer she mentioned. Then he had a pizza to order.
• • •
A half hour later, clad in clean T-shirt and jeans, Amanda was at her breakfast bar attacking the pizza. Sam had set the table using a roll of paper towels as both plates and napkins and opened two beers.
“I must have been more hungry than I thought. Or else this is the best pizza I’ve ever had. Thank you. Once again, you’ve saved the day.” She picked up her third piece and wolfed it down.
He drained his bottle of beer and took the last bite of his first slice. “You enjoy food. I like that about you. Although I have no idea where it goes. You’re not exactly well-padded.”
“And what would you know about the state of my padding, Detective Richardson?”
“I’m a cop. I’m good at making visual assessments, Ms. St. Claire.”
“Well, since in your expert opinion I don’t look too padded, I think I’ll have another piece.”
When the pizza was gone, Amanda added the paper towels and pizza box to a large black garbage bag under the sink. As she straightened up from the task, she rolled her shoulders.
“I can’t believe I’m this sore. Not even the shower helped. You’d think with all the heavy stuff I lug around in my studio, I’d be able to manage a few boxes of books.”
“No matter how heavy those sheets of glass of yours are, you don’t have to move them around for eight or nine hours a day. And it was more than a few boxes of books today from what I saw.” He came up behind her at the sink. “Here, let me see if I can massage out some of the kinks.” He began to knead the muscles in her shoulders and, using the pads of his thumbs, to do the same to her neck.
“Ah-h-h. Perfect. This is exactly what I needed.” She rotated her head and stretched her neck. “God, that feels good. If you ever need a second career, you could do this for a living. I’d write a recommendation for you.” Her body moved with the force of his massaging, her hair brushing his chest, then her back arching toward him. She could feel the heat of his body, felt her heartbeat kick up a notch at the pleasure of having his hands on her.
He continued down her back, massaging one vertebra at a time. Somewhere in the middle of her back, however, she could feel it become more caress than massage, could feel his breathing join hers in ratcheting up. She slumped back to close the space between them, resting against his chest, hoping he’d take the hint. He did, beginning to nuzzle her neck. “M-m-m. That feels wonderful, too, Sam.”
“Amanda.” His voice was thick and husky. “I … ”
She turned to see a questioning look in his eyes, as if trying to assess what her reaction was to the change of direction. To answer she reached toward him, put her hand at the back of his neck and, as she drew him toward her, felt him embrace her. She’d thought about being in his arms for months and now she was.
Bending his head, he lowered his mouth toward hers. She lifted her face and was about to close her eyes when she felt him hesitate.
“Is something wrong, Sam?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Just … are you sure about this?”
Standing on tiptoe, she answered him, pressing first her lips then her body against his. His mouth opened under hers and all of his hesitation disappeared.
It was no gentle kiss. She could feel every ounce of his hunger and desire, passion and longing. His hard body pinned her against the cabinet. His fingers threaded through her hair, tipping her head to the angle he wanted so he could kiss her even more fiercely. Then his tongue found hers and she gasped at the pleasure of it, the velvet feel of tongues sliding and slipping over each other in what they both knew was the rhythm of what was to come.
Skin. She needed to touch his skin. She pulled his shirttail out from his jeans and slid her hands up under it to his back, to the muscles she could feel flex and move as he repositioned her so his thigh was tucked between her legs, the thick erection she could feel behind the zipper of his jeans pressing against her belly.
Warm, wet arousal pooled between her legs as he rocked his hips into her, pushing harder against her. She moaned into his mouth as he found his way under her T-shirt to her breasts. This massage was so sensual she wanted it to go on forever.
He broke from the kiss but didn’t let up on the pressure of his body against hers. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you, thought about this but … ”
“But our timing sucked.”
“It still does. You’re leaving.”
“We have tonight. We don’t have to waste it.”
“And you’re sure?” He asked again as he pulled back and looked in her eyes.
She was sure of one thing. She’d decided while she was in the shower, he wasn’t leaving her house tonight until she got him into her bed. The events of the year before had ruined so much. She wasn’t going to let them ruin any more.
“Yes. But if you’re not sure yet, I’ll just go upstairs and wait for you. When you make up your mind, it’s the second door on the right. I’ll leave a light on for you.” She turned to go but he reached for her hand. He was laughing.
“We better go together. I might get lost.”
She led him to her bedroom, strewn with more boxes and her suitcases but she didn’t think that would matter to him. She was right. He didn’t seem to pay attention to anything but her. Coming up behind her, he carefully slid the T-shirt o
ver her head.
“This is like unwrapping the best present at Christmas.” He cupped her breasts in his hands and kissed her shoulder. “I love it that you don’t wear a bra. I don’t have to fumble around because I can’t figure out how to unhook the damn thing.”
She giggled a little, suddenly nervous, but he turned her around and kissed her with deep, seriously long, hot kisses, stealing her breath, reminding her why she wanted this. When she put her head back, gulping in oxygen, he moved down to her neck, kissing the pulse in her throat, nipping at the notch between her collarbones. All the oxygen in the universe couldn’t keep her from feeling dizzy with desire.
In spite of his claims that he fumbled with women’s clothing, he had no trouble with the zipper on her jeans or with easing them over her hips. She kicked off her sandals and shimmied the jeans the rest of the way off until they fell to the floor. Clad now in nothing but a scrap of lace, she was aware of how naked she was. From the flare of desire in his eyes she knew he was aware, too.
He led her to the bed, she lay down and he sat beside her. He dipped his head to one breast, teasing the nipple with his tongue, while he massaged the other breast, rolling the hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She arched toward him, as if to bring her breasts closer to his mouth, as a hunger for him increased with each touch, every kiss.
Wanting to feel his bare chest against her, she tugged at the buttons on his shirt, her fingers shaking with desire, finally getting them undone. He worked the cuffs and she slid the shirt down over his shoulders until it joined her T-shirt and jeans on the floor. She wrapped him in her arms, drew him to her, felt her sensitive nipples brush against his hard chest and sighed with pleasure.
But he backed away. She made a soft sound, objecting to the loss of his heat, her arms reaching for him, until she saw he was only shedding his boots, jeans, and boxer briefs. Before he came back to her, he pulled his wallet out of his jeans and removed a foil packet, placing the condom on her bedside table.
