What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 5)

by Cathryn Fox

  Adam managed to reach the door first, blocking her way. He found his skin missed the heat of her fingers; his own hand itched to touch her. She wore no watch, no bracelets, no rings. Just the tiny black ear studs and the fragrance of…a tropical island? Coconuts? He leaned closer. “Maybe we can get together for dinner and further discussions on legal semantics and volunteering when you have more time.”

  She felt his warm breath against her cheek. His scent assaulted her senses. Spicy. Heated. Male. Samantha bit the side of her tongue. “Not for all the tea in China,” she gritted. Squeezing past his body, she slammed the door on his throaty laughter.

  He stared at the closed door for a long moment and then Adam Rourke turned to confront Harold Griffin. “Okay, Hal, what the hell has been going on? I get sketchy phone calls and email every week or so, but in the past year you’ve said nothing about working with Freddie and his crew or your new paralegal.” Crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowed on the man who had years ago, replaced his late father in his life. “Frankly, I’ve never seen you look this good in way too long. You’ve lost weight, there’s a bounce in your step, even your voice sounds younger, more alive.” He tilted his head and leveled an accusing stare. “I am not blind. It’s quite obvious that you are half in love with the nubile Miss Logan.”

  Grinning, the judge nodded in agreement. “You’re absolutely right, I am. More importantly I am totally in love with Katherine. Who also happens to love Sam. Hell, Adam if it wasn’t for Samantha Logan, I wouldn’t be getting married. Since she walked into my office and into my life, our lives,” he corrected, “every day has been a joy despite my daughter’s machinations.” He reached for the thermal coffee carafe. “Frankly, son, you do need an attitude adjustment. So sit down and let me fill you in on a eighteen months of pure delight.”

  Chapter Two

  The Indian summer sun glinted off the hood of the low-slung white Jaguar convertible as it sped up New York’s scenic Northway. Adam Rourke had switched on the car radio just in time to catch a fast-talking disc jockey glibly informing his fifty-thousand-watt listening audience that the mercury had already topped the record for this Saturday—eighty degrees at ten a.m. The deep blue cloudless sky seemed the perfect backdrop for the vibrant gold’s, reds, and russets of the glowing autumn foliage. Black and white Holstein’s dotted the green pasture lands of the few farms scattered across the richly wooded countryside. Following Judge Griffen’s detailed directions, Adam easily found the Swiss-styled A-frame that nestled in a curve of towering pine trees along Lake Crescent.

  The Jaguar came to a crunching halt behind a ten year old white Chevy parked on the shale driveway, sending a couple of inquisitive chipmunks scurrying under the front porch for protection. With his silver-lensed sunglasses safely clipped to the car’s visor, Adam eased his tall frame from the black leather bucket seat, and then retrieved a large carton from the trunk. Mounting the scarred porch steps, his comprehensive gaze took in the faded white paint, blistered in spots, the weathered blue shutters, and the hanging red clay pots filled with hearty mums. There was a sign next to the front door that said: Insanity Inside! A huge, scowling pumpkin kept watch. The front windows and inner door had been left open to the fresh air and sunshine.

  He rapped his knuckles sharply against the screened storm door. No answer. Shifting the bulky carton in his arms, he knocked harder. Nothing. She can’t be far off. He pulled the door open and entered the quiet cottage.

  Adam settled the cumbersome box on the wooden floor. Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, he made a cursory examination of the room. A vast expanse of walnut bookshelves lined the white stucco walls. Books filled every available nook and cranny in the cozy living room. The newest furnishing was a wide brown sectional sofa that formed a comfortable L-shape. A worn, brown leather recliner stood in front of a red brick fireplace whose mantel held a flat screen TV. The coffee table proved to be a large trunk that was piled high with textbooks, magazines, and a laptop.

  There was little room for any wall decorations, but a few tiny framed needlepoint and crewel embroideries popped out. Thick green ferns in bright orange pots hung in the windows and a fluffy white and brown shag carpet covered the burnished plank floor.

  His publishing instincts getting the better of him, Adam automatically surveyed the various titles. There was a huge collection of mystery and adventure stories, legal texts, local and world history volumes, an atlas, a ten-year-old encyclopedia, two shelves of computer and electronic manuals, and a smattering of gothics. He smiled as he noted just how many books bore his own publishing house colophon.

  He walked down the short hallway, pushing through a pair of white cafe doors that lead to a cheery sun-filled kitchen. The yellow and white gingham checked wallpaper pattern was repeated in placemats on the kitchen table and on the window valance, setting off to perfection the rich green of the hanging ferns. A half-closed door led to a small room that held a drafting table, another computer and more books – this time they were interior design and architecture. There was a half-bath cum laundry room off the kitchen where he found a wooden drying rack filled with a colorful assortment of lacy bras and panties. Through the back window, Adam caught sight of the sparkling blue waters of the lake, about two hundred feet from the back of the cottage, and a rubber-suited figure kneeling on the dock.

  His brain registered soft music, classic rock drifted from an ancient, knob-less radio that sat on top of the refrigerator. Taking an oversized mug from the counter, he helped himself to coffee still steaming in the brewer. He wandered back into the living room and began extracting richly decorated black-lacquered tins from the cardboard box, assembling them into a pyramid in the center of the hallway at the foot of the stairs. Then, he settled himself comfortably on the couch with his coffee and the new issue of Men’s Health magazine, the mailing label bearing a California address. And he waited.

  Samantha exhaled a wistful sigh as she hosed off her scuba tanks at the rear of the cottage then turned to purge the regulator and secure the dust cap. It felt more like July than October. She lifted her face to the azure sky, enjoying the heat of the sun.

  She was glad that she and Lucy had decided to stay at the lake after their father died three years ago. They had used the insurance money to pay off the mortgage and, with the help of friends who lived permanently around the lake, they had successfully managed all the repairs and maintenance on the cottage. Samantha realized that even with her sister gone, the cottage and the lake provided her with a sense of security. She harbored no fears of spending nights alone; it was just the approaching winter that she disliked.

  Samantha had always been an outdoor girl, enjoying fishing, diving and horseback riding with her father. She and her sister had been counselors at the summer day camp on the lake. Samantha found she was slightly envious of Lucy. California would give her the opportunity to enjoy year-round all the warm-weather activities they had once shared.

  Maybe she would visit her sister when the judge left on his cruise and her legal classes finished. Her new brother-in-law had already provided her with an open ticket and the unlimited use of his guest cottage. There had to be a few paralegal positions in Los Angeles. Samantha shook her head. No, just a short vacation. She had her own bucket list: more classes, her first ocean dive, plus a new job – damn, finally some excitement! Her thoughts made her laugh out loud.

  Samantha squeezed the excess water from her long hair and climbed the back steps into the laundry room. She lugged the heavy tanks onto their drying rack and then stripped off her dive jacket, rinsing it thoroughly in the large deep sink and hanging it on a wide hanger. Once everything was dry, she’d store them in a plastic container that would keep the equipment safe from the spiders that loved to snack on silicon and neoprene all winter. Her prescription lens diving mask was also rinsed and left to air dry.

  Shivering at the water that was running in rivulets down her neck and bare back, Samantha grabbed a pink bath towel and sl
ung it under her hair to soak up the liquid. She was halfway across the kitchen when the telephone rang. “Why is it everyone wants me when I’m either wet or in the bathroom,” she groaned loudly and scooped up the phone.

  “Hello. Hi, Don. What’s new? Oh, nothing much,” she laughed, “just leaving large puddles of lake water on my kitchen floor. Tonight? No, I’m sorry I can’t. I’ve got a to-do list that stretches to Canada. Don’t you have a term paper to write?” She listened to his latest, rather overt sexual innuendoes and again felt that uneasy feeling prickle the back of her neck. Samantha frowned at the fact he had her phone number but realized it had to be from the class phone-tree roster.

  There was something about this guy that sent up a warning flare. He had been openly aggressive last night after class, even following her into the parking garage. When security guard Finch caught her alarmed expression, he had expertly handled the situation. Donald was no match for the bruising ex-marine and his gun. It bothered her that he just wouldn’t take no for an answer. There had to be a way to make him stop – permanently.

  Hmmm…maybe the truth! “My, my, Donald, first it was coffee, then dinner, but now it’s directly to bed! The guy I spent last week sleeping with at least bought me candy!” At his guttural curse, she laughed. “You need to stop watching those frat boy movies. Bye.”

  Her expression turned thoughtful as she hung up the phone. While Don Clark was very attractive and a law clerk in one of the most prestigious firms, there was just something about him. Samantha shivered. She had ignored her feminine instincts once, and it had been devastating. She wasn’t going to ignore her radar twice. Besides, neither she nor her sister had ever been the type to date just for the sake of going out.

  Her ears caught the song playing on the radio as one of her parents’ favorites. Sam had to smile; it was as if they were approving her actions. She hummed her way across the kitchen through the cafe doors into the hallway.

  “What on earth—” Her voice trailed off in astonishment. Adjusting her glasses farther up her nose, Samantha’s blue eyes blinked rapidly at the sight of a four-foot-high pyramid of containers at the foot of the staircase. When she touched the top canister, her hand jarred the stack and sent the red and gold dragon decorated tins tumbling to the floor.

  “As I recall,” a deep voice intoned from behind her, “the lady requested Chinese tea.”

  Slowly, Samantha turned and encountered the mocking, green-eyed gaze of Adam Rourke. She swallowed hard and stared. He looked like a pirate as he stood surveying her, hands on his lean hips and feet planted wide apart. His tall, broad-shouldered frame seemed to dwarf even the high ceilings in the cottage. A shaft of sunlight from the side windows reflected the blue-black glints in his hair. His roughly, handsome features were accented by an open-neck, navy shirt, cuffs turned back on bronze muscular forearms, and well-tailored khaki slacks.

  Samantha cleared her throat, “As I recall I did say something about all the tea in China.”

  “This was the best I could do on short notice,” he told her solemnly, the corners of his mouth twitching with suppressed laughter.

  Shaking her head, she eyed him warily. Odd, no warning prickles. In fact, she felt calm and at ease, letting the laughter that bubbled up from her throat invade the silence. It was infectious, and Adam quickly joined in.

  “I thought this would be a rather clever way of breaking the ice and saying I was sorry for goading you into losing your temper yesterday.” He bent to gather the scattered tins.

  He was holding out an olive branch and Samantha knew the next step was up to her. She remembered, too, how important the next few weeks were to the judge and she couldn’t let him down by being bitchy about the situation. It wasn’t her style. She had always been a warm, friendly person and, as Adam Rourke was only going to be a passing acquaintance, she had little to lose.

  She cleared her throat. “Well I wasn’t the most…um…diplomatic person yesterday either,” she told him with a cheeky grin. “I was fueled by two, five hour energy drinks.”

  Adam tossed the last container into the cardboard carton and appraised the woman standing before him. She was practically naked, and he found his heart beating way too fast along with a tightening in his groin. He had thought about those long legs all night long and now they were on full display.

  Tanned. Sleek. Dancer’s legs. And they directed his eyes to a modest black and white bikini bottom that sculpted a very curvy ass. The polka dots were giving him more than goose bumps. The bath towel that was draped around her neck barely covered her full breasts. His lips twisted when she folded her arms protectively, holding the towel more securely in place. That was a very serious arm cross.

  “How long did it take the judge to convince you to come out here?” Samantha asked frankly, trying to discern something from his enigmatic expression.

  “No one convinces me to do anything. I had an attitude adjustment,” Adam answered smoothly. “I thought the perfect reward would be you fixing me some lunch.”

  Samantha slowly digested his statement. “You’ll have to wait while I shower the lake off me.”

  “I’ll wait,” he assured her. “I’ll just help myself to the last of the coffee.”

  “You really do make yourself right at home, don’t you, Mr. Rourke,” Samantha countered dryly, mounting the stairs to the second floor bedrooms.

  “Ouch…Mr. Rourke? Now that isn’t being very friendly,” Adam tutted, lounging against the wooden banister. “I’ve no intentions of calling you Miss Logan.” His voice halted her climb. “Do you wear contacts when you dive?”

  “No, I don’t, some divers do but contacts can cause problems. I have prescription lenses in my dive mask.” Her toes wiggled in the deep carpet pile of the stair tread. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, just curious. Do you ever wear contacts?”

  “Can’t wear them. Astigmatisms. And a girl really needs to see.” Her head tilted provocatively. “Of course, I don’t wear them all the time.” She skipped up the steps leaving his laughter behind. Really, the man was impossible—a handsome devil, but quite impossible.

  Samantha stood under the shower, turning the nozzle on full force, thoroughly shampooing her hair and soaping her body to remove the last vestiges of lake water. Climbing out of the shower cubicle, she wrapped a blue bath sheet sarong-wise around her body and briskly towel dried her hair. Coconut scented body lotion soothed both her skin and her senses before she padded across the landing into her bedroom. Seated at her white wicker dressing table, Samantha began to blow dry the blond curls into some semblance of style.

  Curiously, she wondered what Adam was doing downstairs, but more importantly why he had decided to come all the way out to the lake, taking time to buy all that tea! Certainly not for a free lunch; he couldn’t have even been sure she would be home. There was no denying it, the man had an exciting virile charm about him and he no doubt knew it. But what on earth was he doing in her house? Men, they all love to play games!

  Grinning at her blurred reflection in the mirror, she leaned closer and began applying peach blusher, black mascara, and a flick of tangerine gloss. Adam Rourke was sadly mistaken if he thought she was a malleable little rubber mouse to be toyed with for his own amusement. Judge’s friend or not, Samantha didn’t quite trust him and was going to watch him like a hawk. And yet…no warning prickles. Of course, he was a bit too old for the horny frat-boy overtures.

  Over her underwear, she pulled on a pair of slim-fitting faded denims and a turquoise and white plaid shirt. She knotted the shirt-tails at her waist and then rolled up her sleeves. Sliding on her glasses, gave her hair a final pat and with a glint in her eyes, bounded barefoot down the stairs.

  Chapter Three

  Samantha found Adam sitting at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand, while perusing a magazine. A million thoughts tumbled through her brain; she eyed him warily for a moment before pushing through the cafe doors and ultimately decided on the direct approach. “Exactly
why did you come out here today? I’m sure you have other places to be, other things to do, other people to see.”

  “Honestly, I felt bad about my behavior yesterday,” Adam answered warmly. “The judge just gave me directions.” Suddenly his lips quirked. “Besides, you intrigue me.”

  “I intrigue you?” Her eyes widened. “What an odd thing to say. Why?”

  “I’m not quite sure…yet.”

  She shook her head, totally dumbfounded. “I am hardly the intriguing type. I know who I am; I know what I can do, and what I can’t do. I lead a very simple life. Busy, but simple.”

  His eyes stayed on her face. “Simple? I beg to differ. How did you get involved with Freddie and the Wounded Warrior Project? It was the main topic at dinner last night, much to Janine’s horror.” At her deep, rich laugh, he felt that odd pain in his chest again. If he hadn’t had a complete physical just a few weeks ago, he’d be calling 911!

  “I seem to give Janine the vapors a lot!” Samantha leaned against the kitchen counter, one bare foot balanced on the other. “I met Freddie in rehab, more correctly, water physical therapy. I was in a bad auto accident two years ago. Drunk driver ran a red light, slammed into two other cars then mine.” She looked away from his inquiring eyes. “I didn’t react fast enough, I was upset about…” Sam shook off her memories, and then continued.

  “Anyway, we had the same therapist, Turk too. We were all divers and we just clicked. They told me about the project and the fact that the unemployment rate for veterans was staggering. My father had worked security up at Lebanon Valley Speedway and I knew people there. Those guys can fix anything with a motor; they just listen to an engine and know. So it was a match made in heaven, well a part-time heaven, they needed more.” Sam grinned.