by Cathryn Fox
“Polar opposite. I could always be found hanging upside down from a tree branch, building a fort, playing basketball, skateboarding…hmmm…I think I owned one doll. I was the handful. Sassy. Rebellious. Smartass. Always in trouble, too many times in detention, always asking why. My father said I would have been court martialed if I ever enlisted.” She rinsed the soap off the dishes and stacked them in the drainer slots. “So, Lucy went off to college, even with scholarships it tightened the budget. I did not want any more schooling, so I started working with my dad, handling office matters, and doing some legwork. I know a lot of well, the judge calls them ‘characters’ but I have a ton of connections that have served me well.
“I’m a late bloomer with college. No scholarships, paid my own way, one class at a time. I really enjoyed getting my paralegal certification and started adding evening or internet classes.” Her lips pursed to blow an errant strand of hair off her glasses, her nose wrinkled when it failed to cooperate. “And while I love living out here, I’ve always suspected Lucy would have rather moved to the city. She loves art galleries, decorating and design shops, museums. Ray was already planning to have her join his firm, put in a design office for her – match made in heaven!” She blew at the hair again.
Adam reached over, gently brushing the errant curl back into place. He took his time, enjoying the softness of the blond ringlet that hugged his finger. “What about your dates, don’t they mind coming way out here? Like the guy on the phone earlier. What was his line anyway?” Adam asked in the languid amused tone she was beginning to know so well.
“My, my, what big ear’s you have Mr. Rourke.” She slanted a sidelong glance at him. “Let’s just say Don’s very pushy, no finesse, just come on over and test my new mattress.” She could feel a heated flush staining her face. Adam was standing very close. The spicy scent of his cologne seemed to suddenly create a sensory overload. Samantha tried to pretend her spine wasn’t on fire. She released the sink plug, letting the sudsy water gurgle down the drain.
“No finesse and no candy…unlike the guy you’ve been sleeping with.”
Raising her chin, she stared straight into a pair of glittering, intimidating green eyes. “Yup, I’m a sucker for candy.” Without missing a beat or looking away, she wiped damp hands on her jeans then reached over to the window sill. “Perhaps you’d like to try a piece?” Samantha held a plastic PEZ dispenser in front of his eyes, her thumb pulled back on Spiderman’s head, and a red confectionery tablet popped into view. “Cherry.” She watched Adam’s lips twitching. “My roommate also wears matching Spidey underwear and footed jammies. He generously let me use the upper bunk of his bed while the honeymooners were…honeymooning here.” She blinked twice. “I am sorry, what did you say?”
“I said, what’s on your schedule for the rest of the afternoon?” Adam repeated, his expression enigmatic.
Samantha hesitated. This wasn’t the response she was expecting. He should be saying a polite goodbye and walking to the door. That’s what was supposed to happen. That’s what she wanted to happen. Right? She cleared her throat. “I’ve got some marketing to do.”
“Good. I love pushing a grocery cart up and down store aisles.”
She exhaled a very unladylike snort. “I don’t believe you’ve ever pushed a cart through a supermarket in your life.”
“Don’t you think I can handle it?”
“I’m quite sure there’s nothing you can’t handle, Mr. Rourke,” Samantha answered smoothly.
Adam grabbed her elbow and propelled her through the cafe doors out of the kitchen. “Tut, tut. There you go Mr. Rourke-ing me again. You’re making me feel like I am sixty! Come on, let’s get going before the bargains sell out.”
Samantha laughed at him. He certainly wasn’t running true to the pattern she’d expected. Maybe he wasn’t such a stuffed shirt after all. Why not enjoy his company for the rest of the day? “My shoes are someplace around here,” she told him when they reached the living room.
“The hall closet?” He reached for the doorknob.
“No! Don’t open that!” She yelped and he stopped dead.
“Good Lord. I shudder to think what fate befalls the poor soul who does.” Adam gave her a look of mock horror.
“An ironing board.” Samantha told him. “But it’s meant to fall and smash someone on the head. It’s our secret weapon against intruders. We just tell him all the good stuff is hidden in the closet. See, don’t need an alarm system.”
Adam just stared at her. “Are you always like this?”
“This is a good day, usually I’m much worse,” she assured him. “I was so tired last night that I just kicked off my shoes.” Scrambling down on all fours to search under the sofa, she afforded Adam an excellent view of her curvy bottom. “Found one,” she held up a dark-blue track shoe. “Check under the rocker, please.”
Adam did as he was instructed, while Samantha hunted beneath the other end of the sectional. “Found it.”
“And I found these,” Adam dangled two items from his hand: an expensive black silk tie with narrow silver stripes and one lacey pink bra. “The bra is too small to be yours.”
“Oh, those honeymooner’s never made it off the couch most nights. Wait till they read the note I pin to those when I ship things to them.” She grinned and finished tying her shoes.
“All set?”
“Just let me get my list and shut the backdoor.”
When she returned, he reminded her: “Did you turn off the radio?”
“Radio?” She blinked, her forehead puckering. “Oh, mostly I don’t even hear it, it’s like white noise. The radio can’t be turned off, no knobs. Yes, it does look like one of Tesla’s first inventions.” She matched his grin. “But it’s been set on my mother’s preferred station, which is now classic rock, for twenty years. Every so often, one of her and my dad’s favorite songs gets a play.”
He gestured to the photo of a tall, lean dark-haired man, his arms around two young girls, one blond and one brunette, that was centered on the fireplace mantel. “Your father and sister?”
“Yes. That was taken when we first moved here.”
“Was he the owner of all these mystery novels?”
“No. All the grisly murder mysteries are mine along with the legal texts and computer manuals. Lucy’s are the gothics, her decorating and design manuals are in the back bedroom. My dad was fond of the adventure and history books. I suppose it does look as though we could open a library.” She checked her pockets. “Well, I’m all set.”
“At least I know who’s keeping my publishing company in the black,” Adam told her with a wicked grin.
Chapter Four
Samantha stood on the bottom porch step and eyed the Jaguar with interest. It was a magnificent, very expensive machine. “I know you flew up yesterday, did you rent this little number?”
Adam laughed and opened the passenger door. “No, I’m borrowing the car and an apartment from a writer friend of mine who lives in Albany. He’s in London right now working on a novel.”
“I thought you’d be staying with the judge,” Samantha remarked casually, watching him slide into the driver’s seat.
Adam gunned the powerful engine to life. “I imagine the judge has enough on his mind without having a guest to contend with. Besides, I enjoy the privacy.” Retrieving his sunglasses from the visor, he shifted gears. “Okay, Miss GPS, how do we get there?”
Samantha gave him the directions to a new shopping mall that had been built less than ten minutes away. From her breast pocket, she pulled a pair of clip-on shades, and then settled comfortably in the warm leather bucket seat, delighting in the wind whipping through her hair.
Disquieting thoughts of the man sitting beside her invaded her mind. Adam Rourke was the intriguing one. Way too intriguing. Way too attractive. With a deep voice that hits me in the back of the knees. Shaking her head, Samantha quickly censured her thoughts, wondering if the wind wasn’t scrambling her brains!
Adam slid the sports car into an empty parking space in front of the supermarket at one end of a huge shopping mall. He watched Samantha tidy her hair with her fingers as she looked in the visor mirror. His eyes narrowed dangerously when he realized she was not carrying a purse. He had been attracted by her frank, honest manner and hadn’t thought she would be like so many women he had known, interested in playing games or pursuing Machiavellian tactics, but he had been wrong before.
“Ready?” He asked rather sharply.
“Sure.” When he failed to respond to her smile, she gave an imperceptible shrug at his sudden abrupt manner. She picked up a shopping cart, and directed Adam toward the produce section.
“Are you feeding a large rabbit?” He inquired quizzically, watching her toss five heads of iceberg lettuce and a bag of fresh spinach into the cart.
“Looks that way,” she teased. “But, no. It’s for an end-of-the-summer barbecue that we’re having on Monday,” she explained, adding cellophane-wrapped packages of tomatoes, carrots, cucumbers, and mushrooms.
“Who’s we?”
“Well, there are eight families who live permanently at the lake and we all get together for a Columbus Day cookout. I was elected to bring the salad. Everybody pitches in. We have our annual male-female football game, sing, eat—it’s a lot of fun.” Samantha explained, moving farther down the aisle to collect salad dressing and two cans of olives. “All I have left is a six pack of beer,” she headed for the cooler.
Samantha hid a smile at the incongruity of her entire day. Never in her wildest imagination had she ever expected to spend Saturday in the company of a rich playboy. She doubted whether Adam Rourke had ever envisioned such a day either. First a pelting with plastic ware, now a trip through the supermarket. Oh, well, she thought with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, it would probably do him a world of good to see how the other half lived.
Samantha was fortunate enough to find an empty checkout station and pressed her phone number into the scanner. When the cashier finished totaling her purchases, Sam was astonished to discover Adam taking out his wallet. “What do you think you’re doing?” She hissed, pulling money out of her pocket and handing the confused cashier a fifty dollar bill.
“You don’t have a purse,” he told her bluntly, “I figured I was expected to pay.”
She glared at him, collected her change, picked up one grocery sack and marched out of the store, leaving Adam to grab the remaining bag. He found her leaning against the car, her sneaker-clad foot beating an angry tattoo on the macadam.
“I don’t see how you could have possibly thought I would allow you, or anyone else for that matter, to pay for my groceries,” she ground out explosively, ignoring the trunk lid that popped open. “Don’t bother, I’m calling a neighbor to come and pick me up. Not only do I have money in my pocket but a cell phone as well.”
He squinted at the tiny phone that looked more like a toy than a competent electronic device. “You don’t have to call anyone.” Adam placed his bag in the trunk and wrestled hers free. “I apologize. I’m afraid I got the wrong impression when I didn’t see your purse. I’m used to paying for forgetful women,” he told her with a twisted smile.
When he turned back, Samantha discovered Adam had trapped her against the car. “That’s disgusting!” she snapped. “You must be acquainted with an awful lot of mercenary, grasping women.” While she was able to ignore his charming smile, she couldn’t ignore the muscular, rock-hard body pressing against her. Staring over his shoulder, she concentrated on the Mall’s electronic marquee. A red neon banner highlighted a mattress sale.
Mattress sale! Her breathing sped up. With every expansion of her lungs, her breasts moved against his chest. And the vision of his body. His strong muscular body. Moving over hers. In her. On one of those mattresses.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. She forced her brain to focus on something else. Laundry…yes, laundry was good. Laundry was perfect. She had at least three more loads to do at home. Nothing sexy about dirty clothes. Nothing sexy about an agitator pulsing up and down…up and down.
Her lips pressed together. Tighter. Clamping down on a lot of urges. What the hell was her problem? She didn’t want a man in her life. She didn’t even want a date. Nothing. She was finished with relationships. Finished with men. Samantha glared at the hot pink neon marquee that now proclaimed forty percent off at Victoria’s Secret! A silent groan rolled through her body.
Adam heard her foot drumming faster. She had gone beyond anger. Behind the lenses, her blue eyes had narrowed. “You’re absolutely right,” he kept his voice low, soothing. “It’s becoming very apparent that I’ve been meeting the wrong type all these years. Perhaps my luck has changed.” He flashed an attractive grin to which she did not respond.
But his body was responding. His fingers were eager to tangle in the silken strands of her hair. His mouth was literally watering with the idea of kissing the rage from her full lips. He knew if he started kissing her, he wasn’t going to be able to stop. And if he didn’t change their dynamics, he’d be on top of her in a heartbeat. He bit the inside of his cheek.
“Look, it’s too nice a day to spend mad. Besides, the judge wants us to be friends.” He grabbed her arm, and propelled her toward the mall’s entrance. “Come on, Miss Logan, you can walk off all that righteous indignation strolling through the stores.”
Architects and designers had collaborated with retail merchants in building an attractive, climate-controlled shopping mall. Tawny Moorish-style tiles created a path that led shoppers to artfully decorated display windows. Lush greenery reached upward toward massive skylights and the atmosphere was filled with soothing piped music. Adam could feel the rigid muscles in Samantha’s arm relaxing. They slowly strolled past the small boutiques until they encountered the pet shop. The window harbored two boisterous puppies busily shredding paper, one a smooth-haired beagle, the other a salt-and-pepper schnauzer.
Samantha tapped on the window, watching with delight as the schnauzer tumbled over his paws trying to nip her fingers through the glass. “You know, Adam Rourke,” she said very calmly, her eyes never leaving the puppy, “you can be a very exasperating person at times. Are you always so ready to suspect the worst in people?”
“In my position, I seem to attract an unusually high volume of cunning deceivers who enjoy taking anything they can get,” he stated with a touch of rancor.
It was a sobering thought and she shook her head sadly. “I feel sorry for you.”
“You feel sorry for me?” He echoed.
“You never know if you’re liked for yourself or for your bank account and connections.” At his odd expression, Samantha grabbed his hand. “Come on, I’ll treat you to some ice cream.” She pulled him to the ice cream kiosk.
“Trying to compromise me?”
“That’ll be the day,” she returned dryly. “There you are. Thirty-two exciting and exotic flavors to choose from. Name your poison.”
“Vanilla.” Adam told her not even bothering to glance at the selections.
“Vanilla!” Samantha wrinkled her pert nose in disgust. “Why don’t you try. . . um . . . pistachio almond or blueberry cheesecake or how about pralines and cream?”
“Vanilla,” he repeated firmly.
“With thirty-two flavors, you have to pick vanilla,” she groaned. “At least make it French vanilla.”
Adam flicked her hoop earring. “Plain vanilla. I don’t have to live vicariously through wild ice cream flavors.”
Samantha ignored his provoking comment and ordered. “One boring vanilla and one Valley Forge Fudge,” she told the grinning vender. “Make them a double.”
“That’s almost as bad as putting ketchup on that omelet,” Adam gave an exaggerated shiver while reading the three types of chocolate in her choice.
They walked slowly through the mall in companionable silence enjoying their ice cream. He tried to ignore the way her tongue swirled around the frozen confection. The more he tried, the mo
re he imagined her mouth and tongue wrapped around his…damn, this was juvenile. Clearing his throat, Adam focused on something safer. “How long have you worked for the judge?”
“A little over a year, but I’m sure he must have told you all about how he hired me.”
“Actually, I got two versions of the story.”
“Two?”
“That’s right,” Adam prevaricated, a teasing glint entered his eyes. “Katherine and the judge’s version, which equates you to a paragon and Janine’s version, which likens you—”
Samantha’s hand stopped him and he grinned. “I can just imagine what Janine told you,” she commented dryly.
“I’d like to hear your version.”
“I really got the job by accident,” she told him, nibbling at her ice cream. “When the judge’s assistant decided to leave, he needed someone to fill out the interim period. One of my professor’s suggested that he interview me. The trouble was Janine thought it would be a great job for her.”
“Janine, work?” Adam laughed.
“That was the problem. Janine couldn’t type, take shorthand, or file. Too many paper cuts. While she can text at the speed of light with her jeweled, one-inch fingernails, she didn’t know her way around a computer or any of the legal templates. She was horrified to find her day would begin at eight in the morning. She just wanted to be a decorative phone-answering service.”
“That sounds more like Janine,” he commented.
“I think she resented the fact her father hired me without giving her a trial run. We had a personality clash of the first magnitude,” Samantha admitted ruefully. “I guess some people will get on with each other and some won’t. I really tried, but Janine makes it difficult.”
“She said you were interested in marrying her father,” Adam continued, watching her response.
Samantha only laughed. “She’s still pulling that old chestnut, is she?”
Adam shook his head. “You’re losing me.”
“Judge Griffen and I have a unique relationship. It’s almost as though we have a natural empathy – kindred spirits, I think they call it. We can finish sentences for each other, know exactly what the other is thinking and feeling. It’s just something that’s hard to explain,” she told him evenly. “When I first started working there, he told me all about his relationship with Katherine and how he hesitated about marrying her because of Janine’s animosity.
