by Cathryn Fox
Craig stopped playing and sixteen people cleared their throats and shook their heads.
“I wasn’t going to sing,” she promised quickly. “Honest. Really.”
Again they all cleared their throats. Craig, noting Adam’s look of confusion, laughed and cleared up the mystery. “Sammy’s the only one we know who can sing sharp and flat at the same time. She even hums off-key.”
“No matter how hard she tries, she can’t help but sing,” Al supplied with a good-natured grin.
“All right, you guys,” she said affecting a woeful expression. “I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll go and listen to Carl’s ghost stories farther down the beach.” She pushed off the bench, putting a detaining hand on Adam’s shoulder when he attempted to follow. “Why don’t you stay,” she smiled down at him, “I’ll bet you have a good voice.”
“I was in the glee club,” he grinned back.
She groaned loudly in resignation, leaving the laughing group, to wander about two hundred feet farther down the sandy beach to where Carl Edwards was delighting the children with some folklore.
Samantha settled herself on a worn flat rock that circled another smaller bonfire a little off the group of children. It was an unusually warm October night, with a huge orange harvest moon that lit up the cloudless sky like an evening sun. The soft sounds of the lake water lapping against the beach produced a tranquil atmosphere, not really conducive to ghost stories at all. There was no rolling thunder or crack of lightning, no wolves howling at the moon, no wind whistling through the pine trees; but Carl’s deep, rich voice compensated for the lack of ghoulish atmosphere.
His haunting tone sent goose bumps up and down Samantha’s spine and caused the hairs to prickle the back of her neck. She listened to him finish Washington Irving’s “Legend of Sleepy Hollow” to the wide-eyed, spellbound circle of children.
Then, he began reciting the story of a crawling hand that went creeping through the night looking for the rest of its body. The crackling firelight bathed Carl’s features in an almost satanic glow and Samantha found herself shivering. She could almost feel the hand crawling up her spine, its cold, lifeless fingers encircling her throat. And she let out the most bloodcurdling scream when fingers actually did!
It was hard to tell who got the greatest shock, the group of children whose screams echoed her own or Samantha herself, who fell off the rock and onto the sand. To her utter disgust everyone burst into laughter, including the owner of the creeping hand—Adam Rourke.
“I only wanted to tell you that coffee and dessert were being served.” Adam grinned and helped her up.
“Wonderful,” she said sarcastically. “As soon as I swallow my heart, I’ll tackle the dessert!”
Long after the others had gone home, Adam and Samantha were still helping the Edwards’ clean up from the evening’s festivities. The night air had taken on an autumn crispness as the full moon guided them through the woods and back to her cottage.
“I owe you an apology,” Samantha’s sneakers shuffled through the bed of pine needles that carpeted the path.
“What for?” Adam inquired with a puzzled frown.
“I hesitated to ask you to join us this evening. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Are you sorry I invited myself?” He cast a sidelong glance at her.
Samantha plucked a twig off a passing bush and drew a deep breath. “No.” Then she got up enough courage to ask the question that had been uppermost in her mind for most of the evening. “Did you have a good time?”
“You’ve got a great group of friends and neighbors. I like the way they watch over and help each other. So you swap once a month babysitting duty for snow removal?” At her nod, he persisted. “Did you think I wouldn’t enjoy myself?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sure it wasn’t your usual fare for an evening’s entertainment.”
“I’ve resigned myself to expect unusual evenings and days where you’re concerned.” His laugh turned husky. “Actually, Miss Logan, I had a great day. You gave me some firsts.”
Samantha turned toward him. “I did?”
“My first time going apple picking, my first time babysitting, my first wash-off Halloween tattoo. And I haven’t played such a rowdy game of football and eaten so much great barbeque in way too long a time.”
Her tone was serious. “Gosh, you do lead a boring life. You need to ditch the country club scene, chuck the night life, get out from behind that corporate desk and live a little.”
“Now who needs an attitude adjustment? I showed you the pictures of my ranch. I muck out horse stables, pitch hay, load and unload bags of feed. And as you noted this morning, when you were checking out my…” he hesitated, slanting a grin, “booty, these jeans are well worn, not brand new.”
Samantha snickered outright. “Okay, okay, so, you’re not just a pretty face. And I was not checking out your…booty.” She ignored his responding shout of laughter.
Something rustled in a nearby bush. “Did you hear that?” Adam’s voice was a whisper.
“We probably just disturbed a chipmunk or a ground squirrel.”
“Maybe it was a wolf.”
“The only kind of wolves around here is the two-legged variety,” she chided and saw the flash of his teeth in the moonlight.
Ever so subtly, Adam managed to step on a rotted log; it crackled loudly in the night. “That sounded like a bear,” he persisted.
“Don’t be silly, we don’t have any bears around here.” Samantha gave a startled yelp when Adam grabbed her hand and started running down the path that twisted through the pine trees. They were both laughing and gasping for breath, when they pounded up the porch steps of her cottage.
“I’ve got a stitch in my side,” Samantha groaned.
“Where? Here?”
She felt instant warmth from the large masculine hand that slid under her shirt and settled against the bare skin of her midriff. His fingers spread wide, his thumb curving against the underside of her bra. Her breath caught at the intensity of his expression visible under the porch light. She didn’t demure when he pulled her close.
He inhaled her scent. Her silken blond curls and warm, damp skin was a heady mix of tropical delights…coconut…vanilla…damn, she smelled good enough to eat. Their eyes met and held. His voice was low and rough. “This is another first for me.” At her puzzled expression, Adam smiled. “Kissing a woman with freckles on her nose who wears very sexy glasses.”
His left hand moved to the side of her face, his finger sculpted her soft features before moving to trace her full lips. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up. She closed her eyes when his lips touched hers.
His lips were soft. Nibbling and lifting, his tongue making a quick, gentle foray into her mouth. Her hands pressed along the sinewy strength of his shoulders to loop around his neck. She felt his calloused palm move from her cheek, to the back of her head, his fingers fisting amid her blond tendrils.
Adam couldn’t seem to get close enough to her. His hand moved from her hair, sculpting the curve of her spine, to slide under her shirt. He pressed her hard against him, fitting her lush curves perfectly into the muscular angles of his body.
Power and sex rolled off him and snaked into her. Her skin prickled with a mix of danger and delight. Her breathing was little more than erratic sighs, as his tongue tasted the skin of her neck, his lips moving along her jaw back to her mouth.
She wanted him to keep kissing her. She wanted more than just the heat of his hand against her skin. She wanted the strength of him wrapped around her. Suddenly she wanted – she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted. But he was the center of her wants and needs.
His kisses had gone from soft to urgent. His tongue hard and demanding as it intimately dueled with hers. Through the lace of her bra, his thumb stroked the hardened nub of her nipple. Teasing circles sent little electric shocks through her body. She could feel his hard erection bulging against his jeans an
d hers.
Her brain registered a little warning jolt that her body quickly ignored and she found herself responding with a desire that she didn’t even know she possessed. Heat pulsed deep in her core. She wasn’t sure if that low moan came from her. Or him. Or both. His mouth swallowed her soft whimper of submission. Regretfully, she felt him raise his head and the warm strength of his arms fell away.
“I think you must be part witch. I also think you’d better get into the house before I take you right on this porch. And lock the damn door.”
The harshness of his voice and the look in his eyes made her shiver. Wordlessly, Samantha went inside. Her legs were wobbly, her body shaking, and her lips bruised. She had barely enough strength to make it to the sofa before she collapsed onto the cushions.
What on earth had just happened? What the hell had happened to her? She had never reacted that way before, certainly not with a man she had just met. She heard the engine of his car roar to life, then tires spitting gravel and dirt.
Rolling into a more comfortable position, Samantha pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa down on her shivering body. There was no way she could make it up the stairs to her bedroom. And maybe that was a good thing. Because her brain echoed with his ragged threat: “before I take you right on this porch.” He could have, she realized. Oh, yes, he definitely could have. That thought enflamed her even more.
Chapter Seven
“It doesn’t tick, does it?” Samantha inquired with an arched brow, when she returned to her office after running some early morning errands and found her employer shaking a large package.
“Not unless someone is sending bombs to secretaries,” Judge Griffen offered.
“You’re kidding. You mean that’s for me?” She moved behind her desk for a closer look. “I didn’t send for anything. Where’s it from?”
“It was couriered over.”
“Of course,” Samantha said due consideration, “it could be a wedding gift for you that someone addressed to me, because they know what you’re like when it comes to presents.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” the judge grinned boyishly, “so open it.”
“You’re like a little kid waiting for Santa,” she teased him and deliberately began to sort through the mail. “I’m sure these letters are much more important than this package.”
Judge Griffen groaned and picked up a pair of scissors. “If you don’t open it, Sam, I will,” he threatened.
“It’s a federal offense to tamper with someone’s private mail, even if it’s hand delivered,” she scolded severely, plucking the scissors from his fingers and snipping the string that encircled the parcel. “If it is a wedding present, I’m holding it hostage so Katherine gets a chance to open it.”
“You won’t have long to wait,” he settled his hip on the corner of her desk. “She’ll be here to take you to lunch in half an hour.”
“Take me to lunch?” Samantha echoed in surprise. “Whatever for?”
“You’ll find out in thirty minutes,” came his cryptic reply. “Just hurry with the unveiling.”
Samantha had tossed the brown wrapping paper in the wastebasket and was prying open the packing box when the door buzzer announced a visitor. They both were taken aback at the sight of Janine Griffen standing in the doorway.
“Hello, Daddy, I’ve come to discuss the seating arrangement for your testimonial dinner,” she said gaily, approaching the desk and eying the package with interest. “What’s this, another wedding gift or a retirement one this time?” She shrugged off her winter-white wool blazer and smoothing the matching pencil skirt.
“We’re attempting to find out,” her father informed her, giving Samantha a nudge to continue. Lifting the top off a large yellow gift box, three items proved to be wrapped in tissue paper.
“Who on earth would ever send you that?” Janine exclaimed looking in amazement at a rather ugly looking creature astride a broom stick that was revealed.
“She’s a kitchen witch,” Samantha enlightened them, reading the little booklet that was attached to the gift. “She was hung in Colonial homes to ward off evil spirits. She promises to prevent pots from boiling over, food from burning, and bad coffee.”
“Here, open these other two,” Judge Griffen handed them to Samantha. “Ah, here’s the card.”
She felt her stomach twist and her skin pepper with heat when a stainless steel tea infuser in the shape of a miniature teapot and a Wonder Woman PEZ dispenser appeared. “What does the card say,” she stammered hesitantly.
The judge raised a surprised eyebrow as he silently read the greeting.
“For heaven’s sake, Daddy, don’t act so mysterious!” Janine snapped and plucked it from his fingers. “These will keep you company and relieve the strain of making our next cup of tea together. Adam.” Janine looked up, a puzzled frown marring her exquisite features. “I think Adam must have lost his mind. Why would he send you this?” She demanded, her hand straying to check her elegantly styled chignon.
“Actually, the package was addressed to Samantha,” he eyed her flushed cheeks with interest.
Samantha was aware that Janine, who had previously ignored her, suddenly fixed her with a cold, searching stare. “It’s Adam’s idea of a little joke.” Quickly, she put the infuser and the candy dispenser back in the box and then looked around for the witch, but found it was in Janine’s possession.
“I didn’t know you and Adam were on such close terms that you had private little jokes with each other,” Janine commented icily. “Although, I would be rather insulted at receiving such an ugly thing,” she added rudely, dropping the witch onto the desk.
“You know what they say about beauty being in the eye of the beholder,” Judge Griffen smiled at Samantha.
“Adam must need glasses,” Janine retorted sarcastically.
Samantha carefully placed her newly acquired kitchen decoration into the box and taped the cover back on. She privately thought the witch was ugly enough to be beautiful, and was stunned that Adam had sent her – anything.
Janine, sensing Samantha’s discomfort, was not going to let her off with such a vague explanation. “Why did he send you the tea infuser and what was that other plastic thing…a candy dispenser?”
“I told you it was just a joke,” Sam kept her tone devoid of any emotion, imagining what Janine would think about the canisters of Chinese tea that were neatly stored in her kitchen cabinet.
“I thought you came to discuss some seating arrangements,” Judge Griffen interjected. Coming around the desk, he took his daughter by the arm and practically dragged her into his office.
Samantha thanked him with her eyes and turned her attention to the rest of the mail, ignoring how shaky her fingers were. She stayed in the law library until Janine left fifteen minutes later.
Judge Griffon had just handed Samantha a stack of letters, when the buzzer again announced a visitor. His face broke into a grin when he saw it was his prospective bride. Red-haired Katherine Tyler, her slender figure clad in a striking tweed suit, gave him a radiant smile and returned his kiss.
“Hey, remember this is a government building,” Samantha teased the pair.
“You’d be surprised to learn what goes on in government buildings.” His wagging eyebrows elicited dual laughs as he slid his arms around Katherine’s slender waist.
She kissed him again and then turned her attention to Samantha. “I hope you are ready to be taken to La Parisienne for lunch.”
“La Parisienne…oh, my, and what is the occasion?”
Katherine and the judge walked arm-in-arm to her desk. “The occasion is an apology for your not being invited to the shower on Sunday,” Katherine told her frankly.
“We both feel very bad about it, Sam, the whole thing being your idea,” Judge Griffen said sincerely. “We’ll never be able to thank you for thinking up the ingenious plot.”
“Don’t worry about it. Adam told me it was a lovely shower. I’m glad everything went
so smoothly.”
“Adam told you?” A gleam shot in the judge’s eye and she instantly regretted the slip. “That means you heard from him yesterday. I’d thought he went down to his office.”
She cleared her throat. “No, he said it was a holiday in New York.” Samantha put her computer to sleep and pulled her purse from her desk drawer.
“I know he came out to see you on Saturday, too. He asked me for directions,” the judge continued. “He also sent her a gift today. He must have gone shopping before he grabbed his flight to JFK.” He reported to Katherine, hugely enjoying himself.
Samantha, trying to escape any further discussions of her weekend, slid her arms into her black leather blazer hoping for an early luncheon departure.
“A gift, really? What did he send, Sam?” Katherine failed to hide her own amusement.
Before she could respond, the judge eagerly enlightened his fiancée with the contents of the couriered package.
“It was just a joke,” Samantha repeated uncomfortably.
Katherine raised her eyebrows. “Strange, Adam didn’t strike me as the joking type.”
“Would you like me to stop at the deli and bring you back some lunch?” Samantha asked her boss, anxious to end any further discussions.
He nodded. “Something light, please, and an iced tea.” He reached for his wallet. The judge walked them both to the door, instructing them to take their time over lunch. “Fill Sam in on all of Adam’s good qualities, Kate. See if you can find out what they did this weekend,” he went on with an irrepressible twinkle in his dark eyes.
“Keep this up and I’ll have them burn your egg salad,” Samantha threatened, reaching for the doorknob.
“What were you and Adam doing this weekend?” Katherine finally asked, after they had been seated at a small table, secluded by tall ferns. Pots of hot tea, a carafe of white wine, and warm, crusty French bread had been served.
Samantha exhaled a resigned sigh. “Apparently I’m not going to be let off the hook.” She recounted the highlights of the two days. “Totally atypical for the man. He was speechless quite a few times.”
