by Lori Foster
Her face turned bright pink. “I can’t cook or eat breakfast naked.”
“Sure you can.” He stepped into black boxer-briefs and hiked them up. “My house, my rules.”
Her back stiffened. “Sam.”
“Ariel.” She was so damn cute, he couldn’t resist teasing her. “You’re such a spoilsport.”
Her disheveled blond curls trembled in her agitation, forcing Sam to swallow a laugh. “All right, all right, don’t start fuming. You can have a shirt.” And then, just to tweak her anger, he added, “I suppose modesty in someone as young as you is to be expected.”
He tossed her a white T-shirt, but it hit her in her glowering face, then fell to her lap. She didn’t even attempt to catch it.
Sam leaned on the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest, surveying her. “Changed your mind?”
Her chin lifted; she flipped the shirt to the floor. “I believe I have.” In lofty disdain, she slid out of the bed and strode naked to the door. “What’s a little nudity among adults?”
Oh hell. Sam went after her, his gaze glued to her bare butt swishing and swaying down the stairs. He clutched his heart, thinking he was far too old to survive so much stimulation. He grinned at the thought, remembering that Ariel was the first one to fall asleep last night—and she’d had a fat smile on her face.
He’d literally worn the little darling out, and damn, that made him proud.
His grin died a quick death when, just as they reached the landing, an outraged knock sounded on his door. Ariel jumped a foot and dashed behind him, staring at the door as if it had suddenly become transparent and whoever lurked on the other side could see her. Scowling, Sam went to the peephole to look out. Ariel clutched at him, staying so close he felt her nipples on his back.
“Shit.”
“Who is it?”
Dropping back against the door, he said, “Pete. And judging by the look on his face, he’s finally noticed your car.”
She covered her mouth with a hand. “Oh no.”
“Oh no” was right. What the hell should he do now?
The door rattled again, and Pete yelled, “Open up, Sam! I know you’re in there.”
Sam gave Ariel the once over, then lifted a brow. “Now might be a good time to display that innate modesty, sweetheart. I somehow doubt Pete will believe anything I try to tell him if he sees you flitting around my house in your birthday suit.”
Her mouth fell open and in a flash she turned around and dashed back up the stairs. What a sight, Sam thought, watching the way she bounced and jiggled in all the right places. He shook his head. He was an idiot, letting himself be ruled by his gonads instead of common sense. He should have sent her home last night.
Hell, he should never have touched her in the first place. But he had. And he’d more than enjoyed himself.
Now he’d have to pay.
Pete had his fist raised, apparently ready to pound the damn door down, when Sam drew it open. He took his brother off guard, saying, “Hey Pete. What’s up?”
Pete’s look of surprise disappeared beneath censure. He shoved his way in, looking this way and that. “Where is she?”
“She who?”
Pete whirled around to face Sam. “Don’t be an asshole. You know damn good and well I’m talking about Ariel. It didn’t register last night, but that’s her car in your driveway and now it’s still there—”
“Yeah?” Sam leaned out the open door, looked at the car, and said, “Huh. So it is.”
Pete’s teeth clicked together. “Where—is—she?”
From the top of the stairs, Ariel said softly, “I’m here.”
Both men turned to look up. Sam took a surprised step forward. Did she have to hit him with one emotional punch after another? He knew Pete gave him a startled glance, but Sam couldn’t get his gaze off her, not even to reassure his brother.
Ariel had hastily dressed in one of Sam’s extra large white T-shirts. It was so enormous on her, one shoulder hung down nearly to her elbow and the hem landed almost at her knees, more than adequately covering her. Still, she’d also borrowed a pair of his drawstring running shorts. She’d tied them so tight, the string hung to her ankles. She looked…comically precious.
It was a wretched situation for Sam to find himself in, and still he smiled.
Pete punched him in the arm, glowering and bristling and somehow looking protective. Toward Ariel? Well hell. He’d sworn he was over her, yet here he was with his shoulders hunched and his jaw jutting forward.
“You’re in your damned underwear,” Pete told Sam under his breath, as if Ariel might not have already known that.
“Yeah, and you know, Ariel just might be in my underwear, too. Are you, honey? Did you find the boxers, along with the shirt and shorts, in my third drawer?”
Not amused, Pete slugged him again.
In an odd way, Sam was proud of him. Pete was a man, and apparently he’d listened to at least a little of what Sam had told him about respecting women.
“This isn’t funny,” Pete said.
“No, I don’t suppose it is.” Sam wondered how the situation could get any worse. He found out when his neighbor, Hesper, and her bloated bulldog poked their heads through the open front door.
First family and now friends. You’d think he was throwing a party, rather than debauching one very sexy, too young, slightly ex-virgin.
Emotions ran through him, guilt, regret…and overwhelming tenderness. He would have liked more time with her, but it appeared his time had just run out.
Chapter Five
“Everything okay, Sam?”
Before turning, Sam closed his eyes and said a quick prayer that some brilliant explanation would come to him.
His mind remained blank. “Hello, Hesper.” She was still in her housecoat and slippers, curlers in her hair. “What has you up so early—given you were also up late?”
“I saw the young lady’s car was still here and then your brother was pounding on the door and…Is there any way we can help?”
“No.” Sam edged toward the door, trying to block the stairs with his body before Hesper noted Ariel. “Everything is fine. Pete’s just visiting, that’s all.”
His efforts were in vain. The damn bulldog barked, Hesper looked up, and she spotted Ariel. “Oh my. Are you all right, sweetie? Sam told us what happened.”
Pete stepped forward, aghast at such a possibility. “Just how much did my brother tell you?”
“Why, everything. That she’s a dear family friend who he cares about and that she’d been mugged and was upset so he brought her home to make her feel safe for the night.”
Ariel choked, coughing and gasping. Pete just stared at Sam.
A smile locked firmly in place, Sam took Hesper’s arm and nudged her back out onto the porch. “Everything’s fine here, Hesper, really. I promise it is. But thank you for your concern.”
“That’s what neighbors are for.” Regretfully, she made her way to the steps and the bulldog lumbered along in their wake. “Oh Sam?” She turned to give him a coy smile.
“Yeah, Hesper?”
“If Booth looked as good in his drawers as you do, I believe I’d burn all his breeches.”
Sam grinned. “Why thank you, Hesper.”
“My pleasure,” she said, and then to herself as she walked away, “Indeed it is.”
Still grinning, Sam shut the door and turned to find his brother breathing fire and Ariel standing nervously beside him.
“I thought you told her I was a prostitute.”
She sounded disappointed, and Sam shrugged, only to have Pete grab his arm and whip him around. “What’s this about a prostitute?”
“Nothing. I was only teasing Ariel.”
Pete’s dark eyes, so much like their father’s, narrowed with contempt. “Looks to me like you did a sight more than tease her.”
“Pete!” Ariel tried to step between the two men. They didn’t let her so she settled on poking Pete with her finger. �
��This is none of your business, Pete Watson. Now knock it off.”
“I presume,” Pete said, looking between the two of them, “that a wedding will be planned for the near future?”
Sam almost fell on his ass. “A wedding?” Good God, surely Ariel didn’t expect…He cast an appalled glance her way.
She stared back, white-faced and mute, her mouth pinched.
“You heard me.” Pete crossed his arms, every line of his body filled with unwavering resolve. “I told you last night how Ariel felt about this sort of thing.”
Yeah, he’d known. And rather than dissuade him, the fact of her virginity had been an impossible lure. His basic nature was such that the idea of being the first—the only?—had driven him well beyond common sense, gallantry, and self-survival. He’d had to have her.
Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah, well maybe she’s changed her mind about it. Did you think of that?”
They both turned to Ariel. At that moment, she appeared so small, so lost and alone and wounded, Sam’s stomach twisted into a knot of indescribable pain. He started to reach out for her, intent only on offering comfort, but she backed away from him.
Chin lifted, she whispered, “Maybe I have.”
Just a few minutes ago, she’d been playing, smiling, and prancing around naked to drive him wild. She’d looked happy, and now…Now she’d shut down, her eyes flat, empty. Sam could have thrown his brother out for ruining the pleasant, no-pressure mood she’d enjoyed before his arrival.
They all stood frozen, uncomfortable and unsure what to say or do next; then Gil’s voice intruded. “Damn, I expected to find you in bed, Sam, not holding court in the foyer.”
“Gil?” Sam turned to his brother, took in his beat-down, haggard expression and stormed forward with concern. “What’s going on? I thought you were out of town.”
“I just got home.” He handed Sam his briefcase and dropped back against the wall. His tie hung loose around his neck and his shirtsleeves were rolled up past his forearms. He looked fatigued, both mentally and physically. “I checked my messages and then…I dunno. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just came here.”
Pete crowded closer. “What’s happened? Is something wrong with the company?”
Ariel had backed up so far, Gil didn’t even notice her. “No, the company is fine. But it seems I have a problem.” He paused, looking much struck, then laughed hoarsely, without any real humor. “Well, no, that’s probably not the best way to put it. Perhaps a surprise is more like it. A life-altering surprise.”
Sam’s middle brother was by far the most staid of the three, serious where Pete was playful, calm where Sam was turbulent. He had a great head for business and he wasn’t prone to melodrama.
Sam was more than mildly alarmed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Gil?”
Gil’s brown eyes—so much like Pete’s, identical to their father’s—were bloodshot. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I got a call from a young lady who lives in Atlanta. You remember I handled some business there right after Dad passed away? Well, it seems…” He swallowed, closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “It seems I’m a father.”
Sam hadn’t seen her for a week, though God knew it wasn’t from lack of trying.
But now, here, was not a good time to run into her.
He’d tried calling and repeatedly got her machine. She hadn’t bothered to return any of his calls. He’d even dropped by that fancy boutique where she worked, only to be told by one of her coworkers that she’d taken an impromptu vacation.
When he couldn’t find her at her apartment either, no matter how long he stood in the hallway knocking, he finally decided she really was on a vacation. Maybe she’d gone out of town. Maybe she wasn’t upset. Maybe she didn’t even care about how their night together had ended.
She might well be off partying it up and having a blast—while he was smothering in guilt and worry.
But that last look on her face had continued to eat at him. He wanted to talk to her, to make sure she was all right.
After Gil dropped his bomb on them, Sam had been so floored he’d almost forgotten about her. The brothers had all milled to the kitchen for seats and caffeine, which was their normal routine whenever a situation arose that had to be dealt with. Sam had assumed Ariel would follow.
Only she hadn’t.
He’d turned, expecting to bump into her, and her absence struck him like a sucker punch to the gut. He’d rushed back to the front door in time to see her little yellow car disappearing past the corner stop sign. She hadn’t said good-bye. She hadn’t said anything after letting him off the hook with that shaky, whispered, “Maybe I have.”
She’d just stood there, silent and hurt.
Given Gil’s disclosure, Pete hadn’t questioned Sam too much when he’d returned to the kitchen, fallen into a chair, and announced that Ariel had gone home. Gil had looked at him funny, but Pete had said, “We’ll talk about that later.”
Later hadn’t arrived yet, since Sam was avoiding Pete—much like he assumed Ariel was avoiding him. Except…She’d just walked in, and again, she sat at the bar.
This time she wore sinfully tight dark blue jeans and a flowing white blouse with a ruffle at the neck and long sleeves. She had her curls contained in a French braid and wore white sandals.
She looked so feminine and sexy, his heart lurched at the sight of her. Other body parts followed suit.
Because she didn’t so much as glance his way, Sam couldn’t see her face.
“Hey, I saw you get your ass beat down at Freddie’s.” The laughing comment was accompanied by a gust of sour alcohol breath.
Sam looked up into the grizzled, bearded face of an older man, maybe in his fifties, reeking of booze and ready to join him at the small round table. Damn. The last thing he needed was a real drunk that he’d have to protect. Trying to sound both slurred and surly, Sam said, “Ain’t been to Freddie’s.”
The guy laughed and flopped into the seat opposite Sam. “Sure ya have. I seen ya. Two cops came along and saved your ass, though.”
When Sam ignored him, putting all his concentration on his glass of whiskey, the man snickered.
“You were prob’ly too drunk to remember.”
“Maybe.” Sam kicked back the whiskey, suddenly needing it, appreciating the burn as it went down. Please, he thought, please don’t get involved in this, Ariel. He had a hard enough time keeping her out of his head without having her close while he tried to work.
He glanced up, so did she, but she looked through him as if not recognizing him at all, then went back to smiling and talking to the young man beside her. Sam wasn’t sure whether he should be disgruntled or relieved.
He definitely wanted to escort her out, away from the men vying for her attention and those leering at her, away from where he had a job to do. Away…to maybe someplace private where he could touch her again.
His hands curled into fists.
Unwilling to test her patience or his possessive nature, Sam pulled out his wallet—again well fattened with bills—and put money on the table. In the two hours he’d been sitting in the bar, he’d noted several possible suspects, but there was one man in particular he thought might bite. He’d watched Sam with a type of greedy anger that made Sam edgy. With any luck, the guy would follow Sam out, and Ariel would not.
To the drunk who’d joined him at his small table, Sam tipped a nonexistent hat. “I gotta go while I still can.”
“Yeah, yeah sure. You be careful, now.”
Without answering, Sam stumbled toward the door, ran himself into the doorframe with a curse, then continued bumbling on until he was across the street on the opposite walk.
Even though it was midnight, the temperature hadn’t dropped much and the hot night air washed over him, making him sweat with both anticipation and disgust. Anticipation because he sensed they were close to finding an end to this particular assignment, and disgust because he was sick and tired of swilli
ng whiskey and listening to drunken fools grouse and rumble as they wasted their money on drink.
There were plenty of things he’d rather be doing—and most of them centered around Ariel, no matter how he tried to fight his feelings.
He’d be damn glad to finish the paperwork on this one. Maybe then he could get his head clear.
He was thinking of her, not paying any real attention while making his way to the designated spot where his backup would be able to see him. His mind was filled with thoughts of her stretched out on his bed, teasing him, taunting him, pushing him past his control—and then a sudden flash of movement came into his peripheral vision and Sam’s reflexes took over. He ducked and took a pace to the right.
A heavy pipe crashed into the brick wall where Sam’s head would have been, chipping the wall and reverberating with a loud clang. Sam dropped and rolled, barely getting out of the way of a sharp knife blade that sliced toward him. He came up on the balls of his feet, battle ready, poised to move.
Two of them! Not just the man who’d been watching him, but also the drunk who’d joined him at his table.
Shit. A set up and he’d totally missed it.
His senses went on alert and adrenaline rushed through him. He said, “You picked the wrong guy,” and he laughed just to taunt them.
Outraged, the bigger man with the pipe lunged forward. His cover was already blown, leaving no purpose to his pretense of drunkenness. Sam went on the attack.
Eyes locked on the assailant, he judged his next move, feigned right to dodge the pipe and turned with his elbow raised, delivering a solid clip to the chin that sent the man to his knees. A boot to the belly finished the job, and the pipe fell from the man’s hand with a clatter.
Sam heard the swooshing sound too late. He jumped, but not fast enough to get completely out of the way. The lethal edge of a knife sliced through his shirt along his shoulder and across to his side, not going deep but making him grit his teeth with the awful burn. A warm flow of blood trickled down his back.
Sam whirled, saw the bearded man had drawn back his arm to strike again, and he kicked him hard in the knee. Something broke and the man crumbled, for the moment, immobilized.
