“Sam,” he groaned.
He lifted her, joining her in the pace she set, matching her movements as she took from him what he had to give. He filled her, rooted himself inside her. The sound that came from her throat was music to him. He drove harder, holding her in place, feeling the softness of her flesh as his hands contracted and relaxed in the same rhythm as he plunged and released inside her. He couldn’t get enough of her. She clung to him, holding on as she rode him, rode hard and fast, harder and faster, so fast he thought he’d break through the bed.
But it felt good. She felt good. He was lost. Out of control. Unable and unwilling to stop. He was going to die here, the two of them in a rapid fireball that ignited and consumed them. Yet the prospect of it did nothing to quail his energy. If anything he pumped faster and harder into her.
He felt her scream. Justin had never shouted before. He thought it was Samara shouting, but the voice when it registered in his ears was his own. He was calling her name over and over and over. “Sam…Sam…Sam.”
Sweat poured from them both. She collapsed against him, her slick, liquid body spent. Gasping and gulping air, he knew he was in trouble.
Samara Scott may spout the words of an ice princess. She may look cool and in control on the floor of the Archives building. She might present that face to her colleagues and friends, but to him she was fire, hot, blistering, consuming, electrifying, passionately torrid.
And she brought out the beast in him.
The moon was full when Samara opened her eyes. She wasn’t disoriented at finding herself in a strange bed, in a strange house, with a man who was anything but a stranger. She smiled, stretching against Justin like a cat waking after a satisfying nap.
Justin was warm to the touch. She ran her hands over his arms and shoulders and fit her frame into his. He slept soundly, without snoring. Samara’s stomach growled. She was hungry. This time for food. While she’d eaten at dinner, that was hours ago.
Slipping out of bed, she grabbed Justin’s shirt and pulled it over her head. Pushing the sleeves up to her elbows, she glanced at him. Blowing a kiss, she went to the kitchen in search of food.
“When does this man eat?” she questioned. “What does he eat?” The refrigerator had nothing in it but orange juice, eggs, bottled water and a bottle of Dom Perignon. Eggs and champagne.
She decided to scramble some eggs and seeing a blender on the counter, make her version of an Orange Julius drink. She poured the juice in it, added an egg, found some sugar and ice and blended them into a slush. The scrambled eggs finished her impromptu meal.
It didn’t take long to eat, but it did satisfy her hunger. Samara took her glass of juice and walked through other rooms. Justin had given her a tour, but she wanted to see more of the space where he lived. He’d said she could imagine him in a specific place. She wanted to ground him in her memory.
The great room was where they had started. She walked through the dining room, which had contemporary furniture, complete with bone china in the cabinet. The table and chairs were dust-free. Samara wondered if he had a cleaning service.
In the office stood the standard desk, laptop computer and cabinet all in a dark cherrywood that made it look rich. The space however, was free of clutter.
Returning to the great room, she walked about the room, looking at the only photo in the room. It sat on a bookcase. She assumed it was of his family. The three men and one woman all resembled each other. Replacing the photo to its original location, she curled up on the sofa with her glass of juice and enjoyed the quiet.
“Hi.” Justin came up behind her. “I missed you.” He took the glass of juice and drank half of the remaining amount.
“I was hungry. I cooked the food you had available.”
Coming around, he dropped into the seat next to her, wearing only a pair of jeans. “Sorry, I don’t eat here much. If you’re hungry, we could go somewhere.”
“I’m fine now.”
“What is this?” He took the glass again and drained it. “This didn’t come out of my refrigerator.”
“It’s a healthy little concoction I like to drink.”
“It’s delicious. Health food usually tastes like medicine.” He frowned.
Samara laughed. “Not all of them.”
“Are you a health nut?”
“I don’t think so. I try to eat right. I jog every day. Since I sit for a large part of my workday, I’d weigh a ton if I didn’t do something.”
“I jog, too. Usually behind the White House on the mall, although I rarely get the chance to sit when I’m at work.”
“Things must be hectic there.”
“They can be, but we’re not going to talk about my work. I have something I want you to see that involves yours.”
She raised her eyebrows and looked at him questioningly.
He stood. Samara got up and followed him to an upstairs bedroom. Justin opened the door and switched on the light. The room was empty. She went in. Leaning against the back wall was a huge canvas. She gasped at the beauty of it.
“Like it?” Justin asked softly. He put his hands on her shoulders and they both looked at the painting.
“It’s beautiful. Where did you find it?” The painting looked as if it were painted in the eighteenth century. It was a wedding scene. A bride and groom stood at the front of the cathedral. Light beams streamed in through cut-glass windows. The bride’s head was turned to face her maid of honor and it appeared her train was caught on her bouquet as she handed it to the other woman. The scene was like a photo, a point in time that spoke of a lifetime of love.
“It’s been in my family for a long time. I brought it back here after my sister got out of the hospital. It needs restoring. I hoped you would do it.”
“Justin, I can’t.” She walked to the painting and knelt down in front of it.
“Why not?”
“I’m an apprentice. I studied painting in school, but I don’t work with them. My restorations are on documents and it’s more preservation than restoration. I’ve only worked on paintings a couple of times. You need a professional for this kind of thing. I can ask around and recommend someone.”
She looked at him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and each time she saw his powerful frame, her body went hot. It was a good thing she was kneeling on the floor.
“My parents’ fortieth anniversary is coming up. I want to restore the painting before that.”
“Forty years together.” She couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice.
“Some people do mean it when they take their vows.”
“Did you?”
He stared at her for a long moment. “I did at the time.”
“That’s just it. You can never be sure.”
“There’s no map to happily ever after, Samara. It’s trust, love and wanting to make a life together. I wanted that when I got married. It didn’t work out and we knew it. But it worked for my parents.”
She turned back and stared at the painting. Her hands itched to touch it, to see it fully restored, with the colors as vibrant as they were when the artist finished it.
“Who painted this?” She looked in the corner, but saw no name.
“I don’t know. Art is not my strong point, but my family loves this painting. And we’d all like to see it maintained.”
Samara had been resting on her knees. She slid over and sat on the floor.
“Justin, something could happen to this. It’s obviously worth a lot of money and certainly sentimental to your family. Is it insured?”
“I don’t think so.”
She dropped her head, then looked up at him. “Justin, someone could break in.”
“It’s pretty safe around here.”
“There is no such thing. What would your parents think if something happened to this?”
“I know I need a security system,” Justin conceded.
“You’re a government employee, but in a very special role. For that alone, you should have a sy
stem. And being away so often is another reason to have one.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll call a service, but with my schedule, it’s hard to know if I can be here long enough to allow someone to install a system.”
“They do it in one day. Two at the most.”
“I’ll try.”
She looked back at the painting. It was compelling, haunting even. The artist had translated the single moment, when two people entwined their lives, into a timeless expression of love. Samara was affected by it. She knew paintings, like poetry, were supposed to evoke emotion and this one did that job.
Justin did that, too. Whenever she looked at him, as she was doing now, admiring his body unclothed and darkly arousing, he evoked emotions that were as eternal as the painting.
If she could be sure that the way she felt now would continue through a lifetime together, she’d be more apt to trust combining her life with someone else’s.
But, even with the painting in front of her and Justin close enough to share his body heat, she still had doubts.
Chapter 8
Weddings were haunting Samara. The painting at Justin’s still called to her twenty-four hours later. And here she was walking down a runway surrounded by women in wedding gowns.
“This one is too gorgeous,” Diana said. “I never thought this would be so much fun.”
They’d been trying on the gowns they were going to model in the upcoming show, now only two weeks away. Samara didn’t know how Geri had gotten the place set up and stocked in such a short time, but Geri often said she could do anything she wanted to do. Samara wondered if that applied to anyone or just to Geri.
“Samara, are you going to model the gown you have?” Diana asked.
“No, I am not,” she answered firmly.
“Guys, you should see her in it.”
“See? See her in it.” Geri stopped rushing back and forth, taking care of every detail, to stare at Samara. “You had a wedding gown on?”
“And she looked fantastic in it,” Diana said. “It’s the one from the trunk.”
“The one you bought at the auction?” Carmen asked Samara.
“Same one,” Diana answered. “I went to her place a couple nights ago to see the dress and who comes to the door with it on, but our Little Ms. Superstition.”
“All right, can we get off of make-fun-of-Samara night?”
“I can’t believe you tried the dress on,” Carmen said.
“And I didn’t die,” Samara answered, frowning at her.
“Could I see it, Samara?” Geri asked. “Maybe it will fit into the show. An antique gown can’t hurt business. Some brides want to wear their mother’s or grandmother’s gowns, but don’t see how they can update them. Maybe there’s something we can do.”
“I’ll bring it by tomorrow after work,” she said, then remembered she’d agreed to meet Justin. “Oh, can’t come tomorrow. I have something else to do.”
“Does it involve him?” Diana asked shyly. She was obviously into dropping bombshells tonight. And it worked. Her friends all stared at her, waiting for an answer.
“As a matter of fact, my date is with a painting—an old painting.” She glared at Diana.
“I might have thought it was something like that,” Carmen said, with disappointment.
“Okay. Never mind. Try it again,” Geri instructed. “Samara, walk down the runway.”
Standing up straight, wearing a bright yellow, off-the-shoulder dress, Samara took a step and paraded down the narrow path to the end. She turned several times and walked back, stopping in the center to make one more set of turns.
“That’s good. I need the wedding gowns now.”
Diana, Carmen and Shane took their positions. Shane went first. Geri described the dress as she walked down the runway. Samara watched. She was regal and for a moment Samara imagined herself in the gown.
“Geri, where are the other models? You have a ton of dresses here. The three of us can’t model them all. We don’t change that fast.”
“I contacted a local modeling school. The students came during the day. They were glad to get a real opportunity to work.”
Shane nodded.
“Besides, with them here, we can’t talk like we have been.” Geri looked at Samara.
“Maybe they should have been here. Then you all wouldn’t be attacking me,” Samara said.
“Samara, we’re not attacking you,” Geri said. “You know we’re in your corner.”
“Yeah,” Carmen said. “I know I can be brash sometimes—”
“Sometimes?” Samara said.
“Well, more than not,” she said. “But you make yourself such an easy target.” Shane walked down the front steps of the runway and hugged Samara. “But I’d come any distance if you needed my help.”
“I know that.” She looked up and Geri, Diana and Carmen were standing in support. Samara felt the love of her friends. She knew they would always be there. Just as she was there for them. She’d do whatever was necessary to help any one of them.
After a moment, Geri broke away. “Now that the group hug is out of the way, could we get back to the task at hand?”
“Leave it to Geri to send us all back to work,” Diana said with a laugh.
They went back to the gowns and getting used to going up and down the few steps to get on and off the runway.
“You’ll never guess whom I talked to today,” Geri said, as she watched them walking back and forth.
They waited for her to tell them. It appeared she wanted them to guess.
“Don’t keep us in suspense, who was it?” Shane asked.
“Callie Stevens.”
“Who’s Callie Stevens?” Carmen asked.
“You remember her. You met her at the mall art festival about two years ago,” Geri explained. “Her real name is Allison Stevens.”
“Is she the one who’s married to that strange guy with the whiny voice?”
“That’s the one,” Samara said.
“I remember her now,” Carmen said, light seeming to dawn in her brain. “What did she call for?”
“She heard about the store. Apparently, she and Mr. Whiny Voice are divorced. She’s about to marry, again. This time to Eddie Winston. He graduated high school with us and they want to have their reception at Shadow Walk. I can’t believe my old classmates are divorcing and marrying each other. This is the third one I’ve heard of in the last six months.”
“There must be something to this marriage thing if they are all doing it multiple times,” Diana joked.
Samara thought she was speaking directly to her. She also thought of Justin’s parents. Forty years together. The bond between their generation must be made of cement, while Samara’s generation’s bonds had the consistency of kindergarten paste.
The door to Justin’s house swung inward as Samara scurried up the steps. He stood in the doorway, waiting for her. As she reached him, he swept her into his arms and kissed her. Samara didn’t know how her heart survived the constant slamming against her chest whenever she thought of him.
As soon as he’d called, asking her to come over, the drum beat launched inside her. When Justin’s arms clasped around her like giant heat bands and his mouth seared hers, her heart thudded even harder. Memories of their night together flooded her brain, sending her body into overdrive, and she wanted to repeat the miracle.
He held her, bending her backward, his mouth plundering hers until she didn’t think she could stand it any longer. She clung to him, her arms around his neck, her body aligned with his. He lifted his mouth and groaned.
“I’m sure this job isn’t worth it,” he said, his voice lower than normal.
“What job?” Samara knew she shouldn’t ask, but she hadn’t mastered the art of Washington secrecy yet.
“That’s why I called you. I have to go to work and there’s an army of workmen here. I thought you could oversee them while I’m away. You know what needs to be done.”
At that
moment, Samara heard the hammering and voices coming from upstairs. She looked up as a woman came down the stairs. She was wearing a blue workman’s jumpsuit. She had a tool belt around her waist and her hair was knotted on top of her head.
“Mr. Beckett?” she said when she reached the bottom step. She looked at Samara.
“This is Ms. Scott,” Justin introduced her. “I have to go to work. She’ll answer any questions you have and explain exactly what’s needed.”
“Amy Rogers.” The woman stretched her hand out and Samara shook it. Her palm was calloused and rough to the touch.
“Amy is from Prince George’s Security. She’s the crew supervisor.”
“I wanted to ask about the basement windows,” Amy said.
Justin spread his hands. “I have to go now. You can handle it,” he said to Samara.
And with a quick kiss dropped onto her mouth, he was gone. Samara looked after him. She loved watching him. Whether he was coming toward her or walking away, the power of his confidence was evident. He commanded attention.
Turning back, she noticed Amy was still behind her. “Let’s go see what’s in the basement,” Samara said, covering the distraction on her senses that Justin produced. Her mind saw the bedroom and the two of them entwined in each other’s arms. Her body felt his weight pressing her into scented sheets. She had to break the connection and discovering a silent Amy Rogers watching her intently, Samara forced herself to find something innocuous to think about. Basement windows won.
Sometimes dreams really did come true. Justin hoped Samara would still be at his house when he got back. Never knowing when that might be, he wasn’t sure if she would take the chance of waiting. But he found her there, sleeping on the sofa.
He leaned against the doorjamb, his arms folded, watching her. He liked coming home to someone who was waiting up for him. He grinned. Even if “waiting up” meant she’d fallen asleep.
Pushing away from the door, he advanced to the sofa and sat down. Her legs were warm against him. She stirred, but didn’t wake. Justin leaned forward and ran his hand over her hair and down her cheek.
The Right Wedding Gown Page 9
