Double Dealing

by Jayne Castle

  Samantha was overwhelmed at the moment her climax took her. Unaware of how deeply her nails raked his back or how tightly her legs wrapped his surging hips, she instinctively sought to bring him into her completely and found herself exploding around him.

  Gabriel experienced a purely masculine thrill of satisfaction as he felt the small, internal convulsions shake her. He managed to raise his head so that he could glimpse the sweep of emotion across her face, and then he drank the echo of her cry from her parted lips.

  Before he had even swallowed the sound, his own pulsating need erupted. He clenched one hand violently into the flesh of her buttocks, holding her in place while he fed her the full force of his passion.

  The tumult seemed endless, and then it began to fade, leaving the pair on the bed in a tangle of perspiration-dampened arms and legs. Languorously Samantha clung to the man who made love like an angel or a devil, she couldn’t decide which. She didn’t care if the night around them never ended. She wanted to know the pleasant, satisfying heaviness of him spread along her body for as long as possible. The present seemed quite perfect in that moment; the past and future totally forgotten.

  When she opened her eyes at last, it was to find Gabriel watching her with an expression of lazy satisfaction that was very male. The look on his face helped bring back reality.

  “You seem very pleased with yourself,” she murmured, trying to decide exactly how she should be feeling. Stupid? Wanton? Marvelously abandoned? Pleased? What in hell had she done by going to bed with this man? All her sound reasoning dissolved into insignificance as she tried to adjust to the new status of her relationship with Gabriel Sinclair. But her body was too relaxed, her senses too sated to think about it properly just now. She needed a little time.

  “I’m only pleased with myself if you are,” he told her simply, leaning down to brush her full mouth with his own. “Only if you are.”

  In spite of herself, Samantha relented, a smile gentling her features. “You must know I am.” It was the truth, and there was no reason not to be honest about it. She couldn’t be anything less than honest at the moment, anyway. Her natural defenses were down, unable to maintain themselves in the warm aftermath of his lovemaking.

  “What are you thinking about?” Gabriel demanded abruptly, twisting his fingers in her hair and holding her head so that she had to face him on the pillow. “And don’t tell me it’s business!”

  “Ah, but it was, in a way,” she murmured sleepily.

  “S-s-shi–”

  “Don’t say that!” she protested, hushing his mouth with the tips of her fingers.

  “I can’t. I never could. Not when I really needed to. When I’m angry or tense enough to make use of it, I’m usually too angry or too tense to get the word out in one piece! What are you laughing at, witch?”

  “You, of course. Who else would I be laughing at?”

  He let that pass. “Were you really thinking about business?”

  She said slowly, “In a way.” How could she begin to put her fears and hesitations into words? She didn’t have to. Gabriel did it for her.

  “You’re worrying about having an affair with a man with whom you’re trying to do business, aren’t you?” he challenged softly. “Afraid that I’ll somehow get the idea you’re trying to buy my cooperation?”

  She felt the heat in her face as he baldly stated the basic problem. “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea, Gabriel,” she began in a remote little voice.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her roughly, “I won’t. I know damn good and well you don’t make a habit of doing business like this!”

  Her eyes widened slightly at the absolute certainty in his words. “What makes you so sure?” she whispered starkly.

  His glance traveled from one end of her body to the other, noting each salient feature as if she were a new possession he was intent on enjoying. “I’m not sure I can explain,” he admitted. How could he put into words the way he saw her? Too complex, too soft, too intelligent, and just plain too passionate to involve herself in meaningless affairs. “You’d be a different sort of woman if you’d been conducting business that way for the past few years,” he said finally. “And then there was the physical part…. “

  “The physical part!” she exclaimed. “You mean I didn’t demonstrate sufficient expertise?” The gold in her tortoiseshell eyes flamed abruptly.

  Gabriel answered with a quirking smile, extending his hand so that the pad of his thumb grazed lightly over her nipple. “That’s not what I meant at all. It’s just that I had the impression it’s been a hell of a long time since you’ve been to bed with a man. You were like a coiled spring, honey. How long has it been, sweetheart?”

  “That’s not a gentlemanly question, Gabriel!”

  It’s been months for me,” he said simply, “several.”

  She flushed, surprised at the confession. It wasn’t the kind of thing most men would admit to so readily. It didn’t fit with a strong, macho image. “It has?”

  “Umm. And what’s more, I probably would have plodded along in happy celibacy for quite a while longer if you hadn’t appeared on the scene. Samantha, I can’t even remember wanting a woman as badly as I wanted you tonight!”

  “Oh, Gabriel,” she breathed, wondering for the hundredth time why he kept managing to take her off guard.

  “You don’t have to look so delighted with the news,” he chided.

  She smiled dreamily. “Well, you’re not the only one who’s been plodding along in happy celibacy. But for me it’s been about three years.”

  “Three years!” He looked startled.

  “I didn’t realize what I’d been missing.” That much was the truth. “It was never this good before.” And that was also the truth. The literal truth. She’d never known anything as all-consuming and as totally satisfying as Gabriel’s embrace.

  “And was it worth waiting for?” he prodded, watching her expression as if deeply fascinated by it.

  “I don’t think I ever really knew what true seduction was until tonight,” she whispered with a candor that shocked her. “You are a very thorough man, Gabriel Sinclair.”

  “Only because I wanted you so thoroughly and completely,” he growled, his mouth closing over hers in renewing passion.

  Samantha had a fleeting recollection of having imagined that Gabriel would make love by the book. But if he did, it was a book he, himself, had written.

  Chapter Four

  Samantha awoke to sunlight and a blindingly clear realization of her own stupidity. She sat up in bed, instinctively clutching the sheet, and turned to stare down at the man who slept beside her. Gabriel’s dark hair was rakishly tousled, the first time she’d ever seen it anything but neatly combed. The white sheet foamed at his waist as he lay magnificently sprawled like a contented hunting cat on his stomach. Some angel!

  What a fool she had been, Samantha told herself in rising self-disgust. What an absolute idiot! What in the world had possessed her? No, scratch that question. It was only too starkly clear in her brain what, or rather who, had possessed her.

  Possessed. The word sent her edging hurriedly off the bed, out the door, and down the hallway to the bedroom she should have stayed in last night. Once inside she closed the door, violently aware of her own nakedness, and then gave vent to the anger which was suddenly seething in her. Her closed fist struck the side of her leg in impotent fury.

  “Damn! Damn! Damn!”

  She had traded whatever small edge she’d held for a night of passion.

  Now the night was over, and she was left with the intuitive, devastating knowledge that she was no longer in full control of the situation. Months of planning and working and research had hung in the balance, with success depending entirely on how well she handled Gabriel Sinclair. And she’d undoubtedly blown the whole deal within twenty-four hours of coming face to face with the man.

  Good God! Was she fated to forever go about making an absolute fool of herself where men were
concerned? She could envision Vera Maitland’s pitying expression only too well. Thank heaven her mother hadn’t known about her plans!

  “Samantha Maitland, you are an idiot!” she hissed at herself in the mirror, the gold in her eyes glittering with the force of her feelings. How could she possibly restore her sense of being the one in charge, the one who was controlling and manipulating the situation after her physical surrender last night?

  Surrender.

  That was as bad a word as possessed. Both of them were words which had never even had much of a place in her vocabulary until last night. They were words she’d never used to describe the act of going to bed with a man, words her mother would have despised as hangovers from the Dark Ages. Women today didn’t surrender to men, not intelligent, independent, thinking women. They might choose to share an evening of mutual pleasure, or they might let themselves relax physically with a man. They might even decide to explore a mutual passion with a man. But they didn’t do something archaic and primitive like surrender to their partners!

  Samantha knew all about sex. She had been taught to view it from a proper perspective long before she’d had any personal interest in the subject. Vera had seen to it that her daughter grew up with a healthy, balanced understanding of the simple biological function. At its best, sex was a mutually agreeable experience to be kept in its proper place. Even during the excitement of the affair with Drew Buchanan, Samantha had never lost her perspective on the subject of sex. It could be boring or fun, exciting or dull, passionate or prosaic.

  It was not an act of surrender on the part of the woman.

  She turned away from the mirror, too disgusted with her own image to continue berating herself in front of it. How could she possibly put last night into a proper perspective? She hadn’t hopped into bed with a man for an evening of fun and games. She hadn’t even gone to bed anticipating a night of pleasure to be casually shared with a man who interested her physically.

  She had given herself to Gabriel, completely, and if she hadn’t known intellectually that it wasn’t possible, she would have said irrevocably. Talk about archaic female thought processes!

  In the cold light of dawn she could still feel the way her body had been tuned to his. Her muscles even ached a little from the remembered demands of his passionate strength. And to think she had imagined him as an unimaginative lover! He had taken her by storm.

  But what really mattered, Samantha told herself grimly as she shoved open the door which led to the bathroom, was that Gabriel had known just how total her surrender had been. Even as she’d fled his bedroom a few minutes ago, she had been aware of the satisfaction and contentment which had etched every line of his relaxed body. And she could still hear the words of claiming and possession he had whispered to her during the night.

  “Shit!”

  He might not be able to say it, but she certainly could, and the elemental word certainly fit her mood. Samantha slammed into the shower, yanking the tap with such force that the water hit her body like a waterfall.

  Talk about giving away the psychological edge! How in hell could she possibly restore the balance of power in the relationship? How could she put matters between herself and Gabriel back on a business footing after last night? He would wake up with the knowledge that he was now completely in control of the situation.

  He would tell himself he had only to take her to bed in order to handle her. Samantha groaned at the thought. Gabriel Sinclair was a highly successful businessman. The last thing he would probably be interested in doing was business with a woman who was so obviously at the mercy of her own passions. Men like Sinclair didn’t make their mark in the world by involving themselves and their money with women who didn’t have as much self-control and hard-edged business sense as themselves. Hadn’t he admitted that his relationship with the last woman he’d backed financially had been purely business? Sinclair was the kind of man who would keep the worlds of sex and business clearly separated.

  By succumbing so easily to his advances last night, she had proven to him that she wasn’t good business partner material. Damn it to hell Now what was she going to do?

  Samantha was aware of a terribly trapped sensation. It was hard to even think clearly. There had to be a way out of the mess she had created. There had to be. Surely all these months of planning weren’t going to go down the tubes just because she’d gone crazy last night? How could she regain Sinclair’s respect for her as a potential business partner?

  “Samantha?”

  She jumped a little at the sound of his voice as he came through the bathroom door, Panic seized her. “I’m taking a shower,” she snapped. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Out and running, she added silently.

  Was that what she was going to do? Run?

  “There’s no rush,” he drawled softly, pulling aside the shower curtain to gaze at her with remembered satisfaction. “I’ll join you.” Then he was inside, reaching for her with lazy hunger.

  She moved away at once but not before his palm had slid lightly over the dusky rose of one nipple, eliciting a tingling awareness. “I’m through,” she announced quickly, trying not to look at the hard planes and angles of his body.

  “No, you’re not,” he countered gently, snagging her wrist. His mouth edged upward at the corners as he regarded his captive with anticipation. “I’m going to scrub your back for you.”

  “Gabriel, I don’t feel like playing any more of your bedroom games,” she informed him rashly.

  His eyes narrowed. “Games?” he repeated far too softly. For the life of her she couldn’t read his expression. Her chin came up disdainfully as she slipped her wrist free of his grasp and stepped outside the shower. “What do you call little one-night flings?” she asked with a false nonchalance.

  He held aside the curtain and eyed her coolly. “You mean little flings like last night?”

  The question sounded dangerous to her oversensitive emotions. But she clung to her chosen pose of casual insouciance as if to a lifeline. Wrapping a towel quickly around herself, she started out of the bathroom. “What else?” She shut the door firmly behind her and then raced across the room for her clothes.

  A sense of control began to reassert itself as she dressed. The jeans and the rakishly styled white pirate shirt with its drawstring collar and wide-cuffed, full sleeves helped provide a feeling of being more in charge of her chaotic emotions.

  Samantha grabbed at the sensation and deliberately began to build on its foundation. Last night had been just a one-night stand. Regrettable, perhaps, from a business point of view, but certainly not a devastating experience. Was there any possibility of convincing Gabriel of that?

  One thing was crystal clear. She had to get out of his home today. Staying here would be incredibly stupid. She was packing her suitcase when Gabriel emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped negligently around his waist.

  “Going somewhere, honey?”

  She could hear the steel underlying the question, and it stiffened her resolve. “I have business to attend to, Gabriel, remember?” she forced herself to drawl lightly, stuffing a shirt into the suitcase without bothering to fold it. “I’m going back to Seattle.”

  He stood filling the bedroom doorway, watching with disapproving eyes as the unfolded shirt was crushed beneath a pair of wadded-up trousers. Samantha could almost feel him itching to take the suitcase out of her hands and repack it properly. Everything would be neatly folded and carefully tucked in, she thought with a fleeting amusement which died quickly.

  “Your business was with me,” he murmured, following the movements of her sloppy packing as if fascinated.

  “It would probably never have been a satisfactory partnership,” she informed him gruffly. “You’re too neat.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  She’d managed to startle him with that comment, Samantha realized, the knowledge restoring a bit more of her sense of command. If she could put him off-balance even a little bit
this morning, there might be a chance of salvaging something from the operation. The first flicker of hope darted through her brain as she turned a brilliant smile on her nemesis.

  “It means just exactly what it sounds like. There are two kinds of people in this world, Gabriel. People like me who do things in what seems a slipshod, casual, intuitive manner to your sort. And there are people like you who do everything carefully, neatly, with great attention to detail. Making a partnership work between the two types was probably a hopeless idea from the start. “

  “Is that so?” he murmured very politely. “Does that mean you’ve decided to give up your plans for taking on the Buchanan Group? You no longer want my financial backing?”

  “You sound pleased by the idea,” she challenged.

  He watched her for a moment and then shrugged. “I’ve had my doubts about the project from the start,” he admitted.

  “I know! You made them abundantly clear.” She couldn’t quite hide the angry movement of her hands as she crammed the last of her clothing into the suitcase.

  “Honey,” he began persuasively, “the basic concept of what you want to do isn’t bad. It’s a little reckless, perhaps, but feasible. It could be done. But it takes a certain kind of person to pull off a stunt like that. Even if I gave you the money, you’d still have to figure out a way to deal with Buchanan if he gets nasty when he finds out who’s standing in his way. I don’t think you have any idea of the kind of pressure a man like that brings down when he wants.”

  If Gabriel only knew just how well she understood Drew Buchanan! “You think I’ll buckle under pressure? Give in when the threats start?” she demanded.

  He frowned. “It’s a rough business going up against a corporate s-s-shark like Buchanan.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Honey, you’re an information broker, not a power broker! You think you know all about the inside workings of the corporate world because you study them every day in your line of work. But there’s a hell of a difference between studying that world from the outside and actually being on the inside. Buchanan is as ruthless as they come. Hell crush you.”