by Calista Fox
And that choked her up again. Literally as well as figuratively. She sputtered on a half sob and had to go for another tissue.
“You okay?” Sam asked, the worry much too evident in his rich, intimate timbre, causing her to turn a shoulder on him so he didn’t see her dab at tears.
“Yeah, sure,” she said, striving for an unwavering tone. Not fully succeeding. “Saliva down the wrong pipe or something,” she lied.
“Right. Well, that’s probably my fault. I didn’t offer you water or anything.”
“You did. When you saved me from the ditch.” She faced him and smiled softly. “You’re a hell of a guy.”
He smirked. “I’ll try not to let that go to my head. You want some wine? I was planning to open a Malbec to pair with the venison.”
“That sounds great. I feel bad that you’re going to all this trouble.”
“I have to eat, too.” He winked.
And oh, God, what that did to her nerve endings! Every single one went haywire. Stealing her breath.
No, he likely hadn’t been flirting with her. He’d just made a casual remark and followed it up with a casual facial expression.
Nothing to read into there, Scarlet.
Except that she felt the electric current arcing between them. Wanted to bend into it like a reed in the wind.
Wanted to fall into it, to be more precise. Let it capture her, tangle her up. Consume her. Until she lost herself in the moment the way she had with Michael.
That was something she’d never imagined experiencing, had never come even remotely close to experiencing. And while she would concede that it was a trifle terrifying to step away from a reality she’d always clung to, the fantasy of releasing the tether on her tightly contained emotions had led to one seriously amazing night with a man who’d known exactly how to give her everything she’d needed.
Those trusty gut instincts of hers told Scarlet that Sam Reed was as intuitive as his stepbrother when it came to satisfying a woman.
That naughty thought chased away the sentimentality that had crept in on her. She tossed the tissue and picked up where she’d left off with the portabellas.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that Sam still studied her closely, trying to read her. Then he gave up and crossed to the rustic six-foot-long, two-foot-wide riddling racks mounted to the wall separating the kitchen from the great room, which featured double-story, asymmetrically cut windows overlooking the property and another gorgeous fireplace centered between them.
He selected a bottle of wine and uncorked it at the island. Poured two glasses and handed one to Scarlet.
They clinked rims and said, “Cheers,” at the same time.
She took a sip and nodded her approval. “Very nice.”
After a long drink, Sam set his glass aside and collected the green beans from the veggie basket. He prepped the sauté pan, then tossed in the beans. Meanwhile, Scarlet chopped some fresh parsley to go with the mushrooms.
Five minutes passed with a comfortable silence lingering in the air. Scarlet had more questions for him, of course. But for the moment, she absorbed the crackle of the fire and in the atmosphere.
Sam removed the beans from the heat and dumped them into a serving bowl. Then he shaved almonds before sliding them into the pan to toast. When they were ready, he also added them to the bowl. Last, he sliced an onion and started to caramelize the strips.
Scarlet asked, “Anything else you need?”
“Chopped thyme, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“I’ll give the onions a good twenty minutes and then mix them with the beans, almonds, and thyme and finish cooking them all together.”
She went back to work. Then sipped some more.
The aroma of the venison roast and the onions filled the vast room. The puppy took interest in the new scents and rounded the island, sniffing the air.
Scarlet grinned. “Maybe starting him on dog food could take a backseat to a little human food. Can I give him some carrots?”
“Sure.”
She made chunks small enough for easy chomping and then knelt before the curious camper and held her palm out. He did more sniffing, then started to nibble.
“He really likes you,” Sam said.
She glanced up. “He likes you, too. Trusts you. Dogs have great instincts, you know?”
“It’s too damn bad they can’t choose their owners.”
The puppy polished off the snack and waddled toward Sam, brushing his nose against Sam’s leg.
Scarlet laughed quietly. “I think this one has.”
Sam gingerly lifted him into his arms and the Lab settled easily, finding his happy spot.
“Are you going to name him?” she asked.
“Not while he’s in such a sorry state. When he’s healed and feeling better, I can get a read on his personality. Pick a nice strong name for him.”
“That’s a good idea.”
They stared at each other across the span of the kitchen. It was unnerving to see this big, strapping man cuddling a tiny, defenseless puppy. Heart-wrenching, really, because said pup was covered in bruises and cuts. But he looked perfectly comfortable and cozy nestled against Sam. More important, he seemed to feel safe in Sam’s arms, in his care. As though he already knew this man would protect him and love him from here on out.
Scarlet cleared her throat to combat the emotion threatening to overcome her again. She went to the stove and poked at the onions to ensure they cooked evenly. Or just make herself useful and not so teary-eyed.
Over her shoulder, she said, “Tell me when to start the bellas.”
Sam grabbed another pan and set it on a burner, not jostling his now-sleeping bundle. “Another ten minutes or so. Enjoy your wine.”
She slid onto a high-backed stool and lifted her glass. She asked, “Can we talk about the night of the art theft?”
He gave a slight shrug. “Not a lot to say about it, as I told you.”
“Where were you around eleven o’clock?”
“In the guesthouse.” He grinned, a bit mischievously. “With two very beautiful socialites. Misty Ferrera and Pembroke Peters … Peterson … I can’t remember which.”
“Peterson,” Scarlet confirmed. “Adopted by her mother’s third husband.” She took another drink and asked, “What about Michael? He claims to have been in the guesthouse as well.”
“Sure. He was there.”
“Interesting. He didn’t mention your presence when he gave his statement.”
“Obviously, from mine the FBI could put two and two together.”
“Or four,” she muttered. “You, Michael, Misty, and Pembroke.”
“Not exactly.” He propped a hip against the ledge of the counter and speared her with a pointed look. “Me, Michael, and Misty. Then me, Michael, and Pembroke. Follow?”
Her jaw slacked. “That’s some serious stamina.”
The pointed look turned downright wicked. “We were all there for a few hours.”
Curiosity—and the sexy expression on his devastatingly handsome face—got the best of Scarlet. Prompting her to ask, “Do you two do that often? Share the same woman?”
“We’ve been known to on occasion.” He shoved away from the counter and sought out his own wineglass.
Scarlet let this new revelation, this sinfully delicious tidbit, seep through her veins.
“Wait a minute,” Sam said as he eyed her over the rim of his glass. “You don’t look the least bit surprised. Or, I should say, you don’t appear the least bit fazed.”
Her brow crooked. “About you and your stepbrother engaging in threesomes? No. Doesn’t faze me at all.”
Excites the hell out of me is more like it.
And she squirmed a little in her seat at the sudden tickle along her clit.
She added, “I have two sets of friends who enjoy a ménage à tiros arrangement. Quite successfully, in fact.”
“Huh. Guess I didn’t think you’d appr
ove of the alternative lifestyle.”
“Well, I am from California,” she told him. “And as I told you, I like some adventure in my life.”
She instantly clamped down on her lower lip. Oops. Was that opening a can of worms or what?
Had Scarlet just implied that she was more than amenable to a threesome?
Releasing her lip—thankful the lipstick she typically wore in her signature crimson color was of the stay-put variety—she squared her shoulders and brazenly returned his gaze.
“Interesting,” he said, his tone low and soul stirring. His blue eyes blazed bright enough to melt her right off her stool. “Why’d you only read Michael’s alibi?”
Scarlet’s mind faltered. For the first time, she was having trouble keeping up with the quick-fire questioning. Because her brain was stuck on the forbidden.
Sam and Michael enjoyed pleasuring one woman at the same time.
Holy Jesus.
“Scarlet?” Sam prompted her, a tinge of amusement in his tone.
He knew exactly the direction in which her thoughts ran. She was certain of it.
Scarlet cleared her throat again.
How was this all getting so complicated?
Focus!
It was no easy feat, but she got her brain to shift to business again. She said, “Michael caught my attention because five million dollars had been deposited into his account right around the time the insurance check came in.”
That was basically an auto-reply, because it was insanely difficult to concentrate on her case when her body was going up in flames. Her nipples pebbled behind her lacy bra and she was damn certain she was wet. Again. As much as she’d been the night before.
What the hell were these men doing to her?
She’d gone a couple of years without so much as a spark. Now in two days she’d met two men who had her revved to the core of her being.
But she wouldn’t drop the ball. So she added, “Unfortunately, I discovered that you’d received the same amount.” She gave him a hard look. “Just three weeks after Michael.”
To his credit, Sam didn’t seem even mildly taken aback. He said, “Michael had inherited some property and he flipped a portion of it. That’s how he started building his fortune.”
“And where’d the five mil come from that you ended up with?”
Sam stepped away and carefully settled the snoozing dog in his bed. Then he washed his hands again. Checked on the onions. Finally, he rested his sinewy forearms on the countertop and leaned toward Scarlet. Close enough that she could inhale the faint scent of some ultra-manly cologne and his natural heat.
She resisted the compulsion to close her eyes and take a deep breath, draw in his very essence. Let it ribbon through her, caress her heart, her soul. Stroke her slowly, blissfully. Until she was drowning in him.
It was damn near impossible not to cave to this new desire. But she fought its allure. Remained dedicated to her inquisition.
“About the money in your account…?” she asked, all breathy and not the tiniest bit professional sounding. Christ, her eyes were probably all soft and seductive.
His gaze still holding hers, Sam said, “My windfall was an inheritance, too. I moved into the Vandenberg estate when I was sixteen, with only a handful of nickels to rub together. My mother wasn’t much better off. She’d moved us from Colorado to New York because she was hoping to get in at an art gallery—as more than a volunteer. She hadn’t realized she needed a degree, not just book knowledge.”
He sipped his wine, then continued. “While living in Mitcham’s house and the perks improved our situation astronomically—I was given a car for my birthday, had all the stuff a guy wants when he’s growing up—I didn’t actually have any cash that was mine. There was an allowance, sure. But it came with plenty of strings.”
“Were you willing to let Mitcham Vandenberg pull those strings?”
“To an extent,” he admitted. “Existing in the Hamptons requires a working income if you’re going to leave the grounds. So I followed some of the rules.”
“But not all of them?”
“I wasn’t interested in taking the corporate helicopter into the city after school to put in late hours at Vandenberg Enterprises. I suspect that’s one of the reasons Mitcham never elected to adopt me or even broached the subject with my mother.”
Scarlet’s head tilted in contemplation. “Did you want him to adopt you?”
“No.” Sam tore his gaze from hers and straightened. He went for the wine bottle. As he refreshed their glasses, he said, “All I wanted was for my mom to be happy. Did I enjoy the sports car and the parties and the royal treatment because I lived on the estate? Naturally. Who the hell wouldn’t? But was I willing to jump through massive hoops to make Mitcham love me or treat me like his very own son? No.”
“Because you had a close relationship with your real father?”
“I don’t know who my real father is. Disappeared without a trace when he found out my mother was pregnant. She tried to find him, but she’s convinced he went so far as to change his name to keep from having any sort of connection to us or financial responsibility. That’s all I really know, all I really care to know. I’ve never considered him to be my father, not in the true sense. I don’t subscribe to running away from your commitments.… Even as a kid I couldn’t abide by it.”
“Yes, that is pretty shitty.”
Sam nodded.
Getting back on track, Scarlet asked, “How’d you get into Princeton? Expensive school.”
The angst left Sam’s eyes, so he presumably preferred this line of questioning to anything pertaining to his deadbeat dad.
“Princeton is one of the few Ivy Leaguers to offer grants,” he explained. “I had the grades and the accolades to apply for one, plus I received a partial football scholarship. I’ll confess that I told the Admissions people my stepfather was Mitcham Vandenberg, alumnus, and my stepbrother was Michael, who’d been immediately accepted into the university, as though ordained. The name-dropping greased the wheels.” He rapped his knuckles on the granite, a bit pensively. “I still had to work my ass off to survive, though—both academically and with a part-time job.”
“I can imagine. You were an architecture major. That had to be all-consuming unto itself.”
Sam regarded her a few moments, then asked, “Is there anything about me that you don’t know?”
“Plenty, I assure you.”
“Well, I’m feeling at a slight disadvantage.”
“Fair enough.” She slid off the stool and grabbed the cutting board with the ’shrooms and went to the stove. As she drizzled olive oil into the pan and turned on the burner, she said, “Ask me whatever you’d like. However, I regret to inform you up front that unless you’re fascinated by unsolved mysteries and sketchy locales and shady characters you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“I’m interested in you,” he said, his voice a low, arousing rumble.
Scarlet’s stomach fluttered. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He stared intently at her with those intense blue eyes of his, making her think that the inquisitiveness radiating from him had less to do with wanting to know her backstory and more to do with her silent admission and acceptance that the idea of a ménage scenario with him and his stepbrother titillated her.
Exhilaration trilled through her at the image of their naked bodies entwined flashing in her mind. All other thoughts fled her usually sensible brain as she fixated on the mental trailer playing in her head.
Geez, Scarlet. Get it together.
Speak!
Her mouth worked like a gaping fish trying to expel a hook lodged in its throat as she fought to free the words on her tongue.
But not a single one materialized.
So she turned back to the stove and continued what she was doing while also trying to block the fantasy of Michael and Sam working in tandem to make her come. Over and over.
Her nipples tightened further. Her pussy ached.
&
nbsp; These two men were preying on her senses.
“Why don’t we start with the basics?” Sam proposed. “Where in California do you live?”
Okay, an easy question.
Breathe, Scarlet.
Just breathe.
She sucked in a long stream of air. Though her body thrummed from a rush of adrenaline, she managed to say, “River Cross. Wine country about an hour and a half outside of San Francisco.”
“Lived there your whole life?”
“Mostly. I had an apartment in the city with friends when I went to SFSU.”
“What’d you study?”
“Criminal law.”
She heard the grin in his voice as he said, “That was a given. Sorry I asked.” Then he added, “How long have you been an insurance fraud investigator?”
She scraped the baby bellas into her pan with a spatula and said, “I interned with a company during college, then moved back to River Cross and hung my own shingle after I graduated.”
“Ambitious of you.”
“Yes.”
She gave the onions some love, then stirred the ingredients.
Behind her, she heard Sam leave the island. He pulled open the fridge again. A heartbeat later he was at her side. He yanked the cork out of a bottle of white wine and splashed a small amount into her sauté pan, making it sizzle.
“Adds an extra punch,” he said with a coy grin. “Better for the garlic-cream sauce I’ll whip up to top the roast with.”
“How are you such a good cook?” she asked, quite pleased she was finally capable of speech after she’d lost her voice earlier. Kind of surprised it didn’t vaporize again with him standing right next to her but pleased nonetheless.
“I’m a bachelor,” he simply said. “It’s either learn or starve.”
“Makes sense. Not exactly convenient takeout or delivery service in these parts, I surmise.”
“That is correct.”
“Though you don’t seem to lack for homemade desserts.”
With a sexy chuckle that reverberated deep within her, he said, “No, I do not. It tends to be the payment around here when you do something nice for someone.”
Her gaze slid along his corded throat, up to his strong jawline, to his mesmerizing eyes. She said, “I bet you do a lot of nice things for the single ladies of the county.”
