She felt a hard edge against her back and realized she was pressed against the counter. He set the candle down on it, then looked at her. She met his burning gaze, seeing her own need reflected there. Mesmerized, she kept staring into his eyes as he bent his knees and fit his hips against hers, pressing into her, leaving her in no doubt as to how she was affecting him. Her fingers clenched in his hair when he buried his face against her neck and groaned, his powerful body trembling with desire.
For her! Brett shivered with reaction, and she knew the decision she'd debated earlier was already made. She could quit breathing more easily than she could resist the passionate call of his need, especially when her own need was so overwhelming, so vast, too extreme to deny.
His voice was rough as he murmured, "Let me inside, Brett."
"You are." Her breath hitched in her throat as his hips again moved against her. "The door is closed."
Raising his head, he looked at her with an expression of naked hunger. "Let me inside you. So hard and deep, I'll never want to leave you."
She felt her knees weaken, and shuddered with a reaction so strong, she felt her consciousness dim. "We haven't known each other very long."
"Your body knows mine very well."
He proved his words by claiming her mouth again in a devastating kiss that mimicked the movements of his hips. Slow, caressing, and seductive, drawing her further into a vortex of passion.
She was so lost in the myriad sensations, she was only vaguely aware of being pulled away from the counter. When Sam slid his right foot between hers, she automatically stepped back, which was exactly what he wanted her to do. She responded twice more to his unspoken demand, but when he slanted his mouth over hers, she became so focused on the pleasure he was giving her, she neglected to follow his lead.
Sam swept her up in his arms and strode into the back room. He spotted the stairs on the far side and didn't hesitate, but carried her up them, his mouth never leaving her lips, her skin.
He stepped into the living room and didn't take the time to ask about her bedroom. He lowered her feet to the floor beside the couch, then gathered handfuls of her skirt until he found her bare thighs.
"You feel like hot satin, Red."
Brett looked up at him. She realized he made her feel proud to be a woman with all the enthralling power of her femininity at her fingertips. It was a gift and a joy that no other man had ever given her, and it created a different need within her, a need to give as much pleasure as she received.
She managed to undo the buttons of his shirt first, then unhook her belt before she slipped her top over her head and dropped it onto the floor. Reaching behind her back, she unfastened her bra and discarded it. The look of appreciation in his eyes encouraged her to allow free rein to her desire to please him. Knowing she could please him gave her a thrilling satisfaction. She took a small step forward, which was all that was needed to bring her breasts to his bared chest.
Sam groaned and pulled her into his arms as he took her mouth with devastating hunger. His hands swept over her, memorizing each soft curve, sculpting her breasts and gliding over her waist, her shoulders, and streaking into her hair.
"Sam," she whispered as she slid her hands under his shirt to push it down his arms, yearning and wonder in her voice.
"I can barely stand," he admitted disarmingly. "I'm shaking like a kid on his first date."
He eased her onto the couch and came down over her. His mouth was relentless, never letting up his assault on her senses. Her skirt was tugged up to her waist while he kept her precariously balanced on a tightrope of need. The only way he would let her off would be if he came with her.
Slipping his hand between their bodies, Sam drew her panties down her legs, and nearly came unglued when she arched her hips into his hand, and he felt her moist heat. He cursed the buckle of his belt when his trembling fingers had difficulty unfastening it. Finally he was able to free himself from the confining clothing, although he didn't take the time to remove them, only shoved them out of the way. He cursed his unusual clumsiness again as he tore open the foil packet he'd had enough sense to slip from his pocket.
He slid his leg between hers and was rewarded by the silent invitation of her body as she shifted to make room for him. Sam looked down into her eyes as he hesitated at the entrance of her moist warmth.
"Green fire," he murmured, feeling himself burning in the glow of her eyes and the heat of her soft body under his. "Say you want me. Make me believe it."
"I want you, Sam," she said softly, her hands stroking over his shoulders and her hips lifting to receive him. "I feel like I'll shatter into a million pieces if you don't come to me soon."
Sam's pulse throbbed violently, and he knew he had to take her now or go mad with desire.
He thrust slowly and deeply into her and felt the world spin away. He was drawn into her by a maelstrom of sensations unlike anything he'd ever known. For the first time in memory, he couldn't recognize his emotions. They were too new, too overpowering to analyze. He was losing himself in the woman he'd claimed, and the pleasure was incredible.
Her body was like quicksilver under his, coiling around him with glorious and glimmering pleasure until he was totally possessed as he possessed her.
All too soon the responses of his body were catapulting toward culmination, and he foolishly tried to fight the inevitable.
"No!" he groaned, wanting the pulsing madness to continue. "Not yet."
He surged into her one last time and came apart in a shattering explosion of pleasure and the deepest satisfaction he'd ever experienced.
Brett's body shuddered uncontrollably, and she cried out his name. She clutched him to her as though he were the only thing in the universe she had to hold on to as she went over the edge with him.
SIX
Sam tried to move his arm and discovered he couldn't. For some reason, his neck was stiff, and he attempted to adjust his position to ease his discomfort. That wasn't possible either.
The problem was, his six-foot body was sprawled on a five-foot couch.
If it weren't for the warm glow of satisfaction in the rest of his body, he would have come to the conclusion he'd had a bad night.
He opened his eyes and immediately squinted when a strong light falling across his face nearly blinded him. For a few seconds he was disoriented until he felt a slender leg slide between his thighs. Once his brain started swimming along at a more normal rate, the events of the previous evening came flooding back as though a dam had burst.
He closed his eyes and tried to analyze what he was feeling. It wasn't possible. Too many new emotions were crowded together for him to be able to sort them out and name them. He might be able to fool Brett by pretending their night together was just the result of a mutual attraction, but he couldn't convince himself. Something momentous had happened that couldn't be classified simply as fantastic sex. With her, the intimate act had been much more, had been important in a way he had yet to figure out.
Brett made a vague protesting sound that had him smiling, then he felt her stir in his arms. His amusement changed to a full-blown grin when he opened his eyes and saw a frown creasing her brow and twisting a corner of her mouth. It appeared that his lady was not Little Miss Sunshine first thing in the morning.
His lady? Damn right, he thought. Brett Southern was his in every way that counted. Or would be. He wanted her heart, body, and soul. One down, two to go.
She made another grumpy sound, and he couldn't resist asking, "Do you usually wake up so cheerful?"
He felt her body go completely still. Then she opened her eyes and lifted her head. Since it had been on his chest, she ended up nearly cross-eyed as she looked at him.
He chuckled. "You look surprised to see me, Red. I must not have made much of an impression if you can't remember why I'm sleeping with you."
She closed her eyes and groaned soulfully as she dropped her head back onto his chest. "Lord, you're one of those people who wake up
with the birds and are instantly wide-awake, aren't you? And you're even cheerful about it."
He ran his hand soothingly over her back, enjoying the feel of her silky skin under his shirt. He didn't remember doing it, but he had apparently spread it over her back after she'd fallen asleep on top of him. Since he'd had the presence of mind to see to her comfort, he wondered why he hadn't thought about his own. Her bed couldn't be too far away in the small apartment, and had to be more comfortable than the couch.
When he determined it was possible most of his muscles would work, he shifted to a seated position, skillfully maneuvering Brett so she was sitting across his bare thighs.
Sam was surprised to find he had discarded the rest of his clothing as well.
And all she was wearing was his shirt.
"How do you feel about taking a shower first thing in the morning?" he asked.
"I'm against it. I need a cup of coffee before I can even find the shower. You go right ahead," she said as she pushed against him in an attempt to get off his lap. "I'll make some coffee, which will turn me into a human being after the second cup."
Her movements were having the inevitable effect on him. He nuzzled her neck, aroused even more by the unique scent of her skin.
"You feel incredibly human now." Turning her face to his, he claimed her mouth with sweet abandon. The fierce urgency of the night before was gone, replaced by a slow-growing passion. "In fact, you feel pretty incredible for a woman." Her skin was soft as satin, as warm as velvet as he stroked her.
She sighed achingly against his lips. "Sam, I don't understand why I have trouble even thinking when you touch me."
"You don't need to think right now. Just feel." He fell back on the cushions of the couch, bringing her with him. "We'll make coffee later," he murmured as he clasped her bare buttocks and brought her against his throbbing body.
Since neither of them had given a thought to dinner the evening before, the delayed coffee was accompanied by a substantial breakfast. Sam insisted on fixing what he called his specialty, French toast, leaving the coffeemaking to Brett. When he asked at one point where she kept her spices, she became curious to see what he was doing. He added cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla extract to the beaten eggs and milk, then dipped thick slices of bread into the mixture. The fragrance that filled the small kitchen when he fried the bread made her mouth water.
When their breakfast was ready, they sat at the small kitchen table and dove into the food with healthy appetites. It wasn't until Brett poured them each a second cup of coffee that Sam brought up the subject of her quest.
"I've been thinking," he said.
"When have you had time?"
He grinned. "Have you thought about what you would do when you find your mother's journal? What if you discover it's like all the others she wrote, that there's nothing in it that helps you answer the questions you have?"
"I don't know," she said with a sigh. "I do know that she wouldn't have taken her own life, Sam. You'll have to take my word for it. Right after it happened, my father almost went crazy thinking she'd been so unhappy, and he had been so busy with his work, he hadn't noticed. When he was over the shock of losing her, he agreed that she wasn't the type to take that way out, no matter what problems she might have had. She would search for a solution and not give up until she found it. Giving up wasn't in her vocabulary."
"What about her relationship with your father? Were there any problems in their marriage?"
Brett sat back in her chair and contemplated his question. "I have no way of knowing about their personal life together other than how they were around me." She paused a few seconds, then said, "From my point of view, they were friends in the truest meaning of the word, always able to depend on the other. Apart, they were individuals with separate interests and abilities. Together, they seemed to complement each other, to bring out the best in each other. It's difficult to explain, but I know how devastated my father was when she died. It was as though part of him had died along with her."
Sam knew his next question had to be asked, even though he was sure she wouldn't like it. "So everything was all right between them? There wasn't even a remote chance your mother or your father had been involved in an affair?"
She shook her head. "That was one of the first things the police asked my father. He became furious at the detective. He said he had never once even looked at another woman since he'd met my mother, and he would have known if his wife had been seeing someone else. I believe him."
"They sound like they were close the way my parents are. Last time I visited my folks in Seattle, I caught them necking on the porch swing."
"I thought your family lived in San Francisco."
"My folks moved to Seattle after they retired. My mother's family is there. I've tried to guard their privacy by not talking about them in interviews. I chose the type of work I do, and it puts me in the public eye. They didn't. They prefer the quiet life they have, and I respect their wishes."
Brett felt as though she'd been given a glimpse into Sam Horne's family scrapbook. She wanted to see another page. "What type of work did your father do before he retired?"
"He owned a small neighborhood hardware store and my mother worked with him."
"Are there more at home like you?"
He shook his head. "My parents wanted more children, but I was it."
"Do you see them often?"
"Not as often as I should. Holidays, birthdays, mostly."
She nodded. "That's how it was for me when I lived in New York. My mother told me that I was to get on with my life without looking back. She felt children were on loan to parents, who were to show them the basics of living until they were prepared to go ahead on their own."
He looked at her with the intensity of a laser. "But that didn't stop you from feeling guilty when your mother died, did it? You felt that if you'd been living at home, she might be alive today." He didn't wait for her to agree or disagree. "It would be unnatural if you didn't feel that way. I imagine your father felt the same guilt."
Brett nodded. "I thought he was going to lose his sanity," she said somberly. "He'd been giving a lecture in Georgetown to raise money to save the Brazilian rain forest instead of being home to save his wife's life."
"Which brings us back to the cause of death. What about your mother's physical condition? Would she have told you if she had been diagnosed with an incurable disease or whether she was afraid of growing old?"
"I checked with her doctor shortly after her death. She'd had a complete annual physical three months before she died. Her health was excellent."
"Do you know of any vice or secret she could have had that someone could have been blackmailing her about?"
"Her outside activities consisted of playing golf and doing volunteer work. She spent a lot of time at libraries and plant nurseries doing research for the herbal remedies she made. After Abbie's accident, she visited her several times a week, sometimes taking her out to lunch or just for a drive. None of those activities could even be classed as bad habits, much less vices."
"Would she have told Abbie if something or someone was bothering her? As close as you were to her, she might have been hesitant about sharing something she thought you would disapprove of or wouldn't like her to be involved in."
Brett got up to pour the rest of the coffee into her cup. "After my mother died, Abbie was too distressed to answer many questions. She had finally come to terms with her blindness, only to have her best friend die mysteriously. She asked the same one-word question we all had. Why?"
"She might know something she isn't aware she knows. We'll talk to her. She would want to uncover the truth too. Can you think of anyone else your mother would have confided in?"
Brett shook her head as she sat back down. "My mother had a number of women friends and several men she was on friendly terms with through my father's work, and of course there were people around here they had known and socialized with for years. They spent a lot of time wi
th Judson and his wife, although it was more for Judson's sake. Kathryn Quill has a weakness for bourbon and branch water."
"The attorney with the bad disposition?"
She smiled wryly. "Judson was very fond of my mother and is protective of me. He's usually quite charming."
"Maybe he's more perceptive than I gave him credit for." Sam reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "He must have sensed the attraction between us and didn't like it. But that doesn't help us find a motive for someone to want your mother dead." He frowned. "If she did take her own life, she had to have a damn good reason to do something so drastic. I've run out of ideas."
"Does that mean you believe my mother took her own life?"
He reached over for her plate and put it on top of his. "That means we keep looking for the journal."
She watched as he carried their dishes to the sink. "We?"
"I'm going to be staying at Maddox Hill for the duration, remember? Who better to help you snoop around the old plantation than me? I have a good excuse to be there while we finish the documentary. I can also be on hand if someone decided they wanted to stop you."
"You have your own work to do, Sam. That isn't going to leave you a great deal of free time."
She glanced at her watch. "Speaking of which, I have to open the shop in an hour, and you have a shooting schedule."
He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. His expression seemed oddly distant and cool. "What's the matter, Brett? Are you trying to get rid of me?"
She smiled as she met his gaze. "I don't think that's possible now. Even if you weren't here, you'd be here. Do you understand what I mean?"
His tension seeped away, and he walked over to her. He pulled her up out of the chair and wrapped his arms loosely around her. "I can't recall a single time I've ever been this insecure with a woman. I find I need reassurance that you're as involved with me as I am with you."
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