"Sam?"
"Red?"
"What are you doing in the nursery?"
"Me? How did you get here?"
"You first."
He sat back on his heels and continued to gape at her. Placing one hand over his chest, he said, "You about gave me a heart attack."
"You didn't do mine much good either by knocking on the floor and the walls like some sort of nervous woodpecker. What are you doing?"
He glanced at the bookcase next to her that had moved away from the wall. His eyes were shining with curiosity. "Another secret passage. I'd never have guessed there was more than one."
Brett looked at the metal statue of a Clydesdale horse he held in his hand. "Isn't this a strange time to be playing with toys?"
"I wasn't playing." He stood and walked over to the bookcase, his long fingers searching out the mechanism. "How does this one work?"
"No you don't. First things first. What are you doing in the nursery banging on the walls and why do you have the horse that belongs in the library?"
He took a book off a shelf, leafed through it, then put it back. He removed a few more at random before he was satisfied. They were all real.
"The guy who designed the secret passages was a genius," he said. "Every panel that opens is either decorative or useful. I have to find out more about this man."
"Sam!"
He glanced at her over his shoulder. "What?"
"What are you looking for?"
"The mechanism that makes the hidden door work."
"I mean here in the nursery. If you were looking for my mother's journal, I told you I already searched all the rooms upstairs. You're wasting your time here. I had planned to go over the library next. I'm sure I mentioned that."
He gave her a sheepish grin. "Actually, I was following your instructions. I had started looking through the books in the bookcase opposite the fireplace in the library. I had picked up this horse to get to a book behind it, when suddenly a section of the bookcase swung out and nearly knocked me over."
She smiled. "So you naturally had to see where the passage led."
"Of course. I was doing just fine, too, until I stepped into this room. The secret panel shut behind me, and I haven't been able to find the trick to opening it again. The regular door is locked, so I had to find another way out. I've been knocking on the walls to try to find a hollow section or a lever mechanism that would trip the hidden door."
She held up the ring of keys. "I'll unlock the nursery door and you can take the regular stairs."
He shook his head in mock sorrow. "I don't know why I find you so fascinating, Red. You don't have a single adventurous gene in your body."
"Which is probably why I don't take you seriously."
As she spoke she picked up a coloring book from a stack piled neatly on a toy box. She turned the pages randomly and didn't see the startled expression on his face, or the frown that followed.
Holding the book to the light coming in the window, she said, "I haven't looked at these for years. I stayed inside the lines at an early age, according to my mother." She turned a page. "And wrote my name badly."
Sam wanted to see a sample of her early artistic talents. Peering at the book over her shoulder, he commented, "You also had a fondness for the color pink, or was it the only crayon you had?"
She handed the book to him and began opening drawers in the desk, looking for something. Opening the bottom one, she bent down to lift a shoe box out. She set it on the worn top of the desk and took off the lid.
Sam looked inside. There had to be two hundred crayons in there. "You took off all of the wrappers. How could you tell what color you had?"
She smiled. "And you said I have no sense of adventure." Running a finger over a smear of dried ink on the desktop, she gazed around the room. "I spent a lot of time up here when I was young. I remember drawing different versions of Hansel and Gretel's cottage. The one made of candy and cakes. Some of them were pretty elaborate. When I worked at the hotel in New York, I asked my mother to send the drawings to use as ideas for a centerpiece I created for a children's writers' conference. I was very pleased with the results."
"How did you end up with a career in candy? Most children love eating it, but I don't know any who wanted to grow up to make it."
Brett moved the box of crayons over to give herself room to sit on the desk. "I told you about my mother being interested in herbs." He nodded and she continued, "She was always trying to improve our daily diet, feeding us nourishing food without preservatives or additives. That also meant no refined-sugar products."
"That must have been difficult for you. One of my best memories of my childhood was sitting at the kitchen table after school eating peanut-butter cookies and drinking a big glass of milk with my mother."
Brett shrugged. "I had cookies made of spelt flour, honey, and sunflower seeds. Actually, they were delicious."
"So you didn't feel deprived?"
"Not at all. Chocolate and the royal icing mixtures are too sweet after a lifetime of health food. But since my mother never did any elaborate baking, I was always fascinated by the incredible cakes Abbie used to make in her bakery. She often let Elsa and me play in the back room, as long as we didn't make a mess. As I got older I continued going to the bakery because I enjoyed making things after Abbie showed me how."
"I used to hang out in my dad's hardware store, but I couldn't get too excited about ratchet screwdrivers and roofing nails."
"You got excited about movies instead."
Sam smiled as he walked over to the desk. "Film is a way to communicate an idea, a story, an event. A number of movies entertain or scare people. There aren't that many that educate."
Brett's breath quickened when he stopped only inches away from her. "I think we're back to your curiosity again."
"That's part of it." He placed his hands on her knees and spread them apart until there was enough room for him to step between her thighs. "I'm curious about a lot of things."
Brett fought the temptation to close her thighs around his hips. "Like what?"
He slid his hands over her thighs, smiling when he heard her gasp. "Like why haven't you gotten married?"
"I could ask you the same question."
"Wait until you answer mine." He stroked his thumbs across the inside of her thighs, enjoying the way her eyes glazed with arousal. "I wouldn't want you to think I'm complaining. I'm damn glad you aren't married, but I find it difficult to understand why you aren't tied to some man with a wedding band."
Brett drew her tongue over her suddenly dry lips, and the movement drew his dark gaze to her mouth. A frown creased her brow as she concentrated on his question.
"I haven't met anyone who wants the same things I do," she said.
"What do you want?"
"He would know."
Sam's eyes raised from her mouth to meet her steady gaze. "You're asking a lot."
"No more than I'd be willing to give."
He brought his hands up to cup her face. "Like friendship, companionship, honesty, loyalty, faithfulness?"
"You left out the most important requirement," she said.
"Love."
She nodded. "Love is crucial and the most difficult promise to make to someone."
"Have you ever been in love?"
"I love Abbie, Elsa, my father and mother, my dog Ashley, and my work."
Something resembling impatience glittered in his eyes. "You aren't going to answer my question, are you?"
"Having an affair with me gives you some rights, Sam. Courtesy, trust, and discretion. But not the right to expect to know my every thought, feeling, and desire."
"Maybe I want to change the rules," he said, a somber expression darkening his eyes.
She put her arms around his neck and leaned forward. "Sam?"
His gaze lowered to her mouth. "What?"
"Shut up."
Amusement curved his lips seconds before he kissed her with fierce possessiveness
. His hands closed over her hips to slide her lower body forward to meet his, leaving her in no doubt of his intentions.
She made a soft sound deep in her throat and unleashed the driving need she felt for him. Only him and no one else. She tightened her arms around him as though he was in danger of slipping away from her. As she murmured his name against his mouth she felt a desperation welling up inside her at the thought of the day he would leave.
Sam sensed her urgency, although he didn't know the cause, other than that she wanted him as badly as he needed her. He pressed his hips against hers and nearly lost control when he felt her move into him, seeking the same relief he craved.
Suddenly impatient to feel her skin against his, he wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her off the desk. With her eager help, he tugged her pants and panties over her hips and down her legs.
His mouth took hers again and again with a passion growing wild. As she sat on the desk again he stroked under her shirt, moaning hoarsely when his fingers touched her bare breast. He shuddered violently as his needs outraced every other emotion.
Except fear.
He was very afraid an important part of him, the center of his being, would be forever destroyed if he couldn't have this woman in his life. Not only now, but always.
He slid his hand down between them to the clasp of his jeans and lowered the zipper.
When he felt her hand push his aside, his breath caught in his throat. She closed her fingers around him, and he buried his face against her warm neck. Whispering her name, he wondered if a man could die of ecstatic pleasure.
"Sam?" she cried softly.
He raised his head and looked into her eyes. "Hang on to me, Red. Don't let go."
Keeping her gaze locked to his, he moved his hips and surged inside her. Her eyes glazed and her lids grew heavy as he thrust against her.
"Look at me," he said. "See what you do to me. Let me see what I do for you."
Her lips parted as he brought them together again and again. She gasped his name as the tension snapped inside her and spun her into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. She held on to his back as he shuddered violently and thrust once more in an explosion of indescribable pleasure. He dropped his head to the curve of her shoulder, and she shut her eyes tightly.
Sam's arm held her in an unrelenting grip, locking her to him as they slowly regained their equilibrium.
Brett had no idea how long they had been in the nursery, nor did she care. Everything important in her life was here. She needed nothing or no one else but Sam Horne.
All too soon sanity returned and, with it, the knowledge of other people in the house, other responsibilities.
Sam marveled at the difficulty he had with the simple act of raising his head, which felt as weighed down as his arms. If he had a choice, he would have chosen to stay where he was for the next century.
"This has never happened to me before," he said.
"What?" she asked.
"I'm speechless."
She smiled. "That won't last long."
Sighing, he moved away enough to adjust his clothing. Then he bent down to retrieve her pants and panties.
When Brett realized he was prepared to help her get dressed, she held out her hand for her clothes. "I'll do that," she said.
He held the panties out of her reach. "This is research."
His remark was so unexpected, she simply stared at him.
"I want to see," he explained, "if helping you get dressed is as exciting as taking your clothes off."
She acquiesced, feeling a little like a Barbie doll as Sam lifted first one leg, then the other to slip on her panties. He repeated the procedure with her drawstring pants.
"Well?" she asked as he tied a bow in the drawstring. "What's the verdict?"
"There's no contest." He leaned forward to kiss her with a lingering remnant of passion on his lips. "Removing your clothing wins hands down."
She smiled and slipped her arms around him to hug him.
Sam clasped her to him, holding her, his throat suddenly choked with emotion.
She broke away first. "We'd better make an appearance or your crew is liable to call out a search party."
"I suppose," he said with honest regret. "I'm going to watch carefully what you do to get us out of here. I'd like to come back with you sometime."
"Bring the metal horse with you."
She walked up to a set of brass candle sconces set into the wall on either side of the bookcase he'd been examining when she had surprised him. She turned the one on the right ninety degrees to the left, and turned the one on the left ninety degrees to the right. The slow crawl of chain and gears was the only sound in the room as one end of the bookcase moved away from the wall.
Brett left the nursery first. Sam entered the passage and was about to ask how to close it when the panel slid shut on its own.
After they'd descended to the first floor, Brett put a finger into a hole in the wall to press a lever hidden inside. The door opened to reveal the library.
Brett was showing Sam how to replace the horse in the slots on the shelf when Darren walked in.
"I should have figured you'd be in the library, Sam. I looked for you everywhere else."
"Any particular reason you wanted to find me?"
"Mrs. Arthur just told me dinner is ready, and Hank announced we're having Yankee pot roast. We'd all better go in to eat before whatever it is ends up on the floor."
Sam grinned and held his hand out toward Brett. It was the first time he had touched her in front of anyone else.
Meeting his gaze, she grasped his hand.
EIGHT
The crystal prisms of the chandelier that hung in the foyer of her lawyer's office swayed and crashed into one another when Brett slammed the door. Judson Quill might have been her parents' close friend and a competent attorney, but he was not her keeper. He had no right to tell her how to live her private life.
As she had predicted, during the past several days the word had gotten around that Sam Horne was staying at Maddox Hill Plantation with Brett. Belle had mentioned to her mother that Brett hadn't spent Monday night at the apartment above the store. Belle's mother happened to tell her canasta club, and soon the gossip had spread faster than the measles in a kindergarten class.
When she had come to work that morning, Myra had teased Brett about Sam, but she didn't overstep the boundaries of their friendship by insinuating the relationship was doomed, nor did she give advice about how Brett should handle her personal life.
Judson Quill had done both.
Brett had called on Monday to make an appointment with Judson. She wanted to tell him she had changed her mind about Sam's company using her property for his documentary, and ask Judson to go over the papers she had to sign. His secretary had told her Judson had a full schedule until late Wednesday afternoon.
She knew Judson would disapprove of her decision to allow the property to be used, but she hadn't expected him to react so strongly against Sam and some of his crew staying at the mansion. That fact seemed to bother him more than the vast numbers of reenactors, actors, and other crew members who were using the grounds of the plantation.
And that was before she mentioned she was staying in the house too. Then he totally lost all pretense of handling her case as a professional. He became very personal.
He went too far when he accused Brett of debasing her mother's memory by cohabitating with a man under Melanie's roof. Brett didn't bother denying her relationship with Sam, although she did point out that her personal life was none of Judson's business.
Judson hadn't listened to her, but had started telling her about Sam's past associations with other women, surprising Brett with his knowledge of Sam's personal history. When she asked him about it, he further infuriated her by telling her he'd been collecting information for a file on Sam.
She had stormed out, which hadn't accomplished anything, but it had given her the satisfaction of disrupting the serenit
y of his office by slamming a few doors.
She was still fuming about Judson's actions when she arrived home that evening, but tried not to show it. She only had enough time to shower and change before dinner, and no opportunity to talk to Sam. When she walked into the formal dining room, everyone else was already there. She took her seat at the head of the table, opposite Sam.
Hank sat on her left, nearest the kitchen door. Brett had noticed he spent most of his spare time in the kitchen. Mrs. Arthur had frowned at first and mumbled about the nuisance of having a man cluttering up the kitchen. That morning, however, Brett had been amused to see that Mrs. Arthur smiled continually and blushed whenever Hank spoke to her.
Beside Hank was his assistant, Wade Hamilton, who resembled a highly nervous bantam rooster. He had red hair and a quick speech pattern that reminded Brett of a record playing at a fast speed.
On the other side of the table were Darren and his assistant, Terry Cummings. Terry was an attractive blonde whom women wanted to dislike when they learned she could eat her weight in chocolate éclairs and never gain an ounce. But as soon as Terry smiled and spoke to a person in her generous and warm way, it was impossible not to like her.
As usual, Terry and Darren kept the dinner conversation rolling along at a fast clip with good-natured bantering. Brett was just as glad to let the others talk, half listening as they discussed how the day's shooting had gone.
By the time everyone was cleaning their plates, she was rather pleased with herself that she had managed to cover up her anger.
Or so she had thought.
"If you hold that wineglass any tighter, Red," Sam said out of the blue, "you're going to break the stem. Did you have a bad day?"
Brett didn't play the game of denying something was wrong. She always tried to be as honest with her feelings as she expected other people to be about theirs.
Nodding to Darren to include him in her answer, she said, "There might be a delay in the paperwork giving Wild Oats Productions permission to use Maddox Hill."
Darren reacted first. "Why? Have you changed your mind?"
She shook her head. "But I may have to change lawyers."
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