by Pamela Aares
“You have to be naked. It’s the law.” She lay back against the pillow, her nipples puckered, aroused. “They’re coming, Kaz. We only have a little time.”
He shed his jeans and T-shirt, but kept his briefs on. She might not remember any of this, but he needed some shred of dignity. Some shred of control.
“No, you have to take those off,” she said with a wave of her hand and a very serious look. “Naked means naked. No clothes.”
He pulled his briefs down his legs, and his erection sprang free. He bent over the edge of the bed and laid his briefs across his jeans.
“You have an amazing ass,” she said as she leaned over and traced a finger across his buttock. “One thing about baseball, the players always have great asses.”
He tried to ignore the jolt of desire her touch fired and checked to see if she really was still asleep. The odd look in her eyes told him she was.
He crawled under the covers. And hoped that he could coax her into a deeper sleep before they both did something they’d regret. Hell, something he’d regret. She probably wouldn’t remember any of it.
And that’s why he’d regret it.
She pulled his arms around her and snugged up against his erection. His breath caught, harsh and burning in his throat.
“That’s good,” she said in a throaty voice as she spooned against him.
She smelled of flowers. And heat, if heat could have a scent. Or maybe it was his heat. His pulse hammered as she wiggled closer, wedging his erection between the tops of her thighs. He felt the slick wetness there, and his shaft pulsed hard.
Desperate, he pulled one arm free and tapped the top of her head, tapped gently in the rhythm he’d come to trust. She stopped wiggling. Thank God. If she’d moved one more time, he would’ve lost it. He ached with the wanting, but it wouldn’t be right to take advantage of her. He wasn’t one of those guys. He closed his eyes as lust roared through him. Damn, he hoped he wasn’t one of those guys.
Her breathing settled as he kept up the tapping rhythm and soon he heard the breath that told him she’d drifted deeper. But now he faced a dilemma. His other arm was still under her waist, her hand tucked in his, and brushing up against her breast. Slowly he raised himself, as much as he could without jostling her. He freed his fingers one by one. Then, inch by inch, he tugged his arm out from under her, watching her face as he did. He’d almost freed his hand when her eyes flew open. She gasped and sat straight up in the bed.
“What are you doing here?”
Her surprise was genuine. He sat up. She stared at his bare chest. And then lower, to his full-on erection.
“You were sleepwalking.”
“Evidently I didn’t get very far.” She pulled the sheet up under her chin and eyed his briefs and jeans piled beside the bed.
“We didn’t do anything,” he said, not liking the defensive tone in his voice as he grabbed his briefs and jeans.
“But you’re naked. I’m naked.”
“We didn’t do anything,” he repeated.
Damn, this was like some Broadway farce. Only it wasn’t funny when you were the one involved. But he needed to reassure her, not worry about his own embarrassment.
“You said you’d be safe in the bed, with me. And then you said we had to take off our clothes. I just wanted…” He’d wanted a lot of things. “I just wanted to get you back in bed and sleeping safely.”
And what woman would believe that story? He didn’t know what else to say. He prepared for her to lash out at him.
“I’m sorry.” Color rose in her neck and face. “I used to walk in my sleep. I…I haven’t done it in so long, I thought I’d beaten the habit.” She touched his arm, briefly, before drawing her hand away. “Tell me what happened. Please. I need to know.”
She lowered her eyes, and Kaz felt her embarrassment as if it were his own.
“And maybe you should start from the beginning.”
It was a damned strange tale to tell. The hardest part was keeping his hands off her while he told it.
Under other circumstances such a story would’ve had a much more satisfying ending.
Chapter Twelve
Never before had two feet of mud, a four-foot-by-four-foot hole, and a cracked irrigation pipe felt like a refuge. But that morning, Kaz was glad for the distraction. Knee-deep in a mud-filled trench was as good a place as any to sort through warring thoughts.
He’d been relieved that Sabrina had slept in and hadn’t joined them for breakfast. Debriefing her on her actions while she’d sleepwalked had been tricky business. As had slipping on his jeans and tiptoeing down the hall to his own bed.
Though he’d successfully ignored the questioning glances from his grandmother as he’d downed his breakfast, he was sure he’d be grilled later. She had the ears of an owl; there was no way that the evening’s activities had escaped her entirely.
He drew a sweaty forearm across his face. Fixing the cracked pipe was the same as restoring a lifeline. Without irrigation, the trees would die. Without water piped in from nearby rivers, the whole area would turn into a desert. Repairing water systems was part of the rhythm of life in the Valley. But the system on the farm was old, too old. Patching it would solve the problem, but for how long? He couldn’t ignore that the system needed thousands of dollars in repairs.
Soil rained down on him from above. He looked up to see lean, tanned legs topped by a short skirt and above that, Sabrina’s smiling face. She held her fist out and slowly released another streaming rain of soil onto his shoulders.
“I’ve been working for hours to get the dirt out of this hole,” he said as he brushed at his shoulder.
“Then maybe I should help you.”
Before he could stop her, she hopped into the hole. And grimaced as she sank knee-deep in the muddy corner.
“I could’ve warned you.”
“But you didn’t,” she said in a teasing tone.
She had bluish circles under her eyes. Maybe she hadn’t slept in. Maybe she hadn’t slept at all. He sure hadn’t. Nothing like a gorgeous woman bringing him to near orgasm in her sleep to keep him wide awake and aching. After he’d crawled into his own bed, it had taken an hour and a half before he’d managed to doze off.
“Handling a shovel is exactly the wrong activity for you this morning.” He started to reach his fingertips to her shoulder, then thought better of it and pulled his hand back. “Any better today?”
“My shoulder is, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Look, Sabrina, you don’t have to apologize again. You did enough of that last night.”
“I didn’t come here to apologize,” she said, pulling her left foot out of the mud and squishing toward him. “I came to do this.”
She pressed her lips to his.
And immediately the desire he’d worked all morning to shove down sprang to life. But with it came a riddling stab of irritation. He’d made a vow that he intended to keep, and Sabrina was a respected friend’s sister. There could be no happy ending if he fooled around with her without honorable intentions.
He grasped her upper arms and moved her away.
Color flushed into her cheeks. “I just wanted to see if what I felt last night was real.”
“You said you didn’t remember what happened last night.” He sure as hell did. And if the fantasies he’d fought back that morning in the shower were an indication, he wasn’t likely to forget any detail.
“No, but I remember what I felt in my dreams afterward. It’s real, all right.” She nailed him with her gaze. Dust and muck coated her lashes but didn’t hide the spark that flashed in her eyes. “And from the look on your face, you feel it too.”
Damn right he felt the power lancing through him. His heart hadn’t settled its beat. And with her standing so close, it wouldn’t. Her beauty called to him like a siren’s song. But one of them had to keep a clear head.
He fought for words that could put distance between them, get them back on track to their
original mission. “You have your life”—his words sounded half-hearted, were half-hearted—“and I have mine. We need to get back to them.”
Though if he hadn’t made his now-regretted vow, he’d sure be tempted to demand to be a part of hers.
He had to get out of the hole. Standing close to her was pure torture. He toed into the earthen step he’d carved in the dirt wall and levered up and out. Leaning down, he pointed to the step. “Lodge your foot in there and give me your hand.”
She did as he said.
“Other hand, Sabrina. It’s still too early to put pressure on that shoulder.”
As his hand closed around hers and he wrapped a supporting arm around her waist to lift her, he knew his head wasn’t clear. Wasn’t clear at all.
Later that afternoon, Kaz carried Sabrina’s suitcases to her car. Derrick had summoned her back to Hollywood for a meeting with her friend, the director.
Kaz imagined the meeting could’ve been postponed for a day or two, but he was relieved that she wasn’t hanging around to test his resolve. Though he’d managed to get out of the hole before he’d acted on the near uncontrollable desire she fired in him, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep his hands off her.
Her soft skin called to him, called for the stroke of his hands. He wanted to do more than tap on her to release her fears and tensions. He wanted to touch, to caress her breasts, to drive them both to burning passion and then drive them to release.
He wanted to touch and taste every inch of Sabrina and then push into her, feel her welcoming him, driving him even higher. He wanted to not hold back, not restrain himself, but to explode with the passion she roused in him.
He understood when to be cold and when to turn on the heat, and he knew the heat between them would be explosive. But he couldn’t let himself go with her. He couldn’t take what he wanted or give her what she’d asked for. Following through on the urges of his body wasn’t part of his therapy plan. And falling for his teammate’s sister wasn’t part of his life plan.
“Derrick’s putting together a reading for the core cast,” she said as she swiveled her hips onto the car seat.
He didn’t like the flare of jealousy that flashed when he thought about Derrick holding her in his arms. He’d decided that Derrick was obake, a shape-shifter, and he trusted nothing about the man. He was pretty sure Derrick Ainsley had only one person’s welfare in mind and it sure as hell wasn’t Sabrina’s.
“I imagine you’ll be happy to leave this heat and get back to your city life.”
“It’s my work, Kaz.”
“Action thrillers—the world needs more of them.” Instantly he regretted his sarcastic words. She didn’t need anyone else pushing her doubt buttons.
“Thrillers with heart,” she said in a defensive tone. “Thrillers with a message.” She tucked her legs inside and closed the car door. “The woman in this film is fighting for her life.”
Her words thudded into his brain. Suddenly what she’d said when she’d talked in her sleep made sense. He should’ve asked her about the film before this. Now he suspected that the forces of the story had entered her, had infused her subconscious.
He’d been an idiot not to recognize the signs. It made sense that the trauma from the attack and the subconscious message from the story she was internalizing were all of one dark, tightly knotted piece.
But subconscious dark forces weren’t his area of expertise. His mind sifted through possibilities. Sabrina could work with his grandmother. Obaa-chan knew how to exorcise dark spirits; he’d seen her do it once, years before.
“You should stay a few more days, Sabrina.” He couldn’t tell her outright what he suspected. It sounded crazy. Maybe it was crazy. But a driving voice inside him told him he was right. “You’re not a hundred percent yet.”
She widened her eyes. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. And you need to get back to your life,” she said, repeating the words of dismissal he’d said as he’d pulled her up out of the mud hole. Words he’d said in a desperate attempt not to follow through on what every cell in his body screamed for him to do.
“And I’m so much better,” she added. “Definitely good enough.” She extended her arm through the open window. “Friends?”
He took her hand, shook it. And felt his stomach lurch as she smiled and then drove away.
He watched until her car was out of sight, hoping all the while that her new movie and his life each had a happy ending.
That night Kaz slipped on a jacket and walked out to the family shrine. He knelt and sat motionless before lighting a stick of incense. The old rituals of his family usually calmed him, settled his thoughts. But even after twenty minutes, the ritual didn’t work.
Thoughts of Sabrina pulsed in his head. Since meeting her, he had felt a gap open in his heart, and all the meditating in the world wasn’t going to close it. He tried to keep the messages and insistent images she fired within him out of his mind, out of his body, but his efforts were useless.
He was even less successful at ignoring the questions she ignited in his soul. Peaches and pitching, that was what he’d always focused on. Farming, excellence, performance, they all seemed like simple achievements in the face of the challenge she fired. Before her, his well-ordered life had made sense. But nothing in his samurai training had prepared him to fight a battle against his heart.
It was the first time his training had failed him. And that meant he’d have to search elsewhere for counsel and strength.
He looked up at the portrait of his grandfather. “You have no idea what you’ve asked of me.”
Chapter Thirteen
After the serene simplicity of her little guest room in Kaz’s farmhouse, Sabrina’s hotel room seemed sterile. The woven silk drapes and polished floors, the Aubusson carpets, none of the elegant appointments of the room radiated the warmth she’d felt during her stay at the farm.
If she was going to survive the pace and craziness of Hollywood, she needed a place of her own, a haven where she could relax and recharge after long days of shooting. A place as refreshing as a farm. She tapped out an email to a real estate agent that her cousin Alana had recommended. She read it over and then edited it to specify that she’d like to look at rental places close to the sea.
The scent of lilies rose to her from a bouquet of perfectly arranged flowers in the middle of the sitting room table. What was it Kaz had said about flowers? That flowers attracted life. But the faces of the hothouse blooms did little to cheer her. She reluctantly opened the note poking up from a pronged plastic stick. Relief flooded her as she read Natasha’s encouraging message and realized the flowers weren’t from Derrick. He had a way of making her feel hemmed in, even from a distance.
Her time with Kaz had made her see Derrick in a different light. Being around Kaz ignited a deep passion she hungered for, but he’d been careful not to fan those flames. She wasn’t sure which was worse—having lived not knowing the true pulse of passion or now knowing it, only to have the man who’d sparked it cut her off.
She’d played with possible reasons for his rebuff as she’d driven back to LA. Some were humbling. Maybe she wasn’t his type. She sure didn’t in any way resemble the blond, voluptuous Stacy. Or maybe he didn’t like cosmopolitan women; some men didn’t. But Kaz hadn’t struck her as one to judge along such lines.
There’d been a spark between her and Kaz. She’d felt it and was pretty sure she wasn’t imagining that he did too. Something had made him step back, something more than the fact that he was supposed to be helping her. After all, it wasn’t like he was crossing some sort of professional line. But then again, maybe his samurai practice played into his actions, his outlook, more than she realized.
It didn’t matter that he’d asked her to stay—given the raw passion that rocked her, she couldn’t face working beside him anymore. Kaz might have the skill to ignore or channel powerful energies, but she didn’t.
Although her initial embarrassment had faded, she wa
s still piecing together the events that led to her sleepwalking incident. Maybe the body work or the trauma techniques had stressed her beyond her limits. And the kisses hadn’t helped any. Had she known what it would feel like to kiss Kaz, would she still have done it? She didn’t have to ponder to know the answer was yes. What woman, even if she knew a dear price would be paid, wouldn’t want to feel such stunning, blazing passion?
She rearranged the lilies, freeing them from the tightly knotted arrangement the florist had sent up. In her mind’s eye she pictured the simple arrangement that had graced the guest room bureau at the farm. She pulled out two stems of blossoms and a piece of curly willow branch and pinched off the stems so she could arrange them in the water glass beside the bed. The lifted faces of the two lilies looked like they were thanking her for their liberation.
She changed into a pair of white linen pants and a petal-pink silk shirt. As she strapped on a pair of heeled Jimmy Choos, she thought of Kaz telling her that heels could throw off the alignment of her spine. Yeah, and a sultry-eyed, exotic man with a touch that thrilled her to her core could throw off her life. With a curse, she kicked off the sandals and slipped on a pair of soft leather flats.
There were no cars at Derrick’s house when she arrived, though she didn’t think she was that early. She walked up the wide stone steps and rang the bell.
“Where is everybody?” she asked when Derrick opened the door.
“Hello to you too,” he said, brushing a kiss to her cheek. She smelled alcohol on his breath.
“Am I early?”
“I guess you haven’t heard the news.”
“What news? I just got back two hours ago.”
“Hayne Thornton’s dead. Found in his apartment. Overdose.”
Nausea swept her. Hayne and she had gone to UCLA together. He was one of the best actors and kindest men she’d ever met. It was Hayne who’d taught her how to allow a character to enter her as if that character lived at her core, who’d taught her to dive deep into a part. But it was Derrick who’d taught him.
