“Not as much as I’d like,” he said, drawing her back to the conversation, “but I do my share. Christmas is a really small town. There are two restaurants on the square and about four little seafood shacks down by the bay. They all serve great food, but it can get monotonous. And my grandmother has enough to do without cooking for me.”
He nodded toward a mahogany pub set at the end of the kitchen against an exposed brick wall. His grandmother had obviously been there, judging by the amount of food covering the square table. “I eat most of my meals right there.” He glanced down at their cuffed wrists. “I’m really sorry I lost the key.” His green eyes told her it was the truth. “As soon as we finish eating, I’ll call Ed again to see if he can’t get here sooner.”
Samantha’s traitorous stomach chose that time to rumble, the sound echoing from the tall ceiling.
Bret laughed, exposing dimples along with the straight, white teeth she’d noticed earlier.
Samantha temporarily forgot about food. How would his mouth feel on hers? Goose bumps rose at the thought of his teeth nipping at her skin.
“Let’s get you fed and then I’ll make that call.” Bret said, jerking her back to the present.
“Okay, but then I want to see the rest,” she protested while jockeying for position at the table. “Could you have found any taller chairs?”
“I think you need a booster chair, shorty.” He grunted when her elbow met its mark and then lifted her to sit on a pub chair. He dragged another one close and sat, reaching for the plate of fried chicken. “Dig in.”
The evening passed in companionable conversation. Had it not been for the handcuffs, it might have been a date. It was getting more and more difficult to remember it wasn’t and keep on guard for an escape route.
Cleaning up after eating proved to be difficult, but they finally managed to get it done and resumed the tour.
The line of old-fashioned cubicles that had formed the loan offices were still intact, their wooden-framed, frosted glass separating each space. Bret used one as his office and one as a little library, and the last one housed a treadmill and some kind of all-body workout contraption that looked more like a torture rack Sam had seen in old movies.
While watching an action-packed movie, complete with buttered popcorn from the old-fashioned popcorn maker in the vault, Samantha fell asleep.
Snuggled to Bret’s warmth, she drifted….
Warm. It was so warm. No wonder—she and Bret were on the beach. He kissed her, each kiss deeper, more thrilling than the last.
His hand toyed with her aching nipple. When did they get naked? She made a mental shrug. Who cared? As long as he kept doing what he was doing, she didn’t care if they were naked, even in public. Heck, when his hot mouth covered her breast, sucking her nipple deep into his wet heat, she realized she didn’t care if they were being watched by the entire town. Besides, she knew, on some level, it was a dream, so she went for it.
Bret rose above her. Somehow, though still on the beach, they were now lying on a bed, the satin sheets caressing her back while Bret caressed her front…and everywhere in between.
He bent, rubbing his smooth, firm chest against her achy, needy one. By the time he bent his head to suckle again, she thought she would scream in frustration.
Never, never had she been so turned on, so responsive.
His voracious mouth covered hers. She clasped her hand around his iron-hard erection and guided him to the place weeping for him.
His warm hands gripped her shoulders….
“Samantha?” His voice filtered through the echo of her racing heartbeat. He shook her shoulder.
“Samantha,” Bret said again as he yawned and stretched in his sitting position, the action bringing Sam up off hers. “Wake up”
He stood, pulling her up with his movement. “Let’s try to get some real sleep. I left a message for Ed to text me when he’s on his way.”
There it was, the moment she’d been dreading all evening. Sure, it wasn’t technically a date—she was, after all, under arrest. But, dang, sitting all snuggled up to Bret’s firm chest while watching a movie, it had felt more like a date.
And she liked it more than she cared to admit. Especially what had come afterward. Wait. That had been a dream. Hadn’t it? Or had her captor been diddling with an unconscious woman? No, Dudley wouldn’t do that. It was obviously a dream brought on by her recent stress. She was grieving for a lost relationship, and Bret was a convenient replacement for her subconscious. Yes, that was it. It had to be.
And now she had to sleep with him. Well, not sleep with him, sleep with him. Crap. Why did he have to be so cute and nice and smell so good?
She was so confused.
“Wait.” She grabbed the edge of the sofa, halting their progress. “I didn’t get to finish the tour.”
“That’s what I’m doing now. Samantha—”
“Call me Sam.” She shrugged at his raised eyebrow. “Everyone does.”
He gazed down at her, so close she could count the little crinkly lines around his green eyes. His scent engulfed her.
Their breath mingled.
Was he going to kiss her? Would she let him? Would she kiss him back? And where would their kiss lead if she did? And did she want to go there?
Her heart pounded, making taking a deep breath almost impossible. A viselike pressure filled her chest. Was she having a heart attack?
“You don’t look like any Sam I ever met,” he said in a soft, intimate voice. “I’ll call you Samantha.” His warm breath brushed her forehead. Or was that his lips?
He walked them to the vault and pressed an ornate brass button she hadn’t noticed. A grinding motor sound filled the room, followed shortly by a deep, vibrating clunk.
The marble wall to the right of the vault slid open to reveal a small brass elevator, complete with a retractable gate.
Bret slid back the gate and tugged her into the elevator. He cranked the gate shut and pushed another button to begin their ascent.
Suddenly Sam understood the fantasy of sex in an elevator.
She had to get out. Fast. Before she acted on the instant fantasy she’d just created.
“Aren’t there any stairs?” Her voice cracked. “This looks like it may be the original elevator.”
Bret grinned down at her. “Probably is. The only stairs lead up from the back of the kitchen. The elevator is easier and closer. Relax, I take it every day.”
While she was thinking about a rebuttal, the door swished open. Bret slid open the gate and pulled her out of the elevator.
His bedroom was huge. From what she could see, it took up the entire second floor. She wanted to ask if he’d made his bedroom furniture because it resembled the workmanship she’d seen downstairs, but she was struck mute by the predominant feature of the room: his bed was massive, up on a pedestal, bathed in the spotlight of a recessed light directly above. It looked like a sacrificial altar.
Bret’s hand on her shoulder turned her to face him.
He leaned close, his scent wafting around her, making her dizzy.
“Samantha?” His voice was low, sexy as all get-out. “Are you ready to go to bed?”
10
“What?” Sam’s voice squeaked, and she had to struggle to remain upright. Did anyone actually swoon anymore?
“Unless you need something else? Do you want to use the bathroom? It’s right through there.” He glanced down at their cuffed wrists. “I can close the door of the water closet as far as possible and stand out here.”
She’d limited her liquids all evening, anticipating just such a problem, but, dang his hide, now she had the urge.
She halted their progress at the bathroom door. “I don’t have a toothbrush. Or floss. All my stuff is at—where I’m staying.” Better not to remind him of where she was staying. That way, it might take him a while to find her, which would be beneficial if Bambi, the bimbo/homewrecker/dog thief, made a scene when Sam rescued Rhetta. Unless Bret tried
to find her for more personal reasons, which would be totally ridiculous, and she wasn’t remotely interested. Well, okay, she might be interested. Crap, he was looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “I can’t sleep without brushing and flossing,” she explained in what could only be described as a pathetic whine.
“No prob. I have extra toothbrushes and just about every flavor and type of floss you could want.”
“You floss?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. Not all guys are pigs.”
“I didn’t mean—”
He laughed. “Sure, you did. But it’s okay. After what your boyfriend put you through, you’re allowed. Just remember, we’re not all like him.”
“Ex,” she whispered as he ushered her into a bathroom roughly the size of her entire apartment. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”
Relieving herself with one arm sticking through a partially closed door was humiliating, to say the least.
She quickly discovered brushing teeth while handcuffed was more than difficult. Especially when one person was left-handed and the other was right-handed. Flossing was even worse.
“Ow!” Sam elbowed Bret’s hanging forearm. “You’re smacking me in the face,” she said around the fingers holding the floss.
“You’re doing it yourself,” he fired back. “I can’t help it if my hand moves when yours does. Ever heard of equal-and-opposite reactions?”
Finally finished and headed into the bedroom, she averted her eyes from the bed dominating the room. “I don’t suppose you’d consider sleeping on the floor?”
He snorted. “You supposed right. The bed is too high. Neither of us would be comfortable. It’s a big bed. There is plenty of room for both of us.” He folded back the burnished gold spread, revealing lush-looking burgundy sheets. “Slide on in, Samantha.”
“This isn’t very professional,” she felt compelled to point out, suppressing a shiver that must have been because of the coolness of the sheets. It certainly wasn’t because of her bed partner.
“Neither was losing the key.” He pulled the covers over them and loomed over her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Could she fight off a man his size while handcuffed to him? Would she want to?
“Turning off the light.” His voice did not sound amused.
“Oh.” A few seconds passed with her listening to him settle beneath the covers, seemingly ready to go right to sleep while she was acutely aware of his every move as well as the heat radiating off him like a blast furnace. “It’s kind of hot in here, don’t you think?”
He huffed out a breath in the darkness. “You’re the one who insisted we sleep in our clothes.”
“You’re the one who said it would be impossible to get them off anyway.” Let him try to deny it.
“True…why are you trying to argue?”
“I’m not. It’s just…well, I guess I’m still sort of irritated to be under arrest. And the handcuffs aren’t helping the situation.” She rolled to her side. His face was half shadowed in the moonlight. If anything, it made him better looking. Sexier. Stop. “Maybe I’m on edge because I realize if you wanted to take advantage of the situation, there isn’t much I could do about it. Especially all alone with you here in your house. It’s sort of unsettling.”
He rolled to face her. She braced her knee on the mattress to keep from rolling into him.
“Is that an invitation?” His voice was low, sexy, intimate.
And irritating.
“What!” She tried to jump up, but his weight attached to her wrist held her down. “What planet are you from? Because there is no way on Earth that was in any way, shape, or form an invitation!”
“Good.” He rolled to his back, his free hand behind his head.
“Good?” she sputtered. “Why is that good?”
“You’re not my type.”
“Ha! That’s a big, fat lie! I’m every guy’s type—I’m female, under eighty, and breathing.”
“Lady, I don’t know what kind of men you’ve been around, but trust me, you are not my type.”
She flopped back on her pillow, blinking back stupid, irrational tears. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe she wasn’t anybody’s type.
If Bambi was any indication, Samantha sure hadn’t been Sean’s type.
Always too curious for her own good, when she was reasonably certain her voice wouldn’t wobble, she asked, “Why not?”
“Why not what?” The jerk sounded half asleep.
“Why am I not your type?”
The bed dipped again as he rolled toward her. “For one thing, you talk. A lot. For another, you’re too skinny. I like my women with meat on their bones.”
I could gain weight if I ever had time to relax and enjoy my food. Wait. Why would she want to gain weight for Dudley Do-Right? As soon as she was released, she was grabbing her dog and escaping Christmas. “Is that it?”
“Well, there’s one more thing, but there’s nothing you can do to change it.”
“What is it?” She raised a tentative hand to his shoulder. His shirt was dry now, sort of stiff and scratchy, but it didn’t mask the hard muscles and hot skin beneath. His heat zipped through her fingertips to pucker her nipples. Dang physical reaction. Good thing it was dark. “Tell me,” she said in her sexiest voice. She’d turned on lesser men with that tone of voice. Not that she necessarily wanted to turn Bret on, but it still stung to hear him say she wasn’t his type. “Tell me,” she repeated. “I really want to know.”
“You’re too short.”
11
Too short? Had he actually had the nerve to tell her that not only was she not his type but she was too short?
Sam refrained from slapping him upside the head. She also showed admirable restraint by not gouging out his eyes or pinching and twisting a plug out of his muscular arm.
But a way to get back at him did occur to her.
She scooted closer and ran her bare foot up the inside of his calf. Did she dare? Oh, yeah.
“I can think of some things where height doesn’t matter.”
“Oh?” His voice sounded tight. “Like what?” He’d better not laugh in her face. She wouldn’t be responsible for whatever bodily damage she might be forced to inflict.
And there wasn’t a female judge in the state who would convict her.
Despite her urge to run—face it, that couldn’t happen anyway—she scooted as close as possible, given their cuffed hands between them.
“Like kissing.” Before she lost her nerve, she stretched forward and brushed her mouth across his lips.
“Kissing’s okay,” he conceded. “I’m not sure I’d call that a real kiss, though.”
His free arm circled her waist and dragged her against his hard, muscled body.
Mercy, she’d never had a science teacher with a body like that. Maybe junior high science would have held her interest.
“Samantha?”
“Hmmm?” It took an effort to keep from purring her words with his heat and scent enveloping her.
“Try it again.” He pulled her closer still. “Kiss me.” He breathed the words against her lips.
She felt the vibration clear to her toes.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t his type. Maybe he wasn’t her type either. Oh, who was she kidding? She honestly could not think of a single one of her friends back home who wouldn’t positively drool over Dudley. He was everyone’s type.
Even hers.
All the reasons it was a bad idea to get involved with someone she would never see again once she left town flashed into her mind. She quickly made a mental list: The first was the most obvious—she wouldn’t be hanging around Christmas once she retrieved Rhetta. Second, they’d just met. Third, they’d not only just met, it was definitely not under the best of circumstances, which brought her to number four: he had arrested her. There was probably some kind of law or rule against them getting together. And, number five, she wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of girl, and living in different citi
es made anything else impossible.
But the reasons that trumped all the rest were she would never see him again once she left Christmas, it was the holidays, and she was feeling bluer than she ever would have thought possible.
Then again, men had casual sex all the time, she rationalized. Why shouldn’t she? Besides, it wasn’t like they could actually go all the way—they couldn’t get their clothes off. And it might help lower his guard, making her escape easier. Plus, she wanted him.
Bret chose that time to caress her behind, his touch threatening to send her jeans up in flames.
He wanted her to kiss him. She wanted to kiss him more than she wanted to take her next breath.
She dragged her tongue across his lip, biting back a smile when she felt a little shiver run through him. Her teeth nipped lightly on his lower lip before she gently sucked on it.
He growled deep in his throat, the sound unbelievably sexy. It spurred her to slip her right leg over his lean hip and slide over to straddle the hard ridge of denim before she could think too much about why it might not be a good idea.
He arched his hips, doing a slow roll, grinding his hardness into her.
Her lips sought his. If she was only going to kiss him once, she wanted to pack as much punch as possible into it.
His teeth were smooth and slick against the tip of her tongue. Their minty-fresh breath mingled as the kiss deepened.
His grip tightened. Good, he wasn’t as immune to her as he’d let on.
Rubbing her aching nipples shamelessly against his chest, she climbed his body, her free hand raking through his hair. It felt smooth, silky. She wanted to bury her face in it and inhale his unique fragrance. She wanted to fist her hand in it and bite his neck. Her breath came in gasping pants as she licked his face, his neck, all the while rubbing harder and harder in a vain attempt to alleviate the building ache deep within.
Under The Covers Page 21
