“I don’t know.”
“I’m not,” she said, looking into the darkness, away from the accident.
“Come to the ambulance and prove it,” Sam countered.
“No.”
“Willa—”
“Leave me alone, Sinclair. When a ride shows up to take me back to the hotel, you can find me right here.”
Sam mouthed an expletive as he looked at his brothers, who’d been helping him search for her. When he’d returned to take her to the ambulance and hadn’t been able to find her, he’d become frantic, worried she had a concussion and had wandered off.
He was uncertain what to do. The accident had obviously upset her more than hurt her. Judging by the fact that she’d walked this far by herself and by the tone of voice she was using to get rid of him, Sam guessed she was okay. In fact, she appeared to be in fighting form.
“You’re going to the ambulance,” he said, hunching down beside her, more than willing to give her a fight if that’s what she wanted.
She looked at him again, only she wasn’t seeing ghosts now. “Go away.”
“No.”
“I’m not going to that ambulance, Sinclair.”
“If I have to carry you, I will.”
Her eyes widened, then she laughed humorlessly. “It will take the three of you.”
“You think so?” he asked, getting close to her face, which was lit by the strobe lights. “I think I can handle you, Ms. Kent.”
“Aw, hell. Now I’ve challenged your manly ego, haven’t I? Forget it, Sam. Just go away.”
He ended the discussion by picking her up and standing. She gasped in surprise, then hissed in outrage, grabbing his neck in a choking grip. “Put me down!”
“In the ambulance.”
“I hope you throw your back out!”
Sam strode past his laughing brothers. “Why, Ms. Kent, you don’t weigh more than a minute. Certainly not enough for a divorce.”
“I hope you break your back, you jerk!”
“You think you’re fat? You should have seen my date to the senior prom.”
Sam thought she was going to hit him—until they reached the ambulance. Then she stiffened and clung to him like a frightened child, her eyes closing tightly.
The accident she’d alluded to earlier must have traumatized her. Sam stepped into the ambulance and sat down, keeping her in his lap. “Here she is. Check her out,” he told the attendant. “If you think she should go to the hospital, I’ll ride with her.”
Willamina opened her eyes, giving him a tight smile, then flinched when the paramedic pulled off the bandage. She sat quietly on Sam’s lap while a light was shined in her eyes and her bump was checked. Her wrist was cleaned, and the attendant decided it didn’t need stitches. Sam wasn’t all that keen on ambulances or hospitals himself, and he gave a sigh of relief when she was pronounced fit to go home.
“That wasn’t so bad,” he said as he exited the ambulance with her in his arms.
“Will you please put me down?” she asked meekly.
Sam wasn’t fooled. She was seething mad. He walked with her to the waiting car Ronald had called. “You aren’t wearing shoes. There’s glass everywhere.”
She heaved a mighty sigh. He set her in the back-seat, across from Jesse and Darcy. Jesse had his arm wrapped around his wilted date. Sam got in, and Jesse tapped on the window for the driver.
“Where are Paula and Ben?” Willamina asked.
“Paula sprained her ankle. She and Ben are riding to the hospital in one of the ambulances,” Jesse looked at Sam. “What about Ronald?”
“He’s staying with the car.”
“What happened?” Darcy asked in a sob-worn voice.
“Somebody cut off an SUV, which started a chain reaction,” Sam explained, wrapping his arm around Willamina when he felt her start to tremble again. He lifted her chin with his other hand. “Would you like to stay at Rosebriar tonight?”
“No. I just want to go to my hotel room. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
Sam guessed she’d be lame as hell come morning. “Jesse, tell the driver to take us to the Marriott.”
They rode in silence to the hotel, and Sam insisted on walking Willamina up to her room, ignoring her protests and glowers. It was a damned good thing he had a Herculean ego; Willamina Kent would bludgeon a lesser one to death.
She wouldn’t marry any of them if they crawled to Maine on their knees, their hearts in their hands.
Lord, he admired her.
But he also intended to ruffle her feathers a little, just to soothe his Herculean ego. When they reached the door to her room, Sam asked for her key card.
She blinked up at him.
He sighed. “It’s in your purse, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“The one you left on the floor of the restaurant.”
“Yup.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Because you’ve figured out by now that I’m a bit of an airhead,” she said without guile.
“Is that how you see yourself?”
“Not as a rule; only when I’m out of my element. Usually, I’m as competent as the next person.”
“So, this isn’t the you my grandfather knows?”
She frowned up at him. “No. Well, maybe a little. I may be a little clumsy sometimes.”
“You must be dead on your feet to admit that,” he told her, walking her down the hall to a couch. “Sit here, and I’ll go get you a new key.”
“Thank you.”
Sam went back to the desk, then returned with a new card. He opened the door, and once she had stepped inside, he turned her around in his arms.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she squeaked in alarm.
“Salvaging my pride. And satisfying my curiosity.” Then he captured her mouth.
He found sweetness, warmth, softness, and honey.
Willamina froze. Her hands were bunched into fists against his chest, her back was arched away from him, and she’d stopped breathing.
So, the brave little woman was mostly bluster, was she? No, not little. Plump. Nicely, nicely plump. She felt damn good in his arms. Sam pulled her closer and slanted his mouth over hers, then ran one a hand up her back to cup her head, patiently laying siege to her resistance. Finally, slowly, she softened. Then she whimpered.
And then she kissed him back.
Yes! Victory.
Her smell, her warmth, her sweet taste suddenly overwhelmed him, and Sam stopped thinking about egos and revenge.
She whimpered again, and he stopped thinking completely.
One or both of them started trembling.
He had to stop. Now.
In a minute. Soon.
She stiffened again, and Sam pulled back to see gunmetal eyes glaring up at him.
He probably shouldn’t have smiled just then. The sharp pain from her fingers digging into his chest was a good sign that she wasn’t amused.
“What did you do that for?” she sputtered.
Sam stepped away and rubbed his chest. “Because I wanted to.”
“That won’t get you my vote!” she snapped, wiping her hand across her mouth.
He stepped closer. “You think that kiss was to get your vote?”
“You have a better reason?”
He stared at her flushed face, moist pink lips, and tangled hair. She was angry and utterly enchanting. In all his life, he’d never met a woman like her.
She was driving him crazy. If he didn’t get out of there, he was going to kiss her again, just on principle.
“No. Not one good reason,” he snarled, turning on his heel and walking out of the room.
“I’m going home and telling Abram that none of you deserves to be CEO!” she called out, stalking him down the hall. “I’m going to tell him you should all be written out of his will, too. He should leave his money to charity!”
Sam stepped into the elevator, then turned to face the irate woman standing in the hall
: torn dress, wild hair, and barefoot. “Go to bed, Willamina. I’m not going to kiss you again, so stop chasing me down the hall.”
The elevator door closed on her shriek. Sam walked to the glass wall so he could watch her stomp back down the open hall, and he broke into booming laughter when she tried to open the door to her room. He’d have to send someone up to rescue her; her key card was on her bed.
She turned and caught sight of him laughing at her as the elevator carried him down. Sam’s eyes widened at the gesture she shot him before she started banging on her door.
Sam keeled over in laughter. The woman needed a keeper.
Chapter Four
It took every bit of willpower Willa possessed to get out of bed the next morning. Muscles she’d forgotten she had were complaining, her head felt as if a channel buoy was clanging inside it, and even her teeth hurt.
The hot shower helped. Sliding into old soft jeans felt heavenly. Leaving off her bra and pulling on a fluffy sweatshirt was especially comfy, and her worn-in sneakers were balm to her abused feet.
Feeling older than her geriatric workers, she tried to walk the stiffness out of her muscles by pacing her hotel room. While she walked—and groaned—Willa pondered her predicament.
She’d come there to make a choice that was impossible. As Abram had said, they were all capable. She couldn’t find one outstanding difference that that would tell her how to vote.
Even Sam, the kissing fool.
She shouldn’t have kissed him back, but her hormones had gone into full riot at the touch of his lips. She’d fought them valiantly but had lost the battle when Sam’s heat had slowly permeated her body.
When she’d come to her senses, he’d smiled at her like some triumphant pirate. The jerk. He’d kissed her just to prove that he could get a response.
She should pack what was left of her suitcase, get on a plane this morning, and go back to Maine. And the minute she got home, she would give Abram Sinclair a piece of her mind, then tell him to go find a cave to die in if he was too stubborn to go home where he belonged. He had no right involving her in his personal affairs.
Willa picked up the phone to book a flight just as someone knocked on her door.
Sam leaned his forehead on the hotel door and knocked again. Damn, he hated to be there. He even hated life itself today.
The door opened, and he straightened, only to go still at the sight of Willamina Kent. She looked…different. Normal. Even beautiful—until she turned frantic when she saw his face.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Sam stepped into her room, forcing her to step back.
“Is it Abram?”
Sam could only nod.
“Oh!” she cried, whirling toward her bed. “I’ve got to go to him. I promised to be there. I’ve got to go now.”
“Willamina. Willa.”
“He promised he’d wait for me to get back,” she wailed, throwing her battered bag onto the bed and tossing her clothes into it. She swept past him, going into the bathroom and cramming her cosmetics into a pouch.
“Willa.”
She came out and bumped into him, her eyes dark with anguish. “I’ll be with him, Sam. I know you want to be, but I promise, I’ll be with him,” she vowed fiercely.
He said her name again, but she was desperately trying to close her suitcase. The zipper was torn beyond use. “Help me,” she pleaded, her face hidden by her hair, tears falling in splotches onto the suitcase.
Sam pulled off his belt, gently pushed her aside, and wrapped it around the overnight bag to cinch it closed. He picked it up and carried it out of the room. “Don’t forget your purse.”
She grabbed her large purse and went out ahead of him, all but running to the elevator. In silence, they rode down to the street, where Ronald was waiting. Sam gave him the suitcase and opened the back door for Willa, handing her in.
“Can I take your helicopter to the airport? I need to hurry, Sam.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Is he at my cottage or in the hospital? Do you know?”
“He was at the hospital,” he answered stonily.
Ronald got in and started them on their way. Sam turned to Willa and stared at her hands, which she was wringing.
“Willa—”
“His timing stinks. He was supposed to wait for me to get back,” she whispered without looking up. “That was the deal. If he wouldn’t let the three of you be with him, he promised me I could.” She looked up suddenly. “No one should be alone, Sam. No matter what, Abram shouldn’t be alone.”
“He wasn’t.”
“He’s made friends of my workers,” she told him. “They’ll stay with him until I get there.”
“They did. Bram wasn’t alone.”
“You mean isn’t.”
“Willa,” Sam said, putting his arm over her shoulder, “Abram died early this morning.”
Every drop of blood drained from her face as she looked up at him with wide eyes. Huge tears suddenly spilled down over her cheeks, then she snapped her head down and hid behind the curtain of her hair.
With his own groan of agony, Sam pulled her to him, pressing her wet, hot face against his chest.
“I was supposed to be there. That was the deal,” she cried into his shirt. “He promised.”
“Bram loved you, Willa. He wasn’t about to let you see him die, any more than us, honey,” Sam crooned hoarsely, rubbing her back. “He was a proud man.”
“But he only knew me for six weeks. I’m a stranger to him. It was going to be okay for me to be there.”
“I imagine Bram fell in love with you the moment he met you,” Sam told her as he stared straight ahead, resting his chin on her hair. “No matter what you thought, he wouldn’t have let you be there. It’s almost as if he timed this.”
She lifted her tear-soaked face, looking up at him with pained eyes. “What happened?”
“He had a heart attack yesterday afternoon, Spencer said.”
“I know Spencer. He visited Abram several times.”
“He’s been Bram’s lawyer for forty years. Spencer called this morning.”
“He’s in Maine?”
“Yes. The doctor contacted him yesterday. Bram had left instructions with one of your workers.”
“W-was Spencer there this morning? When…when…”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She rested her head against Sam’s chest and gave another harsh sob. He wrapped her tightly in his embrace, and they rode in silence. Finally, she spoke again without lifting her head. “I should probably see to the arrangements. He had things worked out with a local funeral home to prepare him to ship here. His casket’s already there.” She raised her head and looked at him. “I-I’d like to come back for the funeral.”
“Everything’s being taken care of, Willa. That’s what Spencer is doing now. Bram will be here tomorrow morning. He’ll lie in state at Rosebriar, then be buried in the family cemetery on the grounds, next to Rose and his sons.”
“Oh.” She tried to wriggle away from him.
Sam held her in place. “I’m taking you to Rosebriar now,” he said, lifting her chin to look at him. “It’s up in Connecticut.”
“I can stay at a nearby hotel.”
“No. Bram wanted you at Rosebriar.”
“I’m not family, and I don’t belong there.”
“Jesse, Ben, and I want you there.”
She thought for a moment. “I could help set everything up.”
“You’re our guest, Willa. You just have to be there. For us and for Bram. We feel better knowing he had you these last few weeks, you’ve made his little odyssey easier for us to accept. You’ve helped us…understand.”
“He reminded me of my own grandfather,” she said, relaxing against him. “Pops was a character right to the end, just like Abram. Your grandfather flirted shamelessly with my help. And he spoiled my cat rotten, bossed me around endlessly, and stuck his no
se in every aspect of my business.”
“I’m glad.”
The rest of the ride to Rosebriar was quiet, Willa sighing occasionally as she fought her tears.
Sam knew that she and Bram had bonded in a simple, elemental way. They had probably perked up at the first sight of each other, assessing each other’s mettle. Interest had come next, and shortly after, love had blossomed. That’s how it had always been with Bram. Within an hour of meeting someone, either he liked them or he didn’t. Sam guessed it hadn’t taken the old wolf ten minutes with Willa. The first slip she had made probably endeared her to him; her second would have sealed it.
Sam’s hand suddenly stopped stroking up and down her back, to double-check what he was feeling. Nothing. He wasn’t feeling anything.
He should be feeling a bra. Willamina Kent had forgotten an important piece of clothing this morning. At least, it should be important to her, if she didn’t want to be kissed senseless again.
Hoping she hadn’t noticed his delightful discovery, Sam pulled her onto his lap and began rubbing her soothingly again. This time, he put enough pressure against her back to push her chest against his. Yup, the partridge was missing some underwear.
When they turned onto the Sinclair estate, Willa sat up with wide eyes. Sam was afraid he’d been discovered, but she was looking out the window. She turned to him, her face lit with surprise. “Wow.”
“Bram’s legacy.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Once you see all of it, you’ll really meet the man you’ve been harboring for the last six weeks,” Sam told her, shifting her on his lap a little more comfortably.
She smiled at him. “Your legs go to sleep?”
“I hate to disappoint you, Willa, but you’re not fat,” he told her dryly.
“I most certainly am.”
“No, you’re built like a woman.”
Just right, upstairs and down. Her expression turned as thunderous as when she’d caught him laughing at her at the Marriott, which reminded him…“That was a very unladylike gesture you gave me last night,” he said.
“What gesture?” she asked, her expression turning guileless. “When you were in the elevator?”
Sam nodded.
“Why, I was pointing at the cable above your car. It looked frayed. I feared for your life, Sam—I really did.”
The Man Must Marry Page 5
