Yeah, right. More like the most nervous.
"Hi, Adam," Sarah said, reminding herself it was just a facial—a procedure she had done a thousand times before. "Are you ready?"
"Sure. Lead the way."
She showed him where her treatment room was, then took him to an empty dressing room. "Just remove your shirt and put this on." She handed him a kimono-style robe that belted in front, her friendly, professional voice intact. "And when you're ready, come to the facial room." Pointing to a rack of hangers, she added, "We encourage clients to keep their belongings with them, so be sure to bring your shirt along."
"Okay." He flashed that devastating smile, and she proceeded down the hall, taking a deep, I'll-get-through-this breath. Men might be low on her list of priorities, but this one made her tingly and weak-kneed, sensations she would prefer to do without.
Sarah waited by the treatment chair, resisting the urge to cleanse her hands again. She couldn't wash away her nervousness no matter how hard she tried. Touching Adam was inevitable, and dousing herself with an instant sanitizer wasn't going to help.
When footsteps sounded, she looked up. Adam entered the room, shirt in hand. She took it from him and hung it on a nearby hook. He wore the aqua robe she had given him, and although it was a simple garment, the pale color emphasized every striking feature. She decided his biological parents must have been beautiful, their genes creating a mixed-blood masterpiece.
"Have you ever had a facial before?" she asked.
He smiled again, his teeth white and straight. "No, but I'm looking forward to it."
"Have a seat, and I'll explain the procedure," she said, struggling to focus on her job. She hadn't been this anxious since her state board exam. This jittery inside. How much physical perfection could one man inherit?
He sat on the facial bed, his presence filling the small room. Sarah closed the door, knowing she had to. A relaxed setting enhanced the treatment.
Once she briefed him, he reclined and she draped him with a coverlet. He had chosen to keep the room quiet rather than listen to a CD from Sarah's collection. She had a variety of soft music as well as sounds from nature. She would have preferred to have a CD playing. The silence only made her more aware of her nervousness.
"I'm going to cover your hair," she told him, slipping her hands behind his neck. His hair, banded into a ponytail, felt smooth and thick. Healthy, she thought. Everything about Adam boasted strength.
After analyzing and cleansing his skin, she began the massage. She knew all the clinical benefits of a facial massage, yet when her fingers connected with his skin, she forgot each and every one.
She could have been a woman stroking her lover. A woman exploring his face, the chiseled angles and rawboned sensuality.
Each manipulation felt erotic. Rolling movements, circular friction. She touched his forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. She allowed her fingers to roam his face, the pressure light but firm, slow yet rhythmic.
Heat against heat, Sarah thought. Flesh against flesh. Adam kept his eyes closed, but he didn't sleep. Instead he moaned his pleasure—a low, masculine sound.
When she accidentally brushed his lips, he wet them afterward. She swallowed and moved down his chin, his neck.
Mesmerized, she became aware of every breath he took, every muscle that twitched, the rise and fall of his chest, the flutter of his eyelids.
He made another low sound and shifted his weight, causing the coverlet to slip. The V on his robe gaped. Sarah was tempted to slide her hands inside, massage his chest, his nipples.
Catching her breath, she chastised herself. She had to end this now. What kind of esthetician fantasized about her client? A stranger?
A beautiful stranger.
Easing back as naturally as possible, she broke contact, lifting her hands to fill a basin with warm water.
Adam opened his eyes, blinking as though awakening from a dream. He tilted his head back and looked at Sarah.
"That was nice," he said, his voice a husky whisper.
She managed a shaky smile, uncertain of how to respond. Her fingertips still tingled, and the gaping robe still exposed his chest—gorgeous, golden-brown flesh. She even caught sight of a taut, muscular belly.
Sarah adjusted the coverlet, knowing it was her professional place to do so. Adam didn't seem to notice that his robe had slipped open, but then why would he? Most men bared their chests without modesty.
"I'm going to remove the moisturizer, then prepare a mask," she told him, an image of his navel imbedded in her mind.
She continued the procedure, shielding his eyes with moist cotton pads. They didn't talk while she applied the mask, and within an hour the treatment was complete, his skin firm and clean.
He stood and smoothed his hair, his robe still loose, the belt barely tied. "Thank you, Sarah," he said, coming forward to press some folded bills into her hand.
"You're welcome." She accepted the tip, realizing they were only inches apart. He wasn't wearing cologne, she thought, her heart fluttering in her breast. He smelled natural, like fresh-milled soap.
"Will you have dinner with me tonight?"
The invitation caught her by surprise. And so did her response. Without the slightest hesitation, Sarah agreed to share a meal with him—this tall, beautiful stranger. A man she knew she should avoid.
* * *
Adam stood in the main square of Chinatown, waiting for his date. This was insane, he thought. No matter how hard he'd tried, he hadn't been able to convince Sarah to allow him to pick her up at her apartment. She had insisted on meeting him.
He checked his watch. 7:20 p.m. She was late. Was he about to be stood up? It would serve him right, he supposed. Plenty of women chased him, and he'd gotten used to the attention. But then, that attention was based on his looks, not on the man he was inside. And he wanted more than a superficial relationship. He wanted…
What? A commitment?
Someday, maybe. But he wasn't looking for love. At least not at this time in his life. He had too many other issues, too many other goals—like finding his biological mother, bonding with his heritage. He couldn't think about love and commitment. Not until he knew who he was and where he had come from.
He released a heavy breath. So where did Sarah fit into this? Why was he so eager to see her again?
Because she fascinated him, he realized. And she could lead him to his roots. Adam knew he was lost, a ship that needed to come to port. The adoption had him feeling so damn disconnected. For the past month he had been floating. Going nowhere.
And he had the same vibe about Sarah. He suspected she was troubled, too. And that drew him to her, made him want to help. She was solid, real—so unlike the superficial women who chased him. She would make a good friend.
A good friend? he asked himself. Or a compatible lover? He couldn't very well deny the sexual spark between them. He hadn't counted on it, but it was there—lurking, hiding, waiting to be released.
Well he wasn't about to release it. The last thing he needed was to complicate a new friendship with sex. He would just have to keep those urges under control.
And just how was he supposed to do that? He had already booked another facial for next week. He wanted her to stroke him again, enchant him with her magic.
Her mystery.
Adam frowned. Already his hormones were interfering with a friendship that hadn't even happened yet. He could find another connection to his heritage, couldn't he? He didn't need Sarah to show him the way.
A beautiful, exotic woman. A dark-eyed Cherokee mystery.
Damn. Maybe he should just forget the friendship and have an affair with her. A passionate one-night stand. That would satisfy his hormones, the unexpected lust.
Disturbed by the thought, he shook his head. Maybe it would be better if Sarah did stand him up. Then he wouldn't have to worry about their attraction.
Adam checked his watch again, then glanced up and caught his breath. It was too late,
he thought. Much too late.
Beautiful, dark-eyed Sarah was already walking toward him, and all he could think about was tangling his hands in all that glorious hair and kissing her senseless.
* * *
Chapter 2
« ^ »
Sarah scanned the menu, wishing she could think of something to say. She wasn't good at small talk and was even worse at dating. How was she supposed to concentrate on what to order with Adam sitting across from her? A man who appeared relaxed and confident? He probably had the dating ritual down pat.
She stole a quick glance. Of course he did. Look at him. God's gift to womankind. He wore his hair in a ponytail, his clothes casual but trendy—a printed shirt and pre-washed jeans sporting a well-known label. California ranch wear, she decided, designed for the city cowboy. His rugged style appeared natural. He didn't try to attract attention. He just did.
He caught her eye, and she looked down, studied her hands.
"Did you know that they don't serve fortune cookies in China?"
She glanced up again, forcing herself to hold his gaze. "Why not?"
"They were invented in the U.S. They don't exist in China."
"Have you been there?"
"No. I read that on the Internet in a travel guide. I spend a lot of time online."
Sarah took a deep breath, told herself she would get through this date. It helped not thinking of him as a world traveler. She had never even been on a plane. "I'm glad they serve them here. Fortune cookies are my favorite part of a Chinese meal."
He smiled. "Me, too."
When his smile faded, their eyes met. They sat in a small red booth, candlelight flickering between them. His face fascinated her, but she had already touched it, explored the ridges and angles, the masculine texture of his skin. She didn't want to remember every detail, but looking at him made that impossible.
He lifted the teapot and offered her a refill. She shook her head. She hadn't finished the first cup yet.
"Let's choose a few extra entrées so we can share," he said.
"All right." She agreed even though the suggestion sounded oddly intimate. "I would prefer chicken and vegetables, though. I don't eat red meat."
He smiled at her, something he did often, she noticed.
"Me, neither," he said, his voice as easy as his smile. "I guess that means we're going to get along just fine."
Yes, she thought, if she could just get over her nervousness, tame the unwelcome flutter in her stomach.
When the waiter arrived, they ordered a variety of dishes. Adam spoke a little Cantonese, enough to surprise Sarah and please the grinning waiter. Sarah wondered if Adam had learned the language on the Internet. He appeared to know a lot more than just the history of fortune cookies.
"Ancient cultures fascinate me," he told her. "I had some training in traditional Chinese medicine. It's an integral part of their philosophy and religion. Much like the Native American culture." He lifted his tea. "I've been reading about the Cherokee."
Sarah frowned. She didn't want to discuss her heritage. And coming from Adam, the term Native American sounded almost glamorous. A far cry from her roots. She was just a simple Indian girl from Oklahoma.
"Where did you get your formal training?" she asked, hoping to steer clear of Cherokee subjects.
"First I attended a school of herbal studies in Northern California, then transferred to a university in London."
"London? You went to school in England?" Maybe he was more of a world traveler than she had originally thought. "Did you like living there?"
"Sure. It's a beautiful country, and the University of Westminster was an excellent school."
His casual response made her feel even more Indian, and she hated the feeling. Adam's adoptive mother might have been Latino, but he'd been raised in a predominantly white world. Apparently his brown skin hadn't hindered his experiences. "It sounds exciting, but expensive, too."
"My dad was an accountant, one of those conservative guys who saved money for his son's education. We weren't rich, but I didn't go without, either."
His adoptive father must have been an honorable man, she thought with a twinge of admiration and a sting of envy. Sarah's father hadn't saved a dime. She had struggled to pay for her own schooling.
Their dinner arrived, and they ate in silence, his gaze catching hers between bites. Feeling shy, she glanced away. His mouth fascinated her. The way he moistened his lips before he lifted the fork.
He leaned toward her, and suddenly, foolishly, she wished the table wasn't between them.
"Sarah?"
"Yes?"
"Are you enjoying your meal?"
She nodded, even though her stomach was still alive with nerves, the flutter of feminine anxiety. "Yes. It's quite good."
He smiled, and she took a deep breath, recalling the warmth of his skin.
* * *
Night settled in the sky, scattering stars around a quarter moon. Adam and Sarah walked through the Chinatown courtyard, strolling in and out of boutiques. Adam loved the area. A few of the vendors knew him by name. He spent a lot of time in Chinatown, purchasing herbs and admiring the culture.
He turned to look at Sarah. As many times as he came here, he had never brought a date. Not until today.
She smiled a little shyly, and he considered holding her hand. Then reconsidered when she clutched her purse strap with the hand closest to his. There was no point in pushing too hard. If something developed between them, it would happen naturally.
"Have you been to Chinatown before?" he asked.
"Once, when I first moved here."
"And when was that?"
"Six years ago. I was eighteen at the time."
Adam nodded. He could almost see her, fresh out of high school—a little Oklahoma girl heading for the golden state. She was still little, he realized. Small and feminine in a way that made him yearn to protect her. But whether or not she would welcome protection, he couldn't be sure. In spite of her petite frame, independence shone through. She didn't have to tell him that she had ventured to California alone.
Independent yet vulnerable. Suddenly Adam was reminded of the stray cats that came to his door, the smooth, sleek creatures he couldn't seem to resist. He gave them their space, but he fed them, too. And those scouting a cozy place to sleep inevitably found their way into his bed.
Adam looked at Sarah again, wondering if she would find her way into his bed. If she would nuzzle and purr, arch and stretch against him. A smooth, sleek creature he wouldn't be able to resist.
Frowning, he shook his head. She wasn't a lost kitten. And he was thinking with his libido, creating sexual scenarios on a first date. So much for not pushing too hard.
"What's your favorite thing about California?" he asked, forcing himself to clear his mind.
She stopped to gaze at a window display. "That's easy." Turning toward him, she smiled. "The beaches. I love the sand and the surf. I like to go there at dusk, when it's quiet."
She sighed, and Adam pictured her at the beach on a windy day, dressed in an oversize sweater and jeans, her waist-length hair blowing in the breeze. "You collect shells, don't you?"
She widened her eyes. "Yes. How did you know?"
Because he could see her walking along the shore, shells glinting in her hand like pieces of eight. She was, he decided, a woman who appreciated simple treasures. "A good guess, I suppose. Do you want to check out this shop?"
"Sure."
They entered the boutique and scanned the crammed interior. It held a collection of goods, many of them jewelry and trinkets, shiny items meant to attract a woman's eye. Sarah looked around, then wandered over to a small circular rack of clothing. Intrigued, Adam watched her.
She admired a satin dress, tilting her head as she stroked the shiny red fabric.
"It's pretty," Adam said, noting the traditional mandarin collar and intricate embroidered design.
"Yes." Her voice held a note of feminine awe.
"You try on," she said, her accent making her English choppy.
Sarah turned, hugged the garment in a startled reaction. "Oh, no. Thank you, though."
"We have a private fitting room." The woman pointed to a corner where an ornate brass rod housed a silky green drape.
"I'm just browsing." Sarah replaced the dress, giving it one last glance.
The old woman said, "Okay," then headed toward the front counter.
Perplexed, Adam studied his date. She had looked at the garment with longing, yet refused to indulge herself. Sarah Cloud was a mystery, a dark-eyed princess who wore plain clothes and collected seashells at dusk. He didn't know how to pursue her, wasn't sure if he should try. She confused as much as fascinated him.
"Why didn't you try the dress on?" he asked.
She crossed her arms in what seemed like a protective, if not slightly defiant gesture. "It's too fancy."
"I think it's perfect."
"Not for me."
Did everyone see her beauty but her? he wondered. Most beautiful women in L.A. were used to attention, yet Sarah didn't appear to notice an appreciative eye. Of course she wasn't from California, he reminded himself. And that alone appealed to him. Since he'd lost his parents, the City of Angels and everything it represented no longer felt right. But in spite of his European education, it was all he knew.
Sarah had asked him about England, and he had tried to respond as casually as possible. His parents had died while he was in London. He had come home to bury them, then returned to finish his studies, knowing his career was all he had left. But that hadn't been something he could discuss over dinner, not on a first date, not when he'd wanted to keep the evening light. And there was nothing light about the death of his parents—the caring, supportive family that had lied to him. It hurt so badly, sometimes he couldn't breathe.
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