Her heart thumped wildly. She wanted to kiss him, seduce him, feel the dragon branding her skin. Mist and moonlight, she thought. Fairy tales and fantasies. God help her. She craved all of that and more.
Nerves tangled in her stomach, coiled then twisted into chains. Should she tell him that she was a virgin? That her experiences were limited? Would it shock him? Make him view her differently?
"I want you, too," was all she could manage to say before she turned and walked away, her lungs fighting for air.
When she reached the master bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed, her legs wobbly. She had left the door open, and a short time later, she heard water running down the hall. Adam was taking a shower.
Sarah stood and closed the door, imagining what it would feel like to slip into the tiny stall with him, slide her hands all over that strong, muscular body. Live out her erotic fantasy.
She began to remove her clothes, but as she picked up her robe, she headed for the bathroom just a few feet away.
Wanting Adam didn't mean she had the courage to take him.
* * *
Adam squinted into the morning light. It blasted through the window, drenching him in its blinding glow. He had left the drapes open last night. Mostly because he hadn't slept well and the moon and stars had seemed like good company.
He didn't need to analyze his restless night. He knew the cause. Sarah—sweet, sweet Sarah. Her erotic admission still played in his mind.
I want you, too.
Last night had been torture. His mouth had all but watered, hungry for the taste of a dark-eyed, dark-haired woman. His midnight fantasy. His lust-driven seduction.
Rubbing his eyes, he rose and began to fold the sheet. The blanket came next, and when they were both stacked neatly on the sofa, he headed for the bathroom, an overnight bag in hand. Sarah and the girls were still asleep, but he assumed they would awaken soon, which meant he should brush his teeth, wash his face and comb his tousled hair. He looked like a man who had been up most of the night. Shaving would help, too, he supposed. He pulled his hand across his chin, felt the roughness. His beard stubble wasn't heavy, but it was still there, peppering his jaw.
Adam went through his grooming routine, aware of every move, his muscles rolling and bunching. He still felt a tingle of eroticism, and he was doing his damnedest to shake it. There were children in the house, and that made him guilty as hell. How did parents do it? he wondered. How did they lust after each other when their kids were stumbling out of bed, pajamas rumpled, security blankets and stuffed animals trailing behind them?
Adam left the bathroom, his hair slicked back and banded into its usual ponytail, a cotton shirt tucked into a pair of loose, comfortable khakis. Maybe some cartoons would knock the heat out of him. He would turn on the TV and wait for the kids.
He didn't wait long. They came into the living room just as he had pictured them, rumpled and sleepy-eyed. Curls sprang from Dawn's head, like the spiral noodles his mother used to smother in red sauce. On the child's feet were slippers that sported tiny pink pompoms.
Spotting him, she grinned and wiggled her nose, sending freckles dancing across a pixie face.
"Hey, pumpkin," he said. "How are you?"
"Good, but there's something important I have to say." She moved closer, taking each step with caution. "It's daytime now, so it's okay to talk about the Little People, right?"
He nodded, grateful the child had taken Sarah's warning seriously. Adam wasn't one to dismiss ancient beliefs.
"The Little People sneaked into our room last night," Dawn announced quietly.
He couldn't help but smile. "Really?"
"Uh-huh." As she bobbed her head, noodles bounced in disarray. "But I didn't hear 'em 'cause I was asleep."
Adam looked past her, catching Mandy's gaze. The eight-year-old stood back, watching him through intense blue eyes. He was used to women getting spongy over him, but not young girls. It was, he decided, a responsibility he couldn't ignore. Innocent hearts broke much too easily.
"Did you hear the Little People?" he asked her, hoping she would say yes, treat her baby sister to a thrill. Dawn's heart was innocent, too.
"Of course not."
Adam withheld a frown. Mandy was shy and pretty and much too self-conscious. She needed to believe in magic and legends and spiritual beings. Last night he had convinced her that the Little People might exist, but apparently this morning she felt foolish about the whole thing.
"Just because you didn't hear them doesn't mean they weren't there," Dawn said, eager for her sister to verify her story.
Mandy spared the younger girl a tolerant glance, but when Dawn's eyes began to water, the tolerant look turned sisterly.
"I suppose they could have climbed up the balcony," she relinquished. "And the neighbors wouldn't have seen them if they were invisible."
Bouncing, Dawn said, "I knew it! I just knew they sneaked in."
Adam thanked Mandy with a pleased smile. She blushed something fierce, but returned his smile with one of her own.
He watched cartoons with the girls, feeling calm and fatherly. But the moment Sarah came into the room, his nervous system went haywire. His mouth was suddenly dry, his heart beat faster, his palms turned clammy, uncharacteristic reactions he couldn't seem to stop.
Her hair was freshly washed, long and damp and fragrant. He could actually smell her shampoo, or at least he thought he did. His imagination may have conjured the botanical perfume.
Dawn greeted Sarah enthusiastically, recounting the tale about the Little People sneaking into the house last night.
"Even Mandy says so," the younger girl proclaimed.
Sarah smiled, and Adam studied Mandy's reaction. The older girl didn't say much, but she watched Sarah through those young, serious eyes. It was obvious that the child admired the Cherokee woman, maybe even imagined herself growing up to be like her.
There were already similarities, he thought. Not in their appearance, but in the way they moved, talked, kept themselves distanced from others. They were both beautiful, both mysterious and challenging.
Sarah had yet to glance his way. Last night she'd claimed she wanted him, but this morning she avoided his gaze. Years from now, Mandy would probably do the same thing to some smitten young man. Adam already sympathized with the guy.
"What should we have for breakfast?" Sarah asked the girls.
"Pancakes," came the joint reply.
Sarah tossed that luxurious damp hair behind her and rolled up her sleeves. She wore no makeup and plain clothes, but to Adam, she could have been a barefoot siren—a beguiling forest nymph with copper skin and exotic eyes.
She finally looked up and met his gaze. "Good morning," she said.
The simple greeting hit him square in the solar plexus. He nearly lost his next breath, then cursed himself for wanting her so badly.
"Do you need some help with breakfast?" he asked.
"Sure."
Her tone sounded casual, but he sensed a flutter of nervousness behind it. Good, he thought. He wasn't the only one suffering, feeling awkward and unsteady.
The girls remained in front of the TV, and Adam and Sarah headed for the kitchen. Their baby-sitting duties wouldn't end until this evening, so they still had hours and hours to go. Adam decided he'd better get used to the sensation humming between them, the erotic vibration that had become thick and much too tangible.
She rummaged through the cabinet, found a box of instant pancake mix, then began searching for something else.
"I can't reach it," she said, indicating a mixing bowl on a high shelf.
Adam moved in beside her and retrieved the bowl. It hadn't been his imagination. Her hair was gloriously fragrant, a blend of cloves and carnations. No wonder she teased his libido. Carnations were a known aphrodisiac—a sweet, spicy flower that increased sexual desire.
I'm doomed, he thought, wishing he could pull her into his arms, tangle his hands in her hair, kiss her until they both gaspe
d for air.
"Will you dice some fruit?" she asked.
"Adam?" she asked when he didn't respond.
"Yeah?"
"Would you rather make the pancakes?"
He stepped back, away from her. "No. I'll dice the fruit." He didn't have the slightest idea how to make pancakes, and now wasn't the time to learn.
Wielding a paring knife, he set about his task. And although he told himself to ignore her, he kept stealing glances. Every so often she stole glances at him, too—those dark eyes catching his for an instant, as quick and jumpy as his heartbeat.
She mixed the pancake batter with a brisk motion, but when she stopped to taste it, to lift a dripping dollop to her mouth, a white-hot flame ignited in his belly.
I've got it bad, he thought, deliberately shifting his gaze to the cutting board.
He focused on the fruit, on the apples and bananas and summer peaches. He wasn't a teenager saddled with raging hormones. He was a twenty-nine-year-old, a grown man capable of controlling primal urges.
Satisfied he had won that battle, Adam peeled an orange, his hands deft and steady. Much more relaxed, he took a deep breath, let it out slowly. The mental reminder that he was pushing thirty seemed to do the trick.
The patter of little feet caught his attention. Dawn skipped into the kitchen, red curls bouncing to keep up. He glanced down at her slippers and smiled. The pompoms danced, too.
Little girls. Daughters. He wanted a house full.
"Are the pancakes ready?" the child asked.
"Just about, sweetie," Sarah said. "Why don't you and your sister set the table?"
Suddenly the morning turned noisy and chaotic, with silverware clanking and young voices chattering. Sarah flipped pancakes while Adam poured glasses of milk and served fresh fruit.
They ate in the dining room, cartoons flickering in the background. Adam looked across the cluttered table at Sarah. Her hair had begun to dry to a glossy black sheen, as soft and elusive as a raven's wing.
The feeling that rushed his system wasn't lust. It was something more akin to romance, to family. He wondered what it would be like to make a life with her, to brush her lips tenderly, to watch her tummy swell with his child.
Soon, Adam thought, as guilt consumed him, soon he would have to tell Sarah the truth about his past. He couldn't keep deceiving a woman whose father was an alcoholic.
A woman who had managed to become his obsession.
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
Vicki returned a little after 9:00 p.m., looking like a travel-worn businesswoman in a navy-blue suit and silk blouse. Her curly red hair was coiled into a tidy French twist, but pale shadows dogged her eyes.
"How was the seminar?" Sarah asked.
Vicki plopped down on the couch and sighed. "Good. Long. I'm glad I was only scheduled for one day."
Sarah sat beside her. "The girls are asleep already."
The other woman slipped off her pumps. "I hope they didn't give you any trouble."
"They were perfect angels." This came from Adam, who stood in the living room a little awkwardly.
Sarah knew the feeling. Since the children had gone to bed, she and Adam didn't know what to do with themselves, where to focus their gazes, what to talk about.
Vicki looked up at Adam and smiled. "Thank you. That's just what a mother wants to hear."
"No problem. It's the truth." He shifted his stance, smiled back at her. "Do you have any more luggage in the car? I'd be glad to get it for you."
"No, but thanks." She pointed to a leather satchel. "That was it."
"Okay, well…" He smoothed the front of his hair, pulling his hand toward his ponytail. "I should get going." Vicki started to rise, but he held her off. "No need to walk me to the door."
"Thank you so much for helping out," she said. "I owe you one."
He reached for his overnight bag. "No you don't. Just give the girls a hug from me in the morning."
"Will do."
He nodded to the redhead, then turned his gaze to Sarah. "Bye," he said, his eyes locking intimately with hers.
She brushed imaginary lint from her pants, felt her heart-beat skip and stumble. Why did she have to lose her breath every time he looked at her? Why couldn't she remain cool and calm, sophisticated like most California women?
"Bye, Adam." She gave him a shaky smile.
"Yeah. See you." He headed for the door, opened it, then closed it quietly behind him.
Sarah found the breath she had lost, let it fill her lungs. She waited a few minutes, giving Adam time to make it to his Jeep. She wanted to be sure he was he gone before she started down the steps to her own apartment.
Glancing at her watch, she checked the time, watching the second hand make its hasty sweep. "I should get going, too. Give you a chance to relax."
"Oh, no you don't." Vicki placed a firm hand on her knee, holding her in place. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on between you two."
"Going on?" She shrugged, tried to make light of her attraction to Adam. "Nothing's going on. We're just friends."
"Right." The other woman struck an austere pose. "And I'm the Queen of England. Come on, girl, 'fess up. If Adam had stayed much longer, the windows would have fogged. I know sexual tension when I see it."
Sexual tension. Even the phrase made Sarah warm. Excited. Confused. Her emotions swirled around the room, closing the walls, boxing her in. "Do you think we could step outside? Maybe have this chat on the balcony?" She needed air, a cool evening breeze to take away the heat.
"Sure." Vicki popped up, grinned and began pulling pins out of her hair, dislodging the professional twist. "Go take a seat out there, and I'll meet you in a minute. I've got to get out of these clothes."
Vicki went to her bedroom, and Sarah opened the drapes and walked onto the balcony. Standing near the rail, she gazed out at the city. The San Fernando Valley looked pretty from above, lights twinkling as far as the eye could see.
Which light was Adam's? she wondered. Was he home yet? Feeding the cats that purred at his feet?
Sarah closed her eyes and felt the wind touch her face—softly, ever so softly, like a lover's tender kiss. The air was cool but the heat remained. It was inside her, warming her blood, igniting her cells, making her think of him.
She opened her eyes and moved away from the rail. Sitting in a patio chair by a tiny glass table, she waited for Vicki to join her. Maybe talking about her feelings would help.
The other woman came onto the balcony wearing jeans and an oversize T-shirt. She sat in the other chair and drew her knees up, curls rioting around her face. She cocked her head, sent Sarah a woman-to-woman smile. "Well?"
"Adam said that he wanted me," she admitted, frowning a little.
"And that's bad?"
"No, not really. I mean, I told him that I wanted him, too."
"So, why were you two acting so strange? Sounds to me like you got it out in the open."
"It was awkward." Sarah turned to study the city lights, watch them sparkle against the night. "But that was my fault. I could barely look at him the next day. I've never said anything like that to someone before."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No." She turned back. "He's the first man I've wanted that badly. I'm still a virgin, Vicki."
"Oh, my." The redhead blinked, pushed a mass of curls away from her eyes. "That's not what I expected to hear. Most women your age…" Her words trailed, then resumed with an obvious question. "What made you wait so long?"
"My traditional upbringing. My mother had this long talk with me about saving myself for the right man."
"And you think Adam might be the one?"
"Yes, but there's more to it. Part of the reason I waited so long was to avoid an attachment." And now her heart was betraying her. She knew men weren't always what they appeared to be, yet Adam seemed so perfect. So gallant. So noble. "I want him, Vicki, but I'm afraid of taking that first step." B
ecause once she did, there would be no turning back.
The redhead squinted. "Your virginity shouldn't be an issue, Sarah. First time or not, there's still the possibility of an attachment. Most women don't have sex for the sake of entertainment. It means something to us."
"You think I waited too long?"
"No, but you can't protect your heart forever. Eventually you have to take a chance. If you don't, you'll be alone for the rest of your life."
She let out the breath she'd been holding. "Deep down I know you're right, but I'm still confused."
"So what are you going to do?"
Suddenly pensive, Sarah glanced up at the sky. The moon was nearly full, a silver ball lighting up the valley. "I don't know," she said, wondering how it would feel to give herself to Adam, to feel his weight against her body, to lift her hips and take him deep inside.
"I just don't know," she said again, her voice blending quietly into the night.
* * *
Sarah entered her apartment, grateful she had left a low light burning. Looking around, she wished she had a companion, a cat maybe, a frisky little creature that would be happy to see her. As it was, her home seemed much too quiet.
Unsure of what to do with herself, she turned on the TV for background noise and unbuttoned her blouse. A long, soothing bath was her remedy for just about everything, including bouts of loneliness. The scent of the body oil she favored combined with a tub of warm water usually managed to lull her into a peaceful kind of solitude.
Sarah filled the tub and removed the rest of her clothing. Standing in front of the mirror, she pinned her hair up. With a sigh, she immersed herself in water.
And thought about Adam.
As she slid the washcloth over her body, she imagined his hands—those long, masculine fingers—caressing, touching her in erotic places. Her breasts, her belly, between her thighs. She imagined him leaning over her, their lips meeting, tasting—the kiss openmouthed and carnal.
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