Her eyes flashed with sudden heat. “Me, neither.”
Then she was gone, driving off into the night, leaving him frustrated and needing her…and wondering if this is what it felt like to fall in love.
WHEN SAM ARRIVED at the house early the next morning she found Josh in the backyard, flats of flowers and three potted shrubs set out in front of him with an array of gardening tools. “I know nothing about any of this,” he said. “I just bought what the guy at the nursery suggested.”
She studied the plants. “You’ve got begonia and coleus. Those will be good in the shade up front. And those over there are hibiscus.” She nodded. “Good choices. Where do you want to plant them?”
He held up his hands. “I leave that to you. I’m just the labor.”
She laughed and picked up one of the flats of begonias. “Bring the other one up front,” she said. “These will make a nice splash of color that can be seen from the street.”
Up front, she set the plants down on the walkway and surveyed the flower beds. “These are a mess,” she said. “We’re going to have to weed them before we plant anything.”
Josh studied the mass of grass and weeds clogging the beds. “Can’t we just dig them out?”
“It’s not that bad.” She knelt and reached for a clump of weeds. “With both of us working, we’ll have it cleared in no time.”
Grumbling, he knelt beside her and attacked the weeds. Before long, they’d both worked up a sweat. “This is worse than hanging drywall,” he said. He rocked back on his ankles and peeled his T-shirt off over his head.
The sight of his naked back and shoulders did crazy things to Sam’s concentration. She tried to focus on pulling weeds, but her gaze continually strayed to him.
Which may have been the idea all along, since he kept stealing peeks at her and missed no opportunity to brush up against her.
Ha! Two could play that game. She took off her own T-shirt, revealing a sports bra beneath. Now it was Josh’s turn to stare. She couldn’t help but grin when she had to ask him twice to hand her a trowel.
Eventually the beds were cleared. They planted the coleus and begonias before tackling the hibiscus in the back. “In a few weeks you’ll have lots of colorful blooms,” she explained as she patted the dirt around the last hibiscus. “It’ll be gorgeous.” She could picture herself sitting in a swing on the front porch, admiring the flowers. Maybe waiting for Josh to come home from a job, so they could go inside and make love….
“How do you know so much about flowers?” he asked.
“One of my foster moms was a big gardener. I used to help her.” Funny, she hadn’t thought of that in a long time. She’d really enjoyed working in the garden that year, just as she’d enjoyed gardening with Josh today. Maybe she’d buy a window box for her apartment. Or maybe her new place would have room for a real garden.
If she found a new place. She pushed the thought away. She wasn’t going to think about that today. She was going to focus on enjoying being with Josh. All her worries about things not working out between them had been silly. She was beginning to think he’d come back into her life after all these years for a reason. Maybe they were even fated to be together. And who was she to fight fate?
“Do you still keep in touch with any of your foster families?” he asked.
“A couple. We exchange Christmas cards and such.” She’d been invited back to visit, but had never made it. It was too painful to remember that, as much as they’d professed to love her, eventually she’d had to move on. Blame it on the system or her own difficulties trusting others, but none of them had ever really been family to her.
“I guess we’re finished here,” he said, brushing dirt from his hands.
“I guess so.” She looked down at her muddy knees. “What a mess, though.”
“I can fix that.” He jogged around to the side of the house and came back dragging a water hose.
“Great,” she said, walking toward him. “I’ll just rinse off.”
Before she could complete the sentence, he doused her with a blast from the hose. “Allow me,” he said above her squeals, and aimed the stream of water at her knees.
The water was cold, but refreshing. She felt her nipples harden. Josh must have noticed, too, because the next blast of water soaked her sports bra, leaving little to the imagination.
“Give me that!” she squealed, and launched herself at him. She managed to wrestle the water hose away and turn it on him, soaking them both in the process. Then she dropped the hose and ran.
He chased her, laughing, and soon caught her. They fell to the ground in the shade of a grapefruit tree in the back of the yard and rolled around in each other’s arms. She felt so alive and full of energy, every sense heightened. The grass was thick and velvety, soft against her bare arms and legs. The chill of her wet clothes contrasted with the heat of his skin and the heat building inside her. Soon they were kissing, passionate, open-mouthed kisses, tongues twining, legs and arms wrapped around each other. They were hungry for each other, unable to get close enough to satisfy the wanting within them.
She lay on her back, the weight of him on top of her, his mouth crushing hers. He raised himself on his elbows and looked down at her. “I think we need to get out of these wet clothes,” he said.
“I agree.” She started to sit up, to head into the house, but he pushed her back down. Then he rolled to his side and pulled off his jeans, along with his underwear.
“Josh!” She sat up and stared at him. His skin still glistened with water, the droplets sparkling in the hair on his chest and the dark thatch between his legs. “It’s the middle of the day. Someone will see.”
“No, they won’t. The yard is fenced. And besides, we’re back here under the trees.” He slid one hand under the edge of the bra. “You really ought to get out of your wet things, too. You wouldn’t want to catch a chill.”
She could have pointed out she wasn’t likely to catch a chill on an eighty degree Florida day, but his fingers were tickling the underside of her breasts, rendering speech impossible. Every stroke sent delicious currents of tension and awareness through her breasts, down her torso to concentrate between her legs.
He helped her take off the bra and her shorts and underwear and they lay back again on the soft grass. The smell of earth and oleander blossoms perfumed their outdoor boudoir, the wild setting and the lingering fear that someone would see them, that they would get caught, intensified her desire.
“I want you so much it scares me,” she whispered as he lay beside her, his hand caressing her thigh.
“You know what they say about fear.” He kissed her neck, his tongue licking at her skin, making her jump.
“What do they say?” She faced him, reaching around to pull him closer.
“That if something frightens you, you should keep doing it until it doesn’t scare you anymore.” His lips covered hers, silencing any further objection, claiming all her attention.
She brought her hands up and caressed the back of his head, fingers twining in her hair, then guided him lower, to her breasts, which ached to be touched by him.
He was thorough in his attentions, teasing each nipple in turn with his tongue, drawing as much of her as possible into his mouth until she writhed beneath him, sure she would come from this stimulation alone.
Then he moved lower still, trailing kissing across her belly, down to her clit. He pushed her thighs farther apart and kissed the inside of each one, light feathery kisses that sent ripples of arousal through her. She clutched handfuls of grass and arched toward him, both tempting him and pleading with him.
When his mouth covered her sex, she moaned and arched farther still, her heels digging into the soft grass. He plunged his tongue into her, then raked it up across her clit, leaving her trembling. Then he reached up and began to fondle one breast while his tongue continued to pleasure her clit.
Her climax rocketed through her, wave upon wave of intense sensation. She cried out and r
eached for him, and he slid up her body to lie atop her. Before she could even open her eyes, he was in her, sinking deeply, filling her completely. She supported herself on her elbows and opened her eyes to look into his. “You’re amazing,” she said.
“Yeah. You, too.” The words were more of a grunt as he began to move, finding his rhythm. Eyes closed, head back, he held her tightly, driving toward his own release.
She felt the muscles of his arms and back tense and bunch beneath her hands, and her own desire began to build with each stroke. They moved as one, instinctively, responding to each weight shift or position change as if they had been partners even for all the years they had spent apart.
He came with a cry and her second climax soon followed, and she wanted to laugh out loud for joy at that moment. They rocked together for minutes afterward, then slid apart and lay side by side in the grass, the scent of oleander thick in the air and the promise of love unspoken between them.
SOME TIME LATER, when the shade had receded, the hot sun drove them inside, where they retired to the shower and made love again under the warm cascade of water. Then Sam dressed in her T-shirt and now-dry shorts and Josh walked her out to her van. She looked back at the house and smiled. The flowers were bright spots of color in the beds, and the brass of the new front door gleamed. All it needed now to be complete was people. “Now that it’s finished, when will you move in?” she asked.
“I’m not moving in,” he said. “I’m going to sell the place.”
She froze, one hand on the open van door, and stared at him. “You’re going to sell it? Why would you want to do that?”
“What would I do with a house like this? It has four bedrooms and I’m a single guy.” He frowned. “I thought you realized I bought it to sell. It’s what I do.”
Her grip on the door tightened. All this time, she thought he’d been restoring the house because he saw the same things in it she did—home and family. A place to really live. She’d even been foolish enough to picture herself living there with him—in her dream house with her dream man.
How stupid she’d been! “So it’s just about money with you?” she asked, unable to keep the accusation from her voice.
“Sam, this is my business. It’s what I do. Like your photography. You don’t keep every photo you take, do you?”
“This house is different.” She didn’t know how to put her feelings into words, except she knew that if he didn’t understand what the house meant to her, how would he ever understand her?
“I think a house like this was meant to be a home, not a money-making machine,” she said.
“And I think you’re being unreasonable.” His voice rose. “It’s just a house.”
“It’s more than a house to me.” It was the place where she’d fallen in love with him again. The place where she’d let herself believe dreams could come true. If she’d been wrong about his feelings for this place, what else had she gotten wrong?
“Do you even care about me, or was it the house all along?” he asked.
She took a deep breath, trying to rein in the emotions that battered her. “The house is part of it,” she admitted. “I thought you felt the same way about it that I did.”
“So you’re saying you love the house more than you love me?” He turned away, but not before she saw the hurt in his eyes.
“Josh, it’s not like that,” she protested.
He shook his head and walked away from her. She wanted to call him back, but had no words to say, no clue how to defend herself. Maybe he was right. Maybe she loved the house because she wasn’t capable of really loving a person. Maybe she was too afraid. Too damaged.
JOSH WAS MISERABLE and it wasn’t his fault. After all, he had never told Sam he intended to live in the house. Why would she assume that? His business was remodeling houses for other people. She ought to be happy that he’d found a way to use his skills to make more money. The way she’d reacted you’d have thought he’d told her he intended to burn the house down.
Fine. She’d proven he was better off focusing on his business. Work was something he could control. Stupidly, he’d let Sam distract him from his goals.
The thing was, he missed her. Really missed her. And it was driving him crazy.
“What’s with you?” Ed asked one day two weeks after Sam had walked out of Josh’s life. “You’ve been grumpy as a bear all week.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.” Josh used a laser level to line up the chair rail in a dining room he was redoing in a ranch house in Overtown. “Now move. You’re in my way.”
Ed took one step to the side. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were upset over a woman,” he said. “But since that can’t be it, what gives?”
“What do you mean, that can’t be it?” He straightened and glared at his friend.
“Hey, you said it, not me. You said you didn’t have time in your life for a relationship.” He began marking the wall with a pencil just under the line indicated by the level. “So what is it? Did your house not sell for as much money as you wanted?”
“No, I got a good price.” The house had sold after only four days on the market, for five-thousand dollars over his asking price. The closing was next week and after that Josh’s bank account would be considerably fatter. He ought to be thrilled, but he couldn’t even think of the house without remembering how he and Sam had made love on the living room floor that rainy afternoon, or in the shade of the backyard the last time they were together.
“Yeah, the way real estate is selling around here, you’ll be rich in no time.” Ed finished marking the wall and straightened. “That ought to make you happy.”
“Are you saying I only care about money?” That was what Sam thought.
“You’re a businessman. Of course you’re watching the bottom line.” Ed took a piece of chair rail from a stack by the opposite wall. “Help me with this, will ya?”
“I care about a lot more than just money.” Josh began tacking one end of the molding in place with a nail gun while Ed held the other.
“Sure you do,” Ed said. “You’re a Dolphins fan, too.”
Josh frowned. “I’m not talking football, I’m talking important things.”
“Don’t let the other guys hear you don’t think football’s important.”
“Look at the work I’ve done for Frameworks for the Future.”
“Right. You volunteered to take your clothes off in front of a hot chick. A real sacrifice.”
“I help build houses, too.”
“Hey, did I say you weren’t a great guy?” Ed leaned closer. “Hey, maybe it is a chick that’s got your shorts in such a twist.” He straightened. “She got upset because you work all the time, didn’t she?”
“It wasn’t that,” Josh said. “Not exactly.” He set aside the nail gun and stepped back to check the rail.
“So…you in love with her or something?” Ed asked.
Was he? “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Uh-oh.” Ed clapped his hand on Josh’s back. “You’re in trouble now.”
“Tell me about it.” He picked up the nail gun again. He loved a woman who loved a house that wasn’t even his anymore. She thought money mattered more to him that anything else. If only he’d had the chance to prove to her how wrong she was about that. Right now, she was the one thing that mattered most to him—and she wasn’t even around to realize it.
SAM WAS MISERABLE and it was all her fault. She’d gotten all torn up about a house when it was the man who owned the house—or used to own the house—that mattered most. She’d gone and screwed up everything and had no idea how to fix it.
“What’s eating you lately?” Mr. B. asked when he found Sam slumped in front of her computer one afternoon, listlessly flipping through photos she’d taken at yet another wedding. “You’re not mad at me because I went and sold this dump, are you?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not mad at you. You got a great offer and your new place in Coral Gab
les sounds perfect for you.”
He settled onto a stool beside her work bench. “I’ve already been invited to two bridge parties and a potluck supper,” he said. He smoothed back his hair. “The ladies are falling all over themselves to welcome me to the neighborhood, and I’m not even moved in yet.”
She managed a smile at the mental image of Mr. B. surrounded by over-sixty sex kittens. “I’m going to miss seeing you around all the time,” she said. It hurt to realize he was one more person who had loved her and would now leave.
“You can come visit me anytime,” he said. “It’s not that far.”
She nodded. “You’re right. But it wouldn’t be the same.”
“Nothing ever is,” he said. “Thank God for that—otherwise life would get pretty boring. Have you found a new place yet?” he asked.
“I’ve been looking, but nothing’s come up.” A real-estate agent had taken her around one afternoon last week to look at a few houses that were in her price range. They’d trudged through a battered 1950s-era duplex with rotting wooden siding and bilious green carpeting, made a hasty escape from a ranch house inhabited by rats and toured a pink stucco “fixer-upper” that overlooked a sewage plant.
The final house, an aged bungalow painted a forlorn shade of gray, had been the saddest of all. Some misguided decorator had attempted to “update” the house by painting each room a different eye-popping color, from fire-engine red to school-bus yellow. The fireplace in the living room had been boarded over and a previous tenant had removed all the fixtures from the downstairs bathroom. Just looking at all the work the house would need to be made habitable made Sam tired.
“It’s hard to find anything in my price range,” she said. “I may have to take another apartment.” And even that was proving problematic. Most complexes didn’t want tenants operating businesses out of their units. And landlords like Mr. B. were more often than not selling out to developers.
Men at Work Page 14
