The True Love Quilting Club

by Lori Wilde

  Up the street a car was backing out into the road, the driver clearly not looking behind him.

  Not trusting Emma to steer out of the way in time, Sam leaned over to grab the wheel. His upper arm grazed her breast.

  “Ohh,” she exclaimed. Her warm breath burned the side of his cheek.

  His heart galloped, and Sam guided the Jeep to the far side of the street, narrowly missing the car that had kept on backing out.

  “Yipes,” she whispered, “that was a close one.”

  He pulled away, settling into his seat, getting as far from her as the close confines would allow. “Both hands on the wheel at all times. And always be on guard for the other guy.”

  “Thank you,” she chirped, and rolled her fingers tightly around the steering wheel. “But I probably could have handled that myself.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You don’t have much confidence in me.”

  “Eyes on the road.”

  She sped up and the engine revved.

  His shoulder muscles bunched. “Put it in second gear, but remember to press in the clutch first. If you don’t, the car will—”

  The Jeep sputtered, died.

  “Oops, sorry. Let’s try this again.” She got it started and they were going again, cruising slowly through the neighborhood. “Remember the time I stole Rex’s car?”

  “I do. You drove it into a ditch. That’s what worries me.”

  “I haven’t been behind the wheel of a car since then.”

  “Now I’m really worried. Take a left at this next street.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’re the one who’s driving.”

  “Yeah, but you told me to turn left, why am I turning left?”

  “To avoid the tourist traffic heading from Ruby Street to 377.”

  “Oh, good idea.”

  “Put on your blinker!”

  “Where is it?”

  “Here.” He showed her.

  She peeked into the rearview mirror. “Good thing there was nobody behind us, huh?”

  “Good thing,” he echoed as his blood slipped swiftly through his veins.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes. Emma was getting the feel of it. As long as she went slow and straight, she wasn’t doing too badly.

  “I know where I’d like to go.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “To see the old Twilight Bridge.”

  “Beau blew it up.”

  “I know. I want to see what the river looks like without the bridge there.”

  It was a good choice, get out of town, away from the traffic and pedestrians and stop signs. “Okay, then make another left and you’ll hit Highway 51 to the river.”

  “Can we turn off the AC and roll the windows down? I want to feel the wind in my hair.”

  “Sure,” he said, but cringed the whole time she was rolling her window down. That left her with only one hand on the wheel.

  “Woo-hoo! That feels great. Jeeps are cool. So high and bouncy.” She bounced in the seat for effect.

  “Both hands—”

  “I know, I know, on the wheel. Yes, master.”

  “Safety first.”

  “And look there’s fun, a distant second. Bye, fun.”

  He laughed. How could he not?

  “Now that’s a sound I like to hear.”

  “What else do you like?” he asked, charmed, his eyes transfixed on her windblown hair whipping against her long, slender neck.

  “You mean besides piña coladas and getting caught in the rain?”

  Delighted, he laughed again. Back in high school the local skating rink had played that song endlessly, and he and Emma had both agreed they hated the tune with a passion.

  “You remembered,” she said.

  “Hey, the skating rink is still there and they’re still playing that song. I took Charlie there for a birthday party recently. When I heard it, I thought of you.”

  “Our anti-song,” she said in a faux romancy voice, and grinned.

  Then in unison they started singing the lyrics they’d invented for the song, starting with, “We hate piña coladas…” They remembered every word of their made-up song as if they’d been singing the cockeyed duet for years.

  When they were finished, they laughed together, and vulnerability cut through him like a knife. Quickly, Sam squelched the mood. “Okay, slow down here and take the next right. You’re going to have to downshift.”

  She took the exit, and a few minutes later they were at the river where the bridge used to be. It looked odd now, the bare water without the familiar span reaching across to the boat ramp on the other side.

  “Whoa, slow down,” he cautioned, and almost had a heart attack when she drove right to the river’s edge, braking just in time before the front tires hit the water.

  “Woman,” he croaked. “I don’t know if you’re gutsy as hell or just damn crazy.”

  “Thought you could use some serious shaking up.” She grinned and hopped out of the Jeep.

  “My hair’s gonna turn white overnight,” he muttered, put on the parking brake, and got out to follow her.

  A hint of autumn was in the air, although it would be a couple more weeks before the leaves started to turn, unless they had an early freeze. But already the shadows were growing longer as the days shortened. Emma spread her arms wide, threw her head back, and inhaled a deep breath. “Ah.” She sighed. “Don’t you just love the smell of the river?”

  “I suppose I don’t think about it much.” He didn’t get down to the river very often. Once in a while when his family kidnapped him from his clinic, forced him down to their summer house for a barbecue.

  “Come on,” she said, stripping off her cute little red shoes and heading into the water. “Let’s go wading.”

  “Be careful,” he called as she plunged in. “That sandbar isn’t very wide and—”

  Before he got the words out of his mouth Emma just disappeared, swallowed up by the water.

  “Shit!” Sam exclaimed, and flung himself in after her, cowboy boots and all. He dived down, his heart pounding.

  Emma bobbed to the top of the water, laughing and treading water. He came up sputtering beside her and swiping the water from his face with a palm. “It’s not funny,” he yelled. “Stop laughing. I thought you got pulled down by an undertow.”

  “Nope, just stepped off the sandbar. Hey, the water is really deep right there. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was trying to tell you before you dived in so impulsively.”

  “Oh well,” she said, swimming back to the river’s edge. “No harm done.”

  “But harm could have been done,” he scolded, “lots of harm. You could have drowned.”

  “But I didn’t,” she said impishly, pulling herself to shore.

  Sam got out and collapsed on the ground beside her. “My pulse is racing. You scared the hell out of me.”

  “BS. Let me feel.” She sat up beside him, splayed her palm over his chest.

  Her touch was electric, sending bolts of awareness shooting throughout his body. He looked into her eyes, green as the sea, her face encircled by coppery wet curls. Sam did not plan what happened next. He was simply compelled by biology to act.

  Who’s being impulsive now?

  The thought flashed through his mind, but in the heat of the moment, it was washed away by a torrent of hormones.

  His blood hummed, his brain sizzled. He sat up, reached out, spanned her waist with both hands, and pulled her into his lap. Beneath that soaking wet, red and white blouse her glorious breasts mashed into his chest and her soft, damp skin branded his flesh. The scent of her, always that dangerous watermelon shampoo and Ivory soap scent, inflamed his senses. Instantly, he had a hard-on. Never mind that he was wet to the bone. Didn’t he always get an erection whenever he was around her? It was damn embarrassing how little control he had over himself.

  She didn’t move, just sat snugged in his lap studying him. Their
noses were almost touching.

  His hand slipped down her back to cup her butt, and what a heavenly ass it was. His palm seemed made for cupping her. His fingers had a mind of their own; they trailed lower. Still, she didn’t wriggle away, but she did inhale sharply while her gaze stayed hooked on his face.

  She caught her bottom lip up between her teeth and her cheeks pinkened prettily as she shifted forward ever so slightly.

  The sounds of the motorboats cruising up to the boat ramp on the other side of the river faded from his ears. He forgot they were soaking wet and sitting on the banks of the Brazos River. He was aware of nothing except her mesmerizing green eyes.

  “Your hand is on my ass,” she whispered.

  “It is,” he confessed.

  “I’m wet.”

  “I noticed.”

  “You’re hard.”

  “I noticed that too.”

  “This is a problem.”

  “It’s one of the main reasons you don’t go running off half-cocked. It can result in unintended consequences.”

  “Pun intended?” She arched one copper-colored brow.

  “Not really.”

  “You don’t do anything on impulse?”

  “I pulled you into my lap, didn’t I?”

  “Ah, but you stopped short of a kiss.”

  “Are you asking me to kiss you?”

  “Not asking, no.”

  “Hoping?”

  Her breathing was so shallow she was almost panting. “Praying.”

  Blindly, without purposeful thought, Sam trailed his fingertips over the nape of her neck and leaned his head down to kiss the throbbing pulse at the hollow of her throat. Her silky skin softened beneath his mouth, and a tight little moan escaped her lips.

  His hand crept from her neck and down the hollow of her throat to her breast, heaving with each inhalation of air. A simple but lingering touch that escalated the erotic intimacy between them.

  Sam could not fully comprehend the hold Emma had over him. She made him want to chuck all his values and restraint and just do what felt good. He was a lost soul, bested by her lips. He could think of nothing else but being melded with her in any way that he could.

  She rocked her pelvis against him, lithe and graceful.

  Blood surged through his body, pouring out from his heart and pooling into his crotch, setting his erection in stone. He closed his eyes, grappling for some semblance of control, but it was nowhere to be found.

  He kissed her again, his clashing tongue hot against hers, tasting the vibrant flavor of her, absorbing her brilliant warmth.

  She shivered in response, a tremor quaking through her slender body. He pulled his lips from hers and ran his tongue over the outside of her ear, and she shuddered even harder.

  Her quick intake of breath, low and excited, in the vast openness of water and sky, ignited his own need, sending it shooting to flaming heights.

  She lightly bit his chin.

  The feel of her teeth against his skin rocketed a searing heat to all his erogenous zones, and he groaned. God, she was one helluva woman, dragging him out on a limb with her.

  Sam’s lips found hers again and as they kissed, he raised a hand to her breasts. Her nipples poked through the material of her lacy bra.

  His thumb brushed against her hard little nipple, and she responded by sliding her bottom against his lap. The feel of her sweet little ass against the leg of his jeans made him crazy.

  When he bent his head to gently suck at her nipple through her shirt, she gasped and ran her fingers through his hair, clutched his head close to her bosom.

  This wasn’t good enough. He had to touch her bare skin or go insane.

  Sliding his hand up underneath her shirt, he unhooked her bra from behind and set her breasts free. She moved against him, hot and fiery. No way could he resist the mounting pleasure, or the sweet little sound slipping past her lips. Desire consumed his body, snatched his soul.

  “Sam,” she murmured, and rocked restlessly.

  He couldn’t believe he was with her. Sixteen years vanished in the ethereal stream of time, and here was Steady Sam with the most audacious girl in the freshman class. He’d wondered then, as he wondered now, how on earth had he managed that feat?

  You’re falling in love with her all over again.

  It was true but he didn’t know how to stop it. Didn’t want to stop it even though he knew he was headed down a treacherous path. With a fierce growl, he pushed aside her blouse, exposing one of those perky breasts. Pure lust shot through him as he bent his head to draw her hard-beaded nipple into his mouth.

  She let out a gasp. “Oh, oh.”

  He teased her nipple with his teeth, biting down on it so softly. She gasped again and ground her pelvis against his. Her legs straddled his lap, and the crotch of her panties rested against the bulging zipper of his jeans.

  Never in his life had he made out with a woman in the open like this. Any moment someone could drive up. Hell, someone could motor by on the river and catch a glimpse of them through the trees, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to care, which was completely out of character. He knew he just had to have more. To have her in his arms again was nothing short of a miracle, and he couldn’t help thinking it was all an erotic wet dream.

  He pulsed with need for her. Awestruck, he suckled her tender nipple, extracting more exquisite sounds of pleasure from Emma’s sweet lips. How he wanted her, ached for her, craved her. But he shouldn’t do this. Not only were they in a public place, but he knew this relationship couldn’t lead where his heart wanted it to go. Emma was bound for bigger things. He couldn’t expect her to be happy in a place like Twilight. At least not for long. And he couldn’t be happy anywhere else. Besides, he wasn’t free to make decisions based on whims of the heart. He had a son, and that changed everything.

  But even as he told himself these things, his body wasn’t listening. He had to kiss her again, practicality be damned. He tugged her shirt down over her swollen breasts and captured her lips. She kissed him back with a passion that rocked him to his core. He kissed her until he couldn’t breathe, and when, finally, he was forced to come up for air, she made a soft noise of disappointment.

  The late afternoon sunlight fell through the leaves of the sheltering elm trees overhead, sending a cool breeze over their damp skin. He felt goose bumps rise on her arms and realized he had plenty of goose bumps of his own, none of them related to wet clothes and breezy air.

  “You’re shivering,” he said. “We better get you warmed up, dried off.”

  “You’re wet too, Doc.”

  They looked at each other, sexual tension throbbing between them, an intense, undeniable force.

  Emma leaned in for another kiss, but he cupped her face in his palms and shook his head. Then he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her off him.

  “What’s happening, Sam?” she whispered.

  He had to fist his hands to keep from kissing her again. He wanted her so badly. His masculine urges were all-consuming, numbing his conscience, short-circuiting his brain. Take her, take her, take her. A wicked, primal chant rang in his ears. He had to get away from her or do something irrevocable.

  Emma, however, had a mind of her own.

  The kiss she planted on his lips was as full of life as she was—energetic, spontaneous, generous. She kissed as she did everything, putting all her heart and soul into it. Intensity exuded from her mouth, lighting a brushfire inside him. She threaded her fingers through his hair, held him still while her eager little tongue went searching. She tasted so damn delicious.

  He let it go on for much longer than he should have; he was going to get hurt, no two ways about it. Sam broke the kiss. “We gotta stop. I should never have started this.”

  “No,” she agreed, nodding.

  “You’re on a path to the stars and I’m just Steady Sam, forever in Twilight. I can’t keep up with you, Trixie Lynn. You’re out of my league.”

  “I’m not and I�
��d take you right here, right now, Sam Cheek, but I don’t want to cause you any more pain. You’ve suffered enough.”

  “You’ve done some suffering of your own, sweetheart.”

  “If I thought an affair with you would cure our aches instead of complicate them…”

  “I know. I want it too, but there’s too much at stake.” Sam cringed. He hated the way that sounded, as if she wasn’t worth the risk. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant was—”

  “No, no.” She held up her palms. “I get it. I really do. I have very little impulse control, so this is me, uncomplicating your life.” Emma hooked her bra, adjusted her blouse, got to her feet, and started for the Jeep, her clothes clinging wetly to her small, slender frame.

  She looked so forlorn. Watching her walk away ripped Sam’s heart from his chest. But she was right. It was better to stop this before it ever really got started.

  The question was, why did he feel as if he was making the biggest mistake of his life?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Quilts are like people. No two are exactly alike.

  —Maddie Gunnison, Dr. Sam Cheek’s housekeeper

  The conversation on the drive back to Sam’s house rested exclusively on driving dos and don’ts. The awkwardness between them hung heavily inside the confines of that little yellow Jeep. Emma didn’t know what to say to break the tension, didn’t know if she should even try.

  Everything was such a mess between them. She wanted him so badly she couldn’t think straight, and it seemed he felt the same way about her, but they both knew the potential for hurt was huge. Their values were just too different. The things they wanted in life were polar opposites. She wished she could ignore that reality, but every time she looked at him, she saw it. The small-town family man who was happy with his life. He didn’t yearn for more the way she did. He had no desire to make his mark on the outside world. No driving need to be special. As long as he took care of Charlie and had animals to tend, Sam was content.

  It wasn’t an indictment of him. In fact, she was jealous that he could be satisfied with such simplicity. She wished she was hardwired differently. That she could be less ambitious, less determined to succeed at all cost, but it was in her blood. She had no idea how to settle for less than the dreams that drove her with an unrelenting fire.