by Lori Wilde
“I’m sorry, Emma, I’m not going to stand by while the woman I—” Abruptly, he broke off.
Suddenly, she was desperate to hear him finish his thought. Her ramshackle heart lurched. “What?”
“While some guy disrespects the woman I’m with,” he finished.
Somehow she didn’t think that was what he’d originally intended on saying. “You know what your problem is?”
“I didn’t realize I had a problem.”
“You’ve got blood drying on your temple, I’d say that’s a problem.”
“Okay, fine. What’s my problem?”
“You’ve got a Sir Galahad complex.”
He turned in his seat. “And you know this how, Dr. Freud?”
She could feel the heat of his gaze as she studied her profile. “It was Sam to the rescue when Valerie needed a man in her life, and when Coveralls grabbed my ass, you immediately stepped in.”
“I was just doing what any self-respecting man would.”
“Take care of the womenfolk?”
“If they need taking care of yeah, what’s so wrong with that?”
Emma blew out her breath. “I knew Twilight was thirty years behind the times, but I had no idea you were too.”
“If being modern means standing by when you could have helped someone, then I’m proud to be archaic.”
She didn’t even know why she was arguing with him. In all honesty she was glad he jumped in when the beefy guy in coveralls went after her. She didn’t like that Sam had gotten hurt, but a part of her thrilled to the fact that he had fought for her honor. His chivalry made her feel safe, protected.
It occurred to her then why she was acting so testy when she should be thanking him profusely. She couldn’t dare get used to feeling this way. It would be too hard when she had to go back into the real world and fend for herself again.
“Do you know what your problem is?” he asked.
“I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut?”
His smile was wry. “There is that, but I’m referring to your independent streak.”
“What about my independent streak?”
“Once in a while, you have to let other people help you. No one is an island. We all need someone to help us through the tough times.”
“Gee, what pillow did you see with that homily embroidered on it?”
He laughed. “Valerie patchworked it into a quilt.”
She parked the Jeep in his driveway and they went inside. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I can handle it from here.”
“No, no. It cuts both ways. You got hurt fighting for my honor. That means I get to doctor you up.”
“All right,” he conceded. “I’ll let you play nurse-maid if you have your heart set on it. I’ll go get the first aid kit. Help yourself to something to drink.”
“You want anything?”
“Tall glass of water.”
He headed upstairs while Emma wandered into the kitchen to make two glasses of iced water. When she turned around, he was standing in the doorway, first aid kit in hand. She took one look at him—blood matting his hair to the scar on his forehead, his dark eyes not just looking at her but staring into her—and her heartstrings tugged. She was treading on shaky ground here. Emotional quicksand of the most dangerous kind.
His eyes told her things that his pride and his caution could not let him say out loud. When he stepped across the linoleum to gently cup her cheek in the palm of his hand, his tenderness rocked her to the core. He was trying so hard, struggling with his inability to express what he was really feeling. From a man like Sam, that simple gesture meant so much.
Then the look vanished from his eyes and he moved away from her, setting the first aid kit on the table, going over to a kitchen chair, turning it around, plunking down in it backward. He sat with the back of the chair flush with his chest, his arms folded over the top.
“Where’s Patches?” she asked, opening up the first aid kit.
“Backyard. I don’t like leaving him cooped up in the house when I’m not home.”
“Should we let him in?”
“You’re feeling completely comfortable around him now?”
“Thanks to you.” She retrieved a package of gauze and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the kit.
“We can let him stay out awhile longer,” Sam said. “I’ll bring him in after I walk you home.”
Home.
The sound of the word stirred something sentimental inside her. Don’t go all sappy on me. Twilight isn’t your home. Your main goal is to do well in this play, get your reputation back, and get back to New York ASAP. To chase the thoughts away, she concentrated on soaking the gauze with peroxide.
Gently, she leaned over to dab Sam’s wound.
He hissed in a breath.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m trying to be as gentle as I can.”
“It’s okay. Just cold.”
Methodically, she washed away the blood and struggled not to notice the tingle that shot through her nipples when her breasts accidentally brushed against his shoulder. She ignored the feel of his warm breath on her skin. She denied the swell of his finely muscled biceps and disregarded the raspy sound of his breathing.
“You’re going to have quite the shiner, but at least your eye isn’t swelling shut.”
“I’ll live.”
Emma brushed back the hair on his forehead and slid her fingers over his skin, washing the old scar.
He flinched.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. I just…I suppose it’s vain, but I hate for you to see my scar.”
“You’re sensitive about it.”
He grunted. “Dumb.”
“Not dumb. I get it.”
“I didn’t have many dates in high school because of it,” he said. “It looked really raw for years.”
“It’s why you grew your hair long.”
“Yeah.”
“It must have been a lot to deal with.”
“Other people carry much worse burdens. Take Beau for instance.”
“I wish I could have been here for you. It wouldn’t have bothered me one bit.”
“I know,” he said softly, and she could tell he meant it. “It’s probably a good thing you left when you did. As hot and heavy as we were getting, we’d have gotten into big trouble.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“Emma, I dreamed about you every night for months. The kind of hot and horny dreams only a teenage boy can dream.”
“Aww,” she teased. “You telling me you’ve passed your peak?”
“I’ve still got some life left in me.”
“Yeah, I felt some of that life on the dance floor. Not too shabby, Dr. Cheek.” Emma tilted her head, trying to get a better glimpse of the wound on his head. Gently, she took clean, dry gauze and patted it dry. “I don’t think you’re going to need stitches. It looks like it’s stopped bleeding.”
Sam shifted, turning around in the chair. He slipped an arm around Emma’s waist and pulled her down into his lap. Her back was to him, her legs straddling his.
“Oops, what’s this all about?”
“What do you think?” he asked, and brushed his exploring lips against the curve of her neck.
She shivered against the sensual promise.
He nibbled lightly at her skin, and when he found the spot that made her squirm, he deepened the pressure. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, giving his tongue free access to the erogenous zone she hadn’t even known was there.
While his tongue was busy with her neck, his sly hand was creeping up underneath her blouse, his calloused palm skimming up over the smooth, flat skin of her belly, headed north.
She hooked her feet around his legs, pushed back into him harder. She should tell him to stop. Tell him that they really needed to think this thing through, but the sensations zinging through her dulled her mind and sharpened her nerve endings. She tingled from head to toe, and a sweet he
aviness pooled low and deep inside her.
His fingers kept skating, up and around the band of her lacy bra. The next thing she knew her bra was undone and his fingers were caressing one of her nipples. Instantly, it hardened into a tight little bud of longing.
“Emma,” he whispered, his breath hot on her neck. Sam shifted her in his lap until she was facing him. He stared into her eyes. “Damn, but you are beautiful.”
“I’m not. I’m really rather ordinary—”
“Don’t contradict me, Trixie Lynn. You’ve always been beyond gorgeous to me.”
“And I never could figure out why,” she whispered, addicted to peering into his cocoa-colored eyes.
“You’ve got the cutest little nose.” He kissed the tip of it.
“Ah, so you’re hot for my nose.”
“And your lips. When it seems like every actress on television is going for that bee-stung look, you’ve got the sweetest cupid’s-bow shape. Delicate, delicious.”
“You think so?” she murmured.
“I know so.” His eyes were focused on her lips, his lashes lowered to half mast. “And your body.” He tightened his arm around his waist. “Don’t even get me started.”
She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. “You think I’m sexy?”
“I want you so badly I can’t breathe.”
Hypnotized, she let him swallow her up with his eyes. “Sam.”
“Em.” He kissed her again, harder this time, more demanding. “But this isn’t smart.”
“Nope,” she agreed, and brought her lips back to his.
“There’s Charlie to consider.”
“Of course.”
“And you don’t want to do anything to derail your career.”
Right now the last thing on her mind was her career. She fisted the material of his shirt in one hand, hanging on to him like she was riding a wild bronco.
He splayed one hand to the nape of her neck, holding her solidly in place while he took his time, searched her mouth with his.
Instant heat flared through her, bathing her body with an incredible throbbing warmth. Sensation upon sensation built inside her, layer by layer.
Finally, he pulled his lips from hers, lifted her from his lap, and settled her on the floor. A soft sound of protest escaped her lips. Why was he stopping? She didn’t want him to stop. All she wanted was to kiss him, touch him, taste him, smell him, make love to him all night long, never mind how stupid it might be. She couldn’t control her desires any longer. They’d been dancing around this moment for weeks, and she wanted him.
Now.
He stood and reached for her hand. To walk her home? She tried to quell her disappointment, but she felt what she felt.
Then he surprised her completely by pulling her toward the staircase instead of the front door. Her heart started a restless pounding and her blood surged. This was it.
The moment she’d waited sixteen years for.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There’s nothing sexier than Emma stretched out naked on my quilt.
—Veterinarian Dr. Sam Cheek
He led her upstairs and she followed. Once in his bedroom, he flicked on a lamp with a soft, low-watt bulb. Her head was so stuffed with lust she didn’t notice anything in the room beyond the king-sized bed sitting in the middle.
Uncharacteristically, she held back. “Are we sure—”
“Yes.”
“It can’t be for keeps,” she said.
She didn’t want to say it. She wanted it to be for keeps, but in her heart, she knew she couldn’t give Sam what he needed, couldn’t promise him what he deserved. If they were going to do this, he had to know up front it wasn’t going to lead anywhere.
“I’ve got my eyes wide open.” He pulled her to him.
Emma’s hands were cupped between his chest and hers. “You’ve been drinking.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
“A beer at dinner, a margarita at the bar. You’re not used to drinking…”
“I promise you’re not taking advantage of me.”
“And here I was thinking you were easy prey.”
He kissed the top of her head, his hands moving to unbutton the pink shirt she wore over the white tee, slip it off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Then he cupped her chin in his palm and raised her face up to his. He peered deeply into her eyes. “I’ve wanted to do this for weeks.”
“What took you so long?” she whispered.
“Fear.”
“Of what?”
“Not being able to stop once I got a taste of you.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I couldn’t resist you a minute more,” he said. “Arms up.”
“What?”
“Your arms. Raise them over your head.”
“Oh.” She raised her arms, and he took the hem of her T-shirt in his hands and slowly pulled it up over her head, along with the bra that he’d unhooked while she sat in his lap in the kitchen. He bent to plant warm, moist kisses on her bare skin, kisses on her belly, the tops of her breasts, the hollow of her throat.
She stood before him, feeling suddenly shy. The look in his eyes was hot and hungry. If they took this step, there was no going back.
He stepped back to stare at her in the soft glow from the lamp. “You’re more beautiful than I ever dreamed.”
A heated flush swept up her body, and she covered her bare breasts with her folded arms.
“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart.” He dipped his head to kiss her.
His lips fired a fresh urgency inside her and she grabbed the front of his shirt. Laughing, he helped her strip it off. She splayed her palms over his rippled muscles, her fingers tracking the delineated lines, and she took joy in caressing his exquisitely muscled body.
“Hmm,” he said, “your touch feels good.”
Her fingers tangled in the springy dark hairs sprinkled over his chest. She tugged on them lightly and he pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her waist. As he did, she slid her hands around his back, checking out those amazing muscles as well. Everything about him electrified her—the feel of his hard planes and angles, the tangy smell of his skin, the heated taste of his mouth, the sounds of his masculine pleasure.
She could feel his erection straining hard against the zipper of his jeans. She molded her body to his, rocked urgently against him.
“Whoa, whoa,” he said, “you’re moving too fast. We’ve waited sixteen years for this moment and I want to savor every second.”
“I don’t think I can stand to wait any longer,” she protested. “I want you. Need you so badly.”
“Exactly why we’re taking our time.”
A disappointed whine escaped her throat.
“Soon enough, sweetheart. Soon enough.” He turned away, leaving her bereft, and walked over to the stereo system she just now noticed sat on a shelf on the other side of the room. He picked up a remote, punched some buttons. The soft sounds of classical music filled the room. She couldn’t help thinking that he and Valerie had made love to this music.
“Um, do you have a radio?”
“Not a fan of classical music?”
“I’d like something a little sexier. Satellite radio has a love song channel.”
He handed her the remote. “Be my guest.”
She fiddled with the buttons and found the station she was looking for. “Unchained Melody” was playing.
“Good choice,” he said, and swept her into his arms again.
His kiss took her breath. She wanted to keep on kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. She’d been thinking they could make love, have an affair, and then she could just walk away. Go back to her life sated but unscathed. She was beginning to see that was impossible. If she did this with Sam, no matter where she went, no matter who she eventually ended up with, she was never going to be the same again. The realization clobbered her like a clout to the head. Her body tensed.
Sam must have sen
sed the change in her; he pulled back, looked into her eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I’m scared,” she confessed.
“Me too.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t…”
“Shh.” He placed a finger over her lips. “You’re the one who’s always telling me to take a chance, take a risk. Well, now here I am. Ready to risk everything for one glorious night with you. Don’t back out on me now, Emma. Not when I need you most.” This was a switch. Sam confessing he needed someone when he was usually the one being needed. “Just relax and know that you’re completely safe with me.”
“You’re safe with me too,” she said.
“I know.” He kissed the top of her forehead and reached for the snap of her jeans.
Leisurely, he kissed his way down her face as, simultaneously, his fingers eased her zipper down. Kisses landed on her forehead, the tip of her nose, lips, chin, the underside of her throat. Down he went, sinking to his knees. His mouth roved over her breasts, gently playing with first one nipple and then the other, rolling them around on his tongue.
Her body stiffened, and, careful of his wounds, she threaded her fingers through his hair to keep from toppling over. With painstaking slowness he edged her jeans down her hips at the same time. It seemed to take him forever, and all the way, his wicked tongue kept licking little flames of heat all across her bare belly.
Her sex throbbed, begging him to hurry up and get down there.
When finally, finally, her jeans were around her ankles, he shifted to one side so she could kick them off.
Then he reached for her panties and began peeling them down, but suddenly stopped cold. “Emma!” He sucked in a breath. “What in the hell happened?”
She blinked down at him. “What do you mean?”
“You’re…you’re not…” He rocked back on his heels, splayed a palm to the nape of his neck, and looked absolutely shocked. “You’ve got absolutely no hair down there.”
Emma laughed. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“About what?”
“You’ve never been with a woman who’s had a Brazilian?”
“I’m hoping you’re not talking about a Brazilian lover.”
