by Lori Wilde
And as the heat filled his heart, a sudden stillness filled his head. He was so very aware of her, but not in the crashing thrust of lust that had thundered through him before. This was a quiet, shining sense of newness.
Cass’s upturned face was bathed in the glow of the overhead light. Surreal, ethereal, perfect.
Sam liked the way she made him feel. Strong, reliable, trustworthy.
Keeley had rarely made him feel this way. With her he’d usually felt anxious and undeserving somehow. But Cass, who on the surface reminded him of his ex-wife, was in reality nothing like her at all.
She locked her hands around his neck as he drove deeper into her. He felt the muscles in his back ripple beneath her touch as other muscles in his body quivered and jerked. Angling his hips, he cupped his hand beneath her bottom, shifting until he found a new place to please her with his cock.
He felt the shocking elation of the unknown. As she grew more and more aware of him inside her body, moaning his name, pulling him deeper into her, his confidence faltered. This uncertainty, this vulnerability, created a new man of him. Salt of the earth, Sam Mason, fell away and in his transformation he became aware of his own strangeness inside her.
“Sam,” she cried, the sound of her voice rushing over his ears like an ocean tide, sweeping them away.
Their gazes fused. Pupils widened, breaths escalating into frantic pants.
For one earthmoving flash, a jolt of comprehension of what they’d embarked on traveled between them, some unexpected soul knowledge profound and extremely essential. But before Sam could claim the feeling and identify it, they tumbled together into the abyss.
SAM NIBBLED THE NAPE of her neck, drawing Cass from sleep. She turned into him and he kissed her with such ardor, she was instantly aroused. He curled his arms around her, moonlight slanting in through the laundry-room window above their heads.
The storm must have passed while they slept.
What would it be like? Cass wondered giddily, to be held in his arms like this every night? To be kissed with such eager abandon on a regular basis?
The thought sent a shivery thrill jolting down her spine. She’d never thought that about any man, never wanted one long term.
Did she now?
Too soon. It was far too soon to be thinking like this. Besides, nobody says he wants you for the long haul. Just drift. Just drift and enjoy.
That wasn’t hard to do. Not when Sam’s tongue was doing wickedly delicious things to the underside of her jaw.
They found each other’s mouths, hungry, desperate. He was insatiable, but so was she.
She was sore and damp and starving for more of him.
“Take me from behind,” she begged.
He flipped her over, levered his body against hers, his rock-hard shaft cradled against her buttocks. Gently, he reached around and dipped a finger into her juicy core, then slowly caressed her straining cleft.
She held her breath, waiting, trembling in anticipation, knowing that at any minute he was going to plunge his throbbing erection into willing wetness.
And then he was in her.
She gasped, shocked and delighted at how big and hard he was. He pumped, moving his hips in a circular motion that gradually turned into hard, rhythmic thrusts, all the while still stroking her maddening bud.
They shuddered and clung to each other, holding on for dear life, their abdomens stiffened, their legs stretching and their backs arching as they groaned in tandem pleasure.
Exhausted, they fell silent except for their heavy contented breathing and sigh of release. Slowly, they kissed and caressed, lingering in the afterglow.
Sam was everything she wanted him to be and so much more than she’d ever dreamed. Amazing, this man she’d found.
“Thank you,” he whispered and she kissed him with gratitude because it was mutual. She was so thankful for all he had given her.
A HAPPY, SILLY LITANY of nonsense words popped spontaneously into Cass’s head. Sam, Sam. Sam I am. Sam ate Spam. Sam, Sam, Sam. Sammy. Sambo. Sambony. Sambon-i-roni. Sam-a-licous. Green Eggs and Sam. Heeere’s Sammy.
She was on her side, facing him, knees pulled to her chest, arms stacked under her head, watching him sleep. Her gaze tracked from his face down to the underside of his jaw to the muscular column of his throat to the beefcake-calendar-quality chest.
Rugged. Hard. Totally masculine. Chiseled chin. Proud nose. Beard shadow. Sculpted cheekbones. Who would ever guess he was afraid of heights?
There were black and blue marks on his arms and shoulders and the soreness in her body told her she had a few marks of her own. Were the bruises from the fall from the tree or their night of wild monkey sex?
Probably both. It was the good kind of soreness, hard fought and well earned.
The memory of their night was like a bouquet of red and white spider lilies, sweetening the air with a cinnamon and vanilla tingle, fresh and alive and vivid. Purity versus pleasure.
Sam’s eyes remained closed.
Cass stared and stared and stared.
“Stop staring at me,” he ordered.
“I’m not staring at you.”
He opened one eye and peered at her. “Liar.”
She smiled at him.
He groaned.
“Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the table this morning?”
“I can barely move,” he complained.
“I’ve got breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” The promise of food perked him right up.
“I retrieved those quarters you left in the change dispenser when we got…um…distracted from our laundry last night and I checked out the vending machine.”
“What did you get?” He propped himself up on one elbow.
She reached up for the haul she’d stashed on the window ledge. “You have your choice of cheese curls or peanut butter crackers or a chocolate bar.”
“I’ll take the peanut butter crackers.”
“Good man. You know to leave the chocolate for a woman.” She passed him the crackers and happily unwrapped her chocolate bar.
“These are stale,” he said, the cracker exploding into a shower of crumbs when he bit into one. “Ah, hell.”
“Don’t worry.” She winked. “You can eat stale crackers on my table anytime.”
He laughed and tweaked her nose. “I love your optimism.”
“The chocolate’s not bad. Wanna bite?” She pulled the crinkly foil wrapping down an inch and broke off a scored section.
“You go ahead, but toss me the cheese curls. I’ll give those a try.”
They munched and crunched for a few minutes. Cass leaned her head against Sam’s chest, listening to the lub-dub of his heart, feeling perfectly content and sated.
“This wasn’t quite how I pictured Sunday,” Sam said, lazily trailing his fingers over Cass’s bare breast.
“Is reality better or worse?”
Before Sam could answer, the door to the laundry swung open and a perky woman about her own age bounced in, heading straight for the dryers without looking around.
The instant Sam spotted the woman he grabbed the blanket and threw it over them, making sure Cass was covered.
The woman startled at the sound, peered over and spied them on the table looking guilty. She splayed a hand over her chest.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here. I just came for my…” Her eyes fixed on their cover. “Blanket. But I can see you need it more than I do. Just keep it.” She spun on her heel and ran for the exit.
“Wait,” Sam called out. “Please, wait.”
The woman hesitated at the door, hand tensed on the knob, her gaze landing everywhere except on them.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Sam and this is Cass and we got caught in the storm last night and ended up here.”
Cass waved at her.
The woman forced a smile. “Cate. Cate Wells.”
“Nice to meet you, Cate. I’d get up, but…”
&nb
sp; Cate looked at their clothes strewn across the laundry room and lifted a hand to shield her eyes. “I understand. That’s okay.”
“What we’re wondering,” Cass said, joining in, “is if you could give us a ride.”
“Um…”
It was obvious the woman didn’t want anything to do with them, but Cass could tell she was a kindhearted person. Just when she was about to plead their case, Cate reached over and snatched the faux White Star off the washing machine.
“Oh, my gosh,” she exclaimed. “Isn’t this stolen?”
And then she spotted the handcuffs on the floor.
“Don’t you people move,” Cate said bravely in spite of the fact her chin was quivering. She swallowed hard. “I’m calling the cops.”
“I AM A COP,” Sam told her. “NYPD.”
The woman looked like she didn’t believe him.
He waved at his pants that had gotten kicked across the laundry room. “My identification badge is in my back pocket.”
Gingerly, she retrieved his pants, found his identification and then glanced back over at them again.
“Is she your prisoner?” Cate narrowed her eyes. “Are you a dirty cop making this woman perform sexual favors in exchange for a lighter sentence?”
“No, no,” Sam said, completely flummoxed by getting caught naked and by Cass snickering behind her hand.
This wasn’t funny. It was highly embarrassing. He was an officer of the law and he’d just broken public lewdness laws by having sex in the laundry room of a state park.
“What about this?” Cate held up the White Star.
“Look closer. It’s a well-crafted fake.”
Cate held the amulet up to her eye. “Oh,” she said. “It is.”
“Now that we have that out of the way, do you think you could give us a ride?” Sam explained what had happened and how they’d ended up in the laundry room under Cate’s blanket
“Sure.” Cate shrugged. “I was on my way back into the city.”
Cass tugged Sam’s arm. “What about my Manolos? I don’t have any shoes.”
“You have Manolos?” Cate’s eyes lit up. “I can’t afford them on my salary.”
“I can’t afford them either,” Cass confessed. “That’s why their loss is so heartbreaking. They’re somewhere out in the woods, damaged by last night’s storm.”
“Tsk, tsk.” Cate clicked her tongue. “That is so sad. What kind were they?”
“Ankle straps.” Cass was misty-eyed. “They perfectly matched my dress.”
“Ouch.”
“I know.”
Women and shoes. Sam shook his head. Something no man would ever understand.
“I have a pair of old flip-flops out in the car that I can let you have,” Cate volunteered. “Just so you’re not running around barefooted.”
That cemented it. Cass and Cate bonded.
Cate gave them a ride in a Mini Cooper borrowed from a friend. She’d been in the Catskills communing with nature and she’d been caught by the storm. She’d ducked in the laundry room to dry out her blanket and clothes. Her friends had rescued her, but she’d accidentally left the blanket tumbling in the dryer. She’d come back that morning to retrieve it before heading home.
Cate dropped them off at the Jitney station with a wave. Sam and Cass took the bus back to Bunnie’s place in Southampton. Just before they entered the mansion, Sam snapped the handcuffs back on their wrists.
They were the last guests to return.
“So much for winning the money,” Cass mouthed to Sam as Trevor ushered them into the dining room, where everyone else was polishing off a lavish lunch.
“Not so fast,” Bunnie said, having caught Cass’s comment. “Only five of our other couples returned with their amulets. And of those five, none of them are speaking to each other.”
Sam glanced around the room. Sure enough, more than half of the couples who’d been handcuffed together were no longer sitting side by side and most couldn’t even look at each other.
Huh. Imagine that.
Being handcuffed together had only brought him and Cass closer. Of course they’d had their Houdini time, free of hardware, but in those moments they’d been even more intimate than when they’d had the handcuffs on.
“So you win,” Bunnie said. “To what charity should I make the check out to?”
“No, Bunnie,” Cass said. “We can’t accept the check. Sam and I cheated. We took the handcuffs off.”
Sam looked at her, surprised but heartened by her honesty. If she would tell the truth about something like that, how could she be the kind of woman who would steal jewelry from her friends?
“Thank you, Cassandra, for your candor. Since the rules specifically stated you had to remain handcuffed throughout the challenge, that means Marcos and Deirdre Johnson are the winners.” Bunnie applauded and the rest of the room joined in.
“Yes!” Marcos jumped up from his chair and made a motion as if he was spiking a football in the end zone. He charged over to Cass, shoved his nose inches from hers and jeered, “In your face, Richards.”
Sam stepped in front of Cass and sent Marcos an I’d-love-an-excuse-to-kick-your-high-society-ass glower. “What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Marcos mumbled and turned away.
But Sam wasn’t going to let it go. He slapped a hand on Marcos’s shoulder and spun him back around.
Marcos reflectively raised his fists.
“Apologize to Ms. Richards for behavior unbecoming a gentleman,” Sam demanded. He didn’t care that the entire room was watching or that Cass was plucking anxiously at his shirtsleeve. He wasn’t going to let this overpriced, overstuffed snob disrespect her.
“Um, Sam,” Cass stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Marcos won a national boxing championship when he was at Eton.”
“Yeah?” Sam clenched his jaw and drilled his hard-edge stare right into Marcos’s eyes. The wet cardboard smell of him made Sam want to sneeze. “I boxed on the streets of Queens. You want to take it outside?”
Marcos hesitated, considering the thrown gauntlet.
“Bring it on, pretty boy.” Sam’s voice was steel, his fists just aching to defend Cass’s honor.
Marcos muttered something under his breath that Sam couldn’t make out, but he backed down. He looked at Cass. “I’m sorry, Cassandra, if I disrespected you in any way. In my excitement over winning the competition I spoke out of turn. Please forgive my boorish behavior.”
Sam had to admit as far as apologies went it wasn’t half bad.
“I accept your apology, Marcos.” Cass smiled. “Congratulations on winning the competition. You and Deirdre earned it.”
“Now that’s settled,” someone at the table commented, “Bunnie, open the safe and retrieve our valuables so we can go home.”
Bunnie sent Sam a meaningful glance. He nodded imperceptibly. The moment of truth had arrived. Would any of the valuables be missing?
As everyone lined up for their personal items, Sam took a strategic position near the wall safe so he could supervise the proceedings without looking too obvious.
One by one the remaining guests collected their items, bid their hostess goodbye and headed out the door until only Cass and Sam were left.
Sam took her aside. He needed to get her out of earshot so he could talk to Bunnie. “Would you like to change clothes, freshen up before the trip home?”
“Sounds heavenly,” Cass said.
He took her back to the bungalow, and while she was showering he called back up to the big house to speak with Bunnie privately.
“Have you checked all your jewelry?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Yes.”
“And nothing’s missing?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re certain.”
“Yes.”
Sam exhaled heavily. He didn’t realize how much he’d been sweating this until Bunnie told him nothing was MIA.
“I’m sure it was a relief, findin
g out Cass isn’t the Blueblood Burglar.”
“All it means is that she didn’t have the opportunity to steal anything. It doesn’t prove she’s innocent. It simply means that none of your other guests are guilty.”
11
“YOU’RE AN EMBARRASSMENT to bachelorhood, you know that, Mason?” Weston ragged on him the next morning when Sam shambled into the briefing room for roll call.
“What are you talking about?”
“I found out what it is that you really do on the weekend.” Weston shook his head. “And here I’d been pinning all my hopes on the fact that you were shagging a different hot babe every night.”
“Your fantasies have been disillusioned?”
“Yeah. You can quit faking like you’re walking funny from too much sex. The jig’s up. The whole precinct knows you’re not getting any. My wife and I saw your sister in the supermarket last week. She said you babysit her kids on the weekends. She said you don’t even have a girlfriend.” Weston drew in an indignant breath. “What’s wrong with you, man? You’re wasting valuable time. Once some woman finally lassoes you, you’ll be longing for these single days you threw away so casually.”
Sam laughed, amused at his colleague’s sad attitude. Beth had done him a favor, spilling his babysitting secret. “Think whatever you want, Weston. I know where I was this past weekend.”
“Yeah, babysitting.” The look on Weston’s face was one of sad disappointment.
Sam placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Even the mightiest heroes have feet of clay. This is what happens when you live vicariously through someone else. For God’s sake, go home and draw your wife a hot bath, make dinner for her, treat her right. Maybe then you’ll have a sex life of your own and you can stop wasting your time dreaming about mine.”
“Gone, all gone.” Weston looked as if he’d just been told the National Football League was going on strike next season.
During roll call, Sam learned there was nothing new in the Stanhope robbery. He also learned one of his former partners, Ron Barnaby, who’d recently been shot in the line of duty, was improving and had been to the same rehab hospital that Sam’s sister Janie had been in all those years ago. He made a mental note to drop by and see Ron and to make a donation to the hospital while he was at it.
