The Name of the Game

by Nora Roberts

  mouth was soft. Just by looking at her Sam knew he could have her. One more easy nudge and they would be lovers.

  He reminded himself about rules and fragile women.

  “We’re going to have to talk about it.” He kissed her again, briefly. “Then we’re going to have to do something about it. But right now I’m going to take you home.”

  6

  Johanna considered Saturdays the day the work force had been given to catch up on everything their jobs had forced them to ignore during the week. Rather than a day off, she thought of it as an alternate. Saturdays weren’t for sleeping late—even if you were slightly hung over and punchy. They were for weeding the garden, marketing, dealing with personal correspondence and bookkeeping. Her Saturdays, like the rest of her days, had a routine she rarely varied. Johanna depended on organization because a well-ordered life was a safe one.

  She dealt with the cleaning first. Though she’d never thought of herself as particularly domestic, Johanna had never considered hiring someone to do the housekeeping. The house was her personal life, and as in all areas of that life, she preferred to handle it herself.

  The vacuuming and dusting, the scrubbing down and polishing up, were never mundane chores. There was a certain basic pleasure in them, but more compelling was the feeling that her house, her things, deserved her attention. It was as simple as that. She could haul a bucket and dust rags from room to room with the same dedication and enjoyment she put into reading contracts or balancing budgets.

  She preferred the radio loud so that she could hear it in whatever corner of the house she decided to tackle first. This was a day for both production and solitude. Over the years, Johanna had developed a dependency on both.

  She did think about the car, and thinking of that naturally turned her thoughts to Sam. She hoped he didn’t forget his promise to have someone drop it off, but if he did she’d simply forgo her Saturday marketing and have Bethany pick her up on Monday morning.

  Johanna never depended on promises or other people’s memories.

  But she did think of him, and if her thoughts weren’t completely comfortable she couldn’t forget that he’d been kind, and gentler than she’d expected. She remembered, a little too well, how she’d felt when she’d kissed him. Full, edgy, tempted. Just a little more tempted each time she was with him to throw away the pact she’d made with herself so many years ago. The pact said no relationships that couldn’t be controlled, by her, from the outset—no dependencies, no promises, long- or short- term.

  It was a sensible pact, unwritten but binding. The fact that Sam had nearly lured her into forgetting it worried her. But it made her wonder more.

  Just what was it about him that made her lose a bit of ground every time they were together? She could discount his looks, however delightful they were. She might appreciate a great physique, but she wouldn’t swoon over one.

  Not that she was swooning over Sam Weaver, Johanna reminded herself as she poured hot water into her bucket. She thought very little of women who built fantasies or relationships around cleft chins and bulging biceps.

  Nor was it his reputation. That, in fact, worked against him. Johanna dunked her mop in hot, soapy water, then began to wash her kitchen floor. The fact that he was an actor was a strike against him. The fact that he was an actor with a reputation with women was a bigger one.

  Of course, she knew that such reports were usually exaggerated and often outright lies. But there were times . . . There were times, Johanna thought as she swiped the mop back and forth, that the press didn’t even come close to making rumor as outrageous as the truth.

  The press had never known her truth. Her mother’s truth. With the care and firmness of experience, she locked that thought away.

  So it wasn’t his looks or his reputed way with women. It certainly wasn’t his fame. Growing up as she had, Johanna had had to tolerate vicarious fame all her life. It wasn’t his talent, either, though she certainly respected that. She knew people were often drawn to talent and power. Her father, and the stream of women in his life, were proof of that. They were also drawn to wealth and position. Johanna was too ambitious and had spent too much time trying to perfect her own skills to be swayed by anyone else’s.

  So if it wasn’t one of the attributes he was so obviously endowed with, just what was it that was making her think about him when she shouldn’t?

  It hadn’t started with that first kiss. It would have been easy to blame it on basic sexual attraction, but Johanna preferred honest self-analysis. The seed of something had been there from that first meeting. If not, she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to give him a hard time.

  Defense mechanism, Johanna thought, recognizing and acknowledging it.

  There was his charm, of course. She wrung out the mop and began to rinse. It wasn’t stylized or deliberate. That she would have been immune to. It was natural, easy, even friendly. The roses had managed to turn the key in an old, well-guarded lock. The kiss had managed to blow it open briefly, just long enough to give her cause for alarm.

  Alarm. Yes, that was what she’d felt overlaying every other emotion he’d drawn out of her. Now that she’d admitted it, she had to decide what to do about it.

  She could ignore him. But she didn’t believe that would do much good. She could—cautiously—go along with his suggestion that they get to know each other better. Slowly. And she could stick to her guns and not get involved beyond a wary friendship.

  The solution had to be in there somewhere, she thought. She’d come up with it, and the next time she had to deal with him she’d be prepared.

  She was incredible. Sam stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her mop the kitchen floor. He’d knocked, but the music she had blaring in the other room had drowned out the sound. Since the door hadn’t been locked, he’d simply walked in and wandered through until he’d found her.

  Johanna Patterson. She was just a bit different every time he saw her. Sophisticated one minute, wonderfully simple the next. Alluring, then cool. Nervous, then tough. A man could take years getting to know all of her. Sam figured he had time.

  Right now she was dressed in faded cotton pants rolled up at the ankles and a big man-styled shirt pushed to her elbows. Her feet were bare, and her hair was pinned up untidily. She handled the mop with smooth, easy strokes, not skimming over the job and not swearing over it. He imagined she took to such things as housekeeping with the same steady drive she took to everything else. He liked that, and he liked her for it.

  He knew exactly why he was attracted to Johanna. She was beautiful, but that wouldn’t have been enough. She was smart, but though he respected a sharp mind that wouldn’t have kept him coming back. She was vulnerable. Normally that would have made him take a cautious step back instead of these continued steps forward. She had an edge to her that in another few years might become hard. But now, just now, Johanna was a cautious woman with a few bruises who wasn’t easily impressed by status. The combination was more than enough to keep pulling him toward her.

  And she’d rather he didn’t, Sam thought. On the surface, at least, she’d have preferred that he step out of her life and stay out. But deep down, he believed, she was looking for someone, for something, just as he was.

  He wasn’t naive enough to believe it was so just because that was what he wanted, but he was determined to find out.

  He stood where he was as the strokes of the mop brought her closer. When she rammed into him, he took her arm to keep her from overbalancing.

  Johanna whirled around, automatically gripping the mop like a weapon. The relief when she saw him turned quickly to anger.

  “How the hell did you get in here?”

  “The door,” he told her easily. “It wasn’t locked. I did knock. I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  “No, I didn’t.” She was shouting to be heard over the music. “Apparently you took that as an invitation.”

  “I took it to mean you didn’t hear me.” He held up the k
eys she’d given him the night before. “I thought you’d want your car back.”

  “Thanks.” She stuffed them in her pocket. It wasn’t anger nearly as much as it was embarrassment. She didn’t care to be sneaked up on unaware.

  “You’re welcome.” He handed her a bouquet of painted daisies and snapdragons. As he’d suspected they would, her eyes softened. “I stole them from Mae’s garden. I figured she wouldn’t notice.”

  “They’re pretty.” With a sigh that was only partially one of resignation, she took them. “I do appreciate you bringing my car back.” She knew she was weakening, and she struggled not to. “You’ve caught me at a bad time. I can’t even offer you a drink because the floor’s wet, and I’m really busy.”

  “I’ll take you out for one. Better, let’s go have some lunch.”

  “I can’t. I’ve only half finished here, and I’m not dressed to go out. Besides, I—”

  “Look fine,” he finished for her. “You’d better put those in water. They’re starting to droop.”

  She could have been rude. Johanna knew she was capable of it, but she found she hadn’t the heart. Instead, she said nothing. She plucked an old square bottle from a shelf and went into the bathroom to fill it. As she did, she heard the volume of the music go down several notches. He was in the living room studying her collection of antique glass when she came back.

  “My mother used to have some plates like this green stuff here. Depression glass, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought that meant it made her sad. I could never figure out why she kept it.”

  She wouldn’t be amused, Johanna told herself. At least not very. “Sam, you really shouldn’t keep whoever followed you up waiting outside.”

  “No one followed me up.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and smiled. Some might have thought the look sheepish, but Johanna wasn’t fooled.

  “Now I suppose you want me to drive you back.”

  “Sooner or later.”

  “I’ll call you a cab,” she said, turning to the phone. “I’ll even pay for it.”

  He put his hand over hers on the receiver. “Johanna, you’re being unfriendly again.”

  “You’re being pushy.”

  “Yeah, but subtleties don’t work with you.” He reached over to stick a loose pin back in her hair. He’d have preferred to have pulled it out, and the rest of them besides, but bided his time. “So how about lunch?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “So, we’ll take a drive first.” He skimmed his hand from her hair to her cheek. “I really think we should, because if we stay in here too much longer I’m going to want to make love with you, and since I figure you’re not ready, a drive’s a better idea.”

  Johanna cleared her throat and took another stab at persuasion. “I appreciate your logic, but I don’t have time for a drive, either.”

  “You’ve got an appointment?”

  “No,” she said, then wished she could bite off her tongue. “That is, I—”

  “You already said no.” He watched her eyes narrow and thought she was almost as pretty annoyed as she was amused. You’re already sunk waist-deep, Sam, he told himself. Another few steps and you’re over your head. But what the hell. “It’s too nice a day to stay indoors cleaning a house that’s already clean enough.”

  “That’s my business.”

  “Okay, then I’ll wait for you to finish before we go out.”

  “Sam—”

  “I’m persistent, Johanna. You told me so yourself.”

  “I’ll drive you home,” she said, giving up.

  “Not good enough.” He caught her again, this time by the shoulders. There was something about the way he spread his fingers over her, about the way his palm fit so truly over her. His expression had changed just enough to make her uneasy. The amusement was gone, but it hadn’t been replaced by anger. She wouldn’t have been uneasy about anger. This was determination, solid and unshakable. “I want to spend the day with you. You know damn well I want to spend the night with you, as well, but I’ll settle for the day. Give me five reasons why not and I’ll walk down to the freeway and hitch a ride.”

  “Because I don’t want to.”

  “That’s a statement, not a reason. And I don’t buy it, anyway.”

  “Your ego won’t buy it.”

  “Suit yourself.” Refusing to be annoyed, he sat on the arm of her couch, absently picked up one of her pillows and began to toss it. “Look, I’ve got all day. I don’t mind sitting around until you’ve stopped fussing with your imaginary dust. Hell, I’ll even give you a hand, but then we’re going to have to get out of here, because being alone with you for long periods of time isn’t easy.” She opened her mouth, but he continued before she could make a suggestion. “I keep wanting to touch you, Johanna, in all kinds of interesting places.”

  “We’ll go out,” she said quickly, before she could admit she wanted it, too.

  “Good idea. Listen, why don’t I drive?”

  She started to protest even that—on principle—then decided he’d be less likely to give her trouble if he had his eyes on the road. “Fine.” After switching off the radio, she dumped the keys back in his hands. “It’ll take me a few minutes to change.”

  “You look fine,” he said again, and took her hand. “I happen to like this Johanna every bit as much as the others I’ve met over the last couple of weeks.”

  She decided not to ask him what he was talking about. “We’ll have to make it a very informal lunch, then.”

  “It will be.” He opened the door of the car for her. “I promise.”

  He was as good as his word.

  The hot dog dripped mustard, and the noise level was intense. Johanna sat almost in the shade and watched pink elephants circle overhead. It wasn’t a dream, or the last remnants of a hangover. It was Disneyland.

  “I don’t believe this.” She took another bite of the hot dog as a boy in mouse ears dashed by, yelling for his parents to hurry up.

  “Pretty great, isn’t it?” Sam wore sunglasses and a low-brimmed cowboy hat that Johanna was forced to admit suited him. So did the chinos and the simple T-shirt. The disguise wasn’t very imaginative, and it would have been transparent as glass if anyone had looked closely enough. Sam had told her that the best place to be anonymous was a crowd. They certainly had one.

  “You come here for lunch often?”

  “Great hot dogs in Fantasyland.” He took an enormous bite to prove his point. “Besides, I’m hooked on the Haunted Mansion. It’s terrific, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been in it.”

  “Never?” His tone of quick astonishment wasn’t feigned. Wanting a better look, he tipped down his tinted glasses and studied her. “You grew up here, didn’t you?”

  She only shrugged. Yes, she’d grown up a short drive from Anaheim, but neither her father nor her succession of stepmothers or “aunts,” as she’d been taught to call the other women in her father’s life, had been inclined to take a day trip to an amusement park.

  “You’re not telling me you’ve never been to Disneyland at all?”

  “It’s not a requirement.”

  He pushed his glasses back on his nose as she wiped her hands on a napkin. He remembered the impersonal non-kiss her father had given her the night before. His family was always, had always been, demonstrative, both physically and vocally. No, Disneyland, like other small pleasures, wasn’t a requirement. But it should be.

  “Come on, your education’s lacking.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To take Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. You’re going to love it.”

  Oddly enough, she did.

  It was fast and foolish and certainly designed for the younger set, but Johanna found herself gasping and giggling as the car swerved and twisted through the tunnels. She’d barely put her foot on the ground again before Sam was dragging her off to the next line.

  They rode down a mou
ntain in a raft, and the final waterfall drop surprised a scream out of her. Wet and breathless, she didn’t even protest when he pulled her along again. By the time they’d done Fantasyland to his satisfaction, she’d been spun, twirled, flown and floated. The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party had left her giddy and weak-kneed and without the least notion that she was being educated.

  He bought her mouse ears with her name stitched across the front, using her own hairpins to secure it even when she grumbled.

  “Looks cute,” he decided, then kissed her. She might not have known it, Sam thought, but she was more relaxed than he’d ever seen her. “I think you’re ready for the Haunted Mansion.”

  “Does it spin?”

  “No, it strikes terror into your heart. That’s why you’re going to hang on to me and make me feel brave.” He swung an arm around her shoulders and began to walk. Johanna had already discovered he knew the park very well.