Hank was right. What did she have to lose?
Samantha bit her lip, looked up and her gaze bumped into his. “Forms are at the front desk?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I’ll change into my suit, grab a bite to eat out by the pool and look it over.”
He nodded, seemingly pleased. “Good.” He paused. “It’s great to have you back, Sam. You, uh, look fantastic,” he added, looking somewhat uncomfortable. And no wonder—he’d never had cause to issue a compliment before.
Her heart warmed all the same and she flashed him a smile. “It’s great to be back.”
“Any particular plans for this vacation?” he asked lightly. “A trip to Dauphin Island? Fort Morgan?”
Those were her usual haunts when she came to town, but Operation Orgasm wasn’t going to leave her much time for those pursuits. “Nah, no plans per se,” Samantha said evasively, unwilling to meet his gaze lest he discover her true intentions. Which was ridiculous. Why did she care if he knew what she was about? He’d never hesitated to share his plans about women with her. He’d always been heartbreakingly honest about his lovers.
Samantha moved to the foot of the bed, opened a suitcase and fished her bikini from one of the front pockets. She tossed it on the bed, then dug around for her sunblock. Unless she wanted to fry and freckle, she had to cover herself in SPF thirty-five. She was fair complexioned, but could turn sort of peachy if she played her cards right. She’d primed her skin last week with a few trips to the tanning bed, so hopefully she wouldn’t burn.
She could feel Hank’s gaze on her, could feel him studying her, checking for a secret via retinal scrutiny. “When you say per se…just exactly what do you mean?”
Where the hell was her sunblock, Samantha wondered, growing slightly annoyed. She knew she’d packed it. Remembered shoving it into the bag. She pilfered around a little more, nudged various items aside. Exasperated, she jerked a couple of magazines and small boxes out of the pocket, absently set them aside. Honestly, this was ridiculous. She knew she’d packed the damned—
Hank’s wicked chuckle interrupted her irritating quest. Something about that laugh made her spine prickle with foreboding.
When she looked up, he held her bikini bottoms in one hand and a box of glow-in-the-dark extra-large condoms in the other. “Care to explain?” he asked.
Though she longed for the floor to open up and swallow her—knew that her cheeks were blazing with embarrassment—Samantha managed to force a smile, lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug and huffed a dramatic sigh. “Well, if I need to, I will. Though I must confess I would have thought that a man your age would have a general idea of what condoms were used for. In fact, I distinctly remember you carrying one in your wallet back—”
He smirked. “Cute. But that’s not what I meant.” His eyes narrowed and he twirled her bikini bottoms around his index finger. “Since when are you packing enough rubbers to outfit the defensive line at the state college?”
Samantha straightened and calmly snatched her prophylactics from his unsuspecting hand, then shoved them back into her suitcase. She requisitioned her bikini bottoms as well, then grabbed the top.
“Since I started having sex,” she replied, mildly annoyed at his somewhat shocked look. He didn’t have to look so damned dumbfounded, like the idea of her having sex—or anyone wanting to have sex with her—was out of the scope of his imagination. It undermined her confidence.
“Since you started having sex?” he asked slowly. His voice had developed a dry rasp and that smug smile he’d worn just a second ago had cap-sized. His eyes suddenly widened in horrified understanding. “My God, you’re trolling, aren’t you? You’re—”
“And I’ve got more than enough to outfit the defensive line at state college, smart ass—I have enough for the offensive line and special teams as well.” She smiled. “Just let me know if you need to borrow any. Of course, I only carry extra-large—” she purposely let her gaze drop to the front of his shorts “—so they might not fit.”
His jaw went comically slack.
Samantha grinned, heartened by his stunned expression. “As for trolling—” she shrugged lazily “—I might throw out a line or two. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to change.”
THERE WASN’T ANY “GOING TO” about it, Hank thought as he covertly watched Samantha entertain a host of bastards—all of them on pussy patrol, by the looks of them—at her table by the pool.
She had changed.
The Samantha he’d known all of his life would have never had the nerve to wear that bikini—honestly, she might as well be naked for everything that it covered, which was precious little, Hank thought feeling a smidge light-headed as he watched her peachy breasts nearly tumble out of the satiny push-up cups. One more sexy laugh like that, and that top was going to go, Hank thought ominously. His mouth watered at the mere thought.
After the Great Condom Discovery, Hank had decided to station himself by the pool and keep an eye out on her. Obviously she’d decided to cast out more than a line or two, he thought grimly—she’d lowered a sizable net.
Samantha McCafferty had to be one of the most practical, sensible women he’d ever known—she wouldn’t have packed a damned arsenal of rubbers unless she fully intended to use them.
She was going to have sex.
Had been having sex.
The mere idea set his teeth on edge, made his skin itch, made his brain feel entirely too small for his skull. The physical changes combined with the condoms and a couple of headlines he’d read from the magazines she’d pulled out of her suitcase—“Getting Lucky—Tips From The Pros” and “The Big O—How To Make Your Lover Go From A Dud to a Stud”—had led him to the unhappy conclusion that she planned to take a lover this week. A tic formed near his left eye.
No wonder she’d been so upset about not having her room, Hank thought. Evidently she’d gone to a lot of trouble to plan this vacation sex-fest and Tina’s screwup had mucked up her carefully laid plans.
God bless Tina, Hank thought, vastly relieved. For once, her ineptness had worked in his favor.
Hank realized that Samantha was an adult and should have the freedom to conduct her life in any way that she saw fit…but he didn’t care. Crass? Obnoxious? Selfish? Politically incorrect? All of the above. But he still didn’t care. The only thing he cared about at present was stopping her. There was no way in hell he’d be able to stand idly by and watch her waltz off into the sunset with some other guy. For reasons he had no intention of exploring, the idea of any man touching her made a hot, red haze swim before his eyes, made his stomach cramp with an emotion mortifyingly like jealousy. Made him want to hurl chairs into the pool and beat the living hell out of someone. His eyes narrowed. The guys currently swarming around her like a hive of horny bees, stingers at the ready, looked like perfect targets.
This was horrible. That first premonition of dread he’d experienced had morphed into a sickening ulcer in the pit of his stomach. Keeping this secret attraction under control would be hard enough in normal circumstances, but when he factored in her being in his room, that delightful new figure, and her obvious intentions for the week, he had to forcibly quell the urge to tear out his hair.
Furthermore—and it really ate at him to admit it—but if she’d gone to all the trouble to plan a seduction, why hadn’t she decided to seduce him? Hank wondered, unreasonably irritated. Why hadn’t she considered him as a possible candidate? A potential lover?
He stilled and swore hotly.
Which was the exact opposite of what he should have been thinking. A seduction would ruin everything, was the exact scenario he’d worked so hard to avoid. And it had been hard, dammit. Harder than she would ever know. But it would be the end of a lifelong friendship—one he valued tremendously—because nothing changed the dynamic of a relationship quicker than sex.
No matter how much he suffered through the grip of this unholy attraction, he had to keep that in mind. Did he want he
r? More than his next breath. Had wanted her for years. And in this case, he’d wanted her before he realized who she was, and to his extreme discomfort and ceaseless irritation, wanted her more now than ever.
Her tinkling laughter drifted to him on the salty afternoon breeze and he paused to look at her. A curious ache settled in his chest. The wind sent a long curl brushing along her creamy cheek and she wore a smile of absolute delight. He couldn’t see those pale green eyes behind her trendy sunglasses, but knew they’d be crinkled at the corners and glinting with a humor that seemed to literally light her up. She’d always been like that, Hank thought. Infectiously happy. How many times over the years had she shared that with him?
She’d twisted her hair up into some sort of giant claw thing, yet a few stands had worked loose and danced over her nape. Though she’d only been out by the pool for an hour or so, and he’d seen her take the sunblock into the bathroom when she’d gone to change, her slim shoulders were growing slightly pink.
Which seemed appropriate—then her whole body would match that pink barely there bikini and she’d be giving the illusion of being nude.
Which she more or less was to him and any other man who looked at her.
Hank mentally whistled. God, what a body. Who would have ever thought that a little weight would have made such a difference? And she’d gained every bit of it in all the right places—her breasts, her hips and her ass. She’d filled out and had a perfect petite hourglass figure. He wanted to wrap that red curly strand of hair presently swishing across her cheek around his finger, tug her closer, breathe in that fruity lust-provoking scent and kiss those sexy smiling lips.
Hank was no stranger to lust, knew what the sharp tug felt like. But this was no regular tug—it was an all-consuming yank mixed with a disturbingly tender emotion he didn’t readily recognize and he’d never once associated with sex. It was a warning, he knew, a sensation he’d only experienced with Sam, and all the more reason he’d make sure to keep his libido in check.
But what in the hell was he going to do? he wondered, blindsided with another wave of helpless, frustrated panic. He couldn’t just sit by and watch those bastards flirt with her. He could practically see her sizing them up, figuring out which one would best serve her purposes—which one would wear an extra-large condom, Hank thought darkly—basking in their attention.
She looked completely at ease, too, not the least bit shy or overwhelmed by all the attention. She dipped a shrimp in cocktail sauce, blithely popped it into her mouth, tossed her head back and laughed at something one of the men said. Something niggled at him, a thought played hide-and-seek in his brain, but he didn’t have time to chase it. He had other pressing thoughts to consider—like how to keep her in his bed and out of someone else’s.
Hank scowled. By the looks of it, she was thoroughly enjoying herself and if he didn’t come up with some sort of plan soon, she’d undoubtedly double-time it to the room, snag her handy stash of condoms and join one of these jerks in his room tonight. She’d be having sex. In his house. And it wouldn’t be with him.
His brain cramped at the thought.
He couldn’t allow that to happen.
He could not.
She’d used their friendship to finagle her way into his room, Hank thought, more than marginally annoyed now that he knew why she’d been so desperate to stay. Since she’d used that ploy first, Hank decided he wouldn’t have any compunction about using that same friendship to keep her there.
He grinned. For starters, a let’s-catch-up-on-old-times dinner would be in order.
4
SAMANTHA ABSENTLY LAUGHED at something one of the guys said and watched Hank from the corner of her eye. He wore an interesting expression, one she didn’t think she’d ever seen on his handsome, carefree face before—a glower.
Those sun-bleached brows were lowered in an intimidating scowl and his usually smiling lips were thinned into a mulish line. She could read irritation in every line of his glorious body, could practically feel his tension from across the pool. He’d been giving everyone around her the evil eye all afternoon, but thankfully none of her new friends/potential lovers had found him all that intimidating. They were, after all, paying customers so he couldn’t afford to be blatantly rude. That would hardly be hospitable.
To onlookers around the pool, Hank’s behavior might be construed as jealousy, but only she knew better. One had to be interested in order to be jealous, and he certainly wasn’t interested in her. A bubble of regret emerged among the irritation simmering in her stomach. No, Hank had seen the condoms, factored in the extreme effort behind her new appearance and had apparently reached a conclusion which had triggered a misplaced rush of belated brotherly protection.
Well, she didn’t need protecting, thank you very much—she needed an orgasm—and if he didn’t stop glaring at her posthaste, she’d undoubtedly be forced to enlighten him. She instinctively knew he’d be better off in the dark. Nevertheless, she’d put too much thought and work into making herself appealing to the opposite sex to let him come along with misguided, well-meaning intentions and screw it up. Time was of the essence, the clock was ticking and she couldn’t afford any distractions.
To her unending delight, this sex diet seemed to be working quite well. She popped another cocktail shrimp into her mouth and silently thanked the marvels of modern medicine which kept her from looking like a giant, blotchy blowfish.
Samantha had scarcely gotten to a table before a guy—Jeff, if memory served—had offered to buy her a drink. She’d opted for a soda. In addition to not mixing alcohol with the antihistamines—a big no-no, she was sure—she wanted all of her wits about her. She liked the warm sluggish pleasure of a buzz as much as anyone, but she’d been cocktailed the last time she’d chosen a lover and the end result had been disastrous, unremarkable and unfulfilling.
She wouldn’t make that mistake this time.
This time, she knew exactly what she was doing, and she firmly intended on picking the right guy. A consummate lover, a guy who not only possessed impressive equipment, but knew exactly how to use it. A guy who obviously wasn’t looking for anything more than a good time, a meaningless relationship based on mutual attraction and self-gratification. Anticipation sent a thrill rushing through her.
The kind of guy her mother had repeatedly warned her about…the kind that would normally scare her to death.
The idea made something hot and achy slither through her limbs, swirl through her abdomen and settle in her sex. Excitement swept her up in a rush of jitters.
Samantha covertly studied the group around her over the rim of her drink and she felt a smile tease her lips. She had several possible candidates around her right now. With the exception of Carlton, whose mother had called twice on his cell phone in the past hour and who seemed entirely too nice for her purposes, and Ted, whose ring finger bore a distinct white line where his wedding band should be, she still had quite a little pool of could-be lovers huddled gratifyingly around her.
Or she would so long as Hank stayed away, Samantha thought, mildly annoyed, as she watched him determinedly amble closer and closer to where she sat.
He currently strolled from table to table, tending to his duties as host, making sure that each of his guests enjoyed their stay, that accommodations and amenities were up to par. She’d seen him go through the motions on countless occasions, had always envied his natural confidence and charm, the way he never met a stranger and seemed to always know exactly what to say…but there was something distinctly different about the practiced routine this afternoon. There seemed to be a purpose behind that lazy charm and, for reasons which escaped her right now, she got the most overwhelming impression that it had something to do with her.
Samantha watched him, felt the old familiar rush of affection and longing well in her chest and a silent, wistful sigh slipped past her lips. Despite her current irritations, a dozen if-only’s skipped through her thoughts.
If only I’d been bo
rn beautiful.
If only it could have been you.
If only you could love me…
She blinked, forcing the useless thoughts aside. She didn’t have time for if-only’s anymore. She’d wasted enough of her life pining over something that was obviously never meant to be and she’d be damned if she’d spend this week mired in muddy regrets.
This week wasn’t going to be about what she couldn’t have, but what she could—which was a much needed, competent lover who could deliver her to release, with luck, repeatedly.
Her gaze slid to Jamie, a general contractor from Birmingham. He was tall, dark, handsome and dangerous, if that wicked little curl of his lips was any indication. He had an irreverent yet intense look about him that piqued her curiosity and put him as the lead contender for the moment. She wasn’t bowled over by her attraction for him, by any stretch of the imagination, but there was definitely a fizzle of…something. Her lips twitched. He looked fully capable of fanning her flame, that was for sure.
Samantha tuned back into the conversation, hoping to glean a little more information about him. Impatience drew a frown across her brow. If she could just ask him a few pertinent questions, they could skip all of the preliminaries and get to the good stuff. For a second, she imagined herself asking him for a private moment, then launching into a very personal interview.
So, tell me, Jamie, do you consider yourself a good lover? Are you selfish lover? Do you have a clean bill of health? No medical problems, or sexually transmitted diseases? How large is your penis? Were we to sleep together, would you last long enough to make sure that I was completely satisfied? How do you feel about oral sex? How would you feel about having sex with me all week, then forgetting me? Does that sound doable? How does now—
“I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but from the looks of that lurid little grin, I’d bet it’s X-rated,” a deep, familiar voice whispered in her ear.
The Sex Diet Page 4
