Samantha started, cursed the skitter of heat that blazed down her neck where his breath had fanned against her. How had he managed to lean in behind her like that without her knowing? She normally had great Hank radar, could feel him when he came near. Still, despite the fact that she was heartily annoyed at him right now, she found herself returning his grin. That compelling sparkle in his sea-blue gaze triggered an automatic smile. It always had.
“That’s a bet you’d lose,” she told him matter-of-factly. “I’m sure it was only R-rated.”
His smile froze for a fraction of a second and, though it could have been her imagination, he seemed to wince in pain. “Which one of these losers inspired an R-rated daydream?” he asked in a low husky voice, so that the others wouldn’t hear.
Sam grinned. “That’s a need-to-know question, Hank, and you don’t need to know.” She leaned forward, effectively ending their private conversation. “Does everyone know Hank Masterson, our host?”
Hank shot her a look, then easily moved into host mode. Rather than simply asking the traditional how-are-you, where-are-you-from questions, he smoothly interrogated her little batch of admirers with carefully veiled questions about girlfriends, wives and ex-wives, and one cryptic little comment to the Mama’s Boy about a recent stint in rehab until Jamie, her lead contender, was the only one left that Hank hadn’t managed to completely discredit. A mixture of annoyance and anxiety festered in her belly.
In fact, though she’d never seen Jamie here at the B&B during any of her visits, she’d gotten the distinct impression that he was not only a regular, but possibly a friend of Hank’s. Conversation between the two flowed easily, and a passing reference to a recent surfing excursion, as well as the not-so-subtle way Hank seemed to be warning Jamie away from her—hell, any minute now, she fully expected Hank to drop his pants and mark her damned chair—led her to believe that her suspicions were correct.
Samantha would like to think that the combination of the sex diet and her new-and-improved looks would prevent Jamie from falling for Hank’s ploy, but to be honest, she just wasn’t that confident. Who knew with men? They played by a mysterious set of rules, rules she’d never understood. She sensed a keen competitive streak in Jamie and fervently prayed it would work in her favor. Still, she’d have been much better off if Hank had simply minded his own business.
Keeping a polite smile on her face while she inwardly seethed with irritation was much more difficult than she would have ever imagined. With a handful of words and fewer minutes, Hank had single-handedly—purposely—wrecked what it had taken her almost an entire year to plan and execute. The protein shakes, the trips to the gym, hours and hours spent in front of the mirror experimenting with makeup and hair gel, then implementing the sex diet. She’d nearly put her eyes out, trying to learn how to put in the damned contact lenses. Samantha ground her teeth as her irritation level morphed into outright anger. She’d forced herself to eat foods that she didn’t particularly care for—as well as the ones she was allergic to—all in order to have this one week of sexual bliss, of carnal pleasure. Dammit, it wasn’t too much to ask.
She wanted it.
She deserved it.
She needed it.
She’d spent years as Responsible Samantha. It had been a rewarding, yet profoundly lonely existence. One week of being reckless out of a lifetime of model behavior wasn’t unreasonable, wasn’t selfish. She cut Hank a venomously sweet glance. And if he thought that she would let him get away with it—if he thought she’d simply give up because he’d managed to pan this little throng of guys—then he’d better think again. There were plenty of men on this beach, Samantha thought with a determined mental shrug.
She’d simply find more, then narrow it down to one.
“SO THAT’S SAMANTHA,” Jamie said thoughtfully. “Funny, she’s not at all how I had her pictured.”
Hank watched the object of his present turmoil perform a perfect dive from the side of the pool and felt his grim mood plummet into the bleak zone. He grimaced. Passed a hand over his face and snorted. “Me, either.”
It had taken several offhand yet casually threatening comments to break up the little gang huddled around her this afternoon, but eventually every guy with the exception of Jamie had slunk off in search of different prey. Jamie, Hank knew, was hanging around to find out what had made him act like a cracked stalker off his meds. He and Jamie hadn’t known each other long, but that hadn’t stopped them from becoming instant friends. They’d met at an amateur surfing competition and the rest had been history. Jamie had called last week and asked if he could come down. He’d claimed that he had some vacation time built up, but Hank suspected that something else had compelled the hasty visit. What, exactly, he didn’t know and he refused to pry to find out. When and if he was ever ready, Jamie would tell him.
But Samantha was a different story—he wasn’t beneath prying or anything else for that matter, Hank thought grimly.
She clearly hadn’t appreciated his interference—she’d glared at him for the remainder of the afternoon and at one point, under the guise of adjusting her seat to catch more rays, he suspected she’d purposely set her chair down on top of his foot.
Hank had pretended to be baffled by her irritated behavior, but she’d undoubtedly seen right through him. Which was no surprise. Hell, they’d always been able to read each other. He supposed that’s why they’d always been such good friends. No beating around the bush and no bullshit. Considering that, he wondered how long it would take her to realize that he wasn’t merely trying to keep her from making a mistake, but had a personal interest in keeping those condoms stuffed carefully away in her bag. The mere idea made his stomach cramp and his skin prickle.
He’d realized the minute that he asked her about her plans for the week that something was up. Samantha was a planner by nature. She didn’t do anything without making a list, without a strategy. Even if she hadn’t tensed up, been deliberately evasive and refused to meet his gaze, he would have known that something was off. He’d bet his life savings that she had a list in her purse, outlining every move she planned to make this week.
Jamie took a long draw from his beer, watched Samantha with the kind of interest that left Hank with the unreasonable urge to plant his fist in his friend’s face. “You’d mentioned that she was a nice girl and a good friend. You’ve talked about her a lot. But what you failed to mention,” Jamie said consideringly, “was that she’s drop-dead gorgeous.”
That’s because Sam was his and he didn’t want to share her with anyone, including another good friend, Hank thought stubbornly. He grunted in response, unwilling to share the truth.
Jamie leaned farther back into his chair and crossed his feet at his ankles. “So, either you were holding out…or you’re indifferent.”
Wrong on both counts, Hank thought, with another noncommittal grunt. He hadn’t been holding out, and he definitely wasn’t indifferent. He’d never been indifferent, not where Sam was concerned. The problem had always been that he cared too much.
He’d watched guys huddle around her all day, stare at her breasts and mouth, fetch and carry and basically jockey for a chance between her thighs. Had watched her laugh and flirt—she’d clearly loved the attention, which had further irritated him as she normally reserved that kind of behavior just for him—and, as the day had progressed, he’d gone from being disturbingly annoyed to irrationally—unequivocally—pissed. Pissed at himself for being in lust with her, pissed at her for making him feel that way, and pissed at every man—Hank shot a dark look at Jamie—including his good friend, for hovering around her all day like starving dogs waiting for scraps at the back door of a meat market.
He didn’t know what precisely had prompted this sudden sex-quest of hers, but knew that it could only end in heartache for her and eternal frustration for himself.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Hell, if she wanted to get laid that desperately, she could damn well do it in Colo
rado. She didn’t have to do it here, right under his nose, for chrissakes. He passed a hand over his face. Curiously the idea of her doing it in Aspen held even less appeal than her doing it here, and it occurred to Hank that he’d just as soon her not do it at all. Unless it was with him, which was as unacceptable as it was unreasonable.
He could not sleep with Samantha…which begged the arrogant assumption that she wanted to sleep with him when, clearly, she didn’t. He scowled. Otherwise, she’d be flashing her cleavage at him, not at everyone else.
Jamie shot him a sidelong glance, then returned his attention to Samantha, who’d begun to make slow, methodical laps back and forth across the pool. “Since you posted a No Fishing sign and did the gorilla mating dance around her chair, I’m assuming that indifferent isn’t the case, yet holding out doesn’t seem particularly right, either. So what gives?”
“She’s a friend,” Hank told him tonelessly. “I’m just watching out for her.” Jeez, what a self-serving lie.
“And that’s it?”
Hank ignored Jamie’s casual, searching look and drank his beer. He nodded, reluctant to admit the truth. “That’s it.”
Voicing the thoughts would, for reasons he didn’t understand, make them all the more true. Final. Voice beget action and action was simply out of the question.
It would ruin everything. Their friendship would be over and he valued that relationship too much to jeopardize it with something as fleeting as sex. Even great sex.
Jamie arched a brow. “So as far as you’re concerned, she’s fair game?”
Hank’s fingers inexplicably cramped around his longneck. “No,” he said tightly. “If she was fair game, then I wouldn’t have come over here and ran everyone off. She’s not fair game. She’s no kind of game. She’s a friend looking for trouble, and I intend to keep her out of it.”
Jamie tipped his head back knowingly and an annoying smile turned his lips. “Ah, so you’re protecting her from herself?” He nodded, the sarcastic bastard. “Very noble.”
Hank expelled a mighty breath and gestured irritably. “Look, she came down here with enough rubbers to outfit the Tennessee Titans for several months and a bunch of how-to sex magazines. She’s trolling, just looking to get laid. I don’t—”
A bark of dry laughter erupted from Jamie’s throat. “And that’s supposed to be discouraging?”
Hank developed an eye twitch. “It’s out of character, not Samantha’s style.”
Jamie shrugged. “Maybe she’s changed her style.”
Hank frowned. That disturbing thought had occurred to him as well. Still, no matter how many outward changes she made to herself, she couldn’t change who she was on the inside, couldn’t change her character. Hank slowly shook his head. “No, that’s not it. She’s rooming with me—Tina screwed up again,” he said, exasperated. “But at least this time it was in my favor.”
Jamie chuckled. “I’ll say.”
Hank swore. “What I meant was I’ll be able to keep an eye on her,” he said through gritted teeth.
“A real hardship.”
Hank cut him a look. “Asshole.”
Jamie laughed and his smile faded. “She’s an adult, Hank. Personally, I think you should offer advice and butt out. She won’t appreciate your interference.”
“Not now, maybe. But later she will.”
Jamie shot him a skeptical glance. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Look, I know Samantha,” Hank insisted, growing less confident of himself as their conversation progressed. “She’s not cut out for what she’s looking for. She’s too…nice.”
“She seems very nice,” Jamie agreed. “And she’s very hot. If she sets her mind to it, you won’t be able to stop her.” Their gazes slid to Samantha once more. She’d flipped over, and was now doing a slow, lazy backstroke that pushed her new, bigger breasts up and out of the water in a very lust-provoking fashion. Heat stirred in his loins. “She could have had any guy at the table today simply by crooking her little finger.”
Did he think he didn’t know that? Hank thought angrily, not appreciating the reminder. He’d known it, dammit, that’s why he’d run them all off. He had to unlock his jaw in order to respond. “I’ll handle it.”
And he would, or die trying. She would go back to Colorado in the same state she arrived in, by God, with all of her extra-large condoms accounted for. He took another draw from his beer.
“So you’re not interested?” Jamie asked in a deceptively casual voice.
Hank tensed, shook his head. “It’s not like that,” he lied.
“You’re sure?”
He nodded, couldn’t push the fib past his lips.
Jamie smiled and something about that lazy checkmate grin made Hank’s chest fill with dread. “Then you won’t mind if I invite her to dinner, then.”
Before Hank could form a protest, Jamie stood, flashed him a wolfish grin—one that would ultimately cost him his teeth, Hank abruptly decided—and dove into the pool.
A litany of curses streamed through his head and seconds later, Hank, too, was cutting through the water.
Not no, but hell no.
He had dinner plans for Samantha—they needed to catch up on old times, dammit—and he wasn’t about to let his so-called friend screw him out of the chance, the opportunistic bastard. He wanted to take her to dinner—he always did when she came down, Hank thought, perturbed. Come to think of it, her vacation was usually spent with him. Not just at his B&B, but with him. They inevitably shared their meals, caught a movie, went beach-combing, swimming and sailing. She’d even occasionally helped him out when the need arose.
When the need arose…
Sweet Lord, that was it, Hank thought as sudden inspiration stuck. He’d been going about this all wrong, he realized as a plan slowly unfolded in his tortured, panic-ridden brain. He knew exactly how to keep her so occupied that he wouldn’t have to worry about her finding a lover—she wouldn’t have the time, nor the energy. Hank grinned.
He’d put her new-and-improved ass to work.
5
SAMANTHA REGRETTED HAVING to decline Jamie’s dinner invitation, but before she could continue with her plans for the week she needed to take care of one little thing first—Hank.
She popped an antihistamine into her mouth and chased it with a sip of soda, then shoved her feet into her sandals and checked her reflection in the mirror once more before leaving the room. Hank had had some last-minute business to take care of, so they’d agreed to meet on the front porch.
Samantha made her way outside, then sat down and toed the old white wicker swing into motion. The salty breeze lifted the hair away from her face, bringing a smile to her lips. She loved the smell, the very flavor of the air here. Screeching seagulls dove in and out of the surf and the sound combined with the rhythmic crash of the waves was music to her ears.
This was her favorite part of the day, when time seemed to hold its breath in awe of creation. The beach was essentially deserted, only true sea-lovers like herself outside to appreciate it. The sky was a mixture of pale blues, pinks, lavenders and oranges and the sun melted against the horizon like a giant scoop of ice cream. Samantha sucked in a deep breath and savored every sensation, every detail, let her eyes drift shut as she took it all in.
It tasted like…home.
God, she couldn’t wait to get back here, couldn’t wait to have her own little stretch of beach. For years anytime she’d thought of home, curiously the house she’d shared with her grandmother, or even the one she’d shared with her parents, hadn’t been what her memory had called to mind—it was this house. The big, old Victorian style home was absolutely beautiful.
White with green shutters and decorated with wraparound porches, soaring turrets, hand-carved finials and scalloped siding, the house looked whimsical against the backdrop of the sea, almost magical. The eaves dripped miles of fancy fretwork and an old weather vane stood proudly on the roof of a small cupola.
Samantha had
spent years fantasizing about living in this house with Hank, filling it with happy, noisy children. Particularly after her parents had died. But as time had worn on, she’d realized the futility of the wish and had finally had to abandon that dream. For reasons she didn’t understand, she’d never been able to picture herself anywhere but here, couldn’t imagine having a family with anyone but Hank. Her dream children always had white-blond hair and sea-blue eyes, little chubby-cheeked miniatures of Hank. She supposed that someday another guy would come along that she might fall in love with, but she grimly doubted it.
Hank Masterson had had her heart since she was five years old and she didn’t ever anticipate getting it back to give to someone else.
It was a sad realization, but one that she’d accepted. Samantha blew out a sigh. The best that she could hope for was to move home closer to him and maintain their friendship. She didn’t just miss Orange Beach—she missed Hank, and the two were hopelessly intertwined in her memory.
Though she’d barely missed the registration cutoff, she’d turned in her Belle of the Beach form, along with the twenty-dollar registration fee. It was a minimal investment for the potential reward. She didn’t necessarily think she’d win, but she was just optimistic enough to try. According to the form, secret judges would be milling around throughout the week, the Fried Chicken and Iced Tea cook-off—which she still thought was ludicrous—would be held on Saturday afternoon. The official pageant would be Saturday night. She was essentially blowing an entire day of her vacation on it, but the idea of being able to move home made it worth the risk. Like he’d said, what did she have to lose?
Hank was undoubtedly laboring under the incorrect assumption that his poor, pitiful me display in the pool this afternoon, combined with the threatening way he’d glared at Jamie was the reason she’d opted to go to dinner with him instead of Jamie.
He thought wrong.
Yes, they traditionally had dinner together her first night back—as well as every other meal—and yes, the majority of her vacation was spent with the two of them playing catch-up—something she knew she would miss terribly—but she couldn’t very well find a lover—her consolation prize for never having him—if she were hanging around Hank all the time, and she certainly wouldn’t be able to find one if he kept running off every potential guy. Irritation vibrated her nerves and her womb issued a long, pitiful howl of neglect. Furthermore, she only had a small window of opportunity here to work with. This was the perfect time to throw caution to the wind and take a lover.
The Sex Diet Page 5
