Then she moved to a nook in the breakfast room, flicking on a small lamp in the dark corner.
She didn’t consider it eavesdropping, because she could only hear the occasional word. It was the cadence of the three male voices-Samuel, Anthony and Luc-that she found comforting while the danger increased for the characters at the story’s climax.
“Heather?”
She jumped at the deep voice so close to her. The criminals had now been caught, and she was into the payoff scene at the end of the book.
“Sorry,” Samuel rumbled. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Hi,” she said softly, closing the book and setting it down on the table.
He glanced at the title and grinned. “Good story?”
She nodded. Then she shook her head, looking deep into his dark, unfathomable eyes. “How much is…” She bit her bottom lip. “I am so sorry for what you went through.”
His smile turned sad. “It was a long time ago.”
She came up on her knees on the padded bench seat, making her almost eye level with him. Then she put a hand on his bicep. “It must have been horrible for you.”
He shrugged his big shoulders. “It was no picnic.”
Guilt nipped at her. Her teenage years had been full of designer clothes, sports cars and the right parties. She’d known she was lucky, but she hadn’t realized the full extent of her good fortune. She felt her eyes go liquid with sympathy.
“Hey.” Samuel tipped her chin up with his index finger. “Is there a soft heart under all that sarcasm?”
She blinked and shook her head. “No.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“I like my women tough.”
The sheen of tears evaporated completely. “Your women?”
He nodded, moving his big palm along her cheek to cup her face, sending reaction sizzling up her spine. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it, too.” He paused for a moment. “Anthony tells me you’re leaving tomorrow.”
She nodded jerkily. “I’m taking Joan to Paris.”
He shifted forward, crowding her space, leaning in and tipping his head to one side. “Then I guess this is my last chance.”
Last chance? “To kiss me?”
His lips curved into a lazy smile, and reflected light shone from his dark eyes. “For starters,” he drawled, and Heather’s pulse pounded in her ears.
“Then,” he continued, “I’m going to show you things your white-bread Boston boys don’t even dream about.”
She put on a show of bravado. “You think?”
His smile widened meaningfully. “I know.”
She couldn’t let him get away with this. She was nobody’s sex toy-no matter how rawly sensual he appeared. No matter how many erotic dreams he had spawned. And no matter how curious she’d become.
She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he moved in even closer.
His face was mere inches from hers, and she inhaled his woodsy scent. No designer cologne for this man. Her nose twitched at the unfamiliar sensation of real sweat and unadulterated pheromones.
His thumb stroked her cheek, and his lips brushed hers ever so gently. It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t anything, really.
“Only one night,” he sighed. “Such a shame.”
She was still wearing a pair of fleece shorts and a thin tank top after the heat of the day. A breeze wafted through the window screens and sensitized her bare skin. The scent of hydrangeas filled the air, but the scent of Samuel was stronger.
He brushed a first kiss across her lips, and she thought her legs might give way. “My place,” he whispered.
“I can’t do that.” But she was kissing him back, brushing the tips of her breasts against his chest.
His fingers settled at her waist, finding a thin strip of skin between the elastic of her shorts and the hem of her tank top. “Sure you can.” He held back enough to keep the kisses gentle, nearly driving her mad.
“I don’t even know you.”
His hand crept slowly beneath her shirt. “So what?”
It grazed the underside of her bare breast, and she sucked in a breath. “You could be…”
He flicked his thumb across her nipple. “Dangerous?”
“Yes,” she hissed, arching her spine.
“Oh, I’m definitely dangerous.” He did it again, and fiery sparks shot the length of her body, leaving a pulsing glow behind them. “And I’m going to have you.” He kissed her properly this time. Finally.
His lips overwhelmed hers, plenty of pressure and just the right suction. His tongue curled in, and she opened wide for him, arousal saturating her body.
Then he drew back too soon, the pad of his thumb now circling her hard, sensitized nipple. His eyes were black, shimmering with knowledge. “It’s just a matter of where.”
She wanted to argue with him. Nobody talked to her that way. Men treated her with respect and deference.
Trouble was, he wasn’t only dangerous, he was right. Another five minutes, and they’d be making love on the kitchen floor. Even with her fading rational thought, she knew Samuel’s place was a much better choice.
But she couldn’t let him have it all his way. She settled her hands on his shoulders, leaned forward from her kneeling position and kissed him this time. Another proper kiss. Another lingering, deep, moist, mobile kiss.
“And if I say yes?”
She felt him smile.
“Have I said anything to indicate you have a choice?”
“I don’t think I like where this is leading.”
His fingertips feathered up the inside of her bare thigh. Her knees widened reflexively on the cushioned seat.
“Oh, yes, you do.” He passed the hem of her loose shorts.
Her hands gripped his shoulders as she lost track of the conversation. She expected him to stop, but his fingers kept on going, past her shorts, past her panties, to slip inside, until he was buried, all but lifting her from the seat.
“My place,” he said.
She didn’t answer, but then it wasn’t really a question.
He kissed her one more time, then scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his truck. She spared a brief thought for what Joan, Anthony or Luc might think, but Samuel’s strong arms, erotic scent and whispered demands blotted out the rest of the world.
On the short drive to his place, she watched his profile in fascination. He was a gorgeous man. There was a strength to his features, a wildness that reminded her of the pioneers and conquerors of the dense Louisiana bush. His ancestors hadn’t had an easy time of it. But then neither had Samuel.
Perhaps his strength was part lineage, part experience. Whatever it was, it was all sexy, and their midnight tryst had the feel of inevitability.
Then, without warning, Samuel hit the brakes. “Shit!”
Heather glanced frantically out the windshield, her hand shooting out to brace against the dashboard. “What?”
“There’s a light.”
“A what?”
“In my house.” He killed the truck lights, shut off the engine and brought it to a smooth halt.
“Maybe you left it on.” She peered at the front of his white cottage. It was prettier and more feminine than she’d imagined.
“I didn’t leave it on.” There was absolutely no uncertainty in his tone. “You wait here.”
Could it be another burglary? Another fan? Another souvenir seeker? “You should call the police.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Samuel.” She didn’t want him going into that house. Something was strange in all this, and her instincts hummed.
But he opened his door and stepped out quickly, pushing it shut so that the dome light went off.
He started down the driveway, and Heather sat forward, holding her breath in the darkness. Samuel was a big man, she told herself. He was strong, and he was capable. He’d easily be a match for whoever was in the house. And maybe then they could put an end to all this.
Not that it mattered to her. She and Joan were going to Paris in the morning. But Samuel would still be here. She felt a little funny about that, but she didn’t know why.