David drew a deep breath. “I don’t know where she is but I intend to remedy that damn soon.”
“That is the spirit, Mr. Braza. You cannot let her run away from you again. If she was mine, I would find her if I had to go to the ends of the earth.” Then he cleared his throat and said more softly, “But do not tell my wife I said that. She will be very jealous.”
David grinned at him in the mirror. “I promise I won’t breathe a word.”
He sank back into the seat and exhaled heavily. He wondered if he had completely botched the deal by not trying harder to find her. He had told her that he would give her some room, some space. But he had also told her that he would never let her go.
And he had done exactly that.
He had waited for her to come back to him, thinking that after she had her freedom for a while, she would find that she needed him as desperately as he needed her. Would miss him. But he hadn’t counted on that damn pride of hers.
She hadn’t come back. And when he had tried to talk to her, she had refused his calls. The one time Phyllis had managed to get her on the phone, she had been cool and polite but her voice had held none of the delightful depth that it held when she had been with him those wonderful months. It had felt as if he was talking to a stranger. A cold, distant, annoyed stranger.
He swallowed the lump in his throat as remembered once again that he had often wondered if she had just wanted him for the sex. She had never lied to him about the way he affected her. She had also never told him that she wanted more from him than sex alone. She had never said she cared about him. Even after he had begun to question if sex was enough and why he wanted her to admit she wanted more, she had never admitted anything beyond their amazingly sensual bond. But then, he’d never told her how he felt either.
During the past three months, he had been the old, nasty, vicious Chance Braza, terrorizing his fellow wrestlers and behaving in real life like the bastard he’d always pretended to be in the ring. He had reverted to his angry, unrelenting persona with a vengeance, drawing even more notoriety as he had worked his way through a dozen challengers, without allowing anyone a fighting chance to take his championship belt from him. Not after he had told her he’d won it for her. Not after he had shown the world he wanted her and had laid his soul at her damn feet. He had completely ignored his contract and the number of fights he was supposed to let others win to bolster their images. Nobody wanted to get into that ring with him now. Not even the Wolfman.
But what had he given her, besides the constant sexual satisfaction she seemed to crave from him? He thought of the many times they had lain in each other’s arms after making love and although he had wanted to tell her that she was more than just someone to enjoy in his bed, he had not uttered the words. There had been times when he had felt that she expected something more from him. But he had let those times pass. What had he expected from her? He clenched his teeth and swore silently at himself. Fucking idiot!
He had expected her to give up her own existence to serve his needs and wants. He had expected her to leave her home and move in with him. Would another woman have been so willing to give up everything to suit his needs? She had left an independent, self-sufficient life to save a friend from financial ruin. She had agreed to be his personal plaything to make up what she thought was a wrong she had certainly not committed.
And he had let her. He had used her. He was a selfish prick.
He was missing. Something more than her presence in his bed. More than her warmth in the night. More than the way she made him feel like he was Superman incarnate. God, yes.
He groaned softly deep in his throat and closed his eyes. Had he fallen in love with her? He knew the answer to that question without having to think it over. He had fallen under her spell.
He wanted her. His woman. His.
He drew a deep breath. She was still his. And if she thought she could simply dump his ass like some second-rate jerk, she had another think coming.
Sam drew a slow breath, stretching in the chair to ease the muscle cramp that had interrupted her writing. Her hands went to the tight knot in her back and she frowned. Sitting for hours at the keyboard was a royal pain in the ass. As well as the back.
Snowball meowed at her from where he sat on her lap, cleaning his rear half, and she grinned at him. “I appreciate the encouragement, sweetie, but I think I’m about done here. Have to stop sitting like a damn lump and start taking walks again. Maybe get out my old Pilates tapes. Huh? That sound like fun?” Oh sure.
She reached for the keyboard and attempted to type again, then sighed and leaned back, closing her eyes. She was once again at a mental roadblock.
It wasn’t as easy to write a screenplay as it was to write a book. She had gotten some very good software that helped her edit and cut out extraneous material that could never be truly useful in a film or play but she had been forced to cut so much out, it didn’t really make sense to her anymore. She had cut a novel from a thirty-hour read to a three-hour skeleton of what the story was about. It made no sense whatsoever. And still more had to be pared to fit.
She drew a shaking breath and shoved the keyboard away. “Sorry, Snowball, but I have to get up and walk around. And I need food.” She put the cat on the floor and stood, stretching wearily. Her stomach growled. Just as she started into the kitchen for a snack, the doorbell rang and she swore softly.
“What the hell is it now?” she muttered, turning into the living room. She glanced at her watch and frowned. No one she knew would bother her after seven. Unless Phyllis had been in the area and felt the need to check on her progress. She sighed and opened the door, leaving the chain lock in place.
He seemed to fill the entire hallway outside her apartment door and she found herself just staring at him. No sound came from her open mouth as her eyes moved over the well-remembered body that stood before her. Her heart was hammering in her throat. Her pulse was racing.
No. He could not still have this kind of effect on her after nearly three months!
She lifted her gaze to those haunting black eyes and saw uncertainty there. Her eyes drifted down that impossibly muscular frame, hot memories flooding back into her mind and causing reactions throughout her body. She bit the corner of her lip and prayed that he wouldn’t notice her legs shaking.
David swallowed as she opened the door a few inches and her eyes widened in shock at seeing him standing there. He found his pulse racing, his blood roaring in his veins. He tried very hard to remain calm. He felt as if he’d just been body-slammed to the mat as his eyes drifted down her succulent little body clad in sweatpants and a loose-knit sweater. Sweet Jesus. She could wear a fucking gunnysack and still manage to turn him on. He fought not to heave into her chain lock with his shoulder and drag her into his arms and-
“You gonna slam the door in my face, or are you gonna be polite and ask me in?” His voice was tight.
Sam shivered at the sound of that deliciously husky voice and she thought seriously about doing the former. But instead she closed the door, unhooked the chain lock and opened it fully to say, “I just didn’t- I mean you didn’t-” Her eyes narrowed. “How the hell did you find me?”
“Your business manager barely managed to squeak the address out as I was strangling her to death.” He ran a lean hand through his rumpled hair. His eyes were dark, smudged from lack of sleep and thrumming with what appeared to be deep frustration.