Any Man Of Mine

He brushed his thumb across the backs of her knuckles. “Why would I be embarrassed?”

“Because you don’t like me.”

“I like you.”

He lifted his good hand and slid his big warm palm across her shoulder to the side of her neck. Suddenly, he seemed neither goofy nor helpless.

“Sam.”

“You smel good. Like cupcakes.” He lowered his face and pressed his forehead into hers. “I like cupcakes.”

She gave a little laugh, and her fingers curled into his T-shirt. “You’ve never had my cupcakes.”

“Honey, I’ve had your cupcakes.” His fingers plowed through her hair, and he held the back of her head in his hand. Her voice sounded kind of breathy and strained when she said, “I didn’t mean that.”

By contrast, he didn’t sound breathy at al . “I did.”

“Dad?”

At the sound of Conner’s voice, Sam lifted his head, and Autumn jumped back. Her hand fel to her side.

“Yeah, buddy?” Sam ran his gaze over Autumn’s face and hair before his own hand dropped to his side.

“The doorbel rang.”

“It’s probably Howie. Go ahead and let him in.”

“What are you doing?” asked the little voice from the doorway.

“Chatting.” Autumn moved from behind Sam. “And I’m just helping your dad out of his splint so he can take a shower.”

“Oh.” He looked from one parent to the other. “Okay.” Then he turned on the heels of his little sneakers and disappeared.

“Who is Howie?” Autumn asked in an effort not to think. About abs and cupcakes and her son walking in and seeing… what? His mom and dad chatting? Yeah, chatting about cupcakes.

“One of the Chinooks’ trainers. He’s coming by today to check up on me and help with the sling.”

She looked up and across her shoulder at him. His shirt had slid back down his chest, but the marks of her finger stil wrinkled the cotton above his right pec. “So you didn’t even need me?”

“Sure I did. I knew he was coming, just not when. And I stink.”

He didn’t. She wished he did, though. Wished he stank so badly that she’d thought of bars of soap instead of licking his abs. “Wel , I’m sure he knows what he’s doing and can help you with your shirt better than I can.”

“Probably, but he doesn’t have your pretty hair.” He grinned. “And he doesn’t smel like cupcakes.”

“Sam?”

Autumn’s gaze shot to the doorway, and the stunning woman standing there like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Autumn recognized her immediately.

Slowly, Sam turned. “Veronica? What are you doing here?”

“I came as soon as I heard that you were hurt.”

“You should have cal ed.”

“I tried.” Her dark brown gaze lowered from Sam’s face to Autumn. Within the blink of an eye, the supermodel assessed and dismissed Autumn as any sort of threat. Autumn was more amused than insulted. Seriously, she didn’t care until Veronica asked, “Are you one of the assistants?”

Autumn got hot and cold at the same time, and she forced a smile. “Time for me to go. You have lots of help now.” She moved across the bathroom and slipped by the tal skinny woman in the doorway. She didn’t know designers made women’s jeans in little-girl-size 6X. “Excuse me.”

“Autumn,” Sam cal ed out to her but she kept on going. She had an overwhelming urge to be anywhere but there, and she grabbed Conner’s hand as she passed him in the hal . “Your dad has company, and we have to get going.”

“Can we go to McDonald’s on the way home. I’m hungry.”

“Didn’t you just eat your dad’s cupcake?” She grabbed their jackets and her purse off the kitchen barstool.

“Yeah, but there’s a dinosaur in the Happy Meal.”

“You have dinosaurs.” She could feel her cheeks flush. She wasn’t angry. There was nothing to be angry about. She was embarrassed.

“Hold on.” Sam caught up with them at the door and held out his good arm. “Give me a hug good-bye,” he told Conner. He careful y gathered Conner to his side, then looked up at Autumn. “Why are you so mad?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re tearing out of here like you are.”

She shoved her arms into her jacket. “I just don’t appreciate one of your many girlfriends mistaking me for another one of your many girlfriends.”

“Natalie isn’t my girlfriend.” He lowered his voice. “Neither is Veronica. She’s just—”

“Sam, I don’t care,” she interrupted, and held her hand up to stop him.

“You look like you care.”

“I don’t. This is your home. You can certainly entertain any woman you like here. Just as I can entertain whomever I like in my house.” She hung her inexpensive purse on her shoulder. “I just don’t like being confused for one of your women. I like to think I look smarter than that. That I am smarter than that.” She was smarter, too.

Wel , except for just a few moments ago when she’d stood in his bathroom touching his pecs, thinking about his abs, and talking about her cupcakes. Fal ing for his b.s. She knew better, too. She knew from painful experience that nothing good would ever come from fal ing under, over, or on top of Sam LeClaire’s bul shit.

Chapter Eleven

Any Man of Mine:

Likes Muffins

What had just happened? Sam stood in the empty entrance of his loft, staring at the front door. Sure, he was fairly doped up and in pain, but that real y didn’t explain his confusion over what had just taken place.

It was Autumn. She blew hot and cold. One minute she had her hand on his chest, al warm and cozy, and the next she was shoving his son out the door, al pissed off because Veronica had mistaken her for Natalie.

I just don’t like being confused for one of your women. I like to think I look smarter than that. That I am smarter than that. What had she meant?

None of the women he dated were stupid-looking, and they real y couldn’t help it if they weren’t the brightest crayons in the box. Some people accused him of only dating a certain type of woman, and that was true. He liked women as deep as puddles who moved on quickly to the next athlete or actor or rock star after the relationship ended. He didn’t ever want to see the kind of pain in a woman’s eyes that he’d once seen in Autumn’s.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

Sam closed his eyes. He hated surprise drop-ins. Was a courtesy cal , that he could then ignore, too much to ask? “No.” He turned and headed into the living room to wait for Howie. His shoulder suddenly hurt like a son of a bitch. Taking off the figure-eight splint had been a mistake, but he’d thought he’d just take a quick shower and put it right back on.

He grabbed the bag of frozen peas from the coffee table and put it on his shoulder as he careful y sat on the couch. He gritted his teeth against the pain and leaned back. “I’m not going to be great company, V.”

“That’s okay. Do you want something to eat or drink?”

He looked up at Veronica, at her beautiful face and kil er body. She had thick brown hair and puffy red lips, and he just wanted her gone. “No.”

“Was that your little boy?”