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.
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.
Samuel was halfway down the walk when the front door burst open. He broke into a run, but then a gunshot cracked the night air, an orange flash shooting out from the porch.
Heather screamed, and Samuel went down.
The shadowy figure vaulted the railing and took off, running through the neighboring yards.
Heather raced to Samuel, screaming his name.
She dropped down on the grass beside him. “Samuel?”
He moaned, and she could see a blood stain spreading from his shoulder down across his chest.
“Cell phone,” she cried, knowing she’d left hers at Luc’s.
“Pocket,” he panted, and she searched the front of his pants.
“Don’t you die on me,” she pleaded, as she fumbled to retrieve the phone. But she heard a siren in the distance. Obviously the neighbors had called the police.
Thank God.
She leaned over Samuel, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly between both of hers. “Please, don’t die.” Her voice cracked. “Just don’t die.”
He didn’t answer.
She smoothed his hair back and he grimaced in pain. “Live,” she pleaded. “I’ll do anything you want. Any position, any kinky perverted thing you can dream up. I promise.”
His chest heaved up and down, and she feared it was his last breath. “You’re-” he rasped.
She leaned closer, holding his hand against her breasts, fear coursing though her body. “What?”
“You’re…going to be…sorry.”
“Why?”
“I’m…not…dying.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
JOAN KNEW she had to apologize to Anthony. She’d put it off all day, vacillating between anger at his attitude and regret over her own thoughtless words. She’d rather not face him, but she was leaving for Paris in less than twelve hours, and there was no way she could let their relationship end on such a vicious note.
Near midnight, she screwed up her courage and padded down the staircase to the second floor. Anthony’s was the room closest to the stairs, next to Heather’s closed door.
Joan rapped softly.
“Yeah?” came the gruff reply.
