Eyes of Fire

dimple. Seen him move. Her heart had thudded with exquisite pleasure to see the two men in her life find such a satisfying friendship. One of them, however, hadn’t realized that he was one of the men in her life….

Until later.

Running down the beach on Drop Island. The white sand beneath her feet, the setting sun crashing down around them in shades of bloodred crimson. She’d doused him in cold water when he hadn’t listened quickly enough to what she’d been saying. Running had seemed the most prudent action.

Until he caught her. Until they tripped in the sand. Until she looked into his eyes while feeling the sun-fevered smoothness of his flesh, the power of his muscles pressed against her.

Tasted his lips, the salt, the sea…

Every young girl dreamed about her first time making love. Planned it, perhaps. Yet nothing in Sam’s imagination had been so sweet, so smooth, so perfect. Words had failed her, but actions hadn’t. He was so experienced; she was simply so in love. The crimson-streaked sky was the perfect canopy, the sun-baked sand the perfect bed. God! Even now, she could almost feel his lips against her flesh, tantalizing her, the way he could move his mouth against her, circling, barely touching, making her want to scream to feel his caress just where it wasn’t, scream again when it came against her flesh just where she had yearned for it to be. He seduced, awakened, evoked. By the time he actually entered her, she was half-crazed with wanting him. If there was pain, it was fleeting. It was the wonder that remained with her, the warmth, the feeling of intimacy, the awe….

The silver touch of his eyes….

She shifted, smiling slightly, remembering. He was older, mature, responsible. Magnetic. Experienced, aware, fascinating.

She was…distracted.

The morning light was coming into her bedroom. She blinked against it, groggy as she awoke. Blinked again.

Those eyes. Silver eyes, watching her still.

Sam bolted up in bed, dragging her covers with her as she stared at the man seated in the Victorian rocker at her bedside, a big mug of coffee in his hands as he stared at her. She clenched her teeth, hoping to hell that she had been sleeping soundly and that nothing had escaped her lips while she drifted in her semiwaking state.

“Damn it, what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?”

He shrugged, leaning forward, offering her the coffee. She ignored the mug and continued to stare at him, outraged.

“Don’t bring that too close to me. I’ll dump it over your damned head.”

“Still hostile in the morning, I see. I couldn’t imagine that you’d changed that much. Take the coffee. You’re usually much nicer after a cup.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“Jem suggested I wake you.”

The coffee smelled delicious. And it would be just the way she liked it, black and steaming. She’d learned to like it that way from him.

No, she wasn’t going to give in to temptation.

“If you were supposed to wake me, why were you sitting there staring at me?”

“Take the damned coffee.”

She accepted the mug. It was just coffee. She wouldn’t be making any kind of commitment. She sipped it and it was as good as she’d imagined. She had a feeling he’d made it. Jem couldn’t even boil water properly.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Because you were smiling in your sleep. I didn’t feel like ruining your dream.”

“No, you decided to be a damned voyeur.”

A wicked half-smile curved his lips. “I was waiting to see if you’d whisper my name.”

“After this much time? You, Adam O’Connor, are the dreamer.”

“Well, whoever caused that smile also caused you to oversleep. It’s almost eight.”

“Eight?” Sam glanced at her watch, saw that he was telling the truth and thrust the coffee mug at him. She leaped out of bed—careful to bound up on the side opposite where he had drawn up his chair. She raced to the bathroom—carefully locking the door with an audible click.

She brushed her teeth with a fury, washed her face, then stared at herself in the mirror. God, she was a sorry sight.

Her hair was everywhere, even standing straight up. She looked like Alfalfa from the original “Little Rascals.”

It also might have been nice, she told herself, if he’d caught her in something more appealing. She did own a few silk and satin nightgowns, but she had a tendency to sleep in oversize T-shirts. This was a sad one. Huge and red, with a picture of Audrey from Little Shop of Horrors on it.

She pulled off the shirt and hopped in the shower—nice cold water to wake her up. When she came out she wrapped herself in a large bath towel, realizing that she’d made a mistake coming in here without any clothes. Now she was going to have to go out there in a towel to find her bathing suit and cover-up.

The hell with it. She didn’t give a damn about Adam. He was ancient history. It would just be nice for him to find her so appealing that he would feel like dying for having thrown her over. It was exactly the way most women would feel about an ex-lover, wasn’t it? Especially when that ex-lover had lost none of his own appeal.

She rewrapped the towel, wanting to be appealing but certain she would die if she lost the damned thing in front of him. Just when she was about to open the door, she realized that he was waiting for her just on the other side of it when she heard him speaking, his voice deep, husky and provocative.

“Sam?”

“Are you still there?” she demanded. “Will you please get out of my room?”

“Testy, testy.”

“Damn you, go.”

“And just as I was about to give you more information.”

“About what?”

“You do know who your heartthrob is, don’t you?”

“What?” she demanded, throwing the door open.

Silver eyes swept her up and down. “Santino.”

“What?” she repeated, completely confused.

He sighed. “Jim Santino. The guy with the cover-boy hair.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. It would help keep the towel in place. “Damn you, Adam.”

“Never mind, then. Still want me to leave?”

“Adam, if you walk out of here…”

He smiled slowly. “If I walk out of here, what?”

“You’ll be sorry,” she promised.

His smile deepened as he turned and started walking down the hallway.

“Adam! Will you come back here! Adam, I’m threatening you, damn it!”

He kept walking.

“I’ll throw you off my island with my own damned hands!” she called after him.

He didn’t reply.

Keep this on an adult level, she warned herself. It was no good.

She started running, then slid on her bare feet and crashed into his back, slamming her fists against it. “I mean it. Damn you, Adam!”

She broke off when she realized she was losing her towel. She quit thundering against him just in time to catch it, managing to hold it to her chest. Her rump was exposed, but at least she managed to cover up the valley between her breasts.

Jem was in the kitchen, a coffee cup halfway to his lips. He arched a brow. Adam turned to her at last. “Well, if you really want to talk…”

“You two can both go straight to hell!” she snapped.

She swished the towel around her. Furious, planning every devious revenge known to man, she swirled on