appeared to be at risk of injury. And she couldn’t watch as someone hurt him. Not for all the money in the world.
Then she heard his voice.
“This is for you, Samantha Hastings!”
She jerked the pillow off her head and sat up with a jolt. He was hoisting a very heavy-looking, ornate belt with a huge oval metal center. His eyes were directly on her face, or so it seemed as he looked straight into the camera.
She swallowed hard as he lowered his voice and said almost in a purr, “You can run but you can’t hide from me forever. I’ll find you again and next time it won’t be so easy for you to walk away.”
The crowd roared as her photo suddenly appeared on the screen.
The photo from the back of the dust cover on her novels? She stared in shock as his scowl was superimposed over the empty space next to her smiling face and his eyes seemed to burn into the camera, into her.
“You won’t get away next time. You just met your match.”
She swallowed hard and shut off the TV with an unladylike groan of frustration. Great. Now the whole world would think her books were based on him. He had said he didn’t want that. What the hell had changed his mind? She pulled the pillow over her head and sank down into the mattress with a moan.
She had no idea how long she lay on the bed, her thoughts muddled and her pulse racing as she recalled every shocking, terribly frightening moment of that wrestling match but it was the plaintive mewing of her cat that brought her back to the real world, as he rubbed his head under the drooping palm of her hand. She sniffed and smiled shakily at the animal and scratched his head, listening to his motorboat purr as she felt the tension drain from her body.
“Thanks, Snowball, sweetie. You always bring me back to earth. What would I do without you?” She hugged the cat to her chest and rolled up from the bed, padding over to pour a dollop of milk into the now empty cat food can from a small container she had bought at a fast food place. She rested her chin in her hands, elbows propped on the bed as she watched the cat drink happily.
“What am I gonna do, sweetie? I have the worst case of writer’s block in the whole world, I’m mad for a violent guy who makes his living smashing the faces of other violent guys and all I can manage to do is moon over losing him like some stupid jerk.” She sighed and rested her chin on her forearms, staring at the cat for a long time.
But had she lost him? Tonight, on cable TV, he had virtually let the whole world know he was on the hunt to find her. Of course, that might well have been just a publicity push to give his popularity an even greater boost. She drew a shaking breath. No. He really wanted to see her again.
If she had made the same impression on David Chance that he had made on her, she knew that he would want a repeat of that amazing night. Of course he would look for her, because he had certainly enjoyed their night together too. But if she let herself be found, what would happen next?
Her insecurities kicked into high gear again. He would probably get tired of her after a few days or weeks or months. He would realize that she wasn’t the amazing sex partner he had found that one night in his hotel room. She would become passe. And Sam didn’t think she could handle becoming passe. She wasn’t sure enough of her appeal to believe that a man like David Chance would find her interesting for more than just a short fling. It must be the fact that she had left him, instead of the other way around. Some guys had a problem with that.
Men like David Chance didn’t settle for one woman and give up the smorgasbord. She had managed to capture his interest. She blushed to recall how she had done so. He must have been utterly captivated by her insatiable need to have sex in every possible position for an entire night. He had been amazingly willing to let her have her way with him. Who wouldn’t have enjoyed something like that? She blushed hotly at the memory of her wanton behavior. But then, she had known that there wouldn’t likely be a repeat, so why not take full advantage?
What if he found her? It might not be so bad. It might even last a few months. But she had no illusions. She had watched her own father walk away from her mother and find himself a younger and prettier woman. Phyllis’ ex had left her for his secretary. Good-looking men just never seemed capable of being monogamous. There was always another beautiful face and body that would distract them. And Sam had no illusions about her own face and body. She was not exactly a femme fatale in that department. Nice eyes but her mouth was too big. And her hair was a complete fright. It was wild and untamable. Her breasts were too small for most men’s taste and her body was built more on the lines of a gazelle, when most men preferred nice curves and something to hang onto. She would never be the dream woman men drooled over.
And then there were the scars. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes.
She bit her lower lip. That was why she had turned to writing. She could create a fantasy man who met all her needs. She could create him, name him and dream him to her heart’s content, with absolutely no ill consequences. Except that her dream lover was actually a very real man. One who had stepped out of her dreams and into her arms. One who had just announced to the wrestling world that he was on her trail with a vengeance. She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or frightened.
She got up and undressed and pulled on her pajamas. Tomorrow she would call Phyllis. If he was really looking for her, Phyllis would know it. All she had to do now was get through the night.
The sound of her cell phone brought Sam up out of a near-orgasmic dream, gasping for air and trembling. She rolled up to sit in the middle of the bed in a rumpled pool of tangled sheets, her thoughts as hot as her body. Morning sunlight poured into her hotel room, bathing her in its warmth as she shoved her tumbled hair from her eyes and fumbled for her phone on the bedside table.
“What!” Her uncharacteristic bark made her flush with regret.
“Well, you sure as hell left me in the middle of a mess, girl. You’ve had your damn phone shut off. I’ve been trying to get you for the past day. Where the hell are you?” Phyllis’ voice sounded agitated.
“What mess?” Sam asked warily.
“I just got
“What?” Sam’s throat went tight. “You’re joking, I hope.”
“Do I sound like I’m joking? But stop panicking. It isn’t ‘dead or alive’. He definitely wants you alive.” Phyllis growled irritably. “What the hell happened between the two of you that night, girl? That man is positively not taking no for an answer.”
Sam swallowed hard. “Well, he’s gonna have to. I have no intention of letting him find me.” She swung her legs out of bed and padded over to pull the drapes closed so she could stop squinting.
“Doesn’t it flatter you just a little to know that you have one of the world’s most gorgeous, magnificent, sexy brutes drooling over you? His manager says that if I don’t tell him where to find you, he’s going to sic his attorney on me-and your publisher too. I thought you said he’d settled with you?”
“Oh Phyllis. I’m so sorry. I thought that’s all he wanted.” Sam closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.
“Well, it appears he’s changed his damn mind about what he wants. And like it or not, the man wants you. Nothing less will satisfy him.”
Sam swallowed hard. She had similar feelings about him. “Where is he now?”
“I believe his manager said he was on his way back to Chicago for a two-night engagement at the Sports Arena. He said to tell you that you still have his cell phone number and he expects you to call him within the next twenty-four hours. And girl, if you don’t, I stand to lose everything I own.”
“He can’t do that, can he?” She swallowed.
“He most certainly can. And he most certainly will. Just do both of us a damn huge favor and dump that miserable pride of yours. I have no idea what happened between you and I don’t really want to know but if you care at all about me as a friend and as your loyal business manager, you will call the man. No maybes.”
Sam pressed the end button and stared numbly at the cat, who sat on the arm of her chair, cleaning his long white fur. “Oh Snowball. What the hell am I gonna do?”
The cat looked up at her and twitched his fluffy tail with a plaintive meow.
“You think I should stuff my pride and call too?”
