Bringing Down Sam (14 page)

She considered it. She'd spent the entire day with Sam, but she definitely wasn't tired of his company. Even surrounded by his friends, she'd enjoyed just being with him. She wondered at that. It was rare for Eve to feel at ease with anyone other than Leanne, Ruthie and Diana. Sam just seemed to have the ability to be make people feel comfortable...happy. He seemed to fit in just as easily at a Sunday afternoon softball game as he had the previous evening at a formal event.

Sam could blend. He could hold a conversation with anyone, it appeared, and adapt to any situation. Eve figured that was probably why he'd gotten into such hot water over his book. He played the role of sexist author a little too well for people to realize he was joking.

Though she wanted to get back and call Diana, Ruthie and Leanne and tell them their whole plan was off, she wasn't ready to end her time with Sam just yet. She liked him. More than that, she was attracted to him. And since she was probably going to go home tomorrow, now that there was no reason to continue with their plan to "bring him down,” she wanted a few more hours in his company. Hours to help fill her memories as she sat at home and wondered what might have been, if she'd just met Sam, without the deceit, and been able to consider pursuing a relationship with him.

That was impossible now, of course. She couldn't keep lying to him. Nor could she tell him the truth, not without risking him being incredibly hurt again at having been lied to. She simply had to walk away. The thought made her unbearably sad.

"Eve?" he said, intruding on her thoughts. “Does that sound okay?”

“All right, I guess it's worth it for a shot at seeing the bachelor pad of the unreachable Sam Kenneman."

Her tone was teasing and he didn't appear to take offense. "I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. No round beds, no mirrored ceilings. Just a messy two bedroom apartment and a big mean cat with a bad attitude."

She’d almost forgotten about the cat and could hardly wait to meet him. Eve had always been a dog person, though she’d never been allowed to have one as a child because her father wouldn’t stand for them getting tied down to one place for long. Nor would he have risked a dog scratching her perfect little money-making face. But she’d adopted a stray in college, and had loved that sweet mutt, Roger, until he’d died last year. She hadn’t even thought about replacing him, fearing no other creature could ever fill the void, but hearing the way Sam had talked about his beloved—badass—furry friend last night had made her wonder if she might be ready to embark upon a relationship with a pet again.

When they reached his apartment building, Sam escorted Eve up. As they entered, he kicked a pile of old newspapers out of the way and Eve bit her lip to hide a grin. He hurried across the room to scoop up a load of clothes off a chair and drop them into a laundry basket. "Sorry, I didn't get around to folding."

She glanced around, noting the books and magazines on every table surface, and the drooping plants that looked like they hadn't seen a drop of water in days. His furniture was mis-matched. Expensive, tasteful, but thrown together as if he'd just bought pieces he liked without any theme in mind. She suspected he liked the disorder, the casual clutter. Judging by what she’d seen of the lifestyle he’d lived with his father, she doubted there’d been tolerance for the occasional mess.

"Give me fifteen minutes to shower, okay? Make yourself at home. The fridge is stocked, help yourself." Before he left, he quickly looked around the room, peering behind the sofa and then under an end table. “Just making sure the coast is clear. Quig usually hangs out on my bedroom windowsill on a nice day like this.”

“Scared your cat won’t like me?”

“More scared he’ll eat your face off when my back is turned.”

“Big bad puddy tat,” she said with a soft laugh. She waved him away. “Go ahead and take your shower. I think I can protect myself from the twenty pound fluff-ball.”

He gave her a slightly skeptical look, then sauntered away, leaving her alone. She wasn’t the nosy type and didn’t immediately dive for drawers or grab at pictures to see if they revealed any of Sam’s romantic history. But she couldn’t deny being a little curious about the man loathed by most young, single women, and wandered over to the bookshelf to see what kinds of books he read.

She found lots of fiction—war stuff, secret agent adventures—but there were a few interesting surprises. Like a very chick-litty, pale-blue-covered tome with the dubious title,
How To Make Mr. Right-For-Now Into Mr. Right!
There was also a self-help guide about how to trick a man into saying, “I love you,” and another on ways to play around with a bad boy while keeping a nice guy on the string.

Okay. She got the point. Boy did she ever.

Sam was just evening the score a little. His book had caught the attention of a lot of people because it was so unique…compared to the dime-a-dozen, anti-men, you-go-girl stuff that crowded the bookstore shelves.

About to reach for one of the more obnoxiously titled, cotton-candy-pink titles, she suddenly heard a grunting noise and felt something banging against her bare ankle. Looking down, she spied a gigantic ball of fluff backing up to get another running start before barreling into her leg again, this time with an accompanying swipe of his paw.

“Well, hello,” she muttered, smiling at the little guy’s determination. “You must be Quigley.”

The basketball-covered-with-fur glared up at her from underneath an end table, his green eyes snapping in dislike, his sumo-wrestler-body shaking with indignation that a stranger had the audacity to invade his personal space.

“I’m not a burglar, I promise,” she said, laughter in her voice, as she bent down to say hello. She didn’t reach for the cat, or make any threatening moves, she merely crouched in front of the table, a few feet from him, extending one hand, palm up, for him to sniff.

He didn’t sniff. He pounced.

“Ow!” she yelped, realizing the feline had actually drawn blood.

“Eve, are you okay?” Sam called. Then, not waiting for an answer, he hurried into the room, wearing nothing but a towel slung around his hips, using another, smaller one, on his wet hair.

Eve looked up, forgetting the pain in her hand, the blood, the cat, the whole world.

Because…wow. Just, wow.

He was amazing looking. Sam was handsome, of course, she’d known that at first sight. But she hadn’t realized what an incredibly sexy body lurked beneath the casual clothes. Now, in just that towel—which hung at right about eye-level, considering she was still crouched-down—he couldn’t be called anything except utterly hot.

She slowly rose to stand before him, her gaze going up, inch-by-inch, appreciating the way the towel bulged over his groin and hung low on his lean hips, showing off those perfect, rippled abs.

Her heart was thudding, her breath coming in tiny little bursts. She said nothing, just continued to look.

Sam’s bare chest was miles wide, his shoulders Atlas-broad, his arms thick and flexing. His skin was lightly tanned, damp from his shower, with interesting trickles of water riding ridges of toned muscle. One was skirting along his collarbone, then it hit the hollow of his throat and began a lazy descent down into the wiry, sparse hairs on his chest. Eve found herself watching it descend, unable to tear her eyes away, wondering how it might feel to follow the path that droplet took with her tongue.

 “You’re hurt,” he muttered, his voice tight and thick.

Seeing the flush on his face, the way his eyes gleamed, she had to suspect he’d seen her obvious appreciation…and the blood on her hand.”

“Sharp-clawed little roommate you’ve got there,” she mumbled.

“Come on, let’s clean it up.” He grabbed her uninjured hand and pulled her with him through the apartment.

Eve thought about resisting, needing a minute to regroup and pull her racing thoughts together. Plus, walking behind him, seeing the way that taut, male butt moved beneath the terrycloth just wasn’t good for her sanity. What little of it she had left.

A loud meow sounded behind them. Sam didn’t even turn around, calling, “You’re in time-out, cat. And you can just forget about canned tuna tonight!”

Eve chuckled, struck by the diverse facets of this man. Caring and concerned about her, funny and scolding with his obnoxious pet, and bursting with sex appeal. He was one hell of a package.

“Here, run it under warm water,” he said when they reached the bathroom, still steamy and filled with delicious man-smells of sweat and spice and soap.

Eve breathed deeply, inhaling all those wonderful scents, letting them fill her completely, then extended her hand into the warm stream of water he brought forth from the tap. It stung a little, and she yanked back, but Sam gently slid his fingers through hers and squeezed. She let him wash the cut, which was a good two inches long, and marred the fleshy area beneath her thumb. He soaped it carefully, gently, all the while stroking her other fingers with his own. Within a moment, she was no longer conscious of any sting, she could only think about the pleasure of his touch, the warmth of his skin, the care and deliberation he took with her.

“I am so sorry, Eve,” he said. “He’s not friendly, but he usually doesn’t attack people.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to make friends when you weren’t in the room,” she replied, knowing that had been the mistake. “I was the intruder, he was defending your home. At least you know he’s got your back if anybody ever tries to break in and rob you.”

“Guard Cat extraordinaire,” he muttered.

He turned off the water, gently drying her hand with a clean towel, then dabbing some antibiotic ointment on it and covering it with a bandage.

All his focus was on her cut. All her focus was on
him
.

He was just so close—his even-sexy feet nearly touching her shoes, his bare legs brushing against hers every so often—and so overwhelmingly masculine. She felt the warmth of his exhalations as he worked, and couldn’t, for the life of her, remember why she’d ever insisted she didn’t want this man in her bed the night before.

She did want him. Oh, she so did. She actually licked her lips as she stared at his chest, and the fingers of her uninjured hand clenched around his forearm when he began to back away.

“Eve?” he asked, his voice husky, throaty.

She swallowed, working up the nerve to look up at him, steeling herself to see amusement in those spring-green eyes. Obviously he’d caught her ogling him, he’d felt that grip and knew she wanted him to stay close. So very close.

He didn’t say another word, didn’t have to ask what she wanted or what she was thinking.

Instead, he dropped his hands to her hips and pulled her into him, so she could finally feel the press of that slick, damp, hard body. Eve moaned even before his lips came down to meet hers, and once they did, the moan became deeper, hungrier, filled with want and need and passion.

Their mouths opened together, tongues colliding in hungry exploration. Sam tasted hot and so delicious, she thought she’d die if he dared to stop.

But he didn’t stop, he continued to taste her, his tongue sliding deep, then tangling with hers in a hungry thrust, a give-and-take of desire and demand. 

Eve lifted her arms around his neck, twining her fingers into his damp hair, arching against him. He was rock-hard beneath the towel, and she pressed toward that thick ridge, needing the pressure, the intensity of it. Their bodies were perfectly matched, his strength hitting her right where she needed it most, and warm pulses of heat began to flood her sex.

The towel fell. She felt it skim past her legs and hit their feet, and part of her was dying to pull away, to look down and see if he was as utterly magnificent as he felt. Unable to resist the urge, she dragged her mouth away from his and glanced to the side, into the mirror, spying their reflections in the misty surface. Seeing what was happening sent the pleasure skyrocketing, and when Sam bent to kiss her earlobe and the side of her neck, she tilted her head to give him access.

Despite their heavy breathing, the steam continued to clear from the mirror, until finally she was able to see all the way down his lean flank, to the rigid, massive cock pressing against her. Her legs went weak as all the bones in her body turned to liquid.

“Steady,” he told her as he grabbed her hips and held her tightly.

She had to touch him. Just had to. Sliding her hand down his body, she caressed his stomach, then moved her hand into the wiry hair below his pelvis.

“Eve…”

“Let me.”

He tensed the tiniest bit, as if not sure he could take it, but didn’t refuse, and she delighted in the feeling of power that washed over her.

Her hand brushed against that thick column of heat and he groaned.

“You’re so big,” she whispered, a little intimidated, but a lot turned on. “But that’s okay, because I’m so wet.”

Groaning, he dropped his face to the hollow between her neck and shoulder and nuzzled her.

Finally she moved her hand, opening it wide so she could encircle him, stunned by the silky-smooth skin that covered such rock-hard perfection. She stroked him, down, then up, noting the way his muscles flexed in response and the harshness of his shortening breaths.

“You’re lovely,” she murmured, almost cooing.

“That’s my line,” he insisted.

“Okay, then here’s another one. I want you, Sam. Take me. Please.”

He hesitated for one second, looking down at her, as if not wanting to pressure her in case she was simply reacting to a heated moment. “You’re sure?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

Sam didn’t ask again. Instead, he reached down and picked her up, lifting her by the bottom, drawing her thighs up until she wrapped them around his waist. The position was hot and erotic, and if she hadn’t had her damned clothes on, she could take him inside her.

Their mouths came together again, ravenous and insistent. For all she cared, he could have ripped the crotch of her shorts and plunged into her right here, right now, up against the counter in the small bathroom, and she wouldn’t have cared. In fact, she would likely have howled with pleasure. Eve was on fire, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and every molecule in-between.