Samantha’s mouth fell open as she stared at her half brother.
“Gabriel Sinclair is not staying the night!”
“Yes he is,” Gabriel said, coming through the door behind
her. “That’s condition number two, Samantha.”
She whirled around. How much had he heard? Only her last
sentence, apparently, because he wasn’t demanding explanations of Eric’s
cryptic words. Aware of a trapped sensation, Samantha tried desperately to
regain control over a situation that seemed to be rapidly slipping out of hand.
And to think that for a moment or two when she’d seen him standing on her front
porch she’d gained the impression she was in command again! Men! It was a
constant battle to keep them from walking all over you. Vera was right. The
male of the species had his uses, but a woman had to struggle constantly to
keep him in his place.
“Gabriel, I would like to remind you that you are the one
who wishes to do business with me. Don’t forget that I still have other
alternatives.” She ignored his arcing brows as she reminded him of William
Oakes. “If you start putting too many
unbusinesslike
conditions on our arrangement, you can damn well forget the whole thing!”
“Don’t pay any attention to her, Gabe,” Eric remarked, not
glancing up from the computer screen. “She’s just a little tired. She gets
grouchy when she’s tired.”
“From what I’ve seen of the contents of her refrigerator, I
get the feeling s-s-she hasn’t been eating well, either. Come on, Samantha. Let’s
go into town and get some decent groceries for dinner. You and Eric both look
as if you need a good meal.”
The familiar stutter over the ‘
sh
’
sound disarmed Samantha for a crucial instant. Why on earth should she be
vulnerable to the small imperfection in his speech? Because it gave her the
comforting illusion that he had weaknesses?
“I have plenty of good meals stashed in the freezer,” she
informed him in a voice so cold it might have been stored there itself. “Frozen
turkey pot pies, frozen TV dinners, and frozen pizza. I stocked up yesterday!”
“I said you need a decent meal, not a frozen pizza.” He put
out a hand and snagged her wrist. “Let’s go.”
He moved with placid, unalterable intent, dragging her out
of the parlor and down the hall to the living room where he patiently located
his windbreaker and her black leather jacket in a closet.
Samantha made one more halfhearted attempt to protest his
high-handedness, but somehow she was simply too exhausted to fight him over
such a small thing as what to have for dinner. In spite of herself she
remembered the fabulous meal he had prepared for her that night in California.
“We can go shopping if you insist, Gabriel, but you might as
well know that I can’t cook nearly as well as you do! Believe me, you’re better
off eating a frozen pizza when you eat in my house.” As soon as the words were
out of her mouth, she realized just how much ground she had lost. If she let
him stay for dinner, she was going to wind up letting him stay the night.
“I’ll be safe enough if I do the cooking.”
An hour and a half later the rich fragrance of a lamb stew
began to waft through the kitchen. Samantha sat, feet propped on a chair,
sherry in her hand, and watched sleepily as Gabriel added cream and eggs to the
scone mixture he was preparing. It was an oddly pleasant sight. A comforting
one. Perhaps Eric was right. It might be nice to have Gabriel in the house
tonight. At least they’d eat well!
“I hope,” she mumbled as she sipped at her sherry, “that you
don’t have any misconceptions about where you’re sleeping tonight, Gabriel.”
“I’m staying here.” He
kneaded
the
scone dough for a few seconds, his touch light. He didn’t look up. It was easy
to ruin scone dough with too much kneading. One had to pay attention.
Samantha realized she was taking second place to the scones
and sighed inwardly. “I have an extra bedroom. I suppose you can use that.”
“Your graciousness overwhelms me.”
“You’re a little overwhelming yourself. What made you change
your mind and come to Seattle, Gabriel? Did you really start worrying about
losing out on a good deal? Which was more important? The money you stand to
make or getting even with Buchanan?” She didn’t know why she was pressing for
the answer. Perhaps for future reference. You never knew when you might be able
to use this sort of information. Any clue into Gabriel Sinclair’s motivations
was potentially useful. It was plain she was going to need all the weapons she
could get in the ongoing struggle to maintain the balance of power between
them.
“What if my reasons are even simpler and more straightforward
than that, Samantha?” he asked quietly as he shaped the individual scones and
placed them on the baking tray. “What if I said I decided to come all this way
and lay all this money on the line for the sake of another chance at getting
you into bed?”
She chilled. “I wouldn’t believe you. Men like you don’t get
where they are by doing dumb things like that.”
“Don’t they?” he asked vaguely.
“Gabriel, stop teasing me! I’m exhausted and I’m not in the
mood for your sexual innuendoes. If you actually came all this way thinking I’d
go to bed with you in exchange for your money, you can turn right around and
head back to California. And you damn well know it!”
His mouth crooked upward in self-mockery. “Let’s just say I’ve
decided to go along with you and leave it at that for the time being, s-s-shall
we?” He put the tray of scones in the oven and then picked up his own glass of
sherry. As he sat down across from her, she saw the cool, speculative
expression in his eyes. “I know what you’re after, witch. You want to know
exactly what makes me tick so that you can control me. But I’m not going to
give you any help in that direction. It would be like putting a sword in your
hand.”
“If you think I’m such a vicious person, why are you even
willing to do business with me?” she grated, stung by the accusation of
manipulation. It was true enough, she supposed, but she was only trying to
manipulate him out of self-defense. For he was surely trying to do the same to
her. Had already done it on one unforgettable occasion! The memory of her night
spent in his arms still burned in her head. Talk about being manipulated!
“I don’t think you’re a vicious person at all,” he mocked
gently. “I think you’re bright, daring, and resourceful. You’ll use whatever
you think you can get away with using to keep me where you want me.”
“And where’s that?” she challenged, wondering absently if
the sherry was going to her head on an empty stomach. Damn it, she had to find
out exactly what was motivating him. There was a nagging suspicion that she didn’t
fully understand all the factors involved here.
“You want me under control.” Gabriel lifted one shoulder in
polite acceptance of that simple fact and swallowed another sip of sherry. “I
don’t blame you.”
Suddenly Samantha’s sense of honor bounded to the surface
through the waves of exhaustion. “Very magnanimous of you. You don’t blame me
because you’re trying to do the same thing in reverse. You’re trying to control
me.’’
“S-s-should make for an interesting partnership, don’t you
think?” Gabriel lifted his sherry glass in salute, and out of sheer bravado
Samantha did the same. The crystal rims chimed as they came into contact, but
it was difficult to hear the soft tinkling sound because at that moment a
dazed, red-eyed Eric came trooping around the corner and into the kitchen.
“Something sure smells good in here. Dinner ready?” Gabriel
looked at him critically. “Just about. Sit down here with your sister and I’ll
serve. The two of you are a real pair, you know that? You look as if you’ve
been partying for a week.”
“I wish!” Eric muttered, stumbling into his seat and rubbing
his eyes.
Samantha got to her feet to help set the table even though
Gabriel tried to wave her back down into the chair.
“What have you two been working on in there?” Gabriel dished
out the fragrant Iamb stew and carried the plates to the table.
Samantha thought she would faint from the sheer bliss of the
aroma of the stew as it was carried past her nose.
“Just something I’ve got to have done as soon as possible,”
Eric said offhandedly as he dug into the meal. “Scones! Geez. I haven’t had
scones in ages. You know, it would be great if you could teach Sam how to cook.
Her mother didn’t think it was a good idea for girls to learn.”
Gabriel grinned, and Samantha realized how much she had
missed that rare smile. “Why not?”
“She doesn’t have anything against good cooking, mind you,”
Samantha hastened to assure him. It’s just that she was afraid a woman who
learned too many traditional homemaking skills might find herself trapped in a
traditional female role.”
“So what else can’t you do?” Gabriel inquired interestedly.
Samantha thought about it, remembering the unconventional days
of her childhood. “Well, I can’t knit or crochet or sew. I never learned to
make my own Christmas decorations. And I’m a lousy housekeeper,” she finished
on a note of defensive triumph.
“She’s also bossy as hell at times,” Eric confided.
Gabriel glanced sideways at Eric. “What can she do?”
To Samantha’s astonishment her half brother took the question
seriously. “She’s got nerve. And guts. The kind of guts it takes to face down
the entire Thorndyke family. She considers the rest of us a nasty,
condescending bunch. Which
Thorndykes
, by and large,
are. Let’s see, what else? She’s got some weird ideas about loyalty.”
“Weird?” Gabriel questioned, his eyes on Samantha, who was
concentrating heavily on her stew.
“Yeah, she’s even loyal to
Thorndykes
although now that Dad’s gone she has no reason to be. Saved Vic’s ass a year
ago. Vic’s my older brother. He’s president of the family firm now. There was a
threatened buy-out, and Samantha got wind of it through her computers. She
warned Vic in time for him to salvage Thorndyke Industries. If I’d been her, I
would have let it go under. Vic didn’t even bother to thank her.”
“Eric, that’s enough,” Samantha interrupted briskly. “Your
family doesn’t owe me a thing. I’m an embarrassment to them, and it’s better
for all concerned if I stay out of their way.”
“She’s also damn independent,” Eric went on musingly. “Let’s
see. Oh, yes. I’d trust her with my life. That’s about it. Other than that she’s
a real washout as a female. But I expect the right man could make something of
her,” he concluded optimistically.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gabriel murmured very politely.
“If the two of you have finished assassinating my character,
would you mind passing me the butter and honey for the scones?” Samantha fixed
them both with a cold eye and then went back to her meal. “If there’s one thing
I can’t abide, it’s men who gossip!”
Gabriel’s delicious feast disappeared rapidly. The man could
cook, Samantha allowed privately as she polished off the last tender chunk of
lamb. God, she was sleepy. So much had happened in the past few days. How did Eric
keep going? From the looks of him, he wouldn’t. Not for much longer. Her
brother was running on the ragged edge.
“I think you should at least take a nap for a few hours,”
she said quietly as she helped Gabriel clear the table. “I’m beat and you’ve
been working twice as hard as I have.”
“I can’t stop, Sam. There’s no time left.” He got up from
the table. “You go ahead and get some rest.”
“You’re both dead on your feet,” Gabriel announced coolly,
coming up behind Samantha. “S-s-surely whatever it is you’re working on will
keep until tomorrow morning?”
“I don’t know if it will or not,” Eric returned wearily.
“You’re not going to be able to accomplish much in your
present condition,” Gabriel pointed out. “Get a few hours of sleep, Eric.”
Samantha looked anxiously at her brother. “He’s right, Eric.
What’s the point of working when you’re this far gone? It’s liable to come out
all gibberish.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Eric faced both of them, strain and
tension and outright exhaustion plain in his face. “Maybe a couple of hours of
rest would help. I’ll use the couch in the computer room. Thanks for the meal,
Gabe. It was terrific.”
“You’re welcome,” Gabriel said softly, watching the younger
man leave the room. He turned to Samantha. “For the last time, Samantha, are
you going to tell me what the hell’s going on here?”
“It doesn’t concern you or our deal,” she replied stubbornly.
“Don’t worry about it. I think I’ll take your advice and go to bed. Come with
me and I’ll show you a room you can use.” Without waiting for his consent, she
led the way out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedrooms.
Gabriel followed obediently, not protesting when she showed
him a room that was several doors down the hall from her own. “It’s a little
early for me yet,” he said calmly as he saw her back to the door of her own bedroom.
“I think I’ll read for a while downstairs.”
Samantha nodded. “Suit yourself. In the morning we can talk.
Good night, Gabriel. Thanks for dinner.” Very firmly but very gently she shut
the door in his face.
Gabriel stood quietly on the other side, staring unseeingly
at the antique woodwork as he pondered the situation, and then he went slowly
back down the stairs and into the computer room. Eric was already sound asleep
on the old Victorian fainting couch in the corner. He’d dimmed the lights
before collapsing.
Thoughtfully Gabriel walked over to the desk on which the
computer terminal sat and began shuffling idly through the piles of printouts
lying near the printer. What had he stumbled into? What the devil was Samantha
involved in now? He picked up a large stack of the most recent printouts, the
ones Eric had been making just before dinner, and carried them out into the
living room.