Bringing Down Sam Page 12

  Only one thing remained. She wanted to feel him inside her so badly she thought she’d die.

  “Please, Sam,” she insisted.

  “I love how you taste,” he insisted, resisting her as she tried to tug him up.

  “And I know I’ll love how you taste, too,” she said, licking her lips in anticipation of all the delightful intimacies she wanted to share with him. “But for right now, I want you inside me. Please. I need you.”

  He finally relented, kissing and stroking his way back up her body. He paused only long enough to reach over to the bedside table, open the drawer and pull out a condom. She reached down to help him don it, the shared intimacy so erotic their hands shook with anticipation.

  At last, he moved between her parted thighs, the thick tip of his erection nudging her curls, finding her wet, hot core. She arched toward him in welcome, wanting him to plunge deep, but he was restrained, cautious, as if afraid he might hurt her. He began to sink into her, inch by inch, and she held her breath, gritting her teeth, arching her back and loving every damn thing about it.

  Still using exquisite restraint, Sam made a place for himself inside her, going deeper and deeper, filling her until she was breathless with shocked delight. When he finally plunged to the hilt, Eve had to gasp a few deep breaths, filled with wonder and awareness. Everything was him. Every breath. Every touch. Every sight, sound, taste. They were totally and completely joined and for a brief moment, she honestly couldn’t remember who she’d been before he became a part of her.

  He cupped her face and gazed down at her. “Are you okay?”

  “More than,” she insisted, twining her arms around his neck.

  He withdrew a little, then slid back into her. Again. Again. Each time pulling out a little further, each time pushing back a little harder.

  She raked her nails across his back, demanding he give her everything, and pushes became thrusts. Hard. Wild. Eve was groaning, crying, twisting her head on the pillow, lost to pleasure as he filled her again and again.

  As if he simply couldn’t get enough of her, Sam lifted her legs over his shoulders so he could drive even deeper. That was when groans became screams and she began to sob, wanting it harder, faster, intense and frantic.

  He kept pace, giving her everything she needed and so much more until she flew apart again in a body-quaking orgasm. And finally, as if he’d merely been waiting for her to be ready, he gave in to his own.

  Chapter 8

  "Never introduce her to your family. They'll say they love her and nag you to get married, or she'll take it as a sign that you want their approval. Either way...you lose!" -- from 101 Ways To Avoid Commitment

  Moments later, as the euphoric rush began to fade, Eve acknowledged what had just happened. She waited for a feeling of mortification to fill her, or embarrassment at her utter lack of inhibition, but there was none. Maybe if Sam had given her one of those playful grins, one of those knowing looks, she would have blushed and wished she could take back the impetuous decision she’d just made.

  He didn’t. His expression was pure excitement, pure passion. He was just as affected as she, judging by the rapid breathing he tried to bring under control as he lay beside her on the big bed, now rumpled and smelling of wild sex.

  “That was crazy,” she said, a sense of wonder in her voice.

  He nodded. “The right kind of crazy.”

  Oh most definitely. Somehow, in spite of the fact she hadn’t known him for more than a few days, it felt perfectly right to be lying in his bed, shaking with satisfaction and pleasure. All the worries, all her resolutions about not getting involved with him, had just evaporated. She was fulfilled in a way she hadn’t ever been in her entire life. He’d imprinted himself on her; she could taste him in her mouth, feel him in each inch of her sensitized skin, and she suspected she would for a very long time…long after they parted.

  She’d never experienced anything like it.

  He ran the tip of his index finger on her cheek. “You know, I didn’t intentionally drag you into my den of iniquity to have my wicked way with you.”

  “Sure ya didn’t, bad old womanizing Sam Kenneman,” she replied with a laugh. Then she glanced around the room. “Speaking of, this bed looks pretty normal. Your haters would be crushed. I was picturing a round one with black satin sheets and a red velvet bedspread.”

  “And a mirror on the ceiling?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He nodded toward something on the far wall. She glanced over and saw a large mirror over his dresser. It offered a nice side-view of them on the bed. Very nice. She wondered if he’d been watching them a few minutes ago, and suspected he had. She sure would have.

  “Wish I’d seen that earlier,” she admitted, a shiver of excitement washing through her. She would have loved to see his golden-brown hair brushing her pale thighs, and the way his thick cock disappeared into her body.

  “Next time,” he whispered.

  Mm. That didn’t sound like a question…he apparently had no doubt there would be a next time. She liked that cocky confidence. And definitely agreed with the sentiment.

  “Back to my point. I’m not some player who staged this whole thing.”

  “I didn’t imagine you bribed your cat into assaulting me so you could get me into your steamy hot bathroom next to your steamy hot self.”

  He lifted her hand to his mouth, focusing on the bandaged spot below her thumb. “Sorry about that.”

  “I’m fine,” she whispered, loving the way his lips brushed her skin as he tenderly kissed it better.

  “Steamy hot, huh?” he asked, a self-satisfied tone in his voice.

  “Oh, so hot,” she replied, seeing no reason to deny how he affected her. It had been made pretty obvious by her physical reaction to him. Then, needing the reassurance, she asked, “Seriously, though, you’re not sorry about how this ended up, are you?”

  He barked a loud laugh. “Not even close.”

  “That’s good.”

  “But I’d really intended to change and then take you out to dinner somewhere.”

  She rolled onto her side, to face him, sliding one leg over his and draping her arm across his flat stomach. Her head rested on his out-flung arm and she felt the bunch and play of the thick muscles beneath his sweat-slickened skin. “We could stay in and eat.”

  There went the wicked smile. She melted, down deep, remembering how he’d devoured her, knowing by his expression that he’d like to do it again. Well, that might satisfy his hunger, but her mouth was moist with want, too. She was dying to taste him, to explore every inch of him, and started by moving her mouth to his neck and kissing him lightly, licking at the salty flesh.

  “My point is,” he insisted, as if wanting to assure both of them of his feelings, “despite how readers of my book might interpret this, I’m not manipulative or dishonest. I didn’t set out to trick you in order to get what I wanted.”

  Eve froze. Her mouth closed, her fingers clenched reflexively, tangling in the spiky hair on his chest. Every inch of her went stiff as reality came crashing down, recrimination and accusation flooding her.

  God, what had she done? She’d slept with the man—made wild love with him—while he still had no idea what she was really doing here or why they’d really met. She’d used him for incredible sex after having agreed with her girlfriends to try to embarrass and humiliate him, and to break his heart if she could. All the things he’d just asserted that he wasn’t—dishonest, manipulative—she was.

  She rolled off him, onto her back, throwing an arm over her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She swallowed hard, trying to think of an answer. Because everything was suddenly so wrong…just after it had all seemed so right. She’d never been as happy to be naked in a man’s arms, at least until she remembered she had no right to be there.

  No right until she cleared the air, anyway.

  Her earlier plan to just say goodbye and head home was no longer an option. Thi
ngs had gone too far between them for her to do anything except tell him the truth. No matter how hard it was, no matter how angry he might get. She owed him that much.

  “Eve?”

  Before she could reply, a loud knocking intruded. Someone was banging on Sam’s front door. Eve didn’t know whether to bless the interruption, or to curse it. Because, as much as she needed to unburden herself and apologize, she couldn’t think of a worse way or time to do it than while in Sam’s bed, sated and filled with pleasure from their love-making. Apologies and explanations this massive deserved a foot or two of physical distance, at the very least. Or maybe a mile.

  No. She wasn’t chickening out. This wasn’t something she could say by phone.

  But clothes wouldn’t be a bad idea.

  “Somebody’s got very bad timing,” he muttered when the knocking increased in volume.

  The expression saved by the bell popped into her mind, but she cursed herself for being cowardly.

  “Maybe they’ll go away,” he said, a hopeful note in his voice.

  The knocking continued, growing even louder.

  She sighed, murmuring, “Or maybe not.”

  Muttering a curse, Sam rose from the bed. “Don’t move,” he said as he grabbed some clothes and headed into the adjoining bathroom. He came back a moment later, dressed, flinching as the knocking grew even louder.

  As soon as he was gone, she began to picture the conversation they’d have when they came back, and they couldn’t have it if he she was lying here naked. First, because she felt too vulnerable. Second, because it could be construed as manipulative—and she didn’t want to distract him with sex when she had some serious apologizing to do. Third, because it would be too easy to forget about the conversation and jump his bones again.

  She could perhaps cut herself a break for one slip when she’d been completely taken off guard by their unexpected nearness, his hot, slick, nearly naked body and that steamy bathroom. But sleeping with Sam again while her lies hung between them would be just plain wrong. The thought of it made her feel...dirty.

  Which was why, moments after he’d left the bedroom, she got up and dressed. She needed at least one layer of separation between her and him when she told him how she’d really come into his life.

  Maybe he’d laugh. Maybe he’d say it didn’t matter.

  Maybe he’d toss her out on his ear.

  “Damn it, why did I let myself get sucked into this mess?”

  A better question: How am I going to get out of it without ruining any shot I have with the man?

  She wanted that shot. Because she wasn’t just attracted to Sam. As crazy as it seemed, since she’d only known him a matter of days, Eve was developing deep feelings for him. She didn’t just want the amazing sex they’d proved they could have together. She liked him, his laughter and his crinkled up smile, his ability to set people at ease, his easy-mannered nature that made him a friend to everyone. He made her feel safe, made her believe he genuinely liked her, not just that he wanted her in his bed or on his arm like a trophy—as other men in her life had done.

  She wanted more.

  She just hoped that, once she’d told him the truth, he’d want that, too.

  Sam was cursing the person at the door even before he heard the raised voice calling for him to open it and recognized that voice as his father’s.

  “Shit,” he muttered. He knew better than to ignore the knock; his father was not the type to give up without a fight. With Sam’s car parked right outside the building, his father would know he was here.

  He reluctantly opened the door.

  “I saw your car outside and knew you were home,” his father said as he pushed his way past Sam into the apartment.

  “Of course you did.”

  “Why did it take you so long to answer?”

  “Maybe because I wasn’t in the mood for visitors?” Sam said sarcastically as he shut the door and turned to watch Jacob Kenneman enter his living room.

  His father glanced around, and Sam read his expression. The slight look of disappointment on the old man’s face as he spied the place—the small room which was about the size of a bathroom in his father’s house—nearly made the interruption worthwhile. Then again, remembering just what his father had interrupted, Sam knew nothing did.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “I want to talk to you about the magazine,” his father replied as he walked to the sofa and sat down. He avoided Quigley, who was crouched in a corner, obviously not pleased that yet another invader had entered his territory. “You didn’t have much to say last night, but now you’ve had some time to think about it.”

  “I haven’t spent a moment thinking about it,” Sam replied, remembering all the other things he’d had on his mind since the previous night. Well, the one thing he’d had on his mind. Eve.

  His father shot him a look of exasperation. “Samuel, when are you going to start focusing on things that are important.”

  He was trying hard to do just that, Sam thought, as he listened carefully for any noises from the bedroom.

  “There’s more to life than writing books no one will remember in a year. You rarely talk to me. Do you ever see your sister or your mother?”

  “Their schedules are as busy as mine,” Sam shot back, not bothering to dispute the first part of his father’s statement. Then, knowing he was tossing some salt, he couldn’t help adding, “But I did see my brother today.”

  His father’s face reddened. “You mean…”

  “Yes. My brother. Jake.”

  He didn’t add, Your illegitimate son, the one you ignored for the first few decades of his life. It was, of course, understood.

  “Sam, I…”

  “Not gonna go there with you.”

  Maybe Eve was right and Jake was trying to reach out in his own strange, twisted way. Maybe Sam would even try to reach back. But that had nothing to do with Jacob Kenneman and frankly, Sam didn’t give a damn what his father thought about it.

  “Very well,” his father replied, his jaw a wee bit stiffer than it had been when he’d arrived. “Back to you. Do you have anything else in your life other than these books? You haven’t been dating anyone.”

  “How do you know? Doing some spying?”

  “I’m sure I would have seen something in the gossip rags if you were, considering the negative attention you’re getting from your writing.”

  “Did you not notice the woman on my arm last night?”

  “The bimbo?” his father said with a disbelieving eye-roll. “Spare me. There’s no way you’ll make me believe you’re interested in her--she might be the type of woman who’d interest the Sam who wrote your book, but she’s not for you. I know you better than that.”

  Sam’s fists clenched and his face grew heated. Then he remembered his own initial impression of Eve, which she’d gone out of her way to cultivate, and had to admit he had inside knowledge his father didn’t. Mainly that Eve was one hell of a smart, talented, determined woman who didn’t much resemble the twit she played for the cameras.

  The older man looked around the room. “You’re hibernating, Sam. Your anger at me has turned you into some reclusive hermit and that’s not who you really are.”

  Sam chuckled. He truly couldn’t help it. “You have no idea who I am. Or what I’m doing with my life.”

  “Well, maybe I’m trying to,” Jacob replied grudgingly. “Maybe I’ve found a way for us to come to some kind of understanding. You can get back to what you do best, high level management.” He leaned forward on the couch. His tone more conciliatory, he urged, “Come work with me, Sam, back in the company, and I’ll put you in charge of His World, as well as the four other magazines I now control.”

  Sam leaned against the corner of his entertainment center, crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared down at his father. It all suddenly made sense. Jacob Kenneman would never just come out and say, “Son, let’s have a beer and try to mend fences.” No, t
ossing several million dollars at a handful of publications he had no interest in, and no use for, just to get Sam’s attention, was much more his father’s style.

  Jacob remained silent, waiting for his response, not quite meeting Sam’s eye. Sam had to smother a chuckle as he watched his father attempt to keep the cuff of his gabardine trousers away from Quigley. Quig had decided he wanted to use the older man’s for a scratching post.

  Finally, he said, “So, you did it not to punish me, but to...entice me? To buy your way back into my good graces?”

  His father stiffened, offended that Sam had implied the powerful Jacob Kenneman would ever have to stoop so low as to entice the affection of his son.

  “Wait, I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I didn’t mean to sound snide. But, Father, the truth is, I am absolutely happy writing. I have no desire, nor any intention, of ever become a suit again.”

  His father’s gray eyes narrowed and Sam sensed he was about to show his cards. “Well, I’m sorry to hear you say that, Sam. I had hoped you would take up my offer, since you’re more experienced than your cousin.”

  “You weren’t serious!”

  “Oh, yes, I was. Completely serious. Robbie is going to be Editor in Chief of His World.”

  Once dressed, Eve ran her fingers through her disheveled hair and took a few deep breaths while she waited for Sam to return. She wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping, but as the conversation going on in the living room grew more heated, she didn’t really have much choice.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out Sam’s father was the one who’d stopped by. Or that the conversation was of major importance.

  “You’re a businessman. Surely you can’t justify throwing a new acquisition right down the drain!” said Sam.

  “Your cousin has some interesting ideas,” the senior Kenneman replied. “He thinks the key to turning circulation around is to re-focus the entire magazine. If bench-pressing, red-meat-eating men won’t lay out the money to subscribe, maybe more sensitive, emotional men will.”