Bringing Down Sam Read online

  Sam didn’t know if Eve had fallen asleep on top of him or if she was merely too weak from their wild and strenuous lovemaking to move. But for several long minutes, she remained sprawled on his chest, naked, warm, her body soft and pliant.

  He didn’t blame her. He didn’t want to get up either, feeling too spent, too exhausted, too damn good to move a muscle. So they just stayed where they were, on the couch, still joined, limbs still entwined, shuddery breaths still mingling, hearts thudding in their chests, each beat echoed as if they shared one single organ.

  As his heart stopped thudding and returned to its regular rhythm, he stroked the vulnerable skin at the small of her back, and watched her beautiful, slumbering face. Her breaths began to slow, too, and the flush of color started to recede from her cheeks. She flicked her tongue out to moisten her well-kissed lips, then finally opened her eyes to gaze up at him.

  Something like wonder appeared in those blue depths.

  A man would offer his soul to have a woman look at him in such a way, Sam realized. To have this woman look at him in such a way.

  “I don’t know why the French call orgasm the little death,” she whispered. “Frankly, it’s more like being reborn.”

  He understood. Because, yes, reaching those amazing heights with her was like finding a whole new life. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “You?”

  “Absolutely.” Caressing her bare bottom, he murmured, “Is your hunger completely satisfied now?”

  She gave him a wicked look. “It’ll do. For a start.”

  Sam chuckled, shifting a little on the sofa so they could lie on their sides, facing each other. “I might need some dinner, to rebuild my strength.”

  “What do you say to Chinese food in bed?” she said.

  He thought about it. “I dunno, get out and find your own damn bed?”

  She tickled his ribs lightly, making him squirm and push at her sweetly punishing hands. “Stop!”

  “Ticklish, huh?”

  “Never!” Thinking about how the Sam Kenneman who’d written his book would respond, he thrust out his jaw, declaring in a gravelly voice, “Real men aren’t ticklish.”

  She guffawed, and renewed her efforts, until he had to flip her onto her back and cover her with his body just to get a moment’s relief. Grabbing her hands, he lifted them over her head, holding her wrists, then pressed his mouth to hers for a hungry kiss.

  They were still laughing when it ended, but Sam knew the laughter would fade pretty quickly if they kept kissing and if he stayed on top of her like this.

  “Okay, hungry man, get off me so I can feed you,” she insisted.

  He nuzzled her neck. “I did have a late lunch.”

  She wriggled out from underneath him and got up, walking toward the open kitchen, naked and glorious, to retrieve the bags of food. “I’ll grab some dishes and zap this in the microwave. You pour us some wine and we’ll meet in the bedroom.”

  Bed sounded good. Bed sounded just fine, in fact. Dinner in bed, sex in bed, sleeping in bed, more sex in bed, breakfast in bed…the next twelve hours of his life were fully accounted for. And all included Eve and Eve’s bed.

  Snapping off a salute, Sam found the wine, the opener and the glasses. Balancing everything, he went into the bedroom, setting things up on a bedside table, then headed for the master bathroom to clean up for dinner. When he came back a few minutes later, he found Eve, clad in a thin robe, sitting on the bed calmly eating a bowl of fried rice.

  “You know if you spill that in the bed it could stick in some interesting places,” he said as he took a seat across from her.

  She gave him a saucy grin. “Maybe I’ll have to ask you to help me unstick.”

  “I don’t know, those pieces of rice are pretty small. Might require some real intense searching to find them all.” He practically leered at her.

  “I have the utmost faith in you, Sam. I trust you.”

  He wondered if she’d intentionally created the opening. “So talk to me, Eve. If you trust me, then talk to me.”

  She paused, lowering her fork back to her plate, and reaching for a wineglass. Taking a sip of the crisp white wine, obviously to fortify herself, she said, “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Little Evie,” he said. He saw her wince, and reached out to cup her cheek. “You know I didn’t mean to pry, or to spy on you. But I can’t deny I’m curious about what happened.”

  “I know. I guess that’s understandable.”

  Wanting to make sure he clarified things, he again insisted, “For the record, you know what you tell me will be just between us.”

  “I know that, too,” she replied. “I’m sorry I accused you of writing some kind of story. I sometimes leap to conclusions before thinking things out. I know you wouldn’t be planning some kind of expose on my sordid past.”

  Sam accepted the other glass of wine she retrieved from the table and extended toward him. He sipped it, letting her tell her story in her own way, without any prodding from him.

  “You’ve read the articles.”

  He nodded.

  “You know he was convicted.”

  “Your father?”

  “Yes. He was sentenced to eight years, started serving his sentence a few months before I started college.”

  “Did you go to school nearby?”

  “Right here in Philadelphia,” Eve admitted. “Once he went to prison, I sold everything I had left, hopped on a bus and came south on I-95. I got a job working at a photography studio, made enough to pay my way through school at night.”

  Sam asked the question he’d wondered about earlier. “What about your mother?”

  “She left when I was about five. After my father was arrested, she contacted me. She had remarried and was living with her husband and their three children in southern California.”

  “Why didn’t you go there?”

  Eve shrugged. “I’d grown up without her. I didn’t want to depend on her—on anyone—for anything. I have gone out and visited her a few times. My three younger siblings are a real handful.”

  Sam listened for a note of resentment in her voice, but heard none. She apparently didn’t blame her mother for walking out when Eve was so young. Considering how difficult he’d found it to forgive his father for what he’d done to his mother, Sam didn’t know if he could have been as generous of spirit.

  Sam brushed a few loose strands of golden hair out of Eve’s eyes. “So you don’t resent her? For leaving you, I mean?”

  She thought about it, slowly replying, “Not really. Maybe when I was younger. Once I figured out the kind of life she’d had with my father, I understood why she left. And I know there was no way he’d ever have let her take me, even if she’d wanted to.”

  “I’m sure she did.”

  Eve shrugged. “She says so.” A tired smile crossed her face. “Anyway, been there, done that, over it.”

  “And where’s your father now?” he asked.

  “Miami. He was paroled after five years. Once he understood he wasn’t going to be able to hit me up for any money, or guilt me into helping him out, he found a very wealthy older woman, married her and moved to Florida. She’s a shrew and keeps him on a leash, but he’s happy as long as he gets his monthly allowance.”

  “Do you see him?”

  She shook her head, looking away “No. I don’t hate him. But I don’t see him, either. It’s better that way.”

  Sam helped himself to some fried rice and an egg roll. “And now, for perhaps less than ethical reasons, you’ve found yourself back in front of a camera.” When she opened her mouth, as if to apologize again, he waved her words away. That wasn’t why he’d mentioned it. “I’m only wondering if you liked it. If you ever see yourself doing any professional modeling again.”

  She didn’t answer right away, obviously thinking about it. Finally, she sighed. “I liked it a little, I guess. But no, I would never try to get back into that life.”

  “You�
��re completely happy and fulfilled?”

  She lifted a flirtatious brow. “Right now? Oh, yes. Now, since we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s talk about something else. I’m sure there are much more interesting things we could discuss.”

  He liked that light-hearted flirtation, liked the smile pulling at her lips and the good humor dancing in her blue eyes. “Oh, really? Like what?”

  She nodded toward the open door leading into the enormous master bathroom. “Did you happen to notice the huge sunken tub?”

  He nodded. “I did.”

  She licked her lips, letting her robe fall off one shoulder as she shimmied off the bed. “There’s some bubble bath in there, too.”

  He was definitely catching the picture. “Any candles lying around this place?”

  She nodded. “I’m sure I could dig up a few.”

  “I’ll carry the wine,” he said as he slid off the bed and refilled their glasses. “You find the candles.” Then, snapping his fingers as he remembered something else, he said, “Oh, Eve? Just one more thing.”

  “Hmh?”

  Not even trying to keep the wicked humor out of his voice he asked, “Can you remember the words to the Tub-a-Bubble jingle you used to sing in the commercials?”

  Her eyes widened, then the nearest pillow came sailing across the bed.

  Sam ducked, laughed…then raced her to the bathroom.

  Chapter 11

  “Asking a woman to move in with you is like inviting a virulent case of shingles into your life. They both tend to stick around for a long time, and are really tough to get rid of.” – from 101 Ways To Avoid Commitment

  Considering there were no more secrets between them, and there was no more reason to pose as some kind of visiting model, Eve decided a few days later to get out of the His World condo. Though she’d intended to go to a hotel, or to stay with one of her friends, Sam had other ideas. Which was how, after knowing him for only a week, she agreed to stay with him in his apartment. She had barely even decided to do it when she suddenly found herself there Thursday afternoon, unpacking her suitcases and planning to stay awhile. She still had another week before she needed to get home to prepare for the coming school year. A week to fully savor this wonderful, crazy, unexpected, just about perfect relationship with Sam.

  He’d brought her over during his lunch hour. After giving his cat a stern talking to about “being nice,” he’d offered Eve the use of any drawers she wanted and kissed her goodbye so he could go back to work for a while.

  At first, Quigley had circled her like the shark on the edge of a feeding pool, spying on her from the doorway, then from under the bed. Eventually he’d come within striking distance, but Eve was sure to make no sudden moves.

  “Get used to it, my friend,” Eve said to the animal, who’d just jumped up to the top of Sam’s dresser to glare at Eve while she unpacked. The cat lifted his paw and stretched his front claws perilously close to a few folded shirts Eve had just placed on top of the dresser. “No you don’t,” Eve said with a reluctant chuckle as she scooped her clothes out of the cat’s line of reach.

  Quigley meowed and licked his paw, oh-so-innocently—as if he hadn’t been planning to rake holes in her favorite top.

  “Listen, I’m not going anywhere, so we’re going to have to learn to get along.”

  The creature gave her a look that would be called withering if it were from a human, but, considering it came from a cat, could only be called typical feline. Then he leapt down and sauntered away.

  “Well, at least you didn’t draw blood at this skirmish,” she called after him.

  Once she’d finished stowing her few possessions, Eve went into the kitchen, looking for something she could make them for dinner. Sam would be home from work soon, and waiting for him, planning dinner and their evening, felt incredibly domestic. She couldn’t stop the wishes skirting around in her brain as she pictured the night to come, and all the nights they could have after that. She imagined the rest of her belongings here—not just a few days’ worth of clothes and shoes. A picture of her best friends on the dresser, her favorite jazz cd’s stacked with Sam’s rock and roll under the stereo. It was almost too easy to get caught up in the fantasy.

  Reality hadn’t intruded on that fantasy so far, because Eve was keeping the whole thing very close and private. She had told Diana she was leaving the condo, but hadn’t confessed she was going to be staying with Sam. After having skipped out on their Tuesday night dinner, she’d been put through an interrogation, so Eve had admitted she was seeing Sam, but had been unwilling to explain beyond that.

  Her friend had demanded details about just how far their relationship had progressed, but Eve hadn't been forthcoming. Her emotions were still too new, too raw, to be shared. After making love with Sam so many times since Sunday, in so many delicious—wicked—ways, she’d been still a bit dazed by the sensation of being so physically in tune with another person. Maybe that’s why he’d had such an easy time convincing her to come stay with him for the week. His enthusiasm was contagious, and somehow he’d made it seem perfectly natural that she should do so.

  So, like an optimistic rider on an old-fashioned carousel, she was leaping for that brass ring, determined to grab what happiness she could with him while she had the chance.

  By four o’clock Thursday afternoon, Sam was more than ready to go home. He’d just come out of a meeting with his co-workers, during which everyone discussed the changes coming directly at them. Though there had been some laughter, and some bad jokes, for the most part, everyone was worried. James speculated that, if given the reins, Sam’s cousin, Robbie, would replace regular features like, “Sonny the Sports Shrink” with something like, “Otis the Opera Hound.” And others soon chimed in with potential tales of gloom and doom. They were mostly exaggerations, but the whole building was on edge, wondering just what changes were going to be made by the magazine’s new publisher.

  Sam had watched, listened, wracked his brains for solutions. One thing he hadn’t done was cave in to his father. Despite liking some of the things the older man had talked about last Sunday at Sam’s apartment, and the several prodding phone calls that had followed, Sam hadn’t agreed to be involved in the management of the magazine. And he wouldn’t. He still relied on Jacob Kenneman’s keen business sense, knowing the old man would never let this thing get too out of hand. His father was engaged in a game of chicken. Sam knew it. His father knew he knew it. Unfortunately, the staff wasn’t in on the game. So nobody else had realized that there was no way in hell his father was going to let Robbie mess-up His World.

  Sam had tried to talk to his cousin. They’d met for lunch that afternoon, and he’d done everything but come out and warn Robbie that he was being used as part of a carrot/stick lesson between father and son. Robbie had laughed off the whole thing, insisting he knew enough not to count on anything. That was the best Sam could do.

  It was hard to reconcile his miserable work week with the fact that, personally, Sam was experiencing the most wonderfully passionate, exciting time of his life.

  “Eve,” he murmured aloud as he signed off his computer and shut down for the day. She was at his home. Waiting for him. There was no sense of strangeness that a woman he’d only known a week had moved in with him, though only temporarily.

  When Eve had told him she wanted to vacate the condo, Sam hadn’t hesitated before asking her to stay with him. Having her in his home seemed as natural as stepping in the shower each morning or kicking off his shoes every night. She insisted she only had a week to spare and he intended to make the most of it. And once she went back to her place outside the city…well, he might need to buy Exxon stock because he had a feeling he was going to be burning through a lot of fuel.

  He drove home faster than he should have, sped through yellow lights when he normally would have slowed down. Another driver flipped him off when Sam inadvertently cut in front of him at an intersection near his apartment. Sam waved apologetically, s
hrugging, probably looking like the love-struck goof he’d become.

  Love-struck? Where the hell had that thought come from? He nearly banged his head on the steering wheel when the realization hit him. He’d fallen head over heels, ass over elbows, in love with Eve Barret.

  But somehow, instead of feeling trapped, worried, like some of his readers might expect, Sam felt a huge sense of relief, and certainty. He was capable of all of it. Every bit of it. Love, commitment, marriage, rugrats. He had a long, mental image of all of them as he pulled his car into the parking lot and bounded up the steps to his apartment. Knowing Eve stood on the other side of the door made all those things suddenly seemed entirely possible. Maybe they were at the end of a road they’d just started traveling, but he was okay with that, and wasn’t looking for any Detour signs like a lot of other single-and-plan-to-stay-that-way guys might be.

  He was willing to keep on driving and see where they ended up.

  “Luu-cy, I’m home,” Sam called in his best Cuban accent as he entered the apartment. He didn’t quite know what he expected. Well, maybe he’d fantasized a little about walking in and seeing Eve wearing one of the sexy items he’d glimpsed in her suitcase as she was packing. Something black and silky.

  Instead, he heard something crashing to the floor in his kitchen, followed by mumbled curse words. Wishing he’d warned Eve not to try to feed Quigley, since the cat refused to eat anything Sam didn’t prepare with his own hands, he headed toward the noise.

  “You’re early,” she said accusingly. “You startled me.”

  Sam had to bite his bottom lip to stop the laughter that threatened to spill out. Eve Barret, stunning super-model of yesteryear, sat on her butt in his kitchen, with half a jar of spaghetti sauce spilled all over the front of her blue T-shirt. Correction, he noted, his blue T-shirt.