Bringing Down Sam Read online

  “Do you live alone?”

  “Nope.”

  Hmm. Diana hadn’t said anything about a girlfriend. Or, heaven forbid, a wife. She cast a quick glance at his left hand, looking for a ring or a pale line where one usually resided, but saw nothing.

  He caught her glance. “Not married.”

  “Roommate?”

  “Cat.”

  That startled a chuckle out of her.

  “Quigley is twenty pounds of fur and bad attitude.”

  “Twenty pounds? Good grief!”

  “Trust me on this, the bad attitude is even more scary than the weight.”

  His good-natured grin charmed her and she turned on the sofa, to face him. “Maybe he’s in a bad mood because he’s uncomfortable carrying all that weight around.”

  “Nah. He’s like a fighter eating tons of protein before the match, building up his body mass.”

  “I almost hate to ask…who’s the match against?”

  “My neighbor’s dog.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Quig got out once and started a rumble.”

  Laughing audibly now, both at the image and the serious way he said the old-fashioned word rumble, she asked, “What kind of dog?” She was picturing something mid-range, fat-cat-sized.

  “Doberman.”

  “Get out!”

  “Nope. Quigley leapt onto his back, dug his claws in and hung on like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. I paid for the poor dog’s vet bills and promised my neighbor I’d never let Mr. Bad-Ass escape again.”

  “Poor puppy!”

  “He should’ve known better than to pick a fight with somebody tougher than him,” Sam said with a grin.

  The two of them shared the moment, both amused, easy and companionable. It was the most relaxed Eve had felt since she’d agreed to this stupid game, and a part of her—a big part—wished she could just go with it. Just enjoy this evening like it was a normal date, like Sam was just a normal guy with a funny cat story. A guy she could get to know, to like, to possibly get involved with.

  But he wasn’t. And she couldn’t. And it was time to get the game started again.

  Which just about broke her heart.

  Chapter 4

  “For God’s sake, never admit you like kittens or babies.” – from 101 Ways To Avoid Commitment

  As they rode over to the country club a short time later, Eve continued to wonder how to act around Sam, given the surprising hints of friendship that appeared to have sprung up between them. Part of her wanted to go back to talking about his cat, to hear him laughing, watch him relax and be himself and allow herself to do the same thing.

  Sensing her female friends would never let her forget it if she blew it on the first date, however, she knew she couldn’t. So, as much as it pained her, she made every effort to be flirtatious and a little ditzy as they rode over.

  Nothing but politeness in response. Weird. So weird. It seemed he was fine when they were on a “friendly” basis, but if she ratcheted things up to try to play on the attraction she felt sure was building between them, he shut right down. Like he’d put up some kind of internal warning sign that wasn’t going to let her get too close.

  Smart guy.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t help her cause any.

  As soon as they reached the covered entrance of the club, a young man opened the door and reached down to help her out. Eve slid her hand into the valet's, stretched out one leg and exited the car. She immediately noticed the expression on the man's face. He stared at her, his mouth hanging open, and didn't let go of her hand. Sam moved around the car to join them, and still the valet didn't release his grip.

  "Here are the keys," Sam said, and Eve heard a touch of annoyance in his voice. At least, she hoped it was annoyance. Offering the startled young man a smile, she stepped away and allowed Sam to escort her inside. His hand was a little tighter on her arm than necessary, and she nodded to herself, knowing he wasn’t nearly as unaffected by her as he wanted to pretend.

  The party was being held on the back terrace, near a u-shaped swimming pool and several fountains. Since it was a warm July night, some people had drifted back inside to the air conditioned reception hall to mingle, to see and be seen. Eve and Sam walked past the doors to the pool, glancing at the throng gathered around the bar and dancing in the moonlight, and headed instead for the quieter inside area.

  Glancing out the corner of her eye, Eve noted again how good Sam looked in his plain black tux. Hell, the man looked good in absolutely anything, but she wouldn’t have expected him to appear so comfortable and at-ease in such elegant clothing. He seemed much more the jeans-and-jersey type, but right now he could pass for James Bond’s long-lost younger brother. He drew the attention of every person they passed, and she found herself tightening her grip on his arm when she noted the more covetous glances of some of the fabulously dressed women at the event.

  Then she realized she was gaining a lot of stares, too. Probably because of how starkly her white dress stood out in contrast to his black tux, but whatever the reason, she didn’t like it. Her pulse picked up a little and she swallowed down a lump of nervousness. Stepping closer to him, she gained support from the warmth of his body, close enough that their hips nearly touched as they walked. She saw him glance curiously at her, probably wondering why she suddenly was so clingy.

  She didn't like being looked at. Crazy, it was downright crazy that a woman who'd worked as a model for the first eighteen years of her life should be so uncomfortable being seen, but it was the truth. For the camera she could be anyone. She could be the plucky teenager, the demure bridesmaid, the cheerful debutante, the sultry seductress. But for a crowd, she was still Eve Barret, the daughter of the man who'd cheated dozens of people out of thousands of dollars. She was still the young girl the newspapers had labeled either his co-conspirator or his dupe. The picture of herself walking into the courthouse during his trial had been the last one she’d ever wanted to see in any publication…and she’d set about making that happen as soon as the Guilty verdict was called.

  "Do people always stare at you like this?" he asked as they made their way to the bar.

  “I think they’re looking at you.”

  “You’re dreaming. Every guy here’s surreptitiously wiping drool off his chin.”

  “You attract that type, do you?” she asked, keeping her tone innocent, though she suspected her eyes were twinkling.

  That drew a laugh from him. “Don’t start playing shy now, Eve, I know you’re used to the limelight.”

  Eve figured there was one positive side effect of the attention. Nothing helped warm a man up more than the thought that someone else was interested in his date.

  She gave a calculated shrug and a sigh. "I suppose. Although, I was serious, it could be you they're staring at. You do look awfully handsome tonight, Sam." She wondered if she sounded as fawning as she thought she did. Nearly gritting her back teeth, she continued, "I'd say you're the most attractive man here."

  She wasn't lying. He was the most handsome man in the room. It wasn't just his face, his thick hair, his green eyes. It wasn't just the powerful body clad in the stark black tux that accentuated his maleness. The attraction, she suddenly realized, was in his demeanor. He simply didn't care. He'd walked into the room without the slightest concern about what people thought of him. She nearly envied him that. She'd gone through her whole life getting hurt because she cared too much what people thought and said about her. First her father, whom she'd tried so hard to please, especially after her mother left. And later the photographers, the media, the people who loved her when she was big and turned on her like a wolf pack on raw meat when the truth about her father hit the news. She'd been hurt by their defection, devastated when people believed she'd been involved in his illegal activities.

  Diana, Leanne and Ruthie said she cared too much, that allowing others to hurt her, whether they were important in her life or not, was her Achilles' heel. She had been working ha
rd to cure herself of it. But it was still tough walking into a room full of strangers. She took a deep breath and drew on her modeling background, bringing a plastic smile to her lips and lifting her head as they crossed the room.

  "Is that why you pressured Diana into getting me to bring you here tonight?" Sam asked, piercing the protective bubble she'd so carefully erected.

  She glared at him before she could stop herself. His lips twitched into a tiny grin as he saw her annoyance. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remain flirtatious with this man when he seemed so bent on battering down all her defenses and getting at the real her.

  "Aren't you flattered?" she said, nearly biting the inside of her cheeks to avoid telling him to take a flying leap into the swimming pool.

  "Should I be? It's obvious you're an ambitious, beautiful woman who wants to be seen and recognized. What better way to do it than to show up on the arm of the country's latest freak show exhibit, the man who's turned back the clock on relationships by one hundred years?"

  Eve heard the hint of bitterness in his voice, and wondered at it. His tight-lipped stare and narrowed eyes told her he would not welcome any questions, however, and he seemed to regret being so candid. "I know what it's like to be a freak show," she murmured softly. "I know that more than you can imagine."

  Realizing she had forgotten to pitch her voice up to the irritating breathless squeak, Eve quickly glanced up into Sam's eyes. He stared at her searchingly, as if looking through the shape-shifting mask she'd been wearing, trying to find the real Eve Barret.

  Impossible. No one knew the real Eve Barret. She'd struggled so hard to distance herself from her father and her childhood that sometimes even Eve didn't know who she really was.

  "Samuel," a strong male voice called.

  Eve felt Sam’s whole body stiffen. She took a step closer to him, not liking his sudden tension. Laying a hand on his forearm, she felt his muscles tighten under her fingers. His hands curled into fists and his knuckles turned white. She looked up at his face, amazed he could have an expression of such nonchalance while so completely rigid.

  "Damn," he muttered. "The vultures are descending."

  Curious, Eve followed Sam's stare and studied the two men approaching them. “Who are they?”

  "My father. And my cousin."

  Eve sucked in a nervous breath. She had never expected to actually have to meet any of Sam's family members. She remembered what she'd heard about Jacob Kenneman, knowing he was a steely-eyed, sharp-tongued, ruthless businessman. He bought and sold companies like some people used tissues.

  "Hello, Father," Sam said curtly as the other two men reached them. His tone was slightly warmer when he turned to the younger man, "Howya doin', Robbie?"

  His cousin's weak smile seemed genuine as he held his hand out to shake Sam's. Eve watched in silence. Robbie appeared older than Sam, but exuded none of his cousin's confidence. The other man had the same light brown hair, but where Sam's was thick and shot with gold, Robbie's was plain and a little dull. His face wasn't unhandsome, and, in fact, he somewhat resembled Sam. But where Sam's features were distinct and strong, Robbie's were softer, more rounded. Sam exuded casual sexiness, and utter confidence that was irresistible to women; his pale cousin looked like a man you’d want to protect.

  "I have been trying to reach you; have you gotten my messages?" Sam's father barked.

  "Sure, I've gotten them," Sam replied, a note of annoyance evident in his voice. "You threatened to buy my agent's company and fire her if she didn't get me to call you back. How could I not hear about it?"

  Eve watched Sam's father school his features into even more rigid lines. He was handsome, powerful, silver-haired and elegant, with a money clip where his heart should be. His gray eyes were colder than steel, and when he turned them toward her, she nearly cringed. "Young lady, if you would excuse us, I would like a moment with my son."

  She was startled by his rudeness. He hadn't even waited to be introduced before telling her to take a hike. Next to her, Sam's stance grew even more rigid, and she knew he was close to losing his temper. Not sure why she wanted to protect him from the confrontation, Eve looked at the older man and gave him her sultriest smile. "Why, sir, I can certainly understand why you'd need some time alone. Such big, powerful men as you must have lots of important family business to discuss." The man gave her his full attention and she continued. "Unfortunately, Mr. Kenneman, Sam here has vowed to protect me and stay by my side this evening, haven't you darlin'? And I am afraid I am not inclined to give up my escort."

  She pushed herself even closer to Sam, implying an intimacy between them that did not actually exist. She felt his approval. Sam's arm dropped heavily across her shoulders and he tugged her against him.

  Sam's father glared. Eve did not back down by so much as an inch. The older man grew red in the face, and next to him, Sam's cousin suddenly looked at her with new interest. "You need protection?"

  "Eve's a model," Sam replied. "As you can imagine, she gets a great deal of attention wherever she goes."

  "Well, Sam, why don't you let me whisk your Eve off for one dance, then you can have a chance to talk to your father." Robbie stared hard at Sam, as if stressing the importance of the meeting. "I think you'll want to hear what he has to say."

  Before Eve had a chance to argue, she found herself tugged away by Robbie. Under other circumstances, she might not have minded. The man seemed nice enough, was somewhat attractive, and, judging by the absence of a wedding band, available. He seemed like a good, safe man—and she'd love to introduce him to Ruthie—but he wasn't his cousin. And his cousin was the reason she was here.

  Watching over her shoulder as they walked outside onto the patio, Eve caught Sam's eye. His father had immediately begun speaking to him, but Sam didn't seem to be paying any attention. He was entirely focused on Eve and Robbie. He looked troubled about something. She could only imagine it was because of whatever his father was saying to him.

  Robbie led her into the middle of the dance floor and took her in his arms. When Eve dared one more look at Sam across the crowded patio and into the reception hall, their eyes met briefly. Though he forced a small smile, she could still see the look of deep concern on his face. And Eve, who had gotten herself introduced to the man specifically so she could toy with him, once again felt an uncomfortable pang of regret.

  Because, she suddenly realized, she liked this man and felt almost protective of him. Which would make breaking his heart a bit of a problem.

  Sam couldn't even hear what his father was saying at first. He was too busy watching his cousin hold Eve in his arms, feeling an unfamiliar pang of tension in his gut. Frankly, he couldn’t understand why. It wasn't as if he'd brought the model to the party because he wanted her for himself; well, beyond the instant lust any man would feel in her company. But it didn’t go any deeper than the surface.

  Yeah, right.

  Okay, sometimes when the almost plastic mask shifted and he caught a glimpse of the real woman underneath, the attraction went way deeper. Still, she seemed determined to keep holding that mask in place by the tips of her pretty fingernails. If he didn’t like it, she’d probably move right on to another man who would. Which meant he might not be the one to bring her home. But the thought of Robbie being the man in Eve's bed sent a chill down his spine.

  Admit it, the thought of anyone else going home with her tonight is pretty nauseating.

  Sam stopped swirling the mixed drink he held in his hand. He stopped pretending to listen to his father as the older man rambled on about some new major purchase the company had just made. Because, suddenly, a realization hit him.

  He cared. For some reason, he cared who Eve Barret might end up with. He cared who she danced with. That unfamiliar pang in his gut was called jealousy. He was jealous of his own cousin, poor old knock-kneed Robbie, over a woman he hadn't so much as kissed, had barely spoken with, and thought was a brainless tease.

  Okay, he conceded, he knew
behind those silly stares of hers she was more cunning than she let on. There was depth to her. He'd heard it in her voice once or twice, when she'd dropped her guard and her stupid accent. Still, he hadn't even cared too much when one old girlfriend had cheated on him. Why, then, did he care about Eve? He couldn't begin to think of a reason.

  "Did you hear what I said to you?" his father said, obviously noticing Sam's inattention.

  Sam shrugged. He hadn't heard a word. “Nope.”

  The older man actually growled. “Would you take your eyes off that female and pay attention to me?”

  “That female has a name. If you’d remembered your “Be Polite” lesson from kindergarten, you might have learned it.”

  The older man had the grace to flush slightly. Because, while his father was a bossy blowhard, he wasn’t usually rude, especially not to complete strangers. Or beautiful women.

  “This is important,” he insisted.

  “Okay then. Why don't you just cut to the chase."

  His brief instant of remorse fading, the old man suddenly looked overconfident, self-satisfied, and Sam felt an instant of misgiving.

  "I've been trying to tell you, Samuel. I've just closed a deal I've been working on for a long time. The Kenneman Corporation has bought out a large chunk of Wilshire Publications."

  It took a minute to sink in. The name was familiar. Then he understood. Wilshire Publications was the logo in the upper left corner of his paychecks from His World magazine.

  "You've bought the parent company that owns His World."

  "Not the whole company. Just some of its more troubled holdings."

  Sam didn't have to ask. The hint of pleasure in his father's eyes told him what he needed to know. He simply shook his head.

  "Yes, Sam, including the poor rag you've been working for."

  Eve had to concede that Robbie was a good dancer, and he was pleasant company. Unfortunately, he hid a series of veiled personal questions in his seemingly nonchalant conversation. She found herself defending her privacy with each reply and breathed an audible sigh of relief when the music ended.