Breathe (6 page)

She thought that maybe she should have felt like a whore, with him extending this offer after he’d just fucked her senseless. But she thought that one had nothing to do with the other, that he had planned to offer this to her before the heat between them had threatened to incinerate them.

To make matters more surreal, he was wearing a pink polo shirt. He should have looked ridiculous. Instead he looked like exactly what he professed to be: a dominant male, facing a female he wanted.

Her eyes dipped to the erection that was plainly obvious through the light fabric of his shorts. Given the intensity of the orgasms they had just shared, it seemed impossible that he could be hard again. But he was.

He was hard for
her
. It might have been stupid, but she was flattered, and ridiculously pleased.

“Fifteen thousand up front?” Each of her carefully constructed defenses began to dissolve. So much money—she could pay off at least half of Beth’s student loans, and could buy her more than a year’s worth of her supplies as well.

“Half up front.” Elijah nodded sharply, and she saw a hint of the tycoon emerge. “Half on delivery.”

To ensure I deliver,
Samantha knew. And it was so incredibly tempting.

But . . .

“I need to think about it.” More, she needed to work through the nausea that roiled in her gut at the thought of accepting such an offer. She already knew she would—her personal feelings could be put aside if it meant some financial security for her sister.

But she wanted to be very, very sure that she could live with the decision.

And being paid that much money by a man who had been inside her—well, she wanted to be absolutely certain that he didn’t expect her “services” in return. Though if she told the truth, she was mighty tempted to continue sleeping with him. But there couldn’t be any money tied to it.

“Day after tomorrow, Samantha.” Before she could protest, Elijah bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was short, but hot and hard, as different as it could be from that soft brush of his lips by the kiln before they’d gotten naked.

She was gasping for breath when he pulled away and nodded with apparent satisfaction.

“You’ll give me your answer by the day after tomorrow.” With a smile so devastatingly sexy that she was pretty sure it was illegal, Elijah turned on his heel and walked to the door. As she slowly followed him she greedily inhaled the outside air that rushed in, air that held the heat of a Mexican afternoon but was still cooler, fresher than the air in the studio.

“Day after tomorrow.” Frowning, she hurried after him. “How do I contact you?”

He already had a business card in his hand when he turned. “Call my cell. I’ll answer.” She took the card in fingers that were suddenly trembling.

“Samantha.” She looked up to find all traces of the predatory businessman gone. The dominance was still there, and she wondered if he turned it on and off, or if it was an integral part of him, written into his DNA.

She wondered if submission manifested the same way.

“And call me if you have any other questions,” he said. Samantha knew exactly what he was referring to.

Questions about things that weren’t . . . What had he called it? Things that weren’t
vanilla.

“I won’t.” She did have questions, millions of them, but Elijah pushed her buttons in a way that made her stubborn streak come out.

“We’ll see.” There was that sexy grin again, and then he was gone, crunching across the gravel of her yard to a low-slung sports car that glinted in the late-afternoon sun.

“Samantha?” Elijah tossed her name over his shoulder as he opened the driver’s-side door. She leaned against the frame of her studio door and raised a questioning eyebrow in response.

“I want that vase too. I’m going to get hard every time I look at it.” He grinned smugly at her stunned expression, then left her to ponder that as he drove away.

He’d given her a lot to think about, and Samantha didn’t think she was going to sleep any better that night than she had the night before.

CHAPTER THREE

S
amantha took a large sip of steaming coffee from a thick glass mug that had been one of the very first things she’d ever made. Mexican coffee was more bitter than its American counterpart, a fact that couldn’t be hidden even with copious amounts of sugar and cream, but she’d become accustomed to its taste.

Two full cups and she was almost ready for the phone call she needed to make. She dialed her sister’s number as she tugged on the ragged hem of the T-shirt she slept in. She’d been up for a good chunk of the night, and was exhausted.

Being awake in the wee hours wasn’t anything new for her—she often worked until her hands cramped and she couldn’t see straight—but last night none of the creative spark had come to her. Instead she’d tossed and turned as images of bright blue eyes, of leather and chains and bodies straining haunted her waking thoughts.

She was going to accept the commission, though she cringed at the thought. She had two reasons for overcoming her hesitation.

One was because Elijah Masterson was the only man who had truly pulled at her, ever. The memory of his hands playing over her body had aroused her all night long.

He’d seduced her in her backyard, in the middle of the afternoon, while her garden gnomes watched with impish glee on their faces. He’d proven that what he wanted, he got.

It scared the hell out of her. And it also made her hot. She wasn’t ready to refuse more time in his presence.

The second reason was answering her phone call with a voice blurred by sleep.

“Sam? Why are you calling so early?” Beth was only four years younger than Samantha’s own twenty-six, but because of their upbringing, Samantha often felt that four was more like fourteen. She could hear in the ragged husk of Beth’s voice that her sister had been out late.

“You weren’t out drinking, were you?” Worry gnawed at her gut like acid. A younger sister out until all hours was worrying enough, but Beth had an adverse reaction to alcohol, one that less kind souls could easily take advantage of.

“I had two beers, Sam.” Beth’s voice sounded flat, and in that moment Samantha felt as if she was talking to her daughter rather than her sister. “I know myself well enough to know when I’ve had too much.”

“I know.” She didn’t want to nag but, God, she worried. She wondered for the millionth time if moving so far away had been smart, even though she knew that if she hadn’t, she might have lost her tenuous grip on sanity. “I’m sorry. But someone has to check on you.”

She could hear the rest of her sentence hanging in the air:
Because we both know that Mom sure as hell won’t.

On the other end of the line Beth cleared her throat, and Samantha could see her sister in her mind’s eye raking her fingers through her strawberry blond hair, as if her older sister had used up most of the red gene and left just a hint. She would be pulling her bright purple duvet around her as she snuggled up with the phone.

“What’s going on?” Beth asked. Samantha frowned.

“Why do you assume something’s going on? Can’t I just call my sister?” Samantha knew Beth couldn’t claim that she was concerned because she’d called so early, because Samantha rarely had a firm grip on the time, living and working by her own internal clock.

“I can just tell,” Beth said, and Samantha heard a muffled yawn over the line.

She bit her lower lip; her sister knew her well.

“I’m just checking in.” Her mind strayed to the astronomical amount of money that Elijah had offered her and she blanched.

She wanted it for Beth’s sake, but her upbringing and her . . . relationship, for lack of a better word, with Elijah made accepting the commission a bitter pill to swallow.

“Did you make the payment on your student loan?” Samantha sucked a finger into her mouth and ran her tongue over a small burn she’d gotten days before. “Did you do it right when I told you to? If you don’t pay before a certain date you get charged interest.”

“No, I went shopping instead. Bought some lingerie, some killer red shoes.” Beth’s voice was airy, and sincere enough that Samantha’s mouth fell open. Her heart began to pound with anxiety, stuttering back to normal speed when her sister began to laugh.

“Not funny,” Samantha fumed. She knew Beth rolled her eyes at her a good chunk of the time, but what Beth didn’t understand was how much Samantha actually fretted over these things.

She’d moved to Mexico to try to give her sister some independence.

It had worked . . . sort of.

“Yes, I paid the bill.” Beth’s voice held a note of long suffering, which irritated Samantha, but she held her tongue. “And before you ask, yes, I have enough supplies.”

“How much of everything do you have?” As well as Beth knew her, Samantha knew that her sister would downplay it if she was short on something, not wanting her older sister to worry about money.

“I have another month’s worth of insulin. A couple weeks of test strips and syringes.” Beth was an insulin-dependent diabetic, and had been for nearly a decade. “And I have an interview today, so cross your fingers.”

“Is there a health plan?” Samantha hated the nagging that she heard in her own voice, but she had to know. “I’ll wire you some money anyway.”

Wiring money from her already slim bank account would mean she’d be eating noodles until she sold another piece. But she’d done it before, and she’d do it again. It was the price she paid to work full-time on her art.

Beth’s last job had had a great health plan, one that had covered the cost of most of her medical expenses. Since she’d been laid off, Samantha had been sending her money to help while Beth worked odd jobs and job hunted.

If Beth got a new job with a health plan, then Samantha wouldn’t be in such dire need of quick cash. She wouldn’t have to be like her mother, depending on a wealthy man to get by.

Elijah was smooth, but she wasn’t an idiot. He clearly appreciated her art, but he appreciated her body more. He wanted her, and if she accepted his offer they would be thrown together for the length of time it took her to create a piece of that magnitude, usually about a month.

Of course, there was still the student loan that had funded Beth’s college years to pay off.

“I don’t know if it has a health plan, Sam.” Beth’s voice was testy. “I haven’t even had the interview yet. It seemed a little early to start grilling them about benefits when they called to set up the meeting.”

Samantha remained silent.

Clearly sorry that she’d spoken so sharply, Beth’s next words were softer. “I saw Mom yesterday.” Beth sounded hesitant, but then, she had to know full well how Samantha would react. As always, Samantha’s spine stiffened instantly, as if a steel rod had snapped into place.

“What did she want?” Samantha heard the frosty tone of her voice and knew it would make her sister cringe, but she couldn’t feel sorry for it.

“I stopped by to make her some supper, Sam,” Beth snapped. Samantha ground her teeth together. Beth had made it clear on more than one occasion that she thought Samantha was too hard on their mother, that their mother was a victim of circumstance.

Beth had borne the weight of Gemma Collins’s alcoholism just as Samantha had, and both women knew that the alcohol had been Gemma’s escape after the final man in a string of wealthy lovers had discarded her.

“Did she actually eat what you made her?” Samantha sighed as she spoke. Her sister insisted on seeing the best in everyone. Samantha liked to think of herself as realistic.

There was a pause.

“No,” Beth said softly, and Samantha felt her stomach clench. Her mother rarely ate anything, because more often than not she was passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of vodka in her hand.

“The money I’m going to send is for you, Beth. Not for anything else. Right?” Samantha hated having to reinforce this, but she knew her sister would be their mother’s first target when she ran out of alcohol.

Beth didn’t answer right away. Samantha knew how torn she was, but still couldn’t muster up any pity for their mother. She knew Beth bought their mom groceries and occasionally paid her bills, but even her kindhearted sister knew better than to pass cash along to their mother.

And soon enough Stanley would show up again, as he was known to do. He would barge into Gemma’s life, tempt her with his wealth and his lies, make her hope, and then he would leave yet again.

Samantha couldn’t count how many times the pair had broken it off, only to get back together. She wasn’t even sure it
counted
as a reconciliation, considering Stanley was married and likely had plenty of mistresses besides her mother.

“I love you, Beth.” Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Samantha pressed her fingers to her temples, where a headache was beginning to make its nasty presence known.

This was a point on which she and her sister would never agree, not unless Samantha told her what she knew about Stanley . . . and that was a memory she never intended to visit. Ever.

“Love you too, Sam,” Beth whispered quietly into the phone. Samantha waited to hear her sister disconnect before she pulled the cell away from her ear.

Allowing herself to give in to the hurt for one long moment, Samantha put down the phone and rested her head on the scarred surface of her countertop. Closing her eyes, she pressed her cheek against the cool surface.

Was it any wonder that she wanted a strong man in her life, a man who would simply take control? Samantha had been in charge—had assumed the role that should have been her mother’s—since she was barely a teenager. She’d had enough control to last ten lifetimes.

She wasn’t about to give up control to a man who had no idea what to do with it, of course. She was a strong woman by necessity, and knew that she would never bend to someone who wasn’t every bit as strong as she was. But the possibilities of a man who would make the right decisions, and who would take care of her, would cherish her in return . . .

No matter how she fought the idea, it had become a deep-seated need, coiled tightly inside her.