Bringing Down Sam (19 page)

Sam watched her absorb the truth, remorse flooding him. This much-needed conversation was not starting out the way he’d intended it to. “Eve, it’s not what you think.”

“Of course it’s what I think.” Her face flushing, she scooped up the articles and thrust them into his arms. “You could have just asked.” As if something had just occurred to her, she gasped and quickly said, “Tell me you’re not planning on writing some kind of where-is-she-now article.”

He winced, knowing he deserved the mistrust. “I promise you, I’m not.” Sam dropped the envelope and all its contents onto the table. “Yes, I researched you. But there’s no story, I swear. I was just trying to understand why you seemed to back away from me yesterday, after what happened between us. Why you seemed so mysterious. I think I get it now."

She didn’t look convinced.

“Eve, I know it’s tough on you, trying to rebuild your career without letting anyone know who you are. The public has a long memory. Avoiding personal relationships has been the price you’ve paid, hasn’t it? The way you’ve kept your privacy?”

“Are you asking officially as a journalist?”

Hurt still colored her words. But he also saw a spark of vulnerability in her expression that told him she was at least listening to what he said. “No. Just as a man trying to understand the woman he’s crazy about.” Having gone this far, he figured he might as well just lay it all on the table. “I’ve been trying to figure out how you swept into my life a few days ago, turned it upside down and made it impossible for me to think about anything but you.”

She was silent for a long moment, staring at him, her lips quivering, her throat working as she swallowed. Feeling about as vulnerable as he ever had—considering he’d just laid himself bare to a woman he hadn’t even know a week ago—he held his breath, waiting for her response. Waiting for her to tell him she felt the same way…or that she didn’t.

Instead, he got something completely unexpected.

“I can answer that question,” she said, meeting his gaze directly. “It’s because I deliberately set out to make you fall for me, Sam.”

He frowned, not sure he was hearing her right.

“I let my friends talk me into a crazy scheme to give you a little payback from all the women of America who hate you for your silly book. You were supposed to fall in love with me so I could dump and humiliate you, preferably as publicly as possible. Only I screwed up…because I got to know the real you. And I fell for you, too.”

“Never admit how much you love making love to her. That’s like handing over a loaded weapon.” -- from 101 Ways To Avoid Commitment

She told him the whole story.

Though she’d intended to gradually get into it over dinner, to perhaps have a glass of wine and let him down a beer before she launched into her confession—and subsequent apology—Eve had instead taken a dive right into the sordid tale, spilling her guts.

Sam listened in silence, watching from the couch as she paced the living room. She explained about Leanne. About Ruthie. About Diana. About the other women she knew who’d been treated badly by guys who seemed to be operating out of the Sam Kenneman playbook—even long before that playbook had ever been published.

Once she’d finished, she stood a few feet away, twisting her hands in front of her, watching him absorb what she’d said, wondering if he’d reach for his things and walk out, if he’d call her a manipulative bitch, if he’d laugh…. Anything would be better than the drawn-out silence that followed. She’d swear it was the longest two minutes of her life.

Finally, his face an expressionless mask, he asked, “And when, exactly, did this plan of yours change?”

“When I actually got to know you. I mean, I suspected right off that you weren’t the on-the-make man-whore you seemed to be.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She pressed both hands over her face, knowing she was making it worse.

“So that’s what the blonde bimbo act was all about?”

“Yes.”

“The photo shoot…”

“Fake.”

He whistled, as if surprised at the lengths to which they’d gone. Well, so was she. Looking back it seemed absolutely insane.

“You were going to dump me, huh?”

“Preferably as publicly as possible.”

“Humiliation galore.”

“Right.”

“And how long was this supposed to go on? I mean, when, exactly, was I supposed to be crushed beneath the heel of your stiletto?”

She winced. “I had two weeks to try to make you fall for me.”

“Took about four days,” he murmured, the tiniest twinkle appearing in his eyes.

That was when the sun started to shine again and she began to believe, at least a little bit, that things would be all right. But she didn’t want to jump the gun, knowing that until he actually said the words, she couldn’t count on him forgiving her.

“The truth is, I’m a high school English teacher on summer break.”

That seemed to shock him more than anything she’d said yet. His jaw fell open so hard she could see his back teeth.

“What, you think because I once modeled that I’m dumb?”

“No,” he insisted, “just wondering where the hell teachers who looked like you were when I was in high school.”

Another ray of sunshine—of hope.

Before she could let herself bask in them, she had to say the most important part. “Sam, I made an awful mistake. It was a shitty thing to do, and I’m sincerely sorry.”

He waited one moment longer, then shrugged and said, “Okay.”

She stared at him. He stared back.

“Just…okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Apology accepted.”

Finally, as if he’d been intentionally drawing out the suspense—and her self-torment—he began to smile. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you and your friends aren’t the first ones to have a dart-board with my face as the bull’s-eye.”

“But I bet we’re the first who set out to
get
you.”

He rubbed a hand on his jaw, the faint raspy noise drawing her attention to his unshaven cheek, a little rough after a long day at work. Though still focused on their conversation—and her relief at his reaction—she couldn’t help responding to that sound, to the sexiness of it. She remembered how that roughened cheek had felt against her face, her neck, her breasts.

She wanted to feel it again.

“Can’t deny I’m gonna have a talk with Diana about this. Your scheme was a little understandable, but she should never have gotten involved, considering her position at the magazine.”

“You’re absolutely right. But please don’t be too hard on her. You’d have to know Leanne and Ruthie to understand how Diana and I allow ourselves to get sucked up in this craziness. We’re this weird, forged-by-fire family. Diana’s always been like the tough, big sister, ready to take on the world if anybody ever hurts the rest of us.”

“And you? What part do you play in this quartet?”

She snagged her lip between her teeth for a moment. Finally, she answered with total honesty. “I play the one who never really believed anybody could love me for myself. And because they do, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, even something as mean-spirited as try to bring down a complete stranger.”

Sam didn’t draw things out anymore, didn’t tease her with light-hearted comments. He instead launched off the sofa, strode toward her and pulled her to him. Cupping her face in his hands, he peered into her eyes. “You’re not mean-spirited. You never could be.”

Finally allowing herself to believe he really had forgiven her, and still wanted to move forward with whatever was happening between them, Eve gazed up at him. “Thank you. No more lies, Sam, I promise.” 

“No more lies. No more secrets, either.” He nodded toward the file. “And just for the record, I really am sorry about that, too. I wasn’t trying to be sneaky, I just couldn’t get you off my mind today and let my investigative side take over.”

“It’s okay.” Feeling better than she had in days, she added, “So, can we start over?”

“Definitely.” He dropped his hands. “Hi. My name’s Sam Kenneman. Despite what you might have heard, I’m really an okay guy and I don’t go around judging every women by her bra size.”

Giggling, she extended her hand to shake his. “Hello. Eve Barret. I used to be sort-of famous, now I spend most days trying to get teenagers to believe William Shakespeare isn’t just a script writer who wrote a Leonardo DiCaprio movie.”

He laughed softly, then they came close together again for a long, silent, easy moment. They both tilted their heads in, until their foreheads were touching, their hands on each other’s hips. Gentle strokes, tender caresses…final, silent apologies.

Finally, she looked up at him, seeing nothing but genuine longing in his expression. She wrapped her arms around his neck, rose up and pressed her lips to his, this time holding nothing back, wanting to be kissed, tasted, possessed.

Sam groaned, parting his lips and plunging his tongue deep into her mouth. All the things that remained to be discussed—more apologies or explanations—slid away. They communicated just fine without saying a word, each thrust of the tongue saying all that needed to be said. Their heads tilted, their bodies melting together until there wasn’t an inch of her that remained unaffected by him. He was hard and hot and tasted so good she wanted to consume him and nothing else for the rest of her days.

But a knock on the door interrupted.

“Crap,” he mumbled against her mouth.

“No, I suspect it’s food,” she said with a cheeky grin.

Rolling his eyes, he let her go, turned and went to the door. He paid the delivery guy and returned with a big brown sack full of delicious smelling food. But Eve wasn’t in the mood to eat. The only thing she wanted to dine on was Sam.

“Are you terribly hungry?” she asked, lifting a suggestive brow.

Not answering at first, he went into the kitchen, stuffed the sack into the fridge and walked back into the living room. Walking toward her with pure deliberation, he looked like a big cat stalking its prey. Finally, he answered her question. “I’m absolutely famished, Eve.”

“Me too.”

Then he was on her again, his hands twining in her hair, his mouth devouring hers, his big body edging her to the sofa.

She fell down on it, dragging him with her, keeping her arms around his shoulders and their mouths locked. Eve’s legs instinctively parted and he landed between them. There was no doubt her confession had not affected his desire for her—Sam’s erection already strained against the khaki pants, powerful and exciting. She shuddered, arching up against that rock-hard ridge, needing the heat, the pressure of it. Her skirt slid up to puddle around her hips until just his pants and her thin panties separated them. She hissed as he thrust gently against her, giving her just the right amount of pressure against her clit.

“Oh, yes,” she groaned into his mouth, pressing harder, needing more.

He moved his hands to her blouse, tugging it open, sending one button flying. Eve didn’t give a damn, especially not when he was so quickly able to cup her breasts in his hands, scraping his thumbs across her aching nipples. He pulled her lacy bra out of the way and kissed his way down her throat, as if unable to wait another moment to taste her. She got what she’d wanted—the scrape of his rough cheek against her skin—and it was just as good, just as wickedly exciting as she’d known it would be.

“Sam!” she cried when he took her nipple in his mouth, sucking her hard. He rocked his groin into her again, thrusting as he sucked, and just like that she felt a familiar volcano of heat rushing through her.

She clenched his shoulders, digging her nails into him, needing his support. Because she came like an out of control freight train, wild and fast and almost dangerous it was so intense. Her whole body shook with it and she had to scream as it took complete control over her.

By the time she returned to some kind of coherence, Sam was kneeling between her legs, ripping off his shirt, unfastening his pants and pushing them down. His intense stare said he’d reached his limit just as quickly. “That was beautiful,” he told her. “I love making you come.”

“Feel free, any time you like,” she whispered, hearing the quiver in her voice.

He pushed his boxer-briefs off his hips, freeing that big cock and her legs began to shake all over again. She licked her lips at the sight of him, knowing by the way his hand trembled as he reached into his pocket that he was dying to sheathe himself and sink into her body.

But she wasn’t quite ready for that. Oh, physically, she knew she could easily welcome him. She was dripping wet, so aroused she was ready to scream at him to hurry the hell up.

There was only one thing that could make her slow down, put off the thrill of feeling that thick, hard mass plunging into her, stretching her, filling her completely.

She wanted to taste him.

She shimmied up and away from him. When he looked at her, a question on his face, she merely smiled and pushed him back on the couch. Dropping to the floor, on her knees, she fluttered her lashes at him and whispered, “Not just yet.”

“Eve…”

“Shh. I want this. Don’t stop me.”

As if seeing by her expression that she really meant it—that she was dying to devour him—he chuckled. “Stopping you? Not even in the realm of possibility.”

“Oh, goody.”

She said nothing else, focused only on the rich, decadent smell of him—musk and male and sex. It was intoxicating, filling every breath, making her mouth water with the need to sample all that warm, smooth skin. She gripped his muscular thighs, bending to his lap, flicking her tongue against the engorged tip of his cock. Though he said nothing, the tiniest groan came from Sam’s throat, and he fisted his hands on the couch. He didn’t reach for her, didn’t thrust, didn’t try to make her do anything she didn’t want. Which just made her want to do more.

Kissing her way down his shaft, she marveled at the sweetness of it, not to mention the heat. Such rock-hard power wrapped in such soft, smooth skin. She flattened her tongue, licking down to the base, tasting the wiry hair that covered the vulnerable sacs beneath. This time, his groan was a lot more audible and he lifted a hand to brush her hair back off her face.