Bringing Down Sam (7 page)

But it wasn’t the one he most wanted. He couldn’t help remembering her quick wit, her snotty joke about the centerfold, the vulnerable moment when she’d shared a bad memory. He’d caught a glimpse of the other Eve…perhaps she’d be the one who would show up for their date.

His heart skipped a beat in his chest at the thought, and his pulse raced as he waited to find out who would be standing behind the door—not the lady or the tiger. More like the woman or the caricature.

The door opened suddenly, startling him. His eyes widened.

And he began to hope.

"Sorry to make you wait, Sam," Eve said, her voice rushed and out of breath. "The phone rang right before you knocked and the guy seemed to think I was someone named Cara who stayed here a few weeks ago. He was put out to find I wasn't."

She smiled at him, not a come-hither moist lipped invitation, but a genuine grin, as if she was still amused by the telephone conversation. Sam felt like someone had just whacked him in the side of the head with a bag of rocks. He suddenly was incapable of speech, and could barely even breathe. He'd acknowledged before that she was beautiful. But when a genuine smile lit up her startlingly blue eyes, she was absolutely breathtaking.

She was not wearing a little black cocktail number. Her long, slim sheathe dress was pure white. It wasn't obviously tight, as he had expected, just skimming over her noticeable curves, rather than clinging to them. It slid across her body when she moved, teasing rather than flaunting. The high slit revealed nearly the entire length of one curvy leg, and when she turned slightly, he noticed the back dipped down almost to her waist. The dress whispered sex appeal rather than screaming it. He liked it. He liked it very much.

"Come in," she said, lowering her eyes flirtatiously.

Sam walked behind her as she led him into the condo, noticing the exaggerated sway of her hips. He saw the tender skin at the small of her back, the tiny protrusion of the bones of her spine, and had a sudden urge to touch her there.
God, she was tempting!
He hadn't been so affected by a woman in ages.

When she looked at him over her shoulder, fluttered her lashes and moistened her lips, he nearly sighed out loud. The vamp was back. Too bad. He'd felt a real flash of excitement thinking he was going to meet the woman behind the real smile. The one who had the class to carry off the elegance of her simple dress while still managing to look like a sinful fantasy.

"Can I get you a drink? There's a well-stocked bar." Eve didn't wait for his reply as she crossed the plush carpeted living room and opened the small refrigerator under the wet bar. By the time she glanced at him, Sam had made himself comfortable on a black leather sofa, remaining silent. He was on high alert, knowing a game was being played and that he hadn’t been informed of the rules, and wondering whether he was a player or a prize.

Watching him watch her, Eve tried to keep her focus, to bring her guard back up. She had difficulty reading the man. His features were completely impassive, his eyes assessing, but not at all revealing. She had no idea whether he was truly attracted to her or not. The thought was disconcerting.

Eve had always been able to read men. She'd developed the skill as soon as she hit puberty and began garnering a great deal of attention. She knew how to handle it.

Her cool reserve had earned her the reputation as a bitch, but since it was a neat defense to avoid unwanted attention, she hadn't really cared. Well, she hadn't cared what the men thought. The fact that girls, and later women, labeled her the same thing based purely on her appearance had hurt. It hadn't been easy going through her teenage years without a single female friend.
Thank God for Leanne, Ruthie and Diana.

 She had to admit this man had her stymied. At times yesterday, and for the first moment when she'd answered the door this evening, she'd seen the admiration in Sam Kenneman's eyes. Against her better judgment she'd reacted to it. The man was just too attractive to completely avoid indulging in just a bit of fantasizing, and he’d definitely popped into her mind when she was lying in the big, lonely bed last night. It was a shame he wasn't merely someone she'd met by chance, so she could see where these mixed feelings and emotions would lead.

But he wasn't. He was her target, and her mission was to break his heart. That, or prove him to be a fraud—prove a nice guy lurked under the smug, womanizing shell. She’d found herself hoping for that more than she should, given the fact that he was supposed to mean absolutely nothing to her.

Either way, she was here under false pretenses and it wasn’t like they could possibly have anything real.

Eve paused as she retrieved two glasses, realizing he'd never answered her question, and glanced toward him. "Well?" she prompted.

"Well what?"

"What do you want to drink?

"I never said I wanted a drink."

Eve flushed. Score one for the heartthrob. She took a deep breath to control her brief stab of anger, then pasted a languid expression on her face and tried again. "Are you sure I can't tempt you?"

He never blinked. "I'm sure, Eve. Not interested."

Hearing his double-meaning, Eve tightened her fingers around her glass. If it had been of a lesser quality, it may well have snapped apart in her hand. It took every ounce of control she had to avoid letting Sam know his barb had struck home.

“Well, I’m going to have one,” she insisted, knowing she’d need a little liquid fortification. Probably not wise, considering he already had her on her toes, but sipping a cold drink might keep her from saying something she shouldn’t.

“Help yourself.”

She did, splashing two fingers full of scotch in a glass, adding soda and ice, and swirling the glass to mix it.

“So how’s the condo?” he asked, glancing around the room. She could tell by his widened eyes that he was as impressed as she had been.

“Beautiful, of course. It’s a shame it’s empty most of the time.”

“Well, maybe if the shoot goes well, you’ll be invited back.”

“Maybe since you’re one of the ‘Men of the New Millennium’, you should be staying here too,” she said, adding a suggestive breathiness to the already suggestive comment.

Her intention obviously went over his head, because he chuckled as she walked over and joined him on the smooth leather couch. “This is a little out of my league.”

Hmm. Maybe now. But judging by the research she’d done, this exclusive lifestyle certainly had been a part of his past. The curiosity was killing her on that subject, but she knew she couldn’t broach it, not without making him wonder why she was so interested in his background.

“Besides, I thought this was only a one-bedroom place.”

His silky tone and quick switch-back to what she’d really been suggesting caught her off guard for a second. She sipped her drink in a stall for time.

“So where do you live when you’re not being put up in luxury by publishers?”

Grateful he’d given her the chance to change the subject, she blurted out the truth. “About an hour outside town.”

“This town?” he asked, surprised. “Philadelphia?”

Wishing she’d just sipped again and figured out a better answer, she nodded.

“Huh. I figured you’d be based in New York, L.A. or something.”

“Been there, done those,” she admitted, telling only the truth.

“And?”

“And I find I’m happier living a simple, quiet lifestyle,” she said, immediately knowing that didn’t fit in with the blonde-bimbo spiel she’d been trying to convey. But she wasn’t an actress, a secret agent or a spy; she just wasn’t cut out for this double-lifestyle, lying, making up details at the drop of a hat. The whole thing was already exhausting and she’d been at it for only a day!

“What about you?” she asked, knowing he was keeping secrets of his own. “Where do you live?”

“I have an apartment downtown.”

And a mansion in the burbs?

“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.

“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.