Seduce Me (11 page)

Damn, he was good. But she had plans for him, and they included him losing so she could claim her prize. Him. All night long. “Man, I'm hot.” And with that, she peeled off the light blue tank top, leaving her in just the thin white one.

While his tongue was still hanging out, she made her shot. And missed, damn it.

He came up behind her, making sure his chest and thighs and everything in between brushed against her back when he reached in front of her to commandeer the ball.

With a screech, she hugged it to her chest and ran around him, forgetting to dribble.

“Travel,” he called, but she didn't slow down.

She didn't stop until she'd shot. And missed.

“That's what you get for cheating.”

She took another shot and made it. With a whoop, she whirled around, doing a little victory dance. “I won.”

“Oh, please, you—”

She took another victory dance lap around him, tracing her finger over his damp, gleaming skin as she did.

“—totally cheated—”

She danced backwards, away from him, and scooped up her discarded top. “I'll expect you tonight, Jack.”

“You didn't even try to—Huh?” He blinked as her words sank in. “What?”

“I said I'll expect you tonight. I won, not exactly fair and square maybe, but don't worry, I won't cheat you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yep.” Feeling quite pleased with herself, enjoying the shock and confusion on his gorgeous
face, she smiled. “I get to claim the prize,” she reminded him gently. “And Jack, my prize is you.”

“Me.”

“That's right.” She laughed at his expression. Poor, poor baby. He hadn't expected to lose. “You. For tonight, our first night. We'll make it count, just in case.”

“In case what?”

In case it's also our last.
But she just smiled and waved, and took off.

Stunned, Jack could only watch her go. No one had ever walked away from him before. No one.

In fact, it was the first time a woman had wanted absolutely nothing from him—not a promise, not a diamond, not a single damn thing.

Except his body, and quite possibly only for tonight.

Even more unbelievably, that wasn't good enough for him.

 

J
ACK PACED
most of the afternoon. There was no denying the odd sliver of fear, because he felt this overwhelming pressure to make sure tonight was so good she'd want him again. And again. Because he really didn't think he could walk away from her. He'd walked away plenty of times in the past and never given it another thought.

And, yet, today he thought about little else.

He was determined to change her mind, determined to make her want him as badly as he'd come to want her. He really had no idea how to do that, only that he had to manage it.

That, or be able to say goodbye to her tonight.

Anyone he knew would probably fall over in shock, but the truth was, for the first time in his adult life, he'd become attached to a woman. To the most amazing woman he'd ever met.

Finally, he headed over to Sam's at dusk. He had a bottle of wine under his arm and a foolish hitch in his heart. It should be all about anticipation, and a good amount of it was.

When he pulled into the parking lot, the café was dark, not a single light. She'd closed up.

Perfect.

He opened his door, and an odd scent registered in his brain at the exact moment he saw a plume of smoke coming out the front window of the café.

Squinting, he moved closer. If she'd closed up the café, then there shouldn't be—

Then he saw a flash of orange—a flame—and, with a sinking deep in his belly, started running.

S
AM'S NOSE
twitched at the distinct stench of burning brownies.

Impossible. It hadn't been long enough—only ten minutes or so. She went still and sniffed again, but it was unmistakable now. “Damn it.”

She'd had tonight planned down to the last detail. First, bake brilliant brownies, then make herself irresistible-looking and last, but not least, greet that gorgeous hunk of man.

Seduce him.

Then—holding her breath—see what happened afterwards.

Perfect plan.

Until now. She hadn't used her upstairs oven because, besides the timer not working, it didn't cook evenly. Now, she'd just gotten out of the shower and had put on her favorite black lace panties and matching bra when the smell had reached her. With a groan, she grabbed her old, ratty, favorite bathrobe and started running down the stairs.

But when she tore into the café kitchen, her robe flying out behind her, she skidded to a halt and stared at the oven in horror.

She
hadn't burned the brownies; her oven had. Flames licked at them from beneath, curled round the edges of the stove, and licked the cabinets on either side.

“Damn, damn.” Whirling, she headed to the counter, and the phone. Yanking up the receiver, she dialed 911, then put the phone in the crook of her neck and spun around again, this time toward the closet, and the fire extinguisher she kept there.

She couldn't believe how hot it'd gotten already, and she glanced over her shoulder, nearly screaming as the dispatcher answered, because the fire was right there, right in front of her now, where it hadn't been seconds ago.

A window exploded, and she dropped to the floor. “Oh God, oh God.” Tripping over her robe, she fumbled with the extinguisher. But flames leaped to the ceiling, and suddenly the rest of the cabinets had caught fire. So had the counter. “Got a kitchen fire,” she yelled into the phone, and gave the address.

The dispatcher took the info with quick professionalism. “Ma'am, I hear the flames. You're too close.”

“I'm leaving right now.” As soon as she figured out exactly how to do that.

“The trucks are on their way.”

“They'd better hurry.”

“They are,” he assured her. “Are you outside yet?”

“Going.”

“Seriously, ma'am. Don't try to save anything but yourself.”

She wasn't stupid, she knew better. But it wasn't just smoke clogging her throat and making her hesitate as she took a good look around. So much of her life was here, right here. And before her very eyes it was going…

“No.”
But the place was beyond her help, she knew that. “Out,” she reminded herself, wincing because the heat was searing her skin as she stood there. With the extinguisher, she spurted the fire directly in front of her to make a path. Smoke rose, choking her, but it worked. All she had to do was duck under the counter—burning now—and she'd have a clear shot at the door.

She used the extinguisher again, and dropping on all fours, started crawling under the counter, a task made more difficult because of her long robe, but finally she was past the flames enough to stand up in the dining area.

Weaving a little unsteadily, she looked back at
the kitchen that had been her life for so long, and her heart lurched.

Her entire life…

Behind her, something crashed, startling her. Whipping around, she saw Jack straighten from where he'd kicked down the door. He started toward her, his expression filled with horror and fear.

All that strength, she thought fuzzily. She'd definitely had different plans for those muscles tonight.

He grabbed her, pulled her hard to him, lifting her face to his. “Sam—”

“The brownies burned.” She felt a sob rise. “All of them.”

He started to say something, but she couldn't hear over the shattering of another window behind her. Jack shielded her body with his while glass rained down, mingling with the falling ash and thick smoke. “Out,” he yelled. “Now.”

The next thing she knew they were standing in the parking lot, in the warm night, staring back at Wild Cherries as the entire building went up in flames and smoke.

She blinked up at him. Had he carried her, or had she walked? She looked down at her bare feet, streaked with dirt, and couldn't remember.

The fire lit up the night sky, the noise hurt her ears. Urgently, Jack put his hands on her arms. “Are you hurt? Are you burned? Where?”

Her hands were fisted as she took in the sight of her life burning. She shook her head and felt the tears in her throat, which surprised her because she never cried, never even felt like crying, but another glance at the blazing building behind them reminded her she hadn't had a big loss in a while, either. At least nothing that had mattered.

This mattered. God, this really mattered. “I probably should have grabbed some clothes.”

“Sam, look at me.” His voice was low, insistent and filled with fear, which brought her back.

Her palm stung, and she figured she'd cut it, but she kept her hands closed because the thing that hurt the most was her heart. “I'm okay.”

“We're shaking. Let's sit.” He pulled her down on the curb.

“Here they come,” she said when sirens sounded from down the road.

“Yes. Sam, sweetheart, look at me. Let me see your eyes.”

“It's going to be too late, you know.”

“It's not too late, you're still breathing.” He hugged her tight. “When I pulled up and saw the flames—” A breath stuttered through him.

“You were scared.”

“Try terrified.”

She stared at him, feeling like her entire heart
sat in her mouth. “How did this happen between us, Jack? It's too fast, we've only—”

“Shh.” He held her again, and this time she leaned her head on his shoulder. “It's going to be okay.”

No. No, it wasn't. “I had quite a night planned,” she murmured, gripping his shirt in her fists. “I was going to seduce you in black lace and then I was going to do it again, just because.”

“I'll take a rain check.” He stroked a hand down her back and rubbed his cheek over her hair. “But trust me, the black lace would have worked as many times as you had it in you.”

She let out a sobbing laugh and held on tight, closing her eyes to the sight of flames leaping into the night.

Two fire department engines roared into the parking lot, but the old building had already taken too much of a beating.

Face blank, Sam watched the fight, only her eyes reflecting her emotions, and Jack had never felt so helpless as he did right then watching her watch her life go up in smoke.

She'd suffered so many damn losses; this was just another in a long string of them, and he could hardly stand it. He wanted to shove his wallet at her, wanted to buy her the moon, if only to take away the hollow devastation etched so clearly in
her green eyes. But that wouldn't work here. He couldn't fix this for her.

She'd had her fists clenched and he reached for one now, holding it between his hands. “Sam—” He'd been about to try to get her to sit again, but frowning, he looked down at her sticky hand. It was dark but he could still see the even darker stain dribbling from her fingers.

His heart caught. “Sam, open your hand.”

She did, then gasped in pain. Her palm had been sliced, probably on glass when she'd crawled out of the kitchen.

“Here.” Jack cradled her hand in his while he gently probed for slivers, her every sharp, pained breath stabbing into him. “It's clean,” he said with some relief and pulled off his shirt, turning it inside out for the cleanest area, then pressing it to her hand to try to stanch the blood.

Around them, it seemed as if the firefighters had put out the fire nearly as fast as it'd started. And then the questions began. Sam told them everything she could in a flat voice and with an even expression that worried Jack to the bone.

Too calm, he thought. She was way too calm.

“Is it all gone then?” she asked them in a carefully neutral voice. “Is there nothing to save?”

“Not sure what the cap'll say,” the firefighter
told her. “But it looks like you might have some of the base framing left.”

Eyes unreadable, she nodded.

And Jack's own burned for her.

The ambulance arrived. Sam turned to Jack, face streaked with dirt and ash, bathrobe torn and grubby, and said, “I don't want to go to the hospital.”

“Sam—”

“I'm okay.”

She needed stitches, and one look at the paramedic's face verified that. “I'll come with you,” he said. “But you're going.”

 

N
INE STITCHES LATER
, Jack put Sam back into his SUV. He'd had plenty of stitches in his time and broken bones as well, not to mention three surgeries; but he'd never been on the holding-the-hand side of things. When they'd put a needle into Sam's wound, he'd actually seen stars, but hadn't allowed himself to look away.

“Breathe, Knight,” she'd said dryly, and he'd taken a shaky breath to keep from passing out.

Some hand-holder.

Now she sat in his car, wearing her now grungy robe, beneath which was the black lace lingerie he had a few glimpses of and was having a hard time keeping his mind off of, even now. Wearily, she set
her head back on the seat. “Stop worrying,” she said, eyes closed. “I'm fine.”

“I'm not worrying,” he said. Much.

“I need to call Lorissa and Red. One of them will let me use a couch. It wouldn't be the first time.”

“No.”

Craning just her neck without moving another inch of her body, as if she were so exhausted she couldn't manage it, she looked at him.

“My house,” he said.

Giving in much easier than he expected, she nodded. “Your house.”

She sounded defeated, which was so out of character, even given the events of the night, that he wondered how much pain she was in—she'd refused to take the meds offered her at the hospital. Figuring he'd bully her into taking them at home, he concentrated on the drive.

Twenty minutes later when he pulled up his driveway and turned off the engine, she hadn't said another word. For a moment, he just looked at her, lying so still against the seat, eyes closed, injured hand cradled in her good one.

“Sam.” He put his hand beneath hers. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's not your fault.”

“Yeah, but it's not yours, either,” he said, knowing he'd gone to the crux of her thoughts when she
grimaced. He got out of the car and came around for her, but she slipped out and stood before he got there, then grumbled when he scooped her up.

“Put me down. I hurt my hand, not my feet.”

He strode to the front door with her in his arms.

“Jack, don't be stupid, you'll hurt your knee.” She rolled her eyes at him when he propped her up between his body and the door while he fumbled for his keys. “What, no butler?”

“When I thought you were going to be taking advantage of me all night, I gave him the evening off.”

“Let me walk, Jack. You're acting like a he-man.”

He sighed. “Maybe you could lean on someone, just for tonight. Lean on me, Sam.”

Her eyes drifted closed, and she snaked her arms around his neck. “I suppose I could…just for tonight.”

“Tonight,” he agreed grimly, wishing he'd asked for longer.

He carried her upstairs, setting her down in his bathroom, next to the large whirlpool tub. “Bath?”

“Yeah.” She watched him turn on the water and test the temperature. “I can take it from here.”

“'Kay.” He stroked his fingers down her jaw. “Call me if you need anything.”

He paced the house for a while. When he came back into his bedroom, she was sitting in the middle of his bed wrapped in two of his towels, look
ing a little lost. He went into the bathroom, filled a glass with water and brought it to her. “Here.” He pulled out the bottle of pills and shook two into her hand. “Take 'em.”

“I'm fine.”

“Take them anyway.”

That she did spoke volumes. “I'll be listening for you,” he said. The towels revealed the mile-long legs he'd hoped to have wrapped around him all night long. “If you need anything, anything at all, call for me, okay?”

“Sure.”

Ah, hell, there was a quiver in her voice, and his feet stopped moving, stopped taking him farther away and drew him back to the bed. “Sam…”

“No.” Her voice was a bare whisper as she pulled her feet in, tucking them beneath her so that she was just a little ball. “I'm fine. Really.”

But that was a lie, and they both knew it. He sat on the bed and put a hand on her thigh. Beneath the terry cloth, she was shaking. “Oh, Sam…”

“I'm fine,” she repeated, but covered her face.

“Can I do something?” he asked gently. “Make you something to eat?”

“Jack.” She managed a mirthless laugh. “You're hovering.”

“I know, damn it.” He ran his hand up and down her leg as if he could warm her up when he
knew that wasn't why she shook—it was from lingering shock or just utter desolation. “I'm feeling pretty helpless here, and I don't do well with helpless.”

“Then stop it. Just…go away.”

“I thought I could, but no can do.” Scooping her into his lap, he leaned back against the headboard. “Tell me what to do, Sam. Tell me, and I'll do it.”

She shook her head and looked away, but not before he saw her eyes go glossy with unshed tears. And just like that, he was a goner. “Please.” He put his forehead to hers. “You're breaking my heart. Do something. Yell, scream, cry, have a fit…you're entitled.”

“All right.” With her eyes closed, she slid her one good hand around his shoulders and pressed her face in the crook of his neck. When she squirmed a little to make the fit even tighter between them, her bottom ground lightly into his lap.