Slow Hands (13 page)

“I’m fine,” Clare managed to say, and dragged her gaze to his face. She’d never known a man more casually masculine than Sam. “Thank you for asking.”

As Sam listened to her polite conversation, disappointment nagged at him. He’d expected to find Clare ready for bed, and to be painfully honest, he’d hoped to find her soft and drowsy, not fully dressed and wary. “Mind if I come in?”

“Yes.”

“Suspicion does not become you, Clare.”

“I have reason to be suspicious.”

A grin appeared on Sam’s face. “You have good reason to be suspicious. However, right now I need my toothbrush. William is efficient but not perfect.”

“Oh.” Clare blushed, pulled her gown off her shoulder, and stepped back. “I’ll get it.”

Sam pushed opened the door and caught her around the waist as she turned. “Don’t bother. I know the way.”

“Oh,” Clare repeated as his hand slipped away, and she watched him disappear into the large bathroom. Dimly, her mind registered the fact that he was barefoot. She told herself that’s why he moved so confidently. That explanation was better than comparing him to a predator who’d cornered his quarry. And knew it.

Retrieving his toothbrush should have taken only a second, but Sam lingered. A black silk robe with neonpink flamingos lay carelessly across the closed toilet seat. His tub churned with the unfamiliar sight of iridescent bubbles, and the heat of the water sent an incredible fragrance of hot spiced apples into the air. Knowing that Clare would soon be naked and submerged in the perfumed water gave Sam ideas that would keep him up all night. Regretfully, he turned off the running water which
had pushed the shimmering bubbles almost to the edge of the tub.

As he reached for his toothbrush, he saw one of his shirts hanging on the back of the door. The toothbrush he took; the shirt he left. And he grinned at himself in the mirror. That old shirt was about to become very important.

“Got it,” Sam said, gently waving the toothbrush as he reentered the bedroom and found Clare still standing by the door, nervously clutching her white gown. He crossed the room and stopped in front of her. As always, when he looked down at Clare, he became fascinated by the shape of her lips and the deep blue of her eyes. Everything about her turned him on. He wanted to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands again. He wanted to hear her sigh his name as he entered her.

His voice was raspy when he said, “I turned off your water.”

“Thanks.” The word sounded as though it had been scraped across her vocal cords, and Clare wished she could ignore the hunger in Sam’s eyes. But she couldn’t. She parted her lips and leaned a fraction of an inch closer, willing him to kiss her, willing him to end the suspense, willing him to make the decision she couldn’t make.

“ ’Night, sweet Clare. Your water’s getting cold,” he whispered, and left her, an odd smile on his lips.

“ ’Night, Tucker,” Clare echoed, purposely using his last name to regain some distance from the emotions that pulled at her every time Sam walked into a room.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Clare crumpled her gown into a ball and tossed it on the bed. Sexual frustration was a new and unfamiliar sensation for her.
Angry, she began to strip, throwing her shoes across the room to the closet before she realized that Sam had accomplished exactly what he wanted. She was losing control. The temper she’d held in check for years was beginning to slip away from her more often. She’d yelled at Dave that morning, Sam that night, and now she was throwing shoes.

“No,” Clare said as she flipped off the overhead light and headed for the bath. “I won’t let him get to me. I like my life. I am not changing. Not even for him.”

A sigh escaped her as she slid into the hot water and leaned her head against the tub’s rolled edge, which felt as if it were made to support her neck. “A few days and this will all be over,” she promised herself. She could go back to her normal routine, and Sam could go back to creating chaos in someone else’s life.

Why did that idea bother her so much?

Sam sat on the top step of the staircase, whistling softly and waiting. Five minutes should be enough time for Clare to undress and sink into the bubble bath. Just five more minutes, and he’d have her right where he wanted her. Again. He could have kissed her when he said good night. She’d wanted him to kiss her, but she’d also wanted him to hurry up and get it over with.

He grinned at the thought of his kiss being as anticipated as cherry-flavored cough syrup—necessary medicine with a taste that was
not exactly
horrible. From any other woman the attitude would have been insulting, but in Clare the attitude signaled progress. Grudging progress, but progress nonetheless.

Consulting his watch, Sam pushed himself up and
walked back down the hall to his door. He knocked once, loud enough to be heard in the bedroom, but not nearly loud enough to be heard in the bathroom. Any twinge of guilt he felt at his devious actions was ignored. All was fair in love and war, and Sam knew his relationship with Clare was definitely one or the other. He just wasn’t sure which.

When he didn’t hear an answer to his knock, he eased open the door and called her name softly, hoping he wouldn’t get a response. He didn’t. The room was dark, but a shaft of light spilled through the partially open bathroom door. An unfamiliar pink flamingo night light glowed beneath the bedside table, drawing his attention. Practical Clare either had a weakness for flamingos, or she was afraid of the dark. Considering the robe he’d seen earlier, he had to believe she liked flamingos.

Slick hopped off the bed and wove himself between Sam’s ankles, purring loudly. Sam grinned, placed a finger across his lips as though the cat were a co-conspirator, and continued to the bathroom.

“Clare?” he said softly as he rapped on the door with one knuckle. “Are you decent?”

A gasp and the sound of sloshing water answered his question. Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then Clare said in a strained voice, “I’m taking a bath.”

Grinning, Sam said, “Good. Then you’re decent. I saw the bubbles earlier.” When Sam pushed open the door and found Clare reaching for a towel, he stopped her with a gesture. “No, don’t get up. I won’t be long.”

Clare snatched her hand back and drew her arms across her breasts, which were barely concealed by the
foam, and sank deeper into the water. A blush flamed her cheeks, and anger flashed at him from her eyes.
God, she was gorgeous.
Sam felt his manhood jump as a sudden pulse of desire ripped through him.

“Go away,” she ordered calmly, but the ragged rhythm of her breathing suggested she was anything but calm.

“I expected that.”

“Then why did you come in?” She pressed her lips together and tilted her head, waiting for an explanation, silently telling him that the explanation had better be a good one.

“I’m missing a shirt, and I thought it might be in here.” Sam made a pretext of looking behind the door and feigned surprise. “Ah, here it is.”

“And that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” Clare snapped.

“Probably.” Sam tossed the shirt into the hamper and scooped up her flamingo-covered robe from the toilet seat before making himself comfortable. “But
I
couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

Clare gasped, her control and her dignity hanging by the same thin, frayed thread. The world suddenly closed in around her, narrowing to exclude everything except Sam Tucker and his incredible brown eyes, which seared her with every gaze and advertised his hunger. Although she tried, she couldn’t look away. Absurdly, she felt like a satellite trapped in a disintegrating orbit headed for destruction. The heat of her body suddenly made the water feel cold, causing her nipples to harden and pebble beneath her hands.

“You’ve got nowhere to hide, Clare. You can’t evade
me or my questions unless you leave the room. To do that, you’re going to have to stand up, and I warned you once before”—Sam paused for emphasis—“I like watching. What’s it going to be, Clare? Conversation or my heart’s desire?”

His question sucked the oxygen from the air, leaving Clare breathless. How could he sit there as though they were across the breakfast table and admit that he wanted to watch her rise naked from the bath so he could look at her? A shiver ran up her spine as she wondered what it would be like to have Sam watch her, enjoy her. He made her feel strange and wild, and for a moment she almost stood up. Almost. Then sanity returned, and her brain began to work.

“William wouldn’t approve of this.”

Sam threw back his head and laughed. “You have no idea exactly how much William does approve. He even tolerates your cat.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Worried by the steady disappearance of her frothy white shield, Clare gathered more of the concealing foam around her and drew her knees up so that the only parts of her body exposed were her shoulders and kneecaps. “I want only the house, Sam. You can’t just walk in on me anytime you feel like it! We had a deal.”

“Not anymore. And I warned you that a few hundred feet wouldn’t keep you safe.” Sam let the silken material of the robe he held flow through his fingers. “Besides, I didn’t walk in. I knocked. You didn’t answer.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to wander into my bath and settle in like you belonged here, like you were invited. Dammit, Tucker. There’s an invisible line that a gentleman doesn’t cross.”

“I crossed
that
line this afternoon, Clare.”

Memories invaded Clare’s consciousness, and she closed her eyes against the longing that shot through her body. She could still feel every touch, hear every word he had breathed against her skin. With an effort she pushed the longing away and simply looked at Sam, afraid to trust her voice with any reply.

“Great robe,” Sam whispered huskily as he rubbed it against his chest. His eyes closed briefly, and then he looked at her, considering her as his hand trailed the silk across his flat belly. “I’ll bet it feels even better with you in it.”

Sam didn’t bother to disguise his passion. He devoured her with his gaze. For a heart-stopping moment she was afraid he was going to lean over and touch her. And then she was afraid that she was going to beg him to slide his hand beneath the water and caress her. Below the disappearing foam, she fisted her hands and fought for control.

“Sam, I don’t want you here,” she forced out.

“Liar. You want me every bit as much as I want you. The only difference is you refuse to admit that you need anyone—for anything.”

Clare’s chin came up as he knew it would.

“Get out of my head, Sam.”

“Then tell me why you run like a scared rabbit every time I show you that I want you.”

She stiffened, and shifted her knees back to beneath the water, covering herself with her arms. “I don’t run away.”

“Yes, you do, sweet Clare. Why don’t you have people in your life?” Sam asked softly, wondering if she knew just how much he wanted to be a part of her life.

“I’m not in your class anymore. I don’t have to answer.”

“Okay. I’ll try an easy one. Who’s your best friend?”

Clare’s eyes dipped to stare at the white foam, but she didn’t answer.

“Come on,” Sam encouraged. “Who knows more of your secrets than anyone?”

When Clare looked at him, sadness turned up the corners of her mouth, making the smile bittersweet. “You. You know more of my secrets than anyone. Happy now? You’ve gotten another confession out of me. Will you go?”

Instead of making Sam happy, her answer twisted unpleasantly in his gut. He pitched the robe over the hamper and dropped to his knees on the rug beside the tub, heedless of the dampness and cold of the porcelain against his belly. Without giving her a chance to pull away, he captured her face with his hands.

“What are you afraid of, Clare? That I’ll find out too much? What do you keep buried inside you?” For a moment he searched her eyes, trying to find the answers he wanted from her, wondering why he needed answers. “If I keep looking, what will I find, Clare?”

“Nothing you’ll like,” she whispered.

“You’d be surprised by what I like,” Sam told her as he eased his hands down her neck, massaging her shoulders with his fingertips. As he drew her up and forward, the scent of apples made him hungry for a taste of her, as did the feel of her water-softened skin and the slippery texture created by the foaming oil. “Perfect women bore me, Clare.”

“Then I must be driving you crazy,” she said unsteadily.

“That’s one word for it,” he rasped, and let go of her shoulders before he forgot that he had no business seducing her in the middle of the night. Patience, he reminded himself. Firmly, he pushed himself to a standing position, ignoring the fact that bath foam no longer covered the creamy skin of her breasts. “The first night we met, you asked me if I ever had an impulse I didn’t act on. Remember what I said?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m going to let an impulse fade away right now. I’m not going to do what I want to do, but you think about it. Think about what I’m not going to do.” He reached for the brass handle of the door. “Anticipation and foreplay. Helluva combination. Good night, Clare,” Sam said softly, and left the bathroom.

When the bedroom door clicked quietly shut, Clare remembered to breathe.

“Please, check again,” Clare said desperately, then paused and bit her lip. She tried to block the mental image of Ellie catching a cab and showing up at the condominium. Continuing more calmly, Clare explained, “Ellie, my cousin, wasn’t on the early flight this morning. She’s got to be on this one.”

“I’m sorry,” said the flight attendant, sounding genuinely apologetic. “But I’m certain all the passengers are off. Maybe you looked away as she left the plane. Why don’t you try the baggage claim area?”

“Thank you. Maybe I will.” Clare gave the woman a weak smile and walked away, wondering why disaster had followed her like a black cloud for the past few months.

Before she’d taken more than a few steps, Clare
stopped, finally admitting that rushing off to baggage claim would be a foolish waste of time. She’d gotten to the terminal gate a full thirty minutes before the plane landed. She’d studied the faces of every man, woman, and child as they’d gotten off the plane. She’d watched joyous reunion after joyous reunion. Her attention hadn’t wandered, and Ellie wasn’t on the plane or in baggage claim. After everything she’d done to make the visit perfect, Ellie hadn’t even bothered to show up.