Slow Hands (17 page)

Sam let out his breath in a rush. “Open your mouth, Clare. Let the wolf in.”

When she did, his tongue swept inside, taking what he wanted. With one hand he cupped the back of her
neck. With the other he unbuttoned his jeans and slid down the zipper. Sam groaned against her mouth when she helped him by shoving his jeans open. Suddenly the need to have her touch him was as great as his need to touch and be inside her. When her hand closed around him, and slid downward, Sam sucked in some air and adjusted his stance.

His response to her touch gave Clare the courage to satisfy her curiosity about the feel of his body. The masculine contradiction of velvet and steel fascinated her. The muscles beneath her fingers pulsed with life and jumped as she smoothed her palms up his belly and over his nipples which, judging by the swift tightening of his fingers on the back of her neck, had hardened into nubs as sensitive as hers.

Pulling his mouth from hers, Sam studied her, memorizing her face and rubbing his thumb along the line of her jaw. “I don’t know which I like more. Me touching you or you touching me.”

Clare slid her arms around his waist and leaned into his chest. Very quietly, she said, “You touching me.”

Caught off guard, Sam asked, “What?”

“Which I like better.”

Her words were like a match to kindling, and in their own way erotic. Sam enfolded her in his arms for a moment before swinging her off her feet bride-fashion and carrying her to the spiral staircase. When he let her down at the bottom step, his voice was unmistakably husky. “I’m going to do a hell of a lot more than touch you.”

Once again Sam had become the predator. Clare backed up the narrow, winding stairs as he followed, purpose and desire showing in every step he took. Not once
did his eyes waver from her face, but she felt as if his gaze raked every inch of her body. When she topped the final stair, she could feel the heat from the flush of excitement that colored her cheeks and breasts.

“Don’t,” Sam ordered as she covered her chest with her arms. He stepped up onto the landing with her and pulled her hands away, replacing them with his own, which cupped and pushed her breasts gently upward so he could admire them. He took each areola into his mouth and swirled his tongue across the pebble-hard peaks before he said, “You’re beautiful. Don’t cover yourself.”

Standing quietly and watching Sam touch her was almost more than Clare could take. She’d never felt such a surge of erotic energy and power. Nor had she ever had such little control of her body. Her breasts seemed to swell and push themselves into his palms, begging him to sample her flesh again. An incessant pulse had begun between her legs.

Worst of all, Clare knew she liked Sam’s penchant for watching her, looking at her, studying her. She liked knowing she fascinated him.

Sam led her to the edge of the double bed that dominated the spartan bedroom alcove. “Last chance to run from the wolf, Clare. If you don’t, I am going to make love to you. And there won’t be a thing you or William can do about it.”

While he waited, he pulled her toward him, making sure they were belly to belly. Searching his face, Clare found promises in his eyes, dark promises, bright promises, promises that made the ache between her legs worsen. He had wrapped her in desire so tightly, she
knew she’d never undo the knot unless she finished what they’d started.

“Make love to me, Sam.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He said the words against her mouth, but instead of kissing her, he let his lips trail down her neck, between the valley of her breasts, and then knelt to continue his exploration down the center of her abdomen.

When Sam flicked his tongue into her belly button and whisked down her lace panties, Clare felt her heart skip a beat. He’d invaded her space again by holding her thighs apart and gently forcing her back onto the bed. Suddenly Sam abandoned his slow, deliberate seduction and kissed the springy curls at the apex of her thighs, making Clare gasp as his tongue touched her intimately.

She felt as though everything around her—colors, sounds, textures—were suddenly more intense. Sam’s touch made the world come to life. Within her own body she felt the stirrings of something so intense, she held her breath against the feeling.

“No.” Her reaction was the result of some self-preservation instinct, some inner knowledge that she was reaching the point of no return, a place where she wouldn’t be able to hold back any part of herself from Sam.

Knowing that she wasn’t ready for complete intimacy, Sam contented himself with one last brush of his lips against her sweetness and stood back up, swiftly ridding himself of his jeans.

Clare shivered. Every inch of her skin was suddenly sensitive. When Sam stripped, she discovered that he wasn’t wearing his infamous boxers. She remembered the way the jeans hugged his body and the feel of his arousal
pressed against her buttocks. As she watched him retrieve a foil packet from between the mattress and box spring, she realized he’d been expecting her. He’d known before she’d known herself. Somehow that knowledge left her feeling dizzy, as if she were losing her grip on the world.

“You were waiting for me tonight,” she said before she could stop herself.

“No.” Sam leaned one knee on the bed and stared down at her. “Hoping for you.”

The mattress was old and slightly sunken in the middle, which suited Sam perfectly, because Clare fell neatly into his arms the moment his weight joined hers on the bed. Once again her hands found his chest. Her fingers roamed over muscle as if she were soaking up the heat of his body. “Tell me you’re sure, Clare. I feel like I’m going to come apart right now if I can’t slip inside you, feel you around me.”

He pulled her beneath him and pushed the tip of his manhood into the wet softness he found between her legs. “Tell me, Clare.”

She answered him by closing her eyes, lifting her hips, and taking more of him.

“God, Clare,” he rasped, and sank into her. “You feel so good. Look at me,” he whispered. “I want to watch you fall off the world.”

Slowly Clare drew in a deep breath and opened her eyes. Just looking at him tilted her world and squeezed her heart. Emotions she wasn’t prepared to deal with were there in his eyes, unspoken and dangerous. She knew what he wanted from her, and she wasn’t prepared for total surrender, wordless intimacy.

Dear God, was this what he meant when he asked if she was sure? That she’d have to let herself splinter into a thousand
pieces at his touch?
Every sensation was too much, too quick. Every stroke of Sam’s shaft brought her closer to the edge, and she fought the climax building inside her, tensing against the onslaught.

“Don’t, Clare,” Sam ordered, and groaned sharply at the quicksilver touch of pleasure that shot through him as she tightened. “Don’t tense. I can’t hold—Clare!”

She felt the fulfillment shudder through Sam as he buried himself deep inside her. Even now her body threatened to spill satisfaction through her, and if that happened, she’d never be able to walk away from Sam. Not if she ever gave him that much of herself. She rode out the wave of his passion, holding him as close as she dared.

Why him? Why now?
As she buried her face in the side of his neck, Clare repeated the questions that had never left her mind since meeting Sam. Why was he the one who could finally bring her to the edge of sanity? She’d known other men, but even when the sex was good, she’d never come close to climaxing.

So why Sam? Why now?
Sam didn’t want to love her; he wanted to fix her, change her. She felt like a fly caught in his web, unable to walk away and scared to death of being trapped.

Sam let deep breathing settle his emotions before he tried to speak. Anger mixed with the warm afterglow of climax, a climax he knew Clare hadn’t shared. He felt anger at himself for not taking her with him, anger at Clare’s need to control her sensual feelings, anger at the people who’d forgotten to reassure a young orphan that she was loved.

More than anything, Sam was angry that if he told
Clare he loved her, the words would send her packing. She wasn’t ready for lust, much less love.

How could she ever learn to love him if her instinctive need for control kept her from trusting him? Sam clung to the hope that after that night, the sensual side of Clare’s nature would be just as strong as the logical part of her soul. If he was ever going to break down the wall around her heart, he would have to fight fire with fire, instinct with instinct. He’d have to make Clare want him so badly, she’d lose herself in his arms.

Finally Sam rolled away and covered her with a light quilt. “I’ll be right back.”

The bed creaked slightly as Clare adjusted the geometric-patterned quilt nervously and looked at the stereo alarm beside the bed. The digital readout glowed angrily into the dark, chastising her for losing track of time. “I can’t stay. It’s after midnight.”

Sam grinned and headed for the bathroom. “Yeah, I know. That’s why you aren’t going back to the house.”

“What do you mean?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, the porch light goes out at midnight. You wouldn’t want William to hit you with a baseball bat, would you?” Sam asked as he shut the bathroom door.

“I’ll take my chances with William,” Clare whispered, and slid off the bed, wrapping herself tightly in the quilt. “At least with him I’d know what hit me.”

Before she could worry about the baseball bat, she had to find her underwear. With one eye on the bathroom door and one eye on the floor, Clare quickly circled the bed and retrieved the scrap of lace and silk. Somehow, the simple act of pulling on a pair of panties made her feel infintely less vulnerable. She readjusted the
quilt and made a dash for the stairs, but didn’t manage to get down them before the bathroom door opened. Clare froze with one foot on the first step and her heart in her throat.

“I guess baseball bats don’t scare you,” Sam observed dryly from across the room.

“Not really,” Clare said in a small voice, still not moving from the stairs or turning around. He’d be naked, and she didn’t want to be caught staring at him. God, she was such a coward, but if she turned around, she
would
stare, and she didn’t know if she could hold back from Sam again. She couldn’t afford to give him any excuse to tumble her back into bed. Not when it had taken every ounce of willpower she had to maintain control the last time.

“Maybe you’re right. You don’t need to worry about being whacked on the head,” Sam said as he came up beside her and fingered the edge of the quilt at her back. “Considering recent events, if I were
you
—coming in after midnight wearing a gown and a smile—I’d be more worried about William counting the condoms in my nightstand than about the baseball bat.”

Horrified at the thought, Clare swiveled to gape at Sam. “He wouldn’t. He knows I had to come out here to get my cat. He wouldn’t.”

Shrugging, Sam slipped his fingers into the shadow between the quilt and her skin. “He might. If I were you, I’d stay here tonight.”

Clare risked a brief glance downward to satisfy her curiosity. He hadn’t pulled on a robe or a shirt, but she stopped halfway down his bare chest when he tugged experimentally on the quilt. Renewing her death grip on the ends of the quilt, she raised her eyes and an eyebrow.
“Whether I stay or not, William is still going to know I—know we—that tonight was—dammit, Sam! You know what I mean.”

Grinning, Sam tried to help her out, “We made love, Clare, and I don’t particularly care who knows. But William won’t suspect a thing if you get up early and fetch the morning paper. What’s he going to say if you come through the door with the newspaper in your hand and a bright, cheery good-morning smile on your face?”

Clare’s jaw dropped for a second. “That’s positively brilliant.”

“Thank you. Come to bed.” When she hesitated, Sam exhaled loudly. “Come to bed—
please.
”

“That’s not such a good idea.” Clare moved down another step, but the quilt didn’t. Sam had no intention of loosening his hold. His passive resistance made it quite clear that she was welcome to go downstairs, but she’d have to do it without the quilt. And when she looked over her shoulder, the glint in his eye made it quite plain that he’d watch her every move.

“Sleeping together is the best idea I’ve had in a long time,” Sam said. “Come on, Clare. Let me hold you tonight. Just hold you. Does that break some secret rule you’ve made for yourself?”

“No.”
It breaks all of them. I’m not supposed to want to sleep with you.

“Then come to bed.”

“My gown’s downstairs.”

“I don’t want to sleep with your gown. I want to sleep with you. Skin to skin. Heat to heat. Get the picture?” Sam asked as he let go of the quilt.

“Vividly. You have quite a knack for making yourself understood,” she assured him, suddenly goaded by the
fact that he wasn’t uncomfortable with the situation. As Sam backed away, she swallowed and studied her feet intently.

Once again he’d maneuvered her into a predicament that required she make a choice from two equally unsuitable options. On the one hand, she could risk William’s disapproval and raised eyebrows if she returned to the house, even with her cat, at this late hour; on the other hand, she could risk another piece of her heart by sleeping in Sam’s arms. Worst of all, she
wanted
to sleep in Sam’s arms.

“Come to bed, Clare,” he ordered softly as she heard the bedsprings complain as he settled himself.

When she turned, Sam held the covers slightly up in invitation. Still unwilling to jump so easily into his bed, she suggested, “I could sleep on the couch.”

Sam’s answer was as quick as his laughter, “I don’t have a couch.”

“Do you plan these things?” Clare asked in frustration as she gave up her position on the stairs and approached the bed. “How can you always be in the wrong place at the right time with all the clever answers?”

“Practice.” He smiled suggestively. “I believe in practice.”

Clare flushed with the heat his remark caused. Wetting her lips and adjusting the quilt again gave her a minute to think. Even if she did crawl into his bed, she had to tell him that what had happened between them couldn’t happen again. He’d already told her he wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of guy. He’d expect more from her, and she had to straighten him out now. “Listen, Sam—”