Slow Hands (23 page)

Clare reached for the bedpost and curled her fingers around it, bracing herself. “Maybe I don’t love you.”

A cold knife slid into Sam’s belly as he heard the fear behind her words, and he knew nothing he said would change Clare. He let silence drop between them before he finally spoke. “Maybe you’re not capable of love, and maybe I’ve been wasting my time. I give up, so go back to your nice, safe little world, Clare, where you don’t feel anything.” Sam threw the wadded ball of paper to the
ground and turned away. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t watch you pack.”

The reverberation of the slamming door lingered in the room, filling her ears with the finality of Sam’s parting words. Closing her eyes, Clare held her breath and fought back the tears. It was better this way. Better that she walk away before she got hurt any worse.

A half-sob, half-laugh escaped her.
What could hurt worse than this?
Sam didn’t want her. Not unconditionally. Not the way she was. She’d lost count of the times she’d been sized up and put outside the circle. All her life she’d felt like a lonely child looking longingly in the pet store window. As if having a pet who loved her unconditionally would change the world.

It helped. At least she didn’t have to face this alone.

Tears finally began to fall as she opened bureau drawers and tossed her clothes on the bed. She’d pack. She’d get out of Sam’s house, out of his life, and maybe he’d get out of her heart. Clare looked at the mountain of personal belongings on the bed and whispered raggedly, “Now, where are those damned suitcases!”

As if on cue, William knocked on the door and called, “Miss Clare? Samuel said to fetch your suitcases.”

Clare sniffed and rubbed a hand over her eyes before she crossed the room to open the door. “I’m … I’m leaving today.”

Without words, William let her know he didn’t think much of that idea. He huffed disgustedly as he brought the suitcases inside the room and hefted the largest one onto the bed.

Clare began stuffing the suitcases with her clothes. It was amazing how quickly she could pack if she didn’t care about wrinkles or finding anything later. Being
helpful, William began gathering the hanging clothes from the closet, which Clare took from him, folded once, and plopped in the suitcase.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Samuel in such a mood,” William offered as though simply making idle conversation.

“Leave it alone, William,” Clare gritted through her teeth as she tugged the zipper around the bulging suitcase. Then she carried the smaller bag to the bathroom and began throwing cosmetics into it.

As if he hadn’t heard her, William continued. “That boy doesn’t like to lose when he has his heart set on something.”

“William,” Clare warned again.

Her control was slipping and the tears were threatening again. She’d gone twenty-eight years without a kindly father figure giving her advice, and she hoped to God she could get out of that room without getting any advice now. Whether William lectured her, counseled her, or questioned her, the result would be the same—tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“Done,” she said firmly as she came out of the bathroom. “Could you take these downstairs? And bring my car up front?”

“Only woman I know that runs away from home with luggage,” William muttered as he took the smaller bag from her. “I’ll put these in your car, but Samuel’s going to have to drag them back up here. I’m too old for this.” Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I’m not coming back.”

As he picked up the suitcases, William smiled kindly. “You’re always welcome here. You remember that.”

Clare swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
As William left, Clare exhaled the breath she’d been holding and looked around for Slick. “Come here, cat. I need you.”

Fifteen minutes later, she finally managed to coax him from beneath the bed. “We’re going back to the condo. It’s just me and you again, Slick.”

For a moment she nuzzled the fur at the base of his neck with her nose. All she wanted was to get out of the house before she saw Sam again. She didn’t want to see him, notice the unruly blond hair she ached to tame with her fingers, or the way he looked at her with tobacco-brown eyes that promised forever.

Forever was for fools. She knew that.

Halfway down the hall, Slick began to push against her shoulders with his paws. He wiggled out of her arms, arrowing straight for Sam’s bedroom. Clare caught her breath at the emotional punch delivered by Slick’s defection. He’d chosen to stay with Sam, deserting her.

“Dammit,” Clare whispered as tears threatened again. Even her cat didn’t think she could love him. Fine. She didn’t need any of them.

She practically ran outside to her car, but once she was behind the wheel, she couldn’t make herself turn the key. Instead, she just sat there, bits and pieces of her conversation with William drifting through her mind.

Only woman I know that runs away from home with luggage.

William was right, she admitted to herself. She was running away from home. Away from the only home she’d known since she was seven years old. The condominium was familiar, but it wasn’t home. Not anymore. Sam had seen to that. He’d taken her life and ripped it apart.

You’re always welcome here.

“Not anymore, William, not anymore,” she whispered as she let her head fall back against the seat. Sam had seen to that too. He wouldn’t accept anything less than a total surrender of her heart. Sam wanted all of her—body and soul. He had wanted her to close her eyes and take a blind leap of faith. When she hesitated, he gave up on her. He walked away so easily.

I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Samuel in such a mood.

William’s observation made Clare’s heart slam against her rib cage. He was right. Sam didn’t walk away easily. Sam was furious. For the first time since she’d met Sam, he lost control. He yelled. He slammed a door. He hadn’t debated her decision in a logical, dispassionate manner. This wasn’t a game, not anymore.

Straightening and daring to hope, Clare felt some of the sadness lift. He
slammed
the door. Sam was smash-his-fist-into-the-wall angry. Suddenly all the doubts were gone.

Loving Sam wasn’t her choice to make. Neither of them had a choice. He was as much a part of her now as her need to breathe. “God help me, I love you, Sam Tucker,” she whispered as she got out of the car. No rockets or fireworks or bells accompanied her revelation, just an overwhelming certainty that she wanted the laughter and the joy and the passion she found with Sam to go on forever.

Bracing herself, she opened the front door and almost ran into Sam. He had Slick tucked under one arm and was reaching for the doorknob with the other. Both of them froze instantly, uncertain.

Sam broke the silence between them. “Here. I couldn’t let you go without him. He’s the one thing you
love, and whether you know it or not, you need someone to love.”

“I didn’t come back for Slick,” Clare said the words softly, willing him to understand everything those words represented. When Sam didn’t answer, fear began to squeeze her heart.

The apprehension in her eyes both worried Sam and gave him hope. Everything he wanted, everything he dreamed since having Clare in his life seemed to shimmer just beyond his reach. So close and impossibly far away unless Clare had found the courage to love him. Sam carefully stepped out of the way so she could come all the way inside. As he shut the door, he ordered, “Say that again. Spell it out, Clare.”

“I need someone to love, but I didn’t come back for Slick. I came back because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Instantly, Sam dropped the cat and grabbed her shoulders. Blood roared in his ears as he tried to stop his heart from jumping to conclusions. “Why?”

Clare allowed herself a smile. “Because you slammed the door.”

Sam backed her up against the wall, letting his hands rest on either side of her head. “What does my slamming doors have to do with anything?”

“You’re in the same boat I am,” Clare said as she looked up. “You don’t have any more control over your emotions than I have over mine. You believe in forever, because it hurts too much if you don’t.”

Closing his eyes, Sam took a deep breath and let Clare slip into the hole in his life, filling it completely. “Say the words, Clare.”

She lifted her face to press a kiss against his lips,
reveling in the warmth she knew she’d always find. “I love you, Sam Tucker. But you need to understand something about me.”

“What don’t I understand about you?”

Being honest wasn’t easy for Clare, but she knew she had to say it. “I’m not very careful with the people I love. I keep losing them.”

“Ah, Clare,” Sam whispered. “You can’t lose me. You’re a part of me. Don’t ever forget that.”

As Sam cradled her head on his chest, William complained from the top of the stairs. “For heaven’s sake, Samuel. Kiss the girl and ask her to marry us.”

Sam sighed and said, “We can’t fire him, but we may have to kill him.”

“Not before he gives away the bride,” she said, and without taking her eyes off of Sam, she asked, “Is that okay with you, William?”

“That’d be just fine. Now, kiss the girl, Samuel, and let’s get this over with. I’ve got work to do.”

Sam smiled. “You’d best go do it then. This could take awhile.”

When he finally kissed her, Clare felt the promise of forever in the touch of his lips to hers.

It was his thirty-sixth birthday.

As a waiter cleared away the remains of his birthday dinner, Morgan Abbott absently touched the silvering temples of his chocolate-brown hair and decided that birthdays were overrated, embarrassing, and only fussed about by people whose birthday it wasn’t. After all, he
was
thirty-six. and not a nine-year-old, excited about presents and birthday cake. He didn’t even like desserts anymore.

But George Boswick, his friend and business associate, had insisted on celebrating this milestone by taking him out for drinks and dinner at an elegant North Shore Chicago restaurant, since he, Morgan, had been away from home on a business trip on his birthday. George and his wife had even provided a kind of date for him to make the party a foursome.

Morgan glanced at his date. Lisa, an attractive
blonde, was a junior executive in the accounting department of George’s electronics supply company. She had just the right amount of brains, ambition, and soothing personality to take her far in the corporate world. As chairman and chief executive officer of Abbott Industries Morgan knew that she was exactly the kind of person he wanted working for him. Lisa knew it, too, he thought, as she gave him a polite, yet acknowledging smile that meant she was happy with her job, but was open to another company’s offer of more money and quicker promotions.

Realizing he was vaguely thinking of her only as a prospective employee, Morgan ruefully chuckled under his breath. He was getting too damn old.