The Unsung Hero (2 page)

For two long weeks she had looked forward to
this day, a day spent sunbathing and reading, reading and
sunbathing, and now it seemed her well-laid plans were about to go
sadly awry--though if she were honest with herself, she'd admit
she didn't mind in the least. But how could she think, much less
concentrate on reading, with this... this half-naked fantasy man
lying beside her?

Willpower. That's what she
needed. Determinedly she opened
Love's
Sweet Bondage
to discover the outcome of
Marshall's seduction of Sabrina. But it couldn't have been more
than a few seconds before her gaze lifted and fixed on the male
form stretched out beside her. The man was lying on his back, eyes
closed, bristly dark lashes resting on his high cheekbones. Unable
to resist, her eyes traveled slowly down his muscular chest and
long well-shaped legs, returning upward to linger with breathless
intensity on the place where the wiry curls on his abdomen
disappeared beneath that damnably low waistband of his swimsuit.
He was so close that all she had to do was reach out a hand to
touch the burnished skin of his shoulder, knowing instinctively
that his flesh would be warm and smooth, the muscles vibrant and
flowing beneath her fingertips.

Shocked by the urge to do exactly that,
Samantha jerked her eyes away from the stranger and focused her
attention elsewhere--to her book, since it happened to be handy.
But this time the words blurred together and all she could really
see was the image of the man's rugged features and tough athletic
body. She blinked and swallowed, but the harder she tried to shoo
away the disturbing image, the more the black print on the pages
seemed to swim and float away from her.

"That must be quite a book. It seems to have
you spellbound."

Spellbound. That's what she
was. For once, Samantha realized it wasn't her book that held her
spellbound, but a man. A man who existed not only in her mind, but
in the flesh.
This
man. A deep breath and she felt her senses returning to
normal.

Closing the paperback, she replaced it in
the small canvas bag beside her. Looping her fingers around her
knee, she smiled at the stranger rather shyly. "It is rather . . .
captivating." She smiled to herself. Oh, if he only knew . . .

"Is that why you've been staring at the same
word for the last five minutes?"

The question, combined with the realization
that he'd been watching her all that time, sent a sudden rush of
color into her cheeks. What could she say? That she was dazzled by
the sun's rays glinting off the ocean? She was dazzled all right,
but not by the sun.

Luckily there was no need for a response as
he suddenly reached out and caught her hand in a light grasp.
"I've embarrassed you, haven't I?"

"Maybe a little." With her free hand, she
pushed at a few more wispy strands of hair feathering across her
cheek, returning his smile as she caught his eye. The glimmer of
humor she saw there seemed to dissipate some of her natural
reserve. When he smiled, which he seemed to do quite often, his
face lost some of its harshness, though perhaps that wasn't quite
the right description. Strong . . .yes, that was it. He was
strong, but with a gentleness in his eyes that seemed to reach out
and enfold her in its warmth.

This man was straight from the pages of a
Cathryn James novel, and since Samantha was hopelessly devoted to
romances, finding such a man in the flesh was almost too good to be
true. Further, that it seemed Cathryn James was one of the few
authors who had yet to put a vampire between the pages.

"In that case, maybe I'd better not press
you for an answer to my original question." Samantha was
increasingly conscious of his avid gaze roving over her features
as he spoke. Did he like what he saw? She hoped so. Lord, but she
hoped so!

She turned slightly to look at him. She felt
silly, but she couldn't seem to stop smiling, even when he
relinquished possession of her hand. "What was the question?"

"Whether or not the lady had lost her virtue
yet." As her eyes widened slightly, he laughed, a low mellow sound
that sent a flood of pure pleasure radiating through her body. "The
lady in your book," he elaborated dryly in answer to the question
in her eyes. "Definitely not you. Believe me, I wouldn't dream of
being so personal. At least, not on our first meeting," he added
with a twinkle in his eyes.

Will there be a
second
? The question flitted through her
mind, even as she laughed nervously. "Oh, that." She bit her lip
and glanced over at him. "Actually, the answer is no, although I
think in just a few more pages it would have been a very emphatic
yes." A sudden thought struck her. "How did you know it was . . .
well, that kind of book?"

"A steamy romance, you mean?" One corner of
his mouth turned up in a lazy smile of amusement. When she nodded,
he shifted his position on the towel so that he was facing her
directly, his back to the gently lapping waves of the sea.
"They're easy to spot," he offered in explanation. "What other
book cover has a bare-chested man with his hands all over..." He
stopped, his smile widening slightly as he took in Samantha's
reddening cheeks. "Well, let's just say with a man touching a woman
who isn't wearing a whole lot more than he is."

Samantha wasn't about to argue the point,
since it was often true. Roses and leaves were . . . well, they got
a little boring. Just like they'd gotten boring when that
muscle-bound Italian oaf Fabio seemed to appear on every cover.

She turned her eyes seaward for a moment,
watching the white-crested silvery waves against the blue horizon.
Several children scampered through the rolling surf, their cries of
laughter echoing through the air. Her eyes drifted back to the
stranger. "Do you do much reading yourself?" she asked
curiously.

There was a slight twitch to the man's lips
as if he was trying very hard to hold back a grin, but Samantha
was much more involved in watching the play of muscles in his bare
shoulders as he shrugged to really notice. "I've been known to
frequent a few bookstores."

"Do you live around here?" There, it was out,
the question she'd been wanting to ask since she'd first seen him.
She held her breath, waiting almost painfully for his answer.
Neskowin was a small town on the central Oregon coast; most
tourists thronged to the larger towns north or south of the
community, although a number of vacation homes nestled along this
stretch of beach. Her own small house was bordered by one, though
she'd never met the owner.

"No. I'm vacationing, although I expect to
get a lot of work done while I'm here," he said with a lift of both
dark brows.

How long was he staying? A week? Two weeks?
And where was he staying? Was he married? No, somehow she knew he
wasn't, and besides, her subconscious mind had already noted the
absence of a wedding ring. She'd have liked to give voice to the
questions tumbling around in her head, but somehow the words
couldn't find their way out past the knot in her throat. Instead
she murmured, "I see."

"How about you? Are you vacationing,
too?"

Samantha smiled, pleased at his interest.
"No, I live here." She gestured over her shoulder toward a small
whitewashed house surrounded by a cluster of gnarled windblown
trees just beyond the beach. "That's my house back there."

He looked over her shoulder, his eyebrows
lifting in surprise. "You live here year-round? I thought most of
the homes here were summer places."

"Mine is one of the few that isn't. It's
very quiet and peaceful--" she smiled, her gaze resting on her book
for a fleeting second "--and although the town isn't booming with
nightlife, I like it here."

"What's your name?"

"Samantha," she told him. "Samantha Monroe."
She leaned forward and rested her arms on her knees. The sun beat
down on her back—she really she apply some more sun block--but the
shimmering warmth felt good on her bare skin. She was just about to
ask a few questions of her own when his eyes caught hers and she
found herself admiring him again.

"So tell me, Samantha," he said easily, his
eyes never leaving hers, "what do you do in this life besides
sunbathe on the beach on lazy June afternoons? Are you a--" he
smiled as if he already knew the answer "--a member of the idle
rich?"

Samantha laughed, a low tinkling sound that
floated away on the brisk sea breeze. "Not exactly. I teach second
grade at the elementary school here, and since school is out for
the summer," she stated the obvious, "that explains why I'm idle,
at least at the moment. And as for being rich, my savings account
is practically down to zilch since I've been putting every spare
nickel and dime I earn into fixing up my house. It wasn't exactly
in mint condition when I bought it, but it's beginning to shape up
pretty well."

"Mmm," he agreed, though from the direction
his eyes were looking, it wasn't the shape of her house he was
assessing, but rather the shape of her long slender legs. She felt
a momentary discomfort and resisted the impulse to tug at the hem
of her bikini bottom to hide the back of her thighs. But when his
eyes rested once again on her face, she knew an undeniable but all
too brief thrill of satisfaction at the flare of undisguised
appreciation in his eyes.

He tipped his head to the side and studied
her for a moment. "So you're a schoolteacher," he murmured. "It
fits... to a degree."

She stretched out her legs in a smooth supple
motion and leaned back again. "To a degree?" she repeated, a
little surprised at how much at ease she was with this stranger,
despite the rather delirious way she felt when she looked at
him.

He nodded and gave her a lopsided grin. "On
one hand, you hardly seem like the typical schoolmarm of old—-prim
and proper, stern and straitlaced--the type who won't stand any
nonsense and who reigns over her classroom with a ruler in one hand
and a paddle in the other."

"Sounds like my eighth-grade teacher, Mrs.
Webster," Samantha recalled. "She was about six feet tall with
iron-gray hair that she wore in a tightly coiled bun, and I never
saw her smile once that entire year." She laughed. "I can't say
I've ever had much of a discipline problem with my second-graders,
though I'll admit you're right. I certainly wouldn't look to a
paddle as the solution."

"I think I know why you've never had any
problem. All the little boys in your class probably had a crush on
you, and all the little girls undoubtedly wanted to grow up to be
just like you."

"I'm not so sure about that," Samantha said
with a grin, "but I do know that if I ever see another shiny red
apple again in my lifetime, it'll be too soon. And to think I
believed that was a thing of the past!"

His laughter joined hers for a moment before
he spoke again. "You do give the impression of being rather quiet
and studious, though, so I can't say I'm surprised to find your
head buried in a book." He watched her for a few seconds, an easy
smile lifting the corners of his firm mouth. "But I am surprised by
your choice of... reading material."

Samantha tilted her chin and regarded him.
"Why?"

"A teacher who likes romances?" There was a
gleam of laughter in his eyes as he shaded them from the bright
glare of the sun. "What would your students say if they knew you
were reading tales of lust and passion? Worse yet, what would their
parents think?"

Samantha arched a brow, still bristling a
little. "They would probably think I was disgracefully depraved,"
she said primly, then added, "or perhaps exceedingly deprived. But
what I read I in my own time is my own business. But just to
reassure you, I'll have you know I have a healthy appreciation for
Steinbeck and Hemingway and I've read every single word of War and
Peace!"

His eyes were a warm shade of toasty brown
as he gazed across at her. "I think," he said dryly, "I've just
discovered the true meaning of the phrase 'properly
chastised.'"

A tingle of excitement raced down her spine
at his look. She couldn't help it. She attempted to cover it by
tucking her hair behind an ear. "And you seem to be rather well
versed in historical romance jargon for a man."

The stranger's smile deepened. "What would
you say if I told you I'd read a few?"

It took a moment for his words to sink in,
but when they did, her mouth tightened. She observed his relaxed
position on the sand, his bronzed skin a sharp contrast to the
fluffy white beach towel. He looked very virile and totally
masculine sitting there so casually. He was as much an oaf as
Fabio and yet... something told her he was perfectly serious.

A man who read romances. He was toying with
her. With an effort she forced her eyes to meet his. "How . . .
unusual."

"Yes, I suppose it is." A cocky grin split
his lean features. "But just for the record, I only did it out of
curiosity--and duty. Yes . . . duty."

Duty? This was growing stranger by the
moment, she thought to herself. She was on the verge of
questioning him further when he reached out a long arm and plucked
her paperback from the bag between them. "As a matter of fact--"
there was a smile in his voice as he stared at the cover "--I'm
extremely familiar with this author's books."

"You are?" A strange feeling of pleasure
surged through her as she slipped her legs over the side of her
chair and wiggled her toes in the warm sand. Was he mocking her? He
didn't seem to be . . ."What a coincidence," she said. "Cathryn
James is my favorite author. I love the way she writes and I never
miss any of her books."

"Hmm." was his only comment. He rose lithely
to his feet and took a single step backward. Her eyes followed his
form, and she suddenly realized he was leaving. Of all the luck,
she thought to herself irritably. The dream of a lifetime and he
was walking out the door after barely sticking his foot inside.
What a lousy way to start her vacation.