The Unsung Hero (5 page)

Sighing defeatedly, she
switched on the bedside lamp and reached for the copy of
Love's Sweet Bondage
.
But as she stared at the cover, a curious thing happened. The idea
of reading Cathryn James's--or rather Jason Armstrong's—romantic
storytelling suddenly lost all its appeal for her.

Almost as if she was saying farewell to an
old friend she would never see again, she dropped the book in the
wicker wastebasket near her bedside, conscious of an almost painful
ache of her breast.

The memory of Jason's touch still filled her
with a sense of wonder and excitement, perhaps even awe, but the
magic of his words had palled... for the moment.

And maybe even for good.

Chapter 3

Golden sunlight streaming through pristine
white curtains prodded Samantha into wakefulness the next morning.
With a muffled groan, she rolled onto her back and threw an arm
over her eyes. Her lids drifted peacefully closed and she was ready
to doze off again when suddenly a curious feeling prickled her
skin.

Her eyes flew open as she quickly sat up,
muscles tensed and ready to spring from the bed. "You!" she gasped
at the sight of Jason Armstrong sitting nonchalantly on the side
of her bed. "What are you doing in here?"

His grin was all too disarming, that
beautifully shaped mouth was doing strange things to her in- sides.
Samantha swiftly fought down the alarming flutter of her pulse. "I
couldn't find you anywhere else," he said cheerfully.

"But you're in my bedroom! And—you're
supposed to be in Seattle." Eyes that had been wide with shock
narrowed suddenly. "Why didn't you ring the doorbell? Or at least
knock?"

"I was in Seattle," he said mildly. "I missed
you, so I drove back last night and got in early this morning. And
as for knocking... well, I told you yesterday I wouldn't bother."
There was a sudden twinkle in his deep brown eyes. "Serves you
right, though, for leaving your door unlocked again. You're lucky
it was me and not some other—" his look sharpened as his eyes ran
boldly down her body, the gauzy material of her nightie concealing
precious little of her flesh "—degenerate," he finally finished,
his eyes lingering on the gentle thrust of her breasts.

Samantha grabbed wildly for the sheet. The
fact that she'd forgotten to lock her door last night took a back
seat to the wholly masculine glint of appreciation in his eyes.
When Jason leaned toward her, she flung out her other hand, her
palm slapping against the unyielding muscle of his shoulder as she
attempted to thwart his forward motion.

"Don't!" she gasped, her eyes running over
his wide shoulders and naked hair-roughened flesh. Like the
previous day, he wore only a brief pair of shorts. "My Gad, I know
for a fact you're not a struggling writer scrimping and scraping
for a living anymore! What have you got against buying clothes—oh,
and what a novelty--wearing them!"

"Writers and artists are well-known for
their eccentricities. And besides, I just finished a three-mile jog
on the beach," he murmured, his mouth a mere breath away from hers.
"And I came to see if what you said was true."

Even as he spoke, Samantha could feel a
slight film of moisture beneath her fingertips where they curled
around his shoulder. A languorous feeling pervaded her limbs, but
she resisted the urge to explore the length of his back and the
sinewy strength of his biceps, tautly defined as he rested both
hands against the mattress.

She swallowed nervously, stringently avoiding
eye contact with him, as if that would somehow make her less aware
of his overpowering maleness. "If what was true?"

"That you're a bear in the morning—like you
said you were."

"I was right, wasn't I?" Her voice was little
more than a ribbon of sound, her heart was beginning to thump with
heavy, uneven strokes against her ribs. She really should be
telling him to get off her bed and out of her house, maybe even out
of her life. And she would—eventually.

"Maybe." He smiled and added lazily, "And
then again, maybe not."

The soft velvet of his voice was as potent as
a caress. His eyes rested on her parted lips. Samantha's head
tilted back in unconscious invitation as he leaned closer still,
the delicate arch of her neck drawing his attention away from her
mouth. She felt the extremely heady sensation of his lips slowly
journeying upward against the sensitive cord on the side of her
neck.

A soft sigh escaped her when his mouth closed
over hers. His arms enfolded her, gathering her body close to the
solid warmth of his chest. She felt strangely giddy, light-headed,
totally unlike herself. But then, ever since this man had first
stepped into her life yesterday, she hadn't been feeling quite
like herself. She

led a placid, extremely tranquil existence.
Only one other time had she acted so irrationally—and look where it
had led. Disastrous was a harsh word to describe her marriage, but
certainly it had been a disappointment. After all, she'd thought
it would last forever.

No, it wasn't often she was given to impulse;
it wasn't often she let her emotions carry her away so quickly. But
all thought of that long-ago time with Alan and anything else were
quickly banished from her mind, and all she could think of was this
man who seemed able to charm her at will. She was awash in a sea of
sensation, acutely and vibrantly aware of everything about
Jason—the smooth feel of his muscles beneath her fingers, the warm
compelling touch of his mouth moving so enticingly on hers and the
heady feeling it aroused, as well as the queer feeling that shot
through her and made her fairly ache to explore every taut inch of
his spare muscular body.

"Mmmm, that was nice," Jason whispered into
her hair when he finally lifted his head from hers a long time
later. Samantha was left with a burning desire for another kiss—and
more.

"Better than nice—it was fantastic."

She opened her eyes as she realized the
husky voice had come from her own throat. Had she actually said
that? She tried not to look stricken, but when Jason laughed softly
she found her lips curving in an answering smile. She gasped with
delight when his lips found the smooth skin of her shoulder once
more before he slid away from her.

As he stood up, he glanced
idly at the nightstand. Samantha held her breath as his eyes
sharpened, lowering to the small wastebasket below it. Bending
over, he retrieved the copy of
Love's
Sweet Bondage
she had thrown out the night
before.

A slight frown was etched between his dark
eyebrows as Samantha met his eyes uneasily. "I've never known a
faithful fan who threw away her favorite author's books. At the
very least, you could have given it to someone else. Didn't you
like the ending?"

Damn, of all the things for him to notice!
"I'm sure I would have liked it—- she smoothed a fold of the
blanket and looked away "--had I gotten that far."

Jason moved a step closer, his shadow falling
across her and somehow making the moment seem almost ominous. "How
far did you get?"

"Only—as far as I got yesterday on the
beach," she said in a low voice, feeling unaccountably guilty.
"Less than halfway through."

"I thought you liked it."

"I...I did."

"Then why throw it out before you even
finished it?"

Samantha shook her head, not quite sure how
to respond. "I'm not sure you want to know," she said finally.

"Oh, yes, I do." Again Jason sat down on the
bed. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes seemed to hold a
challenge. "My biggest fan turned critic--this could be very
enlightening."

Samantha's mouth tightened at the sarcastic
drawl. Before she had felt like cringing inside, now sensing his
displeasure, she was determined to give him no quarter. "All right
then," she said, drawing a deep breath and looking him straight in
the eye. "I couldn't read it because after finding out what you're
really like, I'd have felt cheated. Maybe it's idealistic of me—"
she emphasized the word with a downward curl of her lips "—but I
like to think an author believes in what he's writing about. And
frankly, reading one of your books now would be almost..." She
halted, groping for the right word, her eyes flashing triumphantly
when she found it. "Almost sacrilegious."

Jason blinked in surprise, and his thick
eyebrows drew together over that long straight nose before he
smiled thinly. "So you don't like my philosophy on love. Is that
what this is about?"

"Yes." She folded her arms firmly over the
sheet where it covered her breasts and fixed defiant eyes on him.
Now that she'd made her stand, she wasn't about to back down.

"And as for my books, you'd like me to say I
write about love for the sake of love, because of my unswerving
faith and belief in it."

She hesitated. She would like to hear that,
but not if it wasn't true, and right now, if he swore on a stack of
Bibles, she knew she'd never be able to believe him.

"It's too bad I broke your bubble, but
believe it or not, I do write for love--love of money." There was a
brief pause. "Although I suppose it's never too late to
change."

Was that a twinge of regret she saw in his
eyes? It was gone before she could really be sure. "Oh, don't
worry," she said brazenly. "You know the saying about one bad
apple? Well, just because I won't be reading any more of your books
doesn't mean I've read my last romance. There are plenty of good
authors out there and I'm sure I'll find a replacement in no
time!"

He merely smiled at this as if she'd said
something immensely amusing. "Are you a good teacher?" he inquired
blandly.

The abrupt change in subject caught her by
surprise. She glanced at him quickly. "I've only taught for two
years," she said slowly, "but I didn't have any complaints and I
was satisfied with my students' progress." She eyed him rather
warily. "Yes, I'd say I'm a good teacher."

"Good." He nodded, a decidedly wicked gleam
in his eyes. "So give me an education. Give me a lesson to last a
lifetime. Show me how wrong I am about... love."

Samantha stared at him for what must have
been a full minute. Talk about unpredictable, she thought to
herself disbelievingly. Jason Armstrong was certainly that! She
resisted the impulse to pull away from him when he reached out a
forefinger and began to stroke the soft skin stretched across her
collarbone.

"Jason Armstrong," she began carefully, "I
wouldn't touch that offer with an insulated ten-foot pole." Come to
think of it, about ten feet of insulation was exactly what she
needed. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so shivery both inside and out
the minute he touched her.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" That
teasing voice contained more than a measure of cajolery. "Don't you
ever crave a little excitement?"

"No," she retorted tartly. "My sense of
adventure and excitement doesn't extend beyond occasionally trying
a bargain-brand product at the grocery store."

"Oh, come on. The way I see it neither one of
us can come out the loser."

Samantha drew a deep breath. Was it his male
ego talking again? He certainly seemed to have been blessed with a
healthy dose! And who was he trying to kid? He would come out ahead
no matter what happened. In her mind, she couldn't possibly emerge
unscathed.

"No way," she reiterated firmly.

"Why not?" he protested. "You've got an
entire summer, and you just said you were a good teacher." He
picked up her hand and began idly tracing a pattern on it.

"But this is different!" She snatched her
hand away. "Loving isn't something you learn to do—it just
happens," she informed him exasperatedly. "I can't teach you how
to change your attitude, your way of thinking, and frankly, I
think that's your problem. I'm a teacher, not a counselor. And
besides..." Her jaw closed with a snap. She'd caught herself just
in time.

"Besides... what?"

Samantha crossed her arms over her breasts
defensively. "Nothing," she muttered. "Just forget it." She looked
away from those knowing eyes, aware that they were alight with
teasing laughter. What could she say? If she agreed, come September
he'd be gone and she'd be left nursing a broken heart? A summer
fling with Jason Armstrong might be fun. Fun? It would be heaven
itself! But would it be wise? Never!

Jason got to his feet and looked down at her.
"Tell me something," he said almost thoughtfully. "Do you ever take
any chances? Ever gamble on anything?" When Samantha's jaw
tightened, he smiled and looked leisurely around her bedroom, hands
on his hips. "I wouldn't be surprised," he continued in the same
thoughtful tone, "to find out you bought this house only after
inspecting it from stem to stern half a dozen times."

Astute. That's what he was. She had to give
him credit for that. Though it was on the tip of her tongue to tell
him about her whirlwind romance with Alan six years ago, somehow
she had the feeling she'd still end up in the line of fire. But he
was right about the house.

Already she could feel a guilty flush
creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. She stared straight ahead
and refused to look at him. She hated the smile in his voice when
he said, "I hit the nail on the head, didn't I?"

"No," she muttered to the wall across from
her. "It was only five times—not six."

Jason's laughter followed
behind him as he strode across the room to the doorway. "Do me a
favor." He turned to face her, an easy smile pulling at his firm
lips. "Don't give up on
Love's Sweet
Bondage
just yet. Shelve it if you want,
but don't pitch it."

Just what on earth was that supposed to mean,
Samantha wondered irritably as she clambered out of bed after he
had gone.