Think About Love (31 page)

She pulled on a pair of jeans, hands shaking. She had to control the shaking, be prepared for him to frown and look uncomfortable when she said she loved him. He'd had enough, sent her away.

She pulled out one of the silk blouses from her honeymoon, then put it back. In its place, she chose a lacy black camisole and hurriedly changed into it. Then the jeans and the shell Dorothy had crocheted for her last birthday.

Grandma, I could be thrown in jail for wearing that.

Honey, that's a man catcher. When you find a man you want, put on one of those lacy camisoles, and wear this over it
.

The shell was almost sleeveless, a fine network of beige crochet work that hugged her breasts and showed the lace beneath. She'd never worn it, because it was the kind of garment that made a statement.

I want you.

Maybe the shell would help her say the words she needed to say. And if he sent her away afterward—well, maybe he'd remember how much he once wanted her to be his wife.

She picked up her purse and left the apartment before she could change her mind and her clothes. In the car, she dialed the number for security in the Tremaine building. Two months since she'd used it, but it was there, at her fingertips when she dialed.

"Is that Jerry? Good, this is Samantha Jones. Is Mr. Tremaine still in the building.... He did? Thanks, Jerry."

He'd left more than an hour ago.

She headed across the Ballard Bridge and toward Cal's place on Washington Lake. By the time she turned onto his road, her heart was pounding as loudly as the music on the stereo. What if he wasn't there? What if he was out with another woman?

What if he was
home
with another woman?

She turned into his drive. The lights seemed to be mostly out, but Cal's Porsche stood a few feet from the front steps. She parked her car behind it.

If he wanted another woman, he'd do something about the marriage. Two months, and she hadn't heard a word from his lawyer. They were still married, and Cal wasn't the sort of man to get involved with one woman when he was legally married to another.

She gulped and undid the chain from around her neck. She dropped the ring trying to get it off the chain, had to rummage on the car floor in the dark. When she found it and put it on her finger, she stumbled out of the car.

She had to get control of her breath.

Light, shining through Cal's front door.

Cal, standing in the open doorway.

She wasn't ready. She needed time, courage. If she tried to talk now, her voice would be jagged. She might even cry. If she didn't get hold of herself first, she might even beg him.

She mustn't beg.

You 're a coward, Sam, a twenty-four carat, gold-plated coward.

There wasn't much doubt about that, she decided raggedly. She slammed her car door and walked unsteadily toward the house and Cal. She couldn't see him properly with the light shining from behind him, couldn't see his face or his eyes, couldn't tell—

Coward.

She put her foot on the first step, then the second. She didn't stop until she was on a level with him, but she still couldn't see his face.

"I need to talk to you, Cal. Could I—" Her voice broke and she gulped. "Can I come in? Or— I can say it here, outside."

He turned his back and disappeared into the house. He didn't close the door, and maybe it wasn't an invitation, but on the other hand it wasn't like Cal to turn his back on someone who was talking to him, so maybe it
was
an invitation.

Coward.

She stepped inside, followed his trail into the sprawling room that was his study.

"Do you want a drink, Samantha?"

She could see his eyes now, and they were so cool she didn't think there could be even the smallest feeling left.

"No, thanks." Alcohol wouldn't help her say this without making a mess of it. Nothing would.

"What do you want?"

He'd asked her that before, in the courthouse, and other times.

She wanted to run, but if she ran, he'd remain in her heart, right beside the knowledge that she'd been too much a coward to fight for the man she loved.

"I do want a drink, please."

"Wine?"

She shook her head. "Scotch."

He raised his brows and turned to the sidebar to pour it for her.

"I came because I'm in love with you." She said it fast, while he was turned away. "Because I want to—I want us to try again."

He put down the glass. Then, slowly, he turned to face her.

"Don't say anything, Cal. Not—I need to say this." She shoved her hair back from her face with both hands and tried to organize her words, but everything was a jumble. "You have to listen. I'm really bad at this. You were right about everything."

"Samantha—"

"I am a coward, and I—it frightened me, falling in love with you. I couldn't control anything. My thoughts, my needs, and I wanted—I always seemed to—I was terrified I'd lose control and somehow never get it back. Afraid I'd love you, really love you, really need you, and you'd leave. I didn't—wasn't—"

"Sam—"

"Please, I have to say this. Even if it's too late. I didn't know how much I feared you leaving me until you said you didn't—wouldn't wait for me any longer. You told me I was a coward, and it's true."

"No." He took three steps and reached for her hands, wove his fingers through hers. "You're not a coward. I said a lot of things I didn't mean."

"You were right." She stared at his fingers, not daring to hope his touch meant what she needed it to mean, but her fingers curled tightly with his. "Every time you did something for me, I accused you of trying to manipulate me. I was afraid to love you, and the more I loved you, the more frightened—I intended to tell you that morning, when you were feeding Kippy, but then… I wimped out."

His hands tightened on hers to the edge of pain. "You were wearing your business suit, hair up, M.B.A. armor in place. I knew I'd screwed things up royally the night before. You were right when you said I was trying to manipulate you. When I first saw you with Kippy, with your hair down, it was as if you came into focus for the first time. I knew then that I had to have you. I should have—I wasn't honest with you. I wanted you for the company, but the marriage was never about business. I wanted
you,
and I thought I could make you fall in love with me. Manipulate you. You had every right to your suspicions."

She could see into his eyes now. They were troubled, and more. She tilted her head back. "You loved me all along," she said. Tears filled her eyes again, but what did it matter? "Cal, I couldn't resist you from the first time you kissed me, but I told myself it was just sex, that it was separate from our business together, something we could
keep
separate and I wouldn't have to be vulnerable. That way I couldn't get hurt. Then, the night you came to Dorothy's and carried my into my bedroom..."

"That night," he said raggedly, "I could feel you slipping away from me. You were half asleep, and even in your sleep you tried to put distance between us, to shut yourself off. Sam, I was a complete jerk. I manipulated you, tricked you into letting me kiss you, telling you it was only a good-night kiss, that I wasn't going to try to make love with you—"

"You didn't actually say that."

"I let you believe it, and then I very deliberately set out to make you want me."

She freed her hands and touched his face. She felt a muscle jerk in his cheek. "I wanted you," she whispered. "That night, when you loved me so selflessly, so tenderly, I knew, really knew deep inside, what you meant when you said you loved me. You didn't mean my mother's kind of love, just for her. You
treasured
me, and I'll never forget how that felt. I couldn't talk afterward. I was so filled with you, with loving."

"I made you cry."

"Oh, Cal! You made me feel. You made me love. I know I really messed it up, but I do love you so much. I was stupid enough to think it would go away, but it's not an episode or a—it's me and you, and I—" She'd gotten this far, surely she could go the rest of the way. "Cal, I need to know. Could you—do you still love me?"

She felt a shudder go through him. "Samantha Moonbeam Jones, I love you with all my heart."

But he hadn't kissed her, wasn't moving to kiss her even now.

Maybe it was her turn.

She stretched her arms up and looped them around his neck. "I'm going to kiss you," she said softly. "And I should warn you...."

She saw his lips twitch in a half smile and felt her heart lurch. He loved her. It wasn't too late.

"Warn me of what?"

"I might try to seduce you into something more." She covered his lips with hers, then softly drew them away to kiss his cheek, the tangy smell of aftershave below his ear.

He pulled her tight and took her mouth with harsh hunger. "Sam... darling...."

She kissed him back and initiated her own hungry kiss. "I was afraid you'd send me away tonight. I was afraid you wouldn't listen, more afraid it was too late, that you wouldn't care."

He held her away from him, his eyes raking over her face, her shoulders, and her breasts. "What are you wearing?" he demanded. "You almost gave me heart failure when I opened the door and saw you get out of your car. I was terrified to go near you. How the hell was I supposed to keep my hands off you, when I could see your breasts move with every breath you take? When I couldn't stop remembering... I desperately needed you to have come because you couldn't stay away. I prayed for that, feared it was something else until I saw you were wearing my ring. Sam, if you keep breathing like that, in that thing you're wearing, we're not going to get as far as the bedroom."

"This thing I'm wearing, my grandmother made it for me."

"Dorothy? You're kidding?"

"She said it was a man catcher. I've never worn it before, but I have some very pleasurable memories of times when you didn't keep your hands off me, and I was hoping I could tempt you to do it again." She tilted her head and studied him. "Is it important for us to get as far as the bedroom?"

"You'd tempt a monk." He slid his hand over her breast and she pressed against him, taking his erection against the softness of her belly. She felt his response and saw his eyes darken.

"I want you to make love to me, Cal." She said it very clearly, deliberately, and felt a thrill of sensation when she saw his eyes heat and felt his body's response. "But first, there's one more thing I need to say."

His hands slid to her hips, then slid slowly over the lacy shell, forming her back. She leaned into him and let herself enjoy his touch. She'd missed this so much, missed him so much.

"Enough talking," he murmured, bending to place his mouth over the lace covered mound of her breast.

He was seducing her again. She moaned and let his hands on her back take her weight. How could she have waited? How could she have let her fears make them both miserable for two whole months?

"I can't think when you—I need to say this, Cal."

"Say it," he growled.

"I'll be here tomorrow. I mean afterward, in the morning. I'm nervous about it, so if I—What would you do if when I woke up tomorrow and you were already up, and I came out and you were in here, working on the computer... and I climbed into your lap and kissed you good morning?"

"Tomorrow?"

She nodded soberly.

"I'd probably pick you up in my arms and carry you back to bed. But I'm not going to be working on my computer tomorrow; I'm going to be right there, in bed, holding you when you wake up. But in a few weeks, or a few months—I'm not sure it's ever going to happen, but if we get to the point where we can share a kiss without both of us going off like rockets, then I'll kiss you back and make sure you know that I want you here, every morning, forever."

She wondered exactly what it was she'd been afraid of.

"Could you put some music on?"
 

He walked to the stereo and gave her soft music. She felt muscles quiver deep inside. Anticipation. She hadn't had a lot of experience, but Calin Tremaine was an incredible lover and her body was already singing.

Deliberately, she waited for him to turn back toward her before she slipped off her sandals, then reached to unfasten her jeans. She slid them off her hips, then slowly down past her hips. She felt a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks as she moved to the music.

"Samantha...." His voice sounded choked.

She stepped out of her jeans.

He was frozen, watching as she danced closer to him She remembered the last time he had loved her, so slowly, so tenderly, soft seduction, not touching her sexually until she was throbbing with sensation, quivering with need.

"Stay there," she said and very slowly drew the shell over her head.

"Darling, are you trying to drive me mad?"

She dropped the shell onto a chair and danced closer to him. Not close enough for him to touch, not yet. Just close enough to tease.

"Yes, Calin Tremaine, I want very much to drive you mad." She smoothed her palm over the satin of her camisole, "Is it working?"

"Oh, yeah."
 

She danced closer, brushed against him, stopped him when his hands lifted to touch. "Not yet," she murmured. "You must admit, it's my turn."

"You've got thirty seconds," he said harshly. "I've been aching for you for two months, and it may be your turn, but—" He caught her hand and pulled her into him, ran his hands over her in long sweeping caresses that left her shuddering.

"You said I had thirty seconds." She slid her hands up under his shirt and smoothed a caress over his chest.

"It's been at least an hour," he said, lifting her into his arms. "We're going to the bedroom. I promised myself that if I ever got you back, I'd take you to bed for a week."

She pressed her mouth to the pulse in his throat and felt his heartbeat. "We've got the weekend. Dorothy and Kippy will understand if you put me down for long enough to phone them."

"There's a phone by the bed."

She laughed and let her head fall back. "Do you have any idea how much I want this? I've dreamed of you every night. Will you come to Paris with me? I have to go to Paris next week. I told Tim I would, but I don't want to leave you, not for about seventy years or so."