With This Ring (6 page)

"I thought we'd start with a foxtrot," she said, smiling. "It's the easiest dance to learn." She held out her arms.

"I'm warning you. This is about all I know. How to hold a woman when you dance," Sam said.

"At least you know that much."

She felt good in his arms, even though she was shorter than he usually preferred. Her head only came up to his chin, but that was okay, he decided. Her body felt surprisingly strong, the back muscles firm under his palm. Her fragile air was deceptive, he was beginning to discover.

"Okay, now, here's the basic step. One . . . two . . . one and two." She demonstrated, moving to her left on the count of one, then to the right, then nudging him forward while she took two backward steps. She continued to count, and at first, he felt awkward and his steps were too big, but within minutes, he got the hang of it, and soon they were circling the room.

"You're doing well," she said, looking up.

"I can't believe I'm really dancing."

Her smile was infectious. "It's fun, isn't it?"

"Yes." What was the most fun, though, was holding her like this. Feeling her body up against his, feeling the firmness of her small breasts and legs. Smelling the light flowery scent she wore and the faint trace of lemon in her hair. He wanted to draw her even closer, tuck her head under his chin and slow down their steps, but he knew that kind of thinking was dangerous. Yeah, sure, he could probably seduce her if he pushed it, but he wouldn't like himself very much if he did. Amy was obviously one of those women who played for keeps.

They danced for a long time. One song segued into another. Most of the tunes were old ones. Sam recognized a lot of them because Peg, his best foster mother, had loved the music from the thirties and forties and played it all the time. He even knew the words to many of the songs and started singing to "Nevertheless."

"You
know
this music?" Amy said, drawing back so she could see his face.

"Uh huh." He told her about Peg.

Amy's smile was filled with delight. "You're the first man I've ever known who actually knew this music."

After that, they sang along together. Her voice was a true contralto and blended nicely with his baritone. They sang "You'll Never Know" and "Nevertheless" and "I'm in the Mood for Love" and dozens of others. Twice, Amy changed CDs. Sam knew it was getting late and he should be going, because the longer he stayed, the more dangerously and foolishly attracted to Amy he became.

The current song finished, and Sam reluctantly said, "You're probably getting tired, I should go."

"No, I'm not tired at all. I could dance all night." So saying, she moved closer, and Sam's breath caught. A new song began, and Amy smiled up into his eyes.

She began to sing, and he chimed in, caught in the spell woven by the romantic music and the warm, enchanting woman in his arms.

Instead of dancing, they swayed together, bodies close, gazes connecting. Sam's heart beat faster. Something was happening here. Something exciting. Something scary. Something dangerous.

They sang the rest of the song, Amy letting Sam carry the melody while she sang soft harmony, their voices weaving together perfectly.

The song ended. They stopped swaying and looked deep into each other's eyes.

Amy's eyes were filled with something potent, something that Sam no longer had the will to resist. He lowered his head and she raised her face simultaneously.

Their lips met. Softly at first. A kiss of exploration.

She made a sound, halfway between a sigh and a moan, her breath soft and sweet.

Sam's arms tightened around her, and he deepened the kiss, feeling an immediate response from her.

His last coherent thought was,
Oh, boy, am I in deep shit now.

For a while now, Amy had wondered if there was something wrong with her. She had even wondered if she was frigid, because sex had never given her the kind of satisfaction other women claimed to get from it.

Now, thanks to Sam, she knew she wasn't.

As Sam kissed her, every nerve ending quivered, every part of her strained toward him. She twined her arms around his neck and pressed close to him. All thought disappeared, leaving only primal urges and stripped-bare defenses.

She wanted him. The knowledge ripped through her. She wanted him in ways she had never believed possible.

The kiss went on for a long time. One kiss became two, two became three. They must have come up for air, but if so, Amy wasn't aware of it. Afterwards, she would never know what had caused her to suddenly begin to think again—to realize that if they were going to stop, she must be the one to say so. Otherwise, the only place these kisses would end was Amy's big bed.

That realization gave her the strength to do what she knew she must. The next step was too serious to take without some thought to the consequences.

Heart thundering, she regretfully pulled away. "Sam, I'm sorry, but things are going too fast for me."

He looked as stunned as she felt. He pushed his hair back from his forehead and frowned in bewilderment. "Jesus, Amy," he muttered. "I never intended to hit on you."

"I know you didn't," she said softly.

They stood awkwardly for a few seconds, evading each other's eyes. Now that they were no longer kissing, Amy felt confused and embarrassed. Her actions tonight were so unlike her.

"I think I'd better go," Sam said. His voice sounded rough.

"Yes." Amy desperately wanted to see him again. She
had
to see him again. She slowly met his gaze. "Sam—"

"Amy—"

They spoke simultaneously. Both broke off and laughed self-consciously.

"You go first," he said.

"No. You go first," she said.

"Okay. I, uh, I had a great time tonight."

"Me, too."

He hesitated, and her heart fell. He wasn't going to say anything about seeing her again.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he finally said.

Her heart soared. "I'd like that."

Silence fell between them once more. Amy knew he wanted to kiss her again, but she was afraid if he did, he never would leave. She wasn't sure she had the strength to resist this powerful force a second time.

But he seemed to understand how she felt, or maybe he felt the same way. He leaned over, gave her a light kiss on her cheek, and said, "I'd better get going."

Amy walked outside with him and stood on the deck as he lightly ran down the stairs. There was a full moon, and it illuminated the grounds below, silvering everything it touched. Stars studded the navy night, and all around her, night creatures stirred while a chorus of cicadas provided background music. Amy breathed in the warm, scented air and thought about how even the most ordinary sounds and sights were magical tonight.

When Sam reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned and looked up. He raised his hand in farewell, eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

Amy smiled and raised her hand in return.

And then he did something that caused her to stop breathing. He began to whistle the opening lines to "Always," the notes pure and clear and completely unmistakable.

In that instant, Amy knew she'd been right. He might not know it yet, but this man was her destiny.

* * *

At midnight, Justin decided to call it a night. Although all of his friends, except for Sam, were at Jessie's party, Justin wasn't enjoying their company the way he normally would.

He felt restless and dissatisfied. He looked around. Everyone else seemed to be having a wonderful time. They were drinking and eating, laughing and talking, dancing and flirting. One couple was necking in the corner. Hootie and the Blowfish blared from Jessie's CD player. Yeah, everyone except him was having a blast.

Justin kept remembering the gleam in Sam's eye as he'd told him he'd met someone new. At this very moment, after a single date, Sam was probably in the woman's bed, having charmed the pants off of her in a matter of hours.

How did Sam do it? Okay, he was good-looking. And he could talk to women effortlessly. But he certainly didn't offer them what they all—Justin's sisters included—professed to want: a steady, stable, serious relationship that would lead to permanent commitment.

And yet any woman Sam had ever wanted he had easily conquered.

Justin couldn't understand it. He would never understand it. And for some reason, tonight he felt vaguely resentful of Sam's prowess.

"Hey, big brother, why so pensive?"

Justin turned, smiling down at Jessie. Of all his sisters, she was his favorite. She looked nice tonight—her short black tank dress complementing her dark hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. For probably the thousandth time, Justin wondered why some guy hadn't snapped Jessie up long before now. "I don't know. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Things. Sam."

At the mention of Sam, the brightness in her eyes dimmed slightly. "Where
did
the great adventurer go tonight?" she asked, her voice studiedly light and casual.

"He had a date."

Jessie nodded, looking away.

Silence fell between them.

"Jess . . . "

Slowly, her eyes met his.

"Sam's not the settling-down kind. He never will be."

Her smile was wry. "Don't you think I know that?"

"Then why . . . ?"

"Why?" She laughed, but the sound was hollow and forced. "Why does anyone fall for someone who doesn't know they're alive? Because we're idiots, that's why!"

She looked away again, but not before Justin caught the sheen of tears in her eyes.

He squeezed her shoulder. "Let's go outside. The noise in here is getting to me."

Wordlessly, they walked out to the front of her townhouse, which was one of sixteen that formed a U around a central parklike area studded with tall oaks and carefully-tended flower beds. The sweet smell of jasmine filled the humid air. They sat on her moonlit front stoop, and Justin put his arm around her.

"Sam's crazy," he said softly.

"Uh huh."

"He
is
. He'd be damned lucky to get you. Any man would be damned lucky to get you."

"Yeah, sure." She sniffled, brushing her hand against her eyes.

Justin could feel the tremor snaking through her. "C'mon, Jess. This isn't good. You've got to forget about him."

"I know, but saying it is easier than doing it. I just . . . I don't know . . . from the moment I met him, I couldn't seem to help myself." She bowed her head. "I'm okay when he's away. I hardly think about him, in fact. But then he comes home again, and I just fall apart. I-I'm so hopelessly in love with him."

At that moment, Justin wanted to strangle Sam. He knew it wasn't Sam's fault that he wasn't interested in Jessie, but it didn't make any difference. Jessie was hurting, big time, and Sam was the cause of that pain.

"I'm like you," she said. "Neither one of us gives our heart lightly. And when we do, it's tough to reclaim it."

She was referring to the one time he'd been seriously in love, his senior year in college. Marilyn had been everything he'd ever looked for in a woman: smart, pretty, generous, warm-hearted. After one date, he'd fallen hard.

Unfortunately, she hadn't returned his feelings. She'd tried, he knew she'd tried. But after they'd been seeing each other a couple of months, she told him she thought it would be better if they stopped. "I like you, Justin," she'd said gently. "I like you a lot, but I don't feel, you know,
that
way about you."

It had taken him nearly a year to get over her. It had been one of the bleakest years of his life. He had confided his feelings to no one except Jessie.

"My brain knows that until I let go of Sam, I'll never be able to fall in love with someone else, and I'm trying, I really am," she continued. "If only he
would
get serious about someone. If I knew for sure that he was not available—" She broke off, sat up a little, squared her shoulders. "Enough of this. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Wishing for something I can't have." She turned her gaze to him. "What about you? You dating anyone?"

"Nope." He chuckled. "I'm too picky, that's my problem. The women I meet, if they like me, I don't like them."

"It'll happen. Just be patient. The right person will come along."

"I hope she hurries. I'm not getting any younger."

"Oh, that's true, you're a real old fogey."

They both laughed, and Justin was relieved to see that Jessie had pulled herself together. "Listen, Jess, I think I'm going to take off. Do you mind?"

"No, you go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow. And Justin? Thanks for listening."

"Anytime," he said, kissing her cheek. "Anytime at all."

All the way home, Justin thought about his conversation with Jessie. He was still thinking about it when he unlocked his back door and walked into the kitchen. Major, who'd been sleeping right next to the door, stretched and gave Justin a lazy "woof" in greeting.

Justin couldn't help comparing the almost-offhanded welcome to the wild joy the dog had exhibited earlier today when Sam had come.

He shook his head in half-amusement, half-annoyance.
I've had the goddamned dog for nearly seven years, taken care of him when he was sick, fed him, petted him, been here through thick and thin, and he
still
likes Sam best!

There was a lesson there somewhere.

* * *

Amy couldn't sleep. She was dying to talk to her mother or Lark. But it was too late to call Lark, and she certainly wasn't going to call her mother in Brussels.

Yet she needed to talk. She needed to tell someone she trusted about the amazing thing that had happened to her today.

After tossing around for hours, she finally got up, showered and dressed, and headed for her easel. Although painting by artificial light wasn't nearly as satisfactory as painting by natural light, she could do it. Painting soothed her. When she felt stressed or worried about anything, picking up her paintbrush and losing herself in a painting would always calm her. She'd tried to describe the feeling to her mother once, but it was hard to put into words. The best she'd been able to come up with was, "It's like being enveloped in a soft, pink cloud. Everything else fades away, and I feel at peace."