Picture Me Sexy (16 page)

“I'm waiting for Ms. Walker,” Sam replied amiably. This guy could rip him limb from limb were he so inclined. He looked like a damned sasquatch.

“How long have you been here?”

Sam tapped the steering wheel, pretended to think about it. “Around thirty minutes.”

“He's lying!” Mrs. Carter, who'd escaped his notice and who'd apparently come to join in the interrogation, said with a sniff. “He's been here an hour, at least.”

Sam bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “That might be more accurate, however, last time I checked waiting wasn't against the law.”

Mrs. Carter's eyes flashed, then she turned a determined expression up at the officer. “Make him leave, son,” she ordered. “Delaney has had enough to deal with lately—she doesn't need another one of these kooks plaguing her today.”

“I'm not a kook,” Sam insisted, vaguely recalling Delaney mentioning something to the same effect the first time he'd visited her house. He'd been so overwrought and out of sorts, he hadn't been able to think clearly. “I'm a friend.”

“No, you're not, sonny. You're a kook,” she insisted. “If you were a friend, then you'd know to come when she was at home.” She bobbed her head.
“Now move on. She doesn't give interviews from her home. Not to any of the papers, not for possible employment.” Her eyes narrowed. “Not for anything.” She blew out a disgusted breath. “For pity's sake, show some respect. Make an appointment—don't bother her at home.”

Guilt pricked at the reminder that he too been one of those people who wanted something from her, and he truly understood why she'd be wary of anyone whom she suspected of an ulterior motive. But he hadn't shown up at her house like one of the kooks, as Mrs. Carter had so eloquently put it. He'd sent his portfolio to her office and when he'd realized that their relationship was destined for something more, he'd pulled the damn thing. He was different, dammit. He wasn't Roger, he wasn't any other guy.

He was different. He had to prove it to her.

But if Officer Testosterone had anything to say about it, he wasn't going to get the chance.

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave,” the officer said, much to Sam's immense displeasure. He needed to see her now, more than ever.

“Look,” Sam said, striving for a calm he didn't feel. “I'm not hurting anyone, I'm not breaking the law. I'm simply waiting on a friend. That's all.”

The officer's big chest swelled as he drew in a self-important breath. “I would hate for this to get ugly. I've told you to leave. We can do this one of two ways, you can go willingly—or unwillingly—
but one way or the other, you will be going.” He cracked his knuckles. “Understand?”

“That's telling him, John,” Mrs. Carter said with a succinct self-righteous nod.

Oh, hell, Sam thought as irritation twisted his insides into a huge seething knot. He couldn't blame her for coming to Delaney's defense—was glad that she did. He just wished that she'd nabbed a genuine kook—not him.

“Listen—”

“Okay. I warned you,” the officer said, then promptly opened Sam's door and started to forcibly drag him out of the car. Sam instinctively resisted, outraged at the man's gall. “Dammit, I haven't done anything wrong!”

In short order Sam found himself flattened against the car, his arm wrenched up behind his back. He winced.

“Hey!” a familiar outraged voice screamed. “John, what the hell are you doing? Mrs. Carter, what's going on?”

Sam tried to turn toward the sound of Delaney's voice, but John had him in a death grip. He heard the sharp rap of her heels across the pavement drawing closer, then, “I said what the hell are you doing?” she repeated. “Let him go.”

“Do you know this man, Delaney?” John asked.

“He's been lurking in his car,” Mrs. Carter shared knowingly. “Waiting for you to get home.”

Delaney huffed an exasperated breath. “Yes, I
know him. He's a friend. Now for heaven's sake, let him go.”

“If you're sure,” John hedged, clearly disappointed that he hadn't been able to twist Sam's arm clean out of the socket.

“I'm sure,” Delaney told him, her voice tight.

John reluctantly lowered Sam's arm and stepped back, allowing Sam to finally turn around and meet Delaney's tense gaze. To his vast relief, goose bumps peppered his skin and his scalp prickled with awareness. That curious whirling behind his navel started again, sucking the very air from his lungs with its intensity. He wanted to hug her more than anything, wanted to breathe in her sweet scent, feel that soft womanly body against his. The urge almost brought him to his knees, yet he resisted. He had a lot more riding on this than a mere hug and he instinctively knew the time wasn't right.

“I didn't mean to sic John on your friend, Delaney,” Mrs. Carter said with a regretful sniff, her voice contrite. “I was just trying to look out for you.”

Delaney tore her gaze from his and regarded her neighbor with a warm smile. “I know. Thank you.”

Seemingly satisfied, Mrs. Carter snagged her gigantic son's arm and herded him efficiently toward her house. “Come along, John. I've got a nice mug of cocoa waiting.”

“Sorry,” Delaney murmured with a sheepish
quirk of her lips. “She's a little overzealous when it comes to looking out for me.”

“It's fine,” Sam said, and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets to keep from reaching for her. “No harm done.”

“Er…” She cocked her head. “How long have you been waiting?”

“About an hour.”

She huffed a short breath, crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “Funny. That's about how long I've been sitting in the parking lot of your apartment building.”

Sam's senses heightened. “You have?”

She wore a curiously guarded, yet hopeful expression that made something near his heart shift. “Yeah,” she told him. “I'd decided to come home and try to call, try to catch up with you that way.”

“I'm eternally grateful.” His conjured a wry smile. “I'd undoubtedly be on my way to 201 Poplar if you hadn't made such a timely appearance.”

Her eyes twinkled. “You know the address of the police department?”

Sam shrugged. “I make a yearly donation to the Widowed Officers Fund. It's easy to remember.”

Seemingly impressed, her gaze softened and she gestured toward her house. “Would you like to come in?”

Sam nodded, heartened by the invitation and followed her inside. She shrugged out of her coat and
hung it on the hall tree. Following her lead, Sam did the same.

A tense beat elapsed, then slid into five as they stood awkwardly in her foyer and stared at one another. They both swallowed, then…

“I owe you—”

“I'm sorry—”

They shared a laugh and, thankfully, that seemed to lighten the moment.

“Sorry,” Sam said. “You go first.”

Delaney pushed a hand through her hair, her lips curled into an endearingly nervous smile. “Thank you. I'd like to go first because one, I owe you an apology and, secondly, I have a question for you.” She took a deep breath, for courage, he supposed. “I, uh…I'm sorry for the way that I acted in Martindale. I should have let you explain, but I was so mad and I couldn't get past that anger and I just—” she gestured wildly “—blew up.” She cast him a woeful glance. “I'm truly sorry.”

Something in Sam's chest lightened, swelled with hope. “Apology accepted.”

“Now for the question.” Her eyes searched his and the torturous emotion he read in those gorgeous green depths unwittingly propelled his feet toward her. “Why did you pull your portfolio from the
Chifferobe?
” she asked softly, and he could tell that his answer was incredibly important to her. She seemed to be holding her breath, silently praying for him to say the right thing.

Sam lovingly traced her face with his gaze. “Because I knew the first moment that I saw you that you were the one for me,” Sam replied with complete honesty, “and I didn't want to give you any reason to suspect an ulterior motive. Not one.” Sam paused, let the sincerity of his words sink in. “I won't lie to you, Delaney. I was initially thrilled that you'd booked your appointment. I wanted to use your boudoir photos to showcase my talent, wanted you to look at my portfolio and give me a shot at your magazine. There are so many ways I can see to make it better, so many—” Sam drew up short, momentarily derailed by his enthusiasm. He offered her a small smile. “Any photographer worth his salt would want to work for you.” Sam took another step forward and smoothed his fingers down the side of one heartbreakingly beautiful cheek. “But my motives took a drastic change after I saw you. Working for you no longer mattered…I wanted you. Just you,” he told her, his voice soft yet fierce with emotion. “Am I making myself clear?”

A sigh stuttered past her lips and her eyes welled with tears. Another hopeful smile trembled on her lips. “Would you have ever mentioned it if I hadn't?”

“No. I knew you'd assume the worst and draw the wrong conclusion.”

“And that's what I did,” she said miserably. “I assumed the worst of you, when you didn't deserve it. I'm so sorry. I've just made so many wrong de
cisions, made so many mistakes. I wanted to believe the best about you, I really did…but I just couldn't trust my own judgment.”

Sam shrugged lightly. “It's understandable.” He tipped her chin up and gazed meaningfully in her achingly familiar face. “But you can trust mine. You can trust me. I swear it.”

He shivered violently as a particularly intense rush of Martelli energy coursed through him.

Her brow furrowed. “You're shivering again. Do I need to turn up the heat?” she asked, concerned.

Sam shook his head. While they were making confessions, he might as well make another one. He chuckled. “I'm not the least bit cold—can't be around you.” He placed her hand against his neck, causing another wave of gooseflesh to break out over his body. “Feel? I'm burning up. Have been since I met you.”

“Then why do you have chills all the time?” Her eyes widened in fear. “My God. Are you— Are you sick?”

“No,” he quickly reassured. “It's more bizarre than that.”

“Then what?”

He smiled, feeling ridiculous. “It's called the Martelli ‘quickening.'”

Predictably, she arched a skeptical brow. “A what?”

Sam quickly explained the Martelli phenomenon, and thanked God that, while she did appear quite
shocked, she hadn't immediately withdrawn from his embrace and called Officer Testosterone back.

She drew back and stared at him. “Let me get this straight? This Martelli ‘quickening' lets you know when you find the right woman?”

“Right.”

“And you ‘quickened,' or whatever, when you first saw me? You knew I was the one for you? That we'd fall in love and be together forever. Like all of your ancestors have? I'm your she-wolf?”

He felt his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Correct.”

Her eyes widened in outrage. “Then why the hell didn't you tell me?” she all but screamed. She whacked him on the chest. “You could have saved us a great deal of heartache if you'd just told me.”

Sam blinked, astounded. “What? You'd have thought I was a damned nut. What was I supposed to say? Excuse me, Ms. Walker, but according to my goosebumps, you and I are destined to fall in love and spend the rest of our lives together?”

She winced adorably, mulled it over. “Well…there is that.”

Sam felt his gaze soften as he looked down at her. He brushed his lips across hers. “There is that,” he repeated. Then he deepened the kiss, put every ounce of feeling that he possessed into the mating of their mouths. Made love to her mouth the way he wanted to make love to her body. Need vibrated through him and he'd hardened to the point of pain. God, he had to have her.

Right now.

She drew back and stared drunkenly up at him. Happiness shimmered in her bright gaze and a wicked edge turned her smile. “And
there is that,
” she murmured meaningfully, rubbing her pearled nipples against his chest. “Let's take
that
upstairs, why don't we?”

Sam peeled her sweater over her head and latched his mouth onto her breast through the fabric of her bra. “Let's don't and say we did.”

She laughed, arched her back, pushing her needy nipple farther into his mouth. Her breath hitched. “Sounds like a good plan.”

“I've been fantasizing about this table,” Sam told her as he swiftly removed every stitch of her clothing. He sat her on top of the antique refectory table.

Delaney's small hands worked just as efficiently, his clothes joining hers in the discarded pile on the floor. She wrapped her hand around his rod and quickly guided him to her hot, wet center. Sam gritted his teeth against the exquisite sensation, then slid into her with one smooth stroke.

Home, he thought.

She instantly convulsed around him, bit his shoulder, then arched her neck back and reveled in the feel of their joined bodies as he sank repeatedly into her welcoming flesh.

“I love you,” Sam said brokenly between thrusts, pushing her further and further toward release. “You got that part, right?”

She fisted around him, came hard. Delaney's lids fluttered shut and her mouth formed a silent
O
of pleasure. “I g-got it,” she screamed in an orgasmic rush. “I l-love you, too.”

Hearing those words sparked the most extraordinary sensation Sam had ever felt. His entire body tautened in awe of a cataclysmic eruption. Every cell in his body sharpened, his skin prickled from head to toe and the most incredible, breath-robbing, thought-shattering orgasm blasted from his loins.