A Vow to Love (10 page)

A little of the fight seemed to drain out of him. Maybe she'd cast a spell on the kid, just as she had on him, Sam thought with a weary sense of resignation.

"Let him go," she said.

Even though Tank appeared to have lost interest in his previous plans for the night, Sam wanted him to know that one misstep was going to bring a whole lot of trouble down around him. "Penny, stay out of this, okay? Let me handle it," he said.

"And break that poor boy's arm? I don't think so."

Her gaze clashed with his. Her chin rose stubbornly. Sam wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Disgusted, he released Tank with a final shove toward the door.

Tank managed a smirk as he rubbed his arm. "It ain't over till it's over," he said smugly. He gestured toward his pals, who silently slid from the booth where they'd been watching the scene with a combination of fascination and worry. Apparently they hadn't been anxious to tangle with a cop, especially one as motivated as Sam appeared to be.

"You'd better hope it's over," Sam warned one last time. "Pretty boys like you don't fare so well in prison."

The words hung in the air as Tank took off, followed by his friends. For several minutes after they'd gone, there was dead silence in the diner, then everyone began talking at once. Sam sat back down, picked up his cup of now cold coffee and took a healthy swallow. He didn't want the coffee, but he wanted desperately to buy some time before he said one single word to the irritating, annoying, impossible woman sitting next to him.

"Did you really have to be so rough on him?" she said before he could rein in his temper. "And what was all that garbage about what would happen to him in prison? Were you trying to scare him to death?"

"Rough on him?" he repeated incredulously. "You do realize what he had in mind, don't you? And yes, I was trying to scare him to death."

Her eyes flared just a bit, but she waved off the implication. "He wouldn't have gone through with it. You said yourself that these boys just need someone to pay attention to them, give them a little self-esteem. Like your friend, Randy."

As if on cue, Randy wandered inside, his expression worried. "Everything okay?"

"Depends who you ask," Sam said sourly.

Didi regarded Penny with concern. "You might be acting just a little too nonchalant about this," she suggested. "That punk has the meanest eyes I've ever seen. He also has something to prove. That's a dangerous combination."

"Oh, come on. They're just boys," Penny said bravely, but the first tiny hint of doubt had made its way into her voice.

Sam gritted his teeth. When he could keep from shouting, he said, "Randy, Ms. Hayden believes that Tank and his buddies mean her no serious harm. Is that your reading of the situation?"

He shook his head. "No, ma'am. That's what I told Sam. I think they meant to hurt you real bad. I heard 'em talking myself."

Sam regarded her triumphantly. "See what I mean?"

She swallowed hard and this time there was no mistaking the uncertainty in her voice. "Tonight? You actually knew they meant to get me tonight? That's why you showed up? It wasn't just coincidence?"

"It was no coincidence. Randy kept an eye on you until I got off. He beeped me about thirty minutes ago and warned me it looked as if Tank meant to stir up some trouble in here."

"Then you arrived in the nick of time," Didi said, an approving gleam in her eyes. "I always did like heroes with a sense of timing."

Penny finally looked so thoroughly shaken that Sam relented and reached for her hand. It was ice cold. He rubbed it to warm the skin. "You okay?"

"Just peachy," she said with forced cheer.

"How about Randy and I escort the two of you home?"

"I think that would be a very good idea," Didi said, apparently not willing to leave it to Penny to make a wise decision on the subject.

Sam paid the check, then led the way to his car. When Penny climbed into the back beside Didi, he kept his mouth firmly shut. Randy got into the front passenger seat.

"Thanks for what you did tonight," he told the boy. "It's because of you that things never got out of hand."

"Anytime." He glanced shyly over the backseat toward Penny. "I've got some time on my hands, if you'd like me to hang out nearby for a while."

"I'd feel better if you would," Penny said to Sam's astonishment. Then he caught the look that passed between them and wondered who would really be watching out for whom. He had a hunch Penny had just found herself a stray to nurture. And he knew for a fact that it would be good for Randy to develop a sense of responsibility for someone other than himself.

They dropped off Didi first, then Randy. He asked to be let out on a street corner.

"Here?" Penny asked, looking around with obvious dismay as she got out of the backseat to take his seat in front.

"I'll be fine, ma'am. What time would you like me to come by in the morning?"

"About seven, if that's not too early."

"I'll be there," he promised.

He was still standing on the corner when they pulled away.

Penny regarded Sam worriedly. "Are you sure we should leave him out here all alone at this hour? Shouldn't we have taken him all the way to his doorstep? What if Tank comes after him?"

"I doubt he has a doorstep," Sam said matter-of-factly. "He's split from every foster home he's been placed in for the last four years. I have a hunch Johnny's been letting him sleep at the gym, but obviously Randy doesn't want either of us to know that. As for Tank, hopefully he never guessed Randy had anything to do with my sudden arrival tonight."

"He'd make him pay for that, wouldn't he?"

"In spades," Sam agreed.

"Oh, that poor boy," Penny murmured.

"Don't feel too sorry for him. You have more important things to worry about."

"Like?"

"Like where I'm going to sleep tonight."

Her gaze shot to his. "In your own bed, I assume."

"No way, sweetheart. The choices are the sofa in your living room or your bed."

"Oh, no. Forget it."

"Take your pick. I'm too tired to argue." He figured giving her a choice in the matter was yet another example of the sort of nobility she aroused in him. He figured he could have talked his way into her bed in five minutes flat, if he'd put his mind to it. Two minutes, if he'd kissed her again the way he had when they'd been standing on the beach in the pouring rain on Friday night. He waited expectantly for her answer.

Unfortunately for his peace of mind, she kept her mouth clamped firmly shut until they were all the way inside the apartment. She tore up the stairs and into the place as if she were Paul Revere trying to get the message out about the arrival of the British. Sam took heart from the fact that she was heading for her bedroom.

To his deep regret, she emerged just as quickly, her arms piled high with sheets and pillows. She dumped them unceremoniously on her sofa. Her sofa that was no more than five feet long. Her sofa that had the lumpiest cushions he'd ever set eyes on. He was cursing his fate and the general unpredictability of women when her bedroom door slammed with the force of a hurricane behind it.

He grinned, despite himself. "I guess next time, I'll have sense enough not to ask."

P
enny couldn't get to sleep. Her blood raced as if she'd had ten cups of the strongest coffee available, rather than the one cup of decaf she'd nursed all evening. She told herself that any sensible woman would have been wide-awake and tossing and turning after the close call she'd had tonight. Unfortunately, she knew that the episode with Tank had nothing to do with her insomnia. The potential of danger no doubt had been there, but in reality it had been a minor incident.

No, it was the presence of Sam Roberts in her living room that had her on edge. As infuriating as he could sometimes be, the man was more tempting than an entire pound of Belgian chocolates.

She told herself it wasn't as if this was the first time they'd slept under the same roof. They had just spent the entire weekend in the same house on Cape Cod. But there they had been surrounded by people, she reminded herself. Hell, who was she kidding? She hadn't slept a wink on the Cape, either, and for the very same reason. She wanted the man in her bed. Tonight he had offered to join her there. And she, for some reason she couldn't entirely fathom, had turned him down. Was she out of her mind or what?

Penny tried to sort out what had brought them to this point. The powerful, if somewhat innocent yearning she had felt at sixteen had turned into full-blown, weak-in-the-knees lust. After he'd kissed her the other night, it had only gotten worse. She had felt his desire and it had been just as overwhelming as her own. The fact that he seemed so damned determined not to admit that it meant anything only complicated matters. Obviously the challenge he'd uttered tonight--the sofa or her bed--had been a test. But for which one of them? she wondered.

Ten years ago, with the fragile ego of a sixteen-year-old just discovering her sexuality, she had taken his rejection personally. She'd been crushed by it. Now she could see that it was as automatic for him to hold people at arm's length as it was for her to embrace them. Couldn't he see how that made them perfect for each other? He could teach her caution. She could teach him to love.

First, though, she had to get him to stop rescuing her. Sam needed an equal, a woman who wouldn't be dependent on him for anything except his love. She could see that now. He feared anyone needing him too much, because as Dana had reminded her, all he had known in his life was abandonment. He obviously figured he was destined to repeat the pattern, hurting any woman who dared to love him or being hurt by anyone he risked loving.

But how did she go about showing him that she was strong enough to survive on her own without making it seem that there was no place for him in her life? For all of her education, she wasn't smart enough to figure that out. It was a balance that had stymied men and women for aeons.

Disgusted by her inability to get to sleep or to solve her dilemma about Sam, she reached for one of the books by her bed. Chaucer. In Old English. That ought to test her powers of concentration. There'd be no room in her brain at all for wayward thoughts of the man who might at this very moment be sleeping stark naked on her living room sofa. Oh, Lordy, what an image!

Warm milk, she decided. Wasn't that what everyone recommended for times like this? Unfortunately, the potentially naked Sam was between her and the kitchen. She decided it didn't matter. He was probably sleeping by now. He probably hadn't wasted a single second tormented by thoughts of her before drifting off. Typical!

She tiptoed to the bedroom door and peeked out. The living room was bathed in shadows, the only light coming from the streetlight outside. Sam was on the sofa, tangled in sheets, his feet poking over the end. She felt a momentary twinge of guilt at having relegated him to such an uncomfortable bed. Not that it seemed to have bothered him. She could hear the faint, steady whisper of his breathing. Sound asleep, damn him!

She crept closer, swearing to herself that she wasn't trying to sneak a look at any bare parts that might be showing. She would just straighten the sheet a little, cover his...well, whatever needed to be covered.

Unfortunately, Sam in repose was no less sexy than he was wide-awake. His hair was tousled, his cheeks shadowed by the faint beginning of a beard, his chest matted with golden hairs that arrowed down, drawing her gaze lower, and lower. She swallowed hard as he shifted slightly, sending the sheet in a slow, provocative slide toward the floor.

Dear heaven, he wasn't swearing a stitch. Her pulse bucked. She tried to make herself back away. She really did. But she felt as if she'd been frozen in place. Bad choice of words. If she'd been frozen, the heated thoughts tumbling through her mind would have defrosted her in a split second. She was...fascinated, awestruck,
hot.

And caught. While she was absorbed in examining his body with the exquisite attention to detail of an artist in a life-drawing class, he reached out and snared her wrist. The movement was so quick, so unexpected, that Penny yelped in shock.

"I thought you were asleep," she said accusingly.

"I know," he said.

He spoke in that smug, lazy, smoky voice that twisted her insides into a knot. She couldn't see his face, wouldn't even look at his face, but she could just imagine the grin. She tried to wrench free, but his grip was like steel.

"Let go of me," she demanded. "And put some clothes on."

He actually chuckled at that. "Hey, I was sleeping in this miserable bed you consigned me to when you came in here to spy on me. It's not my fault you got an eyeful."

She noticed he didn't even reach for the sheet. "I wasn't spying. I came out to get some warm milk."

"The kitchen's that way," he pointed out.

"A gentleman wouldn't humiliate me like this."

"I'm no gentleman," he reminded her, apparently taking some pride in the fact. "And you may be slightly embarrassed, but you're not humiliated. You're probably just sorry you got caught before you'd seen everything. Go ahead, look to your heart's content. I'm willing."

"Oh, go to hell," she muttered, and this time when she tried to pull free he let her go. Head held high, she stalked off to the kitchen. She doubted the exit was nearly as dignified as she might have liked.

Penny flipped on the kitchen light and opened the refrigerator, then realized she was not alone. Daring a glance to see what Sam was wearing, if anything, she was relieved to discover that he'd knotted the sheet around his waist. It left his chest bare and rode dangerously low on his hips, but for the moment, he was decent. At least as decent as he was probably inclined to get. He probably fully intended to torment her. In fact, if that sparkle of amusement in his eyes was anything to judge by, he was enjoying this moment quite a bit more than many others they had shared.

"Warm milk?" she offered casually, even though her heart was pounding as if she'd raced to the corner convenience store and back to pick up the quart container she held in her hand.

He shook his head. "I'm just here to keep you company."

"It's not necessary."

"I know. It's my pleasure."

"I'll just bet," she muttered under her breath as she slammed a saucepan onto the stove and turned on the heat.

"You'd better lower the flame, sweetheart, or you'll scald it."

"I know what I'm doing," she snapped, but she lowered the flame, then sloshed half the quart of milk into the pan.

"Whiskey'd probably work better," Sam suggested.

She scowled at him. "Would you like a drink?"

He shook his head. "I'm not the one having trouble sleeping." Suddenly his expression sobered. "You weren't having nightmares, were you?"

"No."

"He won't get to you, Penny. I promise," he said, obviously mistaking the cause of her distress.

Her hand shook as she tried to pour the milk into a cup. Milk splattered all over the counter. Sam was up in a heartbeat, taking the pan, filling the cup and handing it to her, then mopping up the spill. Penny sank onto a chair and stared miserably at the milk. She tasted it and made a face.

"Something wrong?" he inquired.

"It's awful. Why would anybody recommend this?"

Sam reached for the bottle of whiskey on the counter and poured in a shot. "Try it now."

She took another sip. It didn't taste any better but it warmed her all the way to her toes. After the third sip, she began to relax. "Not bad," she said, barely stifling a yawn. She stretched.

Sam grinned at her. "Why do I have the feeling if you finish that whole cup, I'm going to be carrying you back to bed?"

"An interesting thought," she admitted sleepily, and took a long swallow of the disgusting stuff.

"Hey, you had your chance. You turned me down."

Penny let the taunt pass. She suddenly felt incredibly groggy. No doubt that's what happened when adrenaline wore off and whiskey took effect. She reminded herself to beware of that particular combination in the future. Right now, though, it was all she could do to hold her head up.

"I think I can sleep now," she said. She stood and wobbled.

"First you have to get back to bed," Sam noted, scooping her up before she could protest.

She curved her arms around his neck and snuggled against his bare chest. He was warm and strong, and if she had just the tiniest bit more energy, she might very well try to take advantage of him, she decided.

As it was, she barely managed to plant a kiss of gratitude somewhere on his shoulder. It felt so good, she snuck in one more on his neck. She thought she heard him groan, but before she could figure out why, she sighed and drifted off to sleep.

Sam's entire body, head to toe and especially in between, ached with longing. It had been a mistake picking Penny up in the kitchen. He should have forced her to walk to the bedroom under her own steam. The gallant gesture had turned out to be the sweetest torment of his entire life. The woman cuddled like a friendly kitten.

He stood beside her bed even now that she was sound asleep in his arms. He was unable to overcome his reluctance to put her down. There was something so trusting in the way she'd twined her arms around his neck, so innocently sensual in the kisses she'd bestowed. She felt right in his arms, as if she belonged there. The temptation to believe that taunted him.

Unfortunately, if he didn't put her into the bed and under the covers very quickly, he was not going to be responsible for his actions. From the moment he'd awakened to find her standing over him, her fascinated gaze locked on his all-too-responsive body, he'd been fighting a battle with temptation. He had mistakenly figured that getting her out of that living room untouched meant he had won the battle.

He waged one more war with himself and managed to emerge on the side of the saints. He lowered her to the bed, pulled the sheet up over her and counted himself lucky. Another victory.

But he couldn't seem to make himself walk out the door. He debated a long time over it, too. He gave himself at least a dozen logical, moralistic reasons for getting the hell out of her bedroom, topped by the fact that things between them had gone too far already.

He had only one reason for staying: she might have a nightmare. He figured that outweighed all the others in favor of leaving. He also figured he was lying to himself if he believed that was the only reason he was stretching out beside her, albeit on top of the covers, arms over his head, hands dutifully linked behind his neck.

Now he was the one who couldn't sleep. Every square inch of him fairly hummed with awareness of the woman beside him. He decided if he made it until morning without losing his mind or doing something they'd both regret, he would reward himself by taking the day off, going fishing, taking a drive in the country, anything to put several hours and a lot of miles between him and Penny.

That vow did not take into account that Penny was a restless sleeper. When she rolled onto her side and flung her arm across his chest, Sam sucked in his breath and counted to ten.

When she snuggled into his side and used his shoulder for a pillow, he groaned and counted to a hundred, very rapidly. When that didn't help, he started over and slowly and determinedly counted to a thousand.

When she shifted again and slid her bare thigh across his, his willpower snapped. Even with that thin, cotton sheet between them, he could feel her heat. His body responded as if they'd skipped foreplay and gone straight to the peak of lovemaking. He was throbbing with the desperate need for more intimate contact. He wanted to fill her, to feel her moving in response to the urgent rhythm he set. He'd played with fire by getting into this bed, no matter what his motives had been.

And he'd lost. He wanted her so badly his teeth ached. He might as well admit that she'd gotten under his skin. But what would he do about it? Making love to her while she was sound asleep was not one of the options, he told himself sternly. He wanted her awake and willing. Unfortunately, he knew in his gut that it wouldn't be all that difficult to make that happen.

Drawing on one last shred of decency, he made himself concentrate on taming the pace of his heart. Relaxation therapy, that was the ticket out of this fix. Maybe those stress reduction classes he'd been forced to take would pay off, after all. He deliberately slowed his breathing. With one arm, he settled Penny more comfortably--and less provocatively--in his embrace. With the other he smoothed the tangle of hair from her face. His fingers lingered on her cheek. It was as soft as he'd remembered and flushed from resting against his shoulder.

She sighed contentedly.

So far, so good, he told himself. She was sound asleep. He'd tamed the immediate need to seduce her. He glanced at the clock. It was 3:00 a.m. Penny had set her alarm for six. Only three more hours of this torture.

It was only later, when she was wide-awake, thoroughly indignant and warm as sin in his arms, that he wondered why the hell he hadn't gotten out of her bed when he'd had the chance.

Wedged between Sam and the wall, Penny scrambled out of Sam's arms and onto her knees on the bed. She yanked the sheet up to her chin even though she was wearing perfectly respectable pajamas, then glared down into Sam's amused expression.