All Grown Up (5 page)

She flushed. “We’ve had the occasional bear.”

“Inside?”

“I’ve read stories about such things.”

“And you were going to attack a bear with your bare hands? Surely you know that pepper spray makes them more aggressive…and that flashlight is not big enough to do any harm.”

“You’re insufferable. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Without her habitual three-inch heels, she seemed much smaller…fragile even. And in the middle of the night, with her defenses down, infinitely more approachable. “
You
have,” he said, studying her moist, curved lips. “A dozen times. At least when you were willing to speak to me.”

He put his hands on her shoulders, waiting to see if she would react, perhaps slap him.

She was heavy-eyed and sleep-rumpled, her thick, shiny black hair hanging almost to her waist. “What are you doing?” she questioned in a husky voice that made him imagine long Saturday mornings in bed.

The room was full of shadows, the hour late. He was tired of reliving the past with this woman. Time to start something new. “I’m going to kiss you.”

Her eyes flared wide, but other than that, she made no response. He still had no guarantee this wasn’t entrapment. Perhaps he ought to have worn some kind of protective clothing. He knew from hearing Vincent brag that Annalise had a black belt in karate and was fully capable of taking Sam down.

He wanted her to make the first move, craved it, really. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with the painful memory of the last time they both stood on this precipice echoing between them.

Bending his head, he nibbled her neck, inhaling a scent that was so intrinsically
her
. Feminine, yes, but strong, unforgettable. His hands slid down her arms, around her waist, over her butt. She was firm and fit, her soft resilient skin underlain with sleek sexy muscles.

Never had he felt or seen her so still, so submissive. And it worried him. Pulling back, he searched her face. “Touch me,” he begged. “Please.”

As if his words had broken some kind of weird spell, she moved. With a little murmur that might have signaled any one of a number of emotions, she wrapped one arm around his neck and found his mouth with hers. With her free hand she shoved up the tail of his shirt and stroked his chest. Her touch burned him. It had been years since their first and only kiss, but he remembered the taste of her as if it had been only yesterday.

His tongue plundered the sweet recesses of her mouth, tangling with hers. Gasps and moans were barely audible over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

The erection he was unable to hide pulsed between them, thick and hard and ready. When he ground his hips against her belly, she whimpered. Need built and crashed over him, invisible but inescapable. He slid the robe down her arms and let it drop. Lifting her by her ass, he carried her to the chair beside the fire and held her in his lap, bending her back over his arm to kiss her wildly.

Her hair was a silken waterfall. He grabbed handfuls of it, using the grip to guide her mouth to his. Somewhere, deep inside a single rational thought cell, he acknowledged that this was insanity. But the impossible had happened. Annalise, who would normally as soon hiss at him as speak cordially, was actually passionately, eagerly, returning his kiss.

His hands trembled, moving recklessly all over her body. A nipped-in waist, delicate collarbone, gently curved stomach. Nipples that begged to be touched, pinched, soothed with a kiss. He left the bodice in place. If he stripped her at this point, it was all over. He lifted the hem of her gown and touched her leg, finding nothing but hot skin.

When he moved halfway up her thigh, Annalise clamped her hand over his, blocking further exploration. “Stop,” she said hoarsely.

He did, but it cost him dearly. Every sinew in his body throbbed with the need to take, regardless. “I want you, Princess. God knows, I do.”

There was a momentary hesitation as if, even for her, the interruption was agonizing. Without warning she slid from his lap and faced him, arms wrapped around her waist, ebony hair a mad tangle. With the firelight behind her, he could see the outline of her slim legs through the thin fabric of her gown. Tears glittered in her eyes, and her distress strafed him with a thousand knives. Why could he never get this right?

He stood as well, but she held up a hand. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Talk to me,” he begged. “Tell me what you want.”

Her eyes were tragic, the blue dulled almost to gray. She began to speak. Stopped. Swallowed hard. It almost seemed as if she were holding herself tightly to keep from shattering into irreparable pieces. “Did you have this in mind when you came here this weekend?” she asked, her voice low and broken.

“No,” he muttered, staring past her into the fire for a moment and then returning his gaze to her face. “No,” he said more forcefully.

His groin ached, his eyes were gritty with lack of sleep and his breath came in great gulps that did nothing to help him relax.

It was the wrong answer. Somehow he knew that instantly. Grief flashed in her eyes and disappeared, leaving nothing but blank, mute misery in its wake. “I know we’re snowed in, Sam, but surely you could go without sex for one night. I won’t be your easy lay, your sadly predictable one-night stand.”

“That’s not what this is, damn it.” His gut felt like the time he had suffered an appendicitis attack. “You’re special. How can you not know that?”

He took her in his arms again, and this time she didn’t protest. But the fevered beauty he’d held moments ago had turned to ice. He kissed her again and again…tender kisses, slow drugging kisses. All he accomplished was making himself miserable.

She fit so perfectly in his arms, it was an absolute miracle. How could she not see it?

His own behavior sickened him. Had he told her the truth, or was his subconscious a devious bastard? Had he jumped at Gram’s request in order finally to have Annalise where he wanted her?

God, please let that not be true. If it was, he honestly hadn’t planned it.

Shocked by his own uncertainty, he released her and stepped back. “I’ve been attracted to you for years, Annalise, but the timing is always wrong between us. Maybe I did look forward to being here with you, but is that so terrible? You can barely bring yourself to acknowledge me across a crowded room when we cross paths in Charlottesville. We’re here now. Alone. For God knows how long. Won’t you give me a chance to regain your trust? Please?”

He saw her lower lip wobble before she steadied it with small, even white teeth. “I came here to work for your Gram and Pops. None of this should have happened.”

“But it did,” Sam said firmly. “And you were right there with me. So don’t pretend with me, Annalise. We both stepped into that fire.”

Five

I
f Annalise had ever been more stricken with mortification, she couldn’t remember it. In many ways, the ramifications of this moment with Sam were even worse than what had happened years ago. At least back then he had written her girlish passion off to immaturity.

Now, in one mad instant, she had revealed her deep vulnerability where he was concerned. Not only to him, but also to herself. She’d been pretending for years that she hated Sam Ely. The truth was, she was probably in love with him. She wasn’t exactly sure what that emotion was supposed to feel like. Surely not this nauseous sensation of impending doom.

At twenty-one she had known what she wanted and gone after it. Sam had crushed her budding attempt to be a sexually confident woman. Now, here he was. Gorgeous. Hungry. And ready to take advantage of propinquity and auld lang syne.

If she overreacted, she risked letting him see straight into her heart and her soul. Wolffs guarded both those locations zealously. Too much tragedy and heartache in the past to be soft. Too much at stake to voluntarily open up to the possibility of pain and loss.

So she had a choice. She could play this cool, run the show. Or she could let Sam break her heart. Given that pairing, it was really no contest.

Gathering the shreds of her composure, she retrieved her robe, put it on and tied the narrow, ribbonlike belt. The garment was scarcely a shield against his predatory gaze, but the operation gave her a few moments to think. Returning to the fire, she put her back to it, warming herself.

“You’re right,” she said calmly. “I
was
carried away by the moment. And it does seem as though we share some kind of basic animal attraction.”

He frowned. “I’m not an eighteen-year-old kid, Annalise. Give me credit for at least some discrimination. I don’t have sex with every woman on the street who piques my interest. You’ve been part of my life forever. And you’re incredibly warm and lovely.”

She forced a smile. “At the moment, the jury’s out on
warm,
but thank you for the compliment.”

“Something happened between us,” he said doggedly, his fierce gaze daring her to disagree.

“Yes.”
Understatement of the year
. “Here’s the thing, Sam. I don’t really have the time or the inclination to get involved with anybody right now, much less the grandson of my most recent client. You were only planning to be here overnight, two at the most…right?”

“I’d say my schedule is pretty much down the tubes at the moment. You may be stuck with me for a while.”

The weird little happy flutter her heart performed was too “middle school girl” to take seriously. “That’s not a valid reason for doing something stupid.”

“Didn’t seem stupid to me. It felt pretty damned wonderful.”

“There’s more to life than feeling good.”

“Wow, Annalise. When did you turn into a Puritan?”

He was striking back. Trying to provoke. But the words hurt. She looked at him, really looked at him. The whole package was overwhelming. In Charlottesville she could write him off as just another handsome, successful businessman. Here, alone in a remote house, trapped by a winter storm, he looked like the kind of man who could keep a woman safe, no matter the circumstances.

She didn’t need a keeper. As the lone Wolff female, she had grown up strong, resilient, entirely capable of steering her own life. But when it came to understanding the kind of feminine ways that drew a man in for the long haul, Annalise was clueless.

Sam, by his own admission, was looking to settle down, to start a family. Even if he played house with Annalise until the blizzard abated, he’d be going back to Charlottesville soon, trolling for a nice, sweet, amenable kind of gal to cook him meat loaf, defer to his wishes and run his house barefoot and pregnant.

Annalise had grown up in the South. She knew the stereotype. And she knew many wonderful women who could hold down full-time jobs and still be damned good mothers and wives. The problem was, Annalise wasn’t one of them.

“I’m not a Puritan,” she said. “I love sex.”

“Prove it.”

“Oh, good Lord. Does that line work for you at your age?”

He grinned. And the sexy flash of white teeth literally made her knees week. When he took two steps in her direction, she was trapped. Flames to the back of her, fire to the front. “Kiss me again, darlin’,” he said. “Let me keep you warm.”

Impossible. Utterly impossible not to respond this time. He scooped her into his arms and whispered nonsensical endearments as he proceeded to kiss her senseless.

Time. She needed time. How could she formulate a thought when his talented fingers were doing amazing things to her aching breasts? Breathing became problematic. Her lips felt puffy and bruised. All she wanted to do was kiss him more.

He braced one hard, long thigh between her thighs, and the firm pressure there took every last bit of self-control she possessed and tossed it to the winds. She had never been one to second-guess her decisions. Confidence and boldness had taken her far in business and in life.

But holy heck, what was she supposed to do in this situation?

“Sam?” She leaned backward in his tight embrace as far as she could, trying to get his attention.

He took advantage of the position to bend and capture one silk-clad nipple and nip it with his teeth. “Sam!”

The moaning cry finally got through to him. He straightened, his face flushed, his shirt awry thanks to her frantic need to touch his chest. Everything about him was disheveled, earthy, intent on carnal pursuits. Even his eyes were cloudy and unfocused.

“What?” he growled, his sexual frustration palpable.

“We have to agree on something.”

He released her, bent at the waist and stared at the floor, clearly in pain. “God give me strength. You are the most ball-busting female I’ve ever met. Make up your mind, damn it. Do you want me or not?”

She rapped her knuckles on his head. “Don’t talk to me like that. You started this insanity. Yes. I want you. But only for the moment. Only while you’re in this house. Got it?”

When he straightened and faced her, a shiver of primal feminine apprehension danced through her veins. Here was a man at the end of his rope. And he looked as if he would as soon strangle her with it than let go.

“Are you seriously negotiating a relationship at this goddamn moment?”

“There is no relationship,” she shouted, stung by his incredulity. “All we’re going to do is indulge in wild monkey sex. No strings.”

“Strings…” He repeated the word, his mouth pursed as he tried to decipher her meaning.

“Tell me you get what I’m saying.” She didn’t understand exactly why she was pushing so hard. Perhaps because she couldn’t bear the thought of another half-dozen years of heartache in the aftermath of an encounter with Sam Ely.

His eyes narrowed, he straightened to his full height and his chest rose and fell with each harsh breath. “Here’s what I get,” he said softly, the words forced through clenched teeth. “I get that you’re crazy. Or maybe this is an act you put on to drive men insane so they’ll grovel at your feet. But yes. I get it. Hell, sweetheart, I’ll sign over my soul to the devil on the spot if you’ll take off that gown.”

She licked her lips. “Well, okay then.” It was rather heady to have a man so intent on ravishing her. Thank God she wasn’t a totally inexperienced virgin. That little detail had been taken care of during a sad and disappointing college encounter that had never been repeated.

She had
wanted
to lose her virginity…so that she could understand what the other girls were talking and giggling about. So that she could be part of their charmed inner circle.

As an eighteen-year-old college freshman, she had thought that becoming a woman in the physical sense would help her understand what it meant to be a girl. But when it was all said and done, she was still Annalise Wolff. Impatient. Driven. And far too confident and assertive for most guys to want a serious relationship.

She dated. A lot. Men liked the external package. And she was not a nun. But no one ever interested her enough to go the distance. Even in bed, she’d felt a sense of failure. Perhaps because the earth never shook and the fireworks never boomed.

Now it had come to this. She waited impatiently for Sam to take her in his arms and undress her. Arousal danced and twisted in her lower abdomen, and her heartbeat skittered out of control. She held out her arms. “Say something, damn it. Or are we going to stand here all night?” She was too agitated to worry about her language at this point.

He shrugged, his expression calculating…like a tiger eyeing a mouse. “Take off the gown.”

The blunt words sent moisture blooming between her thighs.

“But I thought you would—”

“Now, Annalise. Slowly. Make me wait. Tease me. Taunt me.”

The guttural commands were something new. She didn’t know Sam had it in him to be so deliciously barbaric. But she liked it.

Feeling his stare like a hot brand, she shrugged out of the robe and tossed it onto a chair. Now there was no disguising her excitement. Her tightly furled nipples actually hurt. She wanted his hands on her skin, everywhere.

Feeling a bit foolish, but breathless with excitement, she put one hand over her breasts, and with the other hand slid the narrow straps of the gown down first one shoulder and then the other. Releasing each arm completely was a little more awkward than she would have liked, but she gave herself points for bravado.

Sam was transfixed, his entire body tense, hands fisted at his hips. “I want to see your breasts. Lower the top.”

For a woman who liked being in charge in almost every situation, it was surprisingly comfortable to cede control. Despite Sam’s arrogant demands, she realized that in a deeper sense, she was in the driver’s seat.

Feeling faint and giddy, she took the bodice of her gown and dragged it to her waist. Someone gasped. Him? Her? It didn’t matter. Sam’s gob-smacked response went a long way toward making up for the past. She knew he had seen his fair share of naked women, so his reaction to her no-more-than-average breasts was a balm to her battered ego.

He cocked his head, arms folded across his chest. “You’re not done.”

The heat from the fire singed her back, warming the silk against her skin. She felt exotic, dangerous. Never in the occasional fantasies she’d allowed herself had Sam looked at her in quite this way.

She put her hands in the sides of the gown and shimmied it down her hips. Stepping out of the pile of ruby cloth and kicking it aside, she removed her exotic slippers and faced him bravely. “I seem to be doing all the work,” she said, mesmerized by the enormous bulge beneath his fly.

Sam swallowed, the muscles in his throat rippling, betraying the fact that he was deeply invested in this moment. “Do you want me, Annalise?”

Here it was. A chance for revenge. An opportunity to take that dreadful memory of his rejection and incinerate it. All she had to do was walk out of the room.

She’d have a better chance of baking cookies and serving tea to the Queen of England. Nothing short of an earthquake could have made her call a halt to this wonderful madness. “Yes,” she said. “I believe that I do.”

Time began to move in slow motion. Even the sounds of the fire muted to a faint murmur. She held out a hand. “I
would
ask
your room or mine,
but neither sounds appealing at the moment. Do you have any ideas?”

“For you, Princess, always.”

With one lingering look at her nudity, he stepped away long enough to rob a nearby cupboard of its stash of throws…a blanket, several afghans and one tattered, faded quilt. As Annalise watched, amused and touched by his urgency, he fashioned a makeshift bed in front of the hearth. Grabbing a pillow from the sofa, he tossed it down on the pile and then added a couple more logs and tinder on top of the coals until the fire blazed hot and orangey-red.

Annalise had scooted out of his way while he worked, but now he dragged her back with a challenging stare that said louder than words what he expected of her. She joined him, limbs trembling, and somewhere found the acting skills to emulate a woman who knew her way around the bedroom. “Put your hands in your back pockets, Sam.”

He hesitated, but obeyed. “That’s askin’ a lot, sweetheart. You’re one hell of a temptation.”

“We’ll get there,” she promised. With fumbling fingers, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt. Two years ago she had spent six months in Europe touring every major museum from Paris to Rome. Never had she seen a work of art that rivaled Sam’s broad, hard chest.

Hard muscles rippled beneath golden skin. An arrow of dark brown hair bisected his rib cage on the way to his belt buckle. When she had the temerity to taste one copper-colored nipple, he cursed.

His hands fisted in her hair, dragging her face up to his for a kiss. “God, you make me burn.”

It didn’t sound entirely like a compliment.

He ravaged her mouth, left love bites at her throat. She wanted him as naked as she was, but she barely had time to catch her breath, much less make demands. When she tried to open the fly of his jeans, he manacled her wrists with one big hand and held them behind her back.

The overt dominance of the action dragged her more deeply into the spell that swirled around them both. She could have broken the hold. She knew that. And he probably knew it as well. But the force of his hunger demanded her compliance, and her own need fed from his.

“Please, Sam,” she begged, arching into him. “I want to touch you.”

Finally, reluctantly, he released her long enough to rip off his socks and remove his jeans in a harried, one-footed dance. His sex sprang forth eagerly, its length and girth a thing of beauty. The longer she stared, the more it grew.

“Sam Ely,” she breathed, feeling a touch of maidenly vapors. “You’re a stud.”

He blushed. And the sight of his red throat and ruddy cheekbones hurt something deep inside her chest. He was just so damned cute.

Unfortunately, he didn’t give her much time to appreciate his masculine attributes. Before she could lodge a protest, he scooped her into his arms and deposited her gently on their makeshift bed. With both living room doors closed, the space had long since warmed up, and even if it hadn’t, Annalise was sure she wouldn’t have noticed the cold.