All Grown Up (6 page)

He hovered over her on one knee. “I don’t know how long I’ll last. You’ve pushed me pretty close to the edge.” Suddenly, dismay darkened his expression. “Oh, hell. I’ve got condoms, but they’re upstairs.”

She saw him contemplate the long frigid path to protection. And sympathized. “I’m on the pill,” she said hopefully, “and I’m okay as far as…well, you know what I mean.” The brazen-woman act fell apart when it came to discussing such topics.

His face lightened. “I had a physical last month. A-okay. You can trust me, Annalise. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” she whispered. Without waiting for an invitation, she reached out and took him in her hand, measuring the firm, swollen flesh with inner wonder. If sculptors created guys like Sam, the museums would be a lot more crowded.

His eyes closed at the first brush of her fingers. He felt amazingly hard and disarmingly smooth and silky. But would all that
maleness
fit? Her thighs clenched in something that was a cross between breathless excitement and genuine apprehension.

Stroking him tentatively, she caught her breath when he went rigid and found release in her hand, warm liquid leaking through her fingers and dribbling onto her belly.

He groaned. “Annalise, I’m sorry. Let’s try that again.” Very matter-of-factly he used a corner of one thin blanket to clean her and himself. She was abashed, unused to such easy intimacy. But his tenderness charmed and disarmed her.

His shaft was still mostly erect, definitely firm enough to get the job done. But instead of moving over and into her, he knelt between her legs and grinned the kind of grin that guaranteed a girl in trouble. “You’re not saying anything.”

Suddenly, she wanted to cover her breasts with her hands, but knew that would elicit a hoot of derision from her beautifully naked lover. “You seem to have everything under control,” she said. “Knock yourself out.”

The grin broadened, and he stretched out on his side, tucking his torso between her thighs so he could reach what he was after.

Annalise closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. What he was about to do was both terrifying and wickedly wonderful. She’d spent her entire life protecting her deepest emotions. Only once had she dared to wear her heart on her sleeve, and it had been shattered by this very man.

Now she was allowing him the utmost intimacy, and she wasn’t at all sure she could separate sexual bliss from a deeper, far more fragile emotion. It was one thing to let him see she desired him. But far more dangerous to expose the reality that she had never stopped loving him.

The first pass of his lips brought her hips off the floor. Her fists gripped the soft covers beneath her to find an anchor. She’d been fastidious and guarded in her few physical relationships up until this moment. Never had she permitted a man to get this close. Never had she imagined how good this would feel. She wasn’t naive. She read books. Saw movies. Oral sex was a natural part of lovemaking, even if she’d always drawn a line to hold men at bay.

The oddly clinical commentary in her brain shut down when Sam used his thumbs to part the folds of her sex so his talented tongue could concentrate on the spot that begged for his attention. He tasted her delicately, fine-tuning his technique in reaction to her wiggling hips.

He licked the inside of her thigh, bit gently, laid his head on her belly. The weight of him anchored her in a spinning world. Without volition, one of her hands unclenched and found its way to Sam’s hair, sliding into the thick, wavy layers.

She traced the curves of his skull, drunk with the pleasure of being able to touch him at will.

Now he used his fingers, plucking delicately, stroking as if he had all the time in the world. Her belly tightened. An ache coalesced deep inside her. “Stop,” she breathed, the word barely audible. “Not like this. I want you inside me when I come.”

Lifting his head, he looked at her, eyes solemn, an errant lock of hair falling over his forehead. He looked young and carefree and as tempting as the devil. “Whatever you want, Annalise.”

He went to his knees and leaned forward, one hand on either side of her. The heat from his body felt like a warm blanket. Nudging her knees a little wider, he fit the head of his erection to her damp core and pushed.

Her heels dug into the blanket. Eyelids fluttered shut. Neck arched. Breathing halted. The sensation of fullness was both novel and overwhelming. “Sam. Oh, Sam.” How many times had she dreamed of this moment? And been foolish enough to let the fantasies keep her from forming relationships with other men.

She hadn’t consciously saved herself for Sam. After all, most of the time she was able to convince herself that she despised him.

But not now. Not like this. Her throat burned and her eyes stung. Perfection. Desire met and sated. Damp skin to damp skin. Heart to heart. So badly did she want him to say he loved her that it was a sharp pain squeezing her chest.

His eyes were closed, his face a mask of intensity, of carnal pleasure. The pace increased. His hips pistoned, driving him deeper into her welcoming body.

Her fingernails scored his shoulders. Her legs wrapped around his waist. He reached beneath her and canted her hips for one last desperate push.

Something exploded inside her, ecstasy and shock and a physical release so deep and utterly breathtaking that she lost a few seconds of reality in the maelstrom.

She heard Sam shout. Seconds later, he slumped on top of her, stealing what little oxygen was left in her lungs. Her arms clung to him automatically. She was beyond rational conversation. Nothing seemed real. Not the place. Not the feelings. Not even the big, raw-boned man smothering her with his hot skin, ragged breath and beautiful body.

As delight winnowed away with the ticking of the clock on the mantel, panic set in. What had she done? It had taken her years to recover from her first romantic debacle with Sam Ely. At twenty-one she had been mature for her age in terms of goal-setting and a life plan. And though some might say in retrospect that she’d had nothing more than a youthful crush on a man much older than she was, Annalise knew the truth.

She had been in love. The real deal. Despite what had happened back then…and even through the intervening years of guarded hostility on her part, based on tonight’s utterly unexpected, and unbelievably wonderful events, the truth was impossible to evade.

Annalise Wolff was still in love with Sam Ely.

Six

T
he power came back on just as faint evidence of dawn chased away dark shadows and painted the room with gray. Annalise yawned, her brain fuzzy. The night before, Sam had gone through the house and turned off all the light switches before they retired, so the only evidence that twenty-first century conveniences had returned was the gentle, reassuring hum of the heat system cranking up.

She allowed herself one last moment to savor the odd but lovely sensation of sleeping with a man. Sam radiated heat. She was curled into his side with one bent leg across his hips and her face tucked against his chest. Sometime during the wee hours he had pulled the covers on top of them.

She didn’t know what to do, and that was such an anomaly, she felt mildly claustrophobic. Ordinarily, she
always
knew what to do. Sometimes she mapped out a plan. More often than not, she plunged ahead, full speed, confident that she could handle whatever might be coming down the track.

But that was in business. Her work was her life, a sad thing for a woman her age to admit, but there it was. She loved the challenge of space design, of color, of texture. And she loved helping people create their own nests. Especially since many of her clients had no idea what they really wanted when they signed on.

Recently, she had spent more and more time at Wolff Mountain. It was gratifying to see her family, one at a time, finding happiness after the childhood of tragedy they had shared as a common cup. Even her big brother, Devlyn, had lately managed to lay some of his demons to rest when he reconnected with quiet, patient Gillian.

For Annalise, it wasn’t that easy. Her brothers and cousins loved her. She knew that. And her father and uncle did, as well. But despite the close relationships they all shared, Annalise was the only female. How did she say to one of her big, masculine brothers that she was frightened by the specter of never finding her soul mate? How did she ask for advice on becoming a softer, more feminine woman?

Happily, she had a quartet of new in-laws…or at least Gillian would be one soon. But although each of her newfound sisters was extremely gracious and loving, Annalise didn’t know them well enough to open a vein and let them see her insecurities.

Sam murmured in his sleep, drawing her attention back to his classic profile and warm-man smell. She would bottle that aroma if she could. His lashes lay dark on his cheeks, and his chest rose and fell with deep, regular breathing.

Slowly, stealthily, she extracted herself from muscular arms and scrambled to her feet. It was no wonder he was dead to the world. He’d been up for hours, either trying to get warm, or later, turning Annalise’s world upside down with a sexual marathon that had included one last coupling as the fire died. The memory drew a quiet groan of amazement from her throat. At least she had gotten a couple of hours of sleep
before
creeping through the house to confront a possible intruder.

There had been an intruder, all right. And one equally as dangerous as a rogue bear. The problem with Sam was that he seemed on the surface to be the perfect guy.

As long as she overlooked the fact that he was ready to play daddy. The thought of having Sam’s baby both mesmerized and terrified her. That was why she had given him an ultimatum regarding sex. She had too much self-preservation to buy into the fiction that she and Sam could ever work as a couple.

It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to don her gown and robe instead of waking Sam deliberately and watching his eyes heat with passion. One of her slippers had slid under a chair, but she finally located it. The sensible plan was to take a shower, and then pick a room in which to get started sketching out some ideas.

The fee Sam’s grandparents were offering her was extremely generous. But Annalise had enough ego to be tempted even more by the prospect of the magazine spread. She’d learned the tenets of ambition and hard work at her daddy’s knee, and one day, if she chose to, she had the option of joining Devlyn in running the family business.

She doubted she would ever want to…at least not directly, but it was nice to know that no one in the family would think it odd. She had never faced any kind of discrimination in the Wolff “pack” for being a girl. Well, except for the fact that her father showered her with gifts and encouraged her to order a new wardrobe each season.

She was pretty sure he felt guilty for cloistering her for all those years. An all-access pass to high fashion was his way of making amends. It was a nice perk. But going to school as a child and making friends would have been even nicer.

Sam never moved as she tiptoed to the door and opened it stealthily. With one last wistful glance at the man in front of the fire, she slipped out across the hall and into the safety of her bedroom.

* * *

Sam waited until he heard the door close to sigh deeply and roll onto his back. He had awakened when Annalise was dressing. Rubbing eyes that were gritty from lack of sleep, he forced himself to face the fact that she had run out on him. So much for warm cuddling and perhaps further bonding over morning sex.

Given her behavior in the last sixty seconds, Annalise was not interested. As rejections went, her dismissal was quiet…polite even. Sam weighed the lump of lead in his gut and found it to be a mix of disappointment and hurt. Confidence had never been a problem for him. But if he were dead honest, he would have to acknowledge the fact that he felt embarrassed and at a loss as to how to approach the coming day.

He got to his feet, nude, and was not surprised to find he was still hard. It was inevitable. Annalise, despite her mercurial temperament and frequent antipathy, did it for him. Everything about her appealed to his basic male instincts. Her beauty drew him in, but the challenge of wrangling with her kept him interested.

He’d never been one to use a pretty girl on his arm to shore up his masculinity. He was a guy. Looks mattered. To some extent. But a shallow, self-centered female bored him. And boredom was a buzzkill as far as he was concerned.

It seemed pointless to dress when he was headed upstairs to clean up. But then again, he didn’t want to run in to his houseguest while in the buff. Time to regroup and make a plan.

After a long, blessedly hot shower, he dressed rapidly and peeked out the window. Snow as far as the eye could see. Sam had mixed feelings about being stranded. On the one hand, it was an iron-clad excuse to spend more time with Annalise. But conversely, if she proved to be even more prickly than usual in the aftermath of their lovemaking, their living situation was quickly going to become too close for comfort.

When he made his way downstairs, he found evidence of Annalise’s presence in the form of an empty mug and cereal bowl tucked away in the dishwasher. He fell on the fresh pot of coffee with a mental hallelujah. Thank God she knew enough not to ruin this. After two cups, he felt marginally more alert.

He had plenty of work to do. And he needed to check in at the office. But all he could think about was finding Annalise.

It wasn’t hard to locate her. She had moved her iPod dock to the back of the house where she was working, but this time, the music was dialed down to a far lower volume. He followed the sound to what was known as the library, though in reality, his grandfather used it to house his vintage pool table.

When Sam opened the door that was partially ajar, he found Annalise perched on a ladder photographing small sections of an intricate crown molding.

He frowned, noting the rickety wooden rungs that should have necessitated tossing the thing years ago. “What in the hell are you doing?”

She froze, and then slowly turned her head, casting him a cool, inscrutable look. Full-on ice princess. Damn.

“This is original as far as I can tell. I’m texting a friend of mine who specializes in this kind of thing. He’ll let me know what he thinks.” She laid the phone she’d been using to take pictures on the top of the ladder. “Did you need something?”

You
. The word hovered on his lips. He swallowed it back. “Not really. When will you break for lunch? I thought I’d throw together a pot of chili and some cornbread.”

Was it his imagination, or did she pale slightly. “You can do that?”

“Cook, you mean? Well, yeah. I’ve been a bachelor for a long time.”

She gnawed her lower lip. “Noon, then…or later. Your call.”

He watched, frustrated, as she returned her attention to the task at hand, effectively dismissing him. She was wearing what for Annalise Wolff were probably casual clothes. Khakis, silver leather ballet flats, a crisp white cotton blouse and a thin black cashmere cardigan tied around her shoulders. Her hair was secured at the nape of her neck, leaving a long, thick ponytail to cascade down her back.

For a split second, he remembered what that hair looked like spread across his chest, his legs, his… He gulped inwardly. “I could teach you,” he blurted out.

This time, she half turned her entire body, threatening the stability of her perch. Wariness dueled with interest in her expressive eyes. “Teach me to…”

“Make chili.” He felt his neck heat. “If you want to learn. It’s not hard.” The genesis for his impulsive invitation wasn’t clear. But something about the surprised pleasure in her smile made him glad he had asked.

“I’d love to,” she said simply. “As long as I can’t muck it up too badly.”

“Like how?”

She shrugged. “You know. Food poisoning. Too much salt.”

He grinned, feeling a return of the euphoria he had experienced in the middle of the night. “Meet me in the kitchen in half an hour. Trust me, Princess. You’ll be in good hands.”

* * *

Annalise worked steadily, one part of her brain dedicated to the disciplines of measuring, calculating, planning. The other hemisphere, the one that acknowledged and ruefully accepted her ill-advised infatuation with Sam Ely, seemed intent on translating each of his statements into a sexual innuendo.

You’ll be in good hands
. Did he intend the erotic subtext? Probably not. She was hyperaware of the fact that she and Sam Ely had recently become lovers. But such nocturnal calisthenics were no doubt par for the course with Sam. To him, Annalise was nothing more or less than a willing and available woman. Available. Could she be any more of a cliché?

Feeling disgruntled and exhausted and excited in equal measures, she found her way to the kitchen at the appointed time. Sam, standing at the stove, turned to face her. “Ah, there you are. I was just getting started. Come here and supervise the meat.”

She hovered in the doorway, all thoughts of food forgotten. Sam was too damned sexy for his own good. He was dressed much as he had been the day before, only with a different shirt. This time, hunter green flannel stretched across the broad contours of his chest and shoulders. It was still hard to get used to his new look.

For years she had known Sam Ely as the sleek, handsome,
über
masculine architect with the expensive Italian tailored suits and the knack for sartorial perfection. He reeked of money and success from his pricey leather shoes to the high-tech Rolex on his broad masculine wrist.

But this man, well, hell…she didn’t know what to make of him at all. He was warm and approachable and nurturing. And about as dangerous as a grizzly bear basking in the sun.

One wrong move, and she’d be toast.

Shoring up her defenses, she crossed to where he stood. “Show me what to do.”

Sam stepped back and handed her the wooden spoon he’d been using. “Stir it occasionally and break up the bigger clumps of meat. When all the pink is gone, it will be ready.” As she took her position, he flanked her, his arms coming around from behind, his right hand settling over hers as she pushed the meat blindly.

“Like this,” he said. The scent of his shower soap muddled her thoughts. She wanted to toss the spoon aside and kiss him senseless. The warmth of him at her back made her hands shake. Gripping the utensil tightly, she tried to pretend it was nothing out of the ordinary to play chef with the man who had seduced her in front of a fire only hours before.

His fingers gripped hers and released, his voice hoarse as he spoke near her ear. “You’ve got the hang of it.”

To her intense disappointment, he stepped away, moving to open cans of tomato soup and sauce. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. The fact that he wasn’t producing some exotic sauce from scratch made her feel marginally better.

Suddenly, she realized that the pan was sizzling far more than it had been a few moments before. “Um, Sam?” At about the same moment she said his name, the hot grease popped and crackled. A splatter hit her forearm, and she yelped, dropping the spoon and sending bits of browned ground beef flying everywhere.

Sam grabbed her wrist and pulled it beneath a cooling stream of water from the faucet. Already the sting was subsiding. Leaving her for a moment, he turned the stove off and moved the skillet to another burner.

“Are you all right?” He took her hand and lifted her arm for his inspection.

“It’s okay. Just a red spot. Sorry I overreacted.” She tugged until he released her.

Sam shook his head. “It had to hurt. My fault for not turning down the heat.”

“I told you I’m hopeless in the kitchen.” She was mortified to feel the sting of tears.

He cocked his head, studying her face, his whiskey-colored eyes seeing far more than they should. “It’s no big deal, Annalise. You’ve got enough money to
hire
people to cook for you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what
is
the point?”

“Women are supposed to be able to cook.”

He opened his mouth, closed it and sighed. “I’m trying not to trivialize your concern,” he said, “but that’s a ridiculous, outdated stereotype.”

“No,” she said, sticking out her chin. “It’s not. We
say
men and women are equal now that it’s the twenty-first century, but when push comes to shove, my sex is supposed to be gentle and kind and proficient in the domestic arts.”

“Oh, good Lord, Annalise. Do you hear yourself? So you can’t cook. Who the hell cares? If it’s that important to you, take lessons. But if you see this as some deficiency in you as a woman, you’re nuts.”