All Grown Up (7 page)

She stared at him. “I’ll bet you a thousand dollars that your mother and grandmother are amazing cooks.”

He shook his head in disgust, bending to wipe up the meat she had flung willy-nilly across the floor. “I refuse to get into this.”

She nudged his butt with the toe of her shoe. “Because you know I’m right. You’ve grown up with two generations of women who can plant gardens and make casseroles and bake birthday cakes without a mix.”

He straightened, tossing the wad of paper towels in the garbage. “And you didn’t. Is that it?”

When he went on the attack, she lost focus. “Not exactly,” she muttered. “Forget it. I’m going back to work. Call me when lunch is ready.”

“Not so fast.” He pulled her into his arms so rapidly, she actually felt dizzy for a moment. Plastered against his chest, she felt every one of his ribs, heard each heartbeat, registered the ragged tenor of his breathing.

When she opened her mouth to protest, he covered it with his.

He went in deep, without apology, staking a claim. Making clear what he wanted. Sam Ely was hungry, but she had a feeling that chili was far down on his list.

“What are you doing?” she gasped, struggling for air between frantic kisses.

He tangled his fist in her ponytail and used the tension to tip back her head so he could nibble her neck. “If you have to ask, I must be doing it wrong.”

Before she could assimilate a thought or form a protest, he had scooped her into his arms and was striding out of the kitchen and across the hall to her bedroom. The door was ajar a couple of inches. He kicked it open, endangering ancient hinges.

“Sam!” The single syllable ended on a whimpering sigh as he set her on her feet and cupped her breasts with both hands.

“Don’t talk,” he begged. “Just let me do this.”

This
was full-out, desperation-fueled seduction.

And at the moment, Annalise couldn’t think of a single reason to quibble about the method. Sam undressed her reverently, but with enough clumsiness to betray his need for haste. His hands found every soft curve, every bit of damp skin, every responsive group of nerves. By the time she was bare-ass naked and flat on her back, Sam was stripping off his clothes.

When he came down beside her, the antique bed squeaked in protest. Manufactured long before the advent of queen-size mattresses, the fit was cozy. He stroked between her legs, finding her damp and ready. “You make me crazy, Annalise.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she muttered. Tired of waiting, she reached for him and closed her fingers around hard silky flesh. Sam’s quick catch of breath elated her. She squeezed gently, tracing the vein on the underside of his shaft with her thumb. Despite what had happened between the two of them in the wee hours, she still felt clumsy and unsure of herself. Lacking domestic skills was one thing, but the specter of possibly being bad in bed took insecurity to a whole new level.

To most people who knew her, Annalise Wolff was a sharp-edged, assertive, take-no-prisoners businesswoman. She’d been told to her face that she intimidated competitors, particularly if they were female. It wasn’t something she aspired to or even practiced.

Her family had taught her to be confident and capable in business. Wolff men were all that and more. And they had reared Annalise both by precept and example to be one of the pack.

Though she had mastered the art of “looking” like a sexy female, no one had tutored her in the finer points of how to transform the essence of who she was from a tomboy child into an admirable woman. Except for the female staff, she had been completely isolated by her sex and from her sex. Things most girls learned by osmosis had never registered on Annalise’s radar. She had held herself up to a masculine standard and never realized she was short-changing an entire part of who she was.

Beneath her touch, Sam’s rigid flesh twitched and grew. Apparently, she was doing something right. He touched her thigh. “Lift your leg over mine,” he said, his voice rough with sexual intent. She did as he asked, feeling a momentary frisson of unease at the position. So open. So unprotected. Sam angled his hips and entered her slowly, grabbing her hip to thrust deeper.

The penetration was shallower than last night, but conversely, far more risky. Now she and Sam lay face-to-face, their breaths mingling…her ragged sighs, his groans. His gaze locked with hers. “I like seeing you like this,” he said.

“Like what?” This was why people closed their eyes during sex. Too much communication was scary.

“Relaxed. Compliant.”

“Trust me,” she squeaked as he delved farther and hit a sensitive spot, “I’m not relaxed.” The tightly wound spiral in the base of her abdomen clamored for attention. Sam’s left arm lay curled beneath her neck. With his free hand, he plucked lazily at her nipple, adding fuel to the inferno that throbbed between her legs.

His lazy grin made her want to slap him, or kiss him, or both. “You will be,” he promised.

She squeezed him with inner muscles that took over the reins in naughty intent. “Show me,” she whispered, the words in challenge.

Every trace of humor fled his face to be replaced by sheer male determination. With one arm, he dragged her closer for a kiss that was carnal and curious and calamitous. With the other, he drew her even more tightly into the cradle of his thighs, melding their bodies in a frantic hold. His tongue tangled with hers, his chest heaving, skin damp with perspiration. “Come for me, Princess. Let go…now.”

That he could coax a climax from her at will was both exhilarating and terrifying. She slammed into the peak and crashed over it with the force of a speeding train, her senses all focused on that one perfect moment.

Sam held her in a bruising grip as he shouted and shuddered at almost the same instant.

“Sweetheart,” he gasped. “You’re gonna kill me before the weekend is out.”

Annalise wrote off his dramatic words to postcoital hyperbole. After all, her hands-on experience with the erotic arts wouldn’t fill a paragraph on a résumé. He was exaggerating in order to ensure that she would agree to another round later.

But even as she lectured herself inwardly, she couldn’t help but feel a smug sense of feminine power that she had satisfied him. Moments later, she winced when he withdrew, not that it hurt, but because he broke the wonderful feeling of togetherness that was like nothing she had ever experienced.

Sam made up for the loss by urging her onto her side and spooning her back, one of his arms cradling her head and the other tucked beneath her breasts. She allowed herself one dreamy smile, since he couldn’t see her face. If she could maintain the fiction of sex as recreation, she could protect her heart.

He sighed, the warm puff of air brushing the nape of her neck like a caress. In the silence, she couldn’t tell if he had drifted off to sleep or was lost in thought. His words, when they finally came, were totally unexpected, though they were slurred with drowsiness. “Tell me, Annalise, after all these years, what do you remember about your mother?”

Seven

S
am would have to be completely insensitive, or at least a fool, not to note the moment when her body went rigid. And he was neither. Cursing his stupidity, he waited, wishing like hell he could retract the question. He’d spent the better part of an hour coaxing the prickly princess into a warm, malleable mood, and then he’d destroyed it all with his damned curiosity.

Bit by bit, she relaxed. But not like before. Not at all. “Very little,” she said in a voice that was suspiciously casual. “I was really young when she died. Most of the memories are from photographs or from things my brothers told me. My father has never really talked about her.”

“You missed out on a lot,” he said, his heart aching for a bereft little girl who would have been far too young to understand what death meant. The finality. The utter cruelty.

He felt her shrug. “I did fine,” she insisted. Did she realize that her right hand held the sheet in a white-
knuckled grip?

He should have dropped the subject. He knew it was the right thing to do. But he was desperate to understand what made Annalise Wolff tick, and his window of opportunity was very narrow. Particularly if the temperatures outside began rising, as predicted.

“I know what it is to be without a parent,” he said quietly. “It’s not the same as death. I understand the difference, I do. But when my mother took me away from my father, all the way to south Alabama, I felt as if he had died. Phone calls were difficult because of his work schedule and my bedtime. I wanted him to tuck me into bed at night. To read me a story. Divorce was just a word. It meant nothing to me. I was angry for a long time. Screwed up at school on purpose. Gave my mom hell. But in the end, I had to adapt.”

She turned her head and kissed the sensitive flesh of his upper arm. “I’m sorry.”

“I know they had issues I couldn’t understand. I still don’t for that matter. Neither of them has ever remarried.”

“So why did they separate?”

“Hell if I know. But that’s why I’m determined never to do that to my kids. I want a real family. If my parents had stayed together, I might have been lucky enough to have siblings like you do.”

Annalise sighed. “My brothers and cousins are everything to me. I can’t imagine not having them in my life. We fuss and fight sometimes, even as adults, but they have my back. It must suck being an only child.”

“Yeah, well, this conversation wasn’t supposed to be all about me. I’m trying to let you know that I experienced a tiny bit of what you went through. And I’m sorry, too. A little girl needs her mother.”

“It was no great loss,” she said, her voice without inflection. “My mother wasn’t a very nice person.”

The flat, one-dimensional syllables made his scalp tingle and gooseflesh erupt on his arms. Such deliberate lack of emotion surely hid unimaginable hurt.

Annalise sat up, her narrow, pale-skinned back all he could see of her. She gathered the quilt to protect her nudity and stood gracefully. “I need to get back to work. Please let me know when lunch is ready.”

And then she locked herself in the bathroom.

Damn, damn and damn. Pushing her emotionally was the dumbest idea he’d had in a while. Sam had visited Wolff Castle enough times over the years to realize that the family tragedy was kept under lock and key. Neither the older generation nor their offspring wore their hearts on their sleeves.

No one discussed the tragic kidnappings, the senseless shootings, or the move, en masse, to their mountain asylum. It was as if by denying the past, they could pretend it never happened.

Case in point, Annalise. She had perfected the art of avoidance. As far as she was concerned, that kiss she gave him years ago never happened, either. Which pissed off Sam. He wasn’t going to let her forget it. At one time, she had wanted him. And her body still did, even though her mind and heart were doing their damnedest to remain uninvolved.

To put it bluntly, Annalise was having sex with him like some men would. Strictly physically. With no intention of entering into any kind of long-term relationship. Hell, Sam himself had approached sex that way when he was younger.

But that was then and this was now. Slowly, the light was beginning to dawn. He might want more from Annalise Wolff than he had realized at first glance. He might want it all.

That notion spooked him so badly he bolted from her bedroom, clothes in hand. Was he insane? As he redressed and did his best to salvage the chili, his heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t have the luxury of “trying” a relationship with Annalise. If it crashed and burned, he would have to face the music from the older generation. His dad, her father, Uncle Victor. Not to mention five angry brothers and cousins, any one of whom could go head-to-head with him in a fist fight.

As he sliced bread and buttered it, his brain whirled. It was time to back off. The Weather Channel app on his phone said they should see widespread snowmelt by the day after tomorrow. Sam could be back in Charlottesville in time for dinner that night.

Sex with Annalise had been incredible. Possibly the best of his life. But physical intimacy with her came with a lot of baggage. And he wasn’t sure it was worth it.

* * *

Lunch was awkward and long. Annalise picked at her chili, though she professed it to be delicious. Her careful politeness emulated the demeanor of a reserved young lady. It was weird. And scary.

Sam wolfed down his first bowl and went back for seconds, not so much because he was hungry, but for something to do. When they were done, Annalise offered to help clean up. He declined. When she stared at him briefly, her eyes turbulent with unspoken emotion, he almost cracked.

Instead, he turned toward the sink and held his breath until he heard her leave.

* * *

Two hours later, he was ready to climb the walls. He had three young, ambitious paid interns back at the office, any one of whom could run the whole operation given half a chance. That they were all at work on a Saturday morning pointed to their determination to succeed. After a spirited conference call to handle a few pressing matters, he bade them goodbye and hung up. He was itchy, and irritable, and, well…hard.

When he gave in and went in search of his guest, he found Annalise in the same room as earlier, back up on the ladder, picking at a corner of wallpaper with a pocketknife. This time she didn’t give him the courtesy of looking up to note his entrance into the room.

Her gaze was focused on the task at hand, as if by peeling back enough layers she might uncover the secrets of the Rosetta Stone. Sam didn’t like being ignored.

“What are you doing now?” he asked, his tone a masterpiece of mild interest.

Still no turn of the head. “Trying to determine how many layers of paper are under here. It’s possible that the deepest ones might give us something to go on in terms of color.”

“You know that my grandmother doesn’t have to have everything exactly like it was…even if you could figure that out. She just wants the decor to be in keeping with the time period of the original house. After all, she’s not making Pops get rid of this pool table.” He reached in the side pocket and pulled out a striped ball, rolling it in his hand. “I learned to play when I was ten years old. And the old man didn’t cut me any slack. It took me four summers to finally win a game.”

Finally, Annalise gave him her attention, and a tiny, reluctant smile lifted the edges of her lush lips. “I learned at eight,” she said. “And I could beat both Devlyn and Gareth by the time I was nine.”

His eyebrows went up. “The devil, you say….”

“I’m always up for a wager.”

He felt a kick in his chest and his gut simultaneously. When she forgot to be guarded with him, the luminosity of her smile literally took his breath away. He cleared his throat. “Don’t you have work to do?”

She came down two rungs. “Are you chicken?”

His eyes narrowed. He knew when he as being hustled. But he had a competitive streak a mile wide, and he wasn’t going to let Annalise get the best of him. “I assume you’re going to put your money where your mouth is?”

She cocked her head. “I hate to take your cash.”

“A thousand dollars.”

That made her blink. But in an instant she was back on track, projecting disdain in her deliberately bored expression. “Ten thousand dollars. To be donated to the new school.”

“And if I win? When I win,” he amended hastily.

“What do you want?”

Suddenly, every cell in his body hummed with sexual energy.
You
. It was a shocking truth. And one he decided not to give voice to. He rocked back on his heels, hands braced in the door frame. “I want to take you to dinner. Somewhere nice. Linen tablecloths. Roses in crystal vases. Soft lighting.”

Suspicion etched her delicate features. “I told you I don’t like romantic stuff.”

“No romance,” he said quietly, trying to gauge her mood. “Just a civilized meal between friends.”

“Not in Charlottesville.”

“Why?”

“You know why. I don’t want anyone to see us together and get the wrong idea.”

“Then where?”

“D.C.?”

“We’d have to spend the night.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Okay, so Roanoke, maybe.”

“We’re both grown-ups, Annalise. If we want to have a secretive tryst, it’s our business.”

She nibbled her lower lip, her gaze moody. “Again with the romance. I said no.”

“Every woman likes romance. But the point is, it’s up to her partner to decide what that means. If I decide to romance you, darlin’, you’ll never see it coming. Subtlety is my middle name.”

She snorted. “You’re about as subtle as a Mack truck. In that case, wager accepted. But dinner only. No funny business.”

He held up his hands. “You wound me. I’d never try to seduce you without your permission.”

“My permission? That will be a cold day in Hades.”

His body tightened. Annalise had the heart of a tease. And she played the game well. The problem was, he was pretty sure it was all instinctive. He doubted she knew what her sass and smart mouth did to him.

Without waiting for an invitation, she started pulling balls out of pockets and setting them on the table, the movements of her hands both graceful and efficient.

“Who gets to break?” he asked.

“We’ll flip a coin.”

Before he could comment, she pulled a dime out of her pocket, shot it in the air and caught it on her forearm, covering it with her free hand. “You call it.”

“Heads.”

She showed him the result. Tails. Of course. He sighed audibly.

Annalise smirked. “Too bad.”

He slouched against the wall as she gathered the balls, racked them and carefully removed the plastic triangle. When she leaned over the table, he recognized his basic handicap. Watching Annalise Wolff shoot pool was guaranteed to turn his brain to mush and make other parts of him, well…not mush.

She moved with a confidence that was beautiful to watch. Sam had played pool with other women. Most of them either refused to break or did so with such a weak shot that the balls remained clumped together. It should have come as no surprise to him that Annalise was not like other women.

Ignoring him completely, she chalked her cue, lined up her shot and sent the cue ball slamming into the tightly packed stripes and solids. A trio of the latter slid into three pockets with a precision that made his jaw drop.

She paused to give him one sly, taunting smile over her shoulder before returning to her game and running the table. When nothing remained on the felt but a single white ball, she wiggled her shoulders, stretched her hands over her head and lifted an eyebrow. “Your turn, Mr. Ely.”

Muttering beneath his breath, he picked out his own cue and told himself to ignore the fact that a beautiful woman stood watching him. Her gaze tracked his every move. Even so, he managed a creditable break, sinking two shots to her three. He lined up the next few, one after another…and made them.

But when he went for the last one, he made the mistake of looking at his adversary. Her unusual blue eyes sparkled with amusement as if lit from within. His pride suffered a nick. So much so that he bobbled the shot and had to suffer the indignity of having Annalise step up and clean the rest of the table.

When it was over, silence reigned.

She replaced her cue in the rack on the wall and flipped her ponytail back over her shoulder. “Not bad for an old man,” she said. “I guess your reflexes are slowing down.”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that you’re supposed to let the guy win?”

It was a smart-aleck comment, a tease, a jab. Certainly not a serious rejoinder. But Annalise blanched. And for the briefest of seconds, he saw real distress in her deep, translucent eyes. “Hey,” he said quickly, seeking to temper his blunder. “You know I’m kidding, right? You’re amazing. If you weren’t already swimming in money, you could play this game professionally. It’s true that I don’t like losing. But I’ll have another shot. You beat me fair and square.”

She had turned away during his impulsive backpedaling and was now fiddling with a portfolio of notes she’d been working on earlier. He touched her arm, making her face him. When she wouldn’t look at him, he took her chin in his hands. Though several moments ticked by, finally her eyes met his.

He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “I… Was… Kidding. Get it? No man worth his salt wants a woman to
let
him win at anything.”

“You’d be surprised,” she whispered. The single tear that clung to her lower lashes refused to fall.

Feeling like the biggest jerk on the planet, he kissed her forehead. “You can’t tell me all those wild Wolffs of yours wanted a fake victory.”

She chuckled weakly. “Them? No. Daddy and Uncle Vic used to give me five dollars every time I beat one of the boys. My brothers and cousins hated it, but it made them work harder to improve their game. Unfortunately, when I finally went off to college, no one told me the rules had changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“My first week on campus I was invited to a frat party with five or six other girls. The house had a pool table. One of the pledges offered to teach me the game…I guess to show off to his buddies.”