All Grown Up (8 page)

“And you beat him.”

“Three games in a row. I was too arrogant for my own good.” She paused, as if seeing a painful vision known only to her. “He called me a dyke,” she said abruptly. “Everyone laughed.”

“Jesus, Annalise.” He took her in his arms, despite the fact that she was stiff as a board in his embrace. “College guys are unmitigated jerks for the most part. They check their brains when they walk through those ivy-clad arches and don’t reclaim them until four years later. He was thinking with something other than his brain, and you showed him up. It wasn’t your fault. Good Lord, you should be proud of your talent.”

She sniffed, finally relaxing enough to lay her head on his shoulder. “Mine is more luck than skill. I’ve always had a knack for geometry. I see the angles. It’s no big deal.”

He shook her gently. “Be proud of who you are. You’re an original. A Wolff daughter. One of a kind.”

“Sometimes it’s lonely,” she said quietly.

He froze, stunned to realize that for perhaps the first time, Annalise was trusting him enough to open that closely guarded heart of hers and let him see a glimpse of the marshmallow center inside the crusty shell. “What about your sisters-in-law?” He stroked her back lightly.

“They’re nice women. But we don’t have much in common.”

“How so?”

“Well, they’re all really feminine. Gracie’s pregnant and glowing. Olivia already has a daughter, and she’s a wonderful mom. Gillian teaches little children and loves them. And Ariel…well,
People
magazine
voted her the sweetest and most appealing woman on the silver screen.”

“I guess I’m missing something. Annalise, you’re a knockout. Killer smile. Fabulous legs. And a personal style that I’d lay money lots of women try to emulate.”

“And yet I’ve never had a serious boyfriend. Why do you think that is? I’ll tell you,” she said, rushing ahead before he could answer. “Men don’t want someone like me. Well, I take that back. In bed, yes. Or as a trophy. They like the
outside
of me. But…”

“But what?”

She wriggled out of his loose embrace and scrubbed her hands over her face. He could almost see her withdrawing. “If I need a shrink, I’ll pay for one,” she said curtly. “I’ve got work to do, Sam. Do me a favor and get lost.”

He felt his temper boil, despite the fact that he knew she was goading him deliberately. He had gotten too close, and she had reverted to her usual antagonistic ways.

“Fine,” he said, feeling a real urge to throttle her. “I’ve done what Gram asked me to. You know the plan. I’ll stay out of your hair until the snow melts and I can get back to my real life. But this…” He seized the rickety ladder and threw it against the wall, feeling a surge of satisfaction when it splintered into a half-dozen pieces. “This is off limits. If you really need to get up high, you’ll have to ask for my help. I know it will choke you, but that’s the deal.”

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with as much force as he could muster. Ordinarily when he was this infuriated, he’d go to the gym and lift weights or box with the bag. Anything to burn off steam. But instead, he was being tormented by an advanced case of cabin fever, exacerbated by lust.

What was he supposed to do with a woman who made him crazy in bed, and yet did the same thing the rest of the time in an entirely different, far more maddening way? No man wanted to work this hard for sex.

A flurry of work-related phone calls did nothing to calm him. Instead, he threw on some cold weather gear and went outside to shovel the front steps. After that chore was completed to his satisfaction, he started on the path to the barn until sheer exhaustion forced him to abandon the hopeless endeavor. The storm had dropped at least twelve inches of snow, and the biting wind had turned the top layer to an icy crust that was like chiseling stone.

At last, chest heaving with exertion, he returned to the house. As he walked inside and caught a lingering whiff of what could only be Annalise’s signature fragrance, a brilliant plan bloomed in his brain.

His motives were murky, even in his own head. Was he trying to make her mad? Or was he hoping for something more? Annalise had agreed to have sex with him while they were snowed in at the farmhouse. What did it matter if they fought like cats and dogs in between?

Why did he care that guys had hurt her in the past? And why did he still wince when he remembered that he was the first man to break her heart? She’d made it clear that she was no longer interested in any kind of emotional connection between the two of them. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

He’d gotten laid twice already. That should be enough for any man indulging a passing fancy. Was it really necessary to play the valiant knight for a woman who so clearly didn’t need a hero? Annalise, by her own admission, could take care of herself. She was driven and focused, and fiercely intelligent.

And she hated romance. He grinned as he walked toward the kitchen. She didn’t cook. So any meal planning was up to him. He had just the plan to even the scales after that bloodbath of a pool game. Annalise was sharp. But he had an advantage when it came to food. He planned to use every bit of it.

Eight

W
hen Annalise stretched to work the kinks out of her back, it was almost five o’clock. Winter’s dark had fallen despicably early, sending her spirits plummeting. She was a runner on occasion, not hard-core-marathon level, but for exercise and stress relief. At the moment, nothing sounded more wonderful.

Unfortunately, she was trapped. And even worse, with a man who made her question everything she knew about herself.

She owed him an apology. The truth stuck in her throat, a huge lump of dismay wrapped in shame. Sam Ely was a nice guy. There. She admitted it. And he’d been doing his best to be kind and understanding when she uncharacteristically unburdened her soul.

But in return for his gentle, nonjudgmental listening, she’d been bitchy and ungrateful. No wonder he’d heaved a ladder across the room. Why did she have to be so touchy? Her life would be a lot easier if she had ever learned to be open to people, to meet them halfway. But she’d grown up in such an environment of mistrust when it came to the outside world, it was hard to change her ways.

She ducked into her bedroom to freshen up. Even with the heat running, the house seemed chilly now that the sun had gone down. She untied her cardigan from around her neck and slipped her arms into the sleeves. Taking down her hair to brush out the dust and tangles, her hands shook suddenly as she remembered Sam in this room. In her bed. How would she ever sleep tonight? The image of his big nude body dwarfing the old-fashioned bed would be impossible to forget.

She had intended to tuck her long unruly hair back into its hair band at the nape of her neck, but feeling both foolish and hopeful, she left it loose. Looking in the mirror, she winced. With her hair tumbled around her shoulders, she looked far more feminine. And vulnerable. Neither of those were comfortable attributes as far as she was concerned.

When the growling of her stomach drove her to seek out sustenance, she decided she could hide no longer. Gathering her courage, she went in search of Sam.

The smells from the kitchen took her by surprise, making her mouth water and her nose twitch appreciatively. Gingerly, she pushed open the door.

Her host looked up, spatula in hand. When he was out of the room, she could almost convince herself that he was just another guy. But face-to-face… Her heart stuttered and then picked up its normal rhythm. He was almost too much to handle.

She swallowed and bit her lower lip, hovering in the doorway. “Something smells amazing,” she said, offering an unspoken apology in hopes he would hear it and let her off the hook.

“It’s just about ready,” he said, his voice neutral. “How about opening that bottle of wine for us? And bring the glasses.”

She did as he asked, ridiculously grateful that he wasn’t frowning at her. Her nerves were jittery and her stomach unsettled. Though she deserved his censure, perhaps, she was emotional and broody, feeling more like an adolescent girl than a grown woman.

He finished dishing up two plates of pork chops, risotto and home-canned green beans while Annalise watched. Adding a slice of homemade bread to each, he picked up one plate in each hand and nodded his head. “I’ll let you go first. We’re going to eat in the living room.”

She grabbed the crystal and the wine and bumped open the door to the adjoining room with her hip. When she saw what was on the other side, she stopped dead. From the sound of his muttered curse, Sam almost plowed into her from behind.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, his breath brushing her ear.

She swallowed hard, remembering her intent to be conciliatory. “Not at all.”

The room was like a movie set. Sam had dragged a small table in front of the hearth and had stoked the fire until it burned merrily, chasing away the cold and cheering the atmosphere immeasurably. He had raided his grandmother’s stash of antiques and farm-chic décor. A lace tablecloth set the stage for the brick-red earthenware plates he carried. An old Chianti bottle held a single beeswax candle.

Just behind the table, Sam had positioned the sofa and chairs close enough for post-dinner conversation. Even he couldn’t roust up fresh flowers under the circumstances, but he had located a dried nosegay of lavender and heather and tucked it into a squatty china vase.

She set the glasses on the table so he wouldn’t hear them rattle against one another. “This looks nice.” Clearly, he was making a point. She had professed to dislike romantic gestures. Sam was calling her bluff.

He gently set down the plates and then poured the wine. “Sit and eat,” he said, placing a glass filled almost to the brim with Chardonnay at her elbow. “Before it gets cold.”

She obeyed reluctantly, feeling her heart race. This wasn’t what she had signed on for. She didn’t want Sam to be sweet and nice. She didn’t want cozy evenings that would make her life feel incomplete when he was gone.

Sam, apparently oblivious to her consternation, dug into his food with the gusto of a hungry man enjoying his dinner. In between bites, he carried on a mostly one-sided conversation in which Annalise mumbled answers only when necessary.

She was fluent in three languages, had dined in four-star restaurants on as many continents and knew the intricacies of cutlery and wine pairings, but on this particular occasion, she was abashed to the point of social ineptitude.

Even Sam, determined to have a pleasant meal, eventually had to address her lack of conviviality. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked, lifting a sardonic eyebrow.

Annalise swallowed. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.” Unfortunately, that statement came out sounding far more accusatory than appreciative.

“Don’t worry, my little thornbush. This was for my benefit, not yours.”

How did one go about calling a man a liar when an earnest apology was already in order? “Meaning what?”

“I was in a bad mood. We have cabin fever. I thought a semblance of civilization might be in order.”

“I didn’t think you were ever in a bad mood. At least when you’re not with me,” she amended hastily. “The society editor of the Charlottesville newspaper called you ‘Virginia’s Consummate Gentleman.’”

He lifted his glass to his lips, eyed her over the brim and drank deeply, the muscles in his throat flexing slightly. The flannel shirt had disappeared. Now he wore a pale blue dress shirt with an open collar and the sleeves rolled up.
Country
Sam was genial and approachable. This recent version, more like the man she knew in the city, was infinitely dangerous.

Twirling the stem of the glass between his fingers, he cocked his head and eyed her reflectively. “Since when do you follow the society columns? I thought Wolffs objected to such journalism on principle.”

She stabbed the last bite of her tender pork and waved it at him. “I don’t live in a cave. You’re quite the celebrity in our corner of the world. I’m sure women line up in droves to be the next flavor of the month.”

“Be fair,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t flit from flower to flower.”

True, damn his hide. She wanted to take potshots at him, wanted it rather badly. But it wasn’t that easy to do. He was damned near perfect. “Well, you sure don’t show any signs of settling down. Or is all that talk about having kids just a ruse to lure softhearted romantics into your bed?”

“Thank God you’re not a romantic,” he said grimly. “No telling what would happen.”

A ripple of sensation skated down her spine. She had plenty of armor to ward off a lazy, affable Sam. But when he went all dark-eyed and irritated, something about him made her belly flip with feelings that were definitely
not wise.

“Are you avoiding the question?” The bite in her words appeared to amuse him.

“Not at all. I don’t make any secret of my intentions, but I’m not foolish enough to let a woman think I’m serious when I’m not.”

“And you haven’t been? Serious, I mean?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Jealous, Annalise?”

She choked on her wine. “Of course not. We’d be a dreadful couple.”

“Didn’t seem like it last night…or this morning. When you were screaming my name.”

Her face turned hot. “Sexual compatibility is nothing more than a fluke of hormones. The only reason I agreed to this temporary arrangement was that I’ve had a bit of a dry spell.”

“How dry?” he shot back.

“None of your business.”

“Hmm…”

He seemed to have the terrifying capability of seeing inside her brain. Could he really know how long she had carried a torch for him? She would die of humiliation if he realized.

Sam Ely had rejected her, rather vehemently, a long time ago. Never mind that her heartfelt declaration of love still rang in her ears with sick embarrassment. He had told her she was too young, too forward, too blatant in her pursuit.

Surely he gave her credit for having matured in the meantime.

She gazed into the fire, anything to avoid his laserlike gaze. “Shall I take care of the dishes?”

Sam stood, gathering their plates. “Don’t move. Dessert is on the way.”

When he left the room, she dropped her head in her hands, only to jerk upright moments later when he returned carrying two bowls of vanilla ice cream topped with strawberries.

At her look of surprise, Sam grinned. “Gram freezes dozens of quarts every summer.” He had topped each serving with an artistic swirl of whipped cream. “Enjoy,” he said.

She picked up her dessert spoon reluctantly. It was just ice cream. Nothing sexual about that. No reason for her palms to sweat and her pulse to do the cha-cha.

After all, strawberries conjured up the memories of long, hot summer afternoons. And happy times. Her childhood on Wolff Mountain had been idyllic in the beginning. When she was too young to know she was being held captive by her father’s fears.

Almost as if Sam could hear her thoughts, he tapped the side of his bowl with the spoon. “Earth to Annalise. Where did you go?”

She licked a drop of melting ice cream from her upper lip. “I was thinking about being a kid. How wild and free it was.”

“I envied you your spot on Wolff Mountain. You wouldn’t remember this…because you were probably only five or six years old when it happened, but your brothers took me skinny-dipping in the creek one afternoon. You were the lookout. But you fell asleep, and your dad and uncle and my dad found us. They read us the riot act, because we had involved you in our escapade.”

“My father was and is very protective of me.”

“Which makes what we’re doing pretty risky.”

She frowned. “I’m not five years old anymore. I don’t live on the mountain. My life is my own.”

“You’re telling me the Wolff men don’t keep an eye on you?”

She wanted to be able to say no, but what was the point? Sam knew too much about her family. “We all maintain the fiction that I come and go as I please. But yes. I realize that very little I do is completely private.”

“And yet you mentioned building your own house on the mountain.”

She grinned. “It
is
a conundrum, isn’t it?”

“What do you want it to look like? The house, I mean.”

“I don’t honestly know. I have this hazy image of a screened-in back porch and wicker furniture where I can sit and watch the rain. As far as the house, I haven’t nailed down any particular style. But I would want it to be peaceful and uncluttered. A place I could use as a retreat.”

“And kid-friendly?”

Unease skittered along her nerve endings. “Maybe a few toys for the nieces and nephews. Perhaps a bunk bed.”

“You honestly have no plans to be a mom one day?”

“None,” she said flatly. She shoved the bowl aside, though she had eaten less than half of the dessert. “What about you? Are you going to turn your bachelor pad into a baby-proof garret?”

He shrugged. “Doubtful. And I’m not a fan of commuting, so this farmhouse will probably be used for weekends and holidays and a summer getaway. I’m thinking of building a family-sized house just outside of Charlottesville. I’ve been looking for the right parcel of land for the last couple of years.”

“I see.” Her dinner sat like lead in her stomach. When Sam didn’t say anything more, the silence became oppressive. She struggled to change the subject. “I’ve ordered a lot of things already. If the weather cooperates, I imagine deliveries will begin to arrive Monday afternoon. I’ll start painting a room at a time.”

“We can hire people to do that,” he said, a tiny line forming between his brows. “Gram is paying for your expertise, not your muscle.”

“I’m picky,” Annalise admitted. No point hiding it. “And a bit of a control freak. I’d rather know the work is being done right.”

“Then order a ladder,” he groused. “I’m not paying for any trips to the emergency room.”

Suddenly their earlier fight was the elephant in the room. Not for anything would she admit that his temper had surprised and intrigued her. It indicated a level of emotional involvement that seemed uncharacteristic of a man who managed to make everything in his life look easy and charmed.

Annalise tensed. Almost without knowing it, she had been lulled into a sense of complacency by the good food, Sam’s innocuous conversation and the blazing fire. Escape seemed the smart course. “If you won’t let me help with the dishes,” she said, “I think I’ll turn in for the night. I’m reading a good book.”

Sam reached across the table and gripped one of her wrists in his big hand. “No.”

“Excuse me?” Surely his caveman technique wasn’t the reason butterflies tumbled in her chest.

He got up, drawing her to her feet, as well. “I have plans for the evening,” he said mildly, although the look in his eyes was anything but. Sexual tension prowled like a dark shadow in the room. “You can cooperate, or I’ll persuade you.”

“My God, you’re an arrogant ass.” They were standing so close together she could see a tiny scar on his right cheekbone. His body radiated heat and a scent that was all male. Equal parts soap and sexual determination.

“And you’re an aggravating shrew,” he said, his gaze on her parted lips. “Lord knows why I want you.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Indeed.” He wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger. “Why do you think that is?”