Entice Me Box Set: The Truth About Shoes and Men\Cover Me\My Favorite Mistake (19 page)

A knock sounded, sending my pulse into overdrive. Angel abandoned me and trotted to the door. I arranged the washcloth and the bubbles around me in a futile attempt to cover my girlies, then called, “Come in.”

Sam stuck his head inside. “How’s it—” he stopped and raked his gaze over me “—going in here?”

I flushed and shifted, sending my protective bubbles to the opposite end of the tub. “I don’t think I’m making much headway—the odor is still strong.”

His eyes smoldered and he seemed distracted for a few seconds. A shiver shook my shoulders and sent goose bumps over my skin. The air hummed with sexual current, and I was struck with an overwhelming sense of intimacy, being naked in this man’s bathtub in a log cabin that he’d
built with his own hands on the top of a mountain. We could have been the only two people in the world.

Angel barked.

The only two people in the world, and a dog with a bad sense of timing.

“Can I come in?” he asked. “I brought something to help with the smell.”

I nodded, still hugging myself. “Is it some kind of medicine or chemical?”

“Sort of.” He pushed open the door, set down a metal basin, and hefted a huge jar of red liquid. “Tomato juice.”

I frowned, mostly because the jar was obscuring his abs. “Are we making bloody Marys?”

He laughed. “No. Tomato juice will neutralize the odor.” I must have looked skeptical, because he added, “You’ll have to take my word for it.” He unscrewed the lid, then walked to the tub, hoisting the jar. “You might want to close your eyes.”

I did, and tensed. I’d thought having tomato juice poured over my head was going to be unpleasant, but actually…it was worse. Cold, slimy, clumpy, and salty. I clawed the stuff out of my eyes and slouched in abject misery. My friends simply would not believe this.

“Just sit for a few minutes and let the juice work,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do with Angel.”

“She doesn’t like baths,” I said. “When I took her to the groomer’s, she escaped and turned the whole place upside down. She was missing in action for almost a half an hour before we tracked her down.”

He looked at me, eyebrows raised. “You take your boss’s dog to the groomer’s?”

I flushed. “Once. Helena can be very…persuasive.”

“Well, so can I,” he countered with a wink. I wasn’t in much of a position to argue, so I merely watched as he cajoled
Angel into the basin and soothed her with “there, there” while he poured the tomato juice over her silvery blue coat. Angel, of course, made a liar out of me by standing as still as a hairy little statue as he bathed her in the acidic juice and rinsed her with pails of water. She must have been as mesmerized as I was by the sight of Sam in his skivvies. I took advantage of the chance to study him under my tomato-flavored lashes—smooth brown skin, long muscular limbs, a mat of dark chest hair that whorled into his waistband. His dark blond hair had grown since he’d been in New York, and it suited him. But what struck me as most appealing about the man was the quiet confidence with which he handled everything, from a magazine-cover photo shoot to dealing with a skunk attack. Somehow I knew that Sam could handle just about anything that came his way.

The trouble with a man like that was that he didn’t need anyone to complete him, ergo the whole no-commitment thing. And I needed to be needed…a little.

He gave Angel a final rub with a towel, then shook his head. “To get rid of the smell altogether, I think we’re going to have to give this lady a haircut.”

Panic blipped in my chest. “I don’t think her mistress would like that.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who has to ride home with her.”

“On the other hand, a new look for spring never hurt a girl.”

His laughter rumbled through the room. “When we get to the pound, someone there can give her a trim. I think I’ll reschedule the spaying until tomorrow—she’s had enough excitement for one day.”

He looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded, secretly relieved to be deferring her discomfort for one more day.
He carried Angel to the bedroom, then closed the door behind her. When he came back alone, he gestured toward the big tub. “Do you mind if I join you?”

My modesty was long gone, and I was relatively sure that nothing naughty was going to happen in this soup. “Be my guest.”

I heard him skim off his underwear and made myself not look, although when he climbed into the tub, some things were just hard to miss. He seemed perfectly at ease as he slid into the bath facing me, situating his legs outside of mine, easing down in the water to his shoulders, then dunking under for a few seconds. He lifted his muscular arms and worked the warm tomato juice bath through his hair, then settled back. Beneath the water, our legs brushed, re-igniting those sexual currents. I decided that talking was the best distraction.

“You act as if you’ve done this before.”

“My dogs have scared up a few skunks.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

He laughed. “Don’t. This is the time of year that skunks are nesting, so they’re more likely to spray.”

“Still, I guess it’s pretty clear that I’m out of my element here. I keep messing up.” I was miserable, and already wondering how bloated this juice would make me.

Sam shrugged mildly. “Don’t worry about it. Nobody expects you to—”

When he stopped, I looked up. “Fit in?”

He hesitated. “I was going to say ‘know your way around.’” Then he grinned. “I hope this episode doesn’t make it into the article.”

“I can virtually guarantee it.”

“How’s that going?”

“The article? Fine,” I lied, and dropped my gaze. The water had separated his chest hair, revealing the pink
slash of a vertical incision. He must have noticed me staring.

“My heartbreak scar,” he said with nonchalance.

“Are you really okay?” I asked.

“Really,” he said, then gestured toward the mountainous view out of the bay window. “Being surrounded by such beauty has a calming effect on a man’s life.” Then he looked at me and angled his head. “On the other hand, some types of beauty can cause all kinds of problems.”

I flushed, knowing I was miles from being beautiful. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing you, I’m flirting with you.”

He leaned forward and ran his finger down my nose, coming away with a tomato dreg. “Sorry,” he said. “I know that flirting is off-limits.”

I looked into his smiling eyes and swallowed hard, and the realization hit me between the shoulder blades—I was in love with this man. Crazily, improbably and unexplain-ably, I simply wanted to be around him. We had nothing in common, and we lived in different worlds, but his smile made me forget my own name, and his lovemaking made me forget to breathe. The sheer absurdity of it brought moisture to my eyes. The sheer hopelessness of it made me determined to reestablish a professional distance. The sheer irony that I’d reached that conclusion while sharing a bathtub with the man made me contemplate drowning myself on the spot.

“I think this stuff is working,” I blurted, then lifted my arm for a sniff. “Now what?”

“You can shower if you like,” he said, nodding toward the glass stall.

I hesitated. “I’ll be needing clothes.”

“I’ll find you something to wear.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes—out of courtesy, I realized.

I gingerly pushed myself from the thick bathwater to stand. There simply was no graceful way to get out, and my movements were further impeded by the fear of falling and impaling myself on Sam. As enjoyable as that might be, the act wouldn’t exactly lend itself to maintaining a professional distance. I squeezed water-juice from my hair and managed to climb out.

The shower was heavenly. I stood under the spray until the water began to run clear, then I lathered my skin and hair. I had tilted my head to let the spray fall on my face when I heard the shower door open and Sam step in behind me. I tensed as he dropped his mouth to my ear. “My hot water heater isn’t that big—we’ll have to share.”

Warning bells sounded in my head, but he continued good-naturedly. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave. I wouldn’t want you to break out in hives again.”

I was glad he couldn’t see my face, the way his words and body affected me. I glanced over my shoulder to see he’d turned his magnificent back to mine. He reached for the soap and his behind brushed my hip. “Sorry,” he said. I gritted my teeth against the desire stirring in my belly and concentrated on scrubbing my skin. He didn’t help matters by whistling a happy little tune under his breath, as if he often took platonic showers with the opposite sex.

“Wash my back?” he asked.

I sighed and turned to accept the washcloth he offered over his shoulder. He braced his hands on his hips and waited. I worked up a lather with the bar of soap we shared, then tiptoed to work the suds into his smooth brown skin. His muscles flexed beneath my fingers and he rolled his neck. “That feels good.”

I reached higher, but inadvertently brushed my breasts against his back. He straightened. “That feels good, too.”

“Sorry,” I said, then covered my zinging breasts with
one arm and continued the slow massage of his back, working lower and lower. The expanse of bare skin coupled with the rhythm and the pressure I applied lulled me into a sexy, drowsy state. The closer I got to the paler skin of his buttocks, the more I thought about what lay on the other side. I had no doubt he sported an enormous erection, and I had to remind myself that I could resist him if for no other reason than because I had a duplicate of said erection in my room. If I simply had to have the man, I could have him later, minus the hives and the emotional fallout.

I abruptly stopped. “All done,” I said cheerfully.

“Thanks,” he said. “Turn around and I’ll do your back.”

I started to protest, but his tone was so lighthearted, I didn’t want to act as if I thought this was leading somewhere. My back needed to be washed, I reasoned, and he was offering. Besides, I liked having my back washed. Back-washing is an underrated activity. In fact, spas should consider adding back-washing to their menu of services.

I turned around, then held the washcloth over my shoulder. He took the cloth and I braced for his touch. Still, I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of desire when he rubbed the warm suds into my skin, applying just the right amount of pressure with his strong hands. He took his time, massaging every square inch of my shoulders before moving to my shoulder blades and middle back. When the cloth grazed the curve of my lower back, my thighs began to tingle and his rhythm slowed. I closed my eyes and had to bite back a moan of pleasure. My nipples were hardened buds, and I could feel my body readying for him, loosening, moistening.

“All done,” he said cheerfully, then handed the washcloth over my shoulder.

I snapped out of my fog and straightened. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, then opened the shower door, grabbed a towel from a hook and stepped out, wrapping the towel around his waist. “I’ll leave some temporary clothes on the bed. Angel and I will meet you at the truck in thirty minutes, okay?”

“Sure,” I murmured, feeling cold and deflated by his sudden absence. My body sang with pent-up longing, but I had a handle on my emotions by the time I rinsed and dried off. The near-miss encounter on the heels of the revelation that I was in love with Sam had left me floundering.

When I opened the door to his bedroom, he and Angel were gone, and he’d left a sweat suit and flip-flops on the bed. Everything was too big, but it sufficed. I realized I was making a habit of wearing the man’s clothes. On the way out of the cabin, I walked the barking gauntlet of the ugly dogs, then jogged to the clinic as fast as I could to escape the lingering scent of skunk and burnt clothing hanging in the air. I didn’t see Sam and presumed he was in the menagerie, where I did not plan to go. I flapped upstairs in my big shoes and rummaged through my rapidly dwindling wardrobe, then donned a long floral skirt and matching jacket, stack-heeled shoes, and a peach-colored Prada blouse. I blew my hair dry, none too pleased that the skunky odor still clung faintly to my thin blond locks, adding insult to injury. I whisked it back in a tortoise headband so it wouldn’t be swinging in my face (and under my nose). My pastel striped Kate Spade tote was just the right touch for the season. I realized I wanted to look my best for Sam.

But when I approached the truck where he stood drinking coffee next to Angel’s carrier, he surveyed my outfit and shook his head.

“What?” I asked, irritated that I’d taken such care to dress and he obviously didn’t appreciate it.

“Get in,” he said. “We’re going to the pound, and then I’m taking you shopping.”

16

T
HE THOUGHT
of going shopping had never failed to cheer me—until now. Admittedly, though, many of my clothes were ruined, and if I had to buy some temporary togs to keep from sacrificing the rest of my wardrobe, then so be it. Maybe Jar Hollow had a Saks outlet tucked away in the trees.

On the way through downtown, Sam was greeted by enthusiastic horns and hand-waving from nearly every vehicle that passed us on the road.

“Nice picture, Doc,” a man hooted.

Chickle’s marquee and every other changeable sign in town paid homage to Sam:

WE*rE PRoUd of U DR LoNg!
HOmeTown HeRo SANdWich SpeciAL
jAR HolLow SaLUTEs DOC LoNG

“They love you,” I murmured.

He laughed and shook his head. “The people here are so good—they love everyone.”

I remembered the sneers I’d garnered when I walked out of Chickle’s bathroom carrying Angel. “I doubt that,” I said.

“Outsiders have to prove themselves,” he said. “Me included. Even though I had the confidence of the former
vet, it was a while before folks would call on me when they had problems. I think they were afraid I’d laugh at them.”

“Laugh at them?”

“Or patronize them.”

I bit into my lower lip. Was I a snob—is that why those women had said those things?

When we drove by the Jar Hollow Volunteer Fire Department, a sign had been erected that read Station of Dr. Samuel Long, Hometown Hero. Sam laughed and honked the horn twice. Some men cleaning a fire truck looked up and hollered and waved when they recognized Sam’s vehicle.