For the Love of Sami (4 page)

Sami shrugged, unknowingly making her breasts rise farther out of the water. "I really hadn’t given it any thought."

His low laugh sent a wave of heat rolling through her. "For some reason, I don’t doubt that statement." Unexpectedly, he dropped to the floor beside the tub, beside her. A strange excitement flickered in Sami. "I don’t believe I’ve ever had a houseguest quite like you." His mind was obviously not on what he was doing, as he began absently to tease the surface of the water with his fingertips. The motion made the water play in sensuous rhythmic patterns against her skin, almost as if he were touching her himself. "Tell me about yourself."

"Now?" The one word came out choked.

"Where do you come from?"

Just the question was enough to send a shudder through her. She didn’t want him to know where she came from. No one knew except Morgan and Jerome. Other friends might know one or two things about her—but not everything.

"Are you cold?"

Sami seized the excuse. "That’s it! I am . . . and if you don’t mind leaving, I’d like to get out of the tub now."

The glittering navy eyes lowered to her mouth. Drops of moisture clung to her lips and Sami nervously licked them off. "Tell me," he asked huskily, "does our objective, professional relationship allow me to help you out of the tub and dry you?"

Sami could only stare at him, such was the languorous feeling that unexpectedly beset her. His fingers were again stirring through the water, pushing it against her in caressing ripples, coming closer and closer to her body.

"I’m not much of an expert on objective, professional relationships."

He pulled his hand from the water. "But I am, and I should know better."

Short of breath, Sami shook her head weakly. "It’s okay. I can manage, thank you."

A long curl slipped free of the tie and fell across one gleaming wet shoulder. Slowly, almost unwillingly, Daniel’s hand came out to finger the silky texture of it, and as he did, the back of his hand brushed the skin above her breasts, burning it. Sami felt as if she were drowning, and gasped with the effort of trying to draw air into her lungs.

His hand ceased all movement, and rested heavily against the top of the rounded softness, the part that rose so innocently and so sexily out of the water. Neither one of them spoke; neither one of them moved.

Quite suddenly a muffled oath escaped him. Swiftly coming to his feet, his mood changed completely. "Enjoy your tea and feel free to help yourself to one of the robes you’ll find in my closet. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes."

Once he had left, Sami didn’t waste time pondering the disturbing events of the last few minutes. Out of the tub and dry in record time, she considered the problem of what to wear.

Turned off by the idea of wearing wet clothes to Daniel’s dinner table yet loath to face his closet again, her eyes lighted on the linen cabinet. Precisely folded sheets and towels greeted her when she opened it. By now, she was so totally unnerved by the evidence of such perfection that she pulled out the first sheet she saw—silk and of a solid burgundy color.

Sami wrapped it around herself with well- practiced ease in a bare-shouldered fashion that was uniquely her own. Preferring not to wear nightgowns or pajamas, she frequently wore sheets around the warehouse, much to Jerome’s and Morgan’s amusement.

She brushed her almost waist-length hair into some semblance of shining order, and not too many minutes later, Daniel found her in his drawing room, warily circling a table of Ming Dynasty porcelain figurines.

He stood looking at her for a moment, then said softly, "You look charming."

"Thank you."

"I don’t seem to remember that particular garment in my closet, though."

"It wasn’t. It was in your linen cupboard."

"Oh . . . of course." He walked over to a lighted bar recessed into the wall. "Would you like a drink?"

Even though Daniel had also changed, he still looked faultlessly unmussed, in his silk-blend slacks and loose-weave summer sweater, over which he wore a lightweight blazer. "No, thank you. I don’t drink." She turned back to critically inspect a Chinese porcelain fishbowl of massive proportions. "You realize that alcohol corrodes your stomach, don’t you?" This last was thrown rather absently over her shoulder.

Daniel’s hand paused in the act of pouring his own drink. "No, actually, I didn’t."

"Well, it feels like it does," Sami said, switching her attention to a gilt and gem-encrusted antique box, "and I’ve never seen any sense in drinking something that makes you feel like your stomach is being eaten away, do you?"

"Uh . . . when you put it like that, I guess not." He left his drink untouched and put the crystal stopper into the decanter. Then he leaned back against the bar. His mouth twisted ruefully. "I can’t help but notice that you don’t seem to approve of my collection either. They’re Ming Dynasty, you know."

Sami bit back a retort that she knew very well what they were, having grown up in a house that was filled with them. Instead, she commented, "You have no place for children."

"I don’t have any children," he pointed out with quiet amusement.

Sami studied him from beneath her lashes. Here was a man who had his life completely together, everything tidy, no loose ends, never a hair out of place. She wondered what he would think if he could see her giant loft. "I’m glad," she finally pronounced solemnly. "People who have no place for children either in their home or their hearts shouldn’t have them."

He walked toward her, coming to a halt only a step away. "Why are we having this peculiar conversation?" he asked quietly.

"I hate things you can’t touch."

"So do I." His voice gilded over her like lustrous satin. "Everything in my home is to be touched and enjoyed."

Why did she have the absurd impression he was talking about her instead of the things in his home? Her voice wobbled only a little as she answered, "Children couldn’t. They’re clumsy, and they might break them." She ought to know. Hadn’t she been told enough while she was growing up?

He gave her his slow smile and moved even closer. "Would it make you any happier if I promised that when and if I have children I’ll put these things away until my so-far-nonexistent children are old enough to enjoy them?"

His nearness was astonishingly overwhelming, and she felt as if something had become lodged in her throat. She couldn’t seem to speak . . . or move. Their eyes were locked, and the silence of the room encircled them, making the two of them an island of unspoken, hot emotions in a room of cold, insensible objects.

Daniel raised his hand to touch the side of her face with the tips of his fingers. "You’re pale—and starving, I’m sure. In honor of your unexpected presence in my home, my housekeeper, Mrs. Abbott, kindly offered to stay and serve our dinner."

His hand moved to her back in a gesture of guidance, then jerked away as if it had suddenly occurred to him that she couldn’t be wearing anything underneath the burgundy silk sheet because her clothes were wet and hanging on his shower stall. His next words came out in a gruff whisper. "Let’s go into the dining room."

Sami sat across from Daniel with a regality that came naturally to her. Her parents had spent a small fortune on governesses, boarding schools, and finishing schools to teach her to use what she had been born with—grace, intelligence, and poise.

The redoubtable Mrs. Abbott, another seemingly perfect accoutrement of the house, had served them what was no doubt a delicious meal. However, the cuisine was lost on Sami, who pushed the medium-rare roast beef around on the fine china plate with a heavy eighteenth-century English silver fork. Sami’s mind was full of brooding remembrances that the traumatic events of the day had conjured up.

Growing up had been horrifyingly hard on Sami, because she had known deep in her sensitive young heart that her parents had no time for her and had only wanted to keep her out of their way. Still, in the last few years, she had tried so hard to forget her childhood and to live as ordinary a life as she could. But she never quite seemed to fit—always living, as she did, on a plane slightly different from most people. And she certainly didn’t fit here, she pondered gloomily, where there was a place for everything and everything was in its place. It was only Daniel’s voice that jerked her back to the present.

"Tell me about yourself, Sami."

She jumped at the sound of his voice. There was that question again. "There’s— there’s really nothing to tell."

"Well, then tell me where you’re from."

Sami squirmed in her chair. "Oh, here and there."

"Sami," he admonished very gently. "I can’t help you if you don’t trust me."

A slight throbbing began in her head. "What a ridiculous thing to say. Of course I trust you." How could she begin to explain to such a self-assured man all the fears and insecurities that haunted her?

"Does Sami stand for Samantha?"

"No." She shook her head stubbornly. "It stands for Sami."

"You’ve never lived at the YWCA, have you?" he probed further.

"Why would you say that?" The defensiveness in her voice erected an invisible barrier, and by the slight narrowing of his eyes, Daniel appeared to know it.

He leaned back in his chair, the consummate host. "We’ll drop the subject if you wish—for now."

"Thank you. I’d appreciate that." She started to wind a curl around and around her finger. "I—It’s just that I don’t like to talk about myself."

"Why is that?"

Sami frantically searched her brain for a likely reason. "B-because I’m boring."

Daniel erupted in a great laugh that filled the room. "I’ve known you just a few hours, Sami, but I can say with great certainty, you are anything but boring."

Sami grimaced self-deprecatingly. "You must find me—"

"Utterly fascinating," Daniel finished for her.

A restoring warmth coursed through her at the tender tone of his voice. "Why—why don’t we talk about you?"

"Sure," he agreed with easy amusement. "What would you like to know?"

"Why did you decide to become a lawyer?"

"My father and uncle were both lawyers, two of the best. Having grown up in that type of environment, it was easy to drift into their profession. After law school, I joined the family firm. It’s mine now."

"Why is that?"

"Both my father and uncle have retired."

"From what Sergeant Johnson said, you’ve more than drifted into it. He thinks you’re brilliant. . . and a deadly opponent. Are you?"

He met her eyes steadily. "The people who have tried to oppose me probably think so. And I do make a very bad enemy. As for brilliant, I suppose that’s a subjective call."

Later that evening, Daniel escorted her to the guest room and opened the door for her. Sami started in, but the pitch-darkness of the room made her come to an immediate halt, and since he had been following her. Daniel bumped into her.

"What’s wrong?"

She didn’t answer. Feeling his warm breath against the side of her face and the muscled hardness of his body through the silk of the sheet that was her only covering, Sami fought a fantastic and unexplainable desire to turn into his arms. An unbidden fire blazed through her veins. It would be so easy to lean on his strength.

Sami felt Daniel tense. When she stopped, his hands had come out to steady her. Now they curled slowly around her bare arms, pulling her back against him. Gentle fingers moved her hair to one side and then stayed to explore the vulnerability of her exposed neck. They feathered over the tiny hairs that grew at the base of her hairline, and the action caused tingles of delight to skip along the surface of her skin. His mouth descended to her ear, hovering for one breathless moment at the opening, while Sami’s heart beat frantically.

"Are you all right?" he questioned with a whisper.

His lips lingered softly against the tender folds of her ear, and an indescribable excitement jolted through her. She could actually feel his warm breath inside of her.

It seemed like forever before she could manage to nod, but in reality it must have been only a moment, and then Daniel was reaching around the corner and turning on the light. Continuing as if nothing had happened, he exerted a gentle pressure on her arms to move her into the room. "I think you’ll find everything you need here."

Try as she might, Sami couldn’t keep the quiver out of her voice. "I’ll be fine, but if you don’t mind, I’ll leave the door open into the hall and a light on."

Daniel turned her toward him, and she could see an incredible shimmer of gentleness in his navy eyes.

Planting a kiss on her forehead, he murmured, "You’re a very beautiful and exotic creature, Sami Adkins. I have a feeling you’re hiding a great deal, and I hope that one of these days you’ll trust me enough to tell me and let me help you."

Sami stood silently at the bedroom window, watching the first tinge of light break free of the dark horizon. Sometimes she thought she had seen every sunrise of her life, but she knew she hadn’t. It only seemed as if she had. The labyrinth in her mind that held her pain and fear made sleep at night nearly impossible.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips. The sun was coming up, and the night’s terrors had receded. It was time to go home, but first she had to thank Daniel. Already dressed in her clean but rumpled clothes of yesterday, Sami made her way to the kitchen.

Mrs. Abbott hadn’t yet made her appearance, so Sami helped herself to whatever struck her fancy. She found a tray and covered it with a pristine white linen napkin, then put a bowl of fresh strawberries, two glasses, and an opened bottle of champagne on it.

Sami stood back and looked at the tray. Something was missing. She picked up the bottle of champagne and took a swig out of it, giving serious consideration to the tray. "Oh, I know!" she told the empty kitchen. Rummaging through the kitchen drawers, she found a pair of scissors, then raced outside to the gardens to find exactly what she was looking for: a rosebud, barely beginning to open and covered with dew.