Slow Hands (18 page)

“Shh, Clare. Don’t say anything. We’ll sort everything
out in the morning when we can think more clearly.”

Inch by inch she lowered the quilt, unaware of how her nervousness mirrored a sensual striptease. Finally, Sam’s patience snapped and he reached out to grab her wrist. In one fluid movement he threw back the covers and pulled Clare into his arms.

Slowly, she melted into the contours of his body, and as if they were both aware of the fragile truce that existed between their libidos, neither of them so much as wiggled afterward. Sam inhaled her fragrance and fell asleep thinking,
the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you’ll wake up with Clare in your arms.

Clare fell asleep trying to ignore the comforting feel of Sam’s strong heart beating beneath her cheek.

Clare fought her way out of the slumber that paralyzed her limbs and weighed down her eyelids. She smiled dreamily. For the first time in weeks, she managed to sleep without tossing and turning. The pillow beneath her head smelled of sunshine, detergent, and Sam.

Sam!

The gale-force winds of reality blew away the fog of sleep as Clare remembered where she slept and with whom she slept. As her eyes snapped open, she bolted upright in bed, turning her head first to check for Sam and then to read the clock. Sam was gone.
Seven-thirty!
And Sam was already up!

Oh, no, what if William was too?

“Sam!” she yelled at the closed bathroom door as she jumped out of bed and grabbed the familiar quilt. “Why
didn’t you wake me! God, I’m late. What time does William get up?”

She didn’t wait for him to answer any of her questions. Instead, she flew down the stairs, running her fingers through her short hair to tame it. She paused in Sam’s downstairs study only long enough to toss her gown over her head and grab the flamingo robe. She scooped up Slick on her way out the door.

Shifting Slick like a five-pound sack of flour, Clare maneuvered her arms into the robe and began to sprint down the driveway. A grin spread across her face, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she spotted the fat Sunday edition of the
Memphis Commercial Appeal
lying pristinely near the curb. Now she could face William. Now she had a reason for wandering around in her gown and robe.

When she had the plastic-wrapped newspaper in her hands, she slowed her pace and let herself enjoy the late spring morning. Birds twittered, and green leaves rustled with the gentle breeze. Sunshine slipped through the tree branches and dappled the lawn.

“See, Slick, everything worked out perfectly. And you were worried,” Clare chided softly.

You were worried
, she reminded herself. And still are. Sleeping with Sam had changed everything for her. Since her parents’ death, she’d always wanted to belong in someone’s life, to matter to someone. After sleeping with Sam, the need was worse, more specific. She wanted to belong in Sam’s life, but he’d already admitted that he wasn’t good with relationships and women. He’d let one woman walk out of his life because he didn’t want her enough to change his workaholic habits.

A humorless laugh escaped Clare as she thought of the irony. She’d never fit into Sam’s life because of the
very workaholic habits that had broken up his previous relationship. Only this time the habits belonged to her, and Sam had already warned her that he wouldn’t compromise. For him, life was too short to settle for less than what he wanted. He wasn’t interested in taking a lemon and making lemonade. He wanted it all or nothing.

He hadn’t actually said the words, but he was a man who wanted the total package—home, a wife who had time for fun, kids. He wasn’t interested in committing to a woman who didn’t or couldn’t fit into his plans. He wasn’t interested in a woman who was scared to make promises.

He wanted magic and surprises. Well, she didn’t believe in magic, and she hated surprises. She wouldn’t give up the security in her life just because a man made her toes tingle and her head spin. He was sexy, but she wasn’t sure any man was worth risking her entire life. Even if he could make the lonely go away for a while.

Sleeping with Sam had definitely changed everything, and not necessarily for the better. If she were smart, she’d pack her bags quickly and run like a fox to ground. Sadly, Clare realized she wasn’t smart, because she had no intention of leaving Sam’s house. At least not until after Ellie’s visit. If she accomplished nothing else, she intended to meet Ellie on equal footing for once, and Sam’s house would do that for her. Sam’s house would banish
poor Clare
from Ellie’s vocabulary.

With that thought on her mind, Clare stepped into the kitchen wearing a bright, cheery smile that faded as she took in the scene before her. Sam, not William, stood in front of the stove, folding an omelet like a pro. A dish towel was draped over his shoulder, and the table was set for two.

Looking around her, Clare realized Sam had to have been up a very long time. Breakfast was almost finished, and he’d showered. After last night, she had no trouble imagining Sam in the shower with water cascading onto his back, spilling over his shoulders, and running in rivulets down his belly. Heat surged through Clare as she mentally shook her head to erase the erotic picture.

“You’re up early this morning,” he said without turning around. “I guess the early bird fetches the paper.”

“That’s worm,” corrected Clare as she dropped the cat to the floor. Neon-green shorts and a muscle T-shirt made Sam’s body look great. Too great, Clare decided. Too obvious. A blatant invitation for women to stare.
Now, why did it matter if women stared at Sam? Women who stared at Sam were none of her business.

She tried to keep her voice casual as she asked, “Where’s William?”

“At Rebecca’s,” Sam answered, and caught two pieces of toast as they shot out of the toaster. He finally turned and smiled at her, either oblivious of or ignoring the undercurrent of morning-after nervousness. “Here, butter these while they’re hot.”

Clare set the paper on the counter and took the toast. Suspicion lurked in her mind, nudging her to ask, “Exactly when did William decide to pay his daughter a visit?”

“About ten years ago. He likes to have Sunday breakfast with his daughter before going to church with the family.” Sam slid an omelet onto her plate and pulled out her chair before putting the pan back on the stove. “Dig in. The hash browns might be a little cold.”

Actually, Sam decided the hash browns were positively warm when compared to the frosty glare coming
from Clare’s side of the table. Trying to thaw her attitude, Sam held firmly on to his smile and tried again. “Would you care for some grits?”

“No, thank you. I’ve never acquired a taste for that particular southern breakfast food. White, grainy, tasteless mush isn’t much of a taste treat.”
Well, that was certainly rude
, Clare thought as she reached for the orange marmalade. When in doubt, nervous, or embarrassed, she tended to attack. Just then she was suffering from all three of those emotions.

Sam set the bowl of grits down and snapped his napkin across his lap. “Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

“Even worse. I got up
in
the wrong bed this morning.” With more force than necessary, she unscrewed the marmalade lid and then reached for her spoon.

“Ah, I thought we’d be getting around to that soon enough. Although, I was sort of hoping we’d make it through breakfast first.” The color of his eyes deepened from the warm brown of tobacco to dark shades of burnt umber and wet leather. “But since you’re so eager to get it over with, and judging from last night, that’s a habit of yours. Let’s talk about—” Holding up his hands, Sam made little quotation marks with his index and middle fingers. “Last night.”

“Let’s not,” Clare said quickly, embarrassment taking control of her emotions. The one thing she particularly didn’t want to talk about was last night. The kitchen was suddenly warm and stuffy. Just knowing that Sam had probably analyzed every gesture, every kiss, every word was enough to make her perspire nervously. She rubbed the back of her wrist across her forehead and
then dumped another spoonful of marmalade on her toast.

With forced calm, she tried to end the conversation. “What’s there to say? We were curious. We’re two adults. Sooner or later it was bound to happen. A simple release of tension.” She scooped out a third spoon of the sweet orange spread and said, “As far as sex goes, it wasn’t bad, but now we can put it behind us. Forget about it.”

“Not likely,” Sam said in a half-amused tone. “Are you nervous about something, or do you always have a little toast with your jelly?”

Looking down, Clare grimaced at the mountain of marmalade piled on her piece of toast.

“What are you afraid of, Clare?”

His question made her unreasonably angry. “Stop it, Sam. You’re not my shrink, and I’m not afraid of anything. I happen to like orange marmalade. Anything wrong with that?”

“Oh, no. Not a thing. My mistake. I just thought you might be a little upset that last night your precious control slipped long enough for you to fall into bed with me.”

Incensed, Clare dropped her spoon. “What a rotten thing to say! I did not
fall
into bed with you like some bimbo.”

“Then what did you do?” When she hesitated to answer, Sam goaded, “Careful, Clare. You don’t want to admit we made love. That’d be too much like admitting I get to you. And God forbid that you admit to wanting anyone. That would break McGuire’s Rule.”

“And what rule is that?”

“Two’s a crowd.”

As usual, Sam was dead on the mark. The truth of his words slammed into Clare like an unexpected punch below the belt. He enjoyed turning over the emotional rocks in her soul and exposing the hidden secrets to the harsh light of reality. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth as a gulf of silence widened between Sam’s side of the table and hers. He managed to convey enormous disapproval as his words sank slowly into her heart.
Two’s a crowd.

Sam finally filled the silent void. “In case you’re wondering, that pithy little rule of yours makes a lousy credo for living and a pathetic, short epitaph for a tombstone.”

“How clever,” Clare said as her chin came up. “You’ve managed to insult me in the here and the hereafter.”

“I’d like to insult you forevermore, but you don’t believe in tomorrow, much less happily ever after.”

“I don’t have much reason to believe in happily ever after.”

“Fine,” Sam said, and drilled her with a look so intense, Clare wanted to look away. “I won’t argue that with you, I won’t even ask you why you won’t believe, but why the hell can’t you believe in the happily right now?”

“You can’t have one without believing in the other. What sane person could possibly be happy
now
, knowing they were going to be unhappy
later
?”

“How can you possibly know you’re going to be unhappy later?” Sam’s question was almost a shout.

“I’m always unhappy later.”

“Except when you’re in control.”

“Except when I’m in control,” she agreed, pleased
that he finally understood the benefits of organizing her life.

“So the secret to happily right now is to give you control?”

“What do you mean?” Clare asked uncertainly. Sam had that look again, and when Sam had that look, trouble was sneaking up behind her on silent feet.

“I mean,” Sam clarified, “that you’d be happier about what’s happening between us if you were in control.”

“Nothing’s happening between us, and I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I said—Sam, I’m not going to let you tangle me up with all this convoluted logic of yours. The bottom line is that I need your house. Period. Anything more is a bad idea. I’m not changing, and you’re not changing.”

“There’s nothing convoluted about my logic. You said you’d be happier if you were in control. So I’m putting you in charge of this relationship. You’re in control. You’re in the driver’s seat.”

“Excuse me?” Clare asked faintly.

“You’re in control. This relationship is on autopilot until you say we make love again.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“You can walk away from last night?” Clare asked, suddenly unhappy with the idea.

“Let’s just say that I have faith in Mother Nature.”

“You shouldn’t. She’s a woman. She’s on my side,” Clare pointed out.

“I like women. I’ll take my chances.” Sam speared a bite of egg with his fork and settled back, quite pleased with his brilliance. Clare might not know it, but trusting
Mother Nature was the beginning of the end for her. Mother Nature never played fair. Survival of the species depended upon a woman’s biological imperative to find a mate. And when Clare’s biological imperative became unbearable, he fully intended to be handy.

Clare peered cautiously over the second-floor railing and scanned the entrance hall. Living in Sam’s house for the past week had taught her the value of reconnaissance. The man was everywhere. And where he wasn’t, his trusty scout William was. Once she confirmed that Sam wasn’t lurking in the foyer, she slipped quietly down the stairs, glad she’d remembered to take off her shoes. Bare feet didn’t squeak on the hardwood floors the way rubber-soled tennis shoes did.

Finding a moment’s peace to work on her Japanese presentation had become a personal quest. If William wasn’t feeding her, Sam was sneaking up on her, touching her, talking to her, playing practical jokes on her—like putting the local newspaper’s front page over the middle pages of a Dayton, Ohio, paper. So she felt justified in not only looking around the living room before she sat down in the window seat, but looking over the edge of the sill just to be sure Sam wasn’t skulking in the bushes.

Finally, Clare felt comfortable enough to settle back,
cross her legs yoga-style, and concentrate on next week’s presentation. She’d put off the inevitable consultation with Sam as long as possible. Somehow, opening up her professional life to Sam’s inspection was as difficult as allowing Sam into her personal life had been.

She was conscious of wanting his approval. That first night, when she confessed her secretaries didn’t like her, his approving smile had filled her with warmth, making her crave more of them. He had a way of bringing the sun into a room with him. He also had a way of bringing sex into the room.