The Diva Diaries (6 page)

His hot mouth came down on hers. He was right. Everything about him was hard—his muscles, his demanding mouth, his grim determination, and the part of him that was pressed tightly to her.

His lips were like warm, moist velvet. She shivered and groaned as his hot mouth closed over hers, so seductively gentle that she leaned into him, heedless of involving her heart, heedless of the consequences. Heedless of her own doubts, her arms went around his neck, knocking the Stetson to the barn floor. Her hands cupped the back of his head, delving into the damp raw silk of his hair. With a soft growl in his throat, he deepened the kiss, his tongue darting into her mouth like a hungry flame that burned hotly yet so sweetly.

Sam pulled away. He closed his eyes, his face belying the struggle waging within himself. His body shook beneath her hands, evidence of the powerful emotions that were locked inside him.

She touched his face. His eyes opened, and the vulnerability she saw there once again made her heart ache. This Sam scared her. She liked it better when he used that slow-simmering cowboy charm on her. This open, yearning Sam was alarming and, she had to admit, thrilling.

For a full minute, he looked down into her face. His free hand came up and he pressed his thumb along her bottom lip. Jenna groaned, her head falling back. She let out a long sigh when he traced her upper lip.

“Ever done it in the hay?” he whispered. Cupping her face in his hands, he lowered his lips, barely touching her mouth, teasing and tempting her with wispy, nipping bites and a soft brushing. Her breathing quickened when his tongue snaked out and touched her mouth. He tasted rich, dark and forbid
den. Without any further urging from her, he once again closed his hungry mouth over hers.

Her knees buckled and he caught her around the waist, dragging her against his hard body. “Now, darlin'?” he murmured. “How about now?”

She didn't have time to respond as his mouth closed over hers again. It was a shock to her that hunger could be so luscious, that domination could taste so sweet. He brushed her lips lightly, a slow slide, his mouth as gentle as the kiss of morning dew. His hand twined into her hair, lifted a strand and let it cascade through his fingers. His eyes were lit from within by an intense, tangible fire. And then he stopped playing games and plundered her mouth, bruised with a fervor that astounded Jenna to the depths of her soul, that ignited a hot flood of desire Jenna never recognized she possessed. She met him, succumbed to him, danced with him in a honeyed waltz of desire and need.

Jenna dissolved into his sizzling touch, into his heady scent and harsh moans. His mouth moved over her as if he couldn't get enough and she offered her own sigh of surprise. Heat scorched from his fingertips and crackled from his mouth. Fascination coalesced to craving, sweeping away resistance. Jenna arched against him, her breasts aching for the brush of him. She tortured her own fingers with the silky mantle of his hair and partnered her tongue with his. And when she felt his hand drop to cup her breast, she knew that this was what her grandmother had been talking about.

Passion.

She burned with it like an incandescent flame. She knew that if she didn't grab this time with Sam, she might not find this perfect harmony, this intense meshing ever again.

He cradled her against the sleek, tough contours of his chest.

He pulled his mouth away from hers, his breathing ragged, his eyes dilated. She was struck by how thick and long his eyelashes were. His dark, hungry gaze bored into her.

“Sam?” Tooter's voice filled the entrance to the barn.

“Damn,” he muttered, and let her go. “I guess we'll have to make hay some other time. Damn,” he said again, his voice harsh. He stepped away from her, pulled the gloves out of his back pocket and slid them on, using the simple task to compose himself. Jenna tried, but all she wanted to do was get her hands on Sam. “Go on up to the house and I'll be up shortly. Tell Maria she can serve in thirty minutes. Can you wait that long?”

“I don't think I can wait much longer,” she said quietly, but didn't give Sam time to say anything as she walked past him. When she saw Tooter, she started to give him an easy smile, but the old man only glared at her as he passed. She stopped and turned to look at his retreating back. Oh, so that was the way it was going to be. The old man kept interrupting them on purpose. She wondered what he had against her personally. When she got a moment, she'd ask Sam. She was accustomed to people liking her and it bothered her that such a nice old man didn't.

 

“S
AM
?”

“Back here, Tooter.”

When the old man came into view, Sam had completely composed himself. Although his blood still pumped heavily through his system, outwardly he was calm. “What is it?”

“The fella with the feed is here.”

“Tooter, why are you bothering me with this?”

“Thought you'd want to know.”

Sam faced off with the foreman, irritated, frustrated, furious. “That's interesting, because ever since you were hired on this ranch which was, what,
more than twenty years ago,
you've been handling the
feed fella
without letting me know a damn thing about it.”

Tooter shuffled his feet and glared right back at him, just as frustrated. He definitely looked like a man who had something powerful on his chest.

“Does this have to do with keeping me and Miss Sinclair apart?”

Tooter scowled mightily. “She's no good for you, Sam. You can't see beyond your hormones. She's just like the ol' missus.”

Heat suffused Sam's chest, mostly because he knew Tooter was right. She was too much like his ex-wife, but at this moment, he just didn't care. He wanted her. “What I do or don't do with Miss Sinclair is my business. I don't need you handling me, Tooter. Just do the job I pay you for.”

The sudden anger deflated the moment Sam saw the hurt on the old man's face. Sam bent down and picked up his fallen hat, slicked his hand impatiently through his hair and jammed the hat back on his head.
“Look, I'm sorry. That was uncalled-for, but what I'm trying to say is that I'm a grown man and I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you? I saw the way you were looking at her yesterday when I came to tell you about Black Beauty. I might not be as young as I once was, but I'm not blind.”

“Don't try to tell me how to run my life. I value your opinion, Tooter, but not in this instance.”

Tooter shot him a sardonic look. “You're hot for that little filly and she'll break your heart.”

“It's temporary and it'll wear off after she's gone.”

“Can't be soon enough for me. The moment I saw her I knew dust was gonna kick up.”

Tooter whirled and marched off, grumbling about stupidity and hormones. Sam wasn't sure he didn't agree with him.

He clenched his gloved hands and turned and quickly made his way back up to the loft. He could still feel the imprint of her hand on his face, the way she'd looked up at him, all soft and melting. Her fingers were long and graceful, fingers made to hold and coax such beautiful music out of a wooden stringed instrument. But Sam wanted to taste those fingers. He wanted to feel them on his skin. He wanted to find himself so immersed in her that he could forget everything, everyone. Who he was and who she was.

But he knew better. He'd known better all along.

Tooter was right. She didn't belong here. She belonged in New York City, where men kept their clothes on in public. She belonged in a place where
sleek skyscrapers hugged a magnificent skyline, traffic honked and moved at a snail's pace. A place where sophistication was an everyday occurrence. Not a place where there was dust, mud, hay and sweat.

He was raw, rough and tough, but the moment she looked at him with her soft brown eyes, he was lost.

Later, Tooter could say he'd told Sam so. Much later.

U
NSETTLED BY HIS FIGHT
with Tooter, Sam stopped in the closest bathroom to wash his hands.

He had nothing but the deepest respect for his foreman. Tooter was the only other person on the face of the earth that knew how far Sam's father had sunk into alcoholism. Tooter had covered for Sam's father whenever he would binge. He would run the ranch until Sam's father sobered up, until the next time.

Sam couldn't blame his father for his addiction. He had suffered terrible losses with his first son stillborn and his wife dying while birthing his second son.

That knowledge didn't make Sam any less lonely, though. But Tooter had gone a long way in alleviating a lot of the feelings of resentment and isolation. He'd taken Sam under his wing and taught him everything there was to learn about running a place like the Wildcatter.

It made him unhappy that Tooter didn't like Sam having a personal relationship with Jenna. But he wasn't going to stop pursuing her. Quite frankly, he wanted to have sex with her and was determined to get the woman in his bed.

When he was finished, he headed for the dining
room, but just as he passed the door to the game room, he saw Jenna.

He stopped and came into the room. Jenna was looking around as if she was searching for something. Something important by the expression on her face. She had her back to him and was dressed in a pair of black leggings and a short lime-green T-shirt that ended at her waist. When she moved, the smooth skin of her midriff peeked out. The tight black pants cupped her bottom, making him want to slide his hands along the sultry curve. The thick braid down her back brought him the memory of how the strands had felt against his fingers. How she had shivered against his touch.

“What are you doing in here? Don't tell me you like to play pool?” He meant it in a teasing way, but she started and turned to face him. Her expression blanched and she looked at him with such a guilty expression that his Ranger instincts snapped on.

“I got lost,” she blurted out, then she laughed nervously. “Went to the bathroom and must have taken the wrong way back to the dining room.”

Sam studied her face and frowned. Jeez, he was getting paranoid. From the obvious blush on her cheeks, she was embarrassed about getting lost. Of course, he had a big house. It was understandable that she wouldn't be familiar with the ins and outs of the place.

He took her arm. “The dining room is this way.” She followed him back down the hall and into the dining room. He pulled a chair out for her and she sat.

Sam took his seat and Maria came into the room with two plates. She placed one plate in front of Jenna and another in front of him. “I've got to do the shopping, Sam. I'll be gone for about an hour.”

“I have meetings in town, so I won't be here. Would you mind driving Miss Sinclair to the college for me? I'll have one of the hands pick her up when she's finished.”

“Sure, my pleasure.”

“Thanks, Maria,” Sam said as she left the dining room.

Orange juice in a glass pitcher and a coffee carafe sat on the table. Sam reached for the coffeepot. “Coffee?”

Jenna nodded. “Thanks,” she said when he'd filled her cup.

Sam's cell phone rang and he answered. “Winchester. Yes, Tooter, I am. How much are we over? Sure, I'll stop by the feed store on the way back home and let them know.” He ended the call and proceeded to pour the coffee.

She wondered if Tooter was looking for reasons to interrupt Sam while he was with her. She couldn't forget the look Tooter had given her in the barn. “Why is Tooter mad at me?”

Sam bobbled the coffee carafe and sloshed steaming liquid on the table. He wiped at it with his napkin.

“He's temperamental.”

He watched as she brushed her braid back over her shoulder. “He wasn't temperamental until he saw us together last night.”

“He thinks you're a lot like my ex-wife and that
getting involved with you is a bad idea.” Tooter was dead right. It was a bad idea, but it'd be a few days of hot sex, then she'd be gone.

“Am I?” She forked up eggs and chewed.

“Are you what?”

She selected strawberry jam, picked up a spoon and put a dollop of jam on her toast. “Like your ex-wife. Tiffany, isn't it?”

“Yes, her name is Tiffany.” He speared some chucks of scrambled eggs with his fork and took a bite.

“So, am I?” She slathered the jam on the toast and took a delicate bite.

“In some ways.”

Her eyebrows arched and her voice rose in mild surprise. “What ways?”

“Tiffany liked to travel. She used it as an excuse to get off the ranch and get away from me.” He was suddenly distracted when she used her tongue to retrieve some jam at the corner of her mouth. Pink and darting, the sight of it tantalized him. He realized that she was waiting for him to finish. “She was very interested in the ranch when I met her at a honky-tonk after a stock show in Dallas. She's from Boston originally and I think she thought the cowboy life was glamorous.”

She finished up the eggs on her plate but left the steak and potatoes. “Until she had to live on the ranch?” She reached over and picked up her coffee and took a sip.

“Right. She hated it and found many excuses to leave until one time she didn't come back.” He took
a mouthful of eggs, realizing that time was getting short and he had to get into the shower. He cut the steak and followed the eggs with a bite.

“I'm sorry, Sam.”

He shrugged. “It's in the past.” And it was. He no longer wondered or worried about Tiffany. She'd never really loved him and he sometimes wondered if it was what she represented more than who she was that had enticed him into marriage.

“At least you had a marriage. I've never even seriously dated. How can you tell a guy that, sure, I'd love to go out with you right after I get back from this six-month tour?” He was sure she didn't mean to let the loneliness show, but it did. It was etched in her face, mirrored in her eyes and his heart stumbled.

“Yeah. I guess that puts a damper on getting close to someone.”

“Gives him plenty of time to make reservations, though.” She gave him a teasing smile and Sam laughed, but it was muted because this time his heart tightened.

Her eyes softened and she gave him an intimate look full of warmth and amusement. Her gentle look made him realize he'd never experienced this kind of moment with his ex-wife. He wanted to touch Jenna in ways that would make her gasp and cry out. There wasn't just loneliness there, but steel and a toughness that surprised him. He wanted to make the loneliness go away and make the toughness unnecessary.

“So now I understand why you were a little put off when we first met. You thought I'd come to the ranch and be unhappy when I found out it wasn't
glamorous.
You didn't want me in your way. That's what happened with the crack-of-dawn-drag-me-out-in-the-rain tour of the barn. To give me a taste, so I'd get out of your hair?”

“Guilty.”

“You didn't expect me to enjoy it.”

“You did?”

“Yes. The rain made everything fresh and I found I liked the smell of hay and warm horses.”

“It was an underhanded thing to do, but…”

“You enjoyed every minute.”

He laughed. “I did until you burst my bubble and told me you always get up early.” How could she turn him inside out like this? All that sweet fragrance and her delicate curves. More than that, though. Her essence—that was what pulled him. Something in her nature that sang to him like a siren song, pulling him off his horse, and right into knife-sharp thorns.

They sat there for a moment in silence, then Jenna picked up her plate.

“You don't have to do that. Maria will take care of this when she gets back.”

“Don't be silly. It's only a few dishes. It'll take a second to bring them into the kitchen.”

She grabbed the orange juice pitcher in the other hand and left the room. Sam took a few more quick bites and picked up his plate, the jam and the carafe.

He was just in time to see Jenna's tight backside sidle over to the fridge to deposit the pitcher on a shelf. When the door opened, the plastic mustard container slipped off the inner door shelf and hit the floor
with a soft plop. As she bent over, he lost his train of thought. It went out of his head like mist.

Her short T-shirt exposed a large expanse of skin. The heavy braid swung down, hanging in the air. He remembered how each silky strand had felt, how her hot mouth had consumed him. Sam grew hard, hot.

He was pretty sure she wanted him. The signals she sent him couldn't be misconstrued. But she had doubts and he wanted her to understand that she could have everything on her own terms. Somehow he sensed that was important to her.

It was important to him to taste her, hold her, take her, as he wanted. He'd agree to anything.

She straightened, replaced the mustard container and shut the door. Picking up her plate, she scraped the remainder of breakfast into the sink and turned to grab his plate right out of his hands. He wanted her. The thought became an overpowering urge, but not now. Not here in the kitchen when he had things to do and she did, too.

She ran water, added soap and quickly washed the plates. Sam set down the carafe and placed the jam in the fridge. He went back for the cups and saucers and the silverware. When he got back, he placed all the dirty dishes in the water and picked up a dishtowel to start drying. He had other things he should be doing, but he couldn't bear to leave her. Her musician's hands knew how to do more than hold an instrument.

“You don't have a housekeeper?”

“No. I don't need one. I live in an apartment in the city. I have someone come in to clean, but that's it.”

“So I guess I'm a bit more pampered than you are.”

He set each piece of crockery on the counter as she drained the water.

He draped the damp towel along the sink.

“Sam, you can't compare what I do and what you do. I don't do physical labor from morning to dusk and have a ton of paperwork waiting for me in the evening. I practice, rehearse and, in the evenings, I play.”

“It's ironic that I thought you had someone to wait on you hand and foot and here it is me who has that.”

“When would you find time to cook, clean and do your wash?”

“That's a good point, but doesn't let me off the hook now, does it?”

“Okay, so you were ignorant of my lifestyle and made assumptions about me. You're forgiven.” She opened cupboards until she found the right one for the plates. She reached up to place the plates with the other clean ones.

He couldn't take the time to make love to her, but it didn't mean he couldn't touch her. He slid the back of his knuckles along her rib cage. Her quick intake of breath gave him intense pleasure as the plates came down a little too hard.

She turned to him. “Sam.” His name came out a strangled plea.

Sam wrapped her braid around his hand and drew her closer. “I know. We have things to do today and I did say that I'd wait until you were ready, but I
can't help myself.” Her hair was so soft against his palm. He drew her closer.

“How can I argue with you, when I feel the same,” she said, resting her hand against his chest. She slipped her arms around his neck and for a moment they held on to each other.

With Sam against her like this, her body trembled. She had to keep her wits about her. It would be much faster if she got him to show her where the desk was, so she could search it later. “How about a tour of the house before you go, so that I don't get lost again.”

“Sure.” He let her go and led her out of the kitchen. He took her back through the dining room and into the hall that led to the game room, pointing out closets and bathrooms, gesturing toward the pool area, which Jenna could see as they passed the game room.

He took her to the back of the house and, at a set of double doors, stopped. “This is my office. I'm in the process of having it remodeled, so, sorry about the mess.”

Jenna walked in and immediately noticed the disarray, but the roaring in her ears drowned out Sam's words. For against the far wall and partially draped with a white sheet was her gran's shining mahogany rolltop desk. And the sight made her pulse jump and her heart begin to pound.

“I should mention that the contractor will be in and out of the house. They're waiting for the crown molding and as soon as that comes in, he'll be able to finish up.”

Jenna barely heard what he had to say. Every nerve
ending in her body was quivering. She wanted to get to the desk.

“Jenna? Are you okay?”

She jerked her head around and looked at him. “Yes. I was just admiring your beautiful desk—what I can see of it.”

Sam walked over to the desk and pulled off the drape. “Isn't she a beauty? I've been searching for one just like it for years.”

“It looks like an antique. Where did you get it?”

“I got this at an auction when I was in New York a few weeks back. It was made in the 1880s. Belonged to a deceased opera singer. I wonder where she found it?”

Jenna knew exactly where her gran had gotten the desk. They had been in Houston on an antique buying trip when gran had seen an estate sale in the paper. That was where they had found this desk.

It looked ten times better than when she'd seen it last. Sam had restored the wood surface and had the rolltop repaired. It was quite a beautiful piece of furniture. And a treacherous one, for inside lurked possible scandal for men she didn't know, along with her gran and anyone else associated with the diary and the jewelry.

Maybe she could tell him, right now. Ask him if she could look through the desk and remove what was hers. But what if he refused? What if he said no and then became angry at her deception? Could she take that chance?

The clock in the office chimed the hour and Sam threw the drape back on the desk. “Damn, look at
the time. I've really got to go.” He waited until Jenna was out of the double doors before he closed them. She was relieved to see he didn't lock them. She didn't need that impediment. She followed him through the house and up the stairs.