The Jock (13 page)

The
pounding resumed.

Gwenyth
gritted her teeth and stalked toward the door. Halfway there, she came to a
sudden halt. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. The pounding wasn't coming from the
front door. It was coming from a connecting door, from the suite next to her
own. Curious, and more than a little anxious, she walked apprehensively toward
the door that connected the two suites. "Yes?"

"Open
up, Cupcake."

Sam.

Gwenyth's
heart beat accelerated to a degree she found annoying. And damned if those
little butterflies didn't start flickering around in her belly again. What
was
he doing here? "Sam?"

"Open
up!" he bellowed.
"Now
!"

Gwenyth's
jaw dropped open in shock. Shock soon evolved into annoyance as she glared at
him through the closed door. She crossed her arms over her breasts and scowled.
"Maybe I don't want to."

"Gwenyth
Marie! Open this door before I break it down!"

Gwenyth's
facial expression went from glaring to scowling. "Why should I? And what
are you doing here?"

"Open.
The. Door."

Gwenyth
winced at the ice in Sam's voice. She had no idea why he was here or why he was
so worked up, but she sensed that now was not the time to ask him to work on
his communication skills. "Oh alright," she relented, however
reluctantly. Unlatching the deadbolt, she slid the connecting door wide open.
"Now, what are you doing here and why are you so angry?"

But
Sam wasn't paying her any attention. He stalked into the room and scanned the
suite thoroughly. Growing more and more agitated as every second ticked by,
Gwenyth marched over to the center of the room where Sam stood glowering down
at her and did a little glowering of her own. "What has gotten into
you!?"

"Who
were you talkin' to in here?" Sam's voice was calm and controlled, but
each word was bit out with unmistakable menace.

Gwenyth's
eyebrows shot up in surprise, then furrowed in annoyance. "My grandmother,
you Neanderthal."

"Neanderthal!"
he growled.

Gwenyth's
arms crossed defensively over her chest. "Just what do you think you're
behaving like?" She gestured with one hand across the expanse of the
suite. "You start pounding on my door, scaring the hell out of me I might
add, then you come stalking into my room, not even bothering to say hello, then
all but accuse me of having an affair with Grandmama!"

Sam's
face colored. He cleared his throat and looked away. "Sorry 'bout
that," he mumbled. He kicked the floor with the toe of his shoe, suddenly
feeling defensive. "But I did see a situation just like that on Jerry
Springer once. In fact, I—" At Gwenyth's narrowed eyes, he blushed again
and shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry."

Gwenyth
took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. Her bare toes tapping
impatiently against the carpeting, she balled her hands into fists and glared
at Sam. The mentally counting thing wasn't working. "What," she
ground out bitterly, "are you doing here?"

Sam's
eyes narrowed defensively. His hands flew to his hips. He clenched his jaw and
regarded her sullenly. "I came for you!"

"Now,
would you care to explain what this is all about?"

Sam
inwardly flinched at the incredulous look smothered across Gwenyth's face, but
outwardly he managed to retain his cool. Sweet Jesus, he could hardly blame her
for wanting to rip his face off. He still didn't know what had possessed him to
fly off the handle like that.

It's
called jealousy, Trevianni.

Sam
frowned at his own musings. He'd never, ever acted this ignoble over a woman in
his life. Here he was trying to lure Gwen toward him and all he was succeeding
in doing was scaring her away. And now, on top of everything else, he was going
to have to break the news to her that
he
was her lead man for this
week's photo shoot at Vantry Sportswear. Now, how was he to go about doing
that?

Sam
decided that a placating smile was as good a place to start as any. "I
apologize for bargin' in here the way I did, Cupcake." He threw in a
beguiling bat of the eyelashes for effect. "Can you forgive me?"

Sam
gulped in dismay when Gwenyth's eyebrows rose a disbelieving notch. She wasn't
falling for the eyelash batting routine at all. Well that was just great. Now
how was he going to get out of this? And how was he ever going to explain
himself to Gwen when he wasn't exactly certain that he understood why he'd done
what he'd done to begin with?

When
Sam had heard Gwenyth's sweet voice carrying through to the connecting door,
his stomach had clenched, wondering who it was she was in there talking to. Had
another man accompanied her to California? Was it Trevor? Was the candy-ass
lawyer in her suite even now, seducing her, touching her body the way Sam had?

And
then, sweet Jesus, when the talking had ended and a gut-wrenching silence had
ensued, it was all he could do to keep from crying. The things that had gone
through his mind hadn't been pretty. They'd been devastating.

At
that point, higher level reasoning hadn't existed. Thoughts of his own
precarious position and how he was going to explain his presence in LA to Gwen
hadn't factored in. The only thing that had gone through Sam's mind was
breaking down the door, killing whatever male was on the other side of it, and
carrying Gwenyth off to the nearest dungeon where he could lock her away and
keep her from all other males forever. Sweet Jesus, he was a goner.

Sam
realized from the look on Gwenyth's face that she was expecting to hear the
truth in its entirety and would accept no less. But there was no way on earth
he was going to admit to the intense pangs of jealousy he kept experiencing, so
he prepared himself for verbal battle and offered her the piece of the truth
that he was ready to give her. "I'm Vantry's lead model for the men's
swimwear line."

Whatever
Gwenyth had been expecting to hear, that hadn't been it. Her eyes widened in
shock as she searched his face. "You're what?!"

Sam
swallowed nervously. "I'm Vantry's lead model."

"B-but...
no."

Gwenyth
dragged in some much needed air as she dazedly floated to the other side of the
suite and plopped into the nearest chair. Just how in the world was she
supposed to spend her time in California figuring out what she wanted if Sam
was here with her the entire time? And half naked in a swimsuit no less. That
last thought set her teeth on edge. "I can't believe you're just now
getting around to telling me this," she gritted out.

Sam
followed her across the room and took the chair next to Gwenyth's. "I
didn't want you to get angry with me, sweetheart."

"I
see," she bit out. "And you want me to get angry with you now?"

"Of
course not." Sam sighed like a martyr. "Gwen honey, I made this
commitment to Vantry Sportswear before you and I started sleepin'
together."
That much was true.

Sam
smiled indulgently at Gwenyth as he took her hand and pulled her from the chair
next to him and onto his lap. "Let's not fight over something' neither of
us can get out of, okay baby?" His hand sought out her nipples to flick
them back and forth, reminding her of the affect his touch had on her senses.
"We're both obligated to fulfill our contracts, Gwen."

Gwenyth's
betrayer of a heart actually had the nerve to feel crestfallen. Sam hadn't come
to LA to be with her after all. He'd come to fulfill a contract. A contract
neither one of them could get out of without serious financial consequences.

Her
belly coiling with need, Gwenyth luxuriated in the familiar pleasure only Sam
could give to her as his hand continued its ministrations. The next thing she
knew, her top was on the floor and Sam's mouth was latched onto one erect
nipple. Whimpering, she turned in his lap to give him better access and splayed
her fingers through his midnight black hair. "I still need time to think,
Sam."

Gwenyth
cried out from deprivation as Sam's mouth left her puckered flesh. She sighed
in relief when his lips clamped down on the other one and suckled. "I mean
it, Sam," she breathed out. "One last time and then we're not having
sex until I figure out what's best for us."

Sam
was paying Gwenyth's words no attention whatsoever. "Whatever you say,
Cupcake," he mumbled as he lifted his head briefly to latch back onto her
other nipple.

A
minute later, Gwenyth sat naked in Sam's arms. Five minutes later, she lay
sprawled out beneath him, taking each of his thrusts as they were awarded to
her. "Quit fightin' me Gwenyth Marie," he whispered thickly as he
stroked in and out of her wet flesh, "you belong to me."

As
Gwenyth climaxed for what felt like the hundredth time in three days, Sam's
words flowed over and through her. She wanted to belong to him. God help her
she did. But she also wanted him to love her.

* * * * *

Gwenyth
nodded her thanks to the receptionist at the front desk of Vantry Sportswear as
he handed her a plain white envelope with her name neatly typed on it. She
glanced absently for a return address, and then, unable to locate one, stuffed
it into her duffel bag as she glided toward the elevators.

The
photo shoot was going amazingly well, all things considered. The models were
delighted with how smoothly things were progressing. And the Vantrys were
certainly pleased enough with her efforts. In fact, the only person who seemed
to be less than thrilled with Gwenyth's work—or more to the point, with Gwenyth
in particular—was her Prima Donna of a lead model. The man was driving her
crazy with his demands.

Sam
wouldn't pose unless the lighting was just so, nor would he model a swimsuit
unless it "called to him". There was even an incident two days ago
when Sam had refused to remove his shirt, claiming he'd had a psychic premonition
warning him against it. Gwenyth was this close to strangling him, thereby
giving credence to his claims of bad karma.

What
in the hell was wrong with Sam? Gwenyth wondered, not for the first time in the
past three days. It was as if he was doing everything in his power to
deliberately sabotage the shoot. And her career in the process.

The
ironic part of this whole sordid business was that, while Sam had been doing
his damnedest to be a total nuisance to her, Gwenyth had used the sexless past
three days to sort out her feelings. Her conclusion: she was definitely in love
with the big Bozo. Bad karma, bitching, and all.

Gwenyth
had done a lot of thinking since that last night of shared passion when she'd
first arrived in Los Angeles. Since then, she'd taken several long walks, swam
lots of laps in the hotel pool, and drank even more pots of coffee. And
although she had given up the ship so to speak, and admitted her feelings for
Sam to herself, she had also realized that Sam probably wasn't at the same place
she was mentally. It was quite possible that the man wouldn't know he was in
love with her until she hit him over the head with it.

So
be it.

Gwenyth
had arrived at the conclusion that if she wanted something badly enough, and
she did indeed want Sam's love, then she wasn't above waiting for it. She'd
notch up her chin and weather his uncertainties until he realized he loved her
back. She could only hope he realized it very soon.

Gwenyth
slipped inside of the opening elevator doors and pressed the button that would
take her to the fourth floor. Thankfully, she wouldn't be working with the
Prima Donna today. This morning's shoot was to be done with Etienne, an
extremely fine looking French model who was a hell of a lot more cooperative
than Sam Trevianni. Etienne did what he was told to do—no more, no less.
Gwenyth was beginning to think that deference wasn't necessarily a bad quality
in a man.

After
arriving at the fourth floor and saying a brief hello to Julie Gantz, makeup
artiste extraordinaire, Gwenyth made her way outside where the once paved
terrace had been transformed into a garden of paradise for today's shoot with
Etienne.

Etienne
looked, as always, impeccably handsome. His dark hair and eyes went sinfully
well with his tanned, muscular physique. The six foot three, one hundred ninety
pound model was reading a book of Chaucer and sipping from a glass of white
wine, while three assistants oiled down his perfectly honed biceps and torso.

"Bon
jour, Etienne."

Etienne
glanced up from his reading of medieval poetry and gifted Gwenyth with a
dazzling, pearly white smile. "Salut, Gwen! Ça va, ma chère?"

"I'm
great. How about you?"

"Bon."

Gwenyth
inclined her head with a smile. It would be nice to work with someone
cooperative today, someone who wasn't out for her blood. Funny that the man she
loved fell into the latter category. "Are you ready to get started?"

Etienne
closed his book with a small thud and tossed it onto the nearest chair.
"Absolutely."

Gwenyth
knelt to the floor and opened up her duffel bag, pulling out two new rolls of
film in the process. She remembered the letter the receptionist had handed to
her after spying a corner of the envelope shoved into the back of her bag. It
was probably nothing. Probably another of Sam's notes demanding some new change
in the schedule for tomorrow's shoot. Perhaps he'd had another of his stupid
so-called visions.