The Unsung Hero (16 page)

Her knees went weak as he rounded the chair
and gripped her bare shoulders. "Why are you fighting it,
Samantha?" His voice was heart-meltingly tender, a soothing caress
on the frazzled ends of her temper. "You want me as much as I want
you. Why can't you admit it?"

His eyes dropped to where her breath was
coming in short hard bursts. Her own closed briefly--the mere touch
of his hands had done that! She didn't want to be forced into
something she wasn't sure she was ready for.

"Don't," she whispered unsteadily. "I
can't... we want different things, Jason." An exquisite sensation
spiraled through her as his hands traced delicious circles on her
upper arms, her shoulders, wherever they touched. His mouth brushed
hers, the caress maddeningly elusive as she was lifted and
deposited gently on the sofa. His hard body pressed hers into the
cushions. Her hands curled into fists at his shoulders as she
fought the urge to slide her hands into the thick blackness of his
hair. She moaned softly. "Jason, please... I can't... I just
can't."

She was totally unprepared for the effect her
words had on him. That warmly tormenting mouth ceased its restless
exploration of her face and neck. Jason raised his head to look at
her, and suddenly there was a tempest raging in his eyes.

"You mean you won't," he said harshly. He
pulled away from her and stood up abruptly. "Is it Alex? Are you
still in love with him? Is that the real reason he still has a key
to your house?" He laughed bitterly. "You couldn't live together
but you can still love together?"

Samantha jumped up, now as furious as he.
"His name is Alan," she reminded him icily. "And this has nothing
to do with him. In fact, I completely forgot about him having a
key!" She glared at him. "He's a salesman for a pharmaceutical firm
in Portland but sometimes he has business in other parts of the
state. He had to make some contacts in this area last spring so I
let him spend a few nights here. It was during spring vacation and
I was spending the week with my mother in Astoria! Now are you
satisfied?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me you'd been
married?"

That was a very good question indeed. She
averted her eyes and sat down abruptly. "You never asked," she
muttered.

Jason's mouth tightened. "What an answer.
You could have told me, you know. You should have!" he accused in
the same tone. "You knew what was happening between us—"

"What was happening between us!" It was her
turn to glare at him accusingly. "I know you've been trying to
weasel your way into my bed from the start! And you knew from the
start I could never settle for just sex and you made it very plain
that was all you were about to offer! Now tell me--tell me chapter
and verse--why I should have told you about my ex-husband when
you've stated several times that you didn't want to talk about your
ex-wife!" She sniffed indignantly. "I'm supposed to confess all
while you get to sit back and just listen? That's not the way it
works, Jason Armstrong!"

Bingo. She'd scored a direct hit. She could
see it in the mottled flush that crept beneath his tanned
cheekbones. "Are you saying that if I'd told you more about my
ex-wife you'd have told me about Ale— Alan?" he asked roughly.

Samantha blinked. There was another very
good question. Why hadn't she told him about Alan? She looked away
from that demanding stare. "I might have," she muttered, "if I
thought there was ever a chance of anything serious developing
between us."

"And of course you think that's
impossible."

She hated the mockery in his tone. She knew
the score, she'd be a fool if she pretended otherwise. "I do," she
defended staunchly. "You'll be leaving soon, a matter of weeks."
There—her choice was made. So why did she feel so rotten?

"And you're convinced your body is all I
want from you." The look he gave her seemed to reach into her soul.
"Two lonely people, drawn together in the night."

What was he trying to do? Beat her into the
ground? But there was no mockery, no teasing, no laughter in his
voice. She was lonely, though it wasn't something she admitted
often. It was easier, so much easier to pretend.

She drew a shaky breath. "What! Don't tell
me you're lonely, too!" The laugh she gave was forced. "Forgive me
if I have a difficult time believing you have a problem finding a
woman to share your bed at night! After all, look what you've got
going for you. Looks, money..."

The flippant voice trailed off. And what
about her? She'd had a chance at marriage and happiness once, and
she'd failed miserably. But what she said was true. Jason did have
everything. No doubt he had droves of women falling at his feet
back in Los Angeles.

She might have felt a spurt of triumph at the
uncomfortable look that flashed across his face if it hadn't hurt
so much. As it was, she felt as if a giant hand was squeezing her
heart.

She sensed rather than saw him move toward
her. "You know what the hell of this is?" he said roughly. "I
actually believe that your ex-husband having a key to your house is
really what you say it is. And it's crazy, but all of a sudden I'm
wondering why you don't love him. Was it because he didn't live up
to your expectations of what a husband should be—of what you
thought love should be?" His voice hardened as he looked at her.
"Your kind of love is white knights and fairy tales, and maybe
that's why your marriage failed. Maybe you couldn't pull your head
down from the clouds long enough to get a glimpse of reality. Hell,
you still can't for that matter! You really believe all that
drivel--that love is perfect, that love is forever, that love
conquers all."

Samantha pressed hot hands to her cheeks, his
words whirling around in her brain. His words were like a whiplash
to her heart. "I have to," she said shakily, "or I'll end up like
you. And I'd rather be a dreamer than a cynic."

"And are you any better off than I am?" His
voice was harsh, accusing. "Do your dreams fill the void in your
heart or satisfy your longing to be held by someone during a cold
winter night? I want you and I'm not afraid to admit it. You want a
storybook hero, a fantasy man, the kind of hero that's only found
in those blasted books you read. But the truth is you're a coward,
Samantha. Even if such a man existed you'd be afraid to try to find
one in the flesh. At least I'm not afraid to go after what I
want--what I need." The hard look in his eyes sent splinters of
pain slicing through her. "There's something missing in your life,
Samantha. When are you going to own up to it?"

For an instant she almost hated Jason, hated
his ability to reach into her mind and pluck out her most private
thoughts. Alan had been her first and only lover. And somehow, at
this moment, tense though it was, she was more conscious than ever
of what she'd lost since her divorce . . . the sharing of feelings,
the sense of security that belonging to another and being one with
that person had given her. Perhaps most of all, she realized how
much she missed the physical side of marriage. But she couldn't—and
wouldn't—satisfy the craving of her body and sacrifice her
emotional well-being in the bargain. She had every right in the
world to expect the two to go hand in hand. She clung to the
thought the way a drowning man might hold on to a life preserver.
It had happened once, no matter that it had been all too fleeting,
and it could happen again. But deep in her heart she knew she
harbored a secret fear that was almost as great as her need; the
fear of dealing with failure once more.

She was afraid to love again, but just as
afraid not to love.

The seconds ticked by slowly. Her pain was a
throbbing ache in her breast. He knew—damn him, he knew! She felt
naked and exposed in a way that had never happened before, even in
the days following her divorce. But suddenly she realized something
else, as well. Jason said she wanted a hero, the kind of hero that
was only found in romances. But wasn't that how she'd thought of
him all along?

Yes, she'd found her hero. She was in love
with Jason Armstrong, a man who carelessly tossed aside and
belittled all that she held dear to her heart.

The realization brought a wave of pain so
intense she nearly cried out. She pressed her fingers to her
temples, confusion roiling in her brain. She couldn't stand here
anymore and listen to him tear her apart little by little with his
cutting words. The atmosphere was stifling; she couldn't breathe.
She started for the door, but in the second before she reached it,
her wild eyes met Jason's, and she couldn't hide the agony in her
heart. And then she was running out the door, running blindly down
the path to the beach, darting past a party of picnickers, weaving
through a group of children.

She didn't recognize the startled look in
Jason's eyes, or see the hand thrust after her. She didn't hear the
hoarsely muttered sound that was her name as he stared after
her.

She ran until she thought her lungs would
burst from lack of air, but she welcomed the pain. It took her mind
off the ache in her heart. Her breast heaved from the unaccustomed
exertion when she collapsed on the sand, unable to go even a step
farther.

She sifted through a handful of sand, letting
the rough grains trickle through her fingers. She'd kicked off her
sandals somewhere, and the sand felt cool against her bare feet as
the sun lowered in the late- afternoon sky. A chill breeze whipped
through her hair. She shivered a little but lifted her face and let
the wind lay bare her seething emotions, welcoming the unexpectedly
calming effect.

She loved Jason. Hot tears scalded her
eyelids for an instant, clouding her vision as she gazed out at the
silver-glazed expanse of ocean. It was crazy. Impossible. He was
wrong for her, and even if he wasn't, he would soon be gone. He'd
said he wanted her, but could she accept him at face value? Could
she accept him as he was and ask no more? She exhaled sharply only
to catch her breath in remembered anguish, experiencing once again
the sharp prick of his words.

So many questions, so few answers. But one
thing was certain. She hadn't run from Jason so much as she'd been
running from herself.

With a sigh she picked herself up and plodded
back toward home, the water occasionally lapping at her feet. She
was nearing the beach in front of her house when she saw Jason,
standing at the edge of the sand, looking at her. Waiting.
Watching. The distant chatter of children was all but drowned out
by the sudden pounding she heard in her ears as she stopped where
she was.

And then a strange thing happened. She was
too far away to see the expression on his face, but she could sense
the twisted jumble of emotions inside him as surely as she felt her
own. With an aching sensitivity, she knew she wasn't the only one
hurting inside.

Her eyes locked with his as she began to move
forward.

"Miss Monroe! Hey, Miss Monroe!"

Samantha glanced to the right and waved
distractedly at Kevin, but suddenly she stopped short. Kevin was
perched high above her on the jutting pile of rocks that stood
sentinel on the beachfront.

"Oh, my God," she breathed, her heart leaping
to her throat. A wave of pure panic swept through her. She lifted
both arms and frantically waved them to the little boy. "Kevin, get
down here! For God's sake, come back down!"

But even as she yelled to him, a frothy lick
of surf nipped at her ankles and her voice was lost in the wind.
Kevin merely waved and clambered farther upward. The tide was
coming in at an alarming pace, Samantha realized. Within minutes,
Kevin would be stranded on the rocky bluff. The waves that dashed
against the lonely island at high tide could be vicious on a windy
day, easily capable of sweeping away a youngster, and the wind blew
more fiercely by the second.

Samantha wasn't even aware of moving. She
plunged through the thigh-deep pool of water at the rocky base.
Heedless of the cutting edges of the rock against her bare feet,
she scrambled steadily upward until she reached the little boy.

He turned in surprise as she gathered his
small body into her arms. "Kevin!" She hugged him, nearly squeezing
the breath from him. "You shouldn't have climbed up this far. The
tide is coming in!"

His blue eyes were wide as saucers as he
peered at the churning waters below them. His voice quavered as he
looked back up at her. "How are we going to get down?"

Samantha didn't answer until she had led him
around to the beach side of the rocky ledge. Settling herself
against the narrow surface, she pulled him down into her lap.
"We'll be okay," she said with a surety she was far from feeling.
Icy water sprayed over them and she knew with a sinking feeling the
worst was yet to come.

Kevin's teeth chattered. "C-couldn't we
c-climb back down and s-swim back to the beach? It's not that
f-far."

She cradled him more tightly and shook her
head. "The water would be too deep by the time we got back down."
If she had been alone, she might have tried it, but as it was... it
wasn't so much the water's depth as the treacherous undercurrents.
Kevin's slight weight would be carried away too easily, and even if
she tried to make it across with him in tow, he could lose his
grip. She shivered as she glanced down at the swirling eddy below.
No, she couldn't take the chance.

"We'll be all right," she tried to reassure
him. She pointed to the crowd that had begun to gather at the
receding shoreline, then smoothed his dampened blond curls.
"Someone will come soon."

The next sheet of water was like a blow as it
pounded their figures, a dense curtain of moisture. They were both
drenched to the skin in the space of a second. Samantha shivered
and wrapped her arms around Kevin more tightly, trying to infuse
some of her warmth into him.