The Unsung Hero (3 page)

But someone upstairs must have been watching
out for her. She could hardly believe it when he held out a hand to
her. "How about a walk on the beach with me?"

"Sure." It was all she could do to restrain
herself from doing handsprings on the sand--as if she knew how--but
she let him pull her up beside him.

"Tell me something," he said, looking down at
her. "How do you say the name of this place?"

"Neskowin?" When he nodded, she smiled.
"Nes-kow-in. Slight accent on the first syllable, silent 'w.'" The
dazzling smile he gave her nearly took her breath away, but they
hadn't gone more than a few steps when she tugged on his hand and
halted. She glanced up at him, her look playful, as a belated
thought suddenly occurred to her. "It might be nice if I knew who I
was walking on the beach with."

His lips turned up in a barely discernible
smile as he looked down into her upturned face. "Jason," he
supplied softly.

"Jason . . . ?" To her surprise, at her
question, he stopped and bowed down low before her with a
flourish. When he returned to an upright position, his smile was
transformed into a full-blown grin.

"Jason Armstrong is my name—" there was a
brief but very effective pause "—also known as Cathryn James."

Chapter 2

Samantha stared at him for a moment,
almost—just almost—tempted to believe he was actually serious. Then
she turned on her heel and ambled down the beach, tossing back a
comment over her shoulder. "Sure you are. And I'm Norman Mailer."
Jason Armstrong caught up with her easily, his long-legged form
falling in beside her. "You don't believe me?"

She sent him a sidelong glance. "Mr.
Armstrong—"

"Jason. Call me Jason."

"All right then." She gave him a saccharine
smile and said mildly, "Not that I'm trying to criticize, but you
are sadly in need of a lesson with regard to the written word—"

"Aha, now you're beginning to sound like the
teacher you are."

She lifted a slender brow in reproach and
continued, "Men write science-fiction stories, fantasy and
adventure stories—"

"Sleazy adventure stories?"

"Well, yes—" she frowned slightly at him
"—with a lot of sex and violence--"

"And your romances aren't full of sex?"

"Not in the way you're thinking," she
reproved confidently. "They're love stories, and there's a world of
difference between love and sex." She halted, planting her feet
firmly in the soft sand to look up at him. "Even if you are a
writer--which I'm not convinced you are--you certainly couldn't
write a romance."

"You sound very sure of yourself." He smiled
down at her, laughter flickering in his eyes.

"I am. I've read dozens and dozens and
dozens of romances, both historical and contemporary, but I've
never read one written by a man—"

"Oh, yes, you have." His tone was very soft,
almost caressing.

Samantha glowered up at him, beginning to
wonder why he was persisting in his little joke. "I haven't," she
insisted, a bit more bitingly than she intended. Taking a deep
breath, she ran her fingers upward through the soft hair lying on
her nape. "Look, I don't know why you insist on—"

"Would you rather have me lie?"

"No, of course not." The tiniest bit of
exasperation was beginning to gnaw at her, but as his eyes held
hers, she saw something in the chocolaty-brown depths that caused a
niggle of doubt to enter her brain. He couldn't possibly be
serious... or could he?

She let him lead her over to a huge chunk of
whitewashed driftwood near the edge of the sand. With a gentle
hand on her shoulder he pushed her down to a sitting position.

"This is just beginning to get interesting,"
he said as he sat down beside her.

Samantha eyed him rather warily. "What
is?"

"Your views on why a man couldn't possibly
write a romance." His eyes were full of mirth and his mouth kept
twitching as if he was barely able to contain his laughter.

Again Samantha experienced a tiny spurt of
doubt. She gazed at him hesitantly. "You really are a writer?"

"I really am a writer," he assured her. "And
I make a very good living at it."

"A fiction writer?"

"A fiction writer. Now if you don't mind,
pray tell me why you think a man couldn't possibly write one of
your precious romances."

Samantha breathed a sigh of relief. At least
this time he wasn't insisting he was Cathryn James! "Well--" a
thoughtful frown creased her forehead for a moment "--for one
thing, I just can't see a man being able to get into the head of a
woman the way another woman could."

"Cathryn James writes from a dual point of
view, if you recall. The hero's thoughts and feelings are just as
much in evidence as the heroine's."

Samantha's eyes flickered away from his
steady gaze and she shifted uneasily. "Yes, that's true, but . . ."
She stopped, not sure she wanted to go ahead with what she'd been
about to say.

"But what?"

Jason lifted one of her hands from her thigh
and began to lightly trace a pattern in the palm of her hand.

Her breath caught in her throat. His touch
sent a wild swirl of emotion rushing through her. She was suddenly,
acutely aware of the hairy thigh pressed against the smoothness of
her own. Her heart fluttered wildly in her breast.

"The emotional intensity," she began
uncertainly, "particularly in the love scenes--" she swallowed, her
voice a mere thread of sound, low and very hushed "—and especially
Cathryn James's books, is described in such a way that . . . that
when I read those scenes, it's as if I'm actually there." She
paused for a fleeting second to sum up her rather tumultuous
thoughts. "It's the emotion that touches me, knowing what the
heroine is feeling and..."

"Go on," he urged softly when she hesitated.
His fingers feathered up to stroke the soft skin on the inside of
her wrist and Samantha had to consciously will her mind away from
the feeling of excitement he roused in her.

"And no man could possibly describe how a
woman feels inside, what she's thinking, when a man is...making
love to her." Was she actually sitting here discussing sex with a
man she'd just met?

"But what about men?" His low voice broke
into her thoughts. "Are we incapable of the same emotions, are we
heartless and unresponsive? Do you think that we don't feel the
same way a woman does when a man touches her?" A finger under her
chin gently turned her face to his, and she stared upward into
Jason's rugged features, mesmerized by the liquid heat glowing in
his eyes. "And she touches him?"

"I—I don't know." What a question, and for
him to ask it now--now when she felt as if she was being turned
inside out, her body vaporizing into a vast sea of sensations as
his hands cupped her bare shoulders and his palms glided smoothly
down her arms.

"A little insight and a little imagination is
all it takes." Jason's murmured words were low and husky, his
breath warm and caressing as it fanned her cheeks. "Do you want me
to tell you how you feel, Samantha?"

"I...no, no!" Her heart beat
furiously in her chest. She was trapped in a haze of conflicting
emotions. She wanted to pull away,
knew
she should pull away, but her
limbs felt curiously heavy and lethargic, while inside she was
strangely agitated, wanting, wondering, hoping this wouldn't end
before it had even started.

Jason's hands moved up to frame her face,
the pads of his thumbs tracing the delicate contours of her
cheekbones over and over again before finding the throbbing pulse
beneath her jaw line. "You like this, don't you?" he asked softly.
Samantha nodded, unable to find the strength to speak, or to deny
the involuntary response of her body. "Your heart is pounding like
a drum, your breath is coming as fast as if you've just run a
four-minute mile—" His lips parted to reveal the strong even
whiteness of his teeth. "This is exciting to you, isn't it?"

Somehow she managed to shake her head this
time. "No... stop!"

"Not yet." He moved his dark head closer, the
words whispered against her cheek, stirring the soft tendrils of
hair near her ear. "It's your turn, Samantha. As the saying goes,
turnabout is fair play."

Her hands were lifted and placed against his
shoulders. Confused, she raised her gaze to his, unprepared for
the compelling glitter in his eyes--yet it thrilled her clear to
the tips of her toes. "Go ahead," he chided softly, his voice
curiously unsteady. "Touch me. Feel me. Do . . .anything you
want."

The feel of the firm bronzed flesh beneath
her fingertips and the chance to explore the sleek skin of his
nearly naked body as she had so longed to do earlier, were too
potent a temptation to deny. Her breath quickened even more in
anticipation as her hands glided over the sinewy muscles of his
arms in silent reciprocation of his actions. She heard his harsh
intake of breath at her first tentative touch and lifted her eyes
again. A curious sense of power filled her as she beheld the fierce
glow in his eyes once more.

Emboldened by his unexpected response,
Samantha slid her slim tapered fingers up the strong column of his
neck, delighting in the slightly roughened texture of his
clean-shaven jaw line. Her other hand rested lightly on the broad
landscape of his chest, fingers twined seductively in the silky
dark jungle of curly hair. As her fingers moved to explore the hard
contours of his mouth, she could feel the slow steady beat of his
heart increase its rhythm beneath her hand.

It was unthinkable that she should be
behaving this way with a man she barely knew--so wholly out of
character for her. But nothing really seemed to matter. She closed
her eyes, reveling in this strange sensation, her senses expanding,
widening, reaching out to absorb the heat that seemed to flow from
her body into Jason's, his into hers . . .

"You see?" His throaty whisper broke into
the hazy shroud of pleasure surrounding her. "Would it be so hard
for a person to describe the way you feel--what both of us
feel?"

Samantha drew back a little, reluctant to
break away from him, not wanting to shatter the web of enchantment
he had spun so easily around her. Jason Armstrong was magic. There
was magic in his voice, magic in his touch, magic in his words.

"Not for a writer." A soft smile curved her
mouth, and this time the inflection of disbelief was gone from her
tone. "Are you really Cathryn James?"

"In the flesh," he said softly, tipping her
face up to his to search her eyes. "Are you disappointed?"

"No," she answered honestly. Thunderstruck,
maybe, but not disappointed, she thought to herself. But a second
later a thought suddenly pricked her. She bit her lip and added
quietly, "But I'm not sure you needed to go to such lengths to
prove your point."

"The end justifies the means, you see," Jason
said with a shrug that might have been an apology. "And while the
motive and method might have been on Cathryn's behalf—" he studied
her openly, his look growing more and more intent "—this is for
me."

Before she could divine his meaning, his head
blotted out the shimmering glare of the sun and her mouth was
claimed with an urgency that left her breathless. Her hands caught
at his shoulders, fingers clutching at the taut flesh as waves of
pleasure swept through her, stronger than anything she'd ever
thought possible. Jason's arms drew her closer, his fingers
tightening almost convulsively on the soft flesh of her hips for
just a moment.

"Miss Monroe! Hey, Miss Monroe!"

Recovering her senses far more quickly than
she'd have expected under the circumstances, Samantha drew back
from the circle of Jason's arms in time to see a small figure
racing toward her.

"Hello, Kevin." Samantha couldn't help but
smile at the towheaded youngster sporting a broad toothless grin
who halted before her in a spray of sand.

"Notice anything different about me, Miss
Monroe?"

Samantha reached out and gently pinched his
sunburned cheek. "You lost your other front tooth. Did you pull it
out yourself, champ?"

"Nope," the little boy proudly announced. "It
fell out while I was eating an apple just a few minutes ago and
there was blood all over..." Samantha stifled a groan, glad when
Kevin decided to go no further. He was hopping from one foot to the
other, barely able to control his excitement. "Hey, you want me to
go get one for you? My mom brought a whole bunch along with
us."

She exchanged a subtle look of amusement with
Jason, who was looking on quietly. "No, thanks, Kevin." She bit her
lip, trying hard not to laugh as she saw a slight tremor at Jason's
mouth, as well. "I, um, I just had lunch not long ago and I'm
really not very hungry."

Kevin's vivid blue eyes lost their hopeful
gleam. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," she said gently. Then, at his
crestfallen expression, she added, "Maybe next time. You will come
and see me again, won't you?"

The little boy's face brightened immediately.
"You betcha! I sure do miss you, Miss Monroe, even though I just
saw you a couple days ago."

"I miss you, too, Kevin." Samantha reached
out and ruffled his blond curls.

"I guess I better get back to my mom now. She
told me not to bother you for long." He grinned up at her, then
sent a shy but curious glance at Jason. "See ya later, Miss Monroe.
Bye, Mr. Monroe."

Samantha laughed aloud as Jason's thick
eyebrows shot up at Kevin's departing address. "Mr. Monroe?" he
echoed doubtfully, amusement flickering in the eyes that met hers.
"I think I've just been adopted--" his gaze grew warmer by degrees
as it continued to rest on her flushed cheeks "--but you know, I
think I like the idea."

She couldn't help but respond to his
bantering tone. "But if you misbehave, I'll have to send you home
to—" She stopped and looked at him quizzically.