The Unsung Hero (8 page)

He nodded. "And raised there, too, I'll bet—"
He stopped when she smilingly shook her head. "No? Well, then, spit
it out! Where were you raised?"

A smile curved her lips. "Here, there and
everywhere," she murmured lightly.

Jason stopped his shredding long enough to
survey her with a curious squint. "Where--exactly?"

She began to slice the cucumber into the
bowl, took a deep breath and began her spiel. "Toledo, Ohio;
Lincoln, Nebraska; Reno, Nevada; Billings, Montana; Evansville,
Indiana; Waco, Texas; Flagstaff, Arizona; Oshkosh, Wiscon—"

"Whoa, slow down!" He eyed her in disbelief.
"You're not serious!"

"Oh, but I am." Her lashes shielding her
eyes, she continued her slicing. "And all before the age of
twelve." Though the memory wasn't what she would call welcome, she
kept her smile firmly glued in place. "But at least I can say I've
been relatively stable the last few years. I've stayed in the same
state, and any move I made was my choice."

There was an empty silence. Samantha could
feel Jason's eyes on her but didn't look up. He'd wanted to
know—well, now he did. "Don't tell me," he said slowly, "your
father was a pilot who decided to move his family along with every
flight."

"For all I know, he could be by now." Her
light tone wasn't at all in keeping with the dark shadow of memory
creeping over her. "It would be the perfect job for dear old
dad."

Gentle fingers firmly removed the knife from
her grasp. Jason took her by the shoulders and raised her chin with
a finger. "Not a pleasant childhood, I presume?"

Samantha reluctantly met his eyes. If he
laughed at her now! "It had its moments," she admitted a bit
grudgingly. All too few, though. She'd hated being constantly on
the move; it seemed she had no more than gotten settled in school
when her father was yanking her out. She'd soon learned there was
little point in making friends; she wouldn't be there long enough
to keep them before her father uprooted his family once again in
search of another harebrained scheme. Real estate ventures,
restaurant partnerships, car sales. . . too many jobs to count.
"It's the opportunity of a lifetime," he'd always proclaimed
enthusiastically. And so it was . . . until the next one came
along.

Jason's voice was strangely gentle. "You
haven't seen your father in quite some time?"

Fourteen years. Yes, that was quite some
time. Her lashes dropped and she nodded.

"What happened?" There was a kind of gentle
insistence in his voice.

"Can't you tell? I'm the
product of a broken home," she responded lightly.
And a broken marriage
.
She pushed the thought aside. "My parents divorced after dear old
dad faded into the sunset one day." She shrugged and turned her
lips up in an artificial smile, trying to shake the sudden dark
mood. Gently disengaging herself from Jason's grip, she began to
toss the salad. "What about you?" she asked with false brightness.
"Any ghosts lurking in your past?"

There was an instant's silence. He took the
hint and moved away, searching in the drawer for a pair of hot
mitts. "None that you'd be interested in," he finally responded. He
pressed a warm kiss on the back of her neck before turning to the
oven.

"Unfair," Samantha objected, ignoring the
sudden lurch of her heart at his touch. He turned around, a
steaming dish in his hands. She picked up the salad bowl and
followed him into the dining room. "That's an evasive answer if
ever I've heard one."

Jason merely shrugged and set the dish on a
trivet in the center of the table. It was elegantly set, complete
with gleaming crystal and china, linen table cloth and napkin.
Before they sat down, he dimmed the lights and struck a match to
the slender taper in the center of the table.

In spite of the disturbing conversation about
her father, Samantha found herself relaxing. The talk between them
was light and sporadic but altogether comfortable. It wasn't until
they had both finished eating that he pushed aside their plates and
caught her eye, his brown eyes gleaming.

"Well, did I lie?"

Samantha eyed him over the flickering flame
of the candle. "About what?"

He sighed. "My lasagna--best in the west.
How was it?"

She laughed, unable to stop herself. The
sauce had been rich, meaty and flavorful, seasoned with fresh herbs
and spices. It had been delicious. The salad, too, had been light
and crisp, the flavor enhanced by the dressing Jason claimed to
have stirred up himself. It had been a perfect meal. "It was
fantastic," she said warmly. "Everything you said and more."

"At last a woman who appreciates the finer
things in life." His eyes met hers across the table, warm and
glowing, and Samantha was reminded of that gentle kiss on her nape.
A sudden heat warmed her body.

She took a nervous sip of the full-bodied red
wine he'd served with the meal. "Where did you learn to cook like
that?"

"My parents have an Italian restaurant in Los
Angeles. My mother makes the pasta, my father the sauce."

She looked up with interest. "Any brothers or
sisters?"

Jason nodded his head good-naturedly. "Two
older sisters. When I was growing up, I never knew if I was
supposed to play with dolls or trucks."

A tiny smile curved her lips as she eyed him
beneath half-closed lids. He was leaning back in his chair and
smiling across at her. The smile lines around his eyes and near his
mouth were oddly appealing. His shirt was open at the throat,
revealing a tangle of crisp curling hairs. He'd rolled the sleeves
up to his elbows, and her eyes lingered on those muscular forearms.
Her pulse skittered alarmingly and she stifled an odd feeling in
the pit of her stomach. No, living with two sisters had certainly
never had the slightest effect on his masculinity. He was as
intensely virile as any man she had ever met--either in the flesh
or between the pages of a book!

"You know, I think my mother would like
you."

Samantha's eyes flew up to his. "Would
she?"

"I know she would. There's a lot to like."
His voice was undeniably warm, but Samantha felt her cheeks color
slightly. She wasn't quite sure how to take the remark. Did he mean
inside or outside? Surely not outside. She was an average American
female in looks, manner and every other way. The type of woman a
man wouldn't mind taking home to his mother, the type who would
never pose a threat to another woman, be it mother, sister or
lover. She'd never minded before. Why was she suddenly wishing for
cover-girl looks?

The answer was sitting across from her in the
form of an undeniably attractive man, a man who could probably have
any woman of his choosing. So what was he doing here with an
ordinary-looking nobody like her?

She cleared her throat and traced a finger
around the rim of her glass. "How long did you say you'd be
staying?"

"Here in Neskowin?"

"Yes."

"Most of the summer, I imagine." He shrugged.
"However the mood strikes me."

Somehow that grated against her, but she
ignored it. "You mentioned yesterday that this was a working
vacation. You're writing another book then?"

He nodded and pushed back his chair, then
came to her and pulled her to her feet. "Not that I'm trying to
change the subject, but I hope you weren't counting on dessert. It
completely slipped my mind." He gave a gentle tug on both her hands
and drew her a step closer. "Unless you don't mind a
substitute?"

Samantha's gaze focused on the strongly
beating pulse in his throat, faintly obscured by bristly dark
hairs. Something in his tone brought her eyes to his in a flash.
She moistened suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue. "I have
the feeling this is the male version of coffee, tea or me."

A slow smile spread across his lean features.
His eyes followed the movement of her tongue on its unconsciously
provocative path around her mouth. "You're a perceptive woman,
Samantha Monroe," he said softly.

A blatant invitation to his bed couldn't have
been more clear. Something leaped inside her for a second but she
stilled the wild impulse and deliberately chose to misunderstand.
She looked quickly away. "That's a tall order," she said lightly.
"A little too tall for my tastes."

Jason shrugged his wide shoulders. "Only if
you make it that way."

Samantha swallowed. Her eyes slid back to his
face. "I—I thought we settled this yesterday."

"And I thought maybe you'd had a change of
heart."

His easy smile pulled at her heartstrings,
but she tugged her hands free. "We just met yesterday," she began
uncertainly, wishing she could be more sure of him, and herself, as
well. "We really shouldn't—"

His hearty chuckle pulled her up short. "Ever
the soul of discretion, aren't you?" He wrapped an arm around her
shoulders and hugged her to him tightly. "Just kidding, Samantha,"
he said with a soft laugh. "Just kidding."

But moments later she wasn't so sure.
Samantha found herself drawn along with him to the wide expanse of
glass facing the ocean. The sun was a fiery ball of orange as it
prepared to slip below the horizon. The endless sheet of water was
bathed in a shimmering shade of amber and gold. Wispy clouds
tinged with lavender and pink lay just above the surface.

"Made to order just for us, wasn't it?"

Samantha made no comment, barely able to
breathe for the warmth of the muscular arm still wrapped around
her.

"The view is even better from upstairs."

His fingers burned a fiery imprint into her
upper arms. She swallowed. "Is it?" was all she could manage from
the tight knot of awareness in her throat.

"Mmm." A warm mouth brushed her temple.

"From.. .the bedroom, I suppose." That
whisper of sound--was it really hers?

"As a matter of fact, yes. We could watch
that mystical moment when the sun falls below the earth, and
sun-warmed day becomes moon-kissed night..." It would have sounded
corny coming from anyone else's lips. Something jangled in her
brain, but all she could focus on was the sensual magic of his
voice. "All totally innocuous, of course." That voice was now
wrapped in laughter. Did she only imagine the hint of velvet
beneath? Wishful thinking perhaps?

Ever so gently Jason turned her to face him.
Samantha gazed up into his face, those lean features almost
tender. Those warm, brown eyes were the shade of chocolate and just
as addictive.

"Of course," she echoed calmly, pulling away
and retreating a few steps. Her eyes swept around the room as if
seeking an escape, stopping on the table, which hadn't yet been
cleared. It was there that she directed her steps, gathering up the
plates and empty casserole dish.

Jason trailed along behind
her, glasses and cutlery in hand. "Something tells me I've just
made a fatal
faux pas
," he said, casting a look at her from the corner of his eye.
"Are you telling me my efforts to please were all in
vain?"

A ghost of a smile hovered on her lips at his
valiant attempt to try to look wounded. She emptied her armload
onto the kitchen counter. "Not exactly," she conceded in a
carefully neutral tone.

He raised both eyebrows in a silent
question.

Samantha made a vague
gesture with one hand. It was clear that the entire atmosphere he'd
created, the wine, the food, the candlelight, was entirely for her
benefit. Was their disturbing exchange yesterday afternoon and his
ultimate challenge to her this morning behind it? What was it he'd
said?
Give me an education. Show me how
wrong I am about love.
Well, who wouldn't
be impressed by such an effort? It was designed to appeal to a
woman's romantic soul, and wasn't hers more romantic than
most?

She couldn't help but wonder if he was the
one trying to teach her a lesson. Even more importantly, if they
hadn't had that disturbing conversation, would he have put himself
out? For another woman he was trying to lure into his bed perhaps,
but for her?

On second thought, she wasn't sure she wanted
to know.

"I really am flattered,
Jason."
At least I think I
am
. "But it's just that..." She stopped,
unsure of what she wanted to say.

He gave her an engaging smile, his teeth very
white against his tan.

"Well . . ." Damn! Why did he have to smile
like that now? It made her legs feel like melting wax. "The wine,
the candlelight—" all that he had done drifted into her mind "—the
dinner and the..." The balloons! She'd completely forgotten about
them. Small wonder, when one was faced with a man like Jason
Armstrong. What was a houseful of balloons compared to a face and
body like his?

Jason laughed at her sudden stricken look.
"You did get my present?" he inquired blandly.

"I... yes. Yes, and they're really very
precious! In fact, it looks like you bought out an entire store..."
She was rattling, he'd think she was a complete idiot! A simple
thank-you would have sufficed, wouldn't it? "I... Thank you. Thank
you so much," she finally finished hurriedly.

"After seeing your underwear this morning, I
thought you might fancy Valentine's Day in June." A warm smile
curved his lips, and he calmly led her into the living room and
seated her on the low-slung leather couch in front of the
fireplace. Her head still whirling, Samantha watched as he turned
away to strike a match to the kindling and cedar logs already in
place

in the grate. Orange-tipped flames licked
upward. Once again, something prodded at her brain, just out of
reach.

Jason sat down beside her and slipped a long
arm along the back of the couch so that his fingertips lay nearly
touching the bare skin of her upper arm. "Now," he began lightly,
"you were saying?"