With This Ring (8 page)

"It was a good one," she said lightly, but her blue eyes lingered on him as he accepted a beer from Justin.

The conversation moved at a lively pace, with Susan resuming a story she'd been in the middle of recounting when Sam arrived. He sipped his beer, listened and watched. Every time he was with Justin's family, he marveled at how much they looked alike. All five siblings had thick, wavy hair, almost black, and the brilliant blue eyes of their mother.

"Sure and they've got the map of Ireland stamped on their faces," Claire had once laughingly said in the Irish brogue she could effortlessly affect.

Sam wondered what it would be like to have a heritage you could trace back for hundreds of years. He didn't have a clue about his own. All his mother had ever told him was that her father was a coal miner and a brutal man who beat her mother "just for the hell of it."

"When I turned sixteen, he started on me," she'd added, her brown eyes turning hard. "And that's when I decided I wasn't stickin' around to be his next punching bag."

She had escaped her West Virginia home as soon as she could scrape enough money together for her bus ticket. Sam wasn't even sure if Robbins was really her name. He suspected she might have changed it.

"So, Sam, you home for a while now?" Stephen asked.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, I'm taking some vacation."

"Sam and I may go to Wyoming to do some fly-fishing," Justin said.

"Really? You lucky dog," Stephen said.

Lisa poked him in the ribs. "Don't act like you never go anywhere."

"I don't. I'm completely henpecked."

"I'll give you henpecked," Lisa said, but her remark lacked bite. She pretended to swat at her husband, and Stephen laughed.

The good-natured talk flowed effortlessly. Sam continually marveled at the way the Malones related to one another. This was a family that actually liked each other and liked being together. Even Winston, who wasn't officially a part of the clan yet, had blended in perfectly.

After awhile, they all moved inside to the dining room. As always, dinner was excellent. Claire was a good cook and she enjoyed cooking for her family. Sam stuffed himself on roast pork, oven-fried potatoes, salad, broccoli and fresh green beans. He traveled so much that he could never get enough of good home cooking.

When he finally settled back, replete, he saw that Jessie had been watching him. There was an expression of longing on her face that she quickly masked. He felt a sharp stab of guilt, even though he had nothing to feel guilty over. He'd never led Jessie on. He'd never even dated Jessie, for crying out loud. The most they'd ever done was dance together when a bunch of them had gone out to the clubs and once Sam had driven her home early from a party because she hadn't been feeling well.

For some reason, the guilt over what he didn't feel for Jessie segued into the guilt he couldn't completely banish over his treatment of Amy.

Jesus! Forget about Amy.

"You're awfully quiet today, Sam," Katie said. "Tell us about Alaska. Is it true there are about ten guys there for every girl?"

Sam grinned. Katie was a favorite of his. She was more light-hearted than Justin and Jessie and smarter and more interesting than Susan and Stephen. He had a feeling Katie would probably break a few hearts in her lifetime. "I'm not sure about the exact ratio, but there did seem to be more male faces than female faces around."

"Hmmm, maybe I should transfer up there," Katie said.

Jessie rolled her eyes. "Is that all you ever think about? Guys?"

"What else is there?" Katie countered, smiling mischievously at Sam. "And don't pretend you
don't
think about guys, because I know you do."

"Oh, you don't know anything," Jessie said.

"Oh, yeah? Well, I know you're hung up on somebody, because I heard you and Susan talking one day."

"You're crazy, Katie." Jessie's protest sounded strained and she avoided meeting anyone's eyes.

"Oh, c'mon, quit pretending. Tell us who he is and when we're going to meet him," Katie pressed.

Two bright spots of color rode high on Jessie's cheeks. "I am not hung up on anybody."

Sam squirmed uncomfortably.

Susan darted a look in Sam's direction.

"Oh, no?" Katie continued, laughing, teasing, completely oblivious to the undercurrents. "Then why is your face red?"

"Katie . . . " Claire said warningly.

"Did I tell you that Jennifer is going to be able to come to the wedding after all?" broke in Susan. She gave Katie a dirty look.

"What did
I
do?" Katie said.

Sam decided life would be a lot simpler if he swore off women completely.

* * *

Amy hung around the apartment all day, but Sam didn't call.

At first, she made excuses. Something must have come up. Something unavoidable. He would call her when he got back. Probably this evening.

But evening came and went without a call. By ten o'clock, she knew there wasn't going to be one.

She couldn't understand it. She couldn't have misinterpreted what happened between them the previous night. He was as shaken by the kisses they'd shared as she had been. He was as attracted to her as she was to him. She knew he wanted to see her again.

Then why hadn't he called?

Had something happened?

Around and around her thoughts went.

She couldn't sleep. She kept thinking about him, wondering why she hadn't heard from him.

On Monday she was scheduled to work at the shelter again. Before she left for work, she changed her answering machine message. Instead of the usual "I can't take your call just now, please leave a message" she recorded, "I can be reached at . . . " and left the number of the shelter.

All day long, every time the phone at the shelter rang, she held her breath, sure it was Sam. It never was.

She rushed home, even though she had planned to go to Texas Art Supply and restock her dwindling store of water colors. She told herself he hadn't wanted to call her at work, that there would be a message for her at home instead. There wasn't.

Very near tears, she wondered what she could do. Normally, in a situation like this, she would simply blow the guy off. She had no use for men who said one thing and did another. But this was not a normal situation. Down deep, she knew something had happened. Something that had kept Sam from calling her.

She bit her bottom lip, blinking furiously. She would not cry. She would
think!
She simply
had
to see him again. That's all there was to it. She was not willing to let him go without some kind of effort, because what had started between them yesterday was too special.

They were meant to be together. She knew it.

Okay, so what are you going to do about it?
She toyed with the idea of calling him. She even went so far as to look up his number in the telephone directory, then replaced it without writing the number down.

No. Telephone calls could be so unsatisfactory. She wanted to see him. To see the expression on his face and in his eyes. If he was giving her the brush off, she would force him to do it in person.

The thought that he might caused an ache in her chest and those stupid tears to well again.

You're being ridiculous, you know that, don't you? You just met this guy. He can't possibly mean that much to you already.

But he did! He did.

She knew both her mother and Lark had been right to caution her against jumping into anything, but where Sam was concerned, Amy could no more stop the way she felt about him than she could stop breathing.

They were meant to be. And if he didn't yet realize it, she would have to show him.

She absently petted Delilah, who had jumped up on the kitchen table and was rubbing against her. But before she did anything, she needed to figure out why he hadn't called her. Was he afraid? From the way he'd talked at dinner the other night, she sensed he wasn't a person who would trust others easily. Growing up the way he had, she was sure he would be wary of close relationships.

Was that it? Was he scared of getting close to her? Scared of allowing himself to care? Did the emotions unleashed between them Saturday night frighten him off?

Amy looked at the clock. It was only seven. Abruptly, she stood. If she wanted him, she was going to have to take the initiative. Her decision made, she headed for her bedroom and her closet.

Her whole future rested on this encounter. She wanted to look her best.

* * *

Sam prowled restlessly around his apartment most of the day Monday. He couldn't seem to settle down to anything. He kept thinking about Amy. Maybe he should at least call her and . . . and what? Tell her he was sorry? Tell her it just wouldn't work out? She'd probably think he was a conceited jerk who attached a helluva lot more importance to himself than she did. What was the big deal, anyway? All they'd done was kiss. For all he knew, she hadn't given him a thought since.

Forget about her, Robbins. She's trouble . . . go to Wyoming instead . . .

After stewing most of the day, he made up his mind. What the hell. The trip would do double duty—take his mind off the problem at work and force him to relax and get him away from Amy and the temptation to call her.

He would call Justin right now and tell him. He had just punched in Justin's telephone number when his doorbell rang. "Now what?" he muttered, slamming the phone down. He was getting damned tired of these door to door solicitors. His apartment complex had a big sign posted at the entrance, but these sales types just ignored it.

He strode over to the front door and yanked it open. "Look, I'm not inter—" He broke off, momentarily speechless. "Amy?"

"Hello, Sam." She didn't smile.

He ran his fingers distractedly through his hair, completely disconcerted by her unexpected appearance. She looked unbelievably sexy and desirable in a short red sundress and red strappy sandals that showed off narrow, graceful feet and red-tipped toes. Her hair, instead of being tied back the way it had been on Saturday, drifted around her bare shoulders in a glorious, shining cloud.

Desire—unwanted, unbidden, leaped to life. He willed himself to ignore it. "This is a surprise."

"I know. I had to talk to you," she said.

"Okay. Uh, c'mon in." As she brushed past him, her scent filled his head, and the desire to touch her was so strong he clenched his fists. "You want a Coke or something? A beer?"

"No, nothing."

Sam scooped up the magazines and clothes and books littering his brown leather sofa and cleared a space for her to sit. He sat on the arm of the only other chair in the room as she perched on the edge of the sofa.

She looked at him for a long moment, her green eyes huge and luminous. "Why didn't you call me, Sam?" she finally asked in a quiet, steady voice.

Her directness disconcerted him, but he struggled not to reveal it. He shrugged. "No real reason. I just got busy." Jesus, but he felt like a jerk.

"Busy," she repeated.

"Yeah, look, I'm sorry. I meant to call you, but you know how it is . . . "

"No," she said slowly, "I guess I don't know how it is." She swallowed. "I-I thought you really liked me. I thought we had something special going between us. But I guess I was wrong."

Her composure had slipped, and Sam saw an unmistakable glint of hurt in her eyes. Something constricted in his chest. More than anything, he wanted to get up and take her into his arms. He wanted to delve his hands into that thick, shining hair that fell so appealingly around her face and onto her shoulders. He wanted to taste again the warmth of that sweet, soft mouth. He wanted to nuzzle his face into the hollow of her throat and inhale the fresh, flowery fragrance she wore. The urge to do all these things . . . and more . . . was so powerful, he almost could not withstand it.

And yet somehow he did.

Somehow he hardened his heart.
No way.
No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't. Indulging his desire to be with her, to make love to her, would only hurt her more in the long run. Better to make this a clean, swift break. She'd get over it . . . and so would he.

"I do like you, Amy," he said softly. "We had a great time Saturday night. But I've been doing some thinking since then, and I, well, I don't think it's going to work out. You're just not my type."

She regarded him steadily. "I don't believe you."

He laughed nervously. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth."

"You're saying you're not attracted to me?" Her eyes, which had looked so luminous and soft before, were suddenly fired with angry glints. "Is that what you're saying?

He wet his lips. "I, uh . . . "

Abruptly, she stood. Then, taking him completely off-guard, she walked over to him, put her arms around him, and lowered her mouth to his.

At the first touch of her tongue, every good resolution he'd had went flying out the window. He groaned and crushed her to him. They tumbled back onto the big chair. The kiss was open and wet and hungry. And once he started kissing her, he couldn't seem to stop. His hands seemed to have a life of their own, too.

He kissed her again and again, running his hands over her body, lifting the hem of her dress and cupping her tight little bottom. When he slipped one hand between her legs, she gasped. The sound galvanized him. He reached for the zipper on the back of her dress, and she responded by tugging his shirt out of the waist band of his pants.

He knew he should stop. He knew this was madness. Complete madness. But trying to stop what had begun between them was like trying to stop a tornado with your bare hands.

He managed to tug the sundress down, exposing bare breasts. His heart pounded as he filled his hands with them. They were small and perfect. She moaned when he took one nipple into his mouth, drawing on it.

From then on, Sam was completely lost.

Their lovemaking was swift and urgent. There was no subtle foreplay, no slow building of desire. The desire was there, full blown, raging between them like an out of control forest fire.

There was also no rational thought. All Sam knew was that he wanted this woman. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any woman before.