Читать онлайн книгу «Midnight Rhythms» автора Karen Van Der Zee

Midnight Rhythms
Karen Van Der Zee
The last thing Sam had wanted was a stranger in the house for three long months!David was always there– making her angry, making her laugh, giving her all the fun she' d been missing… and, during the long, sleepless nights, showing just how much he desired her. Sam didn' t want to fall in love– but David' s irresistible charms were slowly breaking down her defenses.But in just three short months he' d be gone… wouldn' t he?



“I’d better go,” Sam said, hearing the strange tone of her own voice, low and husky.
“You don’t have to.”
Such simple words. Sam tried to move, but her legs wouldn’t obey. It was the music, hypnotizing her, stroking the secret dreams hiding in the shadows of her heart.
And the look in David’s eyes.
He smiled into her eyes, saying nothing, and the music filled the silence between them with an erotic energy that made her tremble. Her heart was beating fast and it was suddenly hard to breathe. An invisible power seemed to radiate from him, surrounding her, captivating her like a witch’s spell.
“You smell very sweet,” he said then, and he bent his head and kissed her full on the mouth.
Ever since KAREN VAN DER ZEE was a child growing up in Holland she wanted to do two things: write books and travel. She’s been very lucky. Her American husband’s work as a development economist has taken them to many exotic locations. They were married in Kenya, had their first daughter in Ghana and their second in the United States. They spent two fascinating years in Indonesia. Since then they’ve added a son to the family and lived for a number of years in Virginia before going on the move again. After spending over a year in the West Bank near Jerusalem and three and a half years in Ghana (again), they are now living in Armenia, but not for good!

Midnight Rhythms
Karen van der Zee

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE
THE man stood stark naked in the bright light of a full moon, all of his masculine splendor on full display. Samantha stopped in her tracks and stared at the man poised at the edge of the pool. “Now I know I’m going nuts,” she muttered to herself. “I’m hallucinating, seeing things.”
The strap of her heavy book bag bit into her right shoulder; she’d been carrying it around for the last mile home, having left her car by the side of the road with an empty gas tank. She was exhausted. She’d lived on five hours of sleep a night for the past two weeks and it was no wonder she was hallucinating. For a moment she closed her eyes, then opened them again. No naked man by the pool. She let out a deep sigh, realizing she’d been holding her breath. All she wanted was to get inside, have a shower and go to sleep.
She stumbled to the front door and let herself in, dropped her bag, and practically crawled to her bedroom. Collapsing on the bed, she kicked off her shoes, picked up the phone and dialed Gina’s number at the hospital. Gina was a nurse and worked the evening shift.
“I’m going crazy,” she told her friend. “I’m going stark raving mad.”
“Did that bald instructor make another pass at you?”
“Yes, but that’s not it.” Samantha unbuttoned her blouse and struggled out of it. “I can handle him, but I think I’m seeing things. My mind is playing tricks with me. Is that what happens when you delve into the mysteries of business law with only five hours of sleep?”
“What do you mean you’re seeing things?”
Sam began to laugh. She couldn’t help it. “You’re not going to believe this. I ran out of gas a mile from home and—”
“I believe it, Sam,” Gina said dryly. “It’s a warning, a metaphor. You’re going to run out of gas if you don’t stop and relax once in a while. So tell me, what are you seeing that’s so funny?”
“I came walking up the driveway just now, a few minutes ago, and I saw a man standing near the swimming pool.”
“A man?”
“Yes.” Sam closed her eyes, seeing the man again. “Buck naked. All his God-given glory illuminated by a full moon. He looked like some Greek or Roman statue. He looked like Michelangelo’s David. He was gorgeous. Artistically speaking, of course.”
“Of course,” said Gina.
“He looked very much like he belonged there, near the pool, amid all those big trees, and that fat moon overhead. Like a real statue.” Revelation struck her. “Oh! That’s why I saw him! Somebody showed me her vacation pictures yesterday—all these Italian paintings and fountains and statues. No wonder. Just a trick of the light, I guess.”
“Phew,” Gina sighed. “What a relief. I was worried you were going nuts and it was all my fault because of what I said yesterday.”
Sam frowned. “I forgot about that.” Gina had told her it was high time to start thinking about romance, to find a man, to find love. She’d been alone too long and she deserved a good man. Well, Gina meant well, but Sam was not in the mood for romance. She was too busy working and going to school getting her degree. She was determined to be a college graduate before she turned thirty next year.
She sighed. “What I need right now is not a man, but a shower and a good night’s sleep. I won’t have to get up and study in the morning, so I’ll sleep in till seven.”
“Wow. Seven. I’m impressed. What about your car?”
“Oh, shoot, yes.” Sam raked her fingers through her damp hair. Thick and curly, the only way to keep it tamed was to pin it on top of her head or gather it back in a ponytail with a scrunchy. Maybe she should just have it cut really short. It would be cool and easy in the heat of summer. Except then she’d have to keep it trimmed all the time to keep it looking neat and when was she ever going to have time to go to the hair salon? She let out a weary sigh. Always this struggle for time. And now an empty gas tank to deal with.
“I’ll take Susan’s car and go to the gas station and get a can of gas and fill my tank, drive it back here, walk back to my car…it’s going to cost me an hour.” She groaned. “There goes sleeping in.” She unzipped her skirt and pulled it off. “I can’t win. God, what a miserable day. The air conditioner at the office wasn’t working and there was one crisis after another, and I had to stay late and almost didn’t make it to class in time.” She frowned. “I never had dinner, come to think of it. I should be hungry, shouldn’t I? I don’t think I am, though. Oh, well, in this heat, who wants to eat?” Only June and it felt like August, the sweltering air humid and thick. She stripped off the rest of her damp clothes and staggered into the bathroom that adjoined her bedroom, taking the portable phone with her.
She looked at herself in the mirror, which was a mistake. Light blue eyes, pale face, brown hair—she looked washed out, her lipstick and blush long worn off. Maybe it was the light. Right, sure, she thought with a grimace. She turned away from her reflection.
“Anyway,” said Sam, turning on the shower, “how’s everything with you?”
“Fine, same old thing. What’s that noise?”
“The shower. I’d better get in before I have no strength left to stand on my feet. Talk to you soon.”
“Take it easy, Sam,” said Gina. “Hallucinating about naked men is definitely a warning sign. Your feminine self is trying to tell you something.”
Sam rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Yes, Mommy.”

She had a shower, washed her hair and felt marginally better—still exhausted, but clean. Wrapped in a short cotton robe, she looked a little better, too, the blue of the robe brightening her eyes. Her stomach was grumbling now, and she felt thirsty. Having dried her hair and tied it back to keep it out of her face, she went to the kitchen to find something to eat. A banana, a glass of milk. She wasn’t sure what she would find. She hadn’t shopped for food in days.
The hardwood floor felt cool and smooth under her bare feet. It was such a beautiful house and she was happy to have the opportunity to live here for a while, house-sitting for Susan and Andrew, friends who were on a six-month tour of southern Europe, making a documentary. Such a stroke of luck, too, just when her apartment building had gone co-op and she’d been forced to move out.
House-sitting for Susan and Andrew was a perfect solution. The McMillans owned several acres of wooded land in Virginia, not too far from the civilized world of Washington D.C. The one-story house was an irregular, sprawling structure built to fit in with its natural surroundings. It had a big wooden deck and an in-ground swimming pool in the yard. Inside, the house was airy and spacious and furnished with casual, comfortable furniture and colorful artwork. Being used to apartment living, Sam found all the space simply wonderful, although sometimes, when she allowed herself the luxury of a moment of introspection, all that space made her feel a little lonely.
Light came from the kitchen. Had she left it on this morning? No, she was sure she hadn’t. Besides, she hadn’t noticed it being on when she’d come home. Trepidation gripped her. She stepped into the kitchen and her heart stopped as she took in the scene.
A red towel wrapped around his hips, Michelangelo’s David was pouring himself a whiskey.

CHAPTER TWO
SAM froze as she stared at the man. He was tall and tanned and well-built. Very short black hair damply hugged his well-formed skull and his dark eyes looked at her with surprise, but only for a moment. An amused half-smile curved his mouth.
“I didn’t know you were home,” he said, putting the whiskey bottle on the counter. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Sam couldn’t talk. Here he was, a stranger in her house, huge, naked apart from a towel, and he hadn’t meant to frighten her. What had he expected? A hug? She swallowed with difficulty, aware he was still observing her. Who was this man? This very good-looking man—she couldn’t help noticing, tired as she was. He had strong, angular features that were not quite regular, a square jaw, a nose just a bit crooked. Dark, compelling eyes. A very masculine face. All of him was definitely very masculine—the broad chest, the muscular legs and arms, nicely tanned, all radiating a disturbing virility. She was aware of it even through the fog of her fatigue. Gina would be happy to know all her female hormones were still alive and kicking.
“Didn’t you get my messages?” he asked, taking a drink from his glass. Feet planted squarely on the floor, he looked as if he owned the place. “I called several times yesterday and today and left messages on the machine.” His voice held a vague note of reproof, which she did not appreciate.
“No, I didn’t,” she said tightly. She hadn’t checked the answering machine, which was in Andrew’s office and out of sight. She’d been too busy and too tired and too preoccupied. Actually, she’d plain forgotten. Not having had an answering machine in her apartment, she was not in the habit of checking one.
“You must be Samantha,” he stated.
He knew her name. “And you must be David,” she said promptly, and watched his eyebrows shoot up.
“I thought you didn’t get the messages I left you?”
“I didn’t.” She took a step back. He was looming over her.
“But you know my name.”
Oh, no. This could not be true. She swallowed a little laugh. “I was just guessing,” she said, trying to sound casual. David. His name was David!
“Just guessing?” he repeated. “Out of thousands of possibilities, you come up with David? Why?”
Because you reminded me of Michelangelo’s David standing there naked by the pool.
She wasn’t about to tell him that. Instead, she shrugged and managed a cool look. “Yes. Sometimes I do that. Guess, I mean. People look like their names sometimes. You look like a David.”
“Ah,” he said. “Well, good. I wouldn’t like to look like a Flip or a Bucky.”
His tone was dry, and she caught a glimmer of humor in his eyes. She wondered if it had been there all along and he was laughing at her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and crossed her arms defensively in front of her chest, wishing she didn’t feel so puny with her five foot three inches and one hundred and eight pounds. “So who are you and what are you doing here in my house?” Oddly, she felt no fear. This big man emanated strength, but she registered no threat to her physical safety. “I could call the police, you know,” she added bravely.
He was not impressed by her threat. He quirked an eyebrow, his expression indicating that the very idea of his being mistrusted was rather amusing.
“This is not your house,” he said calmly, taking another leisurely drink. “This is Susan and Andrew McMillan’s house and I am David McMillan, Andrew’s cousin.”
Yes, Your Majesty, she was tempted to say.
“Oh,” she said instead, sounding not very bright. She squared her shoulders. “But I am house-sitting for them and what right do you have to come barging in here disturbing my privacy?”
“It was not my intention to do any barging and disturbing,” he said soberly. “That’s why I made all these calls, none of which you returned. However, I do need a place to stay for the next few months and I did have a key and—”
“What?” Sam’s heart crashed into her shoes. “You’re going to move into the house?” A surge of adrenaline momentarily revived her. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “No way! You are not moving in here!” So brave she sounded. As if she could prevent him from doing anything he might want to do—this man with his perfect physique and well-trained muscles.
He tossed back the rest of his drink and smiled benignly. “Oh, yes, I am, Samantha Bennett.”
She stared at him, feeling helpless rage. Her head began to throb. She was so tired. She had the sudden, frightening urge to burst out into tears, which she hadn’t done in years. Something was seriously wrong with her. First hallucinating, now crying. No, she hadn’t been hallucinating, after all. Seeing David McMillan standing starkers in the moonlight had not been the delusion of an overwrought mind. It had been plain reality. She rubbed her forehead, trying to erase the image from her mind. She was in no state to contemplate a naked male.
She was uncomfortably aware of his scrutiny, the dark eyes intent on her face. He moved toward her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Sit down,” he ordered. “You look as if you’re about to collapse.” He eased her into a chair at the kitchen table. She sagged down like a bag of potatoes, too tired to fight his order. A moment later he put a glass with a measure of whiskey in front of her and seated himself across from her at the table.
“You have nothing to worry about,” he said calmly. “I’m not a mass murderer or a rapist or a con artist—which is easy for me to say, I’m well aware, but we can try to contact Susan and Andrew by phone tomorrow so they can set your mind at ease.”
“We can call them now,” she said. He was taking control of the situation and she didn’t like it.
“We could, but it’s the dead of night in Turkey and I’m not sure they’d appreciate it. Now, drink up. It’ll calm your nerves.”
She gritted her teeth and glared at him. “Do you always order people around?”
Surprise flared in his dark eyes, as if he had never considered the issue. Then the left corner of his mouth lifted with faint amusement. “Yes,” he said. “Now, relax, woman, and have that drink.”
Sam gave up. She gazed down into the amber liquid and winced at the smell of it. “I can’t. It will make me sick. I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast.”
“You do have a bit of a hungry look about you,” he commented. “I’ll fix you a sandwich.” He came to his feet, all six-two or-three inches of brown muscled manhood towering over her. He was a man used to being in charge, that was clear. A man used to giving orders. And being obeyed.
She didn’t have the strength to oppose him, didn’t even have the strength to come to her feet and walk to her bedroom, so she sat there like a zombie and watched him deftly assemble a huge ham and cheese sandwich, adorned with lettuce and tomato.
“Milk?” he asked. “Tea, coffee?”
“Milk. If there is any.”
“There is. I brought some groceries with me when I came this afternoon.”
A good thing, too, Sam thought, because there wasn’t much in the house. She watched him take a carton of milk out of the refrigerator and pour her a glass. His hand was big and strong, like everything else about him.
It all seemed so ordinary, sitting here in a kitchen with another person who was fixing her something to eat. It wasn’t ordinary. She didn’t know this man and he was sharing this house with her. And here he was, wrapped only in a towel, and she herself with nothing on under her skimpy little robe.
Maybe all of this was a dumb dream and she would wake up and find it was morning and none of this had actually happened. If she told Gina about this nocturnal fantasy, her friend would tell her it was Sam’s feminine side trying to get through to her on a subconscious level. You need a man, she’d say. Well, Sam didn’t need a man. She needed a college degree and financial security, thank you.
“I didn’t hear you come home,” he said. “I didn’t see a car.” His voice was deep, resonating somewhere deep inside her, disturbing her in a way she didn’t want to be disturbed.
“I came home walking.” Between bites and sips she told him what had happened to the car, not caring he might think it was pretty stupid to run out of gas.
“You look exhausted,” he observed. “Like someone who hasn’t had a lot of fun lately.”
“I haven’t.” Well, it was the truth. “I work for my grandfather, and he’s getting old and temperamental and I worry about him.” Why was she saying this? It wasn’t her habit to say things like this to strangers.
“What do you do?”
She gave a low laugh. “That depends on who you ask. He’ll tell you I’m his little granddaughter helping him out at the office. He owns a furniture retail store.”
David gave her a considering look. “But you’re running the whole show?”
She nodded. “He pretends he doesn’t know it, but I’m sure he does. Business has been slowing down a lot over the last few years and I don’t know how long we can hold out, but…” She sighed. “It’s like he doesn’t want to see it.”
She hadn’t had a raise in years; the money simply wasn’t there. With more and more big furniture super-stores opening in the area, there was no chance of survival. That was why she was getting her degree: paper qualifications to back up her working experience. She intended to find a job that would offer her good career possibilities and decent money. She had her son to plan for. Kevin was only ten now, but in another eight years he’d be off to college.
She sighed and took another bite of the sandwich. Kevin was spending the summer in Florida with her sister and brother-in-law who ran recreational and educational camps for kids all year around. He was having a wonderful time, and it gave Sam the opportunity to take extra classes at night and not worry about whether she was leaving him alone too much. Still, she missed him and looked forward to the end of summer when he’d be back. She’d have to find an apartment by then, too. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her forehead. She didn’t want to have to think about that now.
“Are you all right?” Concern in the man’s voice.
She glanced up at him, standing near her chair. “I’m fine…just tired.” Her plate was empty, the sandwich finished. She’d practically wolfed it down. “I’ve got to get some sleep, though.”
In order to do that she’d first have to get up from her chair. She wasn’t sure she could summon the strength; she felt as if she weighed a thousand pounds—inert, immovable. She had no choice but to try. Pushing her chair back, she came awkwardly to her feet, felt her body reeling, struggling for balance.
“Easy…” He moved forward, reached out a hand to steady her.
Devoid of energy, her body would not obey. It landed softly and neatly against his, like a rag doll.
She was dizzily conscious of his arm around her back, holding her. Felt her cheek against the warmth of his naked chest.
It felt very nice, very safe.
Safe. She let out a sigh. It had been a long time since she’d felt safe.
Drawing in a slow, deep breath, she smelled the warm, male scent of his skin, felt the chest hair tickling her cheek. This was a dream. Her mind was playing tricks with her again, but she didn’t care. Dreaming was safe.
He had a strong chest, a strong, hard body that was holding her so comfortably, as if she belonged there and she had no worries and all was well with her world. Ah, bliss.
Then she felt something else, something more than comfort. The pounding of her heart, or was it his? The warmth rushing through her body. And the heat of his, against her.
She froze as the realization of what was happening dawned on her, clearing her mind instantly. Fearful embarrassment rushed through her on a wave of adrenalin and she drew back, her legs trembling precariously.
“I’m sorry… I…”
He gave a crooked smile. His hands were on her upper arms, steadying her. “Don’t be. I like goodnight hugs.”
She’d noticed. She stared at him. “I…” She couldn’t even think of what she was trying to say.
“Come on, let me walk you to your room.”
She drew back some more. “No, no. I’m fine, really.” She turned quickly. “Goodnight,” she managed.
“Goodnight, Samantha.” Did she hear amusement in his voice? She wasn’t sure.

Am I nuts? she asked herself as she lay in bed. Should I just be going to sleep with that stranger roaming free in the house? A stranger she had unintentionally managed to get sexually excited. Sam groaned into her pillow. Did she believe what he’d said, that he was Andrew’s cousin?
Well, he did look like Andrew, actually. They both were dark and tall, both had that air of confidence and command. They could have been brothers instead of cousins. Which proved nothing about David’s purity of character and intentions. What was he doing here, anyway? She hadn’t even asked. What was the matter with her? Where was her brain?
She pulled the sheet up over her head. She didn’t care where it was. All she cared about now was some sleep. Deep, restorative sleep.
Birdsong awoke her the next morning. The room was full of sunshine. For a moment she lay basking in it like a lazy cat, then she leaped out of bed. The car! She needed to get gas. She was late!
The man! There was a strange man in the house. Her heart turned over as disturbing memories flashed through her mind. The scent of his skin, the feel of his hard body against her. She took a deep breath. She had no time to think about that now. She didn’t even want to think about it whether she had time or not.
She had a quick shower, dressed in a navy skirt and a white blouse, twisted her hair on top of her head, put some lipstick on, got her things together and rushed to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee greeted her, and she noticed David in shorts and T-shirt sitting on the deck reading the paper, looking as if he owned the place, looking as if he had all the time in the world. Well, maybe he had. He came to his feet when he caught sight of her, wishing her a good morning. He followed her into the kitchen.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Yes, and I apologize for the…er…Victorian virgin routine last night,” she added before she could think about it. She glanced away. “I really didn’t mean to…uh—”
“Neither did I,” he said smoothly. “Breakfast? I’ll do the honors.”
Cool as a cucumber, he was; she had to admire that. She shook her head. “I’ve got to run. I’m late.”
“You’re out of gas,” he reminded her.
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I know.” She poured herself some coffee. “I’m going to take Susan’s car to get some gas, put it in mine, bring back hers, walk back to mine and leave.”
“Much too complicated,” he stated in a no-nonsense tone. “I’ll come with you. That’ll save you the hike back to your car.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Of course I don’t have to.” He put a piece of wholegrain bread in the toaster. “But I will.”
It would be a big help, of course, yet his take-charge attitude irritated her.
“Why?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you always so suspicious?”
She shrugged and sipped the coffee. It was wonderful, very strong and flavorful. “When it comes to men, yes.” Her words surprised her—she wasn’t normally so confrontational with strangers, yet this man had an odd effect on her equilibrium. And she felt defensive about her idiotic move of practically fainting in his arms last night and the embarrassing result.
“Sorry to hear that.” He reached for his cup. “Did you have a bad experience for which all men will pay for ever and ever?”
She stared at him, feeling an odd quiver of fear. Had he guessed? Could he tell?
She thought of Jason, who’d left her stranded with a newborn baby. They’d married right out of high school and Jason had wanted nothing more than for them to have a baby right away. Yet four months after Kevin was born he’d had enough of fatherhood, packed up and left. Three days later he’d died in a construction accident, leaving her a widow at nineteen with a tiny baby to care for. She couldn’t believe what had happened to her, to him. How could he have left her and the baby he’d said he wanted so much? He’d planned and saved, saying he made enough money as a construction worker for them to afford a baby; really, there was no need to wait until she’d finished college and had a job, too. It had taken a long time before she’d ever understood Jason’s true motivation for wanting a baby, and it hadn’t really had anything to do with fatherhood. It’d had everything to do with sabotaging her education because he’d felt threatened by her ambition. Not that he would have ever owned up to such a feeling of inadequacy.
Things had not been what they seemed. Jason had had a side to him she hadn’t known. It terrified her to realize how foolish and naïve she had been to allow herself to be manipulated by him, how little she had understood him, herself.
And here was David, asking if she’d had a bad experience as if he could see straight into her soul.
She took a sip of the hot coffee. “I’m just not terribly trusting,” she said, trying to sound casual about it. “That’s all.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, my motives for wanting to be helpful are based on the fact that I prefer peace over war. Since we’re going to be sharing this house and this kitchen, it appears to me that being able to get along is not a bad idea.” He smiled. “So, if you’ll find the keys to Susan’s car, we can get going and solve your little gas problem.”
Sometimes her imagination got in the way. It had been well-applied when Kevin was little and she’d spent hours telling him fantastic tales she’d just made up on the spot, wild stories and adventures he had loved hearing. Her active imagination was not necessarily a blessing now, but there it was. What if this guy wasn’t who he said he was? What if he was a sophisticated, clever con man? What if he took off in Susan’s car? What if he emptied out the house after she’d gone to work? She grew suddenly hot and cold with trepidation. She had taken on responsibility for her friend’s house and possessions. Shouldn’t she do something?
“Do you have some form of identification?” she heard herself ask. “I was so tired last night I couldn’t see straight.” He probably was not used to having his identity, or his command questioned, but if it made him angry then so be it.
His mouth quirked, or maybe she imagined it. Without comment he whipped a leather wallet out of his back pocket and produced a driver’s license.
David Colin McMillan, it said. And even on the picture he was drop-dead gorgeous. Nobody looked good on a driver’s license mugshot.
“So, where’s your car?” she asked, aware her body was tense. It wasn’t easy questioning this big, intimidating man now that she was in full control of her faculties. “I didn’t see one in the drive when I came home last night.”
“Don’t have one.”
She handed him back his license. “You don’t have a car? How did you get here?”
“I was dropped off.” He put the license back in his wallet and fished the toast out of the toaster.
“But what are you going to do without a car?”
“I’ll be using Susan’s until I get myself one.”
She didn’t like the sound of this. How could he not have a car? Who in this day and age could get around without a car unless they lived in a big city? This was the boon-docks. It was miles and miles from town. No buses, no trains, no public transportation of any sort.
Maybe he didn’t have a car because he had just been released from prison. Or had escaped. Just because he was Andrew’s cousin it didn’t mean he wasn’t a criminal. What a nightmare.
Oh, please, a more rational part of her said, get a grip.
He gave her a sideways glance. “Relax, Sam.” There was no escaping the humor in his voice and it annoyed her.
“I am relaxed,” she said tightly.
“Right. Like a violin string. I don’t have a car because I’ve just returned from living overseas for three years.”
Good story, she thought. Just substitute jail for overseas and there you go.
Oh, stop it! she said to herself.
“I want to talk to Susan before we leave,” she said, trying to sound assertive. “Just a moment, please.” She went into Andrew’s office, found the number they’d left her, and dialed. Somewhere in Turkey the phone rang and rang. No one answered. She replaced the receiver with a bang, frustrated and angry. Now what was she supposed to do?
Oh, to hell with it, she muttered to herself, taking Susan’s car keys from the desk drawer. She found David in the kitchen making a sandwich out of two pieces of toast with cheese. “Let’s go,” she said, the smell of toast making her feel suddenly ravenously hungry.
“Here,” he said, handing her the toast sandwich. “You can eat it in the car.”
She took the proffered food. “Thank you.” She marched out of the kitchen into the garage with him right behind her. She tossed him the keys. “You can drive.”
“Thank you,” he said dryly. “Did you talk to Susan?”
“No. No one answered the phone. I thought they were in a hotel. Don’t these desk people pick up the phone when it rings?”
“Not necessarily, no,” he said dryly.
He opened the door for her, like a true gentleman, and she disposed of her book bag on the back seat and slid into the passenger seat. She took a big bite from the toast. The cheese was melting and it tasted delicious. Sharp cheddar, she noted. She liked strong flavors—and apparently he did, too, because he must have bought the cheese.
“Why the book bag?” he asked as he sat down, pushed the remote control to open the garage doors and started the engine. “If I may ask.”
With her mouth full of food, it took a moment before she could answer. “I’m going to night school. I don’t have time to come home after work, so I bring my stuff.”
He eased the car out of the garage and down the drive, the door closing behind them automatically. “What are you studying?”
“Business administration.”
He nodded. “Very practical, very marketable,” he commented, his voice level.
She didn’t know why his comment put her on the defensive. He was echoing her own opinion, so why did she feel this way? What was wrong with being practical? With learning skills that were marketable?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Not that it was where she’d dreamed of being, long ago, when she was younger and freer. She’d wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, always. Instead she’d ended up in her grandfather’s furniture business.
Because of Jason.
No, because she’d allowed herself to be manipulated by Jason. A treacherous mixture of anger and regret sneaked up on her. She pushed the feeling aside impatiently and took another bite of the sandwich. It was nice of David to have made her this. Last night he had fed her, too. You do have a bit of a hungry look about you, he’d said. Well, next to his huge frame she didn’t amount to much, and it might be getting less. Her skirts had been a bit loose lately.
She had finished eating by the time they passed by her car, sitting forlornly by the road. It was a ghastly shade of green and was hard to miss. She’d bought it second-hand some years ago and in spite of its lurid color it had done her excellent service, for which she thanked the gods.
“That your car?” he inquired, as if there were much doubt. It was the only unattended vehicle they had passed.
She nodded.
“Interesting color,” he stated.
She gave him a suspicious look and caught the glint of amusement in his eyes. “All I care about is that it’s reliable and doesn’t break down on me every other week.”
“Very practical, aren’t you?”
“Something wrong with that?” she asked with a touch of hauteur, feeling the little defensive devil stirring in her again. She tried not to give it space.
“Certainly not.” He looked straight ahead at the road. “Where’s the gas station?”
“Take a right at the next intersection, then three miles down.”
She couldn’t help looking at his hands as they handled the steering wheel with competence. No rings. He was in his mid-thirties, she guessed, and she wondered if he was married, or had been married, and if he had kids, and why he was staying at the McMillans’ house. Didn’t he have a place to call home? The thoughts came automatically, and she was annoyed with herself for giving them room. She didn’t care about the answers. She didn’t even care why he was staying at the house, only that he was staying there. Because she didn’t want him there. It was disturbing her peace and reeked of trouble.
She had no time for trouble.
She had no time for anything except studying and passing her tests.
“So, what did you do overseas?” she asked, for something to say. Actually, if she were honest, she was a tiny bit curious about it.
“Built a bridge.” He was a civil engineer, he told her, working mostly on foreign contracts, building roads and dams and bridges. He’d just returned from Bolivia, where he’d worked on a construction project building a bridge across one of the tributaries of the Amazon. Before that he’d been to places she wasn’t sure she could find on a map.
It was easy to see him in some exotic, tropical place, bare-chested, with a hard hat on his head, directing a crew of construction workers.
They’d arrived at the gas station and David leaped out of the car before she’d even opened her door.
“I’ll take care of this,” he said, and strode away before she could object. She sat back and shrugged. Okay, let him, she thought. She watched him come out of door with a container, watched him fill it from one of the pumps, having first slid a credit card through the payment machine.
“How much was it?” she asked when he got back in the car.
He waved his hand. “Forget it.”
“No,” she said tightly. “I will not.”
He flashed her a probing look and fished the receipt from the breast pocket of his T-shirt. “Here you go.”
She glanced at it, got the money from her purse and handed it to him. “Thank you for helping me out.”
“You’re welcome,” he said soberly.
There was something about him that was beginning to annoy her. She had this suspicious feeling that he was laughing at her, that for some reason he found her amusing.
Back at her ugly green car, he emptied the container of gas into her tank. She thanked him again for his help, and with a sigh of relief she took off down the road, alone again, oh, bliss, and not even late.
Now, if only he didn’t steal Susan’s car and the contents of the house…

David watched her drive off. He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen a woman looking that tired and vulnerable and so in need of a warm hug. He grinned. Well, he’d given her one, even if it had unintentionally turned out to be more than a hug of the brotherly variety. The instant physical reaction he had experienced at the feel of her body in his arms had surprised even him. He wasn’t exactly eighteen anymore.
She had gorgeous big, expressive eyes and a wonderful mass of naturally curly chestnut hair that tempted touching and stroking. She stirred up his protective instincts, but clearly that wasn’t all.
He sat in the car without moving for a while, surprised by his feelings. Good feelings, healthy feelings. Feelings he hadn’t felt for a long time, and a deep longing suddenly filled his heart.
Then fear rushed in.
He rubbed his face as if to clear his mind and turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred into life. He drove back to the house and went to work, writing an article on managing engineering projects in developing countries, where time was a stretchable commodity, skilled labor was difficult to find and cultural differences imposed unexpected problems. Working for three years in the jungle without losing your mind was no small feat, and he certainly had learned a lot—about himself as well as the job.
Come to think of it, he was tired, too.
Mostly, though, he was tired of being alone.

When Sam arrived home that night after class, she was afraid to look in the direction of the pool in case she saw David in all his unclad glory standing in the moonlight.
She looked anyway; she just couldn’t help herself.
Nothing. Nobody. She let out a sigh, struggled out of the car with her book bag and purse and trekked to the back door and into the house.
Music greeted her, rippling and dancing joyfully through the air. Wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, David sat at the dining room table pounding away at a laptop with impressive speed. The table was strewn with papers and blueprints. His concentration was so intensive it took him a full minute before he noticed her. He grinned at her as his focus cleared.
“Ah, you’ve returned from the world of commerce and academia. How are you?”
“Exhausted.”
He leaped to his feet with an explosion of energy that took her off guard. “How about a swim?” he asked. “And a glass of wine to wind down?”
A swim. A glass of wine. It sounded heavenly. It was a balmy night. It would feel good. She imagined herself in the pool with David, sipping wine, her body floating in the warm water, the sky full of stars above, and her heart began to gallop. Her imagination was running wild again. It was crazy. She didn’t even like the man. He was looming over her, and she didn’t like that either. She took a step back.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ve got things to do.” Laundry, for one. More useful than gazing at the moon.
“You’re a very busy person,” he observed.
“Yes, I am.”
He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and gave her a searching look. “What do you normally do in your free time?” he asked conversationally.
“I don’t have any.”
“Never?”
“Not lately, anyway.” Not since she’d taken the extra summer courses. “I work, go to classes, study, take care of the house.” Fortunately housework didn’t require much time; Susan had insisted her regular cleaning lady keep coming at least once a week, and the yard was taken care of by a gardener. She never saw either of these people because she was never at home during the day. “If there’s time left, I sleep,” she added. “Or at least I try.”
His left eyebrow arched up. “No frivolity at all? No romance, no fun?”
“I haven’t got time.” Romance? she added silently. Are you kidding? “And now, if you’ll excuse me?” She trekked down the hall to her bedroom, changed into shorts and T-shirt and headed to the laundry room. The dryer held clothes she’d done two days earlier and hadn’t yet taken out. She dumped them on the folding table and found David behind her as she picked up a pair of cotton panties to fold them. He was leaning against the door, a glass of white wine in each hand.
“Have one of these while you’re doing that,” he said easily.
The last thing she needed was for him to stand there watching her fold her underwear, her practical, serviceable cotton panties. He’d been here barely twenty-four hours and he was getting on her nerves already. She suppressed the urge to tell him to get lost.
What she’d really like was a drink to help her relax. And he was offering her one. Oh, what the heck, why not? She dropped the panties back on the pile, accepted the glass from him and took a sip. “Thank you,” she said politely, caving in to civility. She tried not to see how good he looked wearing just jeans and a T-shirt-lean, muscular, fit. Of course she saw anyway.
“I’ve been trying to contact Susan and Andrew today,” he said, “but it seems they’ve disappeared in the Turkish hinterland. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
She frowned. “Why were you trying to contact them?” After all, he wasn’t the one worried about the situation.
“So they can reassure you about my presence here, tell you I’m an upstanding citizen and not an escaped convict or whatever you might have imagined,” he said levelly. Again the humor in his voice. As if the very idea of someone finding him suspicious was exceedingly comical.
She took another sip of the wine. “I see. Well, I do like to hear from them.” She picked up a towel and folded it, hoping he’d go away, but he seemed perfectly content lounging against the doorpost, drinking his wine in a leisurely way.
She concentrated on folding the towels, trying not to look at him. She wished he weren’t so damned good-looking. It was having a disturbing effect on her equilibrium. She had enough problems in her life; she didn’t need a man to add to them. And certainly not a take-charge type like this one.
“So, what have you been doing all day?” she asked casually. Not that she cared, of course.
“Had a good long run this morning, made some phone calls, did some reading, some writing.”
“Sounds pretty strenuous,” she said evenly.
“It was very restorative, actually.”
Restorative? He didn’t look like anyone in need of restoration.
“More wine?” he asked, reaching for her empty glass, and before she even thought about it she had agreed, and he left to go to the kitchen to get it. She was an idiot. She’d never get rid of him this way.
And, of course, the inevitable happened.
The wine loosened her tongue, as it always did. Just two small glasses was all it took. Fifteen minutes later she found herself sitting at the kitchen table, telling him about her horrible day and her cranky grandfather who lived in the Stone Age when it came to running a business, and that she was worried about him and the future of the store, and that she’d been friends with Susan since high school, and how she’d cried for days when her dog had died when she was twelve, and that she needed to find an apartment by the end of August because Kevin had to start school again, and all kinds of other boring things he couldn’t possibly be interested in.
She stopped talking, embarrassed suddenly. What had possessed her to tell all this to this man? It was that sexy voice of his, a voice that beckoned, tempted: Come here, let me hold you, I’ll make you safe. As if she lived in the Dark Ages and needed protection. Like the Prince coming to rescue Cinderella from her dreary lot.
The wine…it was the wine making her say things, think things, making her all maudlin. Good thing she hadn’t started telling him about Jason leaving her and her parents drowning, or she’d be sitting here now bawling her eyes out.
“Kevin?” he asked.
She swallowed. “My son. He’s at summer camp right now, in Florida.”
“You have a kid,” he said, as if trying out the sound of it. “Imagine that. How old is he?”
“Ten.”
His eyes widened, his brows arched. “Ten? Good Lord…” A quizzical expression darkened his face.
She could imagine what he was thinking. She looked young for her age and could easily pass for twenty-four or-five instead of twenty-nine. She really couldn’t blame people for wondering about her having a ten-year-old son, yet it irritated her. She looked straight at him. “And just for your information, no, I wasn’t an unwed mother, and I didn’t ‘have to’ get married.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” he said dryly. “I’m not sure I could have lived under the same roof as you—you being a loose woman with all those sinful secrets in your past and all.”
She glowered at him and he laughed.
She came to her feet. “I’ve got to get some sleep,” she said, and moved to the door.
“And I’m going to have a swim.” He rotated his shoulders as if they felt tight. “It’s a great night. Sure you don’t want to join me?”
“Yes—no, thank you.”
She lay in bed thinking about him swimming in the pool. Would he be wearing swimming trunks?
She turned her face in the pillow and groaned. “You are so pathetic,” she told herself out loud. “You’re acting like a teenager obsessed with nudity and sex. Get a grip on yourself, will you?”
Well, it had been an awfully long time since she’d been in the arms of a man. And under the right circumstances, and with the right man, that was really a very nice place to be. Last night her tired brain had played tricks with her and she’d been momentarily deluded. She should just forget about it.
“Oh, go to sleep,” she muttered into the pillow.
So she did.
And she dreamed.
She was swimming in the pool with David and they had no clothes on. It felt wonderful and quite all right because they’d known each other for a long time and he was so familiar to her. And then they were in bed together and he was holding her, just holding her.

Heart pounding, David watched her lying on the ground, her clothes muddy, a dry leaf caught in her pale hair. She made no sound, no movement. He could not help her, he could do nothing but watch her, powerless, while birds chirped cheerfully in the trees and a sweet summer breeze whispered through the lush greenery. He stood there, paralyzed, until pure panic hit him and he was awake, drenched in sweat, his heart racing in terror.
He sat up in bed, turned on the bedside lamp and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, please, not again,” he muttered. “Not again.”
After some time he got to his feet, pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and went into the kitchen and poured himself a measure of Scotch. He carried it out onto the deck and drank it slowly, standing at the railing. He stared up at the stars, concentrated on his breathing and tried to empty his mind, to think of nothing—a meditation technique someone had taught him when he’d found himself in the derelict little hospital on that godforsaken island in the China Sea. Giggling little nurses, cats in the hallway. And then that funny little Buddhist monk.
And then, to his own surprise and relief, he found himself smiling.
The night air was pleasantly cool. Crickets and other insects cheeped and buzzed, vibrating the air. For a long time, he simply stood there.

CHAPTER THREE
“ARE you crazy?” Gina yelled at Sam over the telephone the next afternoon. “You’re letting that guy stay with you in the house? And you don’t even know if he’s telling the truth?”
“I don’t have much of a choice,” Sam said, leaning back from her desk at the office. “I can hardly throw him out, can I? He’s six foot two or three and he’s got muscles on him you wouldn’t believe. Not body-builder muscles, mind you, but the real, natural variety.”
There was a silence, then a smothered laugh. “Oh, yeah, Michelangelo’s David. So, what’s his name?”
Sam grinned into the receiver. “David, of course.”
“Oh, no! You’re kidding!”
“No, I’m not kidding. David McMillan. Andrew’s cousin, or so he says. Well, actually, I believe him; I saw his driver’s license.”
“Oh, wow,” Gina said. “Think of the possibilities here! The two of you in the same house!”
“I don’t want him in the same house!”
“It could be such pleasant distraction, Sam, think about it.”
“I can’t afford to think about it! I’ve got to study. I’ve got to get my degree!”
Next year she’d be thirty. No longer young, but at least educated.
She felt a sudden, treacherous longing. She wanted to be young and have some fun, go places, do things, not worry so much, be free. Being the mother of a small child, she hadn’t had much of that in her twenties—and she wasn’t going to have much of it for the rest of her life if she didn’t take charge of her future—get educated, get a career. First.
Gina’s long-suffering sigh floated down the phone line. “Your aspirations are all very commendable, Sam, but surely you can fit in a little fun with a handsome guy once in a while, before all your hormones dry up?”
Now, that sounded lovely. “No, I have no time,” she said stubbornly. “It will have to wait.”
“Is he rich?”
“Is he rich?” Sam groaned and rolled her eyes. Gina, in one of her pretend shallow moods. “I have no idea.” Being one of the McMillan clan, he probably was, but she hadn’t given it a thought.
“Well, does he look rich?”
“Like how?”
Gina sighed. “You’re hopeless. His clothes, his car, his watch, his briefcase—you know, that sort of thing.”
Sam pushed her cold coffee aside. “I haven’t seen a briefcase. I’ve paid no attention to his watch and, besides, I wouldn’t know a designer watch from a dime store special. And he just wears shorts and T-shirts and he doesn’t have a car. He’s buying one, he says.”
“What kind?”
“I didn’t ask! Sheesh, Gina, what’s with you?”
“This floor is no fun today—my patients are not responding to my tender loving care by getting better and waltzing out of here, so I’m in serious need of a fantasy to keep me from wallowing in despair. And this sounds like a really good one, so work with me, will you?”
“Having a rough day?”
“Nothing but tragedy. You don’t want to hear about it, believe you me. So, tell me, what type is this David? I mean, what kind of car do you think he belongs in?”
Sam contemplated this for a moment. “A fancy sports car, I suppose. Something low and sleek and very expensive.”
“Cool. Just my kind of man. If you don’t want him, I might come over and have a look at him. By the way, is he married, or attached?”
“Last time I heard, you were attached,” Sam said dryly. “Engaged to be married, in fact. To the most wonderful man in the world.”
Another sigh. “Oh, right. I forgot.”

An old pick-up truck lounged in the driveway when Sam arrived home at ten that evening. It was a garish red and had a dent in one of the fenders. A purple bumper sticker proclaimed that the end of the world was near and it was time to repent.
“Whose pick-up is that?” she asked when she found David watching the international news on television.
“Mine. I bought it today.”
“Wow,” she said, dropping her purse and book bag. “And I had you pegged as a Ferrari type.”
“Really?” Again the spark of humor in his eyes. “I’m more of a Maserati man. But I had to be practical.”
“Practical?” Now this was getting good. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
He nodded. “I had to consider the fact that I’ll be transporting construction material rather than loose, empty-headed blondes with long flowing hair.”
“How depressing,” she said mockingly. “You’ll never get them into that truck.”
He sighed. “I know. I suppose I’d better get myself a Maserati as well.”
“Why did you buy a used car instead of a new one?”
He shrugged. “I don’t need a new one. I’m only going to use it for a few months. Besides, I just happened to see it sitting by the road with a ‘For Sale’ sign on it and it spoke to me.”
“It spoke to you?”
“Yes. It has…character, a certain je ne sais quoi with that sexy dent, and that passionate red color and that purple sticker.”
She laughed; she couldn’t help it.
“And I think it looks just perfect parked next to that lurid green car of yours.”
“Don’t offend my car.”
“Okay,” he said amiably, and leaped off the couch again, the way he had the night before. He might be a laid-back sort of person, but there certainly was plenty of energy hiding in that body.
An image flashed through her mind—a tiger lounging on a tree branch. The vision so surprised her, she almost laughed out loud.
David switched off the television set. “There’s a fax from Susan for you,” he told her. “It’s in Andrew’s office.”
And so there was. Sam read it standing up by the fax machine. Susan said they’d been stuck in a remote Turkish mountain village with car trouble, but they’d had a wonderful time. She waxed lyrical about the food, the people, the beauty of the landscape. They’d just returned to their hotel in Istanbul and David had called them on the phone. She was very sorry they’d been out of reach for the last few days and had been unable to reassure her that David truly was Andrew’s beloved cousin and an honorable, trustworthy human being, if a bit off-center at times, which was to be expected of people roaming the globe and sojourning in exotic places.
Sam grinned. Off-center. Well, that would explain that red truck.
David, Susan went on to explain, had been expected to stay with them in the fall, to build himself a cabin on the north end of their property. But, since his plans had changed, Susan hoped sincerely Sam didn’t mind if he stayed at the house while she was there.
Since she and Andrew would be asleep by the time Sam would come home, she’d written the fax instead of calling later.
Sam read the fax twice. Well, there it was. Just as he had told her. Except he hadn’t said anything about building a cabin—but then she hadn’t asked, either. That was why he had bought the pick-up truck, she realized.
There was something odd about it all, though. Why was David McMillan building a cabin? The McMillan family was wealthy; she knew that from Susan’s stories about her in-laws. Why not build a proper house? Why not buy a house?
She’d seen him naked, but she knew very little about this man—his life, his work, his character. Nothing except that he wasn’t a criminal on the loose, and that he was going to share the house with her.
She didn’t like it. She wanted peace and quiet. She wanted the house to herself. It was not to be. She looked down at the fax in her hand, crumpled, her hands clenched into fists.
Back in the living room, she found David with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Music undulated through the room, something vibrant and seductive—Brazilian jazz? David McMillan seemed to have a thing for sensuous music.
“Shall we celebrate?” he asked, filling the glasses.
“Celebrate what?” There wasn’t anything to celebrate as far as she was concerned. On the contrary; she felt like mourning the loss of her precious privacy and isolation.
“The truth,” said David. “That I am a man with only the purest of intentions.”
“Susan didn’t say that. She said you were a tad off-center.”
His brows arched. “She said I was off-center?”
“Didn’t you read the fax?”
“Certainly not. It wasn’t addressed to me.” He handed her a glass, then took his own and lifted it. “To a pleasant cohabitation,” he toasted.
She had no choice but to lift her glass and clink it with his and meet his eyes. Brown eyes with the devil dancing in them.
A pleasant cohabitation. Oh, please! What a nightmare!
And then it got worse. He invited her to dinner on Saturday night when she had no classes, and she said, no, she didn’t have time, she had to prepare for a test and do some grocery shopping. And, as she was saying this, a small voice somewhere inside her inquired if she were insane. Here was a handsome man with pure intentions inviting her to dinner and when was the last time she’d come across a man with pure intentions?
She took a sip of the champagne, felt the music stroke her senses, triggering images and feelings. She’d never known music could be so…intoxicating.
She took another close look at David’s handsome face, the gleam in his brown eyes. Pure intentions, my foot, she thought.

Sam’s heart made a crazy little leap when David appeared in the kitchen the next morning. She was standing up at the counter, eating a piece of toast, and she almost dropped the knife.
Dressed in a suit and tie, David looked like a different man. Formal, imposing, dynamic…intimidating. Sharp creases in his trousers, high gloss on his black leather shoes. His suit jacket fitted perfectly over his broad shoulders, and his white shirt practically blinded her. A modern god of business and high finance, dressed for battle.
She swallowed her food; she’d stopped chewing as she’d stared at him, practically awestruck.
“Nice tie,” she managed.
“Thank you.” He gave her a crooked smile and reached for the coffee pot.
“I take it you’re not playing construction worker today,” she commented, gathering composure.
He poured coffee in his cup and put the pot down. “No, not today. Have to take care of a little family business this afternoon.”
She wondered what kind of family business required a suit and tie, but thought it better not to ask. She glanced at the clock, put her plate and knife in the dishwasher and picked up her purse and book bag. “Well, I’d better go and help Grandpa.”
He moved toward her unexpectedly, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Don’t work too hard. Take care of yourself,” he said, moving away.
She stared at him, heart galloping. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I wanted to and it seemed like a nice thing to do.” He smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Samantha.”
“Tomorrow? You’re not coming home tonight?”
He grinned. “Don’t look so delighted.”
She shrugged. “Just wondering.”
As she dashed out the door, a sleek, silver-gray limousine glided up the driveway. She caught a glimpse of a chauffeur in uniform.
She sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, boy,” she muttered. She climbed into her ugly green car and drove to work.

Before leaving the house, David glanced in the mirror and adjusted his tie, smiling as he remembered Samantha’s expression at seeing him dressed in a suit. Whenever he thought of her, he found himself smiling.
It had been a while since he’d last worn a suit. He grimaced. Well, he was on family business now and he’d better wear the appropriate costume. Meeting with one of the outside shareholders and convincing the man of the error of his ways was hardly a big job, and a small price to pay for family happiness. He knew how to talk to people, how to get them to do things, how to change their minds and, although he was not involved in the day-to-day running of the company, his talents in the verbal-persuasion department were sometimes called upon.
He found good old Lester waiting for him with the limousine and he smiled in greeting. The man must be a hundred years old by now, he thought with affection. Lester had been around when David had been a little boy roaming the woods of his father’s property, pretending to be an explorer in the jungles of Africa.
“Good morning, sir!” said Lester, his wrinkled face all smiles.
“Good morning, Lester. How are you?”
“Fine, sir, just fine.”
“And the arthritis?”
“Livin’ with it, sir. Just livin’ with it.”
Yes, thought David, some things you just learned to live with. For a fraction of a moment Celia’s face flashed through his mind, then it was gone. He settled himself in the back and opened his briefcase to look over his notes and get ready for his meeting.
Instead, he thought of Samantha, seeing her as she had left that morning to go to work in her grandfather’s store. She wore neat little skirts, ending just at the knee, and proper little blouses. She wore small gold hoops in her ears, and she fiddled with them when her hands were not doing something else. Her shoes were simple flats or low-heeled pumps and she gave a general impression of tidiness and neatness that drove him crazy. He wanted to ruffle her up a bit, loosen a button, hang some dangling earrings in her ears, take her hair down, run his hands through the curls and kiss her silly. She had the sexiest hair he’d seen in a long time, wild and untamable, doing its own thing, in total contrast to the rest of her prim and proper appearance. She obviously tried to tame it by gathering it in a band at the back of her neck, but curly strands were always escaping.
Yet all he had to do was look into those big blue eyes of hers and know that there was more to Sam than the neat package she presented to the world. There was a lot of not-so-tidy stuff churning inside her.
And for some unfathomable reason he felt the need to find out what. And the growing urge to put his arms around her and tell her to relax.

In the muted early-evening sunlight, the large, stone and wood plantation house looked as it always had—solid, immutable, yet with an elegant Southern charm. He had lived here all his childhood, as had his father and grandfather before him. His parents still occupied the house.
The place was surrounded by luxuriant, well-tended gardens beyond which stretched several hundred acres of un-spoiled woodland, all part of the property. His mother awaited him at the door and hugged him. “How did your meeting go?” she asked.
“Everything’s fine, Mother, don’t worry about a thing.”
He found his father in his study, a cigar in one hand and a whiskey in the other, both strictly against doctor’s orders. He was a handsome man with compelling dark eyes and a commanding presence.
“So tell me about your meeting with Sanchez,” his father said after David had poured himself a drink.
“Nothing but a misunderstanding blown out of all proportions. It’s all straightened out and he’ll drop the suit. We’ll need to accommodate him on a few points, but I don’t think it presents a problem.”
His father was pleased with the news, asked for further details and commended David on the way he had handled the affair. “You’re sure you don’t want to join us now that you’re back in the country?” he asked. It was almost a rhetorical question by now, posed whenever the occasion presented itself. The answer had always been no, as it was again today.
The intercom buzzed. “David, Tara is here to see you,” his mother’s voice announced. “She’s in the sitting room.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Having finished his business with his father, David went in search of Tara.
She was sitting in a chair and leaped to her feet when he entered the room, her glossy black hair swinging loose around her shoulders. He had not seen her for a long time, but she was as gorgeous as ever.
He smiled at her. “Hello, Tara.”
“David!” She hugged him. “How’s my favorite cousin?”
He grinned at her. “I’m fine. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m all right.” She stepped back from him and looked him over. “Wow, a suit. You don’t look like you’ve just come out of the jungle.”
“It’s been a few days.”
She sat back down in her chair, crossing her long legs. “Did you manage to get that humongous bridge built?”
He sat down. “Yes, I did.” Against all odds. Every possible complication had presented itself. Still, in the end he’d left the country with the job completed.
“Of course you did.” Tara laughed. “Why did I even ask the question? What David McMillan starts, David McMillan finishes.”
“You make it sound like a character flaw,” he said dryly.
“No, I’m just jealous. You’re so disgustingly competent. I always screw everything up.”
An odd tone of voice, setting off a ripple of alarm in him. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. Just a general statement.” Her voice was breezy. She stood up again. “Let’s find your mother and see if she’ll invite me to dinner.”
He came to his feet as well and put an arm around her shoulders. “You’re invited, Tara.”
It was a pleasant evening. David enjoyed being with his parents, sitting at the familiar table, eating good food, and Tara, irrepressibly cheery, was always good company.
After dinner he excused himself for a few minutes to make a phone call. He dialed the number and a moment later Samantha picked up. She had no classes today, he knew, and she was home.
“Hi, it’s David,” he said.
A short silence. “Hi. Why are you calling?”
“To check up on you.”
“Check up on me?” Her tone of voice indicated she was not pleased with that news.
“To see if you’re home.” He grinned into the mouthpiece.
“Where else would I be?”
“By the side of the road, out of gas, or with a breakdown.”
“Very funny.”
“Not funny, because I’m all the way here and I couldn’t come and rescue you.”
“I don’t need any rescuing,” she said coolly.
“Good. I’m glad. Then I won’t keep you. Goodnight, Samantha.”
“Goodnight, David.”
He put the phone down. He didn’t like that old rattletrap of a car of hers, but she was home safe and sound. He went to the sitting room where the after-dinner coffee and liqueurs were served.
“How long will you be in the country this time?” his father wanted to know.
“For the rest of the summer.” He told them about a project in Mexico in the fall, and that he was building himself a cabin in the woods on a piece of property Susan and Andrew had sold him. It was clear this was news to them and the family grapevine had failed.
“You’re building a cabin?” Tara asked, wide-eyed.
“With my own bare hands,” he said with a grin.
Silence reigned. His mother stared at him. Tara stared at him. His father stared at him. “I thought you’d outgrown that by the time you turned twelve,” his father said finally.
David laughed. Building forts, tree houses and huts in the woods had been fun when he’d been a kid. It would be fun now, as an adult. It appealed to the pioneer in him.
“I think I’ll enjoy it. Using a hammer, saws, nails, elbow grease.” He picked up his coffee cup and smiled at the perplexed faces around the room.
His father gave a long-suffering sigh and closed his eyes briefly. “And I keep hoping you’ll turn out normal eventually.”
David laughed. “Give it up, Dad,” he said.

Sam was in the kitchen cleaning up spilled orange juice when David came home the next evening. She’d only just come home herself, had dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, grabbed the juice from the fridge and promptly dropped the carton.
He came striding through the door, wearing a different suit, equally impressive. He radiated power and energy, looking as if he’d conquered the world, or at least a piece of it. And here she was, barefoot, clutching a mop like a true Cinderella. Late in the day as it was, he still looked dynamic and…well…gorgeous. So gorgeous, in fact, that her breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat at seeing all this male splendor.
Then she saw his smile, and the familiar gleam in his brown eyes. “Don’t look so awestruck, Sam. It’s just a suit.”
Of course it wasn’t just the suit. Thousands of men could wear that suit and not look the way he did. The suit only accentuated what was already part of David—she just hadn’t seen it before, at least not displayed in this way. She gathered her composure and gave him a breezy smile.
“Well, you look quite impressive to a simple country girl like me.”
He waved his hand. “It’s just packaging. Underneath I’m just a simple construction worker.”
Oh, sure. She laughed. “That’s a relief.”
“Why are you mopping the floor at this hour of the day?” he asked.
“I spilled orange juice. The carton slipped right out of my hand.”
“Maybe you weren’t supposed to have orange juice. How about a brandy? Or a glass of wine? I’ll slip into something comfortable and you can tell me about your day.” He said this with a straight face, but his eyes were laughing.
“I’ve got to study.”
“It’s past ten.”
“I know it’s past ten,” she said irritably. “Believe me, I know.” Every part of her body knew, including her brain.
“All right,” he said calmly, “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” He picked up his overnight bag and briefcase and strode down the hall to his room.

He changed into shorts and T-shirt and ambled back to the kitchen, where he kept his own bottle of whiskey for convenience’s sake. The wet bar was elsewhere in the house, well-stocked.
He found Samantha sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a bowl of fruit.
“I thought you had to study.” Her book bag lay on the floor, untouched.
“I do. I just can’t make myself.”
She looked tired. “Go to bed, then.”
“I think maybe I’ll have that glass of wine you mentioned.”
He took the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc out of the fridge and poured her a glass, then had himself a whiskey. He sat down at the table with her.
“So, how was your day?” he asked.
She took a sip of the wine. “I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me about yours.”
“I had a good day, two good days. Visited with my parents, took care of a little business problem, and that’s about it.”
“What kind of company is it your family has? Susan said something about commodities, but I can’t remember.”
“The company deals in commodities, buying and selling on the world market—cacao, sugar, soy beans, rubber, buying and selling futures, crops that have not yet been planted.”
“Seems strange,” she said. “I mean, making money buying and selling stuff that doesn’t even exist.”
Her observation pleased him. “Yes, to me, too. But my brother Anthony loves the game, as he calls it. He seems to thrive on the challenge, the hair-raising stress of it.”
A half-a-cent drop in price could lose them a fortune. A half-a-cent increase could make them one.
“But you don’t?” she asked. “You’re not really working for the McMillan company, are you?”
“No, I just do odd jobs here and there.” He took a drink. “I’ve never been interested in numbers on computer screens. I want to touch things with my hands, build, construct, create a final product.”
“Like bridges and dams?”
“Yeah.” He loved the challenge of doing this in the most difficult of circumstances—dynamiting tunnels through mountainsides, carving roads through seemingly impassable terrain. And in the end he loved the satisfaction of knowing that the structure he’d designed, fought over, struggled with and completed would improve the lives of the people who used it. That decades, maybe even a century from now, it would still be there.
He gave a crooked grin. “Numbers on paper are just dead stuff.”
She rubbed her forehead. “Numbers on papers represent money, or the lack thereof,” she said.
“You’re right. But it just doesn’t do a thing for me.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “You don’t like money?”
He grinned. “I don’t like the numbers game. I like money itself just fine.” It could buy you things—luxury items, physical comfort, people’s time. What it couldn’t do was buy you happiness, love, inner contentment. A lesson he’d had to learn the hard way. He watched Samantha, practically falling asleep as she sat there. She’d drunk only half her wine.
He came to his feet and reached for her hand. “Come on, you need to go to bed,” he said.
She stared at him fuzzily. “I’m not going to bed with you.”
He almost laughed. “Why not? It would be nice.”
She sighed. “It would be stupid.”
“You’re too hard on yourself, and much too serious.”
She pulled her hand free from his and straightened in her chair. “Meaning?” She looked quite awake now.
“A little relaxation is good for the soul. A little recreational lovemaking is good for the soul.”
She gave him a scathing look. “I’m honored you’re so concerned for the welfare of my soul, and so eager to be of assistance.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “I live to serve,” he said.
Samantha was trying to think how they’d arrived at this topic, but couldn’t. She glowered at him. “Is there anything at all that you take serious in life?” she asked, exasperated. What was the matter with this man? He treated everything as a joke, or as inconsequential.
“Not much,” he said amiably, “but some things, yes.”
“Like what? Please tell.”
“A good meal is important. And my health. I take that very seriously. And having friends. And, of course, the agreeable company of a good woman.”
The agreeable company of a good woman? Now she was impressed! “Is that what you’re looking for? The agreeable company of a good woman?” she asked with mild mockery.
He gave a weary sigh. “Yes, but it’s not a simple quest. Good women aren’t easy to find.” He held her gaze and smiled wickedly. “I’m thinking you might be one,” he said slowly.
“Me? Are you out of your mind?”
“Aren’t you a good woman?”
She gave a derisive little laugh. “But I’m not agreeable.”
He gave her a considering look. “You’d be good for me.”
“Me? Hah! Why would I be good for you?”
“You make me laugh.”

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