Rainshadow Road (Friday Harbor #2)(49)

Sam kept his face averted, his throat rippling with hard swallows. “Do something,” he muttered. “Or I’ll…”

Lucy’s eyes went round as she realized he was fighting for control. “What … do you want me to do?”

When Sam could bring himself to answer, a wry note had entered his voice. “Some distraction would be nice.”

Lucy looked down at the periodic table that covered the front of her shirt. “Where is glass?” she asked, trying to read the chemical elements upside down.

“Not on the periodic table. Glass is a compound. It’s mostly silica, which is … crap, I can’t think straight. It’s SiO2. Here…” He touched the Si, which happened to be located high on the right side of her chest. “And here.” The pad of his thumb brushed the O on her left side, close to the tip of her breast.

“Glass also has sodium carbonate,” she said.

“I think that’s…” Sam paused, struggling to concentrate. “… Na2CO3.” He studied the front of the shirt and shook his head. “I can’t show you sodium carbonate. Dangerous territory.”

“What about calcium oxide?”

His gaze scanned the shirt until he found it. He shook his head. “I’d have you on your back in about five seconds.”

They both started at the harsh metallic ring of the doorbell, a Victorian hand-turn style.

Sam left the bed with a groan, moving slowly. “When I said I wasn’t going to make any moves on you—” He opened the door and stood at the threshold, pulling in a couple of deep breaths. “I was planning for it to be a reciprocal arrangement. From now on, hands off. Got it?”

“Yes, but how are you going to take care of me if—”

“Not my hands,” Sam said. “Yours.”

* * *

The doorbell rang a couple more times while Sam made his way downstairs. Heat and arousal played all through him, making it impossible to think straight. He wanted Lucy, wanted to take her slowly and stare into her eyes as he moved inside her, and make it last for hours.

By the time Sam reached the front door, his temperature had cooled sufficiently to allow for clear thinking. He was confronted by his brother Alex, who looked more irate and underfed than usual, his frame rawboned beneath loose-fitting clothes. Clearly Alex was not blossoming in the aftermath of divorce.

“Why do you have the f**king doors locked?” Alex demanded.

“Hey, Al,” Sam said curtly, “it’s good to see you too. Where’s the key I gave you?”

“It’s on my other key chain. You knew I was coming over this morning—if you want free work done on your house, the least you can do is leave the door unlocked.”

“I’ve had a couple other things on my mind besides waiting for you to show up.”

Alex brushed by him, carrying a vintage metal toolbox. As usual, he headed straight for the kitchen, where he would pour himself a scalding cup of black coffee, down it without ceremony, and go to whatever part of the house he happened to be working on. So far he had refused to take any money for his labors, despite the fact that he could have gotten a fortune doing the same work for someone else. Alex was a developer, but he had started as a carpenter, and the quality of his craftsmanship was impeccable.

Alex had spent hours on the house, skinning walls, repairing cracks in plaster, restoring wood molding, hardware, flooring. Sometimes he redid work that Mark or Sam had already finished, because no one could ever match his exacting standards. Exactly why Alex was so willing to expend so much of his energy on the house was something of a mystery to the other Nolans.

“I think it’s his idea of a relaxing hobby,” Mark had said.

“I’m all for it,” Sam had replied, “if only because he doesn’t drink while he works. This house may be the only thing keeping his liver from turning into Jell-O.”

Now, as he watched his younger brother cross through the hallway, Sam thought that the signs of stress and drinking were catching up with him. Alex’s ex-wife, Darcy, had never been what anyone would call a nurturing kind of woman, but at least she’d gotten him to take her out to eat a few nights a week. Sam wondered when Alex had last eaten a full meal.

“Al, why don’t you let me fry you a couple of eggs before you start working?”

“Not hungry. Just want coffee.”

“Okay.” Sam followed him. “By the way … I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the noise level down today. I’ve got a friend staying here, and she needs rest.”

“Tell her to take her hangover somewhere else. I have some trim work to do.”

“Do it later,” Sam said. “And it’s not a hangover. She was in an accident yesterday.”

Before Alex could reply, the doorbell rang again.

“That’s probably one of her friends,” Sam muttered. “Try not to be a dick, Alex.”

Alex shot him a speaking glance and headed to the kitchen.

Shaking his head, Sam returned to the front door. The visitor turned out to be a curvy little blonde dressed in capris and flats, and a sleeveless button-down shirt knotted at the waist. With her buxom build, her big blue eyes, and her chin-length golden curls, she looked like an old-fashioned movie starlet, or maybe a Busby Berkeley showgirl.

“I’m Zoë Hoffman,” she said brightly. “I’ve brought some of Lucy’s things. Is it an okay time to visit? I could come back later—”