Rainshadow Road (Friday Harbor #2)(66)

“I love that place,” Lucy said. “But Kevin and I had dinner with them there once before.”

“Why does that matter?”

Lucy shrugged, not quite certain why she’d mentioned it.

Sam looked at her steadily. “I’m not worried about being compared to Kevin.”

Lucy felt her color rise. “I wasn’t thinking that,” she said irritably.

After pouring more wine, Sam lifted his glass and said, “Time wounds all heels.”

Lucy brought herself to smile, recognizing the quote by Groucho Marx. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, and raised her own glass.

Over dinner they discussed movies, discovering a shared liking for old black-and-white films. When Lucy confessed that she had never seen The Philadelphia Story with Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn, Sam insisted that she had to watch it. “It’s a classic screwball comedy. You can’t say you like old movies without having seen it.”

“It’s too bad we can’t watch it tonight,” Lucy said.

“Why can’t we?”

“Do you have it on DVD?”

“No, but I can download it.”

“But that’ll take forever.”

Sam looked smug. “I’ve got a download accelerator that maximizes data delivery by initiating several simultaneous connections from multiple servers. Five minutes, tops.”

“At times you hide your inner geek so well,” Lucy marveled. “And then it just appears like a bolt of lightning.”

After dinner they went to the living room to watch the movie. Lucy was immediately taken with the story of the prickly, cold-natured heiress, her debonair ex-husband, and the cynical newspaper reporter played by Jimmy Stewart. The dialogue was filled with elegant quicksilver humor, every pause and reaction perfectly timed.

As the black-and-white images flickered on the screen, Lucy leaned into Sam’s side, half expecting him to object. The relaxed evening together, the tentative confidences, had created a feeling of intimacy that Sam might not want to encourage. But he put his arm around her, and let her head rest against his shoulder. She sighed, relishing the solid warmth of him next to her, the anchoring weight of his arm. As awareness of him gathered in a slow simmer, it was difficult not to touch him, reach for him.

“You’re not watching the movie,” Sam said.

“Neither are you.”

“What are you thinking about?”

In the silence, the movie dialogue floated like champagne froth.

“It can’t be anything like love, could it?”

“No, no, it can’t be.”

“Would it be inconvenient?”

“Terribly.”

“I was thinking,” Lucy said, “that I’ve never tried a relationship where no one makes any promises. I like that rule. Because if you don’t make promises, you can’t break them.”

“There’s another rule I didn’t tell you about.” Sam’s voice was guarded. His breath stirred the hair on top of her head.

“What is it?”

“Know when to stop. When either of us says it’s time to break it off, the other agrees. No arguments, no discussion.”

Lucy was silent, her stomach leaping as he altered his position on the sofa.

Sam turned to face her, his head silhouetted against a background of flickering ghost-images. The low sound of his voice undercut the muted flurry of words and images from the screen behind him. “Of all the people I’ve never wanted to hurt, Lucy … you’re at the top of the list.”

“I think you’re the first man who’s ever worried about that.” Lucy dared to reach out and touch the side of his face, her fingers shaping gently against his cheek. She felt the subtle flex in his jaw, the forceful beat of his pulse against her fingertips. “Let’s take a chance,” she whispered. “You won’t hurt me, Sam. I won’t let you.”

Taking his time, Sam reached for the controller, fumbled with it, and hit the mute button. The movie continued, light and shadow without sound. His mouth found hers in a long, fluent kiss, exchanging heat for heat, taste for taste. One of his hands went to the nape of her neck, massaging blindly. The excitement deepened into something dark and nameless, a feeling that rose in a slow tide from her toes to the top of her head. It was more than desire … it was a craving so absolute that she would have done anything to satisfy it.

Sam took the hem of her shirt and tugged it upward, stripping the knit fabric away from her. His fingers stroked along the elastic straps of her bra, easing them down her shoulders before moving to the clasp at the back. A shiver ran through her as she felt him work at the tiny hooks. Tossing the garment aside, Sam drew his hands along the sides of her rib cage, sliding upward to cup her na**d br**sts. He bent over her. With diabolical slowness, he took the tip of her breast in his mouth and held it with his teeth, and stroked with his tongue. She had to bite her lips to keep from begging him to take her right then. He began to tug gently, repeatedly, licking between each pull.

Moaning, Lucy clutched at the back of his T-shirt, trying to tear it off, needing the feel of his skin against her. He paused to strip away the garment, and eased her back until she was stretched out on the sofa. Her injured leg was propped up, her other dangling wantonly to the side.

Lowering over her, Sam sealed his mouth against hers, his kisses rough and voluptuous and sweet. She couldn’t find herself in the sudden blaze of sensation, couldn’t control anything. She answered him, letting herself be caught like a falling star, burning from the inside out.