Rainshadow Road (Friday Harbor #2)(68)

“I think she ends up with Jimmy Stewart.”

“Why?”

“Well, she and Cary Grant were married once and they got divorced. So it’s doomed.”

Sam smiled at her prosaic tone. “What a little cynic.”

“Marrying someone for the second time never works. Look at Liz Taylor and Richard Burton. Or Melanie Griffith and Don Johnson. And you can’t call me a cynic—you don’t even believe in marrying someone the first time.”

“I believe in it for some people.” He continued to sift his fingers through her hair. “But it’s more romantic not to get married.”

Lucy lifted up on an elbow, looking down at him. “Why do you think that?”

“Without marriage, you’re only together for the good times. The best part of the relationship. And then when it goes bad, you cut loose and move on. No ugly memories, no soul-killing divorce.”

Lucy was silent, considering. “There’s a flaw in your reasoning.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet.”

Sam smiled and pulled her beneath him. Bending over her breast, he licked at the stiffening peak and used his thumb to rub in the moisture. Her skin was like pale silk, impossibly smooth against his fingertips. The textures of her body fascinated him, everything soft and yielding and sleek. And the scent of her—flowery, cottony, with the erotic hints of salt and musk—aroused a hot clamor in his blood. He moved over her, dragging his mouth in a slow path along her body, savoring the taste of her. As he moved lower, her limbs trembled beneath his hands. He felt her hands caress his hair, the back of his neck, the touch of her cool fingers making him instantly hard. He followed the feminine scent to where it was deeper, more enticing, and Lucy made an agitated sound, her legs spreading easily.

She whimpered as he nuzzled into the softness between her thighs, licking into the silk and heat, the flavor of her erotic and drugging. He toyed with her, stroking, sucking lightly, until she pushed herself at him with a sob. Catching every throb and pulse, he urged her through sensation into softness, until she was relaxed and still beneath him.

Rising, he covered her with his body and sank into the luscious wet depths, thrusting slowly to savor the feel of her. Her nails slid over his back, a delicate electrifying clawing that provoked him into heavier, deeper drives. The release surged without warning, full-bodied and severe, spreading over every inch of skin from his scalp to the soles of his feet.

Winded and stunned, Sam collapsed to his side when it was over. Lucy snuggled next to him. He closed his eyes, struggling to moderate his breathing. His limbs felt unbelievably heavy. He had known pleasure before, but never with this intensity, this profusion. Exhaustion settled over him, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Just like this … in his own bed … with Lucy beside him.

But that last thought snapped his eyes open.

He never slept with someone after having sex, which was one of the reasons he preferred it to happen at the woman’s place rather than his. Far easier to be the one to leave. On a couple of occasions in the past, Sam had actually gone so far as to load a protesting woman into his car and take her home. The idea of spending an entire night with a woman had always filled him with an aversion bordering on panic.

Forcing himself to leave the bed, he went to take a shower. After putting on a robe, he brought a hot washcloth to the bed and took care of Lucy, and drew the covers up to her shoulders. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured, pressing a brief kiss to her lips.

“Where are you going?”

“The roll-away bed.”

“Stay with me.” Lucy flipped back a corner of the bedclothes invitingly.

Sam shook his head. “I might hurt your leg … roll on it or something…”

“Are you kidding?” A sleepy smile curved her lips. “This brace is indestructible. You could drive your truck over it.”

Sam took a long moment to reply, alarmed by his own desire to actually climb back into bed with her. “I like to sleep alone.”

“Oh.” Lucy’s voice was deliberately casual. “You never spend the night with a woman.”

“No.”

“That’s absolutely fine,” she said.

“Good.” Sam cleared his throat, feeling inept. Oafish. “You know it’s nothing personal, right?”

Her gentle laugh curled through the air. “Good night, Sam. I had a great time. Thank you.”

Sam thought it was probably the first time a woman had ever thanked him for ha**ng s*x with her. “The pleasure was all mine.” And he went to the other room with the same uneasiness he’d felt before.

Something had changed inside him, and God help him, he didn’t want to know what it was.

Nineteen

Lucy’s mother, of course, was instantly smitten with Sam. Her father’s reaction was more guarded, at least initially. However, during dinner at Duck Soup, they found common ground when Sam asked about the robotic space probe that her father had helped to design. Comprehending the generous helping of geekiness that lurked under Sam’s exterior, Lucy’s usually reticent father started chattering like a magpie.

“… so what we expected,” Phillip was saying, “was that the comets would consist of a combination of presolar particles, and ice that had formed at the edge of the solar system at absolute zero.” He paused. “If you’re not familiar with the term, absolute zero is—”