Seduce Me (6 page)

She turned to face him and smiled, her earlier wariness gone. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

She looked down at his feet.

“Ten toes, notice,” he pointed out.

“I can see that.” She smiled. “And they're not ugly.”

“I'm glad you approve.”

“Tonight really
was
nice, Jack.”

She seemed so surprised. He cupped her face, stepped closer. “I'm glad for that, too.”

“I guess I didn't expect it to be.”

“Me neither,” he said quite honestly.

“Yeah…” She took a step backwards, then turned from the waves. Jack grabbed his clothes and they began walking up the bluffs. Sam felt incredibly aware of Jack's big body sheltering hers from the light breeze. She'd enjoyed how he looked stripped down to shorts, all streaming wet flesh over hard sinew. She had to admit, tonight truly had been one of the wildest, most fun, most erotic experiences of her life, and all they'd done was kiss.

At her car, she turned to face him, leaning back against the Honda Civic she'd had for way too many years. “'Night.”

He smiled that smile that started with his eyes and ended with his body, making hers hum. “'Night.”

Since he just stood up there looking at her, she put out her hand.

A slow laugh escaped him, and he took her hand, using it to tug her against him.

He dropped his clothes on the hood of the car, pulled her close and gave her a scorching, scalding, blow-her-away kiss that left her shaky and relieved to have the car behind her when it ended.

She leaned on it with all her weight and felt the urge to revise her no-sleeping-with-a-date-on-the-first-night rule, because damn, she wanted more. She wanted him.

“What's on your mind?” He stroked a finger over her jaw.

She laughed, then shook her head.

“Nothing? Nothing's on your mind?”

“Oh, there's something there, it's just not up for public view.”

His smile was slow and cocky as he shook out his pants, then put them on. His shirt was next. He held his shoes. “Really.”

“Really.” But because he looked so delicious—his body still damp and practically steaming—standing there in his bare feet, she hooked her finger in his unbuttoned shirt and tugged him back.

“More?” he whispered.

“Just a little.” And she brought his mouth back to hers.

His shoes hit the gravel and both arms encircled her, gliding up her back, into her hair, which was still dripping.

This kiss was even deeper, wetter, hotter….

And harder to let go. But eventually it had to end and she pulled back, staring up into his face, a little stunned at how difficult it was to do so.

Okay, maybe just a little more—

But before she could say a word, he reached over, opened her door—clucking over the fact she hadn't locked it—and helped her inside.

Never in her life had she been so aware of a man's touch as when his hand settled low on her spine. It made her want to turn and face him, and see what other reactions he could cause within her.

But she didn't, and he waited until she started the engine and pulled on her seat belt before stepping back.

And then, with nothing else to do, she drove away. She drove into the night, going north along the coast highway for a good half hour. She might have even ended up in Santa Barbara if she hadn't eventually stopped for gas, grabbed another soda and then gotten on the road, heading south again.

She did a lot of thinking, too much for a woman
who wasn't fond of introspection. That led to painful thoughts, regretful thoughts…sad thoughts. She always avoided those.

The ocean was a black heaving mass on her right. The Malibu Hills a dark outline on her left. Nothing to keep her mind from wandering.

It had been an incredible evening. She wanted more evenings like that, with Jack.

There.

She'd put it into words. For the first time in too long, she'd met a guy who had made her look beyond just this one date.

Scary stuff.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
,
Sam sat on her surfboard in the same water she'd swum with Jack only a few hours before. Lorissa perched on her own board alongside, and as they watched their friends and fellow surfers ride some waves, they talked.

Or rather Lorissa talked, hounding Sam for the scoop on the night before.

But oddly enough, Sam didn't feel like giving any details, even though the thought of Jack still put a grin on her face.

“Come on, tell me something.” Lorissa's body rose and fell gently as a swell rode beneath them.

“I told you, I had fun.”

“I need more than that.”

“I'll tell you this wave is mine.” Sam started paddling to catch it, then heaved herself up to her feet.

When she got back to Lorissa, she wasn't alone. Skurfer, an old high school buddy who owned the surf shop they all went to, smiled. “Did you score last night?” he wanted to know.

“We're what, eight years out of school? Can't we come up with a better term than
score
?”

“Sure.” This from Nash, another of their long-time friends, and Sam's old middle-school crush. He offered them an alternative word, a four-letter universal term, and everyone laughed.

Except Lorissa. Still straddling her board, she put her hands on her hips. “Sam did not
score
with a blind date. She's too careful for that.” She looked at Sam. “Right?”

“Right.” Sam eyed the incoming set of waves with newfound determination, because maybe riding them, she could get some peace. “And if whoever's next in line doesn't hurry up and take more interest in these breakers than my sex life, then they're going to lose.”

The guys went together, while Lorissa and Sam watched.

“You didn't sleep with him,” Lorissa said in a low tone.

“Is that a guess?”

Lorissa eyed her for a long time. “No, it's the truth. You like sex as much as anyone I know, but oddly enough for someone who doesn't want to be in a relationship, you need more than one date to get intimate. You didn't sleep with him, I'd bet my next paycheck on it.”

No, she hadn't. But God, she'd wanted to. “You know that for sure, huh?”

“Well, it's not like you've changed your policy over the years. Like I said, rule number one, you don't sleep with a guy until you know him. Rule number two, you scratch your itch and dump him.”

“Hey. I don't—”

“Yes, you do.” Lorissa's smile was sad. “We both know by the time you like a guy enough to sleep with him, it's the kiss of death for that relationship because you don't like being part of a couple. Relationships scare you.”

“Would you stop with the
R
word?”

“What's the matter, am I making you jittery?”

Sam sighed. “I'm taking this one.” She started paddling toward the next wave.

“You're taking it because you know I'm right,” Lorissa called after her.

“I'm going because this is a good one—”

“Was he a jerk?”

Startled, Sam glanced back and saw real worry in Lorissa's eyes.

“Because if he was,” she called out. “I'll kill him. And I'll kill Cole, too, who vouched for him. I'll kill them both, slowly.”

Sam looked up into the perfect wave cresting, and…let it go.

With a sigh, she paddled back to where Lorissa sat in her patriotic red, white and blue bandeau top and ancient, shredded blue surfer shorts, straddling the board that Sam had bought her for Christmas three years ago. Concern, fear and regret were stamped all over her.

Sam's heart tightened. Last night while driving along the coast, she'd had that burst of feeling isolated, and yet she wasn't alone at all.

So what made it so hard to reach out, to accept love? She had no idea, but she reached out now, because the truth was, the only reason she'd been able to go on after losing her parents had been because of the woman looking at her right this minute. Lorissa had loved and bullied and loved her some more, more than anyone else all these years. “He wasn't a jerk. Not even close. In fact, he was…” Heavenly. Delicious. Magnificent. “A perfect gentleman,” she said finally.

Even when he'd stripped off his clothes and dove into the ocean, with that long, lean, hard heat rubbing up against her—

“Okay.” Lorissa cocked her head, searching Sam's expression carefully. “So why all the secrecy—Oh. Oh, damn,” she breathed softly. “You like him. You really like him.” Lorissa's face split into a wide grin. “Tell me the truth.”

Sam should have taken that wave. “I had a
good time,” she admitted, and when Lorissa just waited, she sighed. “Fine. Make that a
great
time.”

“So you're going to see him again? Has he called? Have you called? Stop holding back on me, damn it!”

“It's only been a few hours. And
you're
the one who should spill, you neglected to tell me he was an ex-NBA star.”

“Actually, I didn't know.” Lorissa looked thoughtful. “I guess I should have matched his name with the stories.” She shrugged. “I've never been much for watching basketball.”

Yeah, neither had Sam.

“So…what's next? Another date? Or did you give him the famous Sam Blow-Off?”

“Well…next weekend we're doing this…thing.”

“Omigod, you're going on date number two!” Lorissa looked as though she'd just won the lottery.

“I'm just helping him and his sister at some charity carnival. That's all. Not really date number two.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It's not.” Giving up convincing Lorissa when she couldn't even convince herself, Sam took the next wave.

 

O
N
M
ONDAY
, Sam skipped her morning surf to make her monthly trek out to San Juan Capistrano.

As she had on the first Monday of every month
without fail for five years, she got out of her car at the secluded little house on the beach, walked up the steps and knocked.

And pulled a check from her purse written from her checking account for just enough money to make her wince—especially after dropping $800 on Jack Knight at the auction.

The door opened and there stood Red—a sixty-five-year-old, lanky lean, skin-tanned-to-leather, long-haired beach bum. The beach bum who'd given her a job when she'd been fourteen with too much free time on her hands.

The same beach bum who was her mother's older brother, a man who'd never wanted children and yet had taken her in when her parents died, giving her what he could when life had taken so much away.

And as always, just the sight of Red caught her by the chest and squeezed.

In return, his light blue eyes twinkled and warmed. But he was duty-bound by habit to give her his monthly scowl as he leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed. “Is it that time already?”

“You know it is.”

“Yeah. So what do you want?”

Grabbing his hand, she slapped the check into his palm. “What do you think?”

He peered down at the piece of paper, and as
it did every month, his scowl deepened. “Is it any good?”

“Deposit it and see.”

“Maybe I don't want to go to the trouble.”

Nothing ever changed about this dialogue. As always, he tried to hand the check back to her.

She put her hands behind her back. “What's the matter, my money not good enough for you?”

“I keep telling you I don't want your money.”

“I bought your place, I'm paying for your place. You hold the mortgage. How many times do we have to go through this? Just deposit the damn check and reduce my damn debt, and soon enough I'll stop showing up on your doorstep.”

“Fine.” He jammed the check into the pocket of his faded Hawaiian surf shorts, which hung low on his skinny hips. “I suppose you've been staying out of trouble.”

“I suppose.” She peered in past him to look at the small place he'd been slowly renovating now that he'd retired. “You hire a maid for this sty yet?”

“Yep, with your money, thanks. Sure you don't want to take the check back?” He looked at her with some amusement. “You could buy yourself some cooking lessons. Learn to make brownies.”

“Ha, ha.” Everyone knew about her determination to make decent brownies.

And really, the urge made perfect sense. Any
psychiatrist would have had a field day with it—her mother had always made brownies, and they'd always been perfect and scrumptious.

Sam knew deep down she wrecked her own batches on purpose. She must have a thing against being truly happy, or wanting real love, or being afraid…something stupid like that.

She didn't care. She still tried to make brownies the way her mom had.

“Well, then, maybe buy yourself some new clothes,” Red suggested, eyeing her denim cutoffs, tank top and flip-flops. “Or even get a hair cut. Find yourself a man.”

“Shows what you know. I don't need to get new clothes or trim my hair to get a man.”

“Uh-huh. I see you've got yourself a real big rock on that marrying finger.”

She glanced down at her ringless hands and rolled her eyes. “I'm not interested in getting married. Why would I be?”

“Maybe because I'd like to see you happy and taken care of.”

Everything within her softened. Still she had her tough facade to keep up. “I can make
myself
happy, thank you very much, and I certainly can take care of myself.”

“Really? You've got it all covered, huh?”

She lifted her chin. “You bet.”

“And kids? You going to give yourself kids?”

“Look, I didn't come all the way down here to get a lecture.”

“Then why are you still standing here?”

Because he was the closest thing to a father she had, and sometimes she just liked to look at him. “Traffic's a bitch. I figured you'd want to feed me the leftovers you'd just be throwing away anyway.”

“I suppose.” He stood back, gestured her in with a jerk of his head.

The moment she reached the top step, he put his hand on her shoulder, then pulled her in for a big hug. She dropped her tough stance and held on tightly.

“Leftovers that I'd be throwing away?” he murmured, his body shaking as he let out a belly laugh. “Have I ever fed you leftovers?”

“No, because thankfully you're such an awesome cook there are rarely leftovers for more than an hour.” She grinned.

“Then I suppose it's lucky for you I just put together lunch.”

“Oh, really?” She batted her eyes, making him laugh again, because they both knew he'd planned on her coming and that, as always, he'd made them a meal.

“Come on,” he said, and drew her inside, to
ward the kitchen that smelled delicious. “And tell me what's new.”

She did exactly that, leaving out only the news of her date with Jack Scandal Knight, probably for the same reason she hadn't spilled all to Lorissa—she had no idea what exactly to say.

 

F
OR A YEAR NOW
, Jack had been concentrating on keeping a low profile, on just amusing himself. He'd been pretty damn successful at it, too. He hung out with friends, rode his bike for miles every morning. Lately, he'd been spending more time with the kids Heather helped, and at the old rec center. And most recently, he'd been organizing and coaching basketball teams.

He'd been content with that, or as content as he could be. But then had come his blind date with Sam. It didn't make any sense that he couldn't stop thinking about her. She'd run with him from the reporters, she'd made the charity event fun—not an easy feat—and then later…Her kisses had made him so hot, and those little sounds she'd made in the back of her throat when he touched her, even hotter.

Not to mention bodysurfing half-naked by moonlight on a first date. That had been a welcome first. In comparison, his slow, unplanned life seemed just a tad boring. Maybe he was ready for the next phase of retirement, whatever that might be.

He hoped it included Sam.

He had looked up the number for Wild Cherries, but when he'd called, no one answered. Later, he had driven by the place, but it had been closed.

Seemed even beach girls took days off. Which was too bad because their next date seemed a long way off.

What he really needed was a distraction. And thankfully Monday night was poker night with his buddies. This was their chance to get together and blow off steam—a time to vent and forget that they were all famous celebrities, athletes, politicians…Every week, they took as much joy in razzing each other for whatever headlines they'd shown up in that week as they did in actually playing cards.

This week, Jack was the host. Cole showed up first. As always, he came dressed to be seen, wearing expensive clothes with a casual air that always boggled Jack's mind. Jack dressed up only when he had to. They'd become friends in college while sharing a dorm room, and though they'd led vastly different lives, Jack in basketball, and Cole in marketing, they'd remained tight. Mostly because Cole never deferred to Jack's celebrity status, and never talked B.S. Two traits not easily found in Jack's world.

Cole slapped a stack of magazines against Jack's chest and headed straight for the vodka be
hind the bar. “You're going to suffer tonight, buddy.”

Jack looked down at the magazines in his hands. He'd made a few covers. Splashed across
People
,
US Weekly
and a handful of others, were shots of Jack piggybacking Sam in her little black dress across the rolling grass hills at the country club.

Another set showed them at the buffet table, oblivious to the upscale crowd around them, sharing some food, their heads close enough to kiss. On his face was a look he hardly recognized.

Pleasure.

He didn't quite know how to describe his expression in the next photo, where he was tugging Sam out of the club, other than that it was one of sheer determination, hunger and pure, unadulterated lust. “Oh boy.”