A Promise to Cherish (12 page)

When Sam finished eating, he leaned back on one palm, hooked a boot heel over the edge of the tailgate, and draped his elbow indolently over an updrawn knee, swinging the cola can idly between his fingers. Lee grew increasingly aware of his scrutiny and of the privacy of the old orchard and abandoned farmyard.

“Are you still hung up on your husband?” Startled, Lee turned to find Sam’s brown eyes steady on her face. They were undeniably stunning, their lashes longer than her own. His unsmiling lips had a symmetry and fullness that must have broken a heart or two in their time, she thought.

Unsettled by her observation, she looked at some distant point and answered, “No.”

“That’s not why you were crying, then?”

She gave up the senseless argument that she hadn’t been crying. “I . . . no.”

“Over somebody else, then?”

“No, there’s nobody else.”

A long silence followed, and she sensed him looking at her hair, then at her profile. “Well, then . . .” The ensuing pause was electric. She still felt his eyes on her face but was afraid to look at him. The hand with the can left his knee, then a single, cold index finger lifted her chin until she was forced to meet his eyes. She stared mutely into them—stunning, steady brown eyes—telling herself to turn away sensibly. Instead, she sat as if transfixed as his lips moved closer . . . and closer . . .

“Brown, don’t,” she said at the last moment, turning aside. Her voice was reedy and strained.

“Well, if it’s not your ex-husband and it’s not somebody else, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t kiss you, is there?”

There were a hundred reasons why not, but they all escaped Lee at that moment as he tipped her face up once more. The noon sun sent splinters of light through minute openings in the branches overhead into their private domain, like miniature green-gold starbursts. Somewhere in the distance a meadowlark warbled.

“Brown, you’re my boss and I don’t think—”

His kiss cut off her argument as he leaned over, pressing a palm against the floor behind her, and meeting her lips above the brown paper bag and the remains of their meal. His lips were cold from the drink, but soft and appealing as he tipped his head to the side and moved it in lazy, seductive motions back and forth. The coolness left the skin of his inner lips and was replaced by warmth from her own.

Lee found her common sense at last and pulled back, but Sam continued leaning toward her in that nonchalant pose. The wrist and can were on his knee again, but his eyes were on her mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about that since long before our walk today,” he said.

“Don’t say things like that.” She frowned at his chin to convince him she was serious, though she suspected she was the one who needed convincing for it had suddenly become very hard to breathe.

“Why not?” he asked with a half smile.

“Because it could cause innumerable problems, and I’m not up to handling them.”

He leaned even closer. “No problems—I promise.” While she was still trying to sort out rationality from response, he kissed her again, sending tiny shudders up her arms and fluid fire through her veins. His warm tongue circled her lips, and even as she told herself this was dangerous, this man was too appealing and far, far too expert, her lips parted and answered his tongue with a first hesitant response. The kiss grew warmer and wider and better until Sam Brown’s softly sucking mouth melted Lee’s resistance, and she leaned toward him, realizing how much—how very much—she had missed this.

But even as she thought it, his mouth left hers and she watched, mesmerized, as he slipped the can from her fingers and placed it to one side with his own. He confiscated her sandwich, which now wore two flat-pressed fingerprints. Methodically, he cleared away the rest of their lunch and placed the bag beside the soft drink cans on his far side. When he turned back to her, his intention was clear.

The pulse jumped in Lee’s throat, and a band seemed to cinch about her chest, bringing with it a sweet expectation that rivaled the sweet scent of the orchard. Sam’s right hand slipped to her ribs, his left to cup her hip and slide her over until she bumped firmly up against him. Then her head was tipping back and his warm lips opened over hers again.

A thousand forgotten feelings swept over Lee as Sam’s hand slipped beneath the ribbing at her waist and her fingers found his collarbone. It had been so long . . . so long. Then, in one deft motion, he pulled her across his chest and took her backward with him, falling onto the bed of the pickup, little caring that it was hard and dirty and cold.

Her shirt slid up as his hand moved over her bare back and warm fingers slipped underneath the narrow band of elastic that crossed beneath her shoulder blades. His other hand slid down over her backside and expertly adjusted her length atop his own until she felt exactly how tough and hard all that running had made his thighs. And while he kissed and tempted her with a strong molding of tongue upon tongue, something more grew tough and hard beneath Lee’s body. Her own body leaped to life.

And—oh, God—it felt so wonderful to be held again, caressed again. Sam’s compelling lips shut out all thought of stopping the warm hand that curved around the side of her breast while his other arm pressed against her spine. He slipped his fingers inside the front of her bra, between lace and skin, the tips not quite reaching her nipple. A moment later he’d reached around her to release the clasp between her shoulder blades. His warm palms moved between their bodies, finding her freed breasts and caressing them slowly before rolling their tips between his fingers as if they were flowers he’d plucked on their stroll through the meadow.

He was ardent and persuasive and so undeniably tempting as she lay on him. She knew all the dangers of succumbing to his tantalizing sorcery, but she told herself not to think of them as her body responded fully.

But then Sam suddenly rolled her to her hip and reached for the snap on her jeans, and she plummeted to earth again.

“Brown . . . this is crazy, stop it!” She caught his straying hand and dragged it to safer territory. Everything inside her had gone zinging-singing, turned-on crazy with incredible desire for him. His eyes glinted down into hers like dark, metallic sparks, and his fingers curled into the back of her hand until she whispered fiercely, “Don’t!”

To Lee’s immense surprise and relief, he rolled away and fell flat on his back, his hands coming to rest, knuckles down on the corrugated metal beneath him.

“Sorry, Cherokee.”

That name again! It did the strangest things to her stomach. She sat up and drew a steadying breath, wondering what had ever possessed her to let things get so far out of hand. She was thoroughly embarrassed now, for even with her back to him she could feel his eyes on her. But she had little choice except to reach behind her for her bra.

Once again Sam Brown did the unpredictable. He sat up immediately and slipped his hands under her shirt. “Here, let me. I’m the one who messed it up.” With a total lack of compunction he pushed her shirt up and found the trailing ends of the bra and hooked them together again. His putting it back on had an even greater sexual impact than when he’d released it. Goose bumps erupted over her skin and left her more tinglingly aware of him than ever. But he unselfconsciously pulled the shirt down to her waist, smoothed it into place, and dropped his hands from her. He seemed to dismiss the entire episode with an almost cheery note. “You’re probably right. We should stop.”

She was astonished by his mercurial change of mood. Somehow she’d expected him to be demanding or angry at her rebuff. But he sat beside her now as if they’d shared nothing more than a bag lunch. At least that was the impression he gave until his lopsided grin returned and he drawled devilishly, “But it
was
fun.”

She bit back a smile and scolded, “Brown, have you no scruples whatsoever?”

“Well, I didn’t see you exactly high-tailing it in the other direction.”

“Oh no?” She boosted herself up and dropped off the tailgate, then turned to inform him from that safe distance, “I think it’s time we headed back to town.”

He only grinned, curled his hands over the edge of the tailgate, and swung his legs loosely from the knees.

“Whatcha doing this weekend, Cherokee?”

“Cut that out, Brown. I said I don’t want problems.”

“I’ve got another name besides Brown, you know.”

“That’s all we need—a little more familiarity between us, and everyone in the office will have their jaws wagging.”

“What time do you get up on Saturdays?”

How was a woman supposed to fight an irresistible tease like him? It was all she could do to keep a straight face.

“None of your business. Are you coming or not?”

He leaped nimbly from the truck, revealing three dirty stripes down the back of his white shirt. As he slammed the tailgate shut he suggested, “How about we rent some roller skates and try the skate trails?”

“I said no!” She added in exasperation, “Oh, Lord, you’re as striped as a polecat, Brown. Hold still while I get rid of the evidence.”

She stepped quickly up behind him to whisk the dirt away, but as her hands brushed over his hard back, he grinned over his shoulder—a devastatingly charming grin. “You scared I might make a pass at you again and catch you in a weaker moment?” She felt a telltale blush creep across her cheeks and immediately stepped back and jammed her hands into her pockets.

“You know what your problem is? You read too many girlie magazines!”

Sam laughed and plucked an apple off a tree, then draped his elbows on top of the tailgate behind him as he took a lazy bite.

“Well, I just thought, since you’d changed your brand of perfume—”

“That wasn’t perfume, that was mosquito spray!”

Again his rich peal of appreciation lifted through the orchard before his teeth snapped through the skin of the apple. He considered her unhurriedly. “What about tomorrow?”

The man was undauntable. If he kept it up, he’d break her down yet! She stamped her foot and declared, “No, no, a thousand times no!” then spun from him, strode to the pickup, and got in.

He flung the apple core beneath the trees and climbed in beside her as she wondered frantically how to break the sexual tension spinning between them. But as Sam started the engine, he managed to break it himself by glancing at her from the corner of his eye and teasing, “You know, you’re cuter ’n hell when you’re on the warpath, Cherokee.”

She could resist no longer and burst out laughing. He was an outlandish tease and a tempting creature. But he was her boss and the last man in the world she should encourage—assuming she wanted to encourage any man, which she didn’t. Yet even as she promised herself sternly to avoid being alone with Sam Brown, a glow of well-being spread from her smiling lips all the way down to her tingling toes.

L
EE spent the following morning at her usual Saturday drudgery—cleaning house. She had changed the sheets, cleaned the upstairs, vacuumed the steps, and was shoving the vacuum cleaner along the living room carpet when she thought she’d heard the doorchime. She heard it again more clearly and, mumbling a curse, turned the machine off with a bare toe.

She opened her front door and stopped dead still. There, his hips against the wrought-iron handrail, sat Sam Brown, practically naked!

“Hi,” he greeted, puffing hard. “This is an obscene house call.”

Without warning, Lee burst out laughing. She covered her mouth with both hands and bent forward, overcome with mirth. “Oh, Brown, I believe you!”

There he sat, wearing nothing but his beat-up running shoes, a pair of white jogging shorts with a green stripe, and a red headband. Sweat ran down his heaving chest, making it shine in the sun. There was little hair on it, but what there was burned like red-gold sparks as trickles of perspiration ran down the center hollow toward his navel. His legs were crossed at the ankle, but his shoulders slumped forward as he panted laboriously.

“Don’t tell me you ran all the way over here,” Lee said.

He nodded, still trying to catch his breath.

“But it must be eight miles!”

“Eight mi . . . hiles is nothing. I’m in goo . . . hood shape.”

“I can see that.” And she could, in spite of his breathlessness. He looked like poured copper, wet and smooth and sleek and sculptured, the muscles of his legs as hard as an Olympian’s, his shoulders glossy and well developed.

“Must’ve lost six pounds of sw . . . sweat on the way ov . . . over here though.”

“I can see that, too.”

He drew in a large gulp of air, his breathing growing even while he continued to slump against the rail. “You wouldn’t turn a man away thirsty, would you?”

“And risk a darn good job?” Lee returned impertinently. “Come on.”

Sam boosted himself away from the railing and followed Lee inside, making her uncomfortably conscious of her bare feet and legs and the strip of exposed skin between her skimpy bandeau top of white stretch terry and the faded denim cutoffs with strings dangling down her legs. She resisted an urge to run a hand over the single coarse braid that fell down her back and was as frayed around the edges as her cutoffs. She led Sam along the short hall to the rear of the house, where the kitchen’s sliding glass door stood open to her small, shady patio. He stood before it, hands on hips, letting the draft cool his sweating body, as she opened the refrigerator.

“Here.” She moved behind him with two clinking glasses.

“Thanks.”

“Let’s go out on the patio where it’s more comfortable.” She slid the screen open, and he followed. There was only a single webbed lounge chair, and before he could protest, Lee plopped down on the concrete, facing the lounge chair with her legs crossed Indian fashion. “Have a seat,” she said.