Loving Again: Book 2 in the Second Chance series (Crimson Romance) (8 page)

“What smells so great?” Sam asked when he arrived with a bottle of wine and a kiss for her and an ear scratch for Chihuly.

“Boeuf a la bourguignon.”

He circled her waist with an arm. “I saw that movie. So, Julia’s helping you cook this evening, is she?”

Looking up at him with a smile, she said, “Not a movie I’d have thought you’d pick.”

“I didn’t,” he admitted.

“Ah-ha. A woman chose it for you.”

“Yeah, my sister dragged me to it when she couldn’t get her husband to go.”

“I didn’t know you had an older sister.”

“How do you know she’s an
older
sister?”

“I have a younger brother. I understand how us older sibs work.” She held up the bottle. “Shall I pour this for both of us or would you prefer something else?”

“Wine’s good. But let me.”

He went in the direction of a corkscrew and glasses; she disappeared into the kitchen where she added crackers and grapes to a plate of softened Brie.

The wine was poured and her CD of the Grieg piano concerto was playing when she returned. Sam was ensconced in his favorite place on the leather couch. Joining him, she spread cheese on several crackers and handed one to him, then settled back, nestling next to him.

“Dinner’s ready any time we are but it’ll hold for a while,” she said.

“Let’s wait a few minutes. I haven’t seen you all week.” He touched his glass to hers. “I’ve missed you. Maybe we should … ”

She handed him another cracker and interrupted. “Did you see Pink Martini’s playing with the symphony in a couple weeks? I tried to get tickets but they’re sold out.”

He let the interruption go although his expression was more frustrated than usual when she changed the subject to something less intimate. “I have tickets for the Saturday night performance. I was going to ask if you’d like to go.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I bought them when I renewed my symphony season tickets.”

“Season tickets? I thought you just had those two we used a couple weeks ago.”

“Nope. Whole season — well, part of the whole season. But you don’t need to know the intricacies of the Oregon Symphony’s ticket options. All that matters is … ”

“I get to hear Pink Martini! I love you!”

“So, that’s what it takes. I wondered.”

Thanks to her outburst, the conversation was back to where she wasn’t comfortable. To top it off, she couldn’t tell how serious he was.

But he let her off the hook. “I can’t sit here any longer smelling that wonderful smell. How about I help you get dinner on the table.” Picking up their glasses and the bottle of wine, he headed for the dining room.

She’d dodged the bullet. For the moment.

When the Brie and wine, beef bourguignon, salad and chocolate mousse were finished, they stayed at the table drinking coffee, exchanging horse stories. Hers were about competing in dressage and jumping at her private high school in Ohio, his about his Appaloosa, Chief, and his rodeo experiences in Eastern Oregon when he was young. She bragged about her ribbons and medals on her horse Tiger Lil. He allowed that he’d won a belt buckle or two.

Then the conversation veered again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask — are you still getting false alarms from your security system?” he asked.

This was one of the subjects she’d tried to keep Sam away from. Even in her most paranoid moments, when she was afraid that the repeated alarms from the security sensor on her basement door meant the intruders from the year before had returned, she hadn’t given in to the temptation to tell him about it. She was not going to be one of those women who ran to a man the first time she heard a strange noise.

But she wasn’t going to lie to him either.

“I’ve had a couple more. I’m beginning to wonder if the sensor is faulty and maybe I should have it removed.”

He was quiet for a moment, seeming to think about what she was saying. “There’s nothing in your basement worth stealing, is there? If these aren’t false alarms, if someone is trying to break in, they’re trying to get in the house, aren’t they?”

“I guess so. I never thought about it. What could anyone want in the basement? I don’t keep anything valuable there. It’s all dust and old clothes and boxes of stuff I can’t quite part with.”

There was another pause before he spoke again. “No one else has ever put anything there that you know of?”

“Who would … do you mean Tommy?”

“The men who broke in last year, they said Webster had something that belonged to them. They must have thought something was here.”

“I told you then — Tommy never left anything in my house except the occasional disposable razor.”

He flinched and she realized she probably shouldn’t remind him that Tom Webster had slept with her in this house, too.

“You told me he had a key to your house. He could have gotten in when you were in your studio, couldn’t he?”

“Yes, but … ”

“Would you mind if I took a look around down there?”

“Didn’t your colleagues do that last year?”

“It can’t hurt for me to do it again. If I don’t find anything suspicious, maybe it might be a good idea to have the sensor taken off the back door and put on the door from the basement to the kitchen.”

She reluctantly agreed. “Okay. But I don’t want to muck around down there. I hate being in the basement. It creeped me out before all this happened and last year only made it worse. I’ll sit on the steps while you look around.”

While she sat and sipped coffee, he looked through the small rooms that were the remnants of half-completed remodeling projects left by former owners. He poked at the ceiling in a few places and had just started knocking on a few walls when she said, “This is silly. There’s nothing here. And Chihuly’s scratching at the door behind me. He wants to be let out and I don’t want to waste any more time here. I’m going to attend to my dog and start doing the dishes.”

Sam looked like he wasn’t convinced but he went back upstairs with her. As they cleared the table he brought up the other subject she’d been trying not to discuss.

“The other thing you haven’t talked about is Eubie Kane. What’s happening on that front?”

“Nothing.” She avoided his eyes, picked up their wine glasses and headed for the kitchen.

He persisted. “Nothing? No response from him or his attorney?”

“That’s right. Nothing.” She had her back to him so didn’t know how close he was until she felt his hand on her shoulder.

“Nothing? Or nothing you want to talk about?” He turned her around and lifted her chin with his finger so she had to look at him.

“I’m taking care of this, Sam. I don’t need to be saved.”

“I’m not trying to save you. I care about you, about what’s bothering you. And I have some experience in this area, you know. I might be able to … ”

“Help. Yeah, of all people in the world, I know that, Sam. You bailed me out once. Big time. I can’t let you keep doing that. I have to stand on my own.”

“Amanda … ”

“No more. We had this discussion before and nothing’s changed since then. I need to take care of myself. Without being rescued like some stupid damsel in distress in a tower someplace.”

He folded her in his arms and held her. “No one would ever mistake you for Rapunzel, baby. Just don’t lock me out. Talk to me. At least let me be a sympathetic ear. Promise?”

“If you’ll promise not to try to solve my problems.”

“If that’s what you want, sure.” Then he kissed her softly and sweetly, a gentle, almost imperceptible touch of his lips on hers. When he outlined her lips with his forefinger, a yearning washed over her. In spite of her brave words, she loved his strength, felt safe with him. She had to fight the urge to dump it all in his lap so she could run away, lose herself in her work, maybe.

Instead, she tried to lose herself in his attention to her mouth as his warm breath feathered across her lips. Her breath stopped, the world stopped, while she waited for him to kiss her, really kiss her, as she knew he could. Finally, blessedly, he did. He tasted of chocolate and coffee and kissed like an angel. It was heaven to kiss him.

He drew her closer, one hand at the small of her back, the other at the nape of her neck, his fingers tangled in her hair. Angling his head, he took her mouth with his. This time it was no angel who kissed her but a man who showed her how much he wanted her with his mouth, with his tongue, with his body as he turned her insides to liquid fire.

His lips never moved from hers even when he adjusted his head to have better contact so he could steal the breath from her lungs with a gentle suction. Desire flamed over her as his tongue explored her mouth. At the same time his hands moved from the small of her back up her sides straying to her breasts, his thumbs grazing the hardening tips of her nipples.

She drew her head back, trying to catch her breath but that only gave him access to her throat. He kissed down the side of her face to the rapidly beating pulse in her neck and sucked gently at it. She could feel heat swirl around her belly and moisture pool between her legs.

“Let’s take this to bed,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer, just moved to the stairs.

• • •

For a couple days, Sam chewed on the conversations they’d had about the basement and Eubie Kane. He didn’t know what to do about the push-back he was getting from her when he asked about either subject, didn’t know how to make her see that he wasn’t trying to run her life, just be part of it. Hell, more than that. He was falling in love with her. He wanted her safe, happy. Wanted to help her make that happen.

But he’d been relegated to spectator, at least in the parts where she had any problems. He didn’t like being useless. So to shake off that feeling, he did a couple things. He ran a background check on Eubie Kane, just to see what he could find out, which was nothing, not even a traffic ticket.

Then he asked around about the attorney Kane had hired. He was legit and high-priced, which led Sam to wonder where Kane was getting his money.

He also called the alarm company and found out exactly how many times there had been a false alarm at Amanda’s. It was considerably more than he was comfortable with. He asked them to call him directly if it happened again after they notified her but without telling her. And he got a patrol car to swing by in the evenings just for good measure.

She’d be pissed as hell if she knew what he’d done. He’d have to take that chance. Because he couldn’t just stand by and watch, even if she wanted him to.

• • •

“How come you’re not with the sexy cowboy this weekend?” Cynthia asked as she hugged her old college roommate.

“He’s got his two sons with him,” Amanda said. “How come you’re not with Josh?”

“He’s at some political thing in Olympia.” She extracted herself from the hug. “So we have a chance to talk about them both! Have you met his sons yet?”

“No, I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“How come? You’re clearly in love … ”

“Can we do this later? I’d rather see the new work you’re bringing for Liz’s gallery.”

So, they talked glass and art for a while, then delivered Cynthia’s jewelry to The Fairchild Gallery. Finally, back at Amanda’s house, they cracked open a bottle of wine and began cooking dinner.

“Is this later?” Cynthia asked.

“Meaning … ?”

“You said we could talk about you and Sam later. Is this later?”

“I don’t know, Cyn. It’s complicated.”

“As best I can figure out, that pretty much describes every male/female relationship on the planet. Why did you think yours would be different? Is he … ?”

“It’s not him. It’s me. I’m just not sure I can pull off a successful relationship.”

“For heaven’s sake, why? I mean, your last one was a disaster, but you had good relationships before.”

“Really? Jim Warden?”

“Okay, not him.”

“Bill McClain?”

“Or him.” Before Amanda could add to the list, she said, “I get your point. But those were college guys. You’re way past college now.”

“And last year I got involved with a guy I was doing business with who turned out to be a cheating, crooked scum-bag. That’s even worse than I did in college.”

“Surely you don’t put Sam in the same category?”

“Dear God, no. He’s the most amazing man I’ve ever met. He’s sweet and kind; he’s smart and funny; he’s … ”

“Sexy as hell and great in bed.”

“Sexy as … wait, how do you know what he’s like in bed?”

“Because your face just told me. So, you’re in love with him. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s
wrong
with it. It’s just … I don’t know. I’m just not ready for it.”

“Not ready or scared?”

“Both, maybe. Not ready to admit what I’m feeling because I don’t want to make another mistake. Scared I’m feeling this way to avoid taking care of myself.”

“You’ve taken care of yourself since you were in college.”

“Yeah, me and a huge trust fund I did nothing to deserve.”

“Okay, you’ve had stable finances. But moving half-way across the country from your family, following your dream, establishing yourself as an artist … isn’t that taking care of yourself?”

“I seem to be able to manage it in my professional life. I just suck at it personally. But,” she pulled a pan of cornbread out of the oven, “I’m going slowly with Sam. Until I figure it out.”

Cynthia ladled chili into bowls. “You’ve figured it out. You just haven’t been brave enough to admit to yourself — and to Sam — that you’re in love with him. That’s all.”

• • •

In the following weeks, Amanda’s life seemed as golden as the remaining autumn leaves on the trees in her backyard. She heard nothing from Eubie Kane, who appeared to have crawled back into the weeds. The lawyers continued to negotiate, burning money she was happy to spend from the trust fund she knew could keep her in attorneys for decades. She wasn’t sure that Eubie was in the same position.

Her professional life was blooming. The details of her solo show in Tacoma had been nailed down. A gallery owner from San Francisco contacted her about placing her work with him there. With her work in Liz’s gallery as well as the Erickson Gallery in Seattle, she was in the happy position of worrying whether she could produce enough to meet the demand.