The Unsung Hero (11 page)

Samantha shrugged, a little
embarrassed. Despite what she'd said to him the other day, she'd
picked up
Love's Sweet Bondage
just last night. But she still couldn't bring
herself to read more than a few pages. She liked Jason--liked him?
She was fascinated by him, but she still felt cheated in knowing
he'd never emotionally thrown all of himself into his
books.

She put her elbows on the table and laced her
fingers together. "That doesn't mean I can't ask what this one is
about, does it?"

He studied her for a moment. "I guess it
doesn't," he finally conceded, then launched into an account of the
book. It was a lusty tale, a medieval romance with an added blend
of intrigue and a case of mistaken identity. Samantha was well-
acquainted with the theme, yet she listened intently, knowing Jason
would probably have no trouble at all making this book unique and
stand head and shoulders above the rest.

"Sounds like you have another bestseller on
your hands," she observed with a smile. "Do you ever visit the
places in which your books are set?"

"I try to. There's usually some research
involved, and I think it improves the sense of atmosphere."

Samantha eyed him
quizzically.
Love's Sweet Bondage
was set in Scotland and Wales. She was thoroughly
captivated by cliff-top castles and knights practicing at the
tilt-yard. What she wouldn't give to visit there, and so she
said.

He shrugged.

"Your first book,
Desert Fires
, you went to
Morocco?"

Jason chuckled. "Actually that was the only
one where I did strictly armchair traveling. I was writing for a
television sitcom then and I just couldn't take the time—"

"A sitcom? You wrote comedy for TV?"

His lips curved up in a smile. "That
surprises you, doesn't it?"

"A little," she admitted. "I could easily
see you writing a swashbuckling Errol Flynn-type movie or
something." She pushed back her chair and smiled at him a little
hesitantly. "I don't suppose you'd like to stay for lunch?"

The question was asked over her shoulder as
she crossed to the refrigerator. She caught his eye, but suddenly
her breath rattled unevenly in her throat at the lazily seductive
look in his eyes. The merest glimmer of a smile hovered on his
lips as he turned in his chair to watch her.

"Is that an invitation this time?"

Samantha wanted to look away but couldn't.
She was caught in the dark velvet of his voice; the faintly husky
tone, which was both an invitation and a plea, had dropped by
subtle degrees. "Yes," she answered softly, and suddenly felt that
it wasn't an invitation to lunch she'd just issued.

His eyes moved over her, slowly,
seductively, making her blood soar in a sudden rush of sensation.
Never had she been more achingly aware of her femininity and how
very much a man Jason was. A man in the flesh. A man she could
reach out and touch. Not a dream, but alive and real.

She had to tear her eyes away from him. What
was it about him that made her retreat into a dream world, a
fantasy world, a world where only the two of them existed? She
looked down at her hands, laughing a little shakily, and caught
sight of her worn paint-spattered jeans.

Oh, Lord, she was a mess, she had to be!
Until now it had never failed to amuse her that she always managed
to use twice as much paint as she really needed, half on the walls
and half on herself. "Why do you always manage to catch me with egg
on my face!" she muttered, half to herself, half to him. She made a
mad dash for the hall. "I should go change—"

"Don't bother, you look absolutely
enchanting. And it's not egg on your face, it's paint--right on the
end of your nose." That velvet-edged tone was wrapped in laughter.
Stricken, Samantha paused in mid-flight and encountered a pair of
amused brown eyes. But suddenly his voice once again softened. "I
really can't stay. Actually I came over to tell you I'm leaving
later this afternoon for New York."

"New York?" Her eyes darted frantically
toward the mirror perched on the living-room wall only to return
in a flash to his muscled form. He had already moved to stand near
the front door. New York. Her heart sank. It might as well be the
moon. Her appearance was all but forgotten. She caught her breath
and trailed behind him. "I always seem to catch you on the run,
either coming or going. Business again?"

He nodded and stopped in the
tiny entryway. "My agent called this morning. There's a movie deal
in the works for
Midnight
Enchantment
."

"A movie deal." She managed a shaky smile.
"That's fantastic."

Jason shrugged and smiled. "If it goes well,
I should be able to wrap things up in New York after a few days.
Then I'll be stopping off in L.A. to see my attorney." His last
words were distinctly reluctant. A shade of disapproval lingered
just under the surface. "My ex-wife is stirring up trouble
again."

His
ex-wife
. There was barely time to
assimilate the thought. Jason's eyes captured hers in a gaze so
intense, so searching that Samantha felt herself slowly drawn into
the dark void of his eyes. It was like silk sliding slowly,
sensually, deliciously over every inch of her body. A sensation not
unlike fire warmed her skin, quickened her breath.

"You didn't mean it, you know."

Her tongue darted out to moisten suddenly dry
lips. Her whisper came haltingly. "What?"

"What you said about the two of us not being
friends." There was something distinctly sensual in the honeyed
warmth of his voice. "We are, you know, and I'm hoping it won't be
long before it's much more than that."

Her head whirled giddily. Certainly it was
what she had hoped for—-that and more. But as far as it going any
further... that was her own private fantasy. "Are you? That sounds
almost like a promise." She meant the words to be light and flip.
Instead they sounded breathy and faintly excited, exactly the way
she felt, exactly the way Jason always made her feel.

"Not a promise, more like a prayer. And I
give you fair warning . . . I'm going to do everything in my power
to see that it happens."

Still caught in his spell, Samantha laughed a
little shakily and tried to blithely dismiss the remark. "Spoken
like a true hero."

"Spoken like a man who knows what he
wants."

The quiet intensity of the words almost
shocked her. Much as she longed for it to be otherwise, this verbal
sparring was a game between them . . . or was it? She eyed him
tentatively and caught a glimpse of something almost deadly
serious in the back of his eyes. She hesitated, and her gaze
dropped to the frankly sensual curve of his mouth to find him
smiling slightly.

"Jason..." Her eyes were unknowingly wide and
uncertain as they locked on his face. "After Los Angeles..." She
took a deep breath and forced herself to speak. "This is goodbye
then?"

His reply was adamant and instantaneous. "Not
on your life." He paused and added softly, "And that is a
promise."

As much a promise as the smoldering look he
gave her before he left, a look that sent her blood pressure
zipping skyward and her heart in undaunted pursuit. Her legs
weren't entirely steady as she finally made her way over to the
mirror, but by the time she reached it she was walking on air. A
slow smile spread across her face as she eyed her reflection. The
grayish-tinged paint wasn't on the end of her nose at all. It was
on her cheeks, her chin, her eyebrows, even her bangs were streaked
with blue-gray. She laughed out loud. She was a sorry sight. She
looked like a child bent on mischief who had tumbled headfirst into
a bucket of paint!

But for the first time in her life she was
aware of herself, aware of her femininity, aware of her womanhood,
in a way that she had never been before--even with Alan.

Jason had done this to her, she mused
wonderingly. She'd been charmed, bewitched, captivated and
possessed. And he hadn't laid so much as a finger on her.

Who but a fantasy man could
do that to a woman? Who but a fantasy man could do that to
her
? She grinned rather
wickedly to herself as she made her way back outside. It was like
one of her favorite books come to life . . . the irresistible hero
tamed by a woman's love, but with one tremendous advantage. Jason
Armstrong was real.

And living right next door.

Samantha walked around in a haze the rest of
the afternoon, amazed at the change that had taken place in herself
in the space of an hour. Only that morning, she'd been burning with
resentment at Jason for ignoring her. Now she was almost convinced
she had him practically eating out of her hand, pining away for the
sight of her.

Her mouth turned down at the corners as she
got ready for bed that night. Pining away indeed! Who was she
trying to kid? It should be patently obvious to even the most
untried of hearts that Jason was a practiced charmer when it came
to women and she was a fool if she let herself believe she was any
different to him . . . which only brought her around to the subject
of his wife.

His wife. A pang of unexpected jealousy shot
through her until she remembered he was no longer married. And he
hadn't exactly sounded thrilled when he'd mentioned his wife, not
at all. A tiny feeling of self-satisfaction pierced her sudden
ill-humor but died just as swiftly. The elusive Jason Armstrong, as
elusive as the man behind Cathryn James. He'd wasted no time in
making sure she knew it--and still knew it, for that matter. The
man whose heart would remain forever unchained. The man no woman
could capture no matter how tempting her wiles.

But some woman had captured him. And she
couldn't help but think it very likely that he had decided
marriage was too confining, that he had discovered he could never
attain a lifetime's happiness with one woman. Still, she couldn't
stop herself from wondering about his ex-wife.

Samantha's mind continued to wander once she
was snuggled beneath the blanket, thinking of Jason in New York.
Many of his books had lush exotic locations--India, Spain, the
Caribbean . . . so many places. And he'd been to almost all of
them. He said his home was in Los Angeles, yet she wondered how
much time he actually spent there. Didn't he ever feel the need to
settle in one place?

The thought was jarring. Her father had
never wanted to. She rolled over in bed and propped her hands
behind her head, staring at the eerie shadows dancing on the
ceiling. She could hear the gentle motion of the ocean undulating
against the shore, but the sound, usually so soothing, had no
effect on her unsettled emotions. She and Jason were so... so
different. They were on opposite ends of the earth when it came to
the subject of love. Jason obviously thought nothing of jetting
across the world, while to Samantha there was nothing more welcome
in the world than coming home, whether from a hectic day dealing
with her second-graders, or from a quick trip to Astoria to see her
mother.

A faint feeling of unease crept into her
heart. Jason had promised he would be back, but considering the
way he flitted around the world she wouldn't hold her breath. Her
father had made promises, too. Some he'd broken, some he hadn't. He
had shown her that promises were something easily given, not so
easily kept.

On that cautious note, Samantha finally
turned over and slept.

***

She spent the next few days finishing up the
paint job on her house, somehow half expecting Jason to sneak up
behind her with some outrageous teasing remark and that
devastating grin. Impatient with herself for letting him dominate
her thoughts to such an extent, she finally decided to call her
mother early Wednesday morning.

"Samantha! I was going to call you tonight!
How are you, dear?"

Somehow her mother's bright chirpy voice was
slightly irritating. Samantha lifted a hand to her forehead and
massaged her aching temples. Damn! Why was she so edgy? Because
Jason was gone, a niggling voice insisted.

She pushed aside the thought. "Fine, Mom,"
she answered absently. "I thought I'd come visit for a few days.
Feel like company this weekend?"

"You know better than to ask! I've been
expecting you for several weeks already!"

"I've just been tying up some loose ends
around here." And trying to corral Jason Armstrong? The thought
vaulted into her mind without warning.

"What time can I expect you, Samantha? Will
you be stopping in Seaside to see your friend?"

"My friend?" Samantha drew a complete
blank.

"Your friend in Seaside--your roommate in
college."

Her friend the sex fiend. The memory overtook
her as she recalled the morning Jason had surprised her stepping
from the shower, and a heady feeling of warmth suffused her body
despite the fact that she was alone. She took a deep breath. "I've
decided not to after all. I'll probably leave early in the
afternoon but I'll stop by the shop as soon as I get in."

As it was, Samantha debated telling her
mother about Jason as she loaded her suitcase into the back seat of
her dark blue Volkswagen on Friday. She and her mother had a very
close relationship. They'd had to, since all they'd had was each
other for so many years. But what could she say? "Mom, I've met the
most fantastic man. He's all I ever wanted..."

She could almost hear her mother's cheerful
hopeful tone. "Sounds serious, Samantha. Is it?"

And then what would she say? "It could be,
if I let it. At least for me. But never for him. You see, he
doesn't believe in love." No, the subject of Jason was better left
untouched.