The Unsung Hero (14 page)

"No guts, Samantha? Can't you tell me to my
face that you've found a replacement for me already?"

Her head whipped around immediately. The
familiar ring of laughter was back in his voice. Oddly enough,
she'd grown used to grappling with it, and it was easier to deal
with than the side of him she had just glimpsed. "It didn't bother
me when we first met," she shot back. "Why should it now?"

The grooves near his mouth deepened. "Why
indeed?"

With that the ball was dropped in her lap.
"No," she admitted grudgingly. "I haven't found a replacement for
you yet, and I haven't finished the book, either." She wasn't about
to admit it to him, but it wasn't for lack of trying. She'd read
half a dozen romances over the past few weeks, and while they were
good, they weren't fantastic, as all of his were. Or had been. She
was a little angry at having to remind herself.

"Poor baby." His look was tenderly indulgent
as he grinned. "Would it make you feel better if I told you this is
the last book on my contract and I'm thinking of doing a
thriller?"

"Infinitely!" She wrinkled her nose at him.
All her exasperation fizzled out the second he flashed that
entrancing white-toothed grin. "Here, eat this!" She passed him a
small bowl filled with plump ripe strawberries. "There's nothing
like fresh Oregon strawberries, and since I can't seem to keep you
quiet maybe they can!"

Strangely enough, they seemed to do the
trick. Not very many minutes later, Jason stretched out on the
blanket beside her. He reached for the hand that rested on her
upraised knee. "You're not still mad at me, are you?" he murmured,
and pressed a warm kiss on her palm.

His head was very near one slender thigh, and
as he turned it toward her, the sun's rays slanted down on his dark
head. Samantha fought the impulse to tangle her hands in those dark
lustrous strands. "I wasn't really mad to begin with," she answered
softly. Her skin still tingled all the way up her arm from the
brief contact of his mouth on her hand.

Moments later, his deep even breathing told
her he was asleep. Samantha got up and stretched her limbs, looking
out at the lacy patterns the surf made on the sand. The distant
chatter of children laughing and playing drifted to her ears.
Feeling utterly serene and content, she lay down next to Jason and
soon joined him in slumber.

The sun's rays burning on her eyelids woke
her an hour later. She opened her eyes, and looked straight into
Jason's face. She had somehow moved closer to him in her sleep, and
one strong arm was curved around her waist. He had turned onto his
stomach, with his head toward her. Not wanting to move for fear of
waking him, she studied the dark features so close to her own—the
tiny laugh lines extending from

the corner of his eyes, the thick bushy
brows, the straight blade of his nose.

She smiled when her eyes lingered on his
mouth. It was full and sensuous, and she ached to trace the firm
masculine shape with her fingers and run them along his roughly
textured jaw line.

His eyes opened then and looked full into
hers. "Good morning," he said softly.

A slight smile curved her lips. "It's
afternoon, silly." Still caught up in the pleasure she derived from
looking at him, she let her eyes slide down his body when he turned
on his side to face her.

"You're staring at me," he said after a
moment.

Reluctantly she looked up at his face. "Am
I?" she murmured. Her eyes moved down his body again, and a wicked
glint appeared in his eyes.

She felt her cheeks pinked as he grinned,
but she couldn't prevent her eyes from moving down his body yet
again. He was clad in a light-blue T-shirt and skimpy pair of
darker-blue nylon shorts that left little to the imagination. The
taut muscular thighs and lean flanks were clearly defined, as was
the part of him that made the two of them so different. Just
thinking about his male essence caused an insistent heat to sweep
along her veins, and she became acutely aware that breathing space
alone separated their bodies.

"I don't mind if you look, Samantha." He
grinned and added in a stage whisper, "I'll even let you
touch."

And touch she did, drawn to him by a force
more powerful than anything she had ever felt before. He still lay
on his side, and Samantha's slim hand crept tentatively to his
waistline before sliding down over his abdomen. Her fingers slid
beneath his T-shirt, raking lightly through the dense mat of hair
that covered his chest and abdomen.

His hand caught hers on its second downward
journey. "On second thought, I'm not sure I should let you take
such liberties with my person." The words were light, and he was
still smiling, but there was a flare of passion in his eyes that
hadn't been there before.

Pleased, Samantha smiled and left her hand
where it was, tangled in the wiry curls near his navel. "You have a
funny way of talking sometimes," she said softly. "Just like in
your novels."

"I know," he said dryly, then smiled. "Too
much... bookwork."

A couple walked by just then, and suddenly
reminded of their surroundings, she withdrew her hand and sat up.
Beside her, Jason bounded to his feet and drew her up with both
hands.

"Let's build a sandcastle," he said with a
grin.

"A sandcastle!" The afternoon sun was
glaring, and she squinted up at him. "You and me?"

"You and me. As in us." He laughed at her
doubtful tone. "I can't believe you've lived on this beach for a
year and never made a sandcastle! The woman with stars in her eyes
and all those outdated romantic notions about—"

"Don't say it!" Her eyes gleamed a warning.
"Don't you dare make fun of me, Jason Armstrong!"

"Make fun of you?" Even with his eyes full of
laughter he managed to look wounded. "Not a chance," he vowed
fiercely. Then with a chuckle, he grabbed her around the waist and
lifted her completely off the ground, twirling her around and
around in his arms until she was dizzy.

Feeling suddenly buoyant and free, Samantha
pushed at his chest until he lowered her to the sand. "Enough!" she
laughed. "You win. We'll build a sandcastle!"

They moved toward a stretch of beach where
the sand wasn't as dry and loosely packed. The next few minutes
found them down on their knees in the sand, carefully scooping up
sand for the shell of their castle.

"Hey, Miss Monroe!" The high-pitched
exclamation came from a youngster who nearly fell while scrambling
up to Samantha. "Guess what? The girl next door had to have her
independix out!"

Jason looked at her. "Her what?" he mouthed
silently.

Samantha smiled. "She had to have her
appendix out?" she asked the little boy, stressing the word
slightly so he would hear the difference. He seemed so proud, she
couldn't bear to correct him. "My, that's such a big word for you
to remember!"

Kevin beamed at her praise, then did a double
take at their excavation. "You buildin' a sand castle, Miss
Monroe?"

Her eyes met Jason's warm gaze and she nodded
to the little boy.

"Gee, I wish I could help." His eager voice
encompassed both her and Jason, but he looked to Jason for an
answer. "Do you think I could, Mr. Monroe?"

Jason looked up at him. "Of course," he
assured him gravely. "Miss Monroe and I—" here he looked at
Samantha, his eyes twinkling "—could use an expert pair of
hands."

As it was, they were soon joined by a group
of half a dozen children, several of whom had been in Samantha's
class the previous year. With the help of the youngsters, the
castle slowly took shape. Jason offered encouragement while
Samantha showed several small pairs of hands how to firmly mold the
sand into the desired shape.

An hour later, the two adults and surrounding
youngsters stood back to admire their work. A large moat filled
with sparkling seawater, diligently hauled bucket by bucket by
several of the children, surrounded a castle complete with
ramparts and battlements, a gatehouse and a tower at each
corner.

"I thought you didn't know how to build a
sandcastle," Jason commented dryly. "You were the one telling the
rest of us what to do." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Medieval
history major in college?"

"Elementary education," she informed him
loftily, "with a minor in psychology."

He shook his head. "I guess I don't have to
ask about your source then, but I know it wasn't one of my
books."

Samantha wrinkled her nose at him. "It
wasn't," she told him lightly. "It was about a Scottish earl who
kidnap—"

"I know the story well," he proclaimed
melodramatically. "A fierce and black-visaged warrior kidnapped
the beautiful and hot-tempered daughter of his most treacherous
enemy and imprisoned her in his castle--a tale of fiery lust and
tempestuous passions unleashed by the fury of love..."

"Oh, you!" Samantha ended up laughing along
with him, but her eyes grew dreamy as she gazed at the
sandcastle.

"Daydreaming again, aren't you?" Now that the
castle was completed, the children scampered off in all directions.
Jason drew her back with him to their sheltered section of
beach.

Samantha smiled but said nothing. He pulled
her down on the blanket and dropped down beside her. "Let me
guess." One lean finger turned her face to his and he stared into
her eyes. "You're pretending you're a fairy princess who might have
lived in such a castle, wishing for the day a noble knight whose
chivalrous deeds were known throughout the kingdom would come and
claim her as his bride, the woman of his dreams."

She couldn't help but giggle. "And you think
you're the noble knight, I suppose."

He spread his hands wide. "Why not? After
all," he added, his eyes gleaming, "I did rescue you from your
roof."

Samantha groaned. "You also managed to smoke
us out of your house, and your intentions were far from honorable
in either case!"

"My intentions were no different than any man
with half a brain and a normal set of hormones." His eyes moved
lingeringly over her slender figure with a thoroughness that left
her breathless.

Before she knew it, he moved so that his body
was in front of hers, trapping her between his outspread hands.
Samantha was forced to lie back on her elbows, half reclining on
the blanket. His eyes dropped to her mouth. "But you are the woman
of my dreams," he said softly.

A murmur of protest formed on her lips, but
the words died in her throat. They were so close she could see the
hazel flecks in his eyes. She felt confused, unsure of him. She'd
never been wholly comfortable with his free and easy compliments,
and couldn't help but wonder why he persisted. Were the words
second nature by now, a reflex action of the romance writer who
was a master at his craft? Or did they come from the man himself,
straight from the heart? Something inside her yearned to believe
him, and yet she knew instinctively that she was probably a far
cry from many of the women he had been involved with, including his
ex-wife. What was really behind his attraction to her— if indeed
there was one?

Yet why would he bother with her when he
could probably have any woman in the world he wanted?

"Jason..." Her hand came up to rest on his
muscled chest, not resisting, but not inviting, either. "I— I love
the way you talk sometimes, and—"

"And the way I make you feel." The words were
self-assured yet, strangely enough, far from arrogant as he looked
down at her, his weight supported by his hands.

"And--that, too. But I wish you wouldn't say
things you don't really mean."

"Things I don't mean!" Both dark eyebrows
slashed upward. "What makes you think I don't mean them?"

"Jason, you make a living juggling words
around on paper. And maybe once you found out I was a
tried-and-true romance lover you thought I'd get a kick out of
hearing what every woman secretly dreams of." She hesitated. "And I
did... I mean I do...but I also know you're telling me what you
think I want to hear. What I mean is... how many men tell a woman
they've known only a matter of weeks that she's the woman of his
dreams!"

"I do." There was no trace of laughter in his
face as his eyes bored into hers.

Samantha's breath caught at the fierce blaze
in his eyes, a blaze that only made her quiveringly aware of the
lean strength of the body so close to her own. Jason did not touch
her anywhere, yet she couldn't have been more aware of the heat and
hardness of him had they been wrapped in an embrace only lovers
assume. Why did he have to be so utterly irresistible? She fought
to keep hold of her thoughts as she tried to ease away from
him.

"Me and how many other women?" she refuted
desperately.

"None."

The note of gravity in his voice stunned her.
She felt herself weaken. Gullible, that's what she was. But she
actually wanted to believe him. "Do you honestly expect me to
believe that?" she argued weakly. "Not even your wife?" She
swallowed as Jason stiffened. "I mean your ex-wife?"

She wasn't prepared when he sat up abruptly.
His forearms rested on his knees as he stared out to sea. "Why
should I?" He laughed, a short bitter sound that held no mirth.
"She had plenty of other men around to tell her."

She stared at him, not sure what to make of
his reaction. His face hardened, a face that was foreign to her
and seemed totally alien to his nature. What was he thinking?
Painful memories perhaps? Despite the warmth of the sun's
shimmering rays beating down on her shoulders, she shivered. The
profile so coolly presented to her seemed cold, almost hard. He
seemed a different man from the teasing easygoing charmer she'd
come to know . . . and love?

A painful ache closed her throat, making the
words difficult. "You must have loved her very much."