Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [20]
Sam leaned back and studied me. “Your mama’s a real charmer. Guess you must take after your father.”
I looked up with a quick retort on my lips but the words stuck in my throat. The sight of Sam lounging in the kitchen chair triggered a sharp pang of a different type of hunger. My fingers itched to stroke the rough five o’clock stubble on his jaw, to muss his finger-raked hair. To straddle his lap and unbutton his shirt, revealing more of the crisp black chest hair peeking over the V.
Business, talk about business. My safe harbor.
“Don’t you have a suspect to beat up or somewhere else to be? Lovely a visit as this has been, I have work to do.”
The physical pang receded, leaving me drained. I lowered my aching head until I could prop it up with my hands.
Sam’s chair scraped against the tile floor, but I continued to hide my face. The press of his warm fingers along my neck brought me upright.
“Relax, Red. You look like you could use a good neck rub.” His fingers gently dug into the tense muscles. I bit back a groan.
Sam’s fingers worked magic from the base of my skull to my shoulders. There, they hesitated before continuing their ministrations down between my shoulder blades. Every inch of flesh left in their wake tingled, burned.
Hunger pains, nothing. I was on fire now. I drew in a choppy breath and exhaled it raggedly as Sam’s downward progress reached the back of my bra. His thumbs anchored over the back fastening. The sweep of his fingers brushed the sides of my breasts. My nipples hardened as aching heat pooled between my legs.
I clutched my knees together to still their trembling. If I leaned back against Sam’s body, I knew with absolute certainty I’d find his hard arousal.
I leaned forward.
“Thanks.” I heard the husky strain in my voice and swallowed. “That was great.”
His hands broke contact. My body cried foul at my head’s choice. Sam’s raspy breath gradually calmed, but his voice mocked me. “The pleasure was all mine.”
I watched him warily as he walked around the table and returned to his chair. With a lithe movement that would put a Florida panther to shame, Sam stretched out and clasped his hands on his stomach.
I willed my hormones to chill. Here I was a quivering mass of electrified nerve endings while Sam stared coolly at me.
Not one muscle betrayed any sexual tension, or frustration…except for the betraying bulge in his jeans. So he had been affected. His kicked-back attitude was a sham. “Why didn’t you tell me your mother had Alzheimer’s?”
So much for seduction. My emotions were now somewhere whimpering around my unpolished toenails. It was back to drawing the line between us. Wasn’t that what I wanted? I stifled the “hell, no” protest from my body. Control was everything.
When I spoke, I was crisply professional, distant. “I didn’t tell you initially because it’s not a simple diagnosis. Mom has struggled with bouts of depression in the past.”
Like the five-year-long one after my father moved on to a younger wife. Initially, there had been no contact between our families. Then Dad’s second wife started including me in their holidays to get to know my half brother and sister. Despite how painfully awkward the occasions were, I’d gone. It was the only way I ever saw my father.
“By the time it looked like the doctors were right—” I shrugged, “—we weren’t even on the same side of the law anymore let alone in a relationship. Mom’s condition isn’t public knowledge.”
I had to give Sam credit for being quick. “She’s got an acting job?”
“Yes and no. She’s doing voiceover work for an animated film. She’ll be finished in another month after which her publicist will plant a tactful notice that, this time, her retirement will be permanent.”
When Sam didn’t comment, I glanced at him. He scowled at the tips of his boots before looking