She thumbed on her penlight, shining it away from him so she could better see his face on the pillow, strong and square, his jaw a clean line below shadowed cheeks. He was naked to the waist. Oh, my.
For a second, she considered curling into his arms, cozy and content, to match his slow, deep breaths and drift to sleep tucked against his protective body, surrounded by his warm smell, heated by his skin. In the morning they would wake, make love, share coffee and the paper and whatever the day brought.
But that was way too domestic for Samantha. That was something Mona would cook up. Samantha had hotter adventures in mind. She let her eyes trace Rick’s sleeping form and imagined him waking, reaching out to her with strong arms and skilled fingers.
The image made her desire for him rise swiftly, lifting her into deep water, where she’d never feel the bottom or ever want to. She wanted to wake him with a kiss—Sleeping Beauty in reverse—and begin the adventure, but first she had to light the candles in studio two and make sure everything was perfect.
RICK JERKED AWAKE. What was that? A noise. What? And where? Had another shipment come? He should have stayed on Mona’s awful couch to better track any action out back, but he’d been so tired and his back hurt like hell.
He rolled out of bed, grabbed his gun and moved to the door. The noise wasn’t coming from out back. It was down the hall. In studio two? He heard the swish of fabric, the click-click of a lighter. Was it Samantha?
Seemed unlikely. They’d hardly spoken all day and he could tell he’d hurt her feelings without saying a word. If she’d overcome her anger and come to him, she sure as hell wouldn’t be rummaging around in another studio. She was a woman who went for what she wanted. If she wanted him, she’d go for him. And, dammit, the idea sounded good.
So who was in the studio? He held his breath, extended his gun in ready position, lunged into the open door and aimed at a bent figure.
Samantha, he realized immediately, and she was lighting candles. Huh? Already a dozen gold flames licked at the dark, wet pools of wax under each one.
He released the trigger, but before he could shove his gun into the back of the jersey shorts he wore for sleep, Samantha turned and looked up at him, hair flying away from her face. “Rick! What are you…? Was that a gun?”
She didn’t look nearly scared enough.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, though the sexy black dress hanging off one shoulder made it obvious, not to mention all the candles. “I could have shot you dead.” His head pounded from leftover adrenaline.
“That’s very sexy,” she said in a sultry voice, swaying closer on bare feet. “It makes you seem so…dangerous.” Her eyes gleamed and she licked her lips.
“What have you got in mind, Samantha?” he said. One of those fantasies she’d tried to explain up at the creek, no doubt. She was inches away now, her breasts swelling upward, her locket shining in the candlelight.
“I’ll tell you,” she breathed. “Today did not go well, I know. We argued. We avoided each other. The creek was intense and you needed some space. I get that. Now, it’s time to just enjoy each other, don’t you think?”
“Samantha, I—”
“Can you do that, Rick? Forget your rules and just be with me? Nights can be ours. Like this. We need this.”
She searched his face, her eyes shining up at him in the candlelight, wicked and hopeful, sweet and demanding, and it was all he wanted in the world.
God help him, he was powerless to deny her.
He took her trembling body into his arms and kissed her, long and deep, holding tightly, sinking into her taste, the smell of her, the taut strength of her small body.
“Yes,” she breathed into his mouth, then she dragged herself away, holding up one finger. “Stay right there.”
He obeyed. He stood riveted to the floor, knowing he’d do anything she wanted—bark like a dog, dance naked on the roof, anything. With Samantha, the rules meant nothing anymore.
She grabbed a strip of cloth off a shelf—a sash of some kind—then braced herself against the intricately worked metal arch, black and shiny in the red-gold light of all those candles.
With her arms behind her, her breasts were half-bared in the black dress. A wave of nearly uncontrollable desire filled him. He wanted to take her, grab her up and thrust into her, make her moan. There were a bunch of buttons down the middle of that dress. How fast could he pry them open?
Still standing against the arch, Samantha lifted one arm over her head and extended the strip of cloth with the other. “Tie me up, Rick,” she said, jutting her chin to make up for the tremor in her voice. “Then tease me. Nice and slow.”