He smiled, but didn’t speak. Just rubbed at the spot she’d licked on his jaw. “I’d better get going.” He pushed out of the bed, mostly to hide his hurt, she was sure. She knew him well enough now to interpret some of his mystery.
She put her feet to the floor to join him, to smooth the moment by making love in the shower, except then the phone rang. At seven-thirty? Who would be calling this early? She frowned and answered it.
RICK SOAPED UP, CURSING himself for letting emotions swamp his good sense. Samantha no more wanted to get involved with him than she wanted to camp out in a blind for three days for a shot of a kit-fox den. His thing, not hers.
He was falling in love with her. She made him feel complete, understood, a part of something. But he was making too much of what was, in essence, the games she wanted to play. It was seductive and confusing. He wasn’t cut out for any of this nonsense.
He rinsed off, letting the water sluice over him, remembering how it was to wake up to her sleep-soft face. No makeup, no costumes, no games. Just her, bare and beautiful and open to his touch. Hell, his heart.
He didn’t want her in a velvet dress he could rip away or with her nipples drenched in chocolate, or certainly not in any of the role plays they’d enacted or the ones she wanted to do. The cop-and-suspect gem she’d proposed had stopped his heart.
He had his own fantasies. The everyday moments people in love took for granted. Samantha in his favorite muscle shirt heating up something at the stove while he set the table. Or washing the Firebird together, spraying each other with the hose. Fighting over the covers in winter, lying naked on the sheets on muggy August nights.
Hell, his fantasies were just as silly as hers, maybe more so, because there wasn’t a cold chance in hell they’d happen.
Not me, Rick. What I want hasn’t changed.
He was lathering his hair when Samantha entered the shower and stepped under the water with him.
The need to wrap himself around her rushed through him like the hot water pouring down his body. Maybe she just needed time. Maybe she’d come around.
He started to reach for her, but she grabbed the soap and started scrubbing herself. “I’ve got to get to the studio. Bianca just called. She wants to help us with the wedding shots.”
“Bianca wants to help?” Rick struggled out of the haze he fell into when Samantha was naked anywhere near him.
“Yes. Her yarn shipment’s here, but Darien’s handling that himself. He told her to go shopping, if you can believe it. Basically, get lost. He hurt her feelings. So of course I said she could assist.”
She rinsed her body, her hands streaking across her breasts, down her thighs. She bent her leg and he could only stare, his mind struggling with the implications of her words.
“Darien’s handling her yarn shipment?” Rick shook himself alert. This was important.
“Yeah. It’s strange. She told me the other day that he actually ordered the yarn for her.”
“He what?” He stilled, his attention tight on her words. He no longer felt the water or even saw her beautiful body.
“He fussed about the shelf dimensions, even, and now he insists on setting up the store. You’d think it was his knitting shop.”
“Yeah, you would. Excuse me.” He shifted her slightly so he could rinse the last of the soap off his body and stepped out of the shower, thinking hard. If Sylvestri wanted his wife out of the way, something more than fuzzy wool and knitting circles was going on at Bianca’s Yarn Hut.
Had they all been asleep at the wheel? Or was he the only one with access to the clues he’d been blind to? He recalled Bianca’s visit where she’d talked about Darien and the blankety-blank photography class, but he’d had to take Mary Jane Sizemore back for her shoot and had missed the rest of the discussion about the yarn shop.
“We can keep Bianca busy, can’t we?” Samantha called to him through the door. “Darien’s niece Elisha is helping with costumes, but Bianca can assist with setups, right?”
“Sure. Yeah.” He had to get out to the yarn shop in Scottsdale. Let Mark know and take off. “Listen, since you’ve got help, Samantha, I need a couple of hours to handle some personal business. That okay with you?”
“Huh? I guess…” Through the frosted glass, he watched her go still. “Is something wrong?”
“I’ll get back as soon as I can.” He pushed out of the room to dress and take off, aware he’d bewildered her, but unable to fix it at the moment.
Maybe when he saw her again, they’d have grabbed whatever had arrived at the yarn shop and arrested Sylvestri and it would be all over. Samantha and her friends at Mirror, Mirror would be completely in the clear. He’d tell her what he’d been doing and they could take it from there.