Chapter One
“Finally. The last load out the door.” Amanda St. Claire plopped herself on a footstool with a sigh. Most of the friends who’d been helping her pack for her move had just left, taking a truckload of boxes to her storage unit. Only Sam Richardson remained, a man who got her more hot and bothered than all the packing and moving in the world could. However, after what had happened last year, it was hard to know how to handle an attraction that was clearly mutual but which so far, other than one kiss — one wild, passionate kiss — she’d managed to keep tamped down.
She cleared her throat, which was closing in just thinking about that kiss. Or maybe it was the dust she’d inhaled while she was packing up the basement. Sure. Dust. Like that made her breathless. It would probably be better if he left, too, and let her figure this all out when she was in Seattle and he was here, in Portland. “Sam, you don’t have to hang around. You got suckered into helping when the only reason you were here was to say good-bye.”
“Funny, I don’t feel like a sucker,” he said. He was standing way too close. She swore she could almost feel his breath when he spoke, his voice low and husky, creating goose bumps all over her. And those eyes — warm, chocolate brown with an unreadable expression — amused, maybe affectionate. Maybe she shouldn’t overthink this and just enjoy the way he made her feel.
God, he was sexy. She’d wondered for months if there could be something between them. But her life had been so messed up by what happened last year that she wasn’t sure she could rationally say she was in any position to find out. “Sorry, that sounded unappreciative and you know I’m not. I’m just feeling guilty. I owe you more than I can ever repay and getting you involved in packing boxes of books for two hours wasn’t how I envisioned trying to make it up to you.”
“I keep telling you, you don’t owe me anything, Amanda.” He shrugged those broad shoulders of his, then grinned. “On the other hand, I’m not above playing on your guilt if it gets me dinner with you tonight.”
She ran her hands through her curls that hadn’t seen a comb or brush since early morning. “Dinner? I don’t know. It’s tempting but after the day I’ve had I’m not sure I’m up to going anywhere.”
“I was thinking more like getting a pizza delivered.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I have the best pizza place in Portland on speed dial.”
She paused before answering, knowing it probably wasn’t smart to start anything the evening before she was leaving for six months, before she had a chance to sort out how she felt about … well, pretty much everything. But instead of the “no, thanks” her head was telling her to say, her heart — or maybe her hormones — got control of her voice and squeaked out, “Pizza would work.” After she took a deep breath to get her voice under control, she said, “But first, I need to get out of these clothes and take a shower. Digging around in the basement I’ve avoided like the plague for years got me filthy and sweaty.”
The expression he had on his face now wasn’t hard to read at all. “I’ll volunteer to help with that, too, if you’d like,” he said, his voice rich with innuendo, as he tucked one of her wayward curls back behind her ear.
“Thanks, cowboy, I think I can manage it all by myself.” Although the feel of his fingers on her face and the idea of having him help her shower certainly made her heart beat a little faster.
When he smiled this time she noticed for the first time that he only had one dimple. How’d she miss that? It was cute. He was cute. Also hot, good at packing boxes and a genius at saving a girl’s life.
“It was worth a shot,” he said. “Okay then, if I can’t help, tell me what you like on your pizza.”