Willamina opened her eyes, giving him a tight smile, then flinched when the paramedic pulled off the bandage. She sat quietly on Sam's lap while a light was shined in her eyes and her bump was checked. Her wrist was cleaned, and the attendant decided it didn't need stitches. Sam wasn't all that keen on ambulances or hospitals himself, and he gave a sigh of relief when she was pronounced fit to go home.
"That wasn't so bad," he said as he exited the ambulance with her in his arms.
"Will you please put me down?" she asked meekly.
Sam wasn't fooled. She was seething mad. He walked with her to the waiting car Ronald had called.
"You aren't wearing shoes. There's glass everywhere."
She heaved a mighty sigh. He set her in the back-seat, across from Jesse and Darcy. Jesse had his arm wrapped around his wilted date. Sam got in, and Jesse tapped on the window for the driver.
"Where are Paula and Ben?" Willamina asked.
"Paula sprained her ankle. She and Ben are riding to the hospital in one of the ambulances," Jesse looked at Sam. "What about Ronald?"
"He's staying with the car."
"What happened?" Darcy asked in a sob-worn voice.
"Somebody cut off an SUV, which started a chain reaction," Sam explained, wrapping his arm around Willamina when he felt her start to tremble again. He lifted her chin with his other hand. "Would you like to stay at Rosebriar tonight?"
"No. I just want to go to my hotel room. I'll be fine in the morning."
Sam guessed she'd be lame as hell come morning. "Jesse, tell the driver to take us to the Marriott."
They rode in silence to the hotel, and Sam insisted on walking Willamina up to her room, ignoring her protests and glowers. It was a damned good thing he had a Herculean ego; Willamina Kent would bludgeon a lesser one to death.
She wouldn't marry any of them if they crawled toMaine on their knees, their hearts in their hands. Lord, he admired her.
But he also intended to ruffle her feathers a little, just to soothe his Herculean ego. When they reached the door to her room, Sam asked for her key card.
She blinked up at him.
He sighed. "It's in your purse, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"The one you left on the floor of the restaurant."
"Yup."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"Because you've figured out by now that I'm a bit of an airhead," she said without guile.
"Is that how you see yourself?"
"Not as a rule; only when I'm out of my element. Usually, I'm as competent as the next person."
"So, this isn't the you my grandfather knows?"
She frowned up at him. "No. Well, maybe a little. I may be a little clumsy sometimes."
"You must be dead on your feet to admit that," he told her, walking her down the hall to a couch. "Sit here, and I'll go get you a new key."
"Thank you."
Sam went back to the desk, then returned with a new card. He opened the door, and once she had stepped inside, he turned her around in his arms.
"Wh-what are you doing?" she squeaked in alarm.
"Salvaging my pride. And satisfying my curiosity." Then he captured her mouth. He found sweetness, warmth, softness, and honey.
Willamina froze. Her hands were bunched into fists against his chest, her back was arched away from him, and she'd stopped breathing.
So, the brave little woman was mostly bluster, was she? No, not little . Plump. Nicely, nicely plump. She felt damn good in his arms. Sam pulled her closer and slanted his mouth over hers, then ran one a hand up her back to cup her head, patiently laying siege to her resistance. Finally, slowly, she softened. Then she whimpered.
And then she kissed him back.
Yes!Victory.
Her smell, her warmth, her sweet taste suddenly overwhelmed him, and Sam stopped thinking about egos and revenge.
She whimpered again, and he stopped thinking completely.
One or both of them started trembling.
He had to stop. Now.
In a minute. Soon.
She stiffened again, and Sam pulled back to see gunmetal eyes glaring up at him. He probably shouldn't have smiled just then. The sharp pain from her fingers digging into his chest was a good sign that she wasn't amused.
"What did you do that for?" she sputtered.
Sam stepped away and rubbed his chest. "Because I wanted to."
"That won't get you my vote!" she snapped, wiping her hand across her mouth. He stepped closer. "You think that kiss was to get your vote?"
"You have a better reason?"
He stared at her flushed face, moist pink lips, and tangled hair. She was angry and utterly enchanting. In all his life, he'd never met a woman like her.
She was driving him crazy. If he didn't get out of there, he was going to kiss her again, just on principle.
"No. Not one good reason," he snarled, turning on his heel and walking out of the room.
"I'm going home and telling Abram that none of you deserves to be CEO!" she called out, stalking him
down the hall. "I'm going to tell him you should all be written out of his will, too. He should leave his money to charity!"
Sam stepped into the elevator, then turned to face the irate woman standing in the hall: torn dress, wild hair, and barefoot. "Go to bed, Willamina. I'm not going to kiss you again, so stop chasing me down the hall."
The elevator door closed on her shriek. Sam walked to the glass wall so he could watch her stomp back down the open hall, and he broke into booming laughter when she tried to open the door to her room. He'd have to send someone up to rescue her; her key card was on her bed. She turned and caught sight of him laughing at her as the elevator carried him down. Sam's eyes widened at the gesture she shot him before she started banging on her door. Sam keeled over in laughter. The woman needed a keeper.
Chapter Four
It took every bitof willpower Willa possessed to get out of bed the next morning. Muscles she'd forgotten she had were complaining, her head felt as if a channel buoy was clanging inside it, and even her teeth hurt.
The hot shower helped. Sliding into old soft jeans felt heavenly. Leaving off her bra and pulling on a fluffy sweatshirt was especially comfy, and her worn-in sneakers were balm to her abused feet. Feeling older than her geriatric workers, she tried to walk the stiffness out of her muscles by pacing her hotel room. While she walked-and groaned-Willa pondered her predicament. She'd come there to make a choice that was impossible. As Abram had said, they were all capable. She couldn't find one outstanding difference that that would tell her how to vote. Even Sam, the kissing fool.
She shouldn't have kissed him back, but her hormones had gone into full riot at the touch of his lips. She'd fought them valiantly but had lost the battle when Sam's heat had slowly permeated her body. When she'd come to her senses, he'd smiled at her like some triumphant pirate. The jerk. He'd kissed her just to prove that he could get a response.
She should pack what was left of her suitcase, get on a plane this morning, and go back toMaine . And the minute she got home, she would give Abram Sinclair a piece of her mind, then tell him to go find a cave to die in if he was too stubborn to go home where he belonged. He had no right involving her in his personal affairs.
Willa picked up the phone to book a flight just as someone knocked on her door.
Sam leaned his forehead on the hotel door and knocked again. Damn, he hated to be there. He even hated life itself today.
The door opened, and he straightened, only to go still at the sight of Willamina Kent . She looked … different.Normal . Even beautiful-until she turned frantic when she saw his face.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
Sam stepped into her room, forcing her to step back.
"Is it Abram?"
Sam could only nod.
"Oh!" she cried, whirling toward her bed. "I've got to go to him. I promised to be there. I've got to go now ."
"Willamina. Willa."
"He promised he'd wait for me to get back," she wailed, throwing her battered bag onto the bed and tossing her clothes into it. She swept past him, going into the bathroom and cramming her cosmetics into a pouch.
"Willa."
She came out and bumped into him, her eyes dark with anguish. "I'll be with him, Sam. I know you want to be, but I promise, I'll be with him," she vowed fiercely.