The Unsung Hero Page 4

  "Don't!" she gasped, her eyes running over his wide shoulders and naked hair-roughened flesh. Like the previous day, he wore only a brief pair of shorts. "My Gad, I know for a fact you're not a struggling writer scrimping and scraping for a living anymore! What have you got against buying clothes—oh, and what a novelty--wearing them!"

  "Writers and artists are well-known for their eccentricities. And besides, I just finished a three-mile jog on the beach," he murmured, his mouth a mere breath away from hers. "And I came to see if what you said was true."

  Even as he spoke, Samantha could feel a slight film of moisture beneath her fingertips where they curled around his shoulder. A languorous feeling pervaded her limbs, but she resisted the urge to explore the length of his back and the sinewy strength of his biceps, tautly defined as he rested both hands against the mattress.

  She swallowed nervously, stringently avoiding eye contact with him, as if that would somehow make her less aware of his overpowering maleness. "If what was true?"

  "That you're a bear in the morning—like you said you were."

  "I was right, wasn't I?" Her voice was little more than a ribbon of sound, her heart was beginning to thump with heavy, uneven strokes against her ribs. She really should be telling him to get off her bed and out of her house, maybe even out of her life. And she would—eventually.

  "Maybe." He smiled and added lazily, "And then again, maybe not."

  The soft velvet of his voice was as potent as a caress. His eyes rested on her parted lips. Samantha's head tilted back in unconscious invitation as he leaned closer still, the delicate arch of her neck drawing his attention away from her mouth. She felt the extremely heady sensation of his lips slowly journeying upward against the sensitive cord on the side of her neck.

  A soft sigh escaped her when his mouth closed over hers. His arms enfolded her, gathering her body close to the solid warmth of his chest. She felt strangely giddy, light-headed, totally unlike herself. But then, ever since this man had first stepped into her life yesterday, she hadn't been feeling quite like herself. She

  led a placid, extremely tranquil existence. Only one other time had she acted so irrationally—and look where it had led. Disastrous was a harsh word to describe her marriage, but certainly it had been a disappointment. After all, she'd thought it would last forever.

  No, it wasn't often she was given to impulse; it wasn't often she let her emotions carry her away so quickly. But all thought of that long-ago time with Alan and anything else were quickly banished from her mind, and all she could think of was this man who seemed able to charm her at will. She was awash in a sea of sensation, acutely and vibrantly aware of everything about Jason—the smooth feel of his muscles beneath her fingers, the warm compelling touch of his mouth moving so enticingly on hers and the heady feeling it aroused, as well as the queer feeling that shot through her and made her fairly ache to explore every taut inch of his spare muscular body.

  "Mmmm, that was nice," Jason whispered into her hair when he finally lifted his head from hers a long time later. Samantha was left with a burning desire for another kiss—and more.

  "Better than nice—it was fantastic."

  She opened her eyes as she realized the husky voice had come from her own throat. Had she actually said that? She tried not to look stricken, but when Jason laughed softly she found her lips curving in an answering smile. She gasped with delight when his lips found the smooth skin of her shoulder once more before he slid away from her.

  As he stood up, he glanced idly at the nightstand. Samantha held her breath as his eyes sharpened, lowering to the small wastebasket below it. Bending over, he retrieved the copy of Love's Sweet Bondage she had thrown out the night before.

  A slight frown was etched between his dark eyebrows as Samantha met his eyes uneasily. "I've never known a faithful fan who threw away her favorite author's books. At the very least, you could have given it to someone else. Didn't you like the ending?"

  Damn, of all the things for him to notice! "I'm sure I would have liked it—- she smoothed a fold of the blanket and looked away "--had I gotten that far."

  Jason moved a step closer, his shadow falling across her and somehow making the moment seem almost ominous. "How far did you get?"

  "Only—as far as I got yesterday on the beach," she said in a low voice, feeling unaccountably guilty. "Less than halfway through."

  "I thought you liked it."

  "I...I did."

  "Then why throw it out before you even finished it?"

  Samantha shook her head, not quite sure how to respond. "I'm not sure you want to know," she said finally.

  "Oh, yes, I do." Again Jason sat down on the bed. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes seemed to hold a challenge. "My biggest fan turned critic--this could be very enlightening."

  Samantha's mouth tightened at the sarcastic drawl. Before she had felt like cringing inside, now sensing his displeasure, she was determined to give him no quarter. "All right then," she said, drawing a deep breath and looking him straight in the eye. "I couldn't read it because after finding out what you're really like, I'd have felt cheated. Maybe it's idealistic of me—" she emphasized the word with a downward curl of her lips "—but I like to think an author believes in what he's writing about. And frankly, reading one of your books now would be almost..." She halted, groping for the right word, her eyes flashing triumphantly when she found it. "Almost sacrilegious."

  Jason blinked in surprise, and his thick eyebrows drew together over that long straight nose before he smiled thinly. "So you don't like my philosophy on love. Is that what this is about?"

  "Yes." She folded her arms firmly over the sheet where it covered her breasts and fixed defiant eyes on him. Now that she'd made her stand, she wasn't about to back down.

  "And as for my books, you'd like me to say I write about love for the sake of love, because of my unswerving faith and belief in it."

  She hesitated. She would like to hear that, but not if it wasn't true, and right now, if he swore on a stack of Bibles, she knew she'd never be able to believe him.

  "It's too bad I broke your bubble, but believe it or not, I do write for love--love of money." There was a brief pause. "Although I suppose it's never too late to change."

  Was that a twinge of regret she saw in his eyes? It was gone before she could really be sure. "Oh, don't worry," she said brazenly. "You know the saying about one bad apple? Well, just because I won't be reading any more of your books doesn't mean I've read my last romance. There are plenty of good authors out there and I'm sure I'll find a replacement in no time!"

  He merely smiled at this as if she'd said something immensely amusing. "Are you a good teacher?" he inquired blandly.

  The abrupt change in subject caught her by surprise. She glanced at him quickly. "I've only taught for two years," she said slowly, "but I didn't have any complaints and I was satisfied with my students' progress." She eyed him rather warily. "Yes, I'd say I'm a good teacher."

  "Good." He nodded, a decidedly wicked gleam in his eyes. "So give me an education. Give me a lesson to last a lifetime. Show me how wrong I am about... love."

  Samantha stared at him for what must have been a full minute. Talk about unpredictable, she thought to herself disbelievingly. Jason Armstrong was certainly that! She resisted the impulse to pull away from him when he reached out a forefinger and began to stroke the soft skin stretched across her collarbone.

  "Jason Armstrong," she began carefully, "I wouldn't touch that offer with an insulated ten-foot pole." Come to think of it, about ten feet of insulation was exactly what she needed. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so shivery both inside and out the minute he touched her.

  "Where's your sense of adventure?" That teasing voice contained more than a measure of cajolery. "Don't you ever crave a little excitement?"

  "No," she retorted tartly. "My sense of adventure and excitement doesn't extend beyond occasionally trying a bargain-brand product at the grocery store."

&nbs
p; "Oh, come on. The way I see it neither one of us can come out the loser."

  Samantha drew a deep breath. Was it his male ego talking again? He certainly seemed to have been blessed with a healthy dose! And who was he trying to kid? He would come out ahead no matter what happened. In her mind, she couldn't possibly emerge unscathed.

  "No way," she reiterated firmly.

  "Why not?" he protested. "You've got an entire summer, and you just said you were a good teacher." He picked up her hand and began idly tracing a pattern on it.

  "But this is different!" She snatched her hand away. "Loving isn't something you learn to do—it just happens," she informed him exasperatedly. "I can't teach you how to change your attitude, your way of thinking, and frankly, I think that's your problem. I'm a teacher, not a counselor. And besides..." Her jaw closed with a snap. She'd caught herself just in time.

  "Besides... what?"

  Samantha crossed her arms over her breasts defensively. "Nothing," she muttered. "Just forget it." She looked away from those knowing eyes, aware that they were alight with teasing laughter. What could she say? If she agreed, come September he'd be gone and she'd be left nursing a broken heart? A summer fling with Jason Armstrong might be fun. Fun? It would be heaven itself! But would it be wise? Never!

  Jason got to his feet and looked down at her. "Tell me something," he said almost thoughtfully. "Do you ever take any chances? Ever gamble on anything?" When Samantha's jaw tightened, he smiled and looked leisurely around her bedroom, hands on his hips. "I wouldn't be surprised," he continued in the same thoughtful tone, "to find out you bought this house only after inspecting it from stem to stern half a dozen times."

  Astute. That's what he was. She had to give him credit for that. Though it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her whirlwind romance with Alan six years ago, somehow she had the feeling she'd still end up in the line of fire. But he was right about the house.

  Already she could feel a guilty flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. She stared straight ahead and refused to look at him. She hated the smile in his voice when he said, "I hit the nail on the head, didn't I?"

  "No," she muttered to the wall across from her. "It was only five times—not six."

  Jason's laughter followed behind him as he strode across the room to the doorway. "Do me a favor." He turned to face her, an easy smile pulling at his firm lips. "Don't give up on Love's Sweet Bondage just yet. Shelve it if you want, but don't pitch it."

  Just what on earth was that supposed to mean, Samantha wondered irritably as she clambered out of bed after he had gone.

  "Jason Armstrong," she muttered as she shed her nightgown, "you can save your verbal sparring for the worthy opponents in your novels. It's only nine o'clock in the morning and already I feel like I've been through the Hundred Years' War—twice!"

  But inside the tiled shower, Samantha found herself admitting that her feelings toward Jason were a muddle of confusion at best. There was no denying the magnetic pull she felt when she was around him. It almost reminded her of the time with Alan, but even then she wasn't sure it had been quite so strong. But feelings of attraction aside, she didn't know if she could even like a man whose views on love were so different from her own. Face it, lady, she scolded herself, you're a hopeless romantic, and you'll never be satisfied with a man who isn't the same. And even though Jason wrote the most divine love scenes imaginable, she decided that he probably had no romance left in his soul. Undoubtedly because he poured everything he had into his books, she decided with a rare touch of cynicism.

  But dreamer that she was, with the warm steamy water spraying over her body and lulling her into languid complacency, Samantha couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have Jason Armstrong make love to her. Remembering the exciting warmth of his mouth and the lingering touch of his fingertips against her bare skin sent a fiery throb of awareness pulsing through her veins, making it only too easy to imagine the weight of his hard male body over hers, the heat of his naked skin scorching her own.

  She shook her head disgustedly at such brazen thoughts, then laughed as she realized she was chiding herself for her "unseemly" daydreams unnecessarily—exactly as if she was an eighteenth-century maiden instead of a modern woman. Still smiling, she turned off the spray and stepped out of the shower.

  "God!"

  Samantha whirled in surprise at the sound. Jason stood in the doorway, brown eyes exploring with keen and undeniable male interest the slender lines of her glistening body, still damp with moisture. Stunned by his unexpected appearance, she could only stare at him for what seemed an eternity before grabbing for a towel.

  "Damn it, Jason Armstrong!" she sputtered hotly. She fumbled with the ends of the towel as she tried to secure it around her body. "I thought you left!"

  "I did." A half-smile tipped his mouth as he stepped forward. "Here, let me." His eyes finally lifted to her face as he deftly tucked the ends of the towel between her breasts, his warm fingers brushing the delicate skin of the valley between.

  Annoyed and despising herself for the flush she knew was staining her cheekbones at his intimate touch, as well as for being caught in the nude, she brushed past him into her bedroom. She jerked open a dresser drawer and grabbed a handful of underwear before turning to him.

  "Next time you come into my house—or my bathroom," she told him heatedly, "knock!"

  "I did." His eyes were full of humor as he watched her stalk to the closet, her jerky movements loosening the dampened towel precariously. "I didn't hear the shower, and when you didn't answer I assumed it was safe to come in. And the door wasn't locked, either."

  "I don't usually lock it when I'm here by myself!" she muttered viciously, tugging at the towel and surveying the array of summer clothing. She glanced angrily at Jason, who was leaning against the bathroom doorjamb. His arms were crossed over his chest, and there was an expression of amusement on his handsome face. So he thought she was funny, did he? Well, she'd had enough of him laughing at her. Before the summer was over, the tables would be turned, she vowed silently.

  "What do you want this time?" she asked tautly, marching back across the room. She held a brightly colored blouse, which had miraculously survived a vicious yank from the hanger.

  He straightened up immediately, his smile fading. "First things first. Your mother phoned."

  "I'll call her back after I'm dressed," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

  "No, you don't need to."

  "I don't?" Surprised, she stopped dead in her tracks. Surely her mother hadn't told him not to have her return the call. She never missed a chance to chat--never!

  "Uh, no." Did he sound contrite? "She's on the line yet. That's why I came to get you."

  "Oh, no!" Samantha dived for the bedside phone. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I got... sidetracked."

  An exaggerated leer crossed his face as she glared at him and picked up the receiver. "Hi, mom," she said, forcing a cheery tone, feeling like a volcano about to explode when Jason sat down next to her and ran his fingers caressingly down the side of her arm. "Sorry I took so long." She shot a pointed look at Jason while trying to inch away from his disturbing touch. But with his tall body on one side, the pillow and headboard on the other, she had little leeway.

  "That's okay, dear. My nine o'clock appointment canceled at the last minute and my next one isn't until ten." Her mother owned a small beauty shop in Astoria.

  "Business good so far this summer?" Samantha aimed a jab at Jason's ribs that he easily parried. His other hand feathered up to her neck and softly stroked the downy skin on her nape.

  "Better than last year." Samantha could hear the anxious curiosity mingled with concern in her mother's voice. She anticipated the next question. "Who was the man who answered your phone?"

  "A neighbor," she answered quickly, hoping her mother wouldn't think she and Jason... "I, ah, I was outside taking a quick swim--"

  "So early in the morning? Wasn't
the water awfully cold?"

  "Yes... cold, very cold, stimulating," she said in a rush, the words tumbling out one after the other. "You know—" she gave a feeble laugh "—it gets the blood going." Why was she the world's worst liar?

  "So why wasn't your neighbor in his house instead of yours?"

  And why wasn't her mother one to mince words? "He... he heard the phone ring while he was passing by. He came to get me.. .which is why it took so long."

  . "You really should lock your door when you're not home," came her mother's rather dry comment. "Do you know when you'll be coming to visit next?" Her mother continued while Samantha stifled a groan and looked at Jason. "I won't schedule any appointments while you're here. Lana can manage the shop for a week or so if you're planning on staying that long."

  Despite the change of subject, Samantha had the distinct impression her mother hadn't believed a word she'd said; it didn't help when Jason's head dipped low to explore the sensitive place where her long neck joined one slender shoulder.

  "Will you stop that?" she whispered fiercely, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. His head dropped lower still, and his mouth grazed the rounded tops of her breasts. "You...you sex fiend!" she hissed. Her fingers clutched convulsively at the wisp of nylon she still held in her other hand while she tried to ignore the tingle of pleasure racing down her spine.

  "What was that, dear?"

  "Uh... I was just saying... I have a friend in Seaside. Maybe I'll stop and see her on my way."

  "Seaside? You've never mentioned her before. Who is she?"

  Samantha groaned inwardly. If only her mother was a little less on the ball! "She's an old friend from college." She forced a laugh. "I'm sure I've mentioned her. Her name is—" her eyes lit on Jason's book lying on the nightstand "—Cathryn James." Lord, she had better hang up now! She'd find herself in over her head if this call didn't end soon. Thank heaven her mother hadn't picked up a book in years!