Heart of the Night (33 page)

He poured the coffee. “I like it this way.”

“Wouldn't short hair be easier to care for?”

He shrugged. “I have easy hair. Towel dry, and that's it.”

“I'd think your superiors would prefer something more traditional.”

“Nope. I don't look like a cop. Makes things better for undercover work.”

“Do you do much of that?”

“As much as I can. It's interesting.”

“And dangerous.”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. What's wrong with your car?”

Susan had no idea what her car had to do with the discussion, and her look told him so.

“You said something was wrong with it,” he explained patiently, “and I know just the person to fix it. Name's Matty Stavanovich. He has the slickest fingers east of the Mississippi.”

“Is he an authorized Jaguar repairman?” she asked archly.

Sam laughed.

“What's so funny? It's a legitimate question.”

“But the way you said it. There are times when you forget who you are and where you're from, and you say things that are totally uninhibited. Then there are other times when your breeding takes over. That was one of those times. You sounded like the very proper, very wealthy Newport matron.”

Susan wasn't sure if he was making fun of her or not. “There's nothing wrong with breeding. Maybe if you had a little more of it, you'd be better off in the world.”

“There are many kinds of breeding, Miss Susan. I've had breeding, just a different kind from you.”

“Oh?” She dared him. “Tell me about your breeding.”

To her surprise, he did just that. “I grew up in western Pennsylvania in a home that was nearly as Catholic as the Vatican. My parents were devout. They believed that there were certain ways to live and certain ways to think, and they taught me each of those ways, then had me live and breathe them until the day I graduated from high school.” He paused. “Wouldn't you say that's breeding?”

Susan's eyes went wide for a minute. “I guess I'd have to. But what happened when you graduated from high school?”

“I left home.”

“Left? Just went away?”

“Went to college, actually, but I never went home again. I won a scholarship and got a small loan from an uncle, but otherwise I was on my own. My parents didn't want anything to do with me.”

Susan didn't understand. “But why? What had you done that was so awful?”

“I was their only son. I was supposed to be a priest.”

“Oh my.”

“When I told them that that wasn't what I wanted in life,” he made a cutting motion with his hand across his neck, “that was it. I was as good as dead.”

Susan was stunned. “How can religious people do that?”

“Most can't. Some, like my parents, are fanatics. They let their beliefs insulate them from the rest of the world. In the name of those beliefs, they commit a multitude of sins.”

Though he was sitting and speaking very calmly, the look on his face was anything but. Deep inside, he was hurt. And perhaps angry. Susan knew she would be. She wondered what Thanksgiving dinners were like at the Craig home.

“How is it when you see them now?”

“I don't see them. I told you. In their eyes, I'm dead.”

“
Still
?”

“Still.”

It sounded so stark, so final. Susan cast about for something to soften the situation. “You said you were their only son. Do you have any sisters?”

“One. But she's their daughter. She won't see me either.”

“She won't see you? She's an adult and she goes along with that insanity?”

Sam had asked himself the same questions dozens of times. “She's afraid of my dad, I guess. She's seen what he's capable of. She doesn't want to be excommunicated, and in some respects, I can see her point. She's three years younger than me. When all this first happened, she was in no position to go against dad's dictum.”

“She's a lot older now. She must have some resources of her own. She could call you on the phone, arrange to meet you somewhere.”

“Not really. She married a guy from home. From what I hear, he's out of the same mold as Dad. They don't have much money, and they have a baby girl. Time is as tight for her now as money.”

“A baby?” That made things even worse. “You have a niece you've never seen?”

Sam clearly did not like the direction the conversation was taking. “Yes, I have a niece I've never seen, and it hurts. I've tried to send her gifts but they were all returned unopened. She's five, not much of a baby anymore, and doing just fine without me.” He held up the pitcher of orange juice.

Susan declined the offer. She was having trouble conceiving of going through life totally alone. “You must have other relatives. What about the uncle who loaned you money when you started college?”

“He died four years ago, and there's no one else worth seeing. Don't look so stricken, Susan. I have plenty of friends. And I love my work.”

But Susan was trying to imagine what it would be like to sever oneself, or be severed from one's roots. The very thought made her feel wobbly. While her father was far from attentive, she had aunts and uncles and cousins. And she had Savannah. Despite all the times in her life when she had resented that, at the moment it was reassuring.

“Easter's coming up,” she said on impulse. “You can celebrate it with me.”

Sam got to his feet. “The beauty of my job,” he said, producing a grin, “is that I often get to work through things like Christmas and Easter and the Fourth of July.” He held out a hand. “Want to take a walk? It's peaceful out on the pier.”

Without a second thought, Susan put her hand in his. A short time later, they were sitting side by side on the end of the small wooden dock. Susan was wrapped in her fur, Sam in a pea jacket. For a time they said nothing, but simply listened to the rush of the river. Sam was right. The spot was peaceful.

But Susan couldn't stop thinking about what he had said. Peering at him over her collar, she asked, “Do you really like your work?”

“Yes, I really like my work. That's not to say that I want to do it forever. There are other things out there that interest me, too.”

“Like?”

“Law. I'd like to be doing what your sister is.”

“So, go to law school.”

He tossed a splinter of wood into the wind. “Someday I will.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I'm not ready.”

“If it's a matter of money—”

“It's not. I'm just not ready. Who knows? Maybe I never will be.”

Susan stared at him. “How can you not be ready for something that would better your life?”

“I don't know that it would better my life.”

“Of course it would. You'd be a lawyer. You'd have a profession. You'd be earning twice as much money as you are now, and you'd have the potential for earning even more.”

“Money isn't everything.”

“It sure comes close.”

He eyed her head-on. “You've got bundles of the stuff. I don't see that you're so happy with your life.”

“I'm happy.”

His eyes chided her.

“Okay,” she conceded, “so I've been going through a rough spell. But it'll pass.”

“Only if you make it pass, Susan. Burying the misery in a bottle will only make things worse. You have to find out what's wrong with your life and take steps to correct it. Do you miss Dirk that much?”

“I don't miss Dirk at all. I haven't missed him since he left.”

“Then you're lonely.”

“I'm not lonely. I have plenty of friends waiting to do things whenever I want. I could have gone out last night if I hadn't made the mistake of deciding to wait for you to come.” She got to her feet. “That was a
big
mistake.” She started back toward Sam's door.

He caught up with her in a second, easily matching her strides. “Why did you wait? I asked you out, and you turned me down. Forget the fact that I was called in to work. Did you think I had so little pride that I'd take the risk of getting shot down twice on the same day?”

“I thought you wanted me,” she said with her chin tipped up. “I guess I was wrong.”

“I do want you.”

“Strange way you have of showing it.”

Sam stopped in his tracks, grabbed handfuls of his hair and gave a loud growl of frustration. In the next instant, he captured Susan's hand, surging ahead with her in tow. She tried to pull back, but she might as well have been handcuffed to him. He didn't let up until he'd climbed the steps to the small deck off the kitchen and gone inside. Then he backed her into a corner, no more than a foot from the door. With the weight of his body immobilizing hers, he held her face in his hands and kissed her with every bit of the hunger she'd accused him of lacking.

“Once too often,” he growled into her mouth. “You've goaded me once too often.”

She tried to talk back, but he wouldn't allow it. His mouth dominated hers, rendering any sound she tried to make little more than a moan.

Controlling her head with his kiss, he gave free reign to his hands. They slid down her neck, rolled around and over her breasts, and continued downward. With every touch, she burned hotter. She tried to stop him, tried to divert him, to regain a drop of the control she had so totally lost, but he was relentless in his quest. Before she could begin to adjust, his hands were in her sweatpants.

She wrenched her mouth free for a breath. “Sam!”

“Too late!” He caught her chin in one hand and recaptured her mouth at the same time that his fingers found the spot between her legs that was already wet with wanting him.

She moaned again when he stroked her more deeply. It was happening too fast. She had the dreadful fear of his possession being over before she'd been able to enjoy it.

“Wait,” she gasped. “Give me a minute.”

“Too late,” he repeated, and in the echo of his words came the rasp of his zipper.

She tried to capture his wrists, but he was too strong and he moved erratically as he worked himself free of his pants and pushed hers past her knees. When those same knees threatened to give way, she clutched his shoulders. In the next breath, his hands were on the backs of her thighs, spreading her legs and lifting her.

“Sam,” she whispered frantically.
“Sam.”
Her back hit the wall with the force of his thrust, and then he was inside, filling her to the limit, and she struggled to catch her breath.

Sam swore softly. His eyes were closed, his face buried in her hair. “Susan,” he whispered roughly, “Holy Mother…” He withdrew, then surged back, withdrew and surged back.

With a choked cry, Susan erupted into a powerful climax. She was still in its hold when, stroking her twice more, he came himself. His whole body stiffened. His breath was suspended in his lungs. He let it out slowly in a series of quiet gasps.

For a long time, neither of them moved. Neither spoke. They simply breathed and recovered and tried to figure out ways to repeat what they'd just been through.

Susan had never had as satisfying a climax. She wondered whether it was the novelty of Sam, or the fact that he was so different from the other men she'd known, or that he had taken her with a bit of force and a lot of conviction. One thing she had to say for him, he didn't waffle.

Forehead against his shoulder, she smiled.

He felt it. “What?”

“Savannah thought you were the type to want privacy and the comfort of a bed.” She shot an amused glance toward the door, mere inches from her arm. “Guess she was wrong.” Still smiling, she drew back her head and caught his gaze. “So much for a slow hand.”

Beneath a damp forehead, Sam's eyes sparkled. “You want a slow hand? I'll give you a slow hand.” Cupping her bottom he held her to him and began to shuffle through the kitchen toward the stairs.

“You're going to trip, Sam.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Your pants are around your knees.”

“So are yours.”

“Mine are lower, and I'm not the one trying to walk.”

“I can make it.”

“On the stairs?”

“Sure.”

He tripped on the very first one, swore, and finally managed to set her upright on the third step. Hopping from one foot to the other, he got rid of his sneakers, jeans and briefs, then tore off his pea jacket and whipped his shirt over his head without bothering with the buttons.

Stunned by the sight of him naked, Susan couldn't say a word when he started in on her own sneakers and pants. He tossed her fur aside as haphazardly as he had his coat, and she didn't make a sound. She nearly protested when he tugged her sweatshirt over her head, but only because for that short period of time he was out of her sight. With her sweatshirt gone, he unhooked her bra and peeled it back. Then, lowering his head, he began to hungrily devour her breasts.

They made love for the second time on the stairs. While it wasn't as fast as the first time had been, it was nowhere near the slow savoring Susan had wanted. That came the third time, on the king-sized bed that was the sole piece of furniture in Sam's bedroom. And by the time they were done, Susan was in such a state of divine exhaustion that she couldn't have raised a glass to her lips if she tried.

C
HAPTER
14

“That was Randy Travis, I'm Jared Snow, and you're in cool country, 95.3 FM, WCIC Providence. Right now it's twelve-forty, that's twenty minutes before one on another Monday night in March. If you're lookin' for the best of the best country sounds, you've come to the right place. Before the clock chimes the hour, I'll be kickin' up a new one from Sawyer Brown, an oldie from Linda Ronstadt, and a duet from Crystal Gayle and Gary Morris that'll get you in the mood for love. So refill that coffee cup, curl up, and listen in to 95.3 FM, WCIC Providence, and me.”
His voice went lower and more sandy.
“Put down your pencil, darlin', and take a break. That's the word from Jared Snow in the heart of the night.…