Hot Blooded (23 page)

Sam nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the man on her porch. Then she realized it was Ty. She hadn’t expected to see anyone, but smiled to herself. There was something right about him reclining on the front-porch swing, jean-clad legs outstretched, a bottle of beer cradled between his hands, his face cast in shadow where the weak light of the single bulb on the porch didn’t quite reach. He seemed at home there. Calm. Rocking gently to the music of the wind chimes and cicadas. And yet there was a restless quality to him, a darkness she didn’t understand, a danger that lured her as much as it frightened her.

“Don’t make more of it than it is,” she muttered to herself, but her heartbeat kicked up a notch as she pressed the electronic opener and nosed the Mustang into the garage.

So what does he want,
she wondered as she switched off the ignition and tossed her keys into her purse.
Why is he here? What does he expect?

No, Sam, what do you expect?

Her throat went dry and for the briefest of seconds she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. To touch him. To…
Don’t go there. You don’t know him well enough. There’s something he’s not telling you, something he’s hiding, something dark. It’s the middle of the night, for crying out loud. Why is he waiting for you alone? This is no good.
No good! But a drip of anticipation ran through her blood.

Silently arguing with herself, she slid out of the car, walked through the breezeway and into house, where Charon greeted her by crying and rubbing against her legs. “I missed you, too,” she said to the black cat as she tossed her purse onto the counter and quickly disengaged the security alarm. Carrying the cat, she walked to the front door and slid the bolt.

Ty was still on the swing, eyes in shadow. He glanced up at her, and she felt a tingle—like the cold breath of winter—against the back of her neck. “You’re beginning to make a habit of this,” she said, as Charon, sensing freedom, scrambled from her arms and dashed across the porch.

“Is that bad?” he drawled.

“Could be.”

The swing creaked as he pushed himself to his feet. Intense hazel eyes caught in the pale light. “Maybe I find you irresistible.”

“And maybe that’s a line out of a bad movie.”

“Is it?” One dark, nearly sinful eyebrow raised. He finished his beer in one swallow as the wind chimes tinkled softly.

“I think you can do better,” she said.

“Maybe you give me too much credit.”

“I’m sure I do.”

“That could be a mistake.”

“Probably.”

Leaving his empty bottle on the rail he walked to the door where Sam stood, arms folded over her chest, one shoulder
propped against the jamb. The faint odor of musk tickled her nostrils. Night-darkened eyes regarded her slowly and she felt a nervous sheen of perspiration on her skin. He leaned closer, placed his bent arm over the top of hers on the doorframe. His nose was nearly touching hers, his breath warm against her face. “You know, I just thought I’d make sure you got home safely. Most women would want to thank me.”

“I’m not most women,” she reminded him, but her heartbeat skyrocketed.

“No, Sam, you’re not.” He was close enough that she could feel his heat. Her heart pounded wildly, and she read the dangerous promises in his eyes. His gaze fell to the open collar of her blouse, as if he could see her pulse jumping in the hollow of her throat. “That’s probably why I’m here.”

“A knight in shining armor—is that what you’d have me believe.”

His chuckle was low and sexy. “Never.”

“So your intentions aren’t chivalrous?”

He snorted. “Who says I have intentions?”

It was her turn to cock a disbelieving eyebrow. “Peddle that to someone who believes it. What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up here?”

“I would have checked with someone.”

“Who?” she asked, and noticed his smile grow slowly from one side of his beard-shadowed jaw to the other. “Whoever I had to.”

Was it the night with its full moon and hot breeze, or was it something else, something more primal, something within, that made her wonder how it would feel to have his skin rub against hers, how she would respond to the feel of his hands on her body? Or was it because she needed to escape the craziness that had become her life, the fear and tension that had become her companions in the last few
weeks. Or…was it more basic? Was it simply that she’d been without a man for a long time, and she craved a man’s touch? Or that something deep within her, something she didn’t want to examine too closely, was attracted to secretive men with an edge?

“The least you could do is invite me in,” he suggested, his voice low.

“I’m considering it.” She was aware that he was the barest of inches from her, too damned close. “If you behave.”

“Sorry, darlin’, but that’s a promise I just can’t make,” he drawled, and deep inside she quivered. What would it be like to make love to this man, to lie in his arms, to wake up with morning dancing in his eyes and desire running through his veins? Her throat caught.

“I think I owe you a glass of wine. It only seems fair to open the bottle and share it with you since you brought it over.”

“I’m all for fairness.”

She stepped out of the doorway, and he followed her to the kitchen, where she found the unopened bottle of Riesling in the refrigerator.

“Need help?” he asked, as she kicked off her shoes and snagged the corkscrew from a drawer.

“Not me, I was a Girl Scout.”

“Where they taught you to uncork a bottle of wine.”

“And I’ve got the merit badge to prove it.”

“I think you’re mixed up. Boy Scouts get merit badges. Girls get brownie points.”

“A lot you know,” she grumbled. She pulled hard. The cork and corkscrew released from the bottle with a soft pop. She twirled the corkscrew in her hand, blew across the end and tucked it into her belt as if it were a six-gun.

“Very funny.”

“I thought so,” she said over her shoulder as she stretched
to reach the wineglasses in a tall cupboard.
One glass, just have one glass,
she told herself as she poured, all the while aware of Ty standing behind her, one shoulder propped against the door to the breezeway. “Here.” She handed him one of the stemmed glasses and took the other for herself.

“What should we toast to?” he asked, one dark brow lifting.

“Better days,” she suggested.

“And nights.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “And nights.” She touched the rim of her glass to his. She sipped her wine and watched as he took a swallow from his glass, noticed the way his Adam’s apple worked over the open collar of his shirt, remembered all too vividly the sinewy muscles of his arms and chest.

What was she thinking? Why was her mind running to thoughts of hot kisses and hotter caresses? She didn’t know this man. Couldn’t trust him. Shouldn’t be thinking about making love to him, for God’s sake. And yet as she finished her wine, she knew that he cared enough to wait up for her, he cared enough to show up at the station and drive her home safely, he cared enough to risk his own life.

If he’d wanted to harm her, he’d already had plenty of opportunities.

“This is all getting to you,” he said as if reading her mind.

“I suppose.”

“It would get to anyone.” Hazel eyes held hers, and she noticed the striations of green and brown in their depths. “Come on,” he said, removing the corkscrew from her belt. “Let’s forget this for a while.” Linking his fingers through hers, he grabbed the neck of the bottle with the hand holding his glass and propelled her through the living room.

“Hey, wait…where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see. Hold this.” He handed her the bottle and
glasses, unlocked the French doors and led her outside to the backyard.

Moonlight spangled the dark water of the lake and cast a silver glow on the grass, shrubs, trees and the masts of Ty’s sailboat. Of course. His car hadn’t been parked in the driveway and Sam had thought he’d walked to the house. Instead, he’d used the boat.

“Wait a minute, what have you got in mind?” she asked, as he took hold of her hand again and pulled her toward the dock.

“You took a rain check, remember?” he said, jogging. Barefoot, she had to run to keep up with him. “I think it’s time I collected.”

The
Bright Angel
loomed before them. “And I think you’re nuts.”

“Your professional opinion, no doubt,” he said, as they reached the dock, and he helped her onto the sloop.

“No doubt.” This was just plain crazy. And wonderful. As she clutched the glasses and bottle to her chest, he untied the moorings, started the engine, switched on the running lights and pulled away from the dock. In deeper water he unfurled the sails.

“Isn’t this illegal?” she asked, as the sails snapped and billowed in the wind. The sloop cut through the water, and the shore slipped away, blending into the darkness, a few sparse houselights glowing warm and bright.

“What? Isn’t what illegal?” He was squinting into the darkness, hands on the wheel, legs braced on the deck.

“Sailing at night.”

“Don’t know. But if it is, it shouldn’t be.”

She inched forward and was standing next to him at the helm, the breeze fingering through her hair as the prow of the boat cut through the dark water. It was exhilarating and freeing after all the nights alone, the hours she’d spent worrying and tense. Stars winked bright in the blackened
heavens, and the water stretched endlessly as Ty worked the wheel, making sure the sails caught the wind, the boom moving as he constantly loosened and tightened the lines.

“Is this how you live your life?” she asked, as he turned into the wind.

“What do you mean?”

“Not playing by the rules.”

“Maybe I play by my own.”

“That’s ducking the question.”

“Maybe.”

He swung the wheel around, and the boat shifted, spray flying in the air, Sam nearly losing her balance. His shirt flapped in the breeze, and she was reminded of the night she’d been certain he’d sailed near her house, that he’d been peering through her windows.

He found a spot in a dark cove where he dropped anchor and lowered the sails. Stars twinkled brightly, the moon shone a watery blue. Sam reminded herself that they were completely alone. One man, one woman. Practically strangers.

No one knows you’re here. No one knows you’re with Ty.
Somewhere from the shore an owl hooted over the breeze. “Maybe you should tell me about yourself,” she suggested.

“And bore you to tears?”

“I won’t yawn.”

“Promise?”

“Scout’s honor,” she said, holding up two fingers as the breeze tugged at her hair.

“Right. The Girl Scouts.” He chuckled. “As I said, it’s a long and boring story.”

“Something tells me that nothing you’d say would bore me.”

He laughed and the sound was low and sexy as it echoed across the water. “You just want me to spill my guts so you can psychoanalyze me.”

“No way. I’ve had enough for the night.” She leaned against the mast. “It’s your turn. You know a lot about me. Probably more than you should. Let’s even the score.”

“And I would do that by spilling my guts,” he said, sipping from his glass and gazing at her with those intense eyes.

“That’s right. Tell me all,” she said boldly, grabbing hold of the boom with one hand and leaning closer to him. “

Including your deepest, darkest secret.”

He slid her a glance. “Is this like Truth or Dare?”

“The kids’ game,” she said, remembering back to when she was fourteen with Peter and a couple of his friends sleeping outside on the trampoline, a flashlight spinning between them, the unlucky victim having to either tell the truth about a very deep secret or accept a dare from the other players and do something awful the other kids came up with. “Yeah, it’s kind of like that,” she said, “so shoot.” She twirled her half-empty glass in the moonlight.

“I choose “dare.’

“You can’t.”

“Sure I can.” His gaze held hers. “I chose “dare.’

She felt a wicked little shiver of anticipation as water lapped at the sides of the sloop.

“Dare me to do something rather than tell the truth.” Even in the darkness she saw the challenge in his eyes and despite the rational side of her mind telling her she was making a mistake of monstrous proportions, she took a gulp of her wine, and said, “Okay, I dare you to tell the truth.”

“Uh-uh-uh. That’s cheating. You lose your turn.” He finished his wine and closed the distance between them, the toes of his shoes nudging against her bare feet.

“Wait a minute, that’s not how we played,” she objected, but felt his arm slide around her waist. “I can’t lose a turn.”

“My boat,” he said. “My rules.” Through the cotton of her blouse she felt his hand splay over the small of her back. Heat seeped through the fabric, and she was suddenly having trouble drawing a breath. He was too close, his touch far too sensual. She was out in the middle of a vast lake, and no one knew where she was. Yet she couldn’t resist him. “It’s how I used to play the game,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear. “So tell me, Samantha. Truth or dare?”

“I—I don’t know….” Her heart was racing, her blood on fire.

“Sure you do.”

She swallowed hard, knew the wine was affecting her. “Okay…dare.”

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Oh, God.
The arm around her tightened, pulling her close as the boat rocked gently on the water and the masts creaked overhead.

“That’s right, kiss me,” he commanded, his breath hot against her neck. “And don’t stop.”

“Ever?” Sweat collected on her forehead.

“Until I say.”

“I don’t know, that could be dangerous.”

“Definitely,” he promised. “I’m counting on it.” His mouth was so close it touched her hair. Her knees turned liquid.

“But—”

“Shh. No questions. I said ‘dare,’ and dare it is.” The hand at her back yanked her hard against him, forced her hips to his and she felt his erection hard and straining against his fly, pressed firmly against her mound.

She licked her lips and he caught the motion. Though
their mouths had not yet touched, she knew that she was going to do just as he asked. “Come on, Sam,” he said, and her skin tingled. “I dare you. Kiss me.”