Seduction Of The Reluctant Bride. Barbara McCauley
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fast—that Faith wanted to talk to people about Digger, every unmarried male in town, not to mention a few married ones, suddenly had a story.
Sam was about to step in and break up the crowd when he felt a hand on his arm. Carol Sue, with her fiery red hair and seductive smile, held out a slice of chocolate cake.
“Thought you might like some sweets,” she said with a throaty whisper, batting her big green eyes at him, suggesting she was offering more than cake.
With a smile that came to Sam as automatically as a heartbeat, he took the cake and sniffed at it. “Umm. You always been a mind reader, Carol Sue?”
Her lips curved upward slowly, like a cat who’d just spied a mouse. “I bet I could guess what you’re thinking right now,” she purred.
He hoped not. Sam knew if the redhead had even an inkling that while he was accepting cake from her he was thinking about Faith Courtland’s luscious lips, he’d be washing chocolate frosting out of his hair for a week. “My thoughts might shock you, darling,” Sam said with a wicked gnn.
“Why don’t you call me later and we’ll see who shocks whom.” She walked away, waggling her fingers. When Sam turned back to the circle of men who’d surrounded Faith, he noticed she was gone.
Frowning, he set about looking for her in the hall—casually, of course—but she was nowhere to be seen. He strolled nonchalantly to the lobby of the hotel, wondering if she’d gone to the ladies’ room, when he spotted her sitting by herself outside in the covered courtyard.
She looked small in the oversized wicker chair. Her shoulders were hunched slightly forward, her eyes cast downward, her expression one of absolute despair. He had no idea what had prompted her sudden melancholy, but it appeared that she wanted to be left alone.
As he continued to watch her, despite his good sense and scruples, he couldn’t shake the lure of her vulnerability. There were two women here: one cool and distant, in control; the other crestfallen and weary. Both of them were extremely appealing.
The sadness in her eyes drew him to her. He sat beside her, and she immediately stiffened. He could see her struggle to compose herself. It was a battle hard-won.
“Tired?”
She started to shake her head, then smiled softly. “Maybe a little.”
He gave her a sly, half grin. “I’ve got just the thing.”
Her expression was guarded now, but curious. “And that is?”
“Chocolate ”
He leaned close, stabbing a big bite of cake along with a healthy dose of frosting and holding it to her lips. She eyed it like a penniless child outside a candy store, then put up a hand and shook her head.
He waved it under her nose, watched her stiff shoulders melt as she breathed in the exquisite fragrance. Her eyes closed halfway, as if she were floating on a sea of physical delight.
He’d only meant to comfort her, ease whatever mood had overcome her. But now, as he watched her willpower succumb to the rich scent of the chocolate, he knew he wanted this woman, wanted her under him, with that same expression, his name on her lips, her hands on his skin.
And when she gave in and opened her lips for a taste, then moaned softly, he thought he just might drop to his knees right there.
“Sinful,” she whispered, her voice filled with an ecstasy that had Sam grinding his back teeth.
He wanted to taste her—taste the chocolate mingling with her own warm, sensuous flavor—with a desperation that nearly brought a sweat to his brow. He eased back, shocked by the force of the need ripping through him, and angry with himself that just when he’d finally gotten this woman to let down her guard, if only a little, all he could think of was getting her into his bed.
“Sam.” She’d closed her eyes and the sound of his name, spoken so softly, rippled through him like a heatwave. “Can we go upstairs?”
This time he did break out in a sweat. Was she suggesting what he hoped she was suggesting? Damn. He would have brought the entire cake over if he’d known chocolate was the pass key.
“Uh, sure.”
“Do you have the key?”
Why would he have the key to her room? “Don’t you?”
She opened one eye, then the other and sat up straight Her brow knotted as she stared at him. “Why would I have a key to Digger’s room?”
Damn, damn, damn. That’s what she meant. “Oh, right. I can, uh, get the key from Jerome, the desk clerk.”
She watched him for a moment. “Did you think I was asking you up to my room?”
That cool tone was back now, the vulnerability and sadness gone; a fierce, accusatory look glinted in her eyes. “Mr. McCants, I’ll have you know I’m an engaged woman. And even if I weren’t, I don’t invite strange men up to my room.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she invited men she knew, but somehow he didn’t think she’d appreciate the humor. Damn. Engaged.
But not married. He stood and offered her a hand. “Is the ring on a layaway plan?”
Ignoring him, she rose and brushed past him. “It’s not quite official yet. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Just making conversation.” Grinning, he followed her. “So who’s the lucky guy?”
She stopped and turned so abruptly he nearly ran into her. “Let’s just get the room key and get this over with, all right?”
An elderly couple, Ed and Thelma Winters, walked by just then, and stared. Sam smiled at them and nodded. Faith blushed.
“Red’s a lovely color on you, Faith,” he whispered. “You should wear it more often.”
With a groan, she turned on her heels and walked to the front desk. He followed, cursed his bad luck and Faith Courtland’s not quite official fiancé, whoever the hell he was.
The two-room “suite,” as the desk clerk had called it, was no bigger than a closet, Faith thought as Sam opened the door and she stepped inside. Late-afternoon sun peeked through the blinds into the dark, stuffy room. The faint aroma of old cigars lingered in the stale air.
“No one’s been in here except Jerome since Digger disappeared.” Sam flipped up the blinds and opened a window. Light poured into the room, illuminating dust motes that scattered as the breeze rushed in carrying the scent of honeysuckle vine. He turned back to her, brushing off his hands. “Hardly the residence of a multi-millionaire.”
Yes, indeed, Faith agreed, glancing around. The furniture was sparse, nothing more than a simple blue couch and scarred coffee table, a fat easy chair, a large brown metal desk and mismatched chair. In the bedroom, a king-sized bed and small dresser. Simple was the only word to describe it.
She walked around, trying to imagine why he lived like this. He could have bought a villa in Spain. A chateau in France. An estate in Cape Cod. He could have lived anywhere he wanted, bought anything he wanted. Yet he chose to stay here in Cactus Flat, to work in a coffee shop, to mine for silver, and to live in a rented hotel room.
“You still think this is the same Digger Jones you’re looking for?” Sam asked, watching her as she walked back into the living room. He’d pulled off his suit jacket, tugged off his tie, and settled his long, muscular frame in the easy chair, slinging both arms over the back.
The I-told-you-so look in his eyes annoyed her, but then she was still smarting from his believing that she’d suggested they go to bed together. And they’d just met, for heaven’s sake!
The nerve of the man. The arrogance. So what if he was good-looking and had a certain...charm. That certainly didn’t mean a woman was going to drop her knickers if