Warm & Willing. Kate Hoffmann
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“So what else do you know about Sam Morgan?” Libby asked.
“Nothing. No one in town is talking. This old guy named Carter Wilbury is supposed to be his friend, but he won’t—” Sarah felt a tap on her shoulder. She held up her hand. “I’ll be through in a sec.”
“What?” Libby asked.
“Someone wants to use the phone,” Sarah replied, annoyed with the interruption. “So, tell me, how are you feeling? Has the morning sickness gotten any better?”
“I’m much better. Trey brings me crackers in bed and I’ve found that regular servings of Rocky Road ice cream seem to settle my stomach. And my clothes are starting to get really tight, though I’m not sure if that’s from the baby or all the ice cream.”
Sarah pulled her BlackBerry PDA out of her purse and scanned her calendar. “I’ll be back home next week at the latest. We can go shopping at that cute little maternity shop on—” Sarah felt another tap on her shoulder. She spun around, angry at the second rude interruption. “I said I’d be done in—”
The words froze in her throat as she came face-to-face with the most beautiful man in all of Sutter Gap—and probably in the entire state of North Carolina as well. Sarah coughed to hide her surprise. “I—I’m sorry. I’ll just get off now.” She reached back to hang up the phone, but missed the hook twice.
“I understand you’re looking for Sam Morgan,” he said.
Sarah stared into his eyes, deep blue and ringed with impossibly long, dark lashes. “I—um, I’ll be—”
Libby’s voice came over the phone. “Sarah? Are you still there?”
Shaken from her stupor, Sarah turned back to face the wall and whispered into the phone. “Lib, I have to go.”
“Is everything all right?”
She cupped her hand over the receiver. “I might have been completely wrong about the men in Sutter Gap.”
“What?”
“I’ll call you later with the details.” With that, she quickly hung up the phone and spun back around, smoothing her hair and gracing him with a bright smile. She held out her hand. “Hello there, I’m Sarah Cantrell.”
The man stared down at her outstretched fingers, examining her manicure for a long moment before taking her hand in his callused palm. “Charlie Wilbury,” he muttered, his thumb brushing across the back of her wrist.
“Wilbury?” she asked. “Are you related to Carter Wilbury? Or Hattie Wilbury who runs the Gap View Motor Lodge?”
“Probably,” he replied.
Though he was dressed like all the others at the Lucky Penny, this man managed to make scruffy look incredibly sexy. His features were close to perfection, the sculpted mouth and the chiseled jaw, the blue eyes that seemed to see right into her soul. Even the dark stubble of beard that shadowed his strong jaw was attractive on him, while the same unshaven look came across as untidy on the rest of the patrons of the bar.
Millions of questions raced through her mind. What was a man like him doing in a place like this? Was this all some altitude-induced hallucination, or was he real? And why was he wearing so damn many clothes? Why was she wearing so many clothes? Suddenly, the room seemed very warm.
Sarah gulped back her silly questions and forced a smile. “Do you know Sam Morgan?”
“I do,” Charlie said, his gaze now fixed on her face.
Sarah groaned inwardly as a tiny grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. Maybe he could read her mind. She quickly tried to dispel the image of a naked mountain man from her head.
“And what do you need with Sam?”
Sarah shifted as his eyes now focused on her lips. Good grief, the way he was smiling at her was quite unnerving, as if he were seriously contemplating ravishing her right there in the bar. “I need to talk to him.”
“About what?”
His blunt question took her by surprise and she tried to regain control of her senses. “Well, that’s really none of your business.”
Charlie chuckled and let go of her hand. “No, I suppose it isn’t. But you’re the one looking for him, lady, not me.”
He turned, sauntered over to the bar and sat down on a bar stool.
She studied him from a distance. He wore faded jeans that hugged his long legs and a canvas jacket that looked like he’d recently used it for a doormat. The soft flannel shirt beneath his jacket was open just enough to reveal a smooth chest. His hiking boots were scuffed and his dark hair was just a little too long, curling over the collar of his jacket.
He was not prone to gaping at her, which set him apart from the rabble nursing their beers, munching on peanuts and debating the nutritional value of beef jerky.
A shiver skittered down her spine as she imagined what it might be like to unbutton his shirt, to run her hands over his chest and to press her lips to his skin. There was something about all that rugged masculinity wrapped up in denim and flannel that left her just a little dizzy. She moaned softly. This was neither the time nor the place for erotic musings!
Sarah drew a deep breath and started toward him. Right now, Charlie Wilbury was her only way to Sam Morgan. And Sam Morgan was her only way to another successful show. If she had to use every last ounce of her sex appeal to get what she wanted from Mr. Wilbury, then she would. But it would be strictly a business tactic. Sarah slipped onto the bar stool next to him. “Can I buy you a drink, Mr. Wilbury?”
“Depends on what you expect in return,” he said. “If you expect me to get all sloppy drunk so you can take advantage of me, then yes, you can buy me several drinks.”
Sarah smiled. She hadn’t expected to encounter both unique wit and simmering masculinity here in Sutter Gap. It was highly enjoyable. And given the choice, she could think of whole list of things she would also enjoy, beginning with a slow striptease and ending with a night of passion in her motel room…if she were living in Sarah Cantrell’s Sexual Fantasyland where every handsome man was interested in pleasuring her. But she wasn’t.
“You said you know Sam Morgan. Do you know where he is right now?”
Charlie nodded. “I do.”
Sarah opened her purse and withdrew a twenty, placing it on the bar. The bartender poured Charlie a whiskey straight up and left the bottle. Sarah ordered a diet cola, deciding it would be better to keep her head together than impress him with her drinking abilities. “Could you take me to him?”
“Sam’s a real private person. He doesn’t like strangers, even if they do look like you.”
There was a compliment in there somewhere. “Surprise, surprise,” she murmured. “No one in this town likes strangers. And no one knows anything about Sam Morgan either.”
“Or maybe they just don’t want to talk to you.”
“This is very important,” Sarah said, reaching out to touch his hand. The moment she did, she had cause to regret her action. A strange tingle numbed her fingers and began to climb up her arm. “I—I have a business proposal for him that could be financially beneficial. I think it’s only fair that he make his own decision about this.”
Charlie set down his whiskey glass and ran his thumb back and forth over the back of her hand. “And what makes you think Sam is interested in money?”
“Everyone is interested in money,” Sarah said. Although, right now, all she was interested in was the strange effect Charlie Wilbury’s touch was having on her body.
He downed the rest of his whiskey and set the glass on the bar, then slowly stood. “Not everyone, Ms. Cantrell. Hell, I’m interested in lots of other things besides money.” He let his gaze skim lazily