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And she missed her step.
Suddenly, Sam was tumbling backward, arms flailing as she fought desperately to grab on to something, anything to save herself from falling.
She was in the middle of a yell when strong arms encircled her and she was slammed against a rock-hard chest. A shock like lightning ripped through her, the shock of intense physical attraction, and she gasped.
And then he was pulling her up toward him, his head descending, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss so urgent, so commanding, that she moaned as she clung to him. And then as he held her close the kiss softened then deepened until she moaned again, but this time it was from the sheer thrill of finally being in his arms, finally tasting those lips that had tempted her from the start.
She was kissing back, not hiding her desire, when suddenly he froze. To Sam’s dismay Jake pulled back and straightened, taking her with him, then gently but firmly set her to stand on her feet.
He looked at her with tortured eyes and mumbled an apology. Then he turned and walked out of the room.
******
Jake strode across the bridge toward his writing studio. He had to get away, clear his head. He’d had Sam in his arms, the very thing he’d been yearning for since he’d first laid eyes on her, and then he’d dropped her like a piece of hot coal. What the heck must she be thinking right now?
And what in the blazes was he doing, sending mixed messages like some kind of insecure teenager instead of a grown man? Pathetic.
He’d thought he could resist her. He’d even gone so far as to pull out Jessica’s photo. But even with that secret weapon he’d fallen victim to Sam’s sweet seduction.
There was just something about her that drew him out of his shell. She was so beautiful, not in a bombshell kind of a way as Jessica had been, but in a soft, sincere and charming sort of way. It was hard to explain, but Sam had stirred something inside him that had been dormant for a long time.
When Jessica died his flame died with her. He could no longer think and feel, he only existed. His heart was locked away in a tin box that had rusted over. It had lost all feeling and emotion and he’d thought nothing could loosen those rusted hinges.
And then came Samantha, fresh-faced and delicate, even in her heaviest work clothes. And that was when the brick wall he’d built began to crumble. He gave a grunt of frustration then stepped inside the studio and slammed the door shut behind him.
It took several minutes before the tenseness inside Jake began to ease. He reached for a pen and notepad then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. While in his hideout he might as well scribble a few lines. Or at least try to.
He’d been doodling for a while then scribbling random thoughts when a germ of an idea began to form. He’d started so many stories but after the first few pages each one had left him cold. But now, for the first time in years, his mouth went dry and he felt the zing of excitement that told him this story was a winner.
He sat forward and slapped the notepad down onto the desk then as fast as the thoughts came he threw them down on the paper, his fingers flying. As the plot formed he mumbled softly to himself, covering page after page with a story that refused to give him pause.
Jake had no idea how long he’d been writing. He’d stopped watching the clock. He was startled back to reality by a knock on the door.
His head jerked up and he saw the top of Sam’s head through the decorative glass in the upper portion of the door. “Come in,” he said, his voice hoarse from prolonged silence. He cleared his throat and got up to open the door.
She was standing there on the steps, her smile tentative, a streak of dust on her forehead. He was tempted to reach down and wipe it away with his fingers but he resisted the impulse. Instead, he stepped aside to let her in.
He saw a flash of uncertainty cross her face then she swallowed. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, her voice low, “but there was something I wanted to show you. To get your opinion.”
He felt a stab of guilt and almost winced. It was because of him that she looked so hesitant. The poor girl probably didn’t know where she stood with him. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and tilted his head toward the extra chair.
“Rest for a minute,” he said gently. “You must be tired.”
She raised her eyebrows and looked liked she was going to decline but then her face relaxed and the tension left her shoulders. “Okay,” she said, her voice sounding more like the Sam he knew. “I could take a break right now.”
She climbed the two steps and entered the studio, her eyes darting around the room. She was obviously filled with curiosity and for a moment she did not speak. Then she said, “You love books.” It was not a question but a simple statement of fact. She’d stared at the walls lined with books and had immediately made a very accurate assessment.
“They’re my life,” he said simply and went back to his desk where he sat down and looked up at her.
She took that as her cue to finally sit and she looked at the notepad and laptop on his desk. “Are you working on a paper?” she asked, looking interested. “Doing research?” Then she held up her hand. “No, let me guess. You’re a professor.”
He laughed. “No, no and no. I’m a writer.”
Her eyes widened and the admiration was plain on her face. “A writer,” she said, her voice breathless. "I’ve always admired people who could create imaginary worlds on paper. Wow…”
As her voice trailed off, her eyes still trained on him, Jake shifted in his seat. He hated being in the limelight and that was why he’d never made public appearances. He didn’t have a single photo on his website. And now, even though it was just Sam, he could feel the prickling in his scalp that told him he was getting just a little bit too much attention. He cleared his throat but before he could speak she gasped and leaned forward, her eyes on the bookshelf just behind his head.
“McKoy,” she read aloud. “Killer Instinct.” Her eyes narrowed as she read the other titles. “Criminal Pursuit. Dead in December.” Her jaw dropped and her eyes flew back to his. “Jake, you’re not McKoy, are you? The world-famous suspense writer?”
He felt his face flush and he looked away. Blast it. Exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. Christ. Why hadn’t he remembered that he had those personal copies of his book on the shelf? If he’d remembered he probably wouldn’t have let her in.
“Jake,” she said, her voice insistent, “you’re not answering. That means you’re guilty. It really is you.” She gave a look of triumph that soon morphed into a look of awe. "I can’t believe it. I’m in the presence of one of the most successful authors on the planet. Do you know,” she whispered, “that you’re a billionaire?”
That caught him by surprise and despite his uneasiness, he burst out laughing. On top of all her wonderful traits Samantha Fox was a comedian. At the thought he laughed some more and soon she was laughing, too.
The tension broken, they both relaxed back into their chairs. Sam put up a hand to wipe her eye. “Seriously,” she said, “you are the ultimate suspense writer. I bet I’m the only one of your fans who’s actually seen what you look like.”
“You’re a fan?” he asked, still smiling.
“Of course,” she said. “I’ve got four of your books at home as we speak.”
“Thanks,” he said, feeling genuinely grateful. It was people like Sam who had made him the success he was.
She tilted her head to one side. “Your books simply state your author name as McKoy. A deliberate attempt to remain anonymous?”
His smile dissolved as his face turned serious. “Yes, and I want to keep it that way, Sam. I hope you understand.”
“But, of course,” she said quickly. She looked directly into his eyes and in her he saw an earnestness that banished any doubts he may have had. “I would never divulge your secret to anyone. I respect your right to privacy, Jake. You can trust me.”
And the strangest thing was, he knew he could. He’d known this woman for less than a month and yet he felt he could trust her with his greatest secret. A shock ran through him as another thought entered his mind. He actually felt he could trust Sam with his life.
“Jake,” Sam said, her voice gentle, “may I ask you a question?’
“Go ahead,” he said with a shrug.
“Don’t take this the wrong way but for a man who’s so wealthy, why would you want to live in a place like this?” She gave him a shy look, as if embarrassed by her own question.
“ When you say 'a place like this’ are you talking about the town,” he gave her a look of mischief, “or the house?”
“The house, of course,” she said with a laugh. “Or maybe both. This is sort of a sleepy town. Why’d you choose this one?”
“Well, you know me,” he said and cocked an eyebrow at her.
