He gazed at her striking face thoughtfully, admiring the satiny skin and the shape of her eyes. "You kept most of it from me. I recalled reading some of it in the press. The tabloids had a field day with the fact that America's favorite detective grew up on the streets and could actually fight." Amusement colored hisdeep voice. "When I first read it, I thought it was publicity hype your PR put out there to keep the public's interest at peak level. Many others in your position would have found a pretty story to replace the ugliness. But not you."
She shook her head with a laugh. "Sally thought about that for the space of five minutes and wanted to persuade me to swing another way. But I wanted no pretense. People were either going to accept me for who I am or not at all. But then when I met you and started having these feelings, I wondered if I should have swung the other way."
"I never cared about any of that," he assured her gruffly. "All I saw was this breathtakingly beautiful woman with a talent I happen to admire, a woman who caught my interest at the very first glance." Tilting her face up, he brushed his lips against hers. "And now, my lovely wife, it's time to go back in." He jerked his head at the snow that was now coming down rapidly.
"The fire calls, and I do believe I was promised an entire day of lovemaking."
"So, I believe."
A few hours later, they were sated with a meal and a slow and thorough bout of lovemaking. The fire blazed and crackled in the large hearth. Samuel felt the unfamiliar air of contentmentstealing over him as he held his wife in his arms. The snow was coming down, but inside, the warmth and coziness was something he cherished.
His life was frenetic. He liked it like that, or that was what he preferred. He had been dubbed 'the exacting producer with ice water running through his veins' by the press. He did not mind the unflattering description. His reputation got the job done.
He loved his work. He was aware that a lot of pressure was on him to take over the company, but he was not ready for that yet. He would do so in due course. There wasn't any doubt that he would step into his father's shoes when the time came. But for now, he loved taking a script and bringing it to life.
That was before he met Eliza. Five years ago, she had bowled him over with her beauty. He had fought it tooth and nail, of course, but had been unable to resist the path it took him.
Tipping his head down, he stared at her, his heart in his eyes. If any of his associates saw him now, they would have been shocked. Eliza had changed him. That was what he had been afraid of. She had made him vulnerable, at least where she was concerned.
And she was fast asleep. He had made love to her tirelessly as if he could not get enough of her. And the fact was, he couldn't. He wanted her all the time.
Closing his eyes, he drew her closer and drifted off, her scent in his nostrils.
*****
"Thank you for this," she said quietly as they finished up the meal of chicken and dumplings. It was their last night at the cottage, and tomorrow they would be heading out, back to the real world, where she was dreading that her dream was going to be dashed. "You were right."
"Of course I was. About what specifically?" He was keeping it light for as long as possible because he knew she was feeling sad.
"About us coming here, spending a week away from it all. From the press, from the pressures we face every day." Picking up her wine, she took a sip, expression pensive. "I enjoyed every minute of it."
"Especially when you forced me to go for that long drive with the windows down."
"It was fun." Her smile did not reach her eyes.
Putting down his glass, he took her hand and tugged her around so she was sitting on his lap. They had decided to eat in front of the fireplace, where he had spread the blankets and heaped them with cushions.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
"Nothing."
He merely raised his brows and waited.
Sighing, she avoided his eyes by staring at the strong column of his throat. The past week had been magical and perfect, so much so that she dreaded going back to where it could all go wrong. For the second time in their marriage, her husband had put aside his work and just concentrated on her.
She knew how important and powerful he was. It had been brought to her attention, the enormous amount of things he got done. And it staggered her. For him to put them all aside for one week was a supreme sacrifice on his part. She did not want to spoil their last evening at the cottage with her usual worries.
She wanted a perfect ending to a perfect week.
"Eliza?"
"I'm dreading going back."
"Why?"
Lifting her head, she stared at his beloved face, taking in every detail. He wasn't strikingly handsome. His face was too harsh, his chin too stubborn. But he had character stamped in every line. "I want this to continue. This place that we're in now, I love it."
"So do I."
