She cried out and sank her nails into Sam’s back. He went rigid, and then his climax broke free, surging through him in heavy waves. His fierce growl of triumph and satisfaction echoed in the shadows.
In that senses-shattering moment, she could have sworn that the flaring ultralight currents of their overheated auras had established a harmonic link, a breathtakingly intimate resonance.
She had just time enough to think, Such a thing isn’t possible.
And then they were collapsing together into the damp sheets, and she could not think coherently at all.
14
SHE AWOKE TO THE INTOXICATING FRAGRANCE OF FRESHLY brewed coffee.
Sam.
She opened her eyes to the early light of a Seattle summer morning and bolted upright on a tide of adrenaline. Sam had spent the night in her bed.
She knew he had not gone back to the sofa, because she had a distinct recollection of him returning from the bathroom after the heated lovemaking. Mentally, she corrected herself: the heated sex. No love involved on either side. They barely knew each other.
It came down to a one-night stand. She never did one-night stands. Too risky.
Newton was nowhere to be seen. A shiver of alarm shot through her. He was always there to greet her first thing in the morning.
As if on cue, she heard Newton in the hall. He trotted into the bedroom, put his front paws up on the bed and licked her hand.
“Well, good morning to you, too,” she said.
She rubbed his ears. Newton gave her another perfunctory lick on the hand and bounced off, tail high. He disappeared back down the hall, as if he had more important things to do.
She forced herself to focus on the chain of events during the night. When Sam had returned to the bed, he had pulled her close and fallen into a profound sleep. She had expected to spend the short time left until dawn lying awake, worrying about the weird, unsettling sensations she had experienced and the possible ramifications of what had happened.
But the exhaustion that had come over her had been beyond any normal postcoital languor. Probably because there had been as much paranormal as normal energy involved, she thought. She had never before engaged in sex with all of her senses wide open. Until last night, she would not have believed such an encounter was even possible.
Her phone chimed, snapping her out of her reverie. She scooped it up off the nightstand and glanced at the screen. The familiar caller ID calmed her. Ralph, the day doorman.
“Good morning, Ralph,” she said. She glanced at the clock again. “Early-morning package delivery?”
“There is a gentleman here to see you.” Ralph spoke very quietly into the phone. “A Mr. Strickland.”
“Dawson? Are you sure?”
“Says he’s your brother, but you never mentioned a brother.”
“Dawson is my stepbrother,” she said. She spoke automatically while she tried to think. “What does he want?”
Sam came to stand in the doorway of the bedroom. Newton was at his heels. Sam had obviously showered and shaved. His dark hair was still damp. He wore a charcoal-gray pullover and a pair of black trousers. He had a cup of coffee in his hand and a little heat in his eyes. She was suddenly very conscious of her wild hair and the faded nightgown.
“Mr. Strickland says he wants to talk to you,” Ralph said, his voice still barely above a whisper. “But if you’d rather not see him, I’ll be happy to tell him that you’re not at home. After all, you were scheduled to be out of town this week, anyway.”
She smiled a little at Ralph’s protective tones. He knew she had spent the night with a man and that said male was still under her roof. The door staff knew everything that went on in the building. He was trying to shield her from any possible awkwardness that might result if her stepbrother walked in on the situation. As if Dawson has ever shown any interest in my social life, she thought. So long as she kept a low profile and did not embarrass the clan, Dawson and the rest of the perfect blended family pretty much ignored her.
“I appreciate that, Ralph, but it’s okay,” she said. “Tell Dawson that I’m just heading into the shower. I need about thirty minutes to get dressed. If he wants to wait that long, you can send him up then.”
“Let me see if he’ll wait,” Ralph said.
There was some mumbled conversation on the other end of the connection. Ralph came back on the phone.
“Mr. Strickland says he’ll go down the block to Starbucks and get a latte,” Ralph said. “He’ll be back in half an hour.”
“Thanks, Ralph.” She ended the connection and tossed the phone down onto the nightstand. She looked at Sam. “Dawson will be coming up here in thirty minutes.”
Sam walked to the bed and set the coffee on the nightstand. “Who is Dawson? Or should I ask?”
“Technically speaking, he’s my stepbrother. He’s the son of my father’s current wife by her first marriage.”
“The man standing next to you in the back-cover photo of your father’s new book.”
“Right.”
“I get the feeling you’re not close.”
“No kidding,” she said. She grabbed her robe off the foot of the bed. “Which is, as Gwen has pointed out, a real shame, because Dawson is the heir to a fortune on his mother’s side. His Strickland ancestors made a ton of money in the lumber industry and later did some very shrewd investing in commercial real estate here in Seattle.”
“Dawson is connected to those Stricklands?”
“Yep, those Stricklands. His grandmother, Orinda Strickland, controls the family money now. Dawson and his mother, Diana, are the only heirs.” She pulled on the robe and picked up the mug. “Thanks for the caffeine.”
He gave her a slow, sexy, intimate smile that raised the hairs on the back of her neck in an exciting way.
“Any time,” he said.
She flushed and looked toward the dresser, searching for a distraction. The old herbal was gone. Suspicion slashed through her. She whirled around.
“Where’s the book?” she asked.
“In my duffel bag. Figured it would be safer there.”
“What, exactly, do you mean by ‘safer’?”
“By ‘safer,’ I meant a little more secure than it was lying on top of your dresser.” Sam’s voice hardened. So did his eyes. “I’m not planning to steal the damn thing, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She reddened. “I didn’t mean to imply that you would do that.”
“Sure you did. It was the first thing that popped into your mind when you noticed that the book was missing.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “That was rude.” She sipped some coffee.
“Do you always wake up this suspicious after a date?”
Shocked, she choked on the coffee and sputtered for a few embarrassing seconds. Eventually, she managed to compose herself.
“That wasn’t a date,” she managed weakly. “Not exactly.” She fumbled to a halt.
“Let’s see, there was tea and conversation, a kiss in a garden, and there was sex. Really great sex, I might add. I admit that the late-night prowler in your living room, the burning herbal and taking the dog out for a walk at two in the morning were a little unusual, but aside from that, I’d say we met most of the requirements for a date.”
“Or a one-night stand,” she said.
“Or that,” he agreed, a little too readily.
She was feeling cornered, and she knew she sounded surly. She did not dare look in a mirror. Her face was probably scarlet. She drew herself up and squared her shoulders.
“Excuse me. I need to get into the shower and get dressed,” she said.