Page 71 of Rainshadow Road

“It’s okay.”

“I just want to tell you how much I—”

“I know. You’re grateful. We don’t have to go through this every time I help you out of the damn shower.”

Blinking at his curt tone, Lucy said, “Sorry. I didn’t realize ordinary politeness was going to annoy you.”

“It’s not ordinary politeness,” Sam said, snipping through the last of the plastic, “when you’re sitting there wet and mostly naked and staring at me with Kewpie doll eyes. Keep your thanks to yourself.”

“Why are you so touchy? Do you have a hangover?”

He gave her a sardonic glance. “I don’t get hangovers from two glasses of wine.”

“It’s having to do all this for me, isn’t it? Anyone would be frustrated. I’m sorry. But I’ll be out of here soon, and—”

“Lucy,” he said with strained patience, “don’t apologize. Don’t try to figure anything out. Just… shut up for a couple of minutes.”

“But I—” She broke off as she saw his expression. “Okay, I’m shutting up.”

When the plastic was discarded, Sam paused at the sight of a bruise on the side of her knee. He traced the edge of the dark blotch, his touch so light it was nearly imperceptible. His head was bent, so Lucy couldn’t see his expression. But his hands went to the mattress on either side of her hips, his fingers digging into the bedclothes. A deep tremor went through him, desire splintering through restraint.

Lucy didn’t dare say a word. She stared fixedly at the top of his head, the span of his shoulders. Her ears were filled with the echoes of her heartbeat.

His head bent, the light sliding across the dark layers of his hair. The touch of his lips was soft and searing against the bruise, causing her to jerk in surprise. His mouth lingered, drifting to the inside of her thigh. His fingers tightened until he gripped the covers in handfuls. Lucy’s breath caught as he leaned farther between her legs, the feel of his body heavy and sweet wherever it pressed.

Another kiss, higher, where the skin was thin and sensitive. Her skin turned hot and cold beneath the damp towel, sensation washing over her. Slowly his hands eased beneath the hem of the towel, the motion causing the white terry cloth to loosen and part. He moved higher, his palms sliding over her hips and stomach, his lips following in a path of excruciating sensation. Gasping, Lucy sank back bonelessly, her limbs turning weak. He pushed the sides of the towel open, the clean scent of her skin rising in a heated draft.

In a haze of excitement and confusion, Lucy turned her burning face to the side, her eyes closing to blot out everything but the intense pleasure of his touch. She wanted it so badly that nothing else mattered. He was making love to her, using his hands and mouth to draw her into a dark, sweet current of desire, and nothing had ever felt like this, a delight that seemed to dissolve her bones in liquid fire. His thumbs stroked her intimately, parting the humid flesh. A sob escaped her as she felt the heat of his breath, the pressure of his mouth opening against her. A stroke of his tongue, a gentle tug. He began to lick steadily, the rhythm teasing and luscious, until her body began to throb and clasp on emptiness. Helplessly she lifted against him with each silky flick and swirl, the sensation building to a flash point.

The metallic shrill of the doorbell cut through the brimming heat. Lucy froze, her nerves screaming in protest at the sound. Sam kept kissing and stroking her, so absorbed in the mindless sensuality of the moment that the noise hadn’t registered. But the doorbell rang again, and Lucy gasped and pushed at his head.

With a guttural curse, Sam tore himself away from her. He fumbled for the towel and covered Lucy. Half sitting, half leaning against the edge of the mattress, he panted for breath. He was shaking in every limb.

“Probably one of my crew,” she heard him mutter.

“Can you—”

“No.”

He pushed away from the bed and went to the bathroom, and she heard the sound of water running. By the time Sam emerged, Lucy had managed to pull the covers over herself. His face was hard, his jaw set. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Lucy bit her lip before asking, “Are you angry because of what you started, or because you didn’t finish?”

Sam sent her a brooding glance. “Both,” he said, and left the room.

***

As Sam went downstairs, the vicious ache of arousal was nothing compared to his scalding emotions. Anger, frustration, severe unease. He’d been so close, too damned close, to having sex with Lucy. He’d known it was wrong and he hadn’t cared. Why had Lucy done nothing to stop him? If he didn’t get control over the situation, over himself, he was going to make a serious mistake.

Reaching the front door, he opened it and was confronted by Lucy’s sister, Alice. An incredulous scowl spread across his face. For one longing moment he let himself imagine the pleasure of booting her off his front porch.

Alice stared at him coldly, tottering on impractical high heels. Her hazel eyes were large and heavily rimmed with glittery purple liner, startling in the narrow framework of her face. Her lips were lined and coated with hot pink. Even under the best of circumstances, Sam would have found her annoying. But having just been dragged out of bed with Lucy, with his body still screaming to go back and finish the job, Sam found it impossible to muster even the bare minimum of civility.

“We don’t encourage people to drop by without calling first,” he said.

“I’m here to see my sister.”

“She’s fine.”

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