Ladies' Man (13 page)

“No, did I really?”

She was poised over him, driving him slowly insane, testing the edge of his control. “You most certainly did,” she told him as he ignored the pain in his shoulder and reached for his pants and the condom in his wallet, pulling Ellen out of the water with him as he covered himself.

“God,” he said, glancing up and smiling into her gorgeous brown eyes. “Sorry, babe.”

She dissolved into laughter, and he felt it again—that incredible sense of joy and happiness he’d felt the last time they’d made love. It wasn’t going to get any better than this.

But when he lowered them both back down into the water, and she shifted her hips, pushing herself down on top of him, it
did
get better.

Sam kissed her, afraid if he didn’t occupy his mouth he’d try to tell her the way she made him feel.

He loved her.

It was almost absurd. He was always the one backing away from the L-word, running for cover from the threat of the C-word—commitment. Yet somehow he’d managed to fall for a woman who needed him to damn near die before she could admit that she cared even the least little bit about him.

He wanted to shout that he loved her, but he didn’t dare.

Still, she’d seemed to be okay with the idea that he would spend what little remained of the night in her bed. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?

God, he was scared to death. He was terrified of the emotions he was feeling, and terrified that
she’d
be terrified of the way he felt, too, if she found out just how deeply he loved her. It was one giant terrorfest.

Not only that, but he was afraid he was going to wake up tomorrow and the intensity of his emotions would be totally gone. At the same time, he was also afraid he was going to wake up tomorrow and all of his feelings would still be there, that he’d still love her. He was afraid she didn’t see him as more than a short, hot fling. He was afraid she was going to break his heart, the way he’d broken dozens of hearts before. Casually. Callously. Barely even aware of the damage done.

He was afraid to talk to her, afraid to find out that she actually did find him beneath her because he hadn’t gone to college. He was afraid even to think about it.

The only thing he wasn’t afraid of was making love to Ellen. He knew without a doubt that it was the only time he truly had power over her. When he made love to her, she was his, completely.

He drove himself more deeply inside of her, again and again, setting a rhythm he knew she loved, and she clung to him, her head thrown back, her full breasts taut with her arousal. He felt the beginnings of her release, and it pushed him over the edge. His own release was hot and fierce, a scorching fireball of sensation that made him cry out her name, leaving him dizzy and near delirious in its aftermath.

He couldn’t keep from laughing. It seemed impossible that he could feel so incredibly, mind-blowingly good after the hell of the past evening.

Ellen sighed, her face pressed against his neck. “Hold me,” she breathed. “My muscles have turned to mush, and if you let me go, I’ll be just another Jacuzzi drowning statistic.”

“I won’t ever let you go,” Sam whispered, wishing with all of his heart that she would let him make his words be true.

She was silent then, as if she, too, caught his underlying meaning. She drew in another deep breath, and it seemed to catch, as if on a sob.

Sam tried to see her face, but she kept it turned away from him. “Ellen, are you all right?” He couldn’t keep anxiety from creeping into his voice. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, I just…I…” She took a deep breath, lifting her head to give him a rather forced-looking smile. “That was really…wonderful, and it just made me…I don’t know…a little sad.” She rolled her eyes. “I get silly sometimes.”

He kissed her, wishing he could read her mind. “Why did it make you sad?”

Her smile was wistful. “It was so perfect. Nothing can really be that perfect.”

“You want to make a bet? Give me a few minutes and we can do perfect all over again.” He nuzzled her neck.

She laughed in disbelief, swatting gently at him. “Are you kidding? I bet you can’t even stand up by yourself.”

“Do we have to do it standing up? I was actually thinking that making love to you in a bed would be something of a novelty.”

She laughed again. God, he loved the sound of her laughter. “Well, let’s see,” she said. “We’ve done the limo. And the Jacuzzi. I have to admit that I’ve always wanted to have wild sex in an elevator….”

Sam closed his eyes. “I’m never going to be able to ride in an elevator with you ever again without thinking about that.”

“And then there’s the rooftop patio, under the stars. I’ve never made love there. Or, ooh, I know. The kitchen table.”

It was his turn to laugh. “What?”

“Yeah. It’s
very
sexy. I’ve seen it in the movies all the time. Pounding, steamy sex complete with cutlery and china crashing to the floor. But only if no one’s home, of course.”

“There’s always someone home here,” Sam said, closing his eyes as her hands lightly massaged the back of his neck. “That’s the problem with being rich enough to have servants.”

“I’ve got a kitchen table back in Connecticut,” Ellen told him. “And a house that’s absolutely servant-free.”

Sam sat up a little straighter and opened his eyes. “Is that an invitation?”

She seemed almost taken aback by the direction the conversation had suddenly turned. “Well, I…”

“Because if it is, consider me there.”

Ellen was honest. “Sam, I was just teasing. I don’t expect you ever to visit me in Connecticut.”

“Why not?”

She smiled crookedly and leaned forward to kiss him. “Be serious.”

He pulled back before she could deepen the kiss and thoroughly distract him. “I am serious.”

“Okay, then don’t be serious.”

Sam looked into her eyes, his heart in his throat. “But I want to be serious. For the first time in my life, I do want to be serious.”

She looked directly into his eyes. “Sam. Don’t. Please?”

“Why not?”

“Because it wouldn’t work. You and me? Are you kidding?” Laughing breathlessly, Ellen pulled off of him. She climbed out of the Jacuzzi and wrapped herself in a towel.

He took a deep breath. “Look. Would it make a difference if I went back to school and got a college degree?”

She stared at him, amazement on her face. “What?”

“I’ve always sort of wanted to, and this is a good reason actually to do it. Then you wouldn’t have to be, well, embarrassed by me and…” He shrugged. “I want to be with you, Ellen, and if that would make me more acceptable…”

She was staring at him as if he were some sort of alien beamed down from outer space. “You think I don’t want to become involved with you because I’m embarrassed that you don’t have a college degree?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it sounds crazy now that I say it out loud, but I can’t figure out why else you won’t spend any time with me.”

“How about because you’re nearly ten years younger than me?”

Sam laughed, but then stopped laughing as he realized she wasn’t kidding.

“You were twelve years old when Lydia was born. When
you
were born, a man had already walked on the moon, the Beatles were on the verge of breaking up, and
Star Trek
had been off the air for years. You’re a child,” she continued.

“I
was
a child. I’m not anymore. I sort of thought you noticed.”

“Ten years is too much of an age difference,” she persisted. “I did it the other way around, with Richard. It didn’t work.”

“It wasn’t your age difference that didn’t work,” Sam pointed out. “It was Richard who didn’t work.”

But she’d already turned away from him, shaking her head. “You’re too young, and I’m much too vulnerable. When I’m with you, I can’t resist you. And making love is so incredible, but then, afterwards, I feel terrible, because I want…” She broke off, then turned to look at him, not even trying to hide the tears that were brimming in her eyes. “I…care too much for you, and that’s only going to hurt me in the long run. I can’t do this.”

Sam felt his heart clench. “Ellen—”

“Every time you kiss me, I think maybe I can handle the summer affair thing—that I can keep myself distanced while we have a purely sexual relationship, but the truth is that I can’t. I want more than that. I want to be with someone I know I’m going to grow old with.”

“So what you’re saying is it’s not a matter of age differences. It’s a matter of trust.”

Ellen shook her head. “Sam, even if commitment were your middle name—and I think you’ll be the first to admit that it’s not—you’ll still be all those years younger than me. The only thing I could ever absolutely trust is that someday you would leave me.”

“What, just because I’m only twenty-seven and not thirty-six like you? That’s really stupid—and insulting.”

She flushed. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

Sam took a deep breath. “What can I do to convince you that you’re wrong?”

Ellen wrapped her towel more tightly around her as she sadly shook her head. “Nothing,” she whispered. “You can’t change how old you are, Sam. I’ve thought about it, and there’s just no way this is going to work.”

ELEVEN

S
o, what’s this audition for?” Sam asked Lydia, settling into the backseat of the taxi. He was wedged between both kids, who swore that unless they sat near a window, the cab ride would make them throw up.

“Some disgusting breakfast cereal that’s loaded with sugar,” she told him offhandedly. “It’s nothing like the spot Mom is shooting today. Did she tell you about it?”

“Not much. Only that she had to be over there at six
A
.
M
.,” Sam said with a yawn. He’d woken up at five-fifteen—in his own sorry, lonely bed—and escorted Ellen to the studio where the commercial was being filmed.

The internal security on the set had been extremely professional. That, along with the fact that Ellen had told him point-blank that his presence would seriously throw off her concentration, had prompted him to call two of Hyunh’s security guards to replace him. He’d miserably sat out in the hallway until they arrived. After last night’s one-on-one with the stalker, Sam was also fairly confident that he was wrong about Ellen being the man’s target. It had to be Bob the creep was after. Although he wished that the letters had arrived with a name on the envelope so that he could be absolutely sure.

Still, after instructing the guards that Ellen was not, under any circumstances, to leave the studio until he arrived himself to pick her up after the shoot, Sam went back to the town house and crawled into bed, every inch of him aching.

His shoulder hurt like hell. And his feelings were pretty battered too. After last night Ellen didn’t even want to be in the same room with him. He’d virtually told her that he loved her, and her response had been to ask him to leave her room. And now his mere presence in the studio was too distracting.

Sam spent a few hours feeling bad about that until he realized maybe—just maybe—that was a
good
sign. He was a distraction. That was better then being someone who was easily ignored, right?

By early afternoon he’d slept a few hours and spent another few hours trying to think up ways he could age ten years in the next day or so. But he had come to the conclusion that it was not going to happen, no matter what he did.

It was hard not to be depressed, particularly since his shoulder ached every time he so much as moved, and his heart ached like hell regardless of whether he moved or not.

He was still lying in bed when the phone rang. He’d scooped it up quickly, hoping against hope that it was Ellen, but it was only Hyunh, asking if he was feeling up to playing bodyguard for Lydia while she went on an audition. Ellen had given Lydia permission to go—provided that Sam accompany her.

Sam knew he should feel good about that. Ellen had asked for him specifically, and her request implied a certain amount of trust. But it was hard to feel good about anything when every part of him hurt.

Still, he’d showered and grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen and here he was, heading out to some audition for a commercial spot for some disgusting breakfast cereal, as Lydia so aptly put it.

“The commercial that Mom’s doing today is absolutely awesome,” Jamie told him. “It’s for Airwalk sneakers, and she plays this tough commander of a starship, kind of like Sigourney Weaver in the
Alien
movies.”

“They faxed the sides and a storyboard to the house last night,” Lydia said. “It’s
very
cool. They’re going to add all these computer-animated space aliens to the scenes Mom’s shooting today. From what I could tell, it’s going to have this really dark
Blade Runner
look. She gets to wear this ultracool uniform.” She sighed. “I am
so
jealous. She must be having
so
much fun right now, and lately
I
can’t even get a callback.”

“What happened to your face?” Jamie asked Sam. “Bad guys get you?”

“Actually, yeah,” Sam admitted. “Yesterday I had a little run-in with someone who didn’t like me very much.”

“Did you win the fight and haul their butt to jail?” Jamie asked eagerly.

Sam laughed. “Not quite. But I consider the fact that they didn’t succeed in smashing my head in to be something of a personal victory.”

“Was it…the stalker?” There was trepidation in Lydia’s brown eyes.

“Yeah, I think it might’ve been,” Sam told her.

“Is that what you were talking to Mom about so late last night?” Jamie asked.

Sam froze, uncertain of what to say. “Um, well, yes, we did talk about that after I got home, yeah.”

Lydia leaned forward to glare at Jamie across Sam. “Were you up all night again, sneaking around the house playing your stupid spy games? If you
ever
sneak into my room while I’m asleep, I swear I’ll wring your scrawny neck.”

“Yeah, you’re just afraid I’ll tell everyone that you snore louder than a chain saw.”

“I do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do
not
!”

“Guys.” Sam put up his hands. “Please.”

“He sneaks around the house at, like, two o’clock in the morning pretending he’s part of the
Mission: Impossible
team,” Lydia complained.

“That’s better than talking on the phone to Ginny in Connecticut, taking three hours to describe the way your saxophone teacher taps his foot when you play, pretending that he doesn’t realize you’re only fifteen years old—just because you have a crush on the guy.”

Lydia squinted her eyes menacingly at her little brother. “I do
not
!”

“You do too.” He imitated her, fluttering his eyelashes and sighing. “‘Oh, it’s Casey Redmond. He’s
so
cute.’” He broke character and gazed at his sister loftily. “Believe me, I know things. I hear things.” Jamie folded his arms across his chest. “Most of the time the house is pretty quiet, but last night there was lots of movement. You were on the phone with Ginny from eleven-fifteen until one-thirty talking about Casey. Hyunh had some weird meeting with Bob after midnight, and I don’t know
what
time that ended. And Sam was talking to Mom in her room until close to two
A
.
M
….”

Hyunh and Bob? Sam had suspected there was something going on between the talk show host and his diminutive security chief. They’d no doubt had a “meeting” similar to the one Sam had had with Ellen. And Jamie, in his innocence, didn’t realize the implications of such a late-night tryst.

But Lydia did. Sam glanced in her direction to find her staring at him, wide-eyed, her expression unreadable. She quickly looked down at her hands folded in her lap, then out the window. She knew he’d been with her mother last night, and Sam couldn’t just pretend that she didn’t know.

“So,” he said brightly in the sudden uncomfortable silence. “I’m in love with your mother.”

That brought Lydia’s eyes back to his face. Jamie was clearly stumped at the apparent non sequitur.

“So, what do you guys think about that?” Sam added.

Lydia laughed nervously. “I had no clue.”

“You and
Mom
?” Jamie’s voice was tinged with disbelief. “Really?”

“Well, I don’t know how she feels about me,” Sam told the little boy, “but I’m definitely crazy about her.”

Jamie nodded, as if that were to be expected. “She’s pretty nice. And funny. She has a good sense of humor for a mom.”

“God, you are
so
narrow-minded,” Lydia leaned forward to shoot Jamie down. “She has a good sense of humor for a human being, do you mind?”

The cab stopped outside the casting agency’s building. Sam peeled a five-dollar bill from his billfold and handed it to the driver, then followed Lydia out of the taxi.

“Are you going to move to Connecticut, or are we going to move to New York?” Jamie asked Sam, scrambling out after them onto the sidewalk.

“Well, I—”

“I
love
New York,” Lydia said, starting for the door to the building. “I want to move to New York. Definitely.”

“Whoa,” Sam said. “Guys. Hang on a sec—”

“You don’t love New York, you love Casey Redmond,” Jamie scoffed at his sister as they went inside the elevator. “I want to live in Connecticut. I mean, the city’s okay, but I like to be able to go outside without a bodyguard.” He gazed pensively at Sam as the doors opened on the third floor. “Although you’d be pretty bored if you were a police detective in our town. We don’t have too many stalkers to worry about.”

“Thank God.” Sam followed them out of the elevator and past the reception desk, where a woman sat. She glanced briefly up at them as they passed. They’d been here before, and Sam knew where to go, but let Lydia lead the way. “Look guys, I think this conversation is a little pre—”

“Are you going to be our stepfather?” Jamie asked as Lydia signed in at one of the many tables in the wide hallway and took a script from the pile there. Sam glanced at the names above hers on the list—it looked as if there wouldn’t be that long a wait. But then he realized what Jamie had said.

Stepfather?

“I saw this movie once where the stepfather tried to kill all the kids,” Jamie continued, “but you wouldn’t do that because you’re a cop, right?”

“Oh my God, you and Mom are going to get married? That’s so
cool
!” Lydia was beside herself, talking at the same time as Jamie. “I saw this great dress in
Seventeen
magazine that I could wear to the ceremony and—”

“Guys.
Guys!
”

Lydia and Jamie stopped talking for only a moment. They both blinked at him, then started right in again as he ushered them into several of the chairs set along the wall.

“You’re not going to make us call you Dad, are you? I mean, we’ll still be able to call you Sam, right?”

“You’re going to love our house in Connecticut. We have this huge yard—it’s great for playing baseball and soccer.”

“We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here,” Sam said loudly. “Your mother and I haven’t exactly talked about marriage yet.” Yet? What, was he nuts? He’d said “yet” as if the topic were on his list of things to discuss with Ellen in the near future.

“You haven’t?” Jamie gazed at him owlishly from behind his glasses. “Well, gee, what are you waiting for?”

“Lydia Layne.” A man held the clipboard today. Lydia stood up and he waved her toward the door.

“Wow, that was fast,” Lydia said. “I didn’t even get a chance to read the sides.”

The man took the script from her hands. “You won’t need that, sweetie. Just go on in. Quickly now. The client’s got PMS and it’s a full moon—we’re all a little pissy today.”

“Break a leg,” Sam and Jamie said in unison.

The door closed behind her.

Jamie stood up. “I’m going to get a drink. There’s a water fountain right around the corner.”

Sam nodded, sitting tiredly down, wincing as his shoulder hit the back of the chair. “Come back right away, all right?”

“You bet.” Jamie sauntered off, and Sam leaned his head back, briefly closing his eyes. It was suddenly so peaceful without the kids around. Still, he found himself smiling. They were good kids, although he was going to have to break them of the habit they had of constantly sniping at one another. He’d worked for a few years as a Youth Officer, and he understood kids in their age group pretty well, and…

“Hey, where’s Jamie?”

Sam opened his eyes to see Lydia standing in front of him, a frown on her pretty face.

He stood up. “He just went to get some water. You were quick.”

“Yeah,” she said glumly. “It was one of those auditions where I looked into the camera, gave my name, rank, and serial number, they ordered me to turn to the left, turn to the right, and ‘Thank you! Next.’”

They rounded the corner and there was one of those water coolers with cone-shaped paper cups in a metal dispenser alongside of it. But there was no Jamie.

“Oh my God,” Lydia breathed. “Where did he go?”

Fear hit Sam hard in the gut. Where
did
the kid go? He knew enough not to just wander off. Sam spun around, searching for the little boy. He was wearing, what? A red T-shirt. That shouldn’t be too hard to spot….

Sam took Lydia’s hand and pulled her with him at a run toward the elevators. But there was no one over there either.

“Sir,” the woman behind a reception desk said disapprovingly. “I must ask you please not to run.”

“Did you see a little boy”—Sam nearly vaulted over the reception counter—“about ten, brown hair, blue eyes, glasses? Red T-shirt?”

The woman backed away from him in alarm. “The boy who came in with you? No. He hasn’t been back this way.”

He pulled out his badge, nearly throwing it at her. “NYPD.” He moved back down the hall, calling over his shoulder, “Call 911, tell ’em Detective Sam Schaefer needs backup at this address.”

The woman stared at him.

“Do it!” he shouted, and she reached for the phone.

“Oh my God,” Lydia said again, tears in her eyes. “Do you think Jamie’s been kidnapped?”

“Stay close to me,” Sam ordered, unable to answer her question. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

A group of African-American men were waiting outside one of the doors, all dressed similarly in athletic clothes, all tall enough to be college basketball players.