Her barely-covered breasts played a provocative game of peek-a-boo from beneath the blond curtain, giving him glimpses that turned him on like no other girl ever had—not even the centerfolds hidden under his mattress.
He winced at the intense pressure mounting under his fly and reached down to adjust his aching crotch. At that exact moment, Sam’s great-aunt’s car pulled into her driveway—only fifteen feet away. When the uptight old maid saw him touching himself while enjoying her niece’s uninhibited performance, all hell broke loose.
Throughout the battleaxe’s meltdown, Sam tried to explain she couldn’t find her one piece swimsuit from the previous summer, so she’d borrowed the bikini from one of her friends who, unfortunately, was smaller than Sam.
“How dare you make a slutty spectacle of yourself—especially in front of that hooligan?” Her Aunt Caroline gestured toward Nick in his yard. The sweep of her hand followed through in a hard, audible slap to her niece’s bare shoulder. The mortified blush rising from Sam’s chest proved she hadn’t considered her two friends might not be her only audience.
“Look at him.” Her aunt pointed at the telltale bulge in Nick’s zipper. “He’s ready to rape you. Or were you hoping for that?” The bitch repeatedly smacked Samantha, screaming words like harlot and whore in a shrill, witchy voice that suggested she might be hiding a pair of ruby slippers in her closet. “You’re an even bigger tramp than your mother was. I’ve a good mind to drag you to church and let Brother Hugh whip the carnal demons out of you.”
As Caroline raised her arm to strike Sam again, Nick dashed across the driveway and grabbed the crone’s wrist, threatening to call the police if she didn’t stop beating her niece. In the end, the frigid old biddy grounded Sam for a month and promised to have him arrested if he so much as looked toward her house again.
The utter shock on Sam’s face, after seeing his intense arousal, indicated she’d been too innocent before to realize the full effect her unclothed body could have on a man.
Nick like to think he’d helped protect Sam from suffering too greatly from her aunt’s religious fanaticism and overly zealous discipline. And somehow through the years, Samantha had managed to insulate herself enough to retain her intrepid, feisty spirit. But, to his great regret, her nearly naked image had imprinted itself in his mind, and from that day on, her seductive dance invaded his dreams.
It disgusted him that the innocent girl he’d given piggyback rides and taught to hit a baseball became the star of all his X-rated fantasies. Every time she smiled at him, his heart insisted on beating faster, and all he could think about was the day she would be old enough for him to make his dreams a reality.
Sadly, as Nick’s rotten luck would have it, when Samantha turned seventeen and was finally given her Aunt’s begrudging permission to date, his horn-dog brother didn’t waste a second before asking her out. The only way Nick managed to control his overwhelming urge to strangle Justin was to repeatedly tell himself that maybe—just maybe—his intense jealousy would fade with time.
Instead, fate had stepped in.
As he raced Chewie through the muggy evening, an awful realization struck him.
Not only had time ripened Sam’s curves and beauty, but maturity had also sharpened her sense of humor and reinforced the impudent streak that had always enchanted him. As a result, his possessive, protective feelings had simply grown stronger, and he’d fallen more deeply in love with her.
If his sweet wife ever made good on her ridiculous threat to dance topless for a living, he would no doubt spend the rest of his life in prison for beating the daylights out of her audience.
~*~
“He’s moved back in with you?”
Samantha cringed at Adam’s horrified tone and pulled the phone slightly away from her ear. “Yes, and he brought a dog with him.”
“He can’t simply move in without your consent.”
“I didn’t have any choice but to agree. You know my financial situation. Nick’s shelled out over twenty grand for the mortgage and taxes since our divorce.”
“I could pay him back,” Adam offered.
Right. Then she’d simply be indebted to a different master. Besides, as much as she liked Adam, her feelings for him weren’t deep enough to consider accepting such a huge loan from him. Better the devil she knew. “That’s sweet of you to offer, but I can’t take your money.”
“But you can accept his?” Disbelief and a tone that sounded a lot like jealousy distorted Adam’s deep voice.
“It’s different,” she explained, swiveling her chair away from her sewing machine. “Nick and I were married. He doesn’t expect me to pay him back.”
“And you think I do?”
“Even if you don’t, I’d still feel obligated to you. I’m very fond of you, but—”
“I get it. You’re thinking about getting back together with—”
“No! Absolutely not. I’m not that stupid.”
“Okay. Then where does this leave us?” he asked.
“The same place we were yesterday. Nick’s living here is temporary. I’d like to continue seeing you, Adam, but I’m really not ready to commit to a serious relationship. I’ve just started dating.”
He was silent for several seconds as if he were contemplating the best approach to take with her. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry, Samantha. I just hate the idea of him living under the same roof with you. I don’t mean to rush you, but I think we would be great together.”
“I understand. I just need to take things slowly, okay?”
“I don’t like it, but I guess I don’t have much choice. How about we have dinner and see a movie some night? I’m on call this weekend, but any other evening next week would work. You name the day.”
She dropped her head back and rubbed her forehead. The stress from Nick’s unexpected arrival that afternoon had left her brain too tired to function. Still, it wasn’t fair of her to keep Adam hanging—especially when he obviously needed reassurance.
“All right.” She released a weary breath. “Let’s tentatively make it Tuesday.”
She hung up the phone, confused by the dichotomy of feelings Adam’s accommodating attitude inspired. She should be thrilled to have the interest of a man who was so willing to surrender control to her. And yet, his obliging manner did nothing to stir her passion. In fact, his consideration had the opposite effect. The more indulgent he acted, the less sexually attractive she found him. Could she get any more twisted?
Sam covered her face with her hand and groaned. “Oh, good grief.” Was she really one of those hypocritical women who claimed to want a sensitive, sweet-talking gentleman to romance her, when all the while, she secretly desired an outlaw or pirate to sweep her off her feet and seduce her into submission?
Her imagination conjured a scene starring an unshaven, bare-chested Nick in skin-tight breeches, wielding a saber against Adam, who wore a ruffled shirt and frockcoat. She closed her eyes and shivered at the mental picture of Nick’s muscular thighs and biceps flexing as he thrust and parried, perspiration glistening in the dark hair that sprinkled his chest.
The thought of him winning the battle and carrying her off to his ship sent a wave of pleasure rippling through her. Her core liquefied and her insides throbbed, anticipating his slow, unrelenting seduction and eventual possession.
No! She shook her head vehemently, blocking the sensual fantasy that left her damp and aching. She refused to let her hormones prevail over her head. If nothing else, her conversation with Adam proved one thing. She needed to get Nick out of her house as soon as possible.
And she definitely had to stop reading those racy historical romances.
She turned back to the Worry Pal, which she’d finished machine embroidering the face on before Adam called, and snipped some residual threads. As she picked up the next faceless dog, the phone rang again.
Damn it. At this rate, she’d never get the ten units she’d planned to make that night finished. She punched the button to put the phone on speaker. “Hello?”
“Samantha Riverá?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Emily Foster. I own the
Special Treasures
gift shop in Peddlers Village.” The shopping district the woman spoke of was only ten minutes from Sam’s house. The collection of upscale, unique shops and restaurants attracted tourists by the thousands from New York to Philly, which naturally led many of them to the stores in Redemption, too.
“Foster? Are you any relation to Abby Foster? She’s the proprietor of Abby’s Closet in Redemption?”
“Actually, I am.” Emily chuckled. “She’s my mother-in-law.”
Sam laughed in return. “Then you must have a fabulous wardrobe.”
“I do, thanks to Abby. She pointed out your Magic Worry Pals in the hospital’s gift shop when we met my father-in-law for lunch today.”
Doc Foster had been Sam and Nick’s family doctor ever since they moved to Redemption seven years ago. He’d recommended Adam as a specialist for Dani.
“Anyway, I bought my niece one of the Worry Pals,” Emily continued, “and I copied your phone number off the customer satisfaction guarantee card you included.”
Sam stiffened. “Is there something wrong with the toy you received?”
“Absolutely not. It’s beautifully made, and Katie loves her new kitten. I’m hoping I can convince you to let me stock your toys in my gift shop. My store is known for its unique merchandise, and I know my customers would go crazy for your Magic Worry Pals.”
Sam chewed on her lip. She was already having a tough enough time keeping up with the hospital gift shop orders. Nevertheless, she would never turn her venture into a true success if she turned away business. Maybe Nick was right about her raising her selling price. “Uhh, I would love to sell my animals at your store, but I have to warn you my production and overhead costs have gone up so the sales price will be increasing by two dollars a unit next week.”
“I can understand the adjustment. Considering the quality, even at that rate the toys will still be a bargain. Can you send me thirty for now? Let’s say twenty dogs and ten cats in a variety of colors. If they sell as well as I think they will, I’ll naturally want a lot more as we get closer to Christmas.”
“Sure. But I won’t be able to deliver the order for about two weeks.”
“That’s fine. Just bring them in whenever you can, and I’ll cut you a check when you deliver them.”
Sam jotted down the woman’s phone number and the name and address of her shop before thanking her for the order. When she hung up the phone, she felt torn between shouting for joy and tearing her hair out.
In reality, it was a meaningless dilemma since this new order didn’t leave her any time to waste doing either one.
~*~
Nick led Chewie back into the house forty-five minutes later and peeked in on Dani and Ryan laughing and strumming their guitars in the family room. He unhooked the dog’s leash, hung it on the coat tree, and scaled the stairs two at a time to the second floor.
He found Sam bent over her sewing machine in what had formerly been the guest room, situated next to the master suite at the front of the house. The four-poster queen-sized bed had been replaced by a large table he assumed she used for cutting fabric. Shelves with a rainbow of plush velour, thread, fiberfill, and the other raw materials for Sam’s business occupied every inch of wall space.
“You look pretty busy,” he said.
“I am. I just got a call from a shop owner who wants to carry my Worry Pals. The woman ordered thirty units, and I promised her them within two weeks. You might be interested to know I took your advice and raised my price.”
“Good. The fact that she still wants them proves you’ve undervalued them.”
When she’d told him her business had grown, he never dreamed it had literally exploded. It seemed his wife might have unwittingly designed a product with the same mysterious appeal that had birthed previous toy fads like the Cabbage Patch Kids and Beanie Babies.
Her stuffed pets were similar to the Pound Puppies that flooded the market while they were growing up and generated a fortune for Tonka Toys. However, Sam’s extra cuddly creations offered additional features that were especially attractive to kids. As the mother of a sick child, she’d had firsthand insight to the comfort that a disappearing ink marker and a flashlight could provide.
“I could stuff some of those for you,” he suggested.
“Thanks. But right now, it’s more important for you to go play chaperone.”
“I can work on them downstairs and keep an eye on the kids at the same time. Men can multitask too, you know.”
“That’s all right. I can handle it myself,” she insisted, without looking up from her work, making it plain she didn’t want any help—or at least not from him.
“Okay.” He studied the animated faces on the finished stock lining the shelves and the unassembled gift cartons the plush pets would be packaged in. One side of the printed boxes had been designed with a grid-marked cellophane window to display the animals as if they were in a pet crate.
Mounting dread twisted his gut into a tight knot. His industrious wife had become a lot more self-sufficient than she’d let on. Just his luck, her new-found independence would give her even less reason to need him or want him back.
Even so, her burgeoning enterprise would never realize its full potential without a shrewd expansion plan, which had to include outsourcing production, national distribution, and some well-placed advertising and promotion to market the toys. Regrettably, not only was Sam too fiercely independent for her own good, as a neophyte in business, she didn’t have the slightest clue how to exploit the niche market she’d stumbled upon or the expertise with which to do it.
But he did. He hadn’t spent six years in night school getting his bachelor’s in marketing and another three earning his MBA for nothing. His only problem was finding a way to convince her to accept his advice and help without screwing up his chance at reconciliation.
He left the sewing room and poked his head inside the master bedroom next door. With the guestroom bed gone, where was he supposed to sleep? Sam certainly wasn’t about to invite him to share her bed. Or at least not right away. But if he played his cards right, maybe he could use the lack of a guest bed to his advantage.