Читать книгу Sleeping with the Sheikh - Brenda Jackson - Страница 11

Sitting cross-legged on the attic floor, Andi pulled the jeans from the cedar chest where she’d kept them along with other special mementos—Chance’s baby clothes, his first shoes, a few of Paul’s things, treasures that she couldn’t bear to part with. She fought back more tears, already missing her son and he’d only been gone a few hours. Admittedly, already missing Sam even though he wouldn’t leave again for several weeks.

She set the jeans aside and rummaged through the pile in the chest, coming upon Paul’s high school football jersey sporting the number seven. Lucky seven, Paul had said. If only his luck had held out, before he’d been ripped from her life, never having children of his own, never knowing Chance.

How Paul would have loved his nephew, love playing uncle. If he hadn’t died, maybe things would have been different. She probably wouldn’t have made love with Sam. And she wouldn’t have Chance.

She couldn’t imagine not having her son in her life. She also couldn’t turn back time and she couldn’t keep wondering about what might have been. Even if Paul had survived, Sam would have returned to his country, his duty. Hadn’t he all but admitted that to her?

Dropping the jersey back into the chest, she grabbed up Sam’s jeans and held them against her heart. Clung to his old clothes as if they were a replacement for the man.

“You’re so stupid, Andrea Hamilton,” she muttered. “Still pining away over a man you can’t have, so stop thinking about him. Stop it!”

“Did you find what you’re looking for?”

Still clutching the jeans in her arms, Andrea stiffened. With her back to the door, she could only hope Sam hadn’t witnessed her foolishness, hadn’t heard her declaration.

Glancing over her shoulder, she thankfully found his eyes focused on the open cedar chest, not her. He strolled over with hands in his pockets, then hovered above her like some dark, imposing monument to sheer male beauty.

He nodded toward the jersey laid out on top of the other items. “I remember Paul wearing that often.”

Andi tossed the jeans aside and shifted to where she could get a better look at Sam, his reaction. He hid his emotions behind that steel facade, those impenetrable eyes. Tearing her gaze away, she leaned forward again and produced another keepsake. “Do you remember this?”

Sam crouched beside her and took the baseball from her grasp, turning it over and over with his strong fingers. His expression mellowed with remembrance. “I recall this very well. My first major league game. Cleveland Indians. In April, the year Paul and I met.”

“And Paul caught the ball after a two-run homer.”

Sam grinned. “The ball rolled from two rows above us and landed at his feet. It was a foul, not a home run. Paul thought the other story sounded more favorable.”

Andi laughed. “That was just like him, making up something that sounded more exciting.”

“Yes. Exactly like him.” Sam’s tone turned weary and so did his eyes.

When he tried to hand the ball back to her, she said, “Keep it.”

“I could not—”

“He’d want you to have it, Sam. Besides, you two didn’t bother to take me along, so why would I want it?”

His smile reappeared. “We did not take you because Paul worried that you would distract me from the game.”

“He did not!”

“Perhaps he was not worried, but I was, the reason I didn’t encourage your attendance.”

Andi’s face flushed hot as a summer sidewalk. “Always the charmer,” she murmured.

“It’s the truth, Andrea. You were very distracting. You still are.”

Determined to move away from that topic, Andi patted the wooden floor next to her. “Have a seat. There’s something else I need to give you.”

Sam joined her on the floor, his long legs crossed the same as hers, and set the ball beside him. Andi reached into the corner of the chest and found the present in the same place she’d left it years before. The newspaper was yellowed, the blue bow tied around it somewhat flat. Tucked underneath the ribbon was an envelope that read “Sam, The Man.”

She offered it to him. “It’s Paul’s graduation gift to you. I found it in his room when we were converting it to Chance’s nursery.”

Sam took it from her and placed the present in his lap. Andi noticed a slight tremor in his fingers when he slit open the envelope and withdrew the card. While he read to himself, his expression took on a pain so intense it stole Andi’s breath.

“What does it say?” she asked.

He handed her the card and she, too, read in silence.

Hey, Sam. Just a little something for you to take back home. I’d send Andi with you, but she’d just give you grief. So I’m keeping her here for the time being, unless you decide to come back and take her off my hands. Seriously, if anything should happen to me, take care of her. She deserves to be happy.

Remember me.

Your bud, Paul

Tears burned Andi’s eyes. Her throat ached and her chest contracted with the sorrow that she’d kept at bay for more days than she could count.

“He knew,” she said, her voice shaking with the effort to hold back the threatening tide of emotions.

“Knew what?”

She raised her eyes from the card to Sam. “When we were cleaning out his things, we also found two Christmas presents, one for me and one for Tess. Paul never shopped until Christmas Eve. I think he knew what was going to happen.”

Sam sighed. “Andrea, I refuse to believe that Paul would drink himself to death, take his own life.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Tess calls it ‘angels’ intuition.’ The ability to know your fate.”

“And you believe this?”

“I think anything’s possible.” Or she had at one time.

Andi glanced at the unopened package still resting in his lap. “Are you going to see what’s inside?”

He carefully tore away the paper, revealing a framed photo that Tess had taken of Andi standing between Sam and Paul, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, all three sporting bright grins on their dirt-spattered faces, the result of a mud-slinging contest after the boys had dumped Andi in the trough.

They all looked so happy, carefree. If only they’d known what the future held. If only they’d played a little longer, clung to each other a little tighter, told each other what they were feeling inside…

Andi could no longer hold back the tears. They fell at will, rolled down her cheeks and onto her T-shirt. Sam wrapped his strong arms around her, absorbing her sobs against his solid chest. He rocked her back and forth as she had rocked his son so many nights. She didn’t want to need his consolation, his strength, but she did. She needed him, more than she should.

Tipping her face up, Andi brushed a kiss across his jaw, knowing that he could very well refuse this kind of comfort. But the possible benefit outweighed the probable rejection. Yet he didn’t push her away. Instead, he cupped her face in his palms and kissed her. All the sadness melted away and desire took its place, as it had before.

Oh, how she remembered this, his gentle persuasion, the soft glide of his tongue, the velvet feel of his lips, his extraordinary skill. Those memories had served her well. No one had kissed her this way before or since. No one.

Sam abruptly broke the kiss, pushed away from her and stood. “I apologize,” he said, sounding like the prince, not the man.

Andi felt angry, ashamed, weak. She lowered her eyes to the discarded photo and card, reminders that the kiss had come about from Sam’s need to provide comfort and perhaps receive some comfort in return, not his need for her. From grief, not from desire. Although they were in a dusty attic, not stretched out by a pond, history seemed intent on repeating itself.

“This cannot happen again, Andrea,” he stated, then quickly left the room without the jeans, Paul’s gift or the baseball. Left Andi alone to mull over what to do about Samir Yaman.

She agreed it shouldn’t happen again if she wanted to protect her heart, even if she still wanted him, and she did. Regardless, she had to accept that he was here, at least for the time being, and she needed to deal with it.

Andi gathered the jeans and laid the picture and card on top, then on second thought, grabbed the baseball in her free hand. She stood and sprinted down the stairs to find Sam standing in the second-floor hallway beside the attic entry, his forehead tipped against the wall.

“Here,” she said, offering him the jeans. “Try these on. Maybe they still fit.”

He pushed off the wall with both palms and faced her. “I doubt they will, at least at the moment.”

When her confusion cleared, Andi lowered her eyes to the evidence below his belt stating loud and clear that he wasn’t at all unaffected by the kiss.

She raised her gaze to his espresso eyes that expressed self-consciousness and, amazingly, the same desire she had seen the night he’d made love to her.

Maybe this was the answer. By making love with him again, maybe she could somehow, some way get him out of her system, find out for certain if the precious memories were nothing more than the imaginings of a girl who had turned to a man during her sorrow. Not love, only a need for solace.

She doubted Sam would be so quick to accommodate her, but that certainly didn’t mean she couldn’t try to persuade him, beginning now.

She shoved the jeans and photo against his chest, forcing him to take them from her. Then, with a courage she didn’t know she possessed, she rolled the baseball slowly down his groin and slipped it into his pocket. Before she retreated, she ran a fingertip over the obvious bulge below his belt. “If you need any help with this, let me know.”

With that she hurried to the first floor, not daring to look back to see his reaction. Before she made it out the door, she heard what sounded like a baseball hitting plaster, and she figured she’d probably driven home her point. Now she would attempt to drive him crazy with need, drive him back into her arms, and in doing so, drive him from her heart for good.

She’d have to take it slowly, plan carefully and, most important, remember she intended to tell him goodbye, once and for all.

Sam sat at the breakfast table, exhausted from physical labor and lack of sleep. After the way Andrea had touched him two days before, the kiss, the promise in her words, he had stayed awake both nights in Tess’s room, tensing at every sound, worried that Andrea might come to him and he might not be able to turn her away. But in fact she had barely spoken to him as she carried on with her normal activities, not once mentioning the kiss or her proposition.

Sam had avoided her, but he couldn’t avoid her now, especially when she occasionally glanced at him while moving the scrambled eggs around on her plate. He found himself staring at her mouth several times, watched while she nibbled at her food. Everything about her enthralled him, from the slight spattering of freckles across her nose, to the fragile column of her throat and that same fire in her eyes that caused his heart to pound in a fearsome rhythm.

He had tried to listen for the sound of the transport scheduled to bring the filly, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate. Before, the family dog, an Australian shepherd named Troubles, would have alerted everyone. Odd, he hadn’t noticed until today that the dog was no longer around.

Pushing his plate back, he asked, “Where is Troubles?”

Tess shook her head and spoke around a bite of toast. “He ended up on the wrong side of a tire when Chance was four.”

“And you haven’t found another?”

“I haven’t had time,” Andrea said as she stood.

Or the money, Sam thought. “I could provide one.”

Andrea picked up their plates and slipped them in the sink. “That’s not a good idea. With the traffic on the highway, I’m afraid we might lose another dog, and I don’t want to put Chance through that again.”

Sam hated the thought that his son had suffered through such a loss, but he was coming to realize that loss was a part of life that could not be avoided. “Then he remembers?”

Tess swiped at her mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, he remembers, but he’s okay with it. Andi told him that Troubles was with Uncle Paul, jumping from star to star.”

Obviously, Andrea still maintained a fascination with stars. The night Paul died she’d insisted that the brightest held his soul, and that she would hang her dreams on him for safekeeping. In that moment Sam had recognized that his love for her was as infinite as those stars. Making love with her had been a natural expression, a means to show her, since he had never told her.

The sound of a truck brought him out of his recollections and back into the present.

Andrea wiped her hands on a towel and faced him. “Do you think that’s them?” Her excitement came through in her tone and the widening of her blue eyes. The first time Sam had witnessed her joy since Chance had left.

“Perhaps we should go see.”

Before he could move, Andrea had already raced down the hall toward the front door.

“I swear,” Tess said, then chuckled. “Nothing gets that girl more excited than a good horse.”

Sam knew all too well what else excited her, but he would be wise to keep that out of his mind. “True. I hope this one doesn’t disappoint her.”

Tess propped her legs on the opposing chair and sent him a wicked grin. “I doubt she’ll be disappointed. I’m sure you’ll see to that while you’re here, if you haven’t already.”

Without response Sam left the room, determined to ignore Tess’s veiled suggestion. Nothing would please him more than to please Andrea in every way possible. But he would have to settle for providing a prize filly, otherwise he would be repeating past mistakes, knowing that he would have to leave her once again.

He joined Andrea at the rear of the massive trailer and waited for the filly to be unloaded. Sam was more than a bit apprehensive since he had never purchased a horse sight unseen. But when the man backed the filly down the ramp, Sam acknowledged that she was a treasure, as was Andrea who stood staring at the two-year-old. The woman had wonder in her eyes as she watched the filly prance about, restless with the need to run after her journey.

“Sam, she’s unbelievable,” Andrea said, almost in a whisper.

“I have to agree.”

The man held the lead rope up. “She’s all yours.”

When Andrea failed to move, Sam said, “What are you waiting for?”

Andrea stepped forward and took the rope, then allowed the filly to sniff her free hand before scratching her behind the ears. As if the horse somehow knew she had found a friend, she settled down, accepting the display of affection without protest.

“What’s her name?” Andrea asked.

“At the stables we called her Sunny,” the man said. “Her registered name is Renner’s Sun Goddess.”

“Sunny it is.” Andrea turned the horse and led her toward the stable. “I’m going to put her on a longe line and see how she moves,” she tossed over one shoulder.

“Good,” Sam said. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

By the time Sam had signed the appropriate paperwork and paid the handler before sending him on his way, Andrea had the filly in the outdoor arena, working her at a trot.

Sam propped one heel on the arena’s bottom rung and watched both horse and trainer in action. The mare’s flaxen mane and tail flowed with her fluid movements. Andrea’s red-gold hair fluttered in the June breeze, the color very close to the horse’s near-copper coat. Together they were a matched set, a tribute to beauty and grace with a wildness that lingered immediately below the surface.

Sam kept his attention on the filly only a brief moment, now that he had the opportunity to look his fill at Andrea without her knowledge. She had matured into a woman in every way, and that concept unearthed a searing heat low in Sam’s belly that had nothing to do with the Kentucky sun.

She wore a light-blue shirt that barely reached the top of her jeans, jeans that fit every curve to perfection. When she raised her arm to keep the filly moving, Sam caught a glimpse of flesh at her waist. He imagined how it would feel to have his hands there, lower still, molding them to her bottom, pulling her against him, letting her know how strongly she could affect him, how being in her presence aroused him beyond all bounds. He was definitely aroused now and had been for two miserable days with no possible end to that misery, unless…

No, he could not act on those desires. It would be unfair to both of them, even though Andrea had made the offer of her assistance in that matter.

Andrea drew the filly into the center of the arena, turned to face him and called, “She’s a winner, Sam.”

Her vibrant smile had him smiling, too. Pleasing her did please him, and again he thought of many ways he could bring her more satisfaction, ways that would leave them clinging to each other, breathless, sated…

The crunch of gravel turned Sam’s attention to the drive. A massive red truck pulled up next to the pen and a man dressed in typical cowboy garb got out. Without invitation he opened the gate to the round pen and joined Andrea.

Because of his proximity, Sam couldn’t hear the conversation though he assumed they were discussing the filly. Then their shared laughter floated over the breeze, and the man moved closer to Andrea. Too close.

Sam despised the sudden intimacy between them, hated even more that the cowboy touched Andrea’s face then patted her bottom as if he had the right to do so. It took all of Sam’s strength not to scale the fence and go after the idiot with fists raised. Luckily the man turned and left before Sam acted on that impulse. He had no cause to intervene. Andrea could do as she pleased with any man she pleased.

Still, Sam couldn’t seem to get a grasp on his anger. It stayed with him all the way to the barn as he followed Andrea and the filly. The sway of her hips only fueled his fury when he thought about the man touching her with such intimacy, any man aside from him.

Once inside, Andrea turned the filly loose in the stall and came out holding a water bucket.

Sam leaned back against the opposite stall, hands fisted at his sides, no longer able to maintain his silence. “Who was that man?”

Andrea kept her back to him while she gathered the hose and began to fill the bucket. “Caleb? He’s a friend.”

“Only a friend?”

She regarded him over one shoulder. “The bay gelding at the end of the aisle is his. He stopped by to check on his progress. He’s letting me have him for thirty more days for the basics, before he takes him to a cutting horse guy.”

“Then you’re saying that his only interest in you has to do with your training skills?”

She shut off the water and turned, the hose still clutched in her fragile hand. “Of course.”

“Are you still so naive, Andrea?”

Her face melded into a frown. “About what?”

“That man has designs on you as a woman.”

She rolled her eyes. “Get off it, Sam. Caleb wants me to train his horse and that’s all.”

“He wants you, Andrea.”

“Good grief. What on earth makes you think that?”

“The way he touched you.”

“Touched me?”

“Are you saying you didn’t notice when he put his hand on your…on your…butt?”

When Andrea laughed, Sam’s temper flared again. “You find this funny?”

After recovering somewhat, she said, “I’m laughing because your assumptions about Caleb are ridiculous.”

“My observations cannot be denied.”

She tossed the hose to the ground. “You sound like a jealous lover.”

Sam acknowledged that fact, but he couldn’t stop his reaction. “Is he your lover, Andrea?”

Her eyes narrowed with anger. “That’s really none of your business.”

Regardless, Sam had to know. “Is he, Andrea?”

She leaned back against the stall. “Let me ask you something. Have you been celibate all these years, Sam?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh, I think it is. If we’re going to get into my business, then that gives me the right to get into yours.”

“I’m concerned about our son,” Sam said, grasping for anything so he would not have to admit there had been other women, but not so many as she might think, and none that could compare to what he had found with her. “I’m wary of those who would enter your life but have no intention of treating Chance appropriately.”

“If you must know, I’ve dated a couple of men, but it didn’t work out because Chance didn’t like either of them. For me that’s the test. Chance’s approval. Now are you satisfied?”

Only one thing would satisfy him, kissing the defiance from her expression, making her lips soften beneath his. “Obviously, this Caleb would like to be the next in line.”

“Your imagination is running wild, Sheikh Yaman.”

She was driving him wild, her eyes now as blue as flames. Sam wanted to touch her, to make her forget the fool who’d had his hands on her earlier. To forget every man she had ever let touch her. Yet he didn’t dare give her more than advice.

“Your clothing leaves little to the imagination, Andrea. I suggest that you consider how you dress from now on.”

“I’m wearing what I wear every day of the week. Plain jeans and T-shirt.”

“Tight jeans and a very thin T-shirt.”

She took a visual journey from his chest to the boots he had bought on a trip into town yesterday. “I’m thinking you’ve got the tight jeans market cornered. But I have to admit they look pretty darned good. I’m still surprised they fit.”

They did, but barely, and the fit at the moment was less than comfortable. “My attire is not the issue at present.” His gaze slid to her breasts. “You have on no bra. How can you expect a man to ignore this?”

She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it out. “This provides plenty of cover.”

“It shows far too much. Hides too little.” Made Sam ache.

“I don’t have that much to see, Sam. But thanks, anyway.”

“You are wrong, Andrea. Wrong and foolish to think otherwise.”

Her sudden smile caught him off guard. “Does this plain old T-shirt get your blood pumping, Sheikh Yaman?”

He couldn’t deny that. “It is practically transparent.”

She reached down and picked up the bucket. Sam believed she meant to carry it into the filly’s stall. Instead she tipped it toward her, spilling the contents down the front of her, then tossed the bucket aside. She pointed at her breasts. “Now, this is transparent.”

Sam could only stare at the dark shading of her nipples that showed through the saturated material. His hands opened and closed with the urge to touch her.

“Like what you see, Sam?” she asked, her tone full of challenge that he dared not answer.

But he couldn’t keep from answering. He spanned the space between them before his brain registered that he had moved. Yet his body was very aware that he now had Andrea against the stall. He took her mouth without consideration of the consequences, thrusting his tongue between her parted lips with the force of his need while his hands searched beneath the wet fabric to cup both of her breasts. She whimpered when he thumbed each peak. Her hips ground against him in a torturous rhythm that made him hard and aching, balanced on the point of losing all restraint. He wanted to take her right there, right then, without regard to location or lack of privacy.

When she raised her arms, Sam pulled the drenched shirt over her head and dropped it to the ground behind her back while he trailed a path of wet kisses down the valley of her breasts. She arched her back, and her chest rose and fell rapidly in sync with his pounding heart, then her breath completely stopped when he drew one nipple into his mouth.

So lost in the taste of her dampened flesh, in the feel of her softness against his tongue, it took him a moment to notice the downward track of his zipper. Realization caught hold and he clasped her wrist.

“No, Andrea.” He stepped back, away from her, then realized, with her standing there bare from the waist up, he was in danger of forgetting himself once again.

Yanking his own shirt over his head, he held it against her, shielding her from his eyes. “Put this on.”

“But—”

“Put it on.”

When she finally took the shirt, Sam walked to the opposite stall, braced his hands above his head and leaned into them. His chest burned from the effort it took to recover his breath and to calm his body.

When he turned again, thankfully she had honored his request. The knit shirt hit her at the knees, but the sharp sting of awareness was still present within him, even though she was now completely covered.

“I promised myself this would not happen between us,” he said, his voice thick with the desire that he couldn’t disregard.

She folded her arms across her breasts. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve broken a promise, Sam.”

“What promise have I broken?”

She strolled down the aisle a few steps then turned. “That night at the pond, you promised you wouldn’t leave me.”

“I meant that moment, Andrea. That night. Not forever.”

“That’s not at all how it seemed.”

Sam recognized that he probably had led her to believe that he had meant always, bringing about more guilt. “I said many things to you that night, but we were both in pain.” Lost in each other, lost in love both timeless and forbidden.

“Then you didn’t mean any of it?”

He had meant most of it, but he hadn’t stopped to consider that he couldn’t keep those promises. “With you in my arms, I had forgotten who I was, what was expected of me. I regret that I was such a fool.”

Andrea shrugged. “Guess that goes for both of us. Except there’s one thing I don’t regret.”

“What is that?”

“Our son. Having him made Paul’s death more bearable, easier to accept that you had left for good. I thank you for that gift. For him.”

Sam doubted that he could feel any worse, any lower. “I regret that I have not been here for him, or for you.”

“And you’re going to have to leave us again. Do you regret that?”

More than she would ever know. “I do not have the luxury to dwell on regrets, Andrea. I’ve very little time left to know my son before I have to return home.”

“Then why don’t we make the best of that time together?” She sent him another lazy smile. “Do what comes naturally.”

Sam clenched his jaw tight. “If you are saying that we should make love, then that would be unwise.”

She moved closer to him, almost close enough for him to touch her again. It took all his fortitude not to reach out to her once more, finish what they had begun.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Sheikh Yaman, I’m a grown woman now, not a girl. I’m not going to fall apart when you leave.” Her gaze faltered, belying her confident tone. “So just in case you decide to change your mind…”

She brushed past him and headed toward the tack room. After a moment she came out and called, “Catch.”

Sam grabbed the baseball midair, confused. “And the point to this is?”

She smiled a devious smile. “Just wanted to let you know that the offer still stands, in case you decide to play ball. Unless, of course, you can’t handle it.”

He could not handle hurting her again, and he would, once he told her the reasons why he could not stay.

She pivoted on her booted heels and swayed toward the barn’s opening. Without turning around, she said, “Water the horse, will ya? I seem to be a little clumsy this morning.”

For the second time in as many days, Sam slammed the ball against the wall, thinking it might be best if he did the same to his head. Perhaps he could pound Andrea out of his brain.

But a thousand blows and a million years would not begin to force Andrea Hamilton from his heart.