The Stranger In Room 205 (Hot off the Press! 1)

Hers was a whisper. “Yes?”

“You’d better go in. Now.”

“I know.” But still she didn’t move.

Sam put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the exit. “Go.”

She couldn’t resist looking over her shoulder again. Their eyes met—and Sam sighed. “Well,” he murmured, “I tried.”

A moment later, she was in his arms, her lips smothered beneath his. The fireworks they’d viewed at the Independence Day celebration were nothing in comparison to the ones that exploded in Serena’s mind when Sam pulled her closer to his lean, hard body and swept her mouth with his tongue.

Serena had tried repeatedly to convince herself that her sister had inherited all the reckless genes in the family. Yet every time Sam kissed her, she responded with an enthusiasm that belied that long-held assumption.

She didn’t respond this way to other men. She’d always prided herself on being practical and rational, even in matters of romance. She didn’t let herself be led by instinct or controlled by hormones. Yet, somehow, here she was, being kissed senseless in her garage by a man who appealed directly to both her instincts and her hormones. A man her rational mind kept trying to warn her away from.

Sam’s hands were cupped around her bottom, pressing her against his arousal. Was she reminding herself that this was rash and imprudent behavior? No. She was reveling in it.

Even when she found herself pressed against the paneled wall, his leg between hers, his mouth devouring hers, did she push him away and inform him that she had no interest in pursuing this further? No. She did everything she could to pull him closer.

This time it was Sam who broke the kiss off with a gasp and a groan. If he hadn’t, Serena couldn’t have said how far the embrace might have gone. He didn’t immediately release her, but stood with his forehead against hers, his breathing uneven as he took a moment to regain his equilibrium. Serena thought it might take quite a while for her to recover her own.

“There’s something about you,” he said after a long moment, “that makes me forget every promise I make to myself. Something that completely destroys my willpower.”

“Trust me,” she murmured after moistening her tender lips, “I know the feeling.”

“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said, lifting his head. “Soon. But not here,” he added, glancing around the garage. “Not tonight. It’s late, and you’re probably tired.”

This was definitely not the time to talk about anything important. She could barely speak, much less think clearly enough to concentrate on a conversation. Still, she was curious. “What do you want to talk about?”

He seemed about to answer—but then he stopped and shook his head. “Later.”

She studied his face. That lost look was in his eyes again, the one that sneaked behind the few defenses she had left against him. She found it hard to believe he could deliberately assume that expression, for whatever reason. There was a sadness in Sam she didn’t understand and didn’t know how to alleviate.

She remembered something LuWanda, one of his hospital nurses, had said about him. “Have you seen the look in his eyes? Something tragic happened to him—maybe the death of someone he loved deeply or something awful like that. He’s running from a broken heart or tragic memories. I’d bet my next week’s salary on it.”

Maybe it was that alleged tragedy Sam wanted to talk to her about. But not tonight.

Realizing she was still standing in his arms, their bodies still intimately pressed together, she eased away from him. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said—and in the meantime, she would do everything she could to reinforce those very precarious defenses.

Sam pushed his hands in his pockets. This time, he made no move to detain her when she turned and moved toward the door.

The big gossip at the diner the next day was that someone had broken into the candy store, trashed the place and stolen an unspecified amount of money from the cash register. It happened sometime between midnight and three o’clock, according to the reports Sam heard. There couldn’t have been much money in the store, but it had certainly been easy enough to break into, with its end-of-the-street location, big windows and lack of a security system.

“What is the world coming to?” Justine fussed to Sam during a lull in luncheon business. “Seems like every time I turn around, I’m hearing about another crime in this town. Home break-ins, your mugging and now this. I can tell you, folks are starting to wonder what Dan Meadows is doing to earn his salary. I heard the mayor had quite a long talk with him this morning.”

Sam hated hearing his tale in the list of unsolved crimes being held against the affable police chief. Serena was definitely not the only one in this town to whom he owed an apology and the truth. “I’m sure Chief Meadows will solve the

se cases soon. He seems to take his responsibilities very seriously.”

“Oh, I like Dan—just about everyone does,” Justine assured him. “We just want to keep him on his toes.”

Sam, for one, was glad he didn’t have Dan’s very publicly scrutinized job.

Dan walked into the diner just as Marjorie hung the Closed sign in the window that afternoon. “Hey, Dan,” Sam greeted him, knowing this particular customer was welcome at any time. “Can I get you some iced tea or a cup of coffee?”

“Tea sounds good. It’s hot as blue blazes out there.” Dan glanced at Marjorie. “You mind if Sam and I sit and talk for a few minutes? I won’t keep him long.”

“Go right ahead,” Marjorie replied with a smile. “Sam’s pretty much finished for the day, anyway. How about a piece of pie to go with that tea? We’ve got a couple slices of lemon icebox left.”