The Secret Father

‘We’ll get to the sleeping arrangements in a minute,’ he promised. ‘I mean, how did I get here?’

‘In a taxi.’ It was a compromise. ‘I led you by the hand’ might provoke an explosive reaction.

‘God, yes, I remember now.’ He shook his head, as if to clear a fog. ‘How did you happen to be in the States, Rosalind?’

‘I had a meeting…with Dr Bohman, the medical administrator,’ she improvised wildly. Well, I can’t tell him the truth, can I? she thought, justifying this detour from fact. ‘I wanted to widen my horizons—professionally speaking, that is.’

‘How providential.’ She couldn’t tell from his expression if he believed her or not.

‘I thought I’d look you up.’

‘It would seem you’ve done a bit more than that.’

‘I’d have done the same for anyone.’

‘Is that a fact?’

His scepticism made her pluck fretfully at the sheet. ‘You were nearly dead on your feet.’

‘That was your professional diagnosis, was it?’

‘The fact is, Sam, you may like to think you’re superhuman, but you’re just like the rest of us—you need food and sleep. You won’t be much good to your son unless you take care of yourself.’

‘You took care of me,’ he said softly. His glance moved to the chair with the crumpled quilt and to the half-eaten food on the tray.

‘As I said, I’d do the same for anyone.’

‘Doesn’t your boyfriend object to your missions of mercy?’

‘Boyfriend? What? Oh, yes…no. That is… What are you doing?’ she asked in alarm as he peeled off his shirt.

‘I don’t usually sleep fully clothed.’ His jeans slid to the floor and he lifted the corner of the quilt. ‘How far are you prepared to go with this comfort thing?’

‘Sam, don’t be an idiot.’ She tried to sound as if this was all some silly joke. The hard, hair-roughened thigh that came to rest against her own was no joke. The combination of desire and fear that swirled through her veins was a heady cocktail.

‘If I slept in that chair tonight I would be an idiot.’ He calmly lay back on the pillow that still bore the impression of her head. Chancing a look into his vivid eyes, she saw he wasn’t calm—anything but!

‘You’d be a gentleman.’ She gave a startled cry as he reached out and yanked her down beside him.

‘Something nobody has ever accused me of.’ Several days’ growth of beard on his jaw gave him a look of dangerous dissipation.

‘That’s nothing to be proud of.’ It was desperately hard to speak when he was stroking the side of her face.

‘You smell so good.’ He inhaled deeply. ‘Hell, I don’t suppose I do. I can’t recall when I last had a shower. I must be pretty ripe.’

Now was the time to agree with him and tip him out of her bed. It was a heaven-sent opportunity and she neatly side-stepped it. ‘No, you smell marvellous,’ she told him honestly. He did—spicy, masculine and musky.

Sam’s smile was filled with satisfaction. He rolled onto one hip and reached out for her. His fingers curved possessively around the slim curve of her upper thigh. ‘I need to forget.’ His eyes met hers and there was a plea for understanding there.

‘I know,’ she murmured. Forget about protecting yourself, Lindy, she thought, silently giving herself permission to do what instinct told her was the right thing. She took his face between her hands and kissed him. His lips parted on a sigh and they strained against one another as they each drank deeply—hungrily.

He didn’t have to be afraid she’d think tonight was the start of something. She knew this was a unique situation and she just happened to be there. Sam was reaching out. He needed an outlet, a release from the unbearable pressures of the past days. For a man used to making things happen, the awful feeling of impotence must have been hard to bear.

She wouldn’t refuse him anything he needed. This was her chance—probably the only chance she’d ever have—to physically express her love for him.

‘Tell me what you need, Sam.’ She pressed herself sensuously closer to the warmth of his body. ‘Let me make you feel good.’ Her arms slipped around his neck and her fingers stroked the tight, bunched muscles of his shoulders.

He took a deep, sharp breath. ‘Are you for real?’ he grated hoarsely. His eyes smouldered as he nuzzled the corner of her mouth.

‘Don’t I feel real?’

‘Let’s just check on that one.’ His hands moved under the light nightshirt she wore, travelling over the smooth, rounded contours of her buttocks. ‘That butt feels authentic to me. I’d be willing to stake my reputation that you’re no dream.’