The Jock

“The Jock”

An Ellora’s Cave Electronic Publication in association with author:

Jasmine LeVeaux

Adobe (PDF) ISBN # 1-84360-014-5 MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 0-9707169-2-3 Mobipocket (PRC) ISBN # 1-84360-015-3 Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Rocketbook (RB), & HTML (c) Copyright Jasmine LeVeaux, 2001.

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave. Ellora's Cave, Inc. USA Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK

This e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax, or any other mode of communication without author permission.

Edited by Lee Haskell and A.N. Reddy Cover Art by Angela Knight

Warning:

The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. THE JOCK has been rated R, erotic, by three individual reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a place

where young readers not meant to view this ebook are unlikely to happen upon it. That said, enjoy…

Prologue Tampa Florida, ten years earlier

Her heart was breaking. Gwenyth Jones had been in love with Sam Trevianni for as long as she could remember. And now he was getting married. At the tender age of five, little Gwen’s heart had been lassoed and claimed by her elder brother Harry’s best boyhood friend, the then thirteen-year-old Sam. A double-decker scoop of strawberry and banana flavored ice cream from Mrs. Hampton’s Frozen Haven was all it had taken. Heedless of the creamy confection dripping from its cone and making a mess of her tiny fingers and starched pinafore dress, Gwenyth had gazed up into Sam’s bright blue eyes and given her love to him then and there. He had given her a napkin in return with strict instructions to “watch it, Cupcake”. At the age of eight, Gwenyth cheered from the bleachers with all of her girlish enthusiasm as she witnessed Sam slam home the run that would take him and his high school baseball team to the state finals. After the game, Sam had thrown her his #33 jersey with a wink and a grin. Before going to bed that night, Gwenyth had inhaled his sweaty scent dreamily, closing her eyes and wishing the wishes of an enamored eight-year-old girl. She had kept the shirt. On her thirteenth birthday, Gwenyth watched breathlessly as Sam swung his bat with all he had in him and hit the ball clean out of the park. The bases had been loaded. Two strikes and two balls had been called against him. Sam soared to the heights of infamy that day. It was the same dramatic homerun that made a boy into a man and a man into a sports legend. It brought him a multi-million dollar contract with the New England Crusaders, prestige and commercial endorsements, and more women than any one man had a right to lay claim to. Sam didn’t throw his #15 jersey to Gwenyth that day. He threw that one to Wendy Patterson, his then girlfriend. Yet Gwenyth still loved him. Gwenyth saw little of Sam after that. He moved to Boston and embarked on his new, fast-paced career as baseball hero and his new, heady status as every woman’s fantasy come true. Men wanted to be in his confidence. Women wanted to be in his bed. Everyone wanted to be his friend. And through it all, Gwenyth still loved him. On her sixteenth birthday, Gwenyth was overcome with excitement when Sam pulled up in his bright red Ferrari and flashed her the winsome, million-dollar grin that endorsers from Nike to Wheaties couldn’t get enough of. His pearly white smile highlighted his tanned skin, dark hair, and true blue eyes. The fact that Sam showed up at the family house with a gallon of strawberry and banana flavored ice cream in tow only added to the exuberance of the occasion. “Happy birthday, Cupcake.” He smiled as he alighted from the inside of the sports car. “How’ve you been?” Gwenyth gazed up and smiled nervously. “F-fine, Sam. I’m sixteen now, you know.”

He grinned. “Uh huh. And as purdy as a picture you are, Cupcake.” Gwenyth’s heart raced. She knew she wasn’t pretty. She was too pudgy to be pretty. But it was the sweetest moment of her young life, hearing Sam say those words. She smiled tremulously up at him as he reeled her in for a hug. At five feet and six inches, the top of Gwenyth’s head barely met the shoulders of Sam’s six-foot three-inch frame. She breathed in the scent of him and basked in the feel of his muscled body enveloping hers. This was better than winning the photography contest she’d entered in at school. Better even than strawberry and banana ice cream. This was Sam. “Sam, darling, who is that delightful little cherub you’re hugging?” Startled, Gwenyth dropped her arms from around Sam’s waist and watched as a drop-dead gorgeous blonde with small, pert breasts and an aerobisized figure sauntered from the Ferrari and into her worst nightmare. Gwenyth’s dreamy lassitude gave way to embarrassment as she remembered that the beautiful woman had called her a cherub. A nice way of saying she was fat. Her cheeks flooded scarlet as she pulled away from Sam and cast her eyes to the ground. Sam glared at Stacy from over Gwenyth’s head. Stacy gave him a negligent shrug and continued her promenade toward them. A superficial smile plastered on, the bombshell held out her hand and offered it to Gwenyth. “Hi there. I’m Stacy, Sam’s fiancée. You must be Gwenyth.” Gwenyth swallowed—painfully. Fiancée? Sam was getting married? Her heart breaking, she somehow found the strength to whip up a superficial smile of her own. Gwenyth accepted Stacy’s hand and shook it, the knot in her belly twisting as painfully as the knife in her heart was wrenching. She wanted to scratch the beautiful woman’s eyes out. She wanted to call her names. But in the end, she decided that discretion was the better part of valor. “Yes, I’m Gwenyth. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she murmured. Stacy smiled knowingly. As if she not only understood her anguish, but also welcomed it—a fact that confused Gwenyth mightily. “Sam has told me so much about you. May I call you Gwen?” Gwenyth’s eyes narrowed. Only family and close friends called her by the shortened “Gwen” rather than by “Gwenyth”. She decided things should stay that way. Valor only cut so deep after all. “No,” she said pointedly, “I prefer for you to call me Gwenyth.” Blushing, Stacy dropped Gwen’s hand and turned to Sam. He cleared his throat and grinned. “Why don’t you show us inside, Cupcake.” He held up the gallon of strawberry and banana ice cream, shaking the bag it was contained in as if he expected her to start panting like a puppy that had just been tossed a bone from the dinner table. “Wouldn’t want this to melt.” Gwenyth looked at the bag with the ice cream inside of it and then at her thighs. Stacy’s thighs were infinitely smaller. She stared at the paper bag container again, then glanced down at her breasts. Stacy’s were smaller and perkier. Hers were big and bouncy. Gwenyth turned to Sam and glowered at him. “I’m on a diet,” she sniffed. Before he could respond to that assertion, Gwenyth announced that Harry was inside waiting for him. “It was nice to see you again, Sam,” she said as she began to back away. “And it was nice to meet you,

Stacy. If you’ll excuse me, I was on my way to the bay to take some pictures for photography class.” She whirled on her heel and ran all the way to the one place where she was consistently able to find comfort. Gwenyth cried inconsolably for the better part of two hours, her teardrops falling from her eyes and becoming one with the soothing, glistening waters of the bay. Every dream that Sam would one day notice her came crashing down to reality. Every fantasy that Sam would one day fall in love with her and marry her died along with Stacy’s announcement that she was his fiancée. Harry later found Gwenyth that way, crying and broken, but spoke not a word. He knew. He understood. And terrific brother that he was, he said nothing that would make it seem as though her adolescent heartbreak was a childish, trivial matter. He rubbed her shoulders and sighed instead, waiting for her to finish with her cry. And when she did, she rose to her feet and threw herself into her brother’s outstretched arms. During the walk back home that night, Gwenyth arrived at a conclusion that would unconsciously guide her for many years to come. She would no longer place her hopes and dreams in someone else’s hands just to have them snatched back again. She would no longer waste precious years or even hours of her life dreaming about what could never be. Instead, Gwenyth would concentrate on what she could have. She would carve out a formidable destiny for herself. And she’d never, ever dream about Sam Trevianni again.

Chapter 1 Riverview Florida, Present Day The circle of men were naked. Butt naked. And beating on drums. Good Lord. Gwenyth Jones shook her head with an air of incredulous disbelief. When she had agreed to shoot the photographs for her best friend Candy Crawford’s expose piece on the conservative National Association of Men, or NAM as they referred to themselves, she had never expected to encounter this. What the hell kind of conservatives rally in the buff? Of course, she quickly reminded herself, the men of NAM had no notion that their private party was about to become very public. Gwenyth scanned the clearing of the forest with the keen eye of a trained photographer accustomed to getting the picture. There were a total of twelve men, all of them naked, all of them beating on their drums, NAM placards propped up behind them against nearby tree trunks. A glimmer of excitement sparked in her eyes as she considered for the first time not only what this would mean to Candy’s desire to join the leagues of the paparazzi, but the ramifications this event would also have on her brother Harry. They would both win this battle. Gwenyth would see to it that the incumbent senator looked as foolish as possible in tomorrow’s early morning editions of the Florida newspapers. And her brother would take his place in Washington DC.

Grinning triumphantly, Gwenyth turned to Candy and nudged her. “Is Senator Green here yet?” she whispered, not wanting the naked protesters to notice their presence just yet. Candy smiled owlishly, her gum smacking as she chewed and talked simultaneously. Gwenyth couldn’t understand her best friend’s desire to leave her lucrative career in romance novel writing behind for a low paying job in the tabloids, but that was Candy’s decision. “Uh huh. That’s him and his aide right over there.” She pointed toward the NAM round that was conspicuously propped against one of the taller trees. “Take the picture, Gwen. It’s a perfect shot,” she murmured. Gwenyth wasted no time. Candy was right. An ace in the hole photograph like this one didn’t come along every day. Senator Green and his aide were standing with the NAM rounds visibly adjacent to them, naked men beating on drums everywhere within their vicinity. She crouched down low on her knees, held the camera at an angle, adjusted the zoom lens, and snapped away. “Make certain you can see the NAM placards behind him,” Candy whispered excitedly. “I intend to have my story dominate tomorrow’s front page.” It seemed to Gwenyth that Candy’s fascination of late with tabloid journalism was at best another attempt on the author’s part to alleviate the monotony of having worked within the same field for several years. Last year, bored after hitting the New York Times bestseller list yet again, Candy hit the drag racing scene, deciding it would be “cool” to become the next Shirley Muldowney. That lasted a week. The year before that Candy swore up and down she’d had a vision and was thereby convinced that she was destined to deliver singing telegrams for a living. That lasted three days. Gwenyth was willing to lay odds that tabloid journalism would last equally as long if that. Still, she said nothing. “Done.” Gwenyth stood up and rubbed her hands together with unabashed glee. “With the senatorial race right around the corner, this couldn’t have happened at a better time.” Candy nodded bemusedly. She spit out the piece of bubble gum rapidly losing its flavor and popped a fresh piece between her lips. It seemed to Gwenyth that any given career outside of novel writing lost its flavor to her best friend as quickly as the piece of gum she’d just discarded. “Until tonight, nobody knew that Senator Green supported the agenda of these naked buffoons. Not only will this jumpstart my as of yet stagnant career in tabloid journalism, but this will also make your brother’s coup all the easier.” Gwenyth grinned. She could agree wholeheartedly with the last observation. “I know.” Like a panther stalking its prey, she silently moved through the fragrant trees and snapped as many photographs as she could take. Two rolls of film later, she dropped to her knees and placed the camera on the ground while she hid her evidence. To prevent the soon-to-be irate senator from removing the incriminating photographs of him and his aide chumming it up with the naked NAM men, she tucked the two rolls of film into her underwear and reloaded her camera with a third decoy roll. That accomplished, she regained her standing position and gave the signal to Candy to move in for the kill. Candy blew out a bubble and nodded. And when she moved in, the shit hit the fan. Threats flew, fists cuffed, and naked men scattered for their clothing, their unmentionables flapping up and down as they did so. An hour and a painkiller later, Gwenyth sat up in the back of the ambulance bed and dabbed at the shiner she’d received from the senator’s aide in his struggle to take the camera from her. She winced as she drew the icepack up to her battered eye, but managed to glance over at Candy with the eye she

could see out of long enough to grin. The senator’s aide had taken the camera. But Gwenyth Jones always got the picture. ***** The following evening, Gwenyth was ear-to-ear smiles regardless that she sported a purplish, puffy eye. Candy’s story was not only picked up by the Florida papers, but by the Associated Press as well. Once that happened, Gwenyth’s photos of the naked NAM men with Senator Green at their rally spread through the nation like wildfire. The incumbent’s numbers in the polls immediately dipped ten percentage points. Her brother Harry’s went up by twenty-three. It was a glorious day. “I still can’t believe it.” Harry grinned as he flicked off the TV by remote and swung around on the barstool in the Jones’ family house. “I knew Larry was wacko, but fraternizing with NAM? Jay-sus!” Granddad Willy harrumphed. The fact that he was a wealthy, self-made man was at ironic odds with his long gray ponytail and the tee shirt he was wearing today that proclaimed: Proud to be a Union Man. “I’m not surprised a lick. Met the senator once or twice myself. Weird boy, that’n.” No one bothered to mention to Willy the fact that at forty-five, Senator Green was as far from boyhood as a man could get. “That he is, Granddaddy.” Gwenyth touched her eye lightly and winked. “But his aide can sure pack a wallop.” Harry winced. “Sorry about that, Gwen. I appreciate what you went through to get those photographs, but I wish you hadn’t had to get a black eye in the process.” Gwenyth studied her brother quietly. With the Jones family’s trademark tawny hair and green eyes, he was a good-looking man and a very eligible bachelor. Until this morning, Harry’s unmarried status had been working against him in the polls. Now it seemed that no one genuinely cared. Compared to Larry Green and the naked NAM men, Harry’s singlehood was by and large turning out to be the lesser of two political evils. She shrugged and grinned. “No big deal.” Granddad Willy harrumphed again. “She’s a Jones girl, Harry. Your sister has true grit. It’s in the blood. Why I remember a time before your Grandmama did me the honor of weddin’ this ole boy when we were at a protest for…” Gwenyth and Harry groaned simultaneously. Willy had more stories of his hippie, protesting days than a cat had lives. In the fifties, he and Grandmama had protested the communist scare. In the sixties, Viet Nam. In the seventies, racism and sexism. In the eighties, they protested against President Reagan in general. These days, he and Grandmama rallied against a little of everything. Not that their causes weren’t good. It’s just that the stories all tended to run together after awhile. Whether it was how Willy had been named the first white Black Panther or how Bob Dylan had once called him “a groovy guy”, Gwenyth and Harry had heard them all. “Please Granddaddy,” Harry begged, “not another story.” Willy glared at him. “Your Grandmama would roll over in her grave if she could hear you say that, boy.” Harry frowned at the family patriarch. His southern lilt carried a hint of annoyance. “Grandmama isn’t dead. She has no grave to roll over in.”

Willy waved his hand dismissively. “A figure of speech.” Gwenyth and Harry exchanged an amused glance, but said nothing. They had been brought up by the elderly hell-raisers after their parents were killed in a car crash, so if Granddad wanted to tell one of his stories of the glory days, they would just have to listen to it—again. “Quit your talk, Willy, and let our grandson revel in his gained percentage points for awhile.” Grandmama wafted into the family room as airily as a July breeze off the Gulf of Mexico. She looked radiant today in a rose colored silk shirt and shorts set, her bleached blonde hair pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head. Two wisps of hair had broken loose of the hold and dangled above either ear, giving her ageless face a vixon-esque look. Perfect for a seventy-year-old woman whose name still inspired awe in the world of fashion photography. She strolled up to her husband’s side and kissed him soundly on the cheek. Granddad Willy harrrumphed—his favorite method of communication. “’Bout time you graced us with your presence, Verlene. I was beginning to think you’d up and disappeared.” Verlene slapped him playfully on what was left of his rump, then sauntered over to Gwenyth and held her chin in her hand while she angled her granddaughter’s face this way and that, getting her first good look at the shiner. “Luckily for Jones & Jones, it’s your left eye,” Verlene murmured. “This won’t affect your scheduled shoot with the Vantrys tomorrow.” Gwenyth smiled. “No ma’am. And thanks, by the way, for letting me grab the reins of this account and go with it.” Verlene patted Gwenyth affectionately on the head. “It’s not me you should thank, sugar. It’s yourself. The Vantrys asked for you specifically to photograph their new line of sportswear, they didn’t ask for me.” She gave her that affectionate smile that grandmothers reserve only for their progeny. “I’m so proud of you, sugar. Me and Granddad both. Aren’t we Willy?” “Sure are.” Harry grinned. “Me too, Gwen.” He motioned toward the picture of Senator Green that had made the front page of the Miami Herald this morning, a photograph in which the incumbent politician was smiling at a less than impressively endowed NAM man who was beating on his chest and chanting. The paper had placed an embarrassingly tiny black bar across the protester’s genitalia. The caption read: Senator Green helps a voter reclaim his manhood. “In fact,” Harry beamed, “I couldn’t be prouder.” Gwenyth laughed. She saluted her big brother with a glass of wine, holding it up as if in a toast. “My duty as a patriotic citizen.” The Jones family settled down to a lively dinner of lasagna and sourdough bread, with tossed salad as the appetizer. They spoke of the impending election for over half of the meal, each of them offering Harry their individual predictions of how wide his winning margin would be on Judgment Day. “I still say twenty percent.” Granddad Willy crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his disagreeing family members. “Twenty percent!” Harry shook his head. “I’d love it, Granddad, but I doubt it. Even with Larry’s latest scandal, it will still be a tight race.”

Verlene looked thoughtful. “I doubt the margin will be as wide as twenty, but it won’t be as slim as you think, Harry. I vote eight percent.” Gwenyth nodded her head up and down as she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Grandmama’s right. Eight percent is what the pollsters are predicting as well.” “I still say it will be more.” Willy opened up a second bottle of Chateau Blanc and poured a glass for his wife. “Y’all are forgettin’ that Harry hasn’t pulled out his really big gun yet.” Gwenyth smiled wickedly. “Gee Harry, I didn’t think they’d let you show that on TV.” Verlene and Granddad Willy laughed. Harry turned a delightful shade of pink. He’d always been a bit of a prude. Much to Granddad Willy’s never ending disgruntlement. Gwenyth’s dimples popped out as her mouth curled wryly. She patted her brother on the arm. “Just teasing. What’s your big gun, Bro?” Harry’s intelligent eyes lit up. “Sam Trevianni.” Gwenyth’s hand stilled. She removed it from her sibling’s forearm. Now there’s a name she hadn’t heard spoken aloud in years. Outside of what one hears on the TV and in the papers that is. “Sam?” She held out her wineglass to Granddad Willy for a refill. “I didn’t know that you and he were still friends.” Harry shrugged absently. “We haven’t talked in a few years, that’s true.” Verlene inclined her head gracefullly toward her grandson. “You’ve heard from him again I take it?” “Uh huh.” Harry forked up a bite of lasagna and chewed thoughtfully. “You know how it is when you grow up and your life changes. You lose touch with your old friends and whatnot. But Sam called my campaign headquarters downtown after seeing me in the papers.” He shrugged again. “Said he’d like to help out.” Granddad Willy whistled through his false teeth. “No kiddin’? And here I thought your big gun was to be the fact that you’ll look better on TV during the debates than that geeky Green dude.” He snorted with an air of grateful relish at his grandson’s good luck. “Hell, Sam alone can help you in the polls, son. You’ll get the youngsters out to the votin’ booths with a star athlete like him peddlin’ for ya.” Granddad Willy smiled gaminelike. He threw the females of his clan a look of pure male ego. “Anybody care to recant their less than twenty percent prediction?” He waggled his eyebrows in challenge. “I won’t think less of you for it.” Verlene rolled her eyes. “No.” Granddad grunted. Gwenyth dabbed at her mouth and rose up from her place at the table. She kissed Harry on the forehead, then offered the rest of them the same. “I have to catch an early flight,” she informed the group between smooches. “I better head back to my apartment and get some shut-eye.” Harry stood up and sighed. “Me too. I’ll drive you home, Sis.”

Verlene rose from her place at the table to see her grandchildren to the front door. “Call me as soon as you finish tomorrow’s shoot, sugar. I want a full report.” Gwenyth smiled. “Will do, Grandmama.” She offered Verlene one last peck on the cheek, then strolled out of the front door as Granddad Willy yelled something behind her to the effect that she better not forget to buy him a present. Gwenyth glanced up at Harry and chuckled. Granddad was quite a character. ***** “You’re certain you won’t mind seeing Sam again, Sis?” Harry kept his eye on the road as he continued to ease down Swann Avenue in his American built sedan. Gwenyth glanced absently at the road in front of them, then did a quick study of the interior of Harry’s new car. Her brother had traded in his stylish, imported automobile months ago for this domestic monstrosity so voters wouldn’t cast him aside for not “buying American.” That the maker of this particular sedan imported the majority of the factory work from overseas was somehow lost on the voting populace. If it carried an American label, it was an American car. Period. “Harry, get real. I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t think the sun shines and sets on Sam Trevianni’s biceps.” Harry’s lips curled with amusement. “I didn’t think so, but I had to be certain. I remember that day he brought his ex-wife Stacy over to the house all too well.” He grimaced, as if the memory of having offered his sister unmanly consolation still pained him. “Don’t want to repeat that.” Gwenyth rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Then she frowned. Good lord, the beige sedan’s overhead interior was blue. Yuck! Talk about visually mismatched. “You worry too much, Bro. Besides, I’m dating someone right now if you will recall.” Harry made a small sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort of disapproval. “If one can call Trevor a date,” he muttered. The brow above Gwenyth’s good eye rose up a notch. “Meaning?” “Let’s just say that I hate lawyers.” “Harry, you are a lawyer.” “Yeah, well, that means I’ve dealt with enough of them to know you shouldn’t be dating one.” Gwenyth decided against commenting on that particular observation. That she had been suspecting the same thing of Trevor was beside the point. She would deal with that revelation later. “So how exactly is Sam helping the ‘get Harry Jones to Washington cause’?” Harry’s right hand absently thumped on the steering wheel in time with the rock song playing quietly in the background. It was a shame that voters weren’t allowed to see this playful, boyish side of him, Gwenyth mused. She was certain they’d all fall in love with him if they did. “He’s coming into town to attend that dinner and speech my campaign is throwing at the University of Tampa in two weeks.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Sam’s going to give a little speech on my behalf.”

And she would have to look her best. That disquieting thought rumbled through Gwenyth’s brain like shock waves. Not that it mattered what Sam thought about her looks, she told herself. What mattered was that Sam see the brilliant, respected photographer she’d become, that he realize she was a woman of the world, a woman to be reckoned with. A woman whose looks meant nothing to her. A woman who had made it on ambition and grit alone. A woman who… Bah! Okay, so she wanted Sam to think she looked good. But only so he’d realize what he’d given up ten years ago when he’d broken a sixteen year old girl’s heart. Not because she still cared. Not because she was still in love with the man. It wasn’t like she still slept in his #33 jersey or anything. Well, unless she had nothing else to wear. Or unless she was feeling particularly under the weather. Sighing, Gwenyth pondered the man known as Sam Trevianni as she watched her brownstone apartment loom into view. She wondered what he’d think when he next saw her. She wondered if he’d like what he saw. Gwenyth called herself ten kinds of fool for even thinking about him. Still, she couldn’t help but to wonder what it was Sam was doing right now.

Chapter 2 Sam “The Slam” Trevianni woke up with a bitch of a headache. Disregarding the telephone whose rings were grinding into his skull like a battle axe, he pulled himself up from the hotel room’s king-size bed and made his way to the bathroom—and the aspirin. Sam flipped open the medicine cabinet and grabbed hold of one of the aspirin packages, ripping it open with his teeth as if it was a gift from the gods. Sweet Jesus, he should never have bet a week’s pay that he could drink Brian Goodman under the table. He’d done it alright, but damn was he paying for his sins now. He groaned dramatically. He was getting too old for this shit. Closing the medicine cabinet, Sam ran his fingers through his tousled hair and called it a comb job. He’d worry about grooming after his head quit pounding. He stomped out of the bathroom and toward the phone, his goal being to put an end to its incessant, damned ringing, when he was intercepted half way by a knock at the door. Sighing, Sam stopped in his tracks and made his way back to the door. “Yeah, who is it?” he barked. “Room service,” a breathy voice returned. Sam didn’t remember ordering any room service, but maybe he had. It was just as well. Not only was his head pounding, but his stomach was damned hungry. He opened the door, then cast a quick but thorough glance over the hot redhead who’d brought up his food. He flashed her his million-dollar smile. “Bring it on in, honey. Put the tray by the bed.” “You got it.” Sam nodded. That quickly, the redhead was forgotten and the still blaring telephone was remembered. He strode toward it and picked it up, bringing an end to the goddamned noise. “Yeah. Sam here.”

“Hey Sammy. It’s Lee.” Sam grimaced. The last person he felt like talking to right now was his overly tenacious manager. His head was still throbbing as it was. “Hey Lee. I’m kinda busy. Mind calling back?” “This will only take a minute.” Sam sighed. He just wasn’t in the mood for this. “What’s up?” “Quite a lot, Slam Man, quite a lot.” Sam grunted. Lee took it as a cue to continue. “Got a call from Vantry Sportswear this morning. They want you to model their new swimwear line. I think it would be an excellent career move, Sambo. They want to start shooting a month from now.” Sam shook his throbbing head. “Forget it, Lee. You know how I feel about modeling.” Hell, everyone knew how Sam Trevianni felt about modeling. He hated it. Actually, hate wasn’t strong enough a word. He detested it, felt like a fool sitting there striking a bunch of ridiculous poses. The cereal and shoe ads were dumb enough, but he’d never forget the time he’d agreed to model for a cologne manufacturer’s new line called “Obsessive”. Sons of bitches had actually wanted him to pose naked with another guy. Said it looked artsy. Sam might not know much about art, but he knew when he felt stupid. That day there was at the top of the list. Needless to say, he’d told them to forget it. Lee apparently wasn’t interested in hearing his chief rainmaker say no. He plowed determinedly on. “Why don’t you take a few days and think it over? The shoot doesn’t begin for another month, so you don’t have to make an immediate decision, Slammy.” Sam grumbled something imperceptible into the phone line. At this point he’d say anything to quit Lee from yappin’—and to get him to quit calling him by all those dumb names he always made up. “Fine. I’ll think about it.” Lee knew when to apply the pressure. Conversely, he recognized when it was time to ease up. “No problem. I’ll be in touch, Samarino.” Sam grunted, then returned the phone to the desk. A hunger pang jolted through him, causing him to remember his breakfast. He whirled around to find it, then frowned at the sight that greeted him. The redhead. Very much naked. Very much lying on his bed spread eagle. Very much playing with her engorged clit. And apparently very much without any food whatsoever in tow. Odd, but it was the last revelation that got to him the most. She smiled sinfully from the bed. “I’m a big fan, Mr. Trevianni.” “Uh huh.” “I have something for you here that’s better than bacon and eggs.” “Somehow I doubt that,” he mumbled under his breath.

The redhead’s smile wavered. “What was that?” Sam shook his head. He was just too damn old for this shit. “Nothing. But if you don’t mind, I need for you to leave.” He placated her with his pearly-white smile. “I never have sex before a big game.” He batted his sinfully sexy eyelashes. “Kills all my energies.” “But the game isn’t until tomorrow night, and its for charity, not a real game,” she determinedly argued. Sam’s smile faltered. Apparently Red wasn’t as dumb as the usual groupie. “Yeah well, I never have sex for two full days before a charity game. Makes me work out all my frustrations on the field.” His grin was breathtaking. “For the little kids and all.” Red was apparently appeased. She sat up and crossed her legs. “If I leave my number, will you call me?” “Uh huh. Yeah. Sure.” She bolted up from the bed, threw back on the waitress garb she’d obviously pilfered from the hotel, and handed Sam a card. “There’s my number. Call me after the game.” She winked provocatively, running her tongue across her lower lip. “I’d love to help you celebrate.” It took five minutes and lots of evasive answers to get Red out of his hotel room, but once Sam did she was forgotten as though she’d never been. He plopped down on the chair nearest the desk phone and stretched out his long, muscular legs. Damn but his head was killing him! Picking up a room service menu, he mentally listed the goods the hotel offered for breakfast. Quiche? Tarts? He glowered at the menu, his mood taking a turn for the worse. This just wouldn’t do. Oh and looky here, Sam snorted to his self, bran muffins and fresh berries. Well yeeee-haw. Maybe if he was real lucky they’d be sure to serve it to him on one of them doily doo-hickies. Disgruntled and seriously considering writing a scathing letter of complaint to the hotel’s president, Sam scanned the menu thoroughly for something he could eat. Something that might actually fill up his gut. Ahhh. His eyes at last settled upon a feast of fortune. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, and grits. Hell yeah! Nothin’ artsy here. It was just what a ball player with a bitch of a headache needed. ***** Sam picked up the copy of the Los Angeles Times that had been left for him alongside his breakfast. He opened it and immediately turned to the sports section, because hey, that was really the most interesting thing about the paper. Not that Sam didn’t like to be well informed. People would be surprised if they realized just how informed he really was. Most thought he was merely a dumb jock, and in many ways he probably was, but there were some things he was definitely smart about. Especially anything that dealt with old civilizations. The Mayans. The Incas. The Egyptians. The ancient Greeks and Romans. Fascinating mother fuckers, all of them. The only thing he found a little strange about any of them was how the Greeks seemed to

prefer screwing other men over getting’ it on with the ladies. Sam didn’t understand that, but he didn’t mind that about the dead guys either. To each his own he figured. Must have been part of their charm. Seeing as how there was nothing in the paper referring to any dead civilizations— no new museum exhibits, no new archeological symposiums planned this week—Sam closed the paper after reading the scores on the sports page. Throwing the paper on top of the table, he picked up his coffee cup and chugged down what was left of the Colombian brew. Glancing absently at the newsprint he’d just cast aside, his eye was then snagged by a photograph on the front page of some naked guy—and oh baby !—wasn’t that Senator Green, the guy running against his old pal Harry, standing behind him? Grinning, Sam picked up the discarded copy of the LA Times again and took a closer look at the picture. Man oh man, must that loser be embarrassed! He actually felt kinda sorry for the guy. Maybe he’d have his people contact the dude and recommend this plastic surgeon friend of his who specializes in penis enlargements. This picture would do wonders for Harry’s campaign and all, and for that Sam was grateful, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t afford to be generous. After all, this loser would probably never score again with the ladies after they caught wind of that photograph. Sweet Jesus! Sam was suddenly thankful he’d been born hung like a bull. The photo having peaked his interest, Sam decided to read the article in its entirety. He grunted his disapproval when he realized the naked guy with the little worm was a NAM protester. Let him find his own plastic surgeon, damn it. He couldn’t stand those people. And he definitely didn’t appreciate how they cashed in on the familiar term of NAM at the expense of men like his dad who had fought and died there. None of these pussies would have fought there. They were too busy bemoaning the fact that they were born privileged and misunderstood to anyone who’d listen. Sam’s stomach clenched when a particular paragraph gained his attention: Three people were arrested on assault and battery charges, including Senator Green’s aide, Webster Carr. Carr, 35, allegedly blackened the eye of fashion photographer Gwenyth Jones in an effort to wrestle her camera and the incriminating photographs from her (see picture on 10-b). Jones, 26, is the sister of Harry Jones, the incumbent Green’s chief rival for the upcoming senatorial election. Gwen? He hit little Gwen? Sam’s free hand unconsciously balled itself into a fist as he flipped to 10-b. Carr better pray he hadn’t hurt her too bad. Otherwise, he just wouldn’t be liable for his actions. His hand shaking in anger, Sam located the photograph and caught his breath. Cupcake’s face was black, blue, and puffy as a blowfish. Carr was a dead bastard. From the way the photo had been snapped, it was hard to make out much of Gwenyth’s face aside from the pummeling it had taken. He noticed, however, that her hair was still sleek and long, pulled up on top of her head in that sexy, come-hither topknot she’d always favored. Damn, but the sight of the pudgy little vixen could still make him hard enough to split a diamond into halves. ‘Course, he wasn’t sure she was still pudgy since the photo was only a mugshot of her face, but it didn’t matter. Gwenyth Marie Jones could make Sam “The Slam” Trevianni hard as a baseball bat even if she weighed in at 300 hundred pounds, sported a beard, and wobbled around on a gimp leg. Always could. Sam reclined back into the chair and hiked his legs up onto the desk. Crossing them at the ankles, he allowed himself to think about Cupcake for the first time in many years.

There had always been something between them. Something special. Something more than friendship, although that had been pretty damn good too. Sam knew that Gwen had loved him when she was a girl. That much would have been obvious to anyone with half a brain. He still grimaced whenever he thought back on how badly that lyin’ bitch of an ex-wife of his had belittled Gwen to her face. And he’d let her. God, but he’d never forgive himself for the way Stacy’d hurt her. He wondered if Gwen had forgiven him either. Sam’s large, callused fingers absently brushed the outline of Gwenyth’s face as he studied the only link he’d had to her in ages. He hadn’t felt right going back to the Jones house after he’d married Stacy. His ex-wife had known straight up how he’d always felt about Gwen and he’d owed it to Stacy at the time to make a go of their marriage. How was he to know she’d faked her pregnancy? Besides, Stacy had called him a pervert for even thinking of Gwenyth in that way, and at the time, Sam had agreed. She’d only been sixteen after all. After the divorce, Sam had been afraid to call Harry and try to patch things up between them. He didn’t know whether or not his old pal would accept him back into the familial fold. So he’d taken the coward’s way out and done nothing. Sweet Jesus, but was he still payin’ for it now. He truly missed Harry. They’d been tight since grade school. Sam was just glad he’d worked up the nerve to call Harry again after he’d seen his picture in the paper. It would be good to hang out with his old pal again. Sam studied Cupcake’s photo more intently. Damn, but he missed her too. He ran his thumb over her cheeks, knowing good and well that if she smiled, those adorable dimples would pop out and bedevil him all over again. Grunting with remembered satisfaction, he then ran his index finger over her glossy mane of hair. The photo wasn’t of the finest quality, but he knew what the silky stuff would look, smell, and feel like in person. Shiny and light brown with golden, sunny highlights. Ahh yeah. And it would be satiny to the touch, and smell of strawberries too. He couldn’t eat a strawberry to this day without getting a hard-on. All that hair would go great against her tanned skin and her big green eyes. The contrast between Cupcake’s vixen tresses and the demure innocence of those wide jade eyes could do to him what no other woman could ever hope to. Sam cursed himself a fool when he felt the familiar ache take over his groin. What an ass he was! Cupcake’s face was battered and broken and here he was getting all hot and erect just looking at her. Fully erect, he qualified, glancing down at his lap. No wonder he had always taken such great pains to steer clear of Gwenyth in the past. Sweet Jesus! He would have been arrested if he’d done half the stuff he’d wanted to do to her back when she was sixteen. And fifteen. And …oh God … he refused to think back further than that. Fifteen. Fifteen was as far as he’d admit to. Okay, alright damn it, so she’d started growin’ those huge breasts around fourteen. But he hadn’t allowed himself to really look at them until she was fif—no sixteen. Definitely sixteen. Sam stilled when a thought struck him. He was already planning to attend Harry’s campaign dinner at the

University of Tampa in a couple weeks. Maybe Gwen would be there too. Hell, of course she’d be there! She and Harry were tight, always had been. Cupcake would never miss an opportunity to be there for her big brother. Sam smiled when another thought came to him as bold as it pleased. Gwen wasn’t a little girl anymore. Cupcake was all grown up. Sam’s groin grew heavier. Sweet Jesus, he couldn’t wait to get back to Tampa.

Chapter 3 After paying her fare, Gwenyth alighted from the inside of the cab and slung her duffel bag over her shoulder. She walked at a leisurely pace toward Sherry’s Place, a diner she frequented in Culver City whenever she happened to be in the LA area. The eating establishment’s eccentric staff and owner reminded her of the old episodes of Alice that still occasionally ran on TV. Her favorite waitress Liz even looked like the woman who played “kiss my grits” Flo on the situation comedy. As usual, a long line of hungry patrons was waiting on the curbside for seating in the trendy dive. Groaning, Gwenyth shuffled to the back of the line, preparing to wait her turn. She wasn’t patient by nature, but Sherry’s cooking was worth the inconvenience. Crossing her arms over her chest, she bided her time in the same courteous, stoic manner as the rest of the patrons. Bored, her mind soon wandered to this morning’s photo shoot at Vantry Sportswear. She had been delighted to call back home afterwards and let Grandmama know that the first session had gone extremely well and that the assignment was turning out to be a highly enjoyable experience. “I’m so glad to hear it, sugar,” Verlene had enthused. “How long do you expect the whole shoot to last?” “Perhaps four more days, a week at best. I’m cataloguing their entire swimwear collection for women. No matter what, I’ll be home in time for Harry’s reception, though.” Gwenyth smiled into the phone, her excitement radiating over the connection. “I’m hoping if I do a good job they’ll ask me back next month to do the same for the men’s swimwear line!” “I’m sure they will, sugar. You’re more talented than even me,” Verlene admitted with a touch of pride. Gwenyth blushed. “You go too far, Grandmama. No one is that good.” Verlene chuckled. “You are, honey. By the way, did I mention that Sam Trevianni will be here the day after tomorrow?” Gwenyth’s heart rate accelerated. A fact that annoyed her mightily. “So soon?” She cleared her throat, aware of the fact that her tone had risen a few shrill notches. “So soon? I thought he was coming into town only for the night of Harry’s reception?” Verlene sounded amused. “Said something on the phone about seeing you in the paper.” She clucked

her tongue. “The boy was awfully concerned about the skirmish you had with Webster Carr. Claims he’s gonna kill the man.” Gwenyth was disgusted with herself for being so elated by Verlene’s proclamation. She ruthlessly squelched the traitorous feeling of pleasure that arose from the knowledge that Sam still cared about her. Besides, he’d always thought of her as a little sister. He’d never viewed her in the same amorous light she’d seen him in. Gwenyth sighed. Sam’s anger was no doubt a manifestation of his continued, brotherly feelings of affection toward her. Well, she thought morosely, he could keep them. “Uh huh. So like I was saying, Grandmama, Isabelle Vantry has already been dropping me a bunch of not so subtle hints that she still needs a photographer for the men’s wear shoot next month.” Gwenyth squirmed restlessly in the hotel room’s chair. Whether it was from worrying that Verlene had failed to pick up the cue and drop the subject of Sam Trevianni altogether or from the fact that her underwear was wedging up her butt in the worst way, she couldn’t say. “Do you think she might ask me back?” Verlene made an unladylike snort reminiscent of the exasperated sound Elvis would have made if asked by a reporter whether peanut butter really did go well with bananas in a sandwich. “Of course she and Tom Vantry will ask you back, sugar. How can you doubt it?” Gwenyth shrugged her shoulders, though Verlene couldn’t see that over the telephone connection. “I guess I’m just nervous, Grandmama. This is my first really big account as a solo artist for Jones & Jones. Most of the big names want you to do the majority of the work.” “That’s only because they aren’t aware of your talents until they see for themselves how voluptuous you can make all their gangly, rail-thin models look.” Verlene chuckled. “You even made that AAA cup model Vendetta look like Jane Mansfield for the ‘Kiss Me’ lingerie line last fall.” Gwenyth grimaced at the memory. That task had been no small feat. Like most fashion models, Vendetta had been shaped like a twelve-year-old boy, not like the thirty-something year old women the “Kiss Me” line had been hawking their underwear to. But somehow Gwenyth had given Vendetta breasts. And hips. And curves. Hell, the ads were so good she’d even bought a few pairs of the tacky scraps of silk and lace for her own use. Remembering as much, she shifted on the chair again, angling her butt in such a way that made it easier to pull the wedgie out from between her rear bumper cheeks. “Well Grandmama, perhaps you’re right.” “Of course I am, sugar.” Gwenyth’s name was finally starting to get noticed. She was at long last jumping out from behind Verlene Jones’ formidable shadow and casting one of her own. Some assignments, like the “Kiss Me” line were real tough, but sometimes they weren’t too bad. Such was the case in her current assignment. Luckily, Epiphany—the model she was working the most with for the Vantry’s new line—was slightly better endowed than Vendetta. Epiphany was a full A cup. And if she sat just so, she even had a curve or two. “I appreciate your confidence in me, Grandmama.” Gwenyth glanced at her watch and sighed. “But I better go. I’m supposed to meet up with Candy at Sherry’s Place in an hour.” “What’s Candy doing in Los Angeles?” Gwenyth groaned. “Don’t ask. Let’s just say that her stint as a tabloid journalist ended the day after it began. She claims it’s too dangerous.” Gwenyth chuckled. The affection she harbored for her closest

friend was an apparent one. “Candy’s decided to write again—for now. But in the mean time, she’s auditioning for a part in that new soap opera, Nights of Ecstasy.” “An actress now, eh?” “Something like that.” Gwenyth’s reflecting over the telephone conversation she’d had with Verlene came to an abrupt halt when she spied Candy enthusiastically waving at her through the plain, undecorated windows of Sherry’s Place. Gwenyth smiled back. Good, she thought. No more standing in line. Her best friend had already acquired them a table. A few minutes later, after assuring Candy repeatedly that her eye looked a lot worse than it felt, Gwenyth accepted her drink from the waiter, then proceeded to gulp down a huge portion of her iced tea. She hadn’t realized she was so thirsty until Jon had set the glass in front of her. She absently noted that Liz wasn’t working today, but said nothing of it. The staff here tended toward the melodramatic. If she asked Jon about Liz, he’d only assume that she found his service somehow faulty. “Slow down already, Gwen, or you’ll have to pee before our burgers get here.” Candy blew out a bubble as she watched Gwenyth chug down her drink. She smiled bemusedly as she continued to crack away at the gum. “I can’t say for certain, but I really think I did a good job at the reading today.” Gwenyth set her glass down and grinned back at Candy. “Yeah? That’s so cool, Can. I hope you get it.” Candy let out a dramatic breath of air as she ran her fingers tersely through her shiny black hair. “I just don’t know if I want it,” she mumbled. Gwenyth raised a brow, but said nothing. Candy sighed again, then gave her the best explanation she could come up with. “I mean acting is fun and all, but it doesn’t call to me the way writing does.” She shrugged absently, a thoughtful look permeating her features. “I suppose I’ll stick with the romance books until something comes along that calls to me more.” Gwenyth shook her head. She wasn’t certain if she should be irritated or amused by her best friend’s lack of direction. “Candy, when are you going to realize that writing romances is your calling?” She sipped from her glass of tea as she studied her friend. “I never see you get as worked up over anything as you do over one of your novels.” Candy grimaced. “It’s the truth. I know it.” “Then what the problem?” She considered that question as she blew another bubble. The echo of the popping sound when it broke was scarcely heard over the plethora of conversations going on around them. “I’ve written twenty books in the past eight years. In those books I have come up with like, I don’t know, maybe a hundred different ways of screwing.” She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Quite frankly, I’m running out of ideas.” Candy uncrossed her arms and implored Gwenyth with her eyes. “I’m in the middle of writing this totally hot script, okay. It’s about a nun who falls in love with an escaped convict.”

Gwenyth’s eyebrows rose in amusement. It was a story line unlikely to be repeated in real life, but Candy could make it work if any writer could. She was that good. “So I’m writing and writing and I’m really vibin’ on what I’ve got, okay. And then it happens.” Candy shuttered. She rubbed her arms as if warding off a chill. “I get to the scene, you know, the scene, and I draw a total blank.” She shook her head forlornly. “What am I going to do, Gwen? I’m out of fucking material.” Gwenyth bit her lip. She was certain Candy’s last statement had been made in the literal sense. If her best friend didn’t look quite so dejected, she would have laughed. Instead she nodded, then rolled her eyes slightly toward the back of her head while she contemplated Candy’s predicament. Gwenyth had read all of her best friend’s work, so she would know as well as anyone the kinds of sex that had been penned in them. A moment later, it came to her. Gwenyth snapped her fingers and sat up straighter in her chair as the answer struck her. “I’ve got it!” Candy’s eyes widened. “You do?” “Uh huh.” When it appeared as though she was going to have to drag the answer out of Gwenyth, Candy waved her hand through the air in agitation. “Well. Spit it out already.” Gwenyth smiled, her dimples popping out. “Missionary!” Candy stared at her blankly. Her gum cracked as she continued to chew. “Missionary?” “Yes!” Gwenyth’s eyes sparkled a brilliant jade as she warmed to her topic. “The nun and the ex-convict can do it in the missionary position.” She dismissed any arguments with a fluttering of her hand. “Just think about it. Your heroes never bop their heroines for the first time in the missionary. This will be totally fresh!” Candy blew out a bubble as she stared at Gwenyth unblinkingly. “You know,” she said after a drawn out minute, “that’s just crazy enough that it might work.” Gwenyth nodded smugly. “God Gwen, you are like, the best.” Candy grinned sheepishly. “What would I do without you?” Their burgers were placed in front of them, breaking the conversation’s momentum momentarily. After taking a huge bite of her mushroom and Swiss burger, Gwenyth answered Candy’s question as frankly as possible. “I’m not sure. But I hope you give up this business of trying to find a new calling when the calling you already have works really well for you.” She eyed her knowingly. “I’m afraid of what you’ll try out next.” Gwenyth frowned. “And I have no intention of allowing you to join the circus.” Candy giggled. “You never know. I might look cute in one of those skimpy trapeze artist get-ups.” Gwenyth narrowed her gaze at the familiar gleam in Candy’s eyes. It was a gleam she knew all too well. She shook her head slowly. Her smile was feral. “Forget it, Can. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to worry about you getting it on with Bozo.”

***** A week later, Gwenyth climbed out of bed, intending to throw on the first clean thing she could find in her dresser drawers. She needed to get over to the family house ASAP because she had tons of developing work to do. Her favorite Jones & Jones darkroom was still the one at the big house. The studio’s developing room was bigger and more modern, but the one at Willy and Verlene’s was cozy and familiar. Besides, she didn’t have any fancy work to do today. Just ordinary developing. Gwenyth rifled through her empty dresser drawers with a grunt of disgust. Damn. She really needed to do some laundry. The only clean thing she could find was Sam’s #33 jersey and a pair of ratty old blue jeans cutoffs. She didn’t even have a bra to wear. Oh well, at least she still had a recently washed pair of “Kiss Me” underwear, uncomfortable and wedgie-prone though they might be. Gwenyth climbed into the skintight cutoffs, then raised the jersey over her head to put on. She bit her lip, briefly debating over whether or not she should show up at Willy and Verlene’s wearing Sam’s old shirt. Bah! She shook her head at her own ridiculousness. Sam’s original plan to arrive in Tampa a few days back had been altered by unforeseen problems with his contract renewal. He had to stay in Boston to clear that up before hopping on a plane to Florida. Harry had said he wouldn’t be here for another few days. It was safe to wear the shirt. Decision made, Gwenyth quickly donned the old jersey, threw her hair up into her usual topknot, slipped into a pair of unlaced Keds, and made her way toward the door. She stopped in her tracks as she thought about the mountain of laundry waiting to be washed. Sighing, Gwenyth stomped into the bathroom and scooped up a huge pile of clothes. Making her way over to the washing machine, she threw the laundry in, added the necessary soap and ball of fabric softener, then slammed the lid home. There. Gwenyth picked up her keys and walked briskly to the front door of her apartment. She’d dry the damn things when she came back. ***** Sam was pissed. The flight to Tampa was god awful bumpy, the food was dry and about as tasty as he imagined Purina Puppychow would be, and worst of all, he had some “helpful” fan sitting next to him during the entire flight, pointing out what had gone wrong with his game last season. Yeah right. Like that five-foot-two, skinny-assed weasel had ever played ball. Like he had the first clue what it was like out there on the field. Sam was damn sick of free advice. Like Harry’s granddad Willy used to say to his doctor if he’d get on to him about watching his calorie intake, “when I want your advice, mister, I’ll beat it out of ya.” Sam smiled. He sure enough missed that old man there. Which brought Sam to his next complaint. When he’d finally arrived in Tampa after surviving dismal weather, air traffic delays, yucky food, damned annoying conversations with a particular fan who shall remain unnamed, and a suicidal cab driver who got him from the airport to the Jones family’s estate in Hyde Park faster than his namesake traveled in the old TV show Quantum Leap, Sam at least thought he’d be greeted by smiling faces. Not so. Nobody was home. Jesus H Christ! What a damned day!

Of course, Sam reminded himself, nobody was expecting him to show up for another three days. Lee had thought it would take that long to talk the Crusaders into upping his salary by another three million. Goes to show how much his manager knows. Sons of bitches caved in after forty-eight hours of negotiating. Sam threw his suitcases to the ground in order to pound louder on the front door. Surely someone had to be around. There was usually at least a cleaning lady trailin’ about. Disgusted with himself for not calling Harry ahead of time, Sam raised his fists to the front door and hit it repeatedly with everything he had in him. Between weather, dumb fans, and insane taxi drivers, he was just pissed off enough to all but put a hole in the door. Just when Sam was about to give up and take another anxiety producing cab ride to the nearest hotel, the front door whirled open. Standing before him in all her furious glory was a fuming, hot little firecracker. She narrowed her eyes as she swung the front door wide. “What the hell do you…” The firecracker’s eyes widened in surprise. Sam’s widened in amazement. He gulped at the sight that greeted him. His arousal was instantaneous and extremely painful. Lord have mercy. It was Cupcake. A very sexy, all grown up Cupcake. She was molded into a pair of Daisy Duke shorts that just begged a man’s mind to wander to what was inside of them. And the jersey she wore, his jersey , he thought possessively—gawd damn! Sam’s eyes trailed over the shirt, noticing with much delight how his boyhood jersey fit Cupcake snugly across her bountiful breasts. He looked closer and realized—oh baby!—she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her large nipples were puckered into points that reminded him of cherries on top of a sundae. He bet they tasted like them too. He shifted uncomfortably when his erection grew larger, but couldn’t seem to break his gaze from that jersey. Sam sensed a little furious tension emanating from the object of his desire when she cleared her throat, all but demanding he look her in the face. Reluctantly, Sam tore his gaze from her chest to her eyes. And oh baby, she looked just as good up there! Gwen’s eyes were still as green as ever. Her hair was still long, tawny, and sleek, and yes, it was pulled up into that cock teaser of a topknot. And her lips—sweet Jesus!—he’d never noticed how full and ripe they were before. Man oh man what lips like those could do to his… Sam cleared his throat, trying his damnedest to erase his brain of its wayward thoughts. He supposed Gwen would take it badly if after ten years of absence, he suddenly burst threw the door, threw her to the carpet, and buried himself deep inside of her like a caveman who’d been gone too long from the cave. Ahh well, that could happen later. Sam offered Gwen his most killer smile. The same one he reserved for a lady he was wantin’ to score big-time with. It was the grin that showed off his white teeth and lifted one corner of his mouth in an ever so slightly rakish way. “Hi there, Cupcake. Can I come in?”

Chapter 4 Gwenyth was briefly disconcerted by the fact that her first impulse upon opening the door and realizing who was standing there, was to throw herself into Sam Trevianni’s arms and beg him to make love to her. She sighed dejectedly. He’d never welcome that. He thought of her as a—gee how sweet—little sister. Gwenyth’s face colored slightly when she realized that Sam was staring straight at her chest. Great. Just great! He was obviously wondering why she had kept his #33 jersey after all these years. He probably thought she was still pining away for him. Well, she’d show him. Gwenyth Jones pines over no man! She might still fantasize about him, and her last serious relationship two years ago might have broken up after she’d inadvertently screamed out Sam’s name in a crucial sexual moment, but she never, ever pined, damn it! Clearing her throat and quickly donning what she hoped was a nonchalant air about her, Gwenyth waited for Sam to meet her gaze. And when he did, her knees all but buckled. She knew his eyes were blue, but she hadn’t remembered them being that blue. And when he smiled—good grief—she almost forgot that it wouldn’t be at all the thing to tear open his very fashionable blue jeans, jump into his embrace, and impale herself on his flesh then and there. Lord knows she was wet enough to make it an easy entry. Sam’s voice broke through Gwenyth’s daze, causing her to straighten up and take a deep, steadying breath. “Hi there, Cupcake. Can I come in?” Cupcake—he still called her Cupcake. Annoyed by how much wetter her panties were growing with each word he uttered, she ruthlessly squelched her attraction to Sam, consigning it to the nether lands, and concentrated on answering his question. Smiling like the gracious southern hostess Verlene had taught her to be, she gracefully threw her hand toward the hall. “By all means, come on in.” Sam inclined his head, his eyes never leaving her. Was she going crazy, or was he studying her dimples like a snake caught in a mesmerizer’s hold? She shook her head mentally, telling herself she was only imagining things. Thrusting her hands into the back pockets of her cutoffs, she regarded Sam. “Would you like me to show you to the bedroom?” Sam gulped. She watched in fascination as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in time with his swallow. Great. Just wonderful. He was looking at the jersey again. “Sam?” Sam finally dragged his gaze back up to Gwenyth’s face long enough to answer her. “That would be nice, Gwen.” He swallowed again, shaking off the weird dazed look she’d seen in his eyes in the process. “I’m sorry, Cupcake.” He grinned. “I’ve had a hell of bad trip and I’m very tired.” Gwenyth felt immediately contrite. She reached out and rubbed Sam’s arm up and down. If she wasn’t already positive that her imagination was running on overdrive today, she would have swore she’d heard him suck in his breath. “I wasn’t thinking. Let me show you upstairs.” She smiled up to him, her dimples popping back out. “You look like you could use a rest.” ***** Sam took in a series of deep, heaving breaths as he recovered from the best orgasm he’d had in a long, long time. That he’d had it in the shower—alone—was beside the point. He’d been left with no other

viable option. Ahh well, at least Junior was now squeaky clean. Sam wrapped a linen towel around his hips and padded his way from the bathroom over toward the bed. He stretched out his heavily muscled shoulders and yawned sleepily, realizing that he truly was tired now. After a quick glance at the mounted wall clock to assure his self that his presence wouldn’t be expected downstairs until dinner time—which wouldn’t be served for another few hours—he drew in a deep breath, flung the towel into the nearest chair, and dropped onto the guestroom bed with a thud. Sam reclined on his back and drew his hands behind his neck for support. Gazing up at the ceiling, he smiled dreamily at the purdy picture Cupcake had turned into. Lord have mercy, he couldn’t believe how hard he’d got after just a glimpse of her! It was all he could do to contain himself long enough to make it into the shower with his trusty bar of soap in hand. Gwen had always been fine to his way of thinking, but he hadn’t anticipated her getting even finer. He’d expected to come down here and meet up with his purdy little pudgy princess…not a twenty-pound trimmer but still ample and curvy goddess. And those nipples. Mmm-mmm. Had they always stuck out, long and hard like that? Her breasts had been big since fourteen, but he’d never noticed the nipples before. Sam smiled his cat-that-ate-a-particularly-tasty-canary smile when he recalled the fact that Cupcake had been wearing his high school jersey. She’d kept it. After all these years, Gwen had kept the battered thing. Amazing. No woman had ever gone and done something sentimental over Sam Trevianni like that before. Oh sure, they all wanted jerseys as sexual souvenirs from a night or a week in his bed, but none had ever done something so sweet as to keep his jersey “just because”. And Sam was willing to bet that no one outside the Jones family even realized Gwen owned a genuine Trevianni jersey. No sir. Tale tellin’ wasn’t Cupcake’s style. Never had been. And it wasn’t like Gwen didn’t have the dough to buy herself whatever kind of a wardrobe she wanted. Harry had said she was doing real well with her picture taking. So that could only mean that somewhere deep down, Gwen still cared about him enough to have kept his shirt…if even as just a friend. The knowledge of it was making him hard all over again. Sam sighed as he raked a punishing set of fingers through his short black hair. He needed to get himself under control…now. Gwen had certainly given him no sign that she still carried a torch for him and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by ogling her generously endowed body like a sex-starved boy of fifteen when he made his way downstairs for dinner in a few short hours. He could only hope Cupcake had donned a bra to cover up those jutting nipples by the time he next saw her. Hell, he thought dejectedly, the nipples were only one of many erection-inducing things about Gwen. Even if he was lucky enough to find her sporting a bra—and not sporting those Daisy Duke shorts—she’d still have a million curves, cuter than all hell dimples, and strawberry scented hair. Sweet Jesus, even the woman’s dainty little ankles set his blood to racin’. And that tiny little dot of a mole set right above her lip… Sam blew out a breath and flopped onto his belly to go to sleep. He couldn’t let himself start thinking about Gwen like this. It was too soon and he had no intention of scaring her away from the game before he even made it to first base. She was probably still mad at him over that scene with Stacy ten years back. He’d definitely have to handle this situation with expert precision.

Sam decided he’d treat this just as he did any competition he’d set his mind to winning. He’d play hard and give it his all. Strategy. It always came down to strategy. And with Cupcake the best strategy would be to reel her in slowly, like a doe he was trying to lure closer to feed from his hand. Sam fell asleep with a grin on his lips. He’d waited over a decade to take his not-so-pudgy princess to bed, and he’d be damned if he’d go home before it finally happened. He wasn’t certain if he was quite ready to settle down and make a family just yet, but maybe he was. Hell—who could say what he was or wasn’t ready for ‘til the time came. But there was something he was definitely ready for. One way or another, Sam “The Slam” Trevianni wasn’t leaving Tampa Florida ‘til he gave Gwenyth Marie Jones the fuckin’ of a lifetime. Poor little girl. She’d never know what hit her.

Chapter 5 “You’re lookin’ good boy, lookin’ real good.” Granddad Willy nodded toward Sam as his wife Verlene fussed over him, slathering Sam’s baked potato up with a heavy dollop of creamy butter and the smooth as sin sour cream Willy had made from scratch. Harry slapped Sam on the back and grinned. “You don’t look much different. A little gray around the temples maybe, old man, but not much different.” Sam grunted affectionately at his old pal. It was good to have someone to verbally spar with again. Most people approached him with kid gloves, afraid to offend him in any way. “You’re one to talk, Jones. I see more than one laugh line or two crinklin’ at the corners of your eyes.” Harry chuckled. “The ladies rather like my laugh lines. They say it gives me character.” Willy harrumphed, drawing Sam’s attention toward him. He had to grin at the tee shirt old Willy was wearing today: It’s a Black Thang. “You date some strange women, son. Your Grandmama, on the other hand, was always partial to my backside.” He inclined his head in a gesture of pure male ego. “She’s a butt woman, my Verlene.” Said butt-woman rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Sam laughed. God he’d missed this bunch. Dinnertime began with the same flair and panache as it always did at the Jones family home. Sam closed his eyes briefly as he inhaled the aromas of the food rising up around him. He could barely stand the wait. He was just dying to fork a bite of the green beans that had been prepared in bacon fat into his mouth. This was true southern cookin’ at its finest here. Yet another thing he’d missed about this place. Verlene and Willy had really outdone themselves tonight. Steak, baked potatoes, green beans, freshly

baked bread…ecstasy, pure and simple. Sam just wished Cupcake would hurry up and get her cute little backside upstairs. He was itchin’ to see Gwen again in a way he’d never itched to see another woman. That, and the fact that he was hungrier than he didn’t know what and he knew they would never start dinner without her. Sam took a sip from his bottle of imported beer as he surveyed the motley group surrounding him. They were all so different, so unique from each other. Willy was outrageous, in both attire and mannerisms. Verlene was his opposite, as elegantly and gracefully feminine as her husband was brusquely masculine. Harry was a bit on the prudish, shy side, but was as nonjudgmental of others as a person could get. Gwen was…well… Gwen was just Gwen. She was the baby of the family and as such, she’d adopted characteristics of all the Jones’s. She was as elegant and graceful as Verlene, as opinionated as Willy, and as tolerant of differences as Harry. The Jones’ were one hell of a good people. They were all very much their own person, yet they respected everyone’s differences and loved each other deeply. Perhaps that’s why Sam had spent more time at the Jones house growing up than he had at his own. Every kid wanted some place where they felt accepted. Even now, after ten years of absence, the elder Jones’ were treating Sam like their prodigal grandson come home. They offered him no recriminations on his past behavior, they demanded no explanations. They simply accepted him, for whatever it was worth. And Sam realized it was worth a hell of a lot. He’d never give them up twice. Harry glanced at his watch and then at the pile of food spread out on the dining room table. He frowned. “I’m giving Gwen another two minutes and then I’m going downstairs to fetch her from the dark room.” Willy harrumphed. “Best idea I’ve heard all day.” He waggled his eyebrows at his grandson. “You know how your sister is when she turns her mind to her pictures. Just like Verlene, she is. Gwen will be down there all day and night with the rest of them Vantry photos and won’t see fit to resurface ‘til tomorrow.” Sam raised a brow. “Vantry photos?” Verlene smiled warmly at Sam, then nodded. “Uh huh. Gwen just got back from cataloguing their women’s swimwear line in LA.” Harry grinned affectionately at Sam. “We’re very proud of her. The Vantrys were so impressed with the photos she developed before leaving LA that they’ve asked her back to catalogue the men’s line in a few weeks.” Well isn’t that interesting. “No kidding.” Sam tipped back his beer bottle and took a swig. He made a mental note to call Lee later and inform his agent that he’d decided to take the modeling job after all. “I always knew Gwen would make something important of herself.” Harry nodded as if that was a given. “She’s tenacious, my sister.” Sam wondered if Cupcake would be just as tenacious in bed. Something told him she would be. Sighing, he shook his head to clear it of his lusty thoughts, then concentrated on downing the remainder of his beer.

“Two minutes are up,” Harry declared as he tossed his napkin on the table and made to stand up. “I’m going to fetch Gwen.” Verlene shook her head and chuckled. “Hungry, are you? Well sit back down, sugar. I hear your sister coming up the back stairs now.” Sam’s heartbeat accelerated. His pulse raced in anticipation of seeing her again. He sipped from what was left of his beer and frowned, highly annoyed by that fact. He glanced toward the doorway he knew Gwen would soon materialize into, hoping he looked more devil-may-care than he felt. Lord have mercy. She hadn’t changed out of his jersey, or out of those Daisy Duke shorts. It was enough to drive a sane man over the edge and back again. Swallowing roughly, Sam polished off the remainder of his beer while he got his raging hormones back under control. Strategy. It always came down to strategy. Cupcake looked him dead in the eye and grinned. “Hi there, Sam. Did you sleep well?” Sam smiled faintly as he reached for another beer. Her dimples were popping back out again, damn it anyway. “Yeah, Cupcake, I slept great.” He took a long, slow swig of the imported brew, carefully studying those bedeviling dimples as he did so. Sam set the bottle down on the tabletop and sighed mentally. Lordy, lordy…this was going to be one hell of a long dinner. ***** An hour later, Sam stood up to help Gwen and Harry clear off the dinner table. Sighing dejectedly, he picked up all the condiments that had been set out for supper and strolled into the kitchen with them. As he walked into the room and glanced around, the familiarity of it struck him deeply. How many times had he sat at that very kitchen table, eatin’ one of Willy’s homemade chocolate chip cookies while Verlene bandaged up the latest scrape he’d acquired on his knee? How many evenings had he spent at that same table playing cards and drinking sodas with Harry while Gwen sprawled out on the floor below them humming as she colored in her Strawberry Shortcake coloring book? Sam sighed as he looked around and let the memories of his childhood pour over him. Gwen. His thoughts always returned to Gwen. And then those thoughts only made him realize how much time he’d wasted, how many years had truly gone by. What a fool he’d been to stay away so long. Gwen was obviously not enamored of him anymore. Every year, every day he’d been away from the fray had apparently helped her to forget him a little bit more and let go of the past they shared. Only now here he was, wanting her to do anything except to forget about him. It wasn’t that Gwen was treating Sam coldly or even being aloof. Not so. All through supper she’d been her usual self, laughing freely, telling amusing stories about her shoot at Vantry Sportswear, smiling at him from across the dinner table, those adorable dimples popping out. The problem lay in what Cupcake wasn’t doing. Namely, that she wasn’t gazing at him with stars in her eyes the way she used to. Of course, Gwen wasn’t sixteen anymore. She was now a full-grown, mature,

sophisticated woman. This business of strategy was damned depressing. Sam had no idea what his next move should be. Should he lay his cards out on the table and tell Gwen straight up that he’d like to take her out on a date? Or should he continue to play it cool and wait and see if she came to him? Lord have mercy…strategies were a lot easier to implement on the baseball field. “Who died?” Sam started at the sound of that familiar voice. He glanced quickly at her before turning around to open the refrigerator door. He cleared his throat. “What do you mean by that, Gwen?” Gwenyth shrugged her shoulders as she watched Sam fiddle around with the condiments in his hand. “When I first walked in here you had this really sad look on your face.” She cocked her head and studied him. “Don’t tell me your contract negotiations went badly.” I wish that was my worst problem, Cupcake. “Of course not.” Sam placed the A-1 sauce next to the ketchup then swung around to look at her. “Went great. No complaints there.” She bit her lip. “I’m glad.” He shuffled on his feet. “Me too.” They studied each other in silence for a long moment, then both started to speak at the same time. “Sam,” Gwen said. “Gwen,” Sam began. They looked at each other and burst out laughing. After that, the conversation flowed freely between them. They stood there, just the two of them, reminiscing about old times and catching each other up on what they’d missed in the ten years since they’d last seen one another. “After college, I turned down an offer from Vogue to form Jones & Jones with Grandmama.” She smiled owlishly. “It turned out to be the right decision. I couldn’t be happier any place else than I am at Jones & Jones.” Sam snorted, chuckling slightly. “Can’t blame you there, Cupcake. I’m sure workin’ for yourself holds a lot of advantages over workin’ for someone else. I can’t say I’d mind that at all.” Gwenyth shrugged elegantly. “It has its downsides too. Knowing that people are counting on you to not bounce their paychecks carries a lot of pressure on Grandmama and myself to accumulate new accounts.” She grinned. “Luckily we only have three employees at the moment and Grandmama’s a natural born businesswoman if ever there was one.” Sam laughed. It felt so good talking to Gwen like this, being near her, getting to know her all over again. “I can believe that about Verlene Jones. The woman’s as graceful as a southern swan, but as sharp as a serrated blade.” A trill of Gwen’s laughter peeled through the kitchen. It occurred to Sam that church bells at mass on Christmas Eve couldn’t have sounded prettier. “True.” She gestured toward him animatedly. “And what about you? Do you like playing for the New England Crusaders?”

Sam scratched his chin as he considered the answer to that question. “Yes and no.” “Oh?” He smiled impishly at Gwen. “I’ve been paid well to do something I’ve had a helluva good time doin’. How can I complain?” Gwen crossed her arms over her breasts and notched a tawny eyebrow. “I sense a but coming on here.” Sam shrugged. “Please don’t go repeatin’ this to anybody else because I’m not quite ready to go public with it, but I’ve decided to retire when this last contract is up.” “You’re kidding?” He shook his head. “I’m not like a lot of ballplayers out there, Cupcake. I can accept the fact that I’m aging, that I’m not as fast as I used to be, that my injuries take longer to heal than they did even two or three years ago.” “You can accept retiring at thirty-four?” “Now hold on!” Sam grinned. “I just signed another two year contract, if you will recall. Make that thirty-six, Cupcake. Thirty-six.” Gwenyth laughed. “Okay, thirty-six. And then what will you do?” Thinking better of it, she held up a hand to forestall his answering that question. “Never mind. I suspect I know what you’ll do.” “You know me so well, do you now?” “Uh huh.” Sam inclined his head toward Gwen in a teasing gesture of mockery. “Then by all means, Gwenyth Marie, tell me.” Gwenyth nibbled on her bottom lip briefly. Finally, she looked up at him with a shrug and chuckled. “Whatever it is, it will have to do with anthropology, namely archeology.” Damn. She did know him so well. Sam felt something in the vicinity of his heart turn over. “Yeah well…” He swallowed faintly. “I think maybe you’re right.” Harry wandered in a few minutes later, announcing that he had to go home to work on his speech for the campaign dinner, but would pick Sam up for breakfast the following morning. He offered to let his old pal crash at his apartment, but Sam declined, genuinely looking forward to spending some time catching up with Willy and Verlene. Harry stayed and chatted for a while, distracted from his plans by a shared sense of nostalgia. The reminiscing felt amazingly good to all of them. Twenty minutes later, however reluctantly, Harry clapped Sam affectionately on the back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, old man.” With that departing potshot, he kissed Gwenyth on the cheek, made his good-byes

to his retiring grandparents, and strolled out the back door whistling. Sam and Gwenyth were alone again. Both of them felt the awkward silence caused by Harry’s abrupt leave-taking fall between them like a thick cloud of awareness. It was as tense as it had been when she’d first come upon Sam in the kitchen after supper. Only this time it was interwoven with a sexual awareness. Gwenyth cleared her throat and grinned at Sam. He shuffled nervously and grinned back. Gwenyth placed her hands in the back pockets of her cutoffs and rocked back and forth on her heels. “Sam, I…” She blew out a breath and shrugged her shoulders in a gesture meant to be cavalier, but she knew it wasn’t. Sam arched an inquisitive brow. He inclined his head down to Gwenyth, prodding her to finish her thought. “Go on Gwen. What were you about to say?” Gwenyth took a deep breath and expelled it daintily. “I just wanted to say that I’m really glad you came back.” She shrugged her hands out of her back pockets and splayed them at her sides. “We’ve all missed you a lot, Sam.” Sam swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Maybe things weren’t as hopeless as he’d first thought. Maybe he’d have Gwen yet. “Cupcake, I…” The phone rang, breaking both of them out of the fleeting experience of intimacy they’d just shared. Gwenyth threw him an apologetic look and swung around to answer the phone. Sam studied her sweet backside as she padded away from him and toward the wall where the only non-portable phone left in the house had resided for at least twenty years. “Hello?” “Oh hi Trevor.” Trevor? Who the hell is Trevor? “No, I haven’t forgotten. I’m sorry I haven’t called you back, but I’ve been real busy.” Who the hell is Trevor? “Yeah. That will be fine. Reservations are for eight o’clock? Okay, pick me up around seven-thirty then.” Pick her up? I. Don’t. Think. So. “Great. I’ll see you then.” Over my dead, mutilated, decapitated body. “Okay. Take care now. Goodbye, Trevor.” I’m losing it here. I’m losing it big time. “Who is Trevor?” Sam grimaced at his own words, knowing at once that his tone of voice had betrayed him. He’d asked that question far from nonchalantly. He’d sounded more like a possessive husband

acting as though he’d caught his wife in the act of cheating on him. Struggling to maintain his dignity, he asked in a calmer voice, “who is Trevor, Gwen?” Gwenyth threw him a wide-eyed look, as though she had forgotten he was standing there. Sam released a mental sigh. Perhaps she hadn’t picked up on his telltale jealousy after all. “He’s the guy I’ve been dating.” On the other hand, there was nothing wrong with a little jealousy now and again. “The what?” Gwenyth’s wide jade eyes rounded all the more. “The guy I’ve been dating.” “You’ve been datin’ a guy?” Her green orbs narrowed defensively. “You know Sam, there are men on this planet who find me attractive.” She thrust her balled hands indignantly to her hips. “Not every guy in the universe prefers emaciated women like Stacy to women shaped like real women!” Sam’s nostrils flared. He stalked toward her slowly, causing Gwenyth to gulp. Perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned his ex-wife. “You think I don’t know that?” Sam backed her up against the nearest wall and smacked his hands on either side of her head. “You think I don’t know just how good you look to a guy?” Gwenyth’s eyes widened considerably. “Well, I…uh…well…what exactly are you saying here, Sam?” “What I’m sayin’,” he growled as he reached for Gwenyth’s topknot to hold her securely in place, “is this.” Sam crushed his mouth to Gwenyth’s in a searing kiss that robbed both of them of breath. All thoughts of strategy and calmly luring the doe toward him flew out the window along with his temper. Sam’s kiss was punishing and possessive, desperate and provocative all at once. Gwenyth yelped in surprise, then sighed in acquiescence. Twining her hands around Sam’s neck, she gave herself up to a lifetime of penned up hopes and longings. She met his kiss, passion for passion. Sam’s lips on hers felt hot and hard, fairly robbing her of sanity and chasing away any coherent thought. All Gwenyth could do was feel. Sam moaned into her throat, then deepened the kiss in a way he’d been wanting to since he’d first laid eyes on Cupcake this afternoon. He forcefully slipped his tongue into her mouth, then bit back a groan when Gwenyth enthusiastically accepted him inside of her. Their tongues twined and twirled around each other for a long moment, both of them releasing every ounce of passion that had been built up and stored away these past years. Sam couldn’t believe how hot Gwenyth was making him. And she had to know it too. His erection was pressed against her belly in a way that made denial impossible. Not that he wanted to deny it. Hell, he wanted to have her here and now. Without breaking their kiss, Sam released his hold on Gwenyth’s face and drew his hands downward to cup her bottom. The lusciously rounded orbs felt so good in his palms, just the perfect size…as if they’d been made especially for him to knead and caress.

Lifting Gwenyth up against his arousal, Sam groaned into her mouth when she locked her knees around his waist. He pinned her fully against the wall, slowly grinding his erection into her hips in a way that left nothing about his intentions to the imagination. Gwenyth moaned and gave it right back to him. She continued to stroke his tongue with her own, while at the same time nudging his arousal with the cleft of her womanhood. Though she was wearing cutoffs, her clitoris ached with need as if there was no barrier between them at all. Time stood still for Sam and Gwenyth as they played and teased, touched and needed, each of their bodies making promises of shared passion to the other. It was only when Sam began unzipping her jeans shorts and tried to pull them down that reality began to intrude for both of them. Gwenyth released a surprised little shriek. Sam’s eyes rounded. As if shocked by his own actions in Verlene’s and Willy’s home, he tore his mouth away from Gwenyth’s and, panting heavily, slowly lowered her to the ground. Lord have mercy, he felt as out of control as a bull in full rut. They could have been walked in on at any time. Gwenyth straightened immediately, though her labored breathing gave away the fact that she was still as turned on as Sam was. When she finished zipping up her shorts and slicking her hair back with her hands, she turned and looked up at Sam. Sam’s gaze raked possessively over her as he took in Gwenyth’s signs of arousal. Flushed face. Heavy breathing. Erect nipples… Sam reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb over one of Gwenyth’s aroused nipples, right through her shirt. When she sucked in her breath, he peered into her eyes, meeting her gaze. Trailing his hand under the jersey, Sam’s fingers made a searing path up Gwenyth’s belly and toward her breast. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath as his thumb and forefinger latched onto a nipple and stroked it slowly from base to peak, over and over again. Heady from her reaction, Sam brought his other hand under the jersey to do the same with Gwenyth’s other nipple. She whimpered weakly, causing him to smile with calculated satisfaction. The situation was definitely not hopeless. Sam continued to fondle Gwenyth’s breasts as her breathing grew more and more sporadic. He had her just where he wanted her. When she opened her eyes to gaze into his, he kissed Gwenyth gently on the forehead. He met her wide-eyed stare as he stroked her nipples, over and over, sending her into a haze of longing and need. But he wouldn’t take her—couldn’t take her—not here, not like this. Sam released his hold on Gwenyth’s breasts and kissed her softly on the lips. “Get rid of Trevor,” he quietly demanded. Sam swept his tongue inside of her mouth one last time, then pulled away. “Get rid of him, baby.” And with that, he walked away. Gwenyth closed her eyes and practiced a little deep breathing. She stumbled toward the kitchen table and fell into the closest chair.

Good grief, that was better than in her fantasies.

Chapter 6 With the new day dawned sanity. And a hell of a lot of confusion. Gwenyth still had a hard time believing that Sam had kissed her and felt her up the way he had last night after dinner. And worse yet, she had reacted to him like some wanton woman, no doubt making her seem as easy as the gaggle of other groupies who were always throwing their sorry selves at the great Sam Trevianni. Well none of that for Gwenyth Marie Jones. No sir. Not when she had dreamed and hoped and wished on every shooting star she could find since childhood that she would one day mean a hell of a lot more to Sam than a little sister, or an easy lay. If Grandmama Verlene had found out about last night’s insane moment of passion, she would have inclined her elegant head and said, “make a man work for it, sugar. The harder he has to work to lay claim to you, the more he’ll want you in the end.” Granddad Willy would harrumph and disagree. He’d insist that the best way to be claimed by a man like Sam was to do the claiming yourself. “When I was a young gun, your Grandmama came at me like gangbusters,” he would insist, “made me flee in terror from the fear of impending matrimony ‘til I was too tuckered out to run anymore.” Harry would smile and say simply, “it’s your life, Sis. I’m behind you no matter what.” Candy would say, “no shit? Jesus, Gwen! Why didn’t you fuck him?” Gwenyth wasn’t at all certain she wanted to listen to anyone’s sage advice, or even her big brother’s lack thereof. So for the next few days, she closeted herself away from family and friends, trying her hardest to figure out what she was going to do. She spent her days in the park, taking pictures of children playing and ducks squawking. She watched idly as lovers jogged side by side around the grassy slopes, seeing to it that their amour remained trendily in shape. This was Hyde Park after all. Fitness and superficial looks were all that mattered in this tiny, prosperous section of Tampa. Growing up, she herself was the only pudgy female in a hundred yards radius she could ever remember encountering. While Gwenyth was busy getting her thoughts and feelings in check, Sam was busy fuming. He had called her apartment four times and left four messages on her answering service. The first message had been sweet, with his insisting that he couldn’t wait to see her again and would she please call him back when she got home. The second message was less sweet, more preemptory than anything, but it was still Sam at

his—almost—nicest. The third and fourth messages were downright belligerent. “Where the hell are you, Gwenyth Marie! Call me, damn it!” Click. And then, “I’m gettin’ seriously pissed off, Gwen. I’m going to come over there if I don’t hear from you in the next ten minutes!” Click. So now Gwenyth sat in a reclining chair near the telephone, biting her lip and wavering back and forth on whether or not she should call Sam back. Verlene would say that Sam’s attitude was a good sign. Gwenyth, on the other hand, wasn’t at all positive she had what it took to stand her ground with an angry, virile man like Sam Trevianni. Nope. Playing the coward and leaving town was more in tune with her state of mind. But what exactly was she trying to run from? Here Sam was back in Tampa—and he wanted her. It was exactly what Gwen had wanted all of her life. Wasn’t it? She shook her head morosely. No, not like this. Not just for sex. She’d always wanted more. She had prayed for so much more. Gwenyth wanted Sam to love her, to be in love with her. Oh God! If she wasn’t so upset, she’d laugh at her own childish, naïve thoughts. Yeah right! Like that would happen in this lifetime! Like Sam didn’t have a million other women all vying for the same elusive thing from him. Gwenyth sighed in frustration as she raked her fingers through her mane of tawny hair. Dealing with her dreams of what could be back when she didn’t stand a chance with Sam was a hell of a lot less complicated than it was now when she did have an opportunity to make them real. Should she seize the moment and enjoy what time they’d have together? Or should she back out totally, knowing full well that if she slept with Sam she’d be in love with him all over again? A loud shattering sound followed by a fast-moving object hurling through the front window, broke Gwenyth out of her quiet contemplation. She yelped and jumped to her feet. Her heart pounding wildly, she moved toward the shards of broken glass until she visually located the offending object. It was only a baseball. Gwenyth’s cathartic sigh could be heard from across the room. No doubt little Billy Banes next door was practicing his hitting—badly—yet again. Shaking her head in mirth, and at herself for damn near screaming over a freaking baseball, Gwenyth strolled over to where the ball lay and carefully removed it from its nest of broken glass. She picked it up as she envisioned lecturing Billy on his tendency to wreak havoc on her property, then turned the ball over and read the message that had been scrawled in bold letters for her to see: NAM. Just three letters. Three small letters that started her pulse racing and caused her breathing to hitch. It wasn’t Billy Banes after all. The front door crashed in a moment later and Gwenyth screamed for real. She whirled around, preparing to do god only knows what to her would-be attacker, and found instead—to her wide-eyed relief—a fuming, angry, royally pissed off Sam Trevianni glowering down at her. Thank god.

Sam stomped through the doorway and slammed the door shut behind him. His nostrils were flaring, the muscles in his neck and arms were corded, and his blue eyes were staring daggers at her. Gwenyth had never been so happy to see a disgruntled male before in her life. “Gwenyth Marie Jones! You and I have got to talk!” Gwenyth bit her lip and nodded. She couldn’t agree more. The fact that she probably wanted to talk about something vastly different than Sam did didn’t register in her brain as she ran toward him and threw herself into his arms. Sam grunted, whether from the impact of her barreling into him or from male satisfaction she didn’t know. “Now this is more like it, Cupcake. This is how you should have greeted me days ago.” Sam plowed determinedly onward, apparently not taking notice of the broken glass in the living room or of the fact that Gwenyth was shaking like a frayed leaf caught in a storm. “A man expects to have his phone calls returned after sharin’ an experience like you and I had the other day, Cupcake.” He stroked her affectionately on the back, his hand occasionally drifting down to her derriere as he continued his lecture. “A man expects a hell of a lot more than bein’ avoided by the woman he’s crazy about, that I can tell you.” The shaking finally started to register a little bit. “Cupcake?” Sam pulled back slightly and used his hand to notch Gwenyth’s chin up toward him. “Cupcake?” He saw the terror plain in her eyes and realized then and there that the reason Gwen had run to him had been out of fear. That fact should have annoyed him, but it didn’t. It brought out all of his protective instincts and caused his heart rate to accelerate even though he had no idea what had spooked her. “Cupcake?” “I’m so glad you’re here, Sam,” she breathed out. Sam could feel the hard something that Gwenyth was clutching in her hand. He looked down at it and, realizing it was a baseball, he gently pried it out of her grasp to find out why she was all fired up and wild eyed over a little ole ball. And then he knew. NAM. The words were written as plain as day. Sam glanced toward the living room for some unknown reason and immediately noticed the broken window. Those damn bastards. Sam forgot all about his reason for being here, the reason he’d walked around throwing tantrums and being generally disagreeable for the past three days, and pulled Gwenyth back into his arms. He hugged her tightly against him and placed kisses on top of her head. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.” “Yes.” But was he? The fear that had gone through Sam when he’d realized what the scene around him meant told him he’d emotionally gone beyond the point of no return with one Gwenyth Marie Jones. Hell, he’d probably been at that point years ago unknowingly and just needed a nudge in the direction of the obvious. Well he knew now, damn it. And as soon as this nasty business with NAM was taken care of,

Sam would make certain Ms. Jones had no viable alternative but to accept him wholeheartedly into her life. But first, there was this to deal with. Sam balled his hands into fists behind Gwenyth’s back as he struggled to calm down. He would find out who had done this terrible thing if it was the last act he ever accomplished on planet earth. Nobody but nobody threatened his woman and expected to get away with it. And she was his. Whether or not Gwenyth Marie Jones realized it, her fate had just been sealed.

Chapter 7 “It ain’t happenin’. Nuh uh. No way. Fer-get it.” Granddad Willy slashed his hand tersely through the air then planted his fists on either bony hip. He waggled his eyebrows at Gwenyth in a manner that suggested she could broach no arguments. Sam glanced at Willy’s newest tee shirt, a neon pink cotton with a slogan that read: Straight But Not Narrow. Verlene stood beside her husband, elegantly decked out as usual in a corn blue silk shirt and shorts set. In this argument, an argument that had been raging in the Jones’ Hyde Park home for over two hours, the family matriarch was unequivocally taking Willy’s side. “I agree with the men this time, sugar. It’s best if you stay here with us. You’ll be going to California in two days anyway, so I fail to see why you’re making such an issue of this.” Sam threw Gwenyth a smug look, all but daring her to tell her grandparents why she was avoiding staying under the same roof as him at all costs. After the police had left and the furor and shock of the window smashing had died down, she had gone right back from throwing herself into his arms to hightailing it in the other direction. Gwenyth ground her teeth together and shot a desperate glance toward Harry. “You heard what the police said. They think it was just a silly prank perpetrated by a bored neighborhood kid!” Harry sighed as he ran his fingers through his short tawny hair. “Sis, I know you dislike feeling as though you’re being held prisoner here, but it’s only for a couple of nights.” His gaze was innocent and fairly pleading. “Can you please put your safety first and let my contacts in the police department look into the situation while you’re in LA? That way we’ll all feel better about letting you go back to your apartment when you return.” Gwenyth chewed on her lower lip anxiously. She knew her brother was right. Although she wasn’t worried over the possibility that a bunch of whining NAMers might possibly try to do her in, everyone else was. It wouldn’t be fair of her to allow the others to worry—especially her seventy- year-old grandparents—when she could just as easily stay here and put all their fears for her safety to rest. Gwenyth glanced at Sam, noting that he harbored the look of a man who knew he was about to get his way. She could only pray she had the fortitude to not give him his way in one very important respect. Two nights. She only had to last two more nights. Then she could spend her time in LA sorting out her rather complex feelings concerning one overly virile baseball player. “Okay. You win.” She splayed her hands at her sides and sighed. “I’ll stay here.”

Granddad Willy harrumphed. “’Bout time you used the brain the good lord gave you, Gwenyth Marie.” He motioned for Sam, indicating that he was supposed to carry Gwenyth’s suitcases upstairs. “Now, unless there are any other family crises I need to straighten out, your Grandmama and I have a date with a bucket of popcorn and that new docu-drama on the Sci-Fi channel, Alien Playboys.” Sam raised a brow. His amused Southern lilt was questioning. “Isn’t that the show where women tell stories of how they were abducted by aliens, forced into sexual servitude, then brought back to earth after they were impregnated by them?” “Yes sir, it is.” Willy nodded regally…or as regally as a man could nod while sporting a hot pink tee shirt. “I believe Jackie Stallone will be on tonight.” He leaned in closer to Sam and whispered in a conspiratorial manner. “Apparently ole Sylvester is the love child of a little gray guy on Planet Drago.” “That certainly explains a lot.” Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling and groaned. “Please never let on to any reporters that you actually watch such ridiculous programs, let alone believe what you see on them.” He visibly shuttered. “I can see my gained percentage points flushing down the toilet if that ever got out.” Verlene laughed gracefully. “Sugar, don’t be silly. You know Granddad and I would never do anything to embarrass you publicly.” Willy harrumphed. “That’s right. I’m even wearin’ a genuine tux for your little dinner at the University of Tampa tomorrow night.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at his grandfather. “If it looks anything like that fashion monstrosity you wore to my college graduation, I’ll save my thanks until later.” “Now see here Mr. High and Mighty, there wasn’t a blessed thing wrong with that tux!” “It. Was. Polyester.” Harry bit each word out through clenched teeth. “And damned fine polyester it was too, son.” Chuckling, Sam clapped Harry on the back. “Not to worry, buddy. Willy and I went shoppin’ together two days ago. He’ll look like Dapper Don at your dinner.” Harry released a worried breath. “Thank god for that,” he muttered. Sam hoisted up Gwenyth’s suitcases into either hand, then waited for her to make eye contact. When she did, his possessive gaze inspected her thoroughly. “Your room here is the one next to mine, right Gwen?” Gwenyth swallowed somewhat roughly, but managed to keep a serene look about her. His question couldn’t have been more loaded. “Yes, I believe it is.” Sam smiled. It was a smile Gwenyth found very unnerving and far too calculating. “Then I’ll just take your bags up there now, Cupcake. See you upstairs.” He nodded to the elder Jones’s before taking his leave. “Willy. Verlene.” He turned to Harry and grinned. “See you tomorrow, Bro.”

Harry returned his smile. “Goodnight, Sam.” After Sam disappeared up the winding front staircase, Harry turned to Gwenyth and affectionately ruffled her hair. “I’ll see you at UT tomorrow evening. Try to stay out of trouble until then, hm?” Gwenyth stood up on tiptoe and kissed Harry’s jaw. “I’ll try.” Willy sensed that all was once again as it should be in his lair, so he turned his attention to more pressing matters. He cocked a silvery brow and regarded his wife. “You ready for Alien Playboys, puddin?” Verlene chuckled. She reached up and twined her arms around the neck of the man she’d been in love with for over fifty years. “If it means spending time with my favorite hunk, then lead on.” Willy leaned down and kissed the tip of his wife’s elegant nose. He then crooked his neck toward his grandchildren and gave them a look that meant business. “If y’all hear screams coming out of our bedroom”—he waggled his eyebrows belligerently—“don’t call the police.” “I think I’m going to be sick,” Harry muttered. Gwenyth laughed. She shook her head at her grandfather’s audacity, but couldn’t stop the grin from forming on her lips anymore than her prudish brother could. “Goodnight everyone.” ***** Gregory’s smoldering gaze burned hotly as he peered down at his quarry. He would have her. He would bide his time no more. Lucy gulped. She could see Gregory’s erection clearly outlined through his fashionably tailored jeans. She realized with all certainty that her time was running out. Gregory would listen to no more of her arguments. He would accept nothing less than her total surrender. Gwenyth bit on her lower lip as she read from Candy’s latest published novel, The English Duke and the American Convenience Store Clerk. Finally, after two hundred and some odd pages, the hero and the heroine were preparing to get down and do the dirty deed. Gwenyth’s belly clenched in anticipation. “What do you want from me, Gregory?” Lucy closed her eyes against the pain of her confused emotions, clenching the pricing gun in her hand as if it were her only lifeline to sanity. She turned her back on him and continued working. There was a big sale at the Pit-n-Git convenience store tomorrow and Lucy needed to concentrate all her energies on preparing for it. Otherwise, she would be overlooked for the big promotion yet again and Billy John Davis would become the next Assistant Night Manager instead of her. Gregory removed the pricing gun from Lucy’s grasp and spun her around to face him. His nostrils flared at the very scent of her. She smelled of beer and gasoline, of two-for-one cigarette packs and day old bread. Gregory had never wanted a woman more. “I want everything, Lucy. Everything.” He gazed into her eyes and pleaded for their future together. “I want to make love to you every night for the rest of my life. I want to put my babies inside of your belly and watch them grow. I want to make you my Duchess.” Lucy gasped at the hunger his words caused. She clutched her throat and whimpered. She loved him, but how could she turn her back on Pit-n-Git? How could she let Billy John Davis win?

“Gregory, you know how important my career is to me. I’ve worked so long and hard to get where I am now. If I run off to England with you, what will become of me? What would I do there?” she pleaded. Gregory gripped her shoulders and pulled her body against his. “I burn for you, Lucy, don’t you see that? Do you not realize that I would build a thousand Pit-n-Gits in Dorchester if only you will marry me?” He ground his erection against Lucy’s belly until she whimpered with need. “Marry me, Lucy. Say you will!” Lucy closed her eyes and moaned. She knew her will was dissolving. Still, she tried one last time to stop the inevitable. “I…I…I can’t, Gregory.” Gregory raised a lordly brow. His smile was that of a hunter closing in on its prey. He realized Lucy was caving. It was time to stop playing the gentleman and seduce her like the notorious rake that he was. "I see you are in need of a little persuasion, my dear…” A knock at the door snapped Gwenyth’s head up to attention. “Damn,” she muttered, “I was just getting to the good part. Yes?” she called out absently, “come in.” The door opened a moment later and Sam’s imposing figure stalked inside of the room. He closed the door quietly behind him and twisted the lock ominously. Gwenyth braved a glance in his direction when she heard the click of the lock—then gulped in dismay. Good grief. As if she hadn’t been primed enough for lovemaking by Candy’s book, now here Sam was, looming over her bed wearing nothing but a towel and a hell of a sexy scowl. The man could give Lord Gregory a run for his money any day. “H-hi.” She closed Candy’s book and clutched it to her breast. When it dawned on her that Lucy had done the same thing with her pricing gun while in Gregory’s unnerving presence, she knew she was a goner. “What are you doing in here?” she asked more breathlessly than she’d meant to. Sam said nothing, making Gwenyth’s tension that much worse. He gently removed the book from her grasp, eyed the title for an exaggerated second, then set it aside. Turning back to face Gwenyth, he cocked an arrogant brow at her. “Every damn day since I’ve been here, I’ve found myself in need of a shower after leavin’ your presence, Cupcake. Well not tonight, damn it. You’re here, I’m here, and I’m takin’ what’s mine.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered down at her. “You got something to say about that, baby?” Gwenyth’s throat felt unbearable tight. Her eyes raked over Sam’s impressively muscled form—over his hard torso, his washboard belly, and the black line of hair that trailed from his navel and disappeared into the towel. Between the book and reality, she was as primed as primed could get. “I, uh…that is to say, uh…” “Spit it out, Cupcake.” Gwenyth’s head shot up. She realized that Sam was giving her an out. She could take it. She could tell him to get out of her bedroom and he would. But she also realized that he’d laid his ego on the line tonight. Sam knew from the very way she’d been avoiding him for the past three days that she wanted him as passionately as he wanted her. But how many refusals for attention could a man take? Perhaps he’d walk away and never look back. That thought was depressing in the extreme.

On the other hand, Sam was a gentleman. If Gwenyth asked for time to sort out her feelings, he’d give it to her. She didn’t want him to think she flat out had no interest in pursuing whatever it was that was burgeoning between them, but neither did she think she was anywhere near ready to be intimate with him. She decided to be honest. “I’ve wanted this since I was old enough to fantasize, Sam…” He sighed. “But?” Gwenyth blew out a breath. “But I…” She shrugged her shoulders as she sat up on her knees. “I just need some time to figure out my feelings. Can you give me that, Sam?” “Sure, Cupcake.” He smiled disarmingly and a little too sweetly. Gwenyth sensed that he hadn’t given up. “You can think about anything you want for as long as you want”—his smile turned feral—“so long as I’m buried ten inches deep inside of you while you’re doin’ it.” A muscle in his jaw ticked as the towel around his hips was thrown to the floor. Gwenyth licked her suddenly dry lips. Apparently baseball players weren’t taught the meaning of the words fair play at camp. She tried to maintain eye contact, but her gaze, as if summoned by a force of its own, soon meandered downward, to the magnificent erection jutting out from the nest of dark curls on Sam’s lower body. Good grief. He hadn’t exaggerated about the ten inches. Gwenyth took a deep, steadying breath. She knew, just knew, that Sam was waiting for her to make the first move. She could make love with him here and now or she could send him on his way so she could be alone with her thoughts, so she could decide her feelings. Mysteriously, option number two no longer held the same appeal as it had before he’d removed the now infamous towel. “What’s it gonna be, Cupcake?” Sam’s voice was thick with desire. “Are you gonna keep playin’ at the scared little girl or are you gonna quit runnin’ and face up to what’s happenin’ between us?” Hovering over the bed, he reached down and traced the outline of her lower lip with his thumb. “I’ve been wantin’ you for half of forever, Gwenyth Marie.” Gwenyth’s head shot up. She searched his eyes for any signs of a lie, but found nothing there. Was it possible? Had Sam really thought of her as more than a little sister, but refused to give into it because of her young age all those years ago? The sheer prospect of that image being feasible warmed her heart and softened her resolve to steer clear of him like nothing else could have. Gwenyth gave herself over to what she’d wanted, to what she’d needed for as long as she could remember. Already on her knees, she locked eyes with Sam as she tentatively reached out for his hips and drew his body closer to her own. Wordlessly, Gwenyth placed a sweet kiss in the middle of his neck, causing Sam to drag in a ragged breath. Sam twined his large hand around Gwenyth’s topknot and used it to press her face closer into his chest. He kissed the top of her head and groaned. Sam’s breathing grew more and more choppy as Gwenyth’s kisses made a searing path around first one flat nipple, and then the other. She worked her way down his body with an agonizing slowness, one hand splayed against his chest, the other now cupping his erection. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. “You’re killin’ me Gwen.” Gwenyth smiled against Sam’s chest as she continued along the path she’d wanted to tread down for years. She licked an imaginary circle around the center of his hard, flat abdomen, stopping when she reached the tip of his erection. Sam shuddered and groaned when Gwenyth licked the very top of his arousal. His muscles bunched and tensed in anticipation of what he knew was coming. “Come on, baby,”

he whispered hoarsely, “kiss all of him.” Sam’s groan was fierce when she did just that. He didn’t know how much he’d be able to take, how long he could last when faced with this burning ecstasy. She took him all the way in, his cock moving in and out of the back of her throat. He allowed her mouth a few more strokes down the length of him, then he pulled her face away from his erection. Pushing Gwenyth onto her back, he tore her nightgown from her body and threw it to the floor, leaving her clad in nothing but silk panties. Sam then climbed between her legs and secured himself amidst her splayed thighs. “The first time I come inside of you, baby, it will damn well be in here.” He rotated his hips against the place inside Gwenyth that was burning in need, leaving no question as to where here was. Gwenyth whimpered something unintelligible as she arched her hips against him. Sam groaned low in his throat, sat up on his knees, and discarded her panties in one fluid motion. His possessive gaze roamed the length of her, drinking in the sight of the body he’d wanted to see naked for over ten years. “Open your legs wider,” he murmured. Gwenyth was slightly embarrassed to watch Sam ogle her body the way he was, but she did as he asked anyway. He was all warrior now, all commanding, there was nothing left in his resolve that could be deemed gentle or compromising. She spread her thighs wide and felt her belly sizzle in tune with Sam’s sucked in breath. Sam sat there on his knees, looking Gwenyth’s body over like a long-denied possession he’d finally been granted the right of ownership to. He kneaded her breasts, testing the full, heavy weight of them in his palms. He rubbed the pads of his thumbs across her protruding nipples, remembering how especially sensitive she was there. She moaned, causing his erection to jut out further. Sam ran his hands down lower, first grazing his fingers through the silky nest of tawny curls at the juncture of Gwenyth’s thighs, then trailing even lower, settling at last on the swollen nub hidden in her folds like a glistening jewel. The contrast between Gwenyth’s tanned skin and the pinkness of her heated center was sexy in the extreme. Gwenyth gasped at the first stroke Sam’s fingers made. The pleasure was so profound. Instinctively, she tried to clamp her thighs closed. Sam’s glazed-over, implacable stare met her hazy one. “Open your legs, sweetheart. Take everything I give to you.” His voice was authoritative and provocative, and sexy as hell. She splayed her legs as wide as she could. Sam continued to manipulate the tiny treasure he’d located between Gwenyth’s womanly folds as he watched her breathing hitch and her eyes close from the intense pleasure of it. “Does that feel good, baby? Is this what you wanted?” he asked. Assured of the answer, Sam stroked and circled faster until Gwenyth’s tremblings began and he felt her at last come apart in his arms. She threw her head back and arched her hips as she moaned her pleasure into the night. Wanting to feel her spasms directly, Sam gripped his arousal at the base and guided it toward Gwenyth’s opening. He entered her with one solid thrust. Sam ground his teeth against the feel of the exquisite tightness of her heat in combination with the vaginal pulsings that clutched his manhood and drew it in deeper. He lowered his chest to Gwenyth’s, kissed her possessively on the lips, and surged forward once more. His thrusts were long and fully penetrating, over

and over, again and again. “Mmm. This pussy feels so good,” he murmured. Sam needed her too much to go slow. He could savor the inside of her body later. For this first time, the primal need to possess and lay claim was too great for anything less than a fast and furious mating. Gwenyth writhed and moaned like an animal in heat as Sam more than lived up to her every fantasy of him. When he grabbed her by the hips and pounded into her flesh, over and over, again and again, her swollen bud received enough friction to set her tremors off all over again. Sam felt Gwenyth’s orgasm build and crescendo and he knew this time he would follow her. Thrusting deeply once, twice, three times more, he threw his head back, and with a low growl, he spurted his orgasm deep inside of her. Panting heavily, Sam slowly lowered his self onto Gwenyth’s body before giving into his exhaustion and collapsing fully on top of her. Gwenyth rubbed Sam’s back, purring like a sated kitten, reveling in the sweaty, pungent scent of their lovemaking. A few minutes later, Sam raised his head and peered into her eyes. The look he gave her was all male, all arrogant. “Did you sort out your feelings yet, Cupcake?” Gwenyth threw Sam a sour look meant to silence him. It had zero effect. He chuckled as he rolled off of her and fell onto the bed beside her. Drawing her into his side to lay on his chest, Sam grinned. “That’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll wake you up to love you again in a couple hours and you can sort a little more out then.” Gwenyth smacked Sam on the stomach. “You’re impossible, Trevianni.” “Uh huh. And you’re mine, Jones.” Gwenyth neither confirmed nor denied that bold statement. The man hardly needed any more boosts to his overly inflated ego tonight. “Goodnight, Sam.” He chuckled knowingly. “Goodnight, Cupcake.”

Chapter 8 Gwenyth sat in front of the vanity in her old bedroom in Willy and Verlene’s house. She applied her makeup with expert precision, having been taught to do so by Verlene at a tender age. Grandmama had claimed it was a skill every fashion photographer should know how to do without a makeup artist’s aid,

so Gwenyth had learned, eager to please her and join her famous grandmother’s ranks. When it came time to apply the eyeliner, Gwenyth leaned in closer to get a better viewing angle. She was so tender from Sam’s heated lovemaking that the abrupt movement caused her to wince. He had taken her five times since last night. Five lusty, sweaty, sinfully wicked, outrageously wonderful times. Gwenyth smiled her secret smile. She bet even Lord Gregory didn’t have the stamina of Sam Trevianni. The man simply couldn’t keep his hands off of her. After their first coupling, Sam had let Gwenyth sleep for maybe an hour. She’d woken up to the exquisite feel of his lazy, provocative kisses trailing down her backside. A minute later, he’d pulled her to her knees and entered her from behind. Sam’s thrusts had been fast and demanding, as heated and intense as they’d been the first time. The third time had happened in the middle of the night, spoon fashion. Whereas the previous encounters had been hard and relentless, Sam’s lovemaking that time had been tender, lingering, erotically and seductively drawn out. He had brought Gwenyth to orgasm more times than she’d believed humanly possible. The fourth and fifth times had occurred first in the shower this morning, and then just an hour ago before Gwenyth had started dressing for Harry’s campaign dinner and speech at UT this evening. She simply couldn’t fathom from what resources the man pooled his energy. If Sam was anywhere near as tired as she was, they’d both be lucky to make it through the appetizer course tonight, let alone the full meal. And poor Sam, he had to give a speech on Harry’s behalf to boot. Gwenyth applied her lipstick next, then dabbed at her mouth with a tissue to soften the effect. She wouldn’t be seeing Sam again until she arrived at the University of Tampa because he had agreed weeks past to accompany Harry there. It was just as well. She was having a hard enough of a time dealing with all that had happened without being in Sam’s overwhelming presence. On one hand, Gwenyth’s reservations seemed trite and unbelievably stupid to even herself. She’d wanted Sam for as long as she could remember, and now here he was in the flesh, and according to him, was crazy about her. On the other hand, Gwenyth had never been the type to give herself over emotionally to a man. Surrendering herself and giving another person a chance to hurt her had never been high on her list of “must-dos”. The truth of the matter was, the fantasy of Sam was a lot easier to deal with than the reality of him. He had the power to hurt her in a way no man but him possessed. Gwenyth stood up and did a quick once-over in the mirror. She’d never thought of herself as an exceptionally attractive woman, but she was extremely pleased with the way she looked tonight. Her body-molded, floor length black dress was held up by spaghetti straps and flowed to her ankles. The right side was split, showcasing her leg up to the lower thigh. The matching black high heels arched her feet gracefully, causing the muscles in her calves to grip sexily. Her gold-streaked tawny hair was loose tonight, the curls cascading down in ringlets to just above her waist. Gwenyth turned off the bulbs that surrounded the vanity, grabbed her purse, and headed downstairs to wait for Candy to pick her up. Fifteen minutes later, Gwenyth sat in the passenger side of Candy’s trendy red SUV, and smiled over to her. “You look great, Can.” Candy blew out a loud, popping bubble, then smiled. “Thanks, Gwen, so do you.” She made a right on

Kennedy, sped up the SUV to give the finger to the driver beside her who’d cut her off a mile back, then forgot him just as quickly. “So,” she beamed, looking at Gwenyth out of the corner of her eye, “do you like my latest book? Be honest now. I can take it.” Gwenyth grinned. “Uh huh. I was just getting to the big scene last night when you-know-who interrupted me.” Candy giggled. “Sam ‘The Slam’ Trevianni?” She turned her face toward Gwenyth long enough to wiggle her eyebrows mischievously at her. “Does he live up to his nickname, ‘The Slam’?” Gwenyth’s cheeks pinkened considerably. Only her best friend would have the audacity to ask her such an intimate question. “Yes,” she admitted somewhat embarrassed, “and then some.” Candy slapped her knee and giggled excitedly. “Do tell.” “Let’s just say that the man has stamina. It went through my mind more than once last night that he could give any hero you’ve ever penned a run for his money.” “No kidding?” “No kidding.” Candy grinned. “I’m happy about this Gwenyth, very happy. You deserve this more than anyone I know.” She turned on her signal and swerved the car into the left lane, preparing to turn into UT’s entrance when the light changed. “I was beginning to worry about you there for a while.” Gwenyth arched a shapely brow. “Oh?” Candy shook her head as if in reprimand. “Your dates were becoming more and more bizarre. It was starting to look like you were picking out men based on the sole criteria of how unlikely they’d be to make you feel anything for them.” Gwenyth winced at her insight, but said nothing. “I mean, let’s take Trevor for example. Good grief, Gwen, that guy still lives with his mother!” That Gwen had dumped Trevor the very evening she’d been assaulted by Webster Carr in the woods mattered little at the moment. They’d remained friends and she felt obliged to defend him. “Lots of men live with their mothers, Can.” “At forty-two?” “Yeah. Well. Trevor is sensitive to his mother’s needs.” “One has to wonder how sensitive.” “Candy! That’s a terrible thing to imply!” Candy grinned unabashedly. “Whatever.” She waved her hand dismissively through the air as she made a left turn into UT’s entrance. “Does Sam know you and Trevor broke up?”

Gwenyth worried her lower lip. “Come to think of it, no. We haven’t discussed him since that night in the kitchen.” “Since that night where you let him mistakenly believe you two were still seeing each other as more than friends, you mean.” “Something like that,” Gwenyth muttered. Candy laughed. “Take it easy, Gwen. I’m on your side. It’s good for Sam to realize that you won’t be an easy catch.” Gwenyth blew out a breath that sent a stray curl coasting over her shoulder. It seemed to her that where Sam Trevianni was concerned, easy was her middle name. Not that she was ready to admit that to him yet. Definitely not. Gwenyth absently turned her gaze to the buttresses of the historical hotel turned private university that loomed into view. It occurred to her that leaving for California tomorrow was the best thing that could happen in her relationship with Sam. Being in LA would give her time away from his overbearing presence, time to think and sort everything out. She ignored the niggling voice that told her that her destiny had already been carved out long ago—years ago—before she’d ever had a choice. ***** Sam glanced at his Rolex and wondered to himself for the fifth time in ten minutes just what in the hell was keeping Cupcake. Sweet Jesus, he was standing here in the middle of an elegant ballroom, local politicians and media abounding, yet he was still as hard as he’d been last night at the mere thought of seeing her. When a man had ten inches of erect manhood to give to his woman, the sight could become an embarrassing one. Sam realized that Gwenyth hadn’t quite come to terms with their relationship yet, but that was okay. He’d agreed this afternoon to let her spend her time in LA sorting through her emotions and figuring out what it was she was wanting. Sam had no trouble at all agreeing to that since he’d be buried deep inside of her velvety heat every moment she wasn’t busy snapping pictures. Of course, he’d neglected to tell Cupcake that he was her lead model. She’d be angry as a hornet when she found out, no doubt, so Sam had decided to let her find out when they got to LA…where there were witnesses. Sam was more than prepared for Gwenyth’s anger. He knew she’d be mad, maybe even irate. But that was okay. He’d let her have her say, rage at him all she cared to, then he’d push her onto the nearest bed and thrust inside of her, putting him back where he belonged. They could work out Gwenyth’s anger together, between the sheets. As a couple. The way all problems should be worked out. The thought brought a smile to his lips. “Why are you so happy?” Startled, Sam’s head shot up. He grinned and patted Harry on the back. “The real question, Bro, is why aren’t you happy? Looks like this dinner is going to be a complete success.”

Harry sighed. He took a moment to greet two enthusiastic constituents before turning back to Sam. “Granddad will be the death of me,” he admitted dejectedly. Sam chuckled. “Aw come on, Willy’s not all that bad.” Harry straightened to his full six feet and one inch. He snorted incredulously. “He just told the mayor he knew where he could buy a more realistic looking hairpiece from.” Sam’s chuckle transformed into an all out guffaw. “No kiddin’?” At Harry’s worried look, he patted him on the back again. “Look buddy, Brian and I will smooth things over in that corner. Don’t worry about it.” Harry shook his head, not understanding. “Brian?” “Brian Goodman. Pitcher for the New England Crusaders.” Harry’s eyes lit up like a little boy who’d just been handed a Christmas present he could open up early. “The Brian Goodman? He’s here?” Sam frowned. “You didn’t get all that fired up excited to see me again, Bro.” Harry waved his hand impatiently. “You’re family.” Family. God, that sure enough sounded good to Sam’s ears. Only he was certain he was thinking in different terms than Harry was. Sam’s thoughts as of late had been straying toward the possibility of making himself a true member of the Jones family, not just an honorary one. As much as he had run from the idea of marrying a second time in the past, the thought wasn’t at all scary where Gwen was concerned. Of course, those other women he’d dated just hadn’t been his Cupcake. Sam had to wonder what Gwenyth would think about marrying when they’d only been reunited for less than a week. Something told him she’d never go for it. Gwen would have to go off somewhere and “think about it”…probably until they were too old to enjoy the benefits of getting shackled. He mentally rolled his eyes. He was getting damn sick of Cupcake’s thinking. “I can’t believe it,” Harry enthused, breaking Sam from his thoughts, “The Brian Goodman. Here. At my campaign dinner.” He shook his head. “Too much good fortune to believe.” Sam frowned, his Southern lilt carrying a hint of annoyance. “Alright already. He’s not that great. In fact, I’m beginnin’ to like him less and less.” “What did I do now?” Sam turned on his heel, then grinned devilishly at his buddy Brian. Brian Goodman was probably the only other person on planet earth Sam cared for as much as he did the members of the Jones family. They’d been close friends for five years now, meeting each other when Bri had been traded to the Crusaders. They’d had a lot of good times together, the two of them. Brian was the only guy on the team who got

chased as relentlessly by the ladies as Sam did, so they understood each other at many levels. Of course, at six foot two and muscled as all hell to boot, the blonde ballplayer was a good lookin’ son of a gun, Sam supposed. Hell, he didn’t know. Other guys didn’t really notice shit like that. “What didn’t you do, is usually the better question where your name’s involved, Bri.” Brian smiled engagingly. He extended his hand to Harry and shook it. “Brian Goodman. It’s nice to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot about you from Sammy.” “Harry Jones. And the feeling is mutual. Sam’s told me a lot about you as well.” Harry grinned, immediately liking the pitcher on the spot. “You have to stay long enough to meet my sister.” He glanced over Brian’s shoulder and smiled. “She’s the one in the black dress, walking this way now.” Sam’s ears perked up. It annoyed him to think he reacted to Gwenyth’s arrival as a dog would after being separated from its master all day. The woman was driving him crazy. Just call him Fido and toss him a bone. And when he spotted Gwenyth—lord have mercy—he realized he had more in common with Fido than he first thought. His mouth all but salivated at the picture she made. Her dress was long, black, and slinky—the kind of dress men fantasize about taking a woman out of. As she strolled toward them, smiling and waving at people en route, he noticed the slit up the right side that opened when she moved, showing off a sexily tanned leg. The front of the dress was cut low, causing Gwenyth’s cleavage to spill out provocatively without looking trashy. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, falling in the sexiest, strawberry-scented ringlets Sam’s eyes had ever beheld. He was hard as a rock. Brian whistled through his teeth. “That’s your sister? Damn! Introduce me!” Sam shot the pitcher a look that could hurl daggers. Startled by his friend’s overt jealousy, Brian quickly took the hint, but he couldn’t stop the knowing grin that spread across his face. Sam Trevianni was falling fast and hard for a woman. Harry chuckled as he watched his sister amble toward the three of them. He hadn’t caught the look that signaled Sam’s intense interest in Gwenyth, so he said what was on his mind. “My sister has that effect on men. The interesting thing about it is that Gwen honestly doesn’t seem to notice.” Sam couldn’t stop the spurt of possessiveness that rose up from Harry’s words. “What do you mean she has that effect on men?” he bellowed. Shocked by his burst of temper, Harry’s head snapped around to regard Sam. Sam took a deep breath when he realized Harry had guessed his proclivity right on the money. He could see it in his old pal’s eyes. The man might be a bit of a prude, but he was hardly stupid. Sam had never met a more intelligent guy than Harry Jones. Harry’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Are you sleeping with her?” he gritted out. Sam shuffled on his feet and blew out another breath. “Sweet Jesus I don’t believe it!” Harry fumed in a heated whisper, not wanting a reporter to overhear their conversation. “Some best friend you turned out to be!” he hissed.

“Now wait a minute, Harry!—” “No, you wait a minute!” Harry ran an agitated hand through his tawny hair so much the color of Gwenyth’s. “That woman out there happens to be my sister, Sam. My sister! She’s not some goddamn groupie you can just fuck and cast aside!” Sam’s teeth clenched. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs, as angry as he was that Harry could believe he’d ever do that to Gwen. But no matter how pissed off Harry was making him, he’d never jeopardize his friend’s chances of going to Capitol Hill. “I assure you that where Gwen is concerned my intentions couldn’t be more honorable.” That sentence alone caused Brian’s eyes to widen and took the sails right out of Harry’s steam. Neither of them had ever heard Sam say something like that about another woman. Not ever. Not even regarding Stacy. “Are you serious, Sam?” Harry asked softly. “You plan to marry Gwen?” “Yes!” Sam stated emphatically. And the more he thought on it, the more he knew the statement was true. So what if they’d only been reunited for less than a week? He and Gwen had known each other for over twenty-one years. “Just as soon as I can get Cupcake to say yes,” he qualified somewhat sheepishly. Harry and Brian both laughed at that. Harry clapped him on the back. “In that case, you’re forgiven.” He raised his eyebrows in a teasing gesture of mockery. “And good luck with Gwen.” Sam grumbled something unintelligible along the lines of thanks, I’ll need it. Across the room, Gwenyth was morosely aware of the fact that the closer she got to Sam, the faster her heart began beating. And he looked oh so fine in his tux, so sophisticated and polished. As the memories of their heated lovemaking rose to the forefront of her brain, Gwenyth’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly. She turned to Candy for moral support, but then remembered that her best friend had gone off to the ladies room “to tinkle”, as Candy had so eloquently phrased it. Gwenyth bit into her lip apprehensively. She’d have to approach the trio of men alone. The two fair-haired men, including the one she didn’t recognize, didn’t frighten her in the least. But the dark-haired, sinfully sexy one in the middle certainly did. Good grief. That flight to LA couldn’t begin boarding soon enough. As Gwenyth drew closer, she smiled warmly at the three handsome men, leaning up to kiss her brother’s cheek once she stood before him. “Congratulations Harry. This evening is wonderful already.” Harry smiled lovingly down at her. “Thanks for putting off the Vantrys long enough to be here, Gwen. It means a lot to me.” Gwenyth nodded then turned her gaze toward Sam. There was something belligerent about his appearance tonight that reeked of danger, of possessiveness. He smiled down at her, but the gesture didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “You look beautiful tonight, Cupcake.” Gwenyth could feel herself blushing. She’d never gotten embarrassed when Sam called her by his pet

name for her in the past, but now that they had been sexual together, the name seemed to take on a more intimate meaning. “Thank-you, Sam. You look pretty handsome yourself.” Sam inclined his head, then motioned to the stranger standing beside him. “Gwen, I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine. This is Brian Goodman. He’s a pitcher for the New England Crusaders. Brian, this is Gwenyth Jones.” Brian held out his large, callused hand and grasped Gwenyth’s smaller one in it. He gallantly raised her hand to his lips and kissed it sweetly. “A pleasure to meet you, Gwenyth.” Gwenyth grinned, already disarmed by the charming, handsome man. “Likewise. And please, call me Gwen.” Sam’s eyes narrowed into menacing slits. Gwen only let people she liked call her by the shortened version of her name. Unable to control the primitive need to publicly brand Gwen as his own, Sam wrapped his well-muscled arm around her shoulder in a gesture of unmistakable territorialism. “Are you hungry, honey? It’s almost time to eat.” Gwenyth’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. Sam was all but declaring them a couple before her brother. She glanced nervously at Harry, but saw nothing condemning in his expression. In fact, he looked rather pleased. “Yes, I am a bit hungry,” she stammered out. “But we have to wait for Candy before we take our seats. She should be back any moment now.” Sam caressed the nape of Gwenyth’s neck in a way any outsider would have taken as a symbol of normal affection for a girlfriend. Harry and Brian knew better. They realized it for the possessive action it was. “Whatever you want, Cupcake.” Sam’s jealous. That thought, as ludicrous as it would have seemed to Gwenyth only a few short days ago, now seemed the highly probable answer. The skittish side of her nature rebelled at the possibility that Sam was publicly staking claim to her. The romantic, hopeful side of her nature was giddy with excitement about it. Gwenyth concentrated on steadying her breathing. She looked around the ballroom for Candy to distract herself from the butterflies in her stomach. “There she is.” Gwenyth stood on tiptoe and waved across the ballroom to her best friend. Candy waved back, then glided quickly toward them. She was all black hair and slinky red dress. And she had Brian Goodman’s undivided attention. “Sam Trevianni! Is that you?” Sam grinned at Candy as she came barreling toward him. He’d always liked Gwen’s best friend. She was a feisty little thing, and as good a friend to Gwen as any person could ever be. “Well Candy Crawford, look at you.” He released his hold on Gwenyth’s neck long enough to hug the romance author. “You grew up to be as purdy as I don’t know what.” Candy kissed him on the cheek then turned to Harry and offered him the same greeting. “Congratulations,” she murmured before turning back to face Sam. “What?” Sam teased in mock horror, placing a hand over his heart. “Do my eyes deceive me or are you

actually not chewin’ gum?” Gwenyth giggled. “I made her spit it out before we walked in.” “Ahh, that explains it.” Candy glowered at him, though her semi-smile made it impossible for him to take her stern look seriously. “Married any emaciated women lately?” Sam threw his head back and laughed. Candy always could dish it out as quickly as it was given to her. “Nah. Not lately, sweetheart.” Sam stopped a passing waiter and offered glasses of champagne to everyone assembled around him. Harry accepted it and thanked him, then took his leave, needing to use every available moment to mingle with potential contributors and voters. “So Can, how does it feel to be a famous romance author?” Candy frowned. “About as interesting as it feels to be a famous baseball player I would imagine.” Sam snorted. “That bad, huh?” Candy considered that for a drawn out moment. “No, I like it most of the time. But sometimes I want to spread my wings and try other things.” Gwenyth chuckled, bemused. “Sometimes?” She shook her head, grinning widely. “That black eye Webster Carr gave me was due to one of Candy’s attempts at ‘spreading her wings’.” Sam smiled halfheartedly, not caring overmuch to talk about a man he planned to tear apart one day in the not too far off future. Still, he could hardly be rude. “How so?” Gwenyth’s dimples popped out as she grinned at her best friend. “Candy decided to try out tabloid journalism, so she talked me into following her into the woods to snap the now infamous photos of Senator Green and the NAMers.” Candy winced. “I still feel guilty about that.” Sam needed to change the subject. He didn’t want to think about Webster Carr. He could already feel his blood pressure rising. He inclined his head toward Candy. “I take it you gave it up?” “Yeah. I decided that I was born to write. For now,” she added with a wink and a grin. “You’re a hell of a good romance writer, Can. That last book you had out a few months back…” Sam whistled through his teeth. “Steamy.” Gwenyth smiled up at Sam. “’The Spinster Virgin’ was one of my favorites too.” Brian’s ears perked up. He turned to Candy, his eyes widening. “You’re that Candy Crawford? You wrote ‘The Spinster Virgin’?” Candy noticed Brian standing there for the first time. Her jaw went slightly agape. Good lord the man was gorgeous! “Y-yes,” she stammered out. “One in the same.”

Sam shook his head, vexed with himself. “Where are my manners? Candy, please meet my friend Brian Goodman, starting pitcher for the New England Crusaders. Brian, this here is my Gwen’s best friend Candy Crawford.” My Gwen? Gwenyth hadn’t missed that little two-letter “my” Sam had used to describe her with. The butterflies grew worse. Candy and Brian smiled into each other’s eyes and shook hands. The tension radiating between them was palpable. Candy was the first to break through the haze. She turned from him discreetly and cleared her throat. “A pleasure, Brian.” “Likewise, Candy.” Gwenyth bit her lip and leered at Candy knowingly. For all her best friend’s talk, she was just as nervous around an interesting, good-looking man as Gwen was. Candy glared briefly at Gwenyth, wishing like hell she had a piece of bubble gum to chew on. “Well then, shall we eat?”

Chapter 9 Harry’s campaign dinner was a smashing success. With the election only two weeks away, Gwenyth could only hope that the momentum of the evening carried through to Super Tuesday. Sam sat next to Gwenyth throughout dinner, his manner toward her very proprietary. His arm had remained draped across the back of her chair the entire evening, straying occasionally only long enough to brush her cheek or rub the nape of her neck. Granddad Willy had raised his eyebrow questioningly at one point, but after meeting Sam’s authoritative gaze, had acquiesced with dignity, inclining his head in approval of their courtship. A noble gesture on Granddad’s part. An extremely paternal gesture. A gesture that had Gwenyth worrying her lip half the evening. It seemed that everything was moving a bit fast. Sam had lost his cool only once throughout the seven-course meal. Thankfully, that once had been obvious to no one but family. The incident had occurred after Trevor approached their table. The lawyer had kissed her cheek and gushed profusely over how gorgeous she looked. Trevor had ogled her chest embarrassingly. Gwenyth had immediately felt Sam tense in reaction, the muscles in his arm bunching up behind her neck. In retaliation, Sam had nuzzled Gwenyth’s ear with his teeth. Verlene had looked away, hiding a smile behind her raised glass of champagne. Three hours later, Gwenyth shed her clothes and plopped into bed naked. She was too exhausted to worry about putting on a nightgown. Between having to stay on her best behavior for Harry’s benefit and the overwhelming feelings for Sam that seemed to grow more and more overwhelming with each passing minute, she was all wore out.

And depressed. Yes, damn it, she could admit it…the thought of leaving Sam tomorrow morning to get on a plane and go to LA was not as appealing as it should have been. She should have welcomed the respite, cherished the time away to collect her thoughts, but truth be told she was dreading it. Sam Trevianni had managed to wiggle his way back into her every thought in the span of a few short days as if he’d never left them. Another depressing thought… Gwenyth exhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes to go to sleep. She needed to get some rest. She could sort all of this madness out while she was in California. Tomorrow, after all, was another day. ***** Gwenyth awoke to the feel of Sam thrusting gently into her body. The muscles in his neck were corded, his biceps bulging as he stroked in and out of her at a leisurely pace. When her eyelids fluttered open and she met his gaze, he crooked his face down to kiss her. “I missed you, Cupcake,” he whispered thickly. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensation of being inside of her tight passage. “God baby, you feel so good.” Gwenyth wrapped her thighs around Sam’s narrow waist, clinging to him as tightly as she could. When they were like this, making love, being a part of each other, she had no doubts as to how she felt about him. She was in love with him. Sam groaned softly then picked up the pace of his thrusts. His hands sought out her nipples as his hips rotated, grinding into her body until she climaxed. He continued to work at her nipples the way she liked best, grabbing them at the root and pulling gently but firmly to the crest, over and over. Never stopping. Never relenting. Gwenyth climaxed again. Sam felt the second set of tremors course through her body, pulling him deeper inside of her, closer to her core. Knowing his orgasm was coming on quickly, he kissed Gwenyth fully on the mouth, his tongue delving inside to meet with hers. She felt the vibrations of the low rumble in his throat as he thrust once more before spurting his orgasm deep inside of her. They fell asleep together, clinging to one another, their bodies knowing the needs of their hearts far better than their minds did. Not that their minds weren’t learning. It was more a matter of accepting what their hearts already had. ***** Gwenyth smiled sweetly toward the front desk clerk after the affable older woman handed her the card key to her hotel room. She nodded once in thanks then followed the bellhop to the set of polished silver elevators just off the main entrance to the lobby. Two minutes later, Gwenyth was shown into her suite and her suitcases were set next to the bed. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a ten to tip the bellhop with, but he held out a hand to forestall her. “The Vantrys have already seen to that.”

Indeed, Gwenyth mused, the Vantrys had seen to everything so far. They had treated her well during her last assignment, but this time around they were sparing no expense in seeing to her comforts. It was a nice feeling. Not because Gwenyth’s hotel suite was large and elegant, or even because of the first class treatment she’d received since stepping off the plane this afternoon. That had been nice—very nice. But Gwenyth was a simple person of simple tastes. The real reason she was basking in the star treatment the Vantrys were bestowing upon her was because it was a symbol of the fact that she was truly making it in her own right. Her name wasn’t taking second stage to Verlene’s any longer, the way it had been when she’d first formed Jones & Jones with Grandmama. Respect for her own unique abilities, Gwenyth decided, felt extremely good. Gwenyth smiled after the bellhop as she watched him take his leave. Once the door to the suite was firmly closed behind him, she did another quick check on her photography equipment to make certain that nothing had been damaged during the trip upstairs. Certain all was as it should be, she plopped down onto the bed and reached for the phone to call home and let Willy and Verlene know she’d made it to LA in one piece. “Fine, sugar. Call me tomorrow to let me know how it went. I have a proposal I want to go over as well.” Verlene bit the tip of her pen as she stared at the sheet in front of her. “Looks like Martel was so pleased with your efforts in the ‘Kiss me’ line that he wants Jones & Jones to come back and catalog his ‘Touch Me’ line after the new year.” Gwenyth squealed excitedly into the telephone connection, causing Verlene to chuckle. “Really? He said that?” “Uh huh. And Martel’s newest collection is huge, sugar. We’ll have to work together on this one.” Gwenyth smiled sentimentally. “That’s wonderful news, Grandmama. We haven’t gotten to work side-by-side in over two years.” Verlene agreed. “I know it. I believe Granddad is going to join us this time around since the entire shoot will last two or more weeks from start to finish.” Gwenyth clicked open a pen laying on the desk next to the bed and began to absently doodle on a notepad the hotel had left for her use. “Where is it located at this time?” “Aix-en-Provence.” Gwenyth’s voice turned wistful. “A beautiful village. Perhaps the loveliest in all of France, which is saying a lot. I’m certain you and Granddad will enjoy spending time together there.” “I’m certain we will as well. Do you think Sam will enjoy it?” Gwenyth’s face flushed. She cleared her throat, but her trill tone gave away her racing heart. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Verlene chuckled. She clucked her tongue in a gesture of mock exasperation. “Sugar, we all know. We

have eyes, you do realize.” Gwenyth frowned into the phone. Her grandmother was obviously referring to Sam’s proprietary behavior toward her at Harry’s campaign dinner. The memory of the way he’d possessively monopolized her presence should have annoyed her. Instead, it caused this ridiculous warm feeling to trickle through her veins. “I do realize.” A charged silence followed. Finally, Verlene broke it, albeit hesitantly. “What do you plan to do, sugar?” Gwenyth sighed. “I just don’t know,” she admitted morosely. “You’ve always loved him, sugar.” “I know.” “But?” Gwenyth audibly blew out a breath. “But I don’t know that he feels the same way about me.” Verlene snorted rather inelegantly. “I’m serious, Grandmama.” She tapped the pen impatiently on the notepad. “He’s never come out and said that he feels anything other than just lust for me.” Verlene was silent for a moment. And then, “have you given away the cow yet, Gwen?” “Grandmama!” Gwenyth’s cheeks flamed. “I refuse to discuss such an awkward topic with you!” “Uh huh. You’ve given him the cow.” Verlene sighed deeply, inducing Gwenyth’s blush to brighten further. “Are you disappointed in me, Grandmama?” she asked quietly. “Heavens no, Gwenyth Marie! You know I’d be the last person to balk at a little tussle between the sheets.” “But?” “But please Gwen, don’t bring home any fatherless calves, hm?” Gwenyth winced in reaction. She could understand her grandmother’s concern. “I’m on the pill. Don’t worry about that, Grandmama.” Ten minutes and a lecture on responsible sexual practices later, Gwenyth hung up the phone and lifted the room service menu from the cradle of the desk. Ravenous was the only word to describe the hunger pangs gnawing at her belly. She hadn’t eaten much on the plane, seeing as how airline food had never been high on her list of must-haves. Gwenyth’s concentration on the room service menu in front of her was broken when a pounding on the hotel room door jarred her attention. Sighing, she rose to open it. The pounding grew louder, causing her blood to all but boil over. Agitated, she called out a couple words of warning. “I’m coming!”

The pounding resumed. Gwenyth gritted her teeth and stalked toward the door. Halfway there, she came to a sudden halt. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. The pounding wasn’t coming from the front door. It was coming from a connecting door, from the suite next to her own. Curious, and more than a little anxious, she walked apprehensively toward the door that connected the two suites. “Yes?” “Open up, Cupcake.” Sam. Gwenyth’s heart beat accelerated to a degree she found annoying. And damned if those little butterflies didn’t start flickering around in her belly again. What was he doing here? “Sam?” “Open up!” he bellowed. “Now!” Gwenyth’s jaw dropped open in shock. Shock soon evolved into annoyance as she glared at him through the closed door. She crossed her arms over her breasts and scowled. “Maybe I don’t want to.” “Gwenyth Marie! Open this door before I break it down!” Gwenyth’s facial expression went from glaring to scowling. “Why should I? And what are you doing here?” “Open. The. Door.” Gwenyth winced at the ice in Sam’s voice. She had no idea why he was here or why he was so worked up, but she sensed that now was not the time to ask him to work on his communication skills. “Oh alright,” she relented, however reluctantly. Unlatching the deadbolt, she slid the connecting door wide open. “Now, what are you doing here and why are you so angry?” But Sam wasn’t paying her any attention. He stalked into the room and scanned the suite thoroughly. Growing more and more agitated as every second ticked by, Gwenyth marched over to the center of the room where Sam stood glowering down at her and did a little glowering of her own. “What has gotten into you!?” “Who were you talkin’ to in here?” Sam’s voice was calm and controlled, but each word was bit out with unmistakable menace. Gwenyth’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then furrowed in annoyance. “My grandmother, you Neanderthal.” “Neanderthal!” he growled. Gwenyth’s arms crossed defensively over her chest. “Just what do you think you’re behaving like?” She gestured with one hand across the expanse of the suite. “You start pounding on my door, scaring the hell out of me I might add, then you come stalking into my room, not even bothering to say hello, then all but accuse me of having an affair with Grandmama!” Sam’s face colored. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled. He kicked

the floor with the toe of his shoe, suddenly feeling defensive. “But I did see a situation just like that on Jerry Springer once. In fact, I—” At Gwenyth’s narrowed eyes, he blushed again and shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry.” Gwenyth took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. Her bare toes tapping impatiently against the carpeting, she balled her hands into fists and glared at Sam. The mentally counting thing wasn’t working. “What,” she ground out bitterly, “are you doing here?” Sam’s eyes narrowed defensively. His hands flew to his hips. He clenched his jaw and regarded her sullenly. “I came for you!” Chapter 10 “Now, would you care to explain what this is all about?” Sam inwardly flinched at the incredulous look smothered across Gwenyth’s face, but outwardly he managed to retain his cool. Sweet Jesus, he could hardly blame her for wanting to rip his face off. He still didn’t know what had possessed him to fly off the handle like that. It’s called jealousy, Trevianni. Sam frowned at his own musings. He’d never, ever acted this ignoble over a woman in his life. Here he was trying to lure Gwen toward him and all he was succeeding in doing was scaring her away. And now, on top of everything else, he was going to have to break the news to her that he was her lead man for this week’s photo shoot at Vantry Sportswear. Now, how was he to go about doing that? Sam decided that a placating smile was as good a place to start as any. “I apologize for bargin’ in here the way I did, Cupcake.” He threw in a beguiling bat of the eyelashes for effect. “Can you forgive me?” Sam gulped in dismay when Gwenyth’s eyebrows rose a disbelieving notch. She wasn’t falling for the eyelash batting routine at all. Well that was just great. Now how was he going to get out of this? And how was he ever going to explain himself to Gwen when he wasn’t exactly certain that he understood why he’d done what he’d done to begin with? When Sam had heard Gwenyth’s sweet voice carrying through to the connecting door, his stomach had clenched, wondering who it was she was in there talking to. Had another man accompanied her to California? Was it Trevor? Was the candy-ass lawyer in her suite even now, seducing her, touching her body the way Sam had? And then, sweet Jesus, when the talking had ended and a gut-wrenching silence had ensued, it was all he could do to keep from crying. The things that had gone through his mind hadn’t been pretty. They’d been devastating. At that point, higher level reasoning hadn’t existed. Thoughts of his own precarious position and how he was going to explain his presence in LA to Gwen hadn't factored in. The only thing that had gone through Sam’s mind was breaking down the door, killing whatever male was on the other side of it, and carrying Gwenyth off to the nearest dungeon where he could lock her away and keep her from all other males forever. Sweet Jesus, he was a goner. Sam realized from the look on Gwenyth’s face that she was expecting to hear the truth in its entirety and would accept no less. But there was no way on earth he was going to admit to the intense pangs of

jealousy he kept experiencing, so he prepared himself for verbal battle and offered her the piece of the truth that he was ready to give her. “I’m Vantry’s lead model for the men’s swimwear line.” Whatever Gwenyth had been expecting to hear, that hadn’t been it. Her eyes widened in shock as she searched his face. “You’re what?!” Sam swallowed nervously. “I’m Vantry’s lead model.” “B-but…no.” Gwenyth dragged in some much needed air as she dazedly floated to the other side of the suite and plopped into the nearest chair. Just how in the world was she supposed to spend her time in California figuring out what she wanted if Sam was here with her the entire time? And half naked in a swimsuit no less. That last thought set her teeth on edge. “I can’t believe you’re just now getting around to telling me this,” she gritted out. Sam followed her across the room and took the chair next to Gwenyth’s. “I didn’t want you to get angry with me, sweetheart.” “I see,” she bit out. “And you want me to get angry with you now?” “Of course not.” Sam sighed like a martyr. “Gwen honey, I made this commitment to Vantry Sportswear before you and I started sleepin’ together.” That much was true. Sam smiled indulgently at Gwenyth as he took her hand and pulled her from the chair next to him and onto his lap. “Let’s not fight over something’ neither of us can get out of, okay baby?” His hand sought out her nipples to flick them back and forth, reminding her of the affect his touch had on her senses. “We’re both obligated to fulfill our contracts, Gwen.” Gwenyth’s betrayer of a heart actually had the nerve to feel crestfallen. Sam hadn’t come to LA to be with her after all. He’d come to fulfill a contract. A contract neither one of them could get out of without serious financial consequences. Her belly coiling with need, Gwenyth luxuriated in the familiar pleasure only Sam could give to her as his hand continued its ministrations. The next thing she knew, her top was on the floor and Sam’s mouth was latched onto one erect nipple. Whimpering, she turned in his lap to give him better access and splayed her fingers through his midnight black hair. “I still need time to think, Sam.” Gwenyth cried out from deprivation as Sam’s mouth left her puckered flesh. She sighed in relief when his lips clamped down on the other one and suckled. “I mean it, Sam,” she breathed out. “One last time and then we’re not having sex until I figure out what’s best for us.” Sam was paying Gwenyth’s words no attention whatsoever. “Whatever you say, Cupcake,” he mumbled as he lifted his head briefly to latch back onto her other nipple. A minute later, Gwenyth sat naked in Sam’s arms. Five minutes later, she lay sprawled out beneath him, taking each of his thrusts as they were awarded to her. “Quit fightin’ me Gwenyth Marie,” he whispered thickly as he stroked in and out of her wet flesh, “you belong to me.” As Gwenyth climaxed for what felt like the hundredth time in three days, Sam’s words flowed over and through her. She wanted to belong to him. God help her she did. But she also wanted him to love her.

***** Gwenyth nodded her thanks to the receptionist at the front desk of Vantry Sportswear as he handed her a plain white envelope with her name neatly typed on it. She glanced absently for a return address, and then, unable to locate one, stuffed it into her duffel bag as she glided toward the elevators. The photo shoot was going amazingly well, all things considered. The models were delighted with how smoothly things were progressing. And the Vantrys were certainly pleased enough with her efforts. In fact, the only person who seemed to be less than thrilled with Gwenyth’s work—or more to the point, with Gwenyth in particular—was her Prima Donna of a lead model. The man was driving her crazy with his demands. Sam wouldn’t pose unless the lighting was just so, nor would he model a swimsuit unless it “called to him”. There was even an incident two days ago when Sam had refused to remove his shirt, claiming he’d had a psychic premonition warning him against it. Gwenyth was this close to strangling him, thereby giving credence to his claims of bad karma. What in the hell was wrong with Sam? Gwenyth wondered, not for the first time in the past three days. It was as if he was doing everything in his power to deliberately sabotage the shoot. And her career in the process. The ironic part of this whole sordid business was that, while Sam had been doing his damnedest to be a total nuisance to her, Gwenyth had used the sexless past three days to sort out her feelings. Her conclusion: she was definitely in love with the big Bozo. Bad karma, bitching, and all. Gwenyth had done a lot of thinking since that last night of shared passion when she’d first arrived in Los Angeles. Since then, she’d taken several long walks, swam lots of laps in the hotel pool, and drank even more pots of coffee. And although she had given up the ship so to speak, and admitted her feelings for Sam to herself, she had also realized that Sam probably wasn’t at the same place she was mentally. It was quite possible that the man wouldn’t know he was in love with her until she hit him over the head with it. So be it. Gwenyth had arrived at the conclusion that if she wanted something badly enough, and she did indeed want Sam’s love, then she wasn’t above waiting for it. She’d notch up her chin and weather his uncertainties until he realized he loved her back. She could only hope he realized it very soon. Gwenyth slipped inside of the opening elevator doors and pressed the button that would take her to the fourth floor. Thankfully, she wouldn’t be working with the Prima Donna today. This morning’s shoot was to be done with Etienne, an extremely fine looking French model who was a hell of a lot more cooperative than Sam Trevianni. Etienne did what he was told to do—no more, no less. Gwenyth was beginning to think that deference wasn’t necessarily a bad quality in a man. After arriving at the fourth floor and saying a brief hello to Julie Gantz, makeup artiste extraordinaire, Gwenyth made her way outside where the once paved terrace had been transformed into a garden of paradise for today’s shoot with Etienne. Etienne looked, as always, impeccably handsome. His dark hair and eyes went sinfully well with his tanned, muscular physique. The six foot three, one hundred ninety pound model was reading a book of

Chaucer and sipping from a glass of white wine, while three assistants oiled down his perfectly honed biceps and torso. “Bon jour, Etienne.” Etienne glanced up from his reading of medieval poetry and gifted Gwenyth with a dazzling, pearly white smile. “Salut, Gwen! Ça va, ma chere?” “I’m great. How about you?” “Bon.” Gwenyth inclined her head with a smile. It would be nice to work with someone cooperative today, someone who wasn’t out for her blood. Funny that the man she loved fell into the latter category. “Are you ready to get started?” Etienne closed his book with a small thud and tossed it onto the nearest chair. “Absolutely.” Gwenyth knelt to the floor and opened up her duffel bag, pulling out two new rolls of film in the process. She remembered the letter the receptionist had handed to her after spying a corner of the envelope shoved into the back of her bag. It was probably nothing. Probably another of Sam’s notes demanding some new change in the schedule for tomorrow’s shoot. Perhaps he’d had another of his stupid so-called visions. Sighing, Gwenyth reached for the envelope and tore it open. Although she was certain it was a royal summons of some sort from Prima Donna Trevianni, she had to read it on the off chance that it was something important. It only took a second to scan the letter’s message: NAM Gwenyth’s fingers trembled with anger for the briefest of moments as she clutched the paper tighter, wadding it up into a ball. She knew she should have felt scared. Or at least slightly apprehensive. The only emotion she could manage to conjure up, however, was pure, unadulterated rage. The bastard. Was Senator Green behind this? Was he so naïve as to believe that these stupid little messages were going to send her cowering into oblivion-ville? Oh sure, the first message had managed to shake her up a bit, but that was more so because of the method that had been used rather than the message itself. It wasn’t like she’d been expecting a baseball to come crashing through her closed window while sitting quietly in her apartment contemplating Sam Trevianni. Sam. Oh damn. She could never let Sam see this coward’s note! He’d fly into a rage over it. She could easily envision him barging his Prima Donna ass into Senator Green’s office and rearranging the politician’s fake smile and capped teeth. A scene such as that one would only hinder Harry’s chances at the polls next week. “Gwen, amour, iz everything bon?” Startled, Gwenyth’s head shot up. She’d forgotten about Etienne for a moment. “Oui. Yes.”

Etienne didn’t look as though he believed her. He searched her reddened face, wondering what it was that had upset her so. “You are certain, chere?” Gwenyth threw the wadded up piece of paper into her duffel bag and zipped it shut. She would turn the note over to the Tampa Police Department when she returned home. For now, there was no more time to waste on angering herself over the actions of the sniveling senator. “I’m certain,” she assured Etienne with a smile. Changing the subject she gestured toward the spido he was wearing. “Let’s take a few shots of you in this one, then I want to see you in the wetsuit. Okay?” Etienne grinned. “D’accord.” He winked at Gwenyth, a gesture that could send most women into a heart-stopping swoon. “Let us begin, ma chere.” ***** “D’accord. Let us begin, ma chere.” Sam mimicked Etienne like a mad parrot as he glowered at the too good-looking Frenchman from the shadows of the terrace. Certain that he’d lose his breakfast if he had to listen to the model utter any more suave French words to his woman, he turned sharply on his heel and stomped off. “She wants to see him in a damn wetsuit,” he muttered to no one in particular as he threw open the doors to the terrace and headed for the elevators. “Like oh sure, he would look better in a wetsuit than I would.” That Gwenyth was only doing her job played a minor role in his jealous musings. Uppermost in Sam’s mind was the fact that Gwen was being nicer to Frenchy than she was to him. Of course, Sam morosely considered, Etienne was also behaving a lot more accommodating than he had been these past few days. Sam growled a goodbye to Julie, a woman of extremely refined tastes seeing as how she obviously had the hots for him and not Etienne, then stalked in between the closing elevator doors and pounded on the button for the lobby floor. All Sam wanted to do was go back to the hotel and release a little penned up energy. Maybe a good swim. Or a jog around the grounds. What was the difference so long as it took his mind off of one infuriating female. Perhaps, Sam reflected as he alighted from the elevator and strode toward the exit of Vantry Sportswear, perhaps it was just possible that he’d gone a wee bit overboard these past few days. Perhaps he’d taken the need to assuage his male ego to profoundly asinine heights. But what in the hell did Gwen expect? He hadn’t had sex since the night he got here! Sam still couldn’t believe it. Oh Gwen had said she wanted time to figure out how she felt about him, to understand what it was she was wanting—he rolled his eyes—but he certainly hadn’t taken her promise to cut off all intimate relations as a serious one. Never in a million years had he believed she’d have the fortitude to see it through. After all, he wouldn’t have. It depressed him like all hell to think that she could so easily withstand all of his best attempts at seduction. But withstand them she had. And Sam had tried—really tried. He had even quoted some dumb-ass line from Shakespeare over dinner one night because he’d read somewhere that chicks dig that stuff. Apparently Gwenyth wasn’t like the rest of her kind. She was unnatural, Gwenyth. Or so it made him feel better to believe. So in retaliation, Sam had taken to acting like a spoiled little boy. A Prima Donna, Gwenyth had called him. Harrumph, as Willy would say. What exactly did the woman expect?

Was he to fawn over her every word, acting as though it was gospel from heaven as Etienne did? Sam balled his hands into fists and clenched his teeth as he considered the possibility that she just might get off on that. Well too damn bad. Sam wasn’t changing and he damn sure wasn’t giving up Gwen to any candy-ass Frenchman. The way he saw it, if Etienne knew what was best for him and his pretty face, he would take his caviar and his beret and hop on the first plane headed back to Paris. Otherwise, Sam just might be obliged to put him on the plane his self. And that sight wouldn’t be pretty—he snorted incredulously—no sir, not pretty at all. Twenty minutes later, Sam dove into the hotel’s Olympic sized pool and swam a full length before resurfacing. And in that brief thirty second span in time, he also arrived at a decision. Legally, he might not be able to get away with kidnapping Cupcake and secreting her away to the nearest dungeon without going to jail. And jail wouldn’t do at all. So if Sam couldn’t lock his woman away, he was going to do the next best thing. Damn it anyway, he was going to marry her now.

Chapter 11 “Work it, baby. Work it! Oh my—goodness gracious—you’ve got it!” Sam glowered over his shoulder at Big Ed, Gwenyth’s blatantly homosexual assistant photographer and the man all his foolish tantrums and demands had finally resigned him to being photographed by for the remainder of the shoot. That Big Ed was five foot five and a hundred pounds soaking wet gave his name an ironic ring to it. When Sam had mentioned that fact to Gwenyth after being introduced to the guy yesterday, she had casually informed him of the fact that Big Ed hadn’t earned his nickname from his height. Sam resolutely refused to consider just how he had earned that title. Big Ed clapped his hands together gleefully, inspiration having obviously struck. “Time to oil him down, boys!” Sam grimaced. He had always thought of himself as a liberated, tolerant kind of guy. And he was. To a point. When it was someone else. But the thought of three men feeling him up and down as they slathered oil all over his body was sure enough the point at which his tolerance became tried. “Is the oil really necessary?” Big Ed looked at Sam as if he’d sprouted hooves and a tail. “Of course. Have you posed for a poolside scene yet where you haven’t had that delectable bod of yours oiled down?” Sam winced. Sweet Jesus, how had he ever gotten himself into this mess? A frown marred his features

as he remembered the answer to his own question. Gwen, that’s how. His goddamned future wife! That he wouldn’t be in this situation—faced with the prospect of being rubbed down by three overly zealous gay men—if he’d been less a Prima Donna to Gwen, took firm root in his mind. Sam should never have made up all those ridiculous attempts at stalling the progress of the shoot. His only thought had been to irritate her, and boy was he paying for it now. She adamantly refused to photograph him further. What exactly were his options? The way it looked, there were but two. He could walk away here and now, refusing to finish out his contract. Sam shook his head mentally. Yeah, and then he could get sued in the process and end up paying the Vantrys millions of his hard won dollars. No, that simply wouldn’t do at all. Unfortunately, the only other option was to grin and bear it. That was about as appealing as paying the Vantrys off, but at least he wouldn’t look the coward in the process. Sam sighed. No matter which way he turned it, the only real option was to put up with Big Ed and his henchmen. Besides, Sam didn’t want to embarrass the guy or make him feel bad. After all, Sam had let those three fine as hell looking girls rub him down in front of Gwenyth two days ago. He’d even made a big production out of it for his future wife’s benefit, telling the college girls how good their hands felt on him, asking them to take their time. He’d winked and grinned, even patted one bikini-clad girl sporting a gee-string on her delectably rounded bottom. So what would he look like now if he refused to allow himself to get oiled up for Big Ed’s shoot? And unlike those three college girls that had somehow gotten into Vantry Sportswear and volunteered for the duty, Sam realized that Big Ed’s team would at least be professional about it. Sam sighed as he grimly considered the fact that he was good and stuck. “Oh alright,” he grunted, “just hurry up about it.” Big Ed clapped his hands together excitedly as he gestured for his assistants to begin. “You heard him, boys!” He clicked his fingers together in a series of three fast snaps. “Time to slather him up!” Sam shook his head. This entire situation was trying to his nerves, but what was he to do? Hell, at least he’d talked Big Ed out of his nipple ring idea. ***** From her place in the shadows, Gwenyth covered her mouth with both hands and succumbed to a fit of the giggles. Later, she would have to thank Big Ed—a man who was generally on the priggish, reserved side—for carrying this scene out to its full artistic culmination. All Gwenyth had asked Big Ed to do was to have the assistants he’d hired oil Sam down today, rather than those three college girls who had managed to finagle their often topless modeling jobs out of the Vantrys’ eldest son. Big Ed had come up with the rest on his own. The nipple piercing idea, all the shouted words of praise such as “work it baby”, having Sam strike a pose with an urn on his shoulder Egyptian style…that had all been of Big Ed’s ingeniously diabolical invention. The man was definitely getting a raise. With a smile firmly plastered on her face, Gwenyth tiptoed quietly from the terrace and sauntered into the Vantry building. She licked her finger and pretended to chalk one up for herself as she strode through

the doors to the Blue Room where Etienne waited her arrival on a staged Atlantis set. It was high time indeed that Samuel Joseph Trevianni learned that Gwenyth Marie Jones could give as good as she gets. ***** For the next two days of shooting, a battle of wills raged on between Gwenyth and Sam. She would parry, he would thrust. Then Gwenyth would thrust and Sam would parry. It was an endless cycle. And one that Gwenyth was inordinately proud of. She had actually managed to live up to the vow she’d made to herself. She was giving as good as she got. On the last day of the shoot, however, Sam insisted upon staging another oil rub-down scene for Gwenyth’s benefit, namely to get back at her after his experience with Big Ed and his crew. He sat regally on a chair, cocking an arrogant “stop me if you dare” brow at Gwen, as the trio of bikini wearing college models slid their greased-up hands over every square inch of his body. The brunette perched herself and her generously endowed breasts behind him, slathering up Sam’s shoulders. The redhead stood off to his side, her matching red-nailed fingertips gliding over his chest and belly. The blonde—who had won the coin toss—was sprawled between Sam’s legs, rubbing him up from his toes to the line where his upper thigh and groin met. And try as Gwenyth might, she simply couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in her tummy from climbing up to her heart. She tried to tell herself it was because Sam had gotten in the last potshot, but the reality of it was she was jealous. “That feels good, sweetheart. Real good.” Gwenyth grimaced at Sam’s words of encouragement to the busty blonde whose fingers were trailing dangerously close to his most private part. The coy, ashen-haired seductress was zeroing in closer and closer to the spot she most wanted to caress with every glide of her hand. “Ahh Tracy. You’ve got great hands, honey.” Gwenyth spun on her heel and began frantically packing away used rolls of film into her duffel bag. She had to get out of here and let Big Ed do his job. She wouldn’t watch this scene, couldn’t watch it. It was killing her. Those girls were beautiful in a way Gwenyth never would be. From their perfectly rounded, surgically enhanced breasts to their hips that didn’t store up any excess fat whatsoever, they were everything she wasn’t. It was like turning sixteen all over again and finding out that Sam had fallen in love with another woman she couldn’t compete with. Three more Stacys. Three younger, nearly topless, gee-string-clad Stacys. “Are you well, chere?” Gwenyth stood up and turned around to face Etienne. She shrugged her shoulders and offered him a half-hearted smile. She briefly considered prevaricating, but what was the point? “Not really, no.” Etienne smiled fondly down to her as he raised Gwenyth’s hands and kissed them. “He iz a fool, ma belle.”

Gwenyth squeezed Etienne’s hands affectionately. He was always so thoughtful of her. “Thank you for that.” She made to move her hands away, but he didn’t let go. Not understanding, she arched a tawny brow and regarded him. Etienne sighed. “I know zis is not the best time to try to win your affections, but should you decide to give another man a chance…” He craned his neck downward and pressed his lips to Gwenyth’s forehead. “I should like to be zat man. N’est pas?” Gwenyth’s eyes rounded in surprise. She’d had no idea Etienne had even thought of her in that light. Ever. It was extremely flattering. Nodding her head like a marionette, Gwenyth relented. “D’accord.” She grinned. “Okay.” Etienne released her hands and smiled gently down to her. “I’m certain we shall see one another soon. Au revoir, chere.” Gwenyth hoisted her duffel bag over her shoulder and smiled back at the too beautiful model. She had to get out of here. “Au revoir, Etienne.” Gwenyth cast a brief glance in Sam’s direction before spiriting herself toward the elevators. Had she been in a less upset frame of mind, she might have noticed the scowl of possessive jealousy Sam had garnered after seeing Etienne kiss her. Had Gwenyth’s heart not been breaking, she might have stayed long enough to witness Sam throwing the hands of his fawning fans off of him, then standing up to watch Gwenyth’s retreat with a look of helpless defeat about him. But she didn’t notice. She was too busy wiping the tears from her eyes.

Chapter 12 Sam stomped into the hotel lobby primed for a fight. He had wanted to trail after Gwenyth and have done with this conversation the very second she’d run out of Vantry Sportswear, but Big Ed had clamored for his attention just then, reminding Sam of the fact that they had another hour left of shooting before his obligation to his contract had been fulfilled. So Sam had stayed, thinking of Cupcake the whole time, and wishing like hell that he’d never allowed those three college models to fondle him. He had seen the hurt in her eyes and recognized immediately that Gwenyth was no longer considering their tit-for-tat tactics of the past two days a game. She was taking it seriously. Never having been comfortable with emotions such as guilt, Sam had soon twisted the day’s events around in his mind to a point where he could almost believe he was the injured party here. Almost. If he tried really hard. And so now, as he stalked inside of the hotel lobby preparing to take the defensive with Gwenyth, Sam

refused to consider the possibility that he had been the one in the wrong. Him and Cupcake were going to have it out alright, at which time he was going to inform her of his list of demands. Namely that they were getting married right away and that they were going to resume their sexual relationship immediately. Like now. “Mr. Trevianni.” Sam had to resist the urge to growl at the front desk clerk that was waving a piece of paper in the air to gain his attention. He took a deep breath to steady his self, then turned on his heel and arched a brow. “Yes?” “A message for you, sir.” Sam nodded, then smiled tentatively at the clerk. He sighed. There was no sense in getting angry at the guy for doing his job. “Thank-you.” He walked over to where the employee whose nameplate read Arty stood behind an enclosed desk structure and accepted the written message from his hand. It was a note from his agent Lee, asking Sam to call him and let him know how the shoot had gone. Sam would do that later. Right now his only concern was getting to Gwenyth. He needed to get things back to the way they had been. He missed her so much that he was aching from it. Sam thanked Arty, then headed toward the elevators. He had taken only a few short strides when an idea came to him. Sam turned back around to enlist the aid of the desk clerk. Lord knows he was going to need all the help he could round up to set things with Gwenyth to rights. “Arty my man, could you do me a favor?” “Of course, Mr. Trevianni. How may I be of assistance to you?” “In about twenty minutes, could you have a bottle of champagne sent up to Gwenyth Jones’ suite?” Sam scratched his chin, considering the precariousness of his position. “And flowers. Chicks love flowers.” Arty cleared his throat, his face stained a dull crimson. “I’m certain they do Mr. Trevianni, but perhaps you should send them to wherever it is Ms. Jones lives.” Sam raised a brow. “Why is that?” “Because Ms. Jones is no longer here.” Sam’s breathing stopped for a threadbare moment. He shook his head, certain he’d heard Arty wrong and praying he had. “What?” Arty nodded implacably. “Ms. Jones checked out about an hour ago. I put her in a cab headed for the airport myself.” In that brief moment, Sam’s entire life flashed before his eyes. Gwenyth had left him. She had well and truly walked out on him. It was difficult at best for him to form a coherent thought beyond that, but there was something else, some kernel of knowledge that had festered itself down deep in his gut and was gnawing at him. Sam had to get to Gwenyth before that plane took off. He couldn’t explain how or why, but he knew, just knew, that if he didn’t stop her from leaving it would be over between them. Gwen would never have

him back. Somehow, though Sam would never remember exactly how, he managed to pack his clothes, check out of his suite, and call a cab, all in under ten minutes time. His heart beating wildly, he settled into the back seat of the taxi and regarded the driver. “If you can get me to LAX in fifteen minutes or less, there’s a hundred dollar tip in it for you.” ***** Gwenyth chewed on her lower lip to keep from crying—again. She was doing the right thing, she told herself over and over. She was doing what she had to do, what her sanity required of her to stay intact. It was just too bad if the right thing didn’t happen to coincide with what she wanted to do. Namely hightailing it back to the hotel, throwing herself into Sam’s arms, and begging him to love her. Gwenyth took her place in line, waiting gloomily for the passengers in front of her to hand over their tickets to the gate agent working the flight back to Tampa so they could board. At this point, all she wanted to do was get it over with and go home to her apartment where she could lick her wounds in private. The thought that she was taking the coward’s way out flitted through Gwenyth’s mind and weighed heavily on her conscience. Bah! She’d realized even as she was throwing her clothes into suitcases that that was exactly what she was doing—running away—so why bother to ruminate over it now? It was done. And in the long run, she vehemently reassured herself, it was the wiser choice. It was time to go home, put Sam from her mind, and begin anew. Gwenyth frowned, thinking that the option no longer sounded as inviting as it had when she’d first descended into the cab that had brought her here to the airport. Going back to Sam held a much more appealing ring to it. No! No! No! she chided herself for at least the tenth time in an hour. Don’t even go there, Gwenyth. That way lies madness. That way lies heartbreak. After all, when everything was said and done, the men of Sam’s world inevitably settled their rings onto the fingers of artificially enhanced, bleach blonde women named “Bambi” and “Muffin”…they certainly didn’t marry women of passing beauty whose breasts were beginning to sag and whose hips could stand a five pound reduction without putting a dent in them. “Miss, may I have your ticket please? Miss?” Gwenyth’s head shot up. She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t even realized she’d finally made it to the front of the boarding line. “Yes. Yes, of course.” She smiled apologetically. “Sorry…I wasn’t paying attention.” The gate agent winked at her, but didn’t reply to her comment. “You’re in seat 15c. Enjoy your flight and thank-you for—” “I said hold that damn plane!” All heads turned, Gwenyth’s included, at the sound of that belligerent and all too familiar voice. Sam. He’d come for her.

Gwenyth attempted to squelch the positively glowing feeling that knowledge engendered. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop her traitorous heart from being pleased by the way Sam was barreling toward her, looking fiercely and magnificently determined, any more than she could stop the sun from setting at day’s end. Too stunned by Sam’s presence to come up with anything quick and witty to say, she simply shook her head and forcibly closed her unhinged jaw. “Sam? What are you doing here?” Sam, however, had no intention whatsoever of discussing anything about their relationship in front of a hangar full of strangers. Without glancing once in Gwenyth’s direction, he ripped her ticket unapologetically from the gate agent’s hand. “There seems to be a mistake. Ms. Jones will not be on this flight.” He drew Gwenyth to his side, still without acknowledging her, and inclined his head toward the gate agent. “We’ll be needin’ her bags before this plane can leave.” Gwenyth didn’t hear the gate agent’s reply over the pounding in her ears. When Sam led her to a seat and gently but forcibly lowered her into it, she didn’t argue. When he walked over to the ticket counter and had a conversation with the agent standing there that was out of her earshot, she thought nothing of it. She was simply too stunned to do anything other than gape at Sam’s back. Never once had it entered into Gwenyth’s mind that Sam would stop her from going. She hadn’t even considered it as a viable outcome. So why then? Why was Sam here? What could he possibly hope to accomplish with this stalling tactic? This was insane. Flattering as she didn’t know what, but insane nonetheless. Ten minutes later, Sam set Gwenyth’s luggage at her feet, plopped down into the chair next to hers, and regarded her in stony silence. Gwenyth studied him back. And for the first time since Sam had come tearing toward her at the gate twenty minutes ago, she felt a tad apprehensive at the visible signs of his anger. Sam’s nostrils were flaring. His breathing was choppy. Even the veins on his forearms were bulging out more than usual from the pressure of clenching his hands into fists. Good grief. “Sam, I—” Sam held up a silencing hand. He shook his head in the negative. “I don’t want to hear it, Gwen. The only thing I want to know is why you did it.” Gwenyth opened her mouth to answer him, but he forestalled any explanations with an interruption. “Is this how you plan to deal with our relationship for the rest of your life, Gwen? Are you going to run away like a little girl every time the water gets a little rough?” Ouch. Accurate blow. “Well, I—” Sam laughed humorlessly. He shook his head and scowled at her. “Are you enjoyin’ this, Cupcake? Do you like makin’ me beg?” Not fair. “Of course not! How was I—” “Enough!” Sam bellowed, causing a few passersby to turn their heads. He lowered his voice and bore into Gwenyth with his gaze. “I find that your words today please me even less than your actions have.” That got Gwenyth’s attention. Her look of shock turned into one of anger. “How dare you! How was I to know that you would follow me? I thought you’d be too busy getting felt up by your trio of groupies to

even notice the fact that I’d left!” Sam snorted incredulously. Her words stirred a little guilt deep within him, but he concentrated on his anger instead. “Oh I noticed alright! And after the way you let Frenchy fawn all over you this past week?” He made a rude noise. “You’ve got no room to criticize.” “Fawn all over me?!” Sam’s eyes narrowed into predatory blue slits. “Yes, fawned.” He cocked his head and imitated Etienne, using his best Parisian accent. “Ah mon chere,” he mimicked in a falsetto voice, “that Sam iz no good. Let us go to ze hotel and make amour for the whole of ze night.” Gwenyth hid her smile behind a look of outrage. Well, she was outraged truth be told, but it was hard to maintain a proper amount of ire when the man you loved was batting his eyelashes dramatically and making kissy-fish lips. Especially when said man was thirty-four, well over six feet in height, and had the body of a warrior to boot. “Sam, you’re being ridiculous. Etienne never asked me to go to bed with him. He merely asked me out on a date.” At Sam’s rapidly reddening face, Gwenyth knew she’d chosen the wrong time to inform him of Etienne’s interest. “But I turned him down!” she quickly amended. That seemed to placate him—somewhat. “I won’t have any more of this foolishness, Gwenyth Marie.” He slashed his hand through the air. “Never again.” Gwenyth sat up straighter in her chair and crossed her arms defensively over her breasts. “If you came all this way just to tell me you don’t want to see me anymore, you could have done it over the telephone. Or in an email. You didn’t have to stop me from boarding the—” “Enough!” Sam grunted in satisfaction at the incredulous look on Gwenyth’s face. Good. Let her be shocked into silence. He was too damn mad to want to hear her speak anyway. “I did not come here to end it.” His voice turned hard, unrelenting. “I came to make sure that somethin’ like this never happens again.” Sam glanced at his watch, then made to stand up. “Speakin’ of which, let’s go. We have a plane to catch.” Gwenyth’s jaw dropped open. She had never been one given to obeying a command. Sam’s domineering attitude was suddenly too much. “This part of we isn’t going anywhere with you!” She narrowed her eyes and huffed. “Sam, are you listening to me?” Sam grunted as he rose to his feet. The fact that he seemed to be paying Gwenyth’s outrage as little attention as he was her words, only served to pique her temper all the more. “Sam! I’m not going anywhere! Let go of my arm!” Sam gestured toward the suitcases. “Will you carry one or do you plan to make me carry both of yours plus my own?” “You’re not even listening to me!” “Amazin’ly perceptive, Cupcake. Now pick up a suitcase,” he snarled. Gwenyth started to hurl a choice sentiment at him, but stopped when she got a close-up view of the look on Sam’s face. Quite frankly, it chilled her to the bone and made her regret running out on him without

nary a word. Never in all of her life—and Gwenyth had known Sam Trevianni for twenty-one years—never had she seen him look so angry. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Please Sam. I don’t want to argue with you.” She nibbled on her lip and regarded him warily. “Where is it that you want us to go?” Sam drew in a deep breath, his eyes never breaking contact with Gwenyth’s. “Las Vegas.” “Las Vegas?” She cocked her head speculatively, not understanding. “Why?” “Because, Cupcake.” Sam hoisted up the lighter of Gwenyth’s two suitcases and handed it over to her. “We’re gettin’ married.”

Chapter 13 The plane ride to Las Vegas was, for the most part, a quiet one. Sam barely spoke a word, grunting and gesturing instead to get his points across. When Gwenyth didn’t touch the food that had been brought to her, Sam grunted and pointed at it, indicating she should eat. When she failed to drink the wine that he’d ordered in a timely enough fashion to suit him, he grunted and pointed at her glass, then raised it to her lips and held it there. All in all, the grunting and pointing was steadily wearing on Gwenyth’s nerves. She idly considered the fact that the comparison she’d made last week between Sam and a Neanderthal wasn’t terribly off course. But Gwenyth was too busy reflecting on the fact that Sam wanted to marry her to pay his odious behavior too much attention. It seemed impossible. Like a dream. When Sam had first made his announcement that they were flying to Las Vegas to get married, Gwenyth had been too shocked to protest. She was still feeling much the same way. Why would Sam want to marry her? And what if marriage was merely Sam’s way of assuaging his male ego after she’d run out on him? What if he regretted marrying her tomorrow, or next week, or next year? Could she take that chance? Or more to the point, would she take that chance? “Stop it, Cupcake.” Since it was the first coherent sentence Sam had uttered in over two hours, it had the effect of gaining Gwenyth’s undivided attention. “Huh?” “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Sam sighed. “Thinkin’.” Gwenyth narrowed her eyes. “Stop thinking?” “That’s what I said.” She blew out a dramatic breath. “Why?” “Because as of late I generally don’t care for your thoughts anymore than I do your words or your behavior.” Sam inclined his head arrogantly and raised an impervious brow. “We are gettin’ married, Gwenyth Marie. Tonight. As soon as this plane lands. The end. No discussion.” Gwenyth shook her head at his ego. “Will I be permitted to think after we’re married?” she asked incredulously. Sam rubbed his chin while he considered her question. “Maybe.” “Maybe?!” He shrugged his shoulders. “A man can only plan so far in advance. Right now I’ve got my mind on which chapel we’ll be tyin’ the knot in. Will it be Elvis’ Chapel of Love, or Bubba’s Barn of Bliss?” Gwenyth gritted her teeth. “If you’re referring to that red-roofed monstrosity on the strip whose flashing neon sign reads: Bag a stag or marry your girl: All night rodeos and marriage ceremonies performed inside, you can forget it.” She slashed her hand definitively through the air. “I won’t have it.” Sam merely grunted. The rest of the plane ride was spent in silence. It was as if both of their emotions were too raw and unpredictable to wager speaking to the other. It was just as well. Gwenyth needed the time to try and absorb what was happening. She was a thinker, a planner, not at all unpredictable and spontaneous like Sam. While Gwenyth worried her lip and stared at the passing clouds from the vantage point of the tiny window to her right, Sam flexed his fingers, clenching and unclenching them, as he considered how best to get Gwen to marry him. The knowledge that she might simply refuse to take part in their upcoming nuptials was unnerving. So what was he to do? How could he force her to the altar? Times were definitely much simpler back in the days of the Greeks and Romans when a man took what was his and brooked no arguments about it. Sam sighed dejectedly. Whatever he came up with, it had better be good. ***** “Sam, I don’t know about this. I mean, what will my family say?” Gwenyth’s eyes widened nervously as a bouquet of flowers was thrust into her hand by her newly acquired maid of honor, a bald woman of indiscriminate age who had tattoos over every square inch of her body and a nose ring pierced through

her septum. Sam pulled Gwenyth’s hair out of its topknot and watched the curls cascade around her shoulders and down her back. “I want your hair down for our weddin’, Cupcake.” He leaned into her and inhaled the fragrance of the sweet, strawberry-scented mane. “It’s so beautiful.” Gwenyth closed her eyes briefly against the longing she saw in Sam’s face. There was a vast world of difference between lust and love, she reminded herself, and Gwenyth needed both before she could even consider getting married. How was she going to tell Sam that she simply couldn’t go through with this? How could she even begin to make him understand that if he was going to give her back the dream she’d let go of in adolescence, she had to have the whole thing? “Sam, we need to talk,” she quietly insisted. Glancing at her formidable maid of honor, she then added, “alone.” Sam sighed, but in the end he acquiesced with a nod. He reached for Gwenyth’s arm and gently drew her to the other side of the chapel. “What is it, Gwen?” Gwenyth drew in a deep breath. There was no point in skirting around the issue of their marriage. Holding herself steady, she gazed into Sam’s eyes. “I can’t do it.” Silence ensued for a drawn out moment. Finally, Sam asked, “why not?” “Because you don’t want to marry me for the right reasons, Sam.” “I don’t?” “No.” Gwenyth glanced around the all-night wedding chapel Sam had dragged her to. In the end he had settled on a beautiful, cathedral-looking structure that would have been a lovely setting for a wedding had it not been operated by people who looked as if they heralded from another planet. She blew out a breath. “I have no idea why you want to marry me,” she mumbled, “but I’m certain it’s not for the right reason.” “Oh?” Sam crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. “And just what is the right reason?” Because you love me. The words were on the tip of Gwenyth’s tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them aloud. There were some things a man needed to discover on his own. Preferably before the wedding ceremony. “Listen to me Gwen.” Sam shoved his hands into his pants pockets and regarded her uncompromisingly. “We’re not leavin’ here until we get married. You are not walkin’ out that door until you bear my name. How much clearer can I make that?” Gwenyth raised her chin up a notch and glowered back at her so-called fiancé. “I’m not a child of five, Sam. You can hardly force me to marry you!” Sam shrugged his hands out of his pockets and splayed them at either hip. “Just what is it you want from me, Gwen?” She was right and he knew it—he had no real way of forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want. The knowledge of it was making him desperate. “I’ve been wantin’ you for years, Gwen. I think about you all the time. I can’t bear to be apart from you.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I need you, Gwen. What more can I do to convince you that I’ll make you a good husband?”

Gwenyth stared at Sam with sadness in her eyes. She needed the one thing he seemed incapable of giving, the one thing he could have said to change her mind. She needed his love. Against her better judgment, Gwenyth let go of her pride and spoke from her heart. “I’m in love with you Sam,” she whispered with thick emotion in her voice. “I’ve been in love with you all of my life. But are you in love with me?” Sam said nothing. He peered at Gwenyth moodily as if he hated being forced into this vulnerable position. Never in all of his life had he actually said those three little words of “I love you” to a woman. The three words that Gwen most wanted to hear. The three words he stubbornly refused to dwell upon until he was certain, absolutely certain, she really did feel genuine love for him back. It was easy for a woman to say she loved a man. Women told Sam as much all the time. Hell, he’d heard those words from women who’d spent less than a full night in his bed. True, Gwenyth had worshipped him as a child, but she was an adult woman now. Hardly the worshipping type anymore—not that Sam wanted her to be. But how could he genuinely believe she loved him when she’d been running fast and furiously away from him since the moment they’d been reunited? Whether or not Gwenyth truly loved him didn’t matter to Sam, though. He needed Gwen, couldn’t bear to be without her, so he’d take what he could get just now. They could spend the rest of their lives figuring out the rest. Gwenyth took Sam’s silence as damning. Holding her tears at bay, she forced a smile onto her face as she handed him back the bouquet of flowers. “I can’t marry you, Sam,” she intoned gently. “I’m sorry.” With that, she pivoted on her heel with the intention of walking away. “Goddamn it, Gwen!” Sam whirled her back around to face him. His jaw tense and rigid, he shook her shoulders slightly. “Don’t you give up on us!” “Sam, I—” “No!” Sam blew out a ragged breath and refused to let Gwenyth leave the chapel. He gentled his voice and pleaded to her with his eyes. “If there is anybody in this whole godforsaken world that can actually love me, Gwenyth Marie, it has to be you. And if there is anybody here who can teach me what it means, I know you’re the one.” Gwenyth’s eyes rounded. The jade of them sparkled tremulously. “Sam, I…” “Please, baby.” Sam shook his head helplessly. “I need you.” Gwenyth sucked in a breath of air. It was nice indeed to see the depth of emotions in Sam’s eyes, to hear him say that he needed her and know he meant it, but presently she was latching onto the other thing he’d said. Was it possible? Did Sam Trevianni really believe that no one loved him? Gwenyth chewed on her lip as she considered the very real possibility that he was being honest. Even as a child, Sam had always remained somewhat aloof, joining the Jones family without ever becoming a real part of it. She had been too young to dwell on his actions overmuch, but when she looked back at it now, as a woman, she recalled a sad, scared little boy whose father was dead and whose mother had never cared for anyone but herself. Sam had relished his time with her family, perhaps even coveted it, but he had always held a part of himself back, like a poverty-stricken child gazing through the window of a candy shop, knowing he’d never be able to afford the ambrosia it offered.

And now here Gwenyth stood, next to the man she loved, and she had it within her grasp to make Sam a real member of the Jones family. To give Sam Trevianni a place he could finally call home. To give him the chance to realize that there were people who loved him, not for what he could give them, but because he was simply Sam. And then, perhaps, he would realize that he loved her back. That quickly, Gwenyth’s decision was made. She wouldn’t back away from this challenge. What had begun as a sad day, had evolved into the most profoundly poignant moment of her life. Today, here and now, she would give them both a chance to grasp for the moon and the stars together. “Yes, Sam.” She reached out for his hand and stroked it gently. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” ***** Sam gazed toward the hotel room bed that his wife lay sleeping on and felt his heartbeat pick up all over again. Gwenyth was his. Somehow or another he’d done it, he’d claimed her. And he was already lovin’ every last minute of it. It was strange to Sam, the small things that now held a great deal of meaning. Like watching his wife sleep. His wife, he thought possessively. No other man, for as long as Sam lived and breathed, would ever see Cupcake like this again. It aroused him just knowing it. Hell, Sam mused, it seemed that everything had been arousing him in the whopping six hours of their marriage. He’d even gotten a hard-on from signing the hotel’s guest registry as “Mr. & Mrs. Sam Trevianni”. And when they’d gotten to their suite and he’d seen the shiny glint of gold from the band on her ring finger…well, Sam could honestly say that he had loved his new wife’s body well and proper on their wedding night. Twice already to be exact. Sam climbed into bed next to Gwenyth, wishing like he didn’t know what that they didn’t have to go back to Tampa tomorrow. He wanted Gwen to himself for just a wee bit more before being obliged to return to reality. But Sam also realized, however reluctantly, that their honeymoon would have to wait. The senatorial election was in two days and Gwen would want to be there for Harry. Hell, Sam wanted to be there for Harry his self. He was, after all, a part of the family now. That thought gave him so much pleasure it was almost painful. Sam turned on his side and hoisted his self up on his elbow. He smiled at the sexy picture Gwenyth made. His wife was lying on her back, her lips parted ever so slightly in deep slumber. Her hair was wild and cascading over the satiny pillows, and her arms were thrown over her head, thrusting her breasts upward in invitation. Her large nipples were erect, presumably from the chill in the air-conditioned room. Sam splayed his fingers at Gwen’s plumped up breasts and took turns rolling her hard nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He made no attempt at waking her, merely devoured the sight of her beautiful face and naked body as he lazily stroked the hard nubs that now belonged to him. Feeling fully contented for the first time in his life, Sam lowered his face onto his wife’s chest and relaxed. Within minutes, he was sound asleep. After thirty-four years, Sam had finally come home.

Chapter 14 “Son, I oughta take a switch to your backside. Did it ever occur to you that I might wanna walk my baby girl down the aisle?” Gwenyth shoveled a spoonful of Verlene’s chili into her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. The idea of Granddad—almost seventy-three and as skinny as a rail to boot—taking a switch to Sam’s derriere was too funny to contemplate. She cast a quick glance at her husband, bedeviling him with a dimpled grin. Sam winked at his wife, then turned in his seat at the dining room table to face Granddad Willy. “I’m sorry ‘bout that,” he reiterated for what was probably the fifth time since dinner had begun. “Maybe we can have a ceremony here before we leave for Boston.” Gwenyth’s spoon dropped, leaving a clanking sound in its wake. She hadn’t considered the fact that Sam was obligated to the New England Crusaders for another two years when she’d married him. Good grief. She had Jones & Jones to consider. She could hardly just pick up and trail behind her new husband. Feeling overwhelmed with uncertainty as to what she should do, she threw a wild glance at Verlene and Harry. “Sam, I can’t move to Boston. My work is here. Work that I love, by the way.” Sam’s spoonful of chili stopped halfway between the bowl and his mouth. “I know that, honey. I’ve only got two years left of ball playin’.” He implored her with his blue eyes. “Surely we can reach some sort of compromise until then?” Verlene reached across the table and patted Gwenyth affectionately on the hand. “Of course you can. Y’all can live in Boston during the playing season and here the rest of the year. Jones & Jones can manage that for two years, sugar.” Verlene shrugged her shoulders elegantly. “Besides, it hardly matters where you’re based out of. You fly to your assignments anyway.” Gwenyth nodded. That much was true. She turned to Sam and questioned him further. “Okay, so we live in Boston from April to September for the next two years.” “October if the Crusaders go to the World Series,” Harry interjected hopefully. Gwenyth waved away her brother’s comment. “What about spring training, Sam? Doesn’t that take up another couple of months?” Sam shook his head in the affirmative as he spooned a bite of chili into his mouth. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the hot, spicy stuff. Verlene was one of the best cooks in the entire planet as far as he was concerned. “Yes it does, but it’s nothin’ to worry over. Harvey Ansley, the Crusaders’ owner, is movin’ our training camp to St. Petersburg.” Willy picked up his bottle of beer and regarded his new grandson-in-law. “I read ‘bout that in the papers.” He waggled his eyebrows at Gwenyth. “That’s only twenty or so minutes from here by the interstate.”

Gwenyth nodded, appeased. She glanced at her husband and smiled. “I’ve never been to Boston before. I suppose there’s a lot of sightseeing to do there.” Sam reached for another slice of Granddad Willy’s homemade bread before responding. “Definitely. A lot of old Civil War stuff, pretty neat.” “I’ll have to come visit,” Harry added. He gave Sam a thoughtful look. “I’ve never ventured that far to the north either, but American History was always one of my favorite subjects in high school.” Sam grinned. “I remember.” Gwenyth grew quiet as she sat back and watched Sam interact with his new family. It was like magic, what their short marriage had already done for him. He wasn’t remaining aloof, holding back that small, wary part of himself any longer. Sam was behaving as though he’d finally accepted the fact that he belonged somewhere. And he did, Gwenyth realized. Sam belonged here, with her. He always had. It might have taken a ten-year separation for them to figure it out, but destiny, she mused, had a funny way about it. ***** Gwenyth knocked on the door to her brother’s office in his campaign headquarters before peeking around it to make certain he was alone. “Hi Harry. Monique said you weren’t with anyone. May I come in?” Harry had been bent over a stack of papers, reading the victory speech he hoped to deliver tomorrow night when his head shot up at the sound of Gwenyth’s voice. “Gwen!” He set the papers on top of the desk and stood up. “Come on in. Shut the door behind you.” Gwenyth did a quick study of her brother’s office as she made her way toward the desk. The mix of Victorian and modern designs gave the room a classy, elegant feel that managed to remain affable and fun-loving at the same time. Whoever designed the office couldn’t have done a better job of complimenting Harry’s personality. “I know you’re busy with the election tomorrow. I promise to only stay a minute.” Harry waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Where’s my new brother-in-law?” Gwenyth rolled her eyes and chuckled. “When last I left him, he was on his way over to our grandparents’ house. Apparently Granddad made some of his world famous chocolate chip cookies.” Harry grinned. “Sam left your apartment for cookies?” “Well, that and the fact that Granddad is helping him find us a house. Sam’s determined to purchase one and actually live in it before we leave for Boston.” “That gives you five or six months. Shouldn’t be too difficult.” “Yeah. I suppose not.” Harry eyed his sister curiously. Gwenyth had never showed up at his campaign headquarters before, so he knew the reason for her arrival now could only mean something serious was bothering her. That she

seemed in no hurry to broach the topic only added to his unease. “Gwen, what is it? Why are you here?” he inquired softly. Gwenyth’s eyes widened, momentarily startled by her brother’s accurate appraisal of the situation. She smiled slowly, remembering that few people knew her as well as Harry did. “I have something to show you.” Harry cocked an elegant brow, but waited in silence for her to continue. Gwenyth sighed deeply as she fished into her purse and pulled out the crumpled note that had been left for her at Vantry Sportswear’s front desk. After handing it to her brother, she waited until his eyes rounded with realization before adding, “between this and the baseball crashing through my front window, I’m beginning to wonder how seriously I should start taking these threats.” “Damn.” Harry eyed the note speculatively as he plopped back down into his chair. “I don’t like this, Gwen. I don’t like it at all.” He raised his gaze from the threatening note and regarded his sister. “What did Sam say?” “Sam?” Gwenyth shook her head. “Are you kidding? I didn’t tell Sam, Harry. He would go through the roof.” “And that’s a bad thing?” “Before your election?” She eyed her brother knowingly. Harry grimaced. “I see what you mean. He’ll probably do something crazy when he finds out.” Gwenyth made an inelegant snort. “Probably? No, definitely. That’s why I’m not saying anything about it until you are already packing for D.C.” Harry blew out a breath and ran his hands tersely through his tawny mane of hair. “I still don’t like the idea of keeping this a secret until after the election, Gwen. What kind of a brother do you take me for? You are way more important to me than a political career.” Gwenyth smiled serenely. It was so like her brother to put everyone else’s concerns before his own. She sincerely hoped the voting populace realized what a terrific man he was. “It’s only another day, Harry.” “Still, I want to turn this over to the detective working on your case right now. I won’t allow you to put something like this on the backburner, Gwen. Not even for me.” Harry reached for the telephone on top of his desk to make the call his self. He smiled at his sister while he waited for Detective Anderson to answer the line. “Though I do appreciate the gesture, Sis.” ***** Gwenyth dragged herself through her apartment door, wearier than she’d been in a long time. Between handing over the latest threatening note she’d received and reiterating everything that had happened the night of the NAM rally, as well as the night that the baseball had been hurled through her front window, the interview with Detective Anderson had labored on for the better part of two hours. “Sam? I’m home.” Sam appeared almost instantly. Sporting a pair of jeans, a chef’s apron, and wielding a large spoon, he put his hands on his hips and glowered at his wife. “It’s about time, Gwen. I was worried, I’ll have you

know.” Gwenyth swallowed roughly as she took in the heady sight of Sam’s shirtless, muscled torso peeking out from behind the apron. Desire poured over her instantly. “I’m sorry, Sam. I should have called when I first realized I’d be running late.” Sam grunted his agreement. “Where were you anyway?” “At my brother’s campaign headquarters.” Gwenyth shed her jacket and hung it up on the coat rack. Noticing the stains smeared on Sam’s apron—proof that he’d been cooking—she realized how hungry she was. “What are we having for dinner?” Sam’s cheeks stained a dull red. “The best I could come up with.” Gwenyth wondered at her husband’s change in coloring, but said nothing of it. Shrugging mentally, she followed him into their apartment’s small dining room/kitchen and dropped sluggishly into her chair. “Harry’s really on edge about the election. Not that I can blame him.” Sam snorted, shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame him either. I’d be a bundle of exposed nerves if I was him.” Gwenyth grinned. “Me too.” Her gaze remained fixed on Sam as he set a plate of food in front of her. “Your tux is pressed and ready for tomorrow night, isn’t it?” “Yup.” “Good.” Gwenyth picked up her fork. “How did the house hunting go?” Sam took his place at the table next to his wife and smiled bemusedly at her. “Willy’s a trip. He had a few hellacious suggestions I had to dispose him of, but other than that we got a lot done. I want to take you to see three of our potential new homes once Harry’s election is over with.” Gwenyth nodded. “Sounds good.” She absently glanced down at her plate, then noticed for the first time what Sam had prepared for their dinner. All of a sudden, she understood why he’d gotten a little embarrassed over it. She bit down on her lip to keep from laughing. Sam noticed his wife’s expression and reddened all over again. “I’ll have you know I spent the last hour makin’ this, Gwenyth Marie.” His voice was gruff and testy. “Don’t make fun.” Gwenyth smiled into Sam’s eyes as she reached for his face and smoothed her hand down the length of it. That he had tried to cook for her, a man who knew nothing about such things, brought a feeling of utter joy to her. Sam might not be ready to admit his love for her aloud, but his actions spoke plainly to Gwenyth. “It’s the most special meal I’ve ever had, Sam.” Sam met Gwenyth’s gaze and saw the tenderness for him shining there. His tense muscles relaxed. The color of embarrassment left his cheeks. “I cooked it special for you,” he admitted shyly. “For our first night together in our apartment.” Gwenyth leaned over and kissed the tip of her husband’s nose. “I love you, Sam Trevianni.” Sam crushed his mouth onto his wife’s and kissed her thoroughly and passionately. The way she’d

looked at him when she’d said those words made him almost believe it. “Go on and eat,” he gently chastised when he raised his lips from Gwenyth’s. “Don’t want supper to get cold.” Gwenyth smiled brilliantly at Sam before turning her attention to her plate. She ate with relish that night, savoring each bite as though it was the greatest gift she’d ever been given. It occurred to Gwen as she chewed thoughtfully on her fare, that more couples should start out their married life with a feast of Spaghetti-Os.

Chapter 15 Gwenyth clenched her teeth in anger. Another threatening note. This one, having been left for her at the front desk of the Hyatt where her brother’s final campaign dinner was underway, was more specific than the last two. If your brother wins, you die. The note had been signed, of course, NAM. Gwenyth slipped the note into her purse, determined that no one—especially Sam or Harry—would read this piece of idiocy until after the election results were in. She refused to allow a bunch of simpering jerks to ruin what could very well turn out to be the highlight of her brother’s life. Taking a breath to calm down, Gwenyth did an about face and sauntered gracefully back into the spacious ballroom that had been reserved for the festive occasion of election night in the Jones camp. Gwenyth quickly assessed what everyone in the ballroom who meant anything to her was about. Harry was in his element, working the crowd with the boyish enthusiasm she adored so much. Sam was off to the side laughing it up with a football player friend from the Tampa Bay Bucs who had done a bit of rallying for Harry. Verlene and Willy were cloistered at the buffet table, where Granddad was inspecting the offerings with a magnifying glass. Candy was chatting with a fellow author, while simultaneously casting conspicuous glances toward Brian Goodman, who to everyone’s surprise except Gwen’s, had flown in for the affair. Brian was pretending to be interested in what the man speaking to him was saying, but it was obvious he was having a hard time pulling his gaze away from Candy long enough to catch much of the one-sided conversation. When Candy’s gaze at last wandered over to Gwenyth, she made her excuses to her company and strolled toward her. Gwen grinned knowingly at her best friend, finding it highly amusing how desperate Candy seemed to keep Brian at bay. Apparently the author was much more at ease with the concept of romance in her books than she was in reality. “Hey Can. I finally managed to find the time to finish The English Duke and the American Convenience Store Clerk. It was terrific.” “Yeah? You really liked it?” “Definitely. Lord Gregory was so hot.” Candy tore her gaze away from Brian. “Yeah, hot,” she muttered absently. Gwenyth smiled. She felt a matchmaking scheme taking form in her near future. “So how’s the latest novel coming along? Did you write the scene yet?” That garnered Candy’s attention like nothing else could. Complain as she might about her career, she dearly loved to talk about her projects. “Yes. And you were right. Missionary worked really well in this

instance.” Gwenyth looked thoughtful. “It somehow seems appropriate for a nun.” “Former nun. She left the sanctuary of the church after discovering that Father Donotello was really a vampire.” Gwenyth raised a brow. “I see.” Candy inclined her head toward Granddad Willy and giggled. “Look Gwen. Willy is actually stealing food and slipping it into the jacket of his tux.” Gwenyth groaned aloud. “If Harry catches him, he’ll have Granddad’s head served on the very platter he’s thieving from.” Candy laughed her throaty laugh. “It’s okay. Verlene is on the scene. I believe she just slapped Willy’s hand and scolded him thoroughly.” Gwenyth smiled. She couldn’t help it. She could envision all too well just how diligently Granddad was getting chewed out by the family matriarch. “So Gwen,” Candy mused, changing the subject, “how does it feel to be Mrs. Sam ‘The Slam’ Trevianni?” She attempted to blow a bubble, then frowned when she remembered she’d spit out her gum in time for the campaign dinner. “Pretty cool, huh?” At the mention of her husband’s name, Gwenyth immediately sought Sam out in the crowd with her gaze. He was still in the same place, Brian having joined him and the football player for a glass of champagne. The three of them were talking animatedly, apparently jesting back and forth. The sight warmed Gwenyth to her toes. “Yeah,” she admitted bemusedly, “pretty cool.” The two women ogled the trio of good-looking athletes openly. “Wow,” Candy breathed, “have you ever seen so much hunky manhood standing in one corner?” Gwenyth was looking only at her husband when she replied in the negative. “No. I can’t say that I have.” Brian caught Candy’s heated stare and grinned at her knowingly. Candy immediately whirled around and pretended not to notice. “The results should be in within a half hour,” she blurted out nervously. “I truly hope Harry wins.” “Me too.” A prolonged minute later, Candy sighed forlornly, bringing Gwenyth’s attention toward her expressive features. “I can’t believe you’re going to be living in Boston for six months of the year, Gwen. I sincerely hope Sam doesn’t mind my visiting frequently. I’ll miss you, you know.” Startled that Candy would think otherwise, she shook her head vehemently. “Of course he doesn’t mind, not that I’d care if he did. You will always be my best friend, Can. We both want you to visit Boston as often as your schedule allows.” Candy took Gwenyth’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank-you for that.” She blew out a breath and laughed without humor. “I’m jealous, you do realize.”

Gwenyth’s eyes widened. “You’re attracted to Sam?” she asked dejectedly. Candy chuckled. “Good lord, no. He’s handsome and all, but he’s always been yours, Gwen. Ever since we were kids.” She shook her head. “I meant I was jealous of Sam, not because of him.” “What do you mean?” Candy shrugged. “You’ve never been hot like this over a guy before, let alone married to one. I guess I got used to having no competition for your attention.” Gwenyth’s heart warmed at her best friend’s confession. “That is so sweet, though completely unnecessary.” She squeezed Candy’s hand. “Nothing in the whole world could change my feelings for you or my desire to spend time with you.” Candy smiled slowly. “I know,” she whispered gently. “I’m just being a selfish jerk.” A whisper of words rippled through the gathered crowd like a wave, bringing everyone’s attention toward the raised podium that had been set up for tonight. Gwenyth’s heart rate accelerated rapidly as she watched Harry take the stage, knowing at once that the call they were waiting on would come through any minute now. Harry would soon know whether or not he had emerged the victor. As Harry began speaking, Gwenyth felt Sam’s arm clasp around her shoulder in a warm embrace. She looked up at him and smiled, then turned her sights back to her brother and the humorous dialogue he was performing for his rapt audience. “I haven’t been so nervous waiting for the phone to ring since I gave Martha Tipple my number in the eighth grade,” Harry intoned with a grin. The crowd ate it up, laughing delightedly. He continued to speak, mesmerizing the audience with his every word and gesture. “I just hope I’m given better news this time around.” Sam chuckled. He leaned over and whispered in Gwenyth’s ear. “He’s gonna win, baby. I can feel it.” Gwenyth peered up at her husband and smiled. “I think so too. The wait is killing me, though.” Sam squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “We all feel it, Cupcake.” When the telephone rang a few minutes later, a hush went over the crowd. The room was so quiet, Gwenyth was certain she could have heard a pin drop. It was the human equivalent to the calm before the storm. Placing her right hand in Sam’s and her other in Candy’s, she bit on her lip as she waited for Harry to deliver the news that would turn this gathering into the atmosphere of either Mardi Gras or a funeral. “I don’t believe it.” Harry’s almost whispered words caused Gwenyth’s stomach to plummet alarmingly. Her brother’s handsome features were pale and drawn. “I don’t believe it.” Just say it! Gwenyth wanted to scream, the tension of not knowing making her edgy. If it was bad news, it needed to be delivered at once. Harry turned to the crowd and gulped, wide-eyed. He set the telephone back on its receiver and cleared his throat. “We did it,” he announced as if he couldn’t believe it, “we won.”

Cheers and laughter rang throughout the gathering as Mardi Gras ensued. Harry picked up an ecstatic Verlene and swung her around and around the podium, much to everyone’s delight. Gwenyth, Sam, and Candy threw themselves at each other, hugging and laughing. The remainder of the evening was one of the best the Jones-Trevianni family had ever spent together. Even Granddad let go of his dislike of “the establishment” long enough to Waltz with Verlene, and then with Gwenyth and Candy. He even did a little jig with Sam and Brian to the uproarious applause of the crowd. Much later that night when Sam made love to Gwenyth in their bed, Sam showed his wife the finer points of reenacting that very jig horizontally. Judging from her moans and her screamed demands for more, he sensed that his wife was an eager learner. ***** Gwenyth slipped into her jacket and tiptoed toward the front door of the apartment as quietly as was humanly possible. She was still tired from Sam’s vigorous lovemaking the night prior, but she needed to get down to the Tampa Police Department and turn in the threatening note she’d received last evening to Detective Anderson. Harry was scheduled to meet her there in forty-five minutes. Turning the knob and opening the front door with what she thought was the stealth of a jungle cat, Gwenyth was mildly surprised to hear Sam’s grumble from the vicinity of the living room entrance. “Gwenyth Marie, just where are you goin’ without tellin’ me?” Gwenyth gulped nervously as she slowly turned around to meet her husband’s unnerving stare. She was in no way ready to tell him the truth. “To get breakfast for us,” she lied. “I was, uh, hungry.” Sam folded his arms across his chest and glowered at her challengingly. “Oh really?” “Uh huh.” “Then why are you sneaking out of here like a cat burglar?” Gwenyth’s chin notched up haughtily. “I have no idea what you mean.” Sam strolled over to where Gwenyth stood casting him wary glances. “You’re the worst liar on planet earth, Gwen, which I happen to like about you.” He tweaked her topknot gently before meeting her gaze. “Now tell me the truth.” Gwenyth licked her lips as she tried to figure out a way around this new dilemma. The past couple of days as husband and wife had been pure bliss and she was reluctant to throw any wrenches into the mix that might cause Sam to do something so—well—so Sam-like. She could easily envision her new husband spending the first year of their marriage behind bars. Straightening her back rigidly, Gwenyth threw down the proverbial gauntlet and leered at Sam, all but daring him to disagree with her. “My brother and I are having breakfast.” Sam continued to glower at her. Gwenyth shuffled on her feet. “I’m going to the gym?” she squeaked out.

He said nothing. Gwenyth bit her lip. “I’m having an affair?” Sam grunted. He placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders and smoldered her with the look he typically reserved for annoying sports reporters that wouldn’t go away. “I don’t like your lyin’ to me, Gwenyth Marie. Just what is goin’ on that’s so bad, you’d rather I believe you’re sleepin’ around on me than to tell me the truth?” Gwenyth closed her eyes briefly, realizing there was no way around this. She was going to have to tell Sam the truth and pray he took it well. She shook her head and sighed. “Get dressed and I’ll tell you on the way.” “Fine. Where are we goin’?” “To the police station.”

Chapter 16 “I absolutely can’t believe that you of all people conspired against me with my wayward wife.” Sam paced recklessly back and forth as he continued to lecture Harry from the office of his campaign headquarters turned senatorial home base. “I mean, don’t you think this is the very kind of thing a man should be aware of?” Frustrated, he threw a punch at the wall. Harry, who had been pretending to clean his already immaculate fingernails, glanced up at the fresh fist-sized dent in his wall, then turned to Sam and scowled. “Gee, and I wonder why Gwen was reluctant to bring you into this.” Sam shook a finger at his brother-in-law. “Don’t test me, Harry.” Harry sighed. “I’m beginning to see why my sister sneaked off to her studio,” he muttered. “Oh she’ll be hearin’ a hell of a lot more when she gets home tonight, that I can tell you.” Harry dropped down into the nearest chair and crossed one leg over the knee of the other. “I see. So I take it you want to end up in divorce court before week one of your marriage passes by?” He rested his elbows on his leg and steepled his fingertips together. “Sam, you better calm down before you say anything more to my sister. This was precisely why she didn’t want to tell you about all the notes she’d received to begin with.” Sam gritted his teeth against the anger and desperation that was welling up inside of him. There was more to this issue than what met the eye. “I’m more hurt than anythin’ else, okay?” “Hurt?” Harry shook his head absently. “I don’t understand.”

Sam closed his eyes and distractedly massaged the bridge of his nose. He needed to get his emotions under control. Harry was right. His attitude toward Gwen had been domineering and appalling this morning. “She turned to you instead of me,” he muttered in a despondent tone. Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Is that what’s bugging you? You’re not upset about those notes?” “Oh, whoever wrote them will get his eventually—have no doubt on that score.” Sam plopped down into the chair next to Harry’s. “But no, that’s not why I’m so upset.” “Then why?” “Why do you think? I’m hurt because when my wife was in need of support she turned to her big brother instead of to her husband.” Harry snorted his disbelief. “Is that what you believe?” “It’s what happened, isn’t it?” “No. It’s not.” Sam narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Then what did happen?” Harry shook his head, clucking his tongue in a gesture of mock chastisement. He stood up and slowly paced the length of his office, his arms clasped behind his back. Sam followed him with his gaze. “First of all, Sam, you might be my sister’s husband, but you’ve been back in her life for less than two weeks and her spouse for less than three days.” Sam’s jaw went rigid. “So?” “So,” Harry continued, paying no heed whatsoever to Sam’s belligerent mood, “Gwen could only guess how you would react to those NAM notes based upon her experiences with you when you were still a kid. Until less than two weeks ago, my friend, my sister hadn’t had contact with you since you were twenty-six. And even then, she hadn’t spent real quality time with you since you were twenty-three.” Harry stopped pacing long enough to throw Sam a knowing look. “Do you remember how headstrong and temperamental you were at twenty-three? I do.” Sam nodded his head begrudgingly. He hated to admit when he was wrong, but in this instance, he was. Everything Harry said made perfect sense. “I see your point,” he muttered under his breath. “Do you? I hope so, Sam. I really do. Because I’m damn happy to have you in the family and I’d hate for you to force Gwen to run in the opposite direction merely because she was worried about you.” “Worried about me?” “Of course.” Harry slapped Sam on the back and grinned charmingly. “When I suggested on the phone this morning that she should tell you about the notes, Gwen adamantly refused to. When I questioned her further, she informed me that she could easily envision you hauling off and hitting Larry Green or Webster Carr—who we all believe to be behind the notes—then spending the first year of your marriage in the county lock-up, bumming cigarettes off of a fellow inmate named Bubba.”

Sam stopped himself from laughing, but couldn’t control the small smile that escaped him. “I don’t smoke.” Harry winked at him. “I know.” Sam sighed deeply as he stood up to take his leave. He felt like a horse’s ass, reprimanding Gwenyth the way he had after they’d left the police station. And all because he’d been jealous of her brother—his brother now. “Thank-you, Senator Jones.” He grinned boyishly. “I owe you one, Bro,” he softly admitted. Harry stood up straighter. “Senator Jones,” he repeated, letting the new title roll around on his tongue. “I confess I rather like that.” He chuckled as he walked Sam to the door. “By the way, I want to take the family out for a private victory dinner tomorrow night. Are you and Gwen game?” “Of course—” “Harry, there’s a gentleman here to see…oh, Mr. Trevianni, I didn’t realize you were still here.” Sam smiled at Harry’s personal assistant, Monique. It was obvious to everyone but Harry that the poor little thing worshipped the ground the handsome, newly elected senator walked on. Monique was small and mousy in both appearance and personality. Her hair was always pulled back into a tight, unattractive bun, with owlish glasses forever perched on the tip of her small nose. Her fashion selections, if one could call them such, were downright geeky. She reminded Sam of a female Einstein. Still, if there was one subject Sam had been well versed in before his marriage to Gwen, it was women and their potential attractiveness. And Sam could see a lot of potential in Monique—even though the hair, glasses, and god-awful clothes did a lot to disguise it. “Now Monique darlin’, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Sam? Just Sam. No Mr. Trevianni stuff, y’ hear?” Monique’s face colored slightly, but she nodded her agreement. “Yes, Mr. Trev—I mean, yes Sam.” Harry chuckled. He reached toward his assistant and patted her affectionately on the shoulder, much like one would a favorite puppy. The look on Monique’s face made Sam grimace. “Monique is like that. It took her six months before she gave up the Mr. Jones routine and called me Harry. She was raised to be a respectable Southern woman, Monique.” “Respectable Southern woman,” Monique echoed, clearly annoyed. “Yes, that’s me. Not a daring bone in my entire pathetic body.” Harry appeared not to notice anything untoward about Monique’s reply, which Sam pretty much guessed was what had her in a snit to begin with. Apparently Harry didn’t notice anything at all about his assistant on a personal level. “Well, I better be on my way.” He waggled his brows at Harry. “I have a lot of amends makin’ to do.” Harry pretended to flinch while smiling good-naturedly. “I’ll see you and Gwen tomorrow night then. Goodbye, Sam.” “Bye, Harry.” Sam inclined his head to his brother-in-law’s assistant. “Monique.” “Well then,” Harry intoned after Sam left his office, “I believe you said there is someone here to see me?”

“Yes. Mr. Camp from the Miami Herald.” Harry nodded. “Thank-you, Monique. I hope he hasn’t been waiting long?” Monique shook her head. “No. And I served him coffee and donuts, so he’s just fine.” Harry inclined his head toward his assistant, clearly approving of her actions. “Excellent thinking. What would I do without you, Monique?” Monique’s heartbeat quickened until she was certain everyone from here to D.C. could hear it thumping wildly. She smiled tremulously. “You couldn’t do without me, Harry?” she asked softly. Harry glanced at her absently. “Of course not. You are, after all, very efficient.” Monique’s face fell and her shoulders slumped. Her heartbeat returned to normal. “Yes,” she mumbled, “efficient.” ***** Sam winced at the sound of slamming cupboard doors. It wasn’t going to be as easy to smooth things over with Cupcake as he’d hoped it would be. Gwenyth was currently in the end all be all of black moods. The sight of her flared nostrils and heavy breathing—breathing that made her breasts heave up and down seductively no less—was as much a turn-on to Sam as it was a reminder of how he kept getting himself in his wife’s bad graces. And they’d only been married less than three days, he thought grimly. Gwenyth was wearing a pair of faded, worn blue jeans with a black Nike shirt that fit snugly around her breasts and hips. And no bra. Sweet Jesus, didn’t the woman understand what she did to him when she pranced around the apartment with those sweet, soft breasts bouncing and her tight nipples puckered up? Apparently not. If she did, she’d realize he was no longer in the mood to argue. “I still cannot believe you had the nerve to reprimand me in front of an outside party.” Gwenyth slammed her coffee cup down onto the kitchen counter. Reaching for the coffeepot, she shook her head and clenched her teeth. “Detective Anderson must think I’m a weak-willed, ignorant, submissive woman.” She laughed mirthlessly as she poured the Irish Creme flavored coffee into her mug. “And, of course, he’ll have to go on thinking that because unlike you, I refuse to publicly humiliate my spouse.” “Now Cupcake—” “Don’t ‘now Cupcake’ me, Sam, because I don’t want to hear it!” Gwenyth slammed the coffeepot down onto the warmer, then whipped around and eyed her husband belligerently. “But what galls me the most, what well and truly slays me, is the fact that you had the unmitigated nerve to demand that I go home and think about what I’d done.” Her nostrils flared to wicked proportions. “Ooooh that just makes me so damn mad!” Sam crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “You did go behind my back, Gwenyth Marie.” “And stop calling me Gwenyth Marie!” Gwen picked up her coffee cup and stormed from the kitchen to the living room, her husband hot on her trail. “I’m not a little girl you have the right to scold, Sam! I’m allegedly your wife, remember?”

“What do you mean ‘allegedly’?” “I mean that I’m tired of you treating me like a five-year-old! Somehow or another I actually managed to get through these past ten Sam-less years on my own without serious incident.” Sam made a rude noise. “An apparent idiocy on my part. You never, ever would have spoken to me like this ten years ago, Gwen.” Gwenyth stopped in her tracks and whirled around to confront Sam. “That’s just it! I’m not sixteen anymore! If you wanted a child bride you should have married someone a little greener and more amenable!” She slapped her mug onto the nearest table with a thud, then raged into the hallway and headed for the front door. “Where are you goin’?” Sam bellowed, rushing after her. “I’m walking over to Candy’s,” she gritted out, picking up her house keys as she continued to fume. “Like hell you are! We’re havin’ a discussion here!” “No we’re not, we’re having an argument,” Gwenyth informed him as she slipped into her black leather jacket. “An argument, I might add, that has reached a serious impasse.” Sam regarded his wife wearily. “What is that supposed to mean?” “What it means,” she countered as she swung open the front door, “is that I think you are the one who needs to sit here and think about his actions.” Gwenyth craned her neck around long enough to impale her husband with a heated gaze. “And you best figure out what you want in your life, Sam. Do you want an obsessive, doting fan that has no mind of her own and therefore does everything you say, or do you want a wife who loves you for who you are and isn’t afraid to be herself?” She shook her head sadly and took a deep breath. “Because if it’s the fan you’re wanting, I’m afraid we made one hell of a big mistake in Las Vegas.” The door slammed shut and she was gone. Sam stared at the closed door for an extended moment, uncertain as to what he should do to get Gwenyth to forgive and forget, or at least to forgive. He knew she was right. He didn’t even need to think about it to know it. Sam didn’t want a groupie for a wife. He wanted Gwen. The need to pound on something, to take out a little aggression, was foremost in Sam’s mind. It was either that or storm after his wife all the way to Candy’s apartment, which would only serve to set her further against him. Realizing the wisdom behind allowing Gwenyth time away from him, he picked up the phone and gave Brian a call, knowing his plane didn’t leave for several more hours. They could go shoot some hoops or play a little tennis—anything. Anything was better than sitting around the apartment feeling sorry for himself and worrying that his wife was starting to believe she’d been better off single.

Chapter 17 Gwenyth and Candy spent an enjoyable afternoon together. They took in a movie at a Hyde Park cinema, then lunched on salads and drank wine at an outdoor café across the street. Gwenyth smiled nostalgically as she watched the late afternoon crowds meander the streets of this small, trendy section of the city. At this time of day, the majority of the throng consisted of businessmen and women wheeling and dealing with potential clients at Happy Hour, and upper-class housewives pushing fashionable strollers into the various local shops. It was a sight Gwenyth was accustomed to, having grown up in this tiny enclave and lived here all of her life. Gwenyth finished chewing on a crouton as she gestured with her wineglass toward Candy. “So what’s the deal with you and Brian?” Candy’s face colored slightly as she blew out a bubble that made a smacking sound when it popped. “There isn’t one. Nothing has happened yet.” “Oh?” Candy sighed. “Brian’s going back to Boston tonight. He gave me his phone number and asked me to call him.” “And will you?” “I don’t know.” Candy shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know if I’m ready to have a man like Brian in my life yet.” Gwenyth grinned. She batted her eyelashes mockingly. “Yes, I can see how it would be difficult to accept the attentions of a handsome, virile man who just so happens to be a millionaire jock. You’re much better off asking out Trevor.” Candy smiled mischievously as she threw a lock of dark hair over her shoulder. Another bubble popped in its wake. “You’re in no position to give advice. I seem to recall the words ‘domineering jerk’ and ‘infuriatingly arrogant Neanderthal’ used in conjunction with Sam’s name more than once this afternoon.” Gwenyth frowned into her wineglass as she sipped from her Merlot. “That’s different. Sam and I share a colorful past,” she muttered defensively. “True.” Gwenyth sighed deeply. She had shown up at Candy’s door and nagged her to spend the afternoon together to take her mind off of her impossible husband, yet her thoughts kept straying back to him. The man could behave like a big, dumb oaf at times, but she still loved him desperately. There could never be another love in her life that held a candle to Sam. Therefore, she could only hope that her husband’s

recent primeval attitude did a complete 180—and soon—preferably before she checked into the insane asylum. Determined not to dwell on Sam while spending time with Candy, Gwenyth quickly changed the subject from the topic of relationships altogether. They spent the next hour sharing a bottle of wine and laughing uproariously with a group of tipsy businessmen at the next table who were clearly doing their best to impress the women. When a handsome corporate lawyer named Devin asked Gwenyth for her phone number, she thanked him for flattering her, but held up her ring finger and grinned. “As my Grandmama would say, this cow’s been bought.” The group of business associates laughed. Marc, a friendly accountant with aspirations of opening up his own restaurant, gestured toward Gwenyth animatedly. “That’s right. I think I saw your picture in the paper. Aren’t you the woman who married Sam Trevianni from the New England Crusaders?” Gwenyth smiled sweetly, though the last thing she wanted was to be embroiled in yet another conversation that revolved around her husband. “One in the same.” Devin whistled through his pearly white teeth. “Damn. I never even stood a chance.” The group laughed again and this time Gwenyth joined them. The conversation turned to other things after that, and before she and Candy were aware of it, another half-hour had passed. When Gwenyth next glanced toward the street, her eyes zeroed in on the sight of Sam alighting from his rental car and heading toward the group she was seated with. Her stomach lurched, knotting up at the prospect of her husband committing a big and embarrassing display of jealousy over her having shared wine with a gaggle of men he wasn’t acquainted with. Sam surprised her though. Rather than rudely pulling her to her feet and forcing her to follow behind him as she was half expecting, he smiled engagingly at Gwenyth, then leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Hi honey. Did you and Candy have a good time?” Her eyes wide with disbelief at the sincerity in Sam’s voice, she nodded her head up and down emphatically. “Y-yes, thank-you. We had a great time.” Gwenyth smiled tremulously at her husband, then introduced him to the others at the table. For the next forty-five minutes, Sam talked and laughed with Candy and the businessmen. He even seemed to take a genuine liking toward Marc. And even though half of the conversation revolved around sports talk, Gwen was delighted with her husband’s behavior. She simply couldn’t get over how charming he was being. He had even signed several autographs for the café’s various patrons. Stunned, Gwenyth threw a look Candy’s way to get her reaction. Her best friend smiled back at her, a dreamy, romantic look that spoke volumes. He’s trying, the smile said. He loves you, the smile proclaimed. Meet him half way, her eyes implored. So a few minutes later when Candy made her excuses and Sam asked Gwen if she was ready to go home, she relented with a nod and stood up to leave. Gwenyth thanked the gentlemen at the table for the bottle of wine and great conversation, then laced her fingers through her husband’s and walked toward the rental car with him. Sam opened the Lexus’ door for her, then closed it gently after she slid in.

The ride home was a quiet one, though it took only two minutes at best to get there. Sam parked the car in front of their apartment, but rather than suggesting they go inside when he shut off the ignition, he turned in his seat to face his wife. Sam ran a bedraggled hand through his black hair with a sigh. “Listen Cupcake, I want to apologize for the way I’ve been behavin’ lately.” He smiled with an air of self-depreciation as he reached for Gwenyth’s hand and clasped it gently in his own. “I know I’ve been actin’ as bad as you said and then some. I’ve been jealous, demandin’, overbearin’, and downright rude, but I’m here to tell you that I’m really workin’ on it.” Sam reached over and pulled Gwenyth onto his lap. It was a tight fit in the car, but they managed. “I need you, baby. Don’t ever think I’d rather have some fawnin’ fan for a wife than you.” Gwenyth wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck and smiled wistfully. “I love you, Sam Trevianni.” Burning sapphire eyes met sparkling jade ones as Sam searched his wife’s gaze. He wanted to say the words, almost felt as though he needed to give them to her, but couldn’t quite bring his lips to form the sounds yet. “Then kiss me, Gwen Trevianni.” His Southern lilt was gruff, his tone hoarse. “I missed you so much today.” Gwenyth turned her body all the way around in the seat to straddle Sam’s lap. The car horn let out a groan of protest when her backside accidentally brushed against it. Sam laughed, patted her lovingly on the rear, then hit the latch to the recliner and laid back. Gwenyth followed him, her pelvis grinding into her husband’s as she leaned forward to kiss him properly. Their lips came together in a sweet, agonizingly slow assault. They both needed this tonight. Slow and sensual, as opposed to fast and wicked. Tender and loving, as opposed to two animals rutting. They kissed for what could have been five minutes or an eternity and neither of them would have noticed the difference. Their mouths explored, enjoying the sweet, Merlot taste of each other’s tongues. Sam tugged at Gwenyth’s top, indicating he wanted her to rid them of the barrier. She sat up long enough to comply, pulling it over her head and throwing it into the passenger’s seat. Sam sucked in his breath. “Mmm baby, I’ve been wantin’ to see these all day long.” He grabbed one heavy breast in each hand, rubbing his thumbs over their crests. His eyes narrowed in a haze of longing. “Put them in my mouth, Gwen.” A jolt of liquid heat pooled in Gwenyth’s belly. Not only were Sam’s words provocative, but there was something altogether sexy about sitting topless before a fully clothed man. Highly aroused, she lowered her breasts toward Sam’s mouth, shivering as his tongue coiled around one taut nipple. He suckled first one peak and then the other, long and leisurely, causing Gwenyth to gasp and moan. She clutched the back of his head and shoved it more forcefully to her chest. Sam reached for her jeans and unzipped them. “I want these gone,” he gritted out. A minute later, Gwenyth straddled her husband’s lap fully naked. Groaning, Sam tugged at her nipples, his need growing stronger. “Unzip my pants,” he whispered thickly. Gwenyth complied immediately, her own need gaining momentum as she watched Sam’s hard length spring free of his jeans and jut out magnificently from its nest of black curls. “Touch him,” she heard Sam groan. His breathing was choppy, the muscles in his arms and neck corded tightly. Gwenyth did. She touched and caressed his shaft with one hand, while her other hand gently kneaded

the sac below it. Sam sucked in his breath and placed his hands behind his head, enjoying the feel of his wife’s silky hands feathering over and around him. He closed his eyes and groaned, then opened them to watch. A minute later, when the sensation became unbearable, Sam pulled Gwenyth’s hands away from his erection, not wanting to spill himself anywhere but inside of his wife’s body. Reaching around her to cradle her buttocks in his palms, he arched his hips up meaningfully. “Put him inside of you, Gwen. I can’t wait anymore.” Sam gritted his teeth as his wife’s velvety wet opening lowered on to him, inch by agonizing inch, until it was at last wrapped snugly around his erection. There was no feeling quite as pleasurable in the whole world. And when Gwen began to ride him, her succulent breasts bouncing in time with her thrusts, he could have sworn he’d died and gone to someplace better than heaven. The sight of Gwen naked, writhing, and moaning on top of his all but fully clothed form gave Sam a feeling of domination and heady power. He extended his thumb to her clitoris, swirling it around and around the hard nub while he watched his wife’s nipples harden further and her breathing grow more and more labored. “Yes,” she moaned, “Oh God yes.” Gwenyth’s climax hit her hard. She closed her eyes and reveled in the primitive sensation as she continued to ride up and down on Sam’s thick cock. Sam grabbed her hips with a growl, meeting her thrusts like a wild animal. “Faster, baby,” he gritted out, his jaw clenching. “Give it to me.” Gwenyth picked up the pace, riding up and down his impressive length harder and faster. Sam threw his head back and groaned, and with one final thrust, spurt his hot juices deep inside of her body. Gwenyth fell on top of Sam, sated and exhausted. She lay there replete, basking in the feel of his hands wandering around her backside to cup and caress, knead and rub. And five minutes later when his manhood lengthened while still inside of her, Gwenyth felt desire stir to life again. She raised her head and grinned wickedly down at her husband. “Is that for me?” she asked coyly. Sam grinned back, kneading her buttocks with his large fingers and callused palms. “All of it, sweetheart,” he rasped out. “What a thoughtful gift.” To show her appreciation, Gwenyth leaned down and kissed Sam soundly and suggestively on the lips. She sighed happily. To find a lover as skilled as her husband would be a hard thing indeed. Pun intended.

Chapter 18 The next several weeks were some of the busiest Sam and Gwen would ever know in their marriage. There were so many decisions to be had, so many things that needed to be ironed out before the end of the year.

Harry and Monique were set to leave for Washington the day after New Years. January would also take Verlene and Gwenyth to southern France to catalogue the “Touch Me” line, and of course, both of their husbands had decided to accompany them. By the time the foursome returned to the States, Gwenyth and Sam would have maybe a week or two at best before the Crusaders intense spring training season began. Then the couple would head for Boston until the regular baseball season’s end. All of this meant a lot of decisions, thus a grueling schedule for the Treviannis throughout November and December. Would they rent a bigger place in Boston or keep Sam’s old one? Where in Tampa did they want to purchase a home? Should they stay in Hyde Park or move closer to the beach? How many rooms should the house have? And didn’t that depend upon how many children they eventually wanted? Sam had insisted on eight or nine kids, but had relented in the end and begrudgingly agreed to two or three. He’d decided, though, that their oldest would be a son named Jackson, after Sam’s father. The next two would be girls, twins preferably, and the names were negotiable. Gwenyth had simply nodded, pretending to listen to her husband’s ranting—an effective way of dealing with him that she’d since learned in her seven-week-old marriage. There were also decisions to be made at Jones & Jones now that Gwenyth would be based out of Boston for six months out of every year for the next two years. Especially since Verlene planned to retire her camera after the “Touch Me” shoot and relegate her talents to the business end of their company. In the end, grandmother and granddaughter had decided to promote Gwenyth into Verlene’s position, promote Big Ed into Gwenyth’s, and hire a new assistant photographer. Interviews were currently under way. On top of all of that, Gwenyth began to suspect that she was pregnant. She hadn’t had her period in over two months, her breasts were tender and swelling, and she couldn’t brush her teeth before noontime without gagging. She would have caught on a lot sooner had the improbability of it not been higher; she did, after all, take her birth control pills consistently at the same time each day. When the family doctor confirmed Gwenyth’s suspicion, she swore Dr. DuBois—who also happened to be Verlene’s closest friend—to secrecy, wanting to wait and share the incredible news with her family on Christmas Eve. This new development invariably meant that there were more decisions to be had, but she was too overcome with joy to care. She and Sam hadn’t planned to have children until his two-year obligation in Boston was fulfilled, but Gwenyth knew he’d still be ecstatic when he found out. Amidst all the planning and working, Gwenyth and Sam still found time to have fun together. Lazy breakfasts that typically ended in passionate lovemaking, leisurely lunches around town that also generally culminated in passionate lovemaking, and expensive, decadent dinners that, of course, inevitably ended in passionate lovemaking. Gwenyth had no doubts as to how she’d become pregnant so soon in her marriage. Her husband was much like a wild animal in heat. The Treviannis, however, still managed to do a lot of things together besides make love. They took in shows at the Tampa Performing Arts Center, shopped together at the St. Petersburg Pier, strolled hand-in-hand down Clearwater beach collecting shells and enjoying the breeze off the Gulf, and one of the museums in St. Petersburg had an early Roman-period ruins exhibit which Sam had insisted the entire family attend on opening night. Gwenyth and Sam had returned to view it twice more since then. The only situation that possessed the ability to cast a shadow over a marriage that was otherwise sturdily growing happier every passing day, was Detective Anderson’s as of yet stagnant progress concerning the threatening NAM notes. That, and the fact that Sam still hadn’t told Gwenyth that he loved her yet.

Gwenyth took her husband’s stubbornness with a grain of salt, however, since she pretty much knew he was in love with her anyway. His actions spoke louder than words ever could, though she was in touch with her emotions enough to realize that she still longed to hear him actually admit to it out loud. She figured it was only a matter of time now before Sam’s stubbornness came to an end. The threatening notes, on the other hand, showed no signs of stopping. Gwenyth received three more of them before the Christmas season closed in, which only served to infuriate Sam beyond reason. On the last occasion, a week after Thanksgiving, Sam had ranted and raved during the entire trip back to their apartment. Gwenyth had gently pointed out to her husband the futility in getting angry, to which Sam had responded, “yeah, but it sure as all hell makes me feel better.” So because it did, Gwenyth did her wifely duty and listened to him gripe for hours at a time whenever a new note arrived. She didn’t take the notes seriously in the least, but she knew her husband did, so she tried to be supportive. A few days before Christmas, Gwenyth and Candy plunked down into Candy’s SUV to drive over to the house the Treviannis had purchased only a week past. The old owners were packed and gone as of midnight last night and Gwenyth and Sam were anxious to move in. Sam wanted their first official night in the house to commence on Christmas Eve, which was only two days away. Gwenyth had told him he was being overly ambitious, but Sam had grown stubborn, insisting that he and Harry could get it done. Much to Gwenyth’s surprise, it looked as though Sam’s timetable was going to be workable. She had to hand it to her husband…he had said he and Harry would get the job done while Gwenyth was working and get the job done they had. The only things left to move in were possessions of aesthetic value, such as Sam’s collection of Egyptian and Greek paintings and sculptures and Gwenyth’s boxes of fragiles. Tomorrow would be set aside for unpacking enough boxes to make the house live-in-able. If her husband played as relentlessly on the ball field as he did in real life, she now understood why he was the Crusaders most esteemed hitter. Candy started the ignition of her apple red SUV, then pulled out of Gwenyth’s soon-to-be former driveway. Smiling brightly, she glanced over at her best friend who was sitting in the passenger seat. “I’m so glad you two decided to stay in Hyde Park. I know Clearwater Beach is only a half hour drive, but it’s just too far.” Gwenyth chuckled. “Sam and I felt the same way. He didn’t want to be so far removed from our family and friends either.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Especially now that he has found another lover of archeology in that accountant Marc we introduced him to.” “Marc, that’s right. Him and Sam are pretty tight now, huh?” “And Harry too. They think they’re the Three Musketeers or something.” Chuckling, Candy stopped at the red light. “What about that lawyer guy, Devin?” “What about him?” “He’s been to your apartment a couple of times with Marc.” Gwenyth grew thoughtful as she considered that fact. “True, but somehow he’s remained the outsider.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I get the impression that Marc pretty much brings him along because he’s too easy going to hurt Devin’s feelings, but I don’t think Marc particularly cares for his company. Sam either for that matter.”

“I wonder why that is.” An unladylike snort erupted from Gwenyth. “There is something strange about that man.” An inexplicable shiver trickled down the length of her spine, inducing Gwenyth to rub the goose pimples from her upper arms. “There’s something very calculating about him, something…arrgh! Who knows! I know it’s something I can’t put a name to.” Candy blew out a bubble and let it pop before responding. “No problem.” She eased her foot from the brake pedal when the light turned green. Signaling, she then veered into the left lane to make a turn at the next intersection. “We’re almost there now. And by the way, your new house is a dream, Gwen.” Gwenyth chuckled. She shifted in her seat to keep the seatbelt from cutting her across the shoulder. “Yeah. And one I never would have been able to afford on my own for many, many years down the road.” Candy smiled bemusedly as she chewed on her gum, her violet eyes twinkling. “Uh huh. I know. I wouldn’t complain, though. The houses on Bayshore are the nicest in the city.” Gwenyth considered that for a moment. Eventually, she nodded her agreement. “They are elegant.” “Try ‘decadent’.” Gwenyth laughed. “That’s my husband. Sam ‘The Decadent’ Trevianni.” Glancing out of the side mirror, she narrowed her eyes to a squint and frowned thoughtfully. “Is it just me or has that white sedan been following us?” Candy shot her gaze into the rearview mirror, her gum chewing momentarily halted. “Hmm, you’re right. It’s been behind us the whole way.” Gwenyth bit her lip. “Pretty strange seeing as how the streets in the village are one twist and turn after the other. You think?” Candy blew out a breath as she considered that. “We’re probably both being totally paranoid, but let’s see what happens.” “What do you mean?” Candy made a left turn. “I’m going to zigzag around the neighborhood and see how much longer the sedan keeps up with us.” “Good idea.” Gwenyth studied her side mirror, waiting for the visual confirmation that would tell her whether or not they were being followed. “Wasn’t there a scene like this in one of your books, Can?” Candy made an abrupt right turn. Her eyes widened in dismay when the white sedan trailed a ways behind, but stayed within their sights. “Yeah. It was in The Courting of Constance,” she breathed out. Gwenyth squeezed her hands together. The nails bit into her palms as the sedan followed them through yet another turn. “I forget how it ended. What happened?” Two more turns. The sedan remained on track. This was too much coincidence. Candy’s hands began

to tremble along with her voice. “Constance was being stalked by a madman, a subject of Bulgaria who felt it was her fault that Prince Demetri might be forced to give up the crown to be with her.” Gwenyth’s lips went dry. They were nearly as white as the sedan that, unbelievably, followed them in yet another series of turns. “Sort of how my photographs might have forced the former Senator Green from his throne?” she asked hesitantly. “Something like that.” Staring into the rearview mirror, Candy made an abrupt right turn and then another left. “This isn’t coincidence anymore, Gwen. Hang on to your seatbelt. I’m going to ditch this guy.” “What do you meeeeeeeeeean—Candy! You’re going about a zillion miles an hour! We’re going to die! We’re going to crash and die!” Candy glanced into her rearview mirror. “No we’re not,” she insisted firmly. “We’re going to lose this guy.” She pushed up her sleeves to just above the elbows as an alarming glint Gwenyth recognized all too well shimmered in her eyes. Candy’s excitement was terrifyingly palpable. “Those drag racing lessons I took are finally going to pay off,” she murmured. Gwenyth clutched her hand to her throat. “Lord help us,” she choked out. “Relax, Gwen. Just think Thelma and Louise, okay?” The movie’s ending flashed through Gwenyth’s mind. She seemed to recall that the women raced the authorities to the edge of a cliff in the Grand Canyon then subsequently chose to plummet to their deaths rather than be apprehended. Gwenyth decided she didn’t care for the comparison. “Oh God.” Candy, however, was in her element. She rolled down the driver’s side window long enough to spit out her bubble gum and pop a fresh piece into her mouth. An unholy grin showed on her face as the SUV picked up more speed. “He’s trying to keep up with me, but I’ve got him just where I want him,” she snorted. “Nobody knows these roads as well as two outlaws like us.” Gwenyth clutched the dashboard as her life passed before her eyes. “We’re not outlaws! I’m a photographer and you’re a romance author!” Candy shrugged absently. Nothing could dissuade her now. “Thelma was a housewife and Louise was a waitress. Stranger things have happened.” “They aren’t real! They are two figments from some writer’s vivid imagination! Let’s not die as a tribute to it!” The next sharp turn would have caused a driver who hadn’t briefly joined the racing circuit to lose control of the car. Gwenyth idly considered the fact that she would probably lose control of her lunch. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on breathing. “Just tell me when it’s over!” ***** When Sam was driving back with Harry and Marc from having picked up take-out dinners for everybody to indulge in, the last thing he or his friends had expected to see was Gwenyth and Candy racing by them so quickly it made their heads spin. When he considered the brief glance he’d gotten at his wife’s wide-eye expression coupled with Candy screaming “hiiii-yeeeeeee!” like some hell-bent

Apache warrior from an Old West movie, he knew there was trouble brewing on the horizon. “What the hell are they doing?” Harry bellowed. “Are they trying to get themselves killed?” Marc pointed toward a white sedan hot on the women’s trail, doing its damnedest to keep up, but failing. “Look at that car lagging behind them. I think we’d better follow.” A cold sensation slammed into Sam’s gut. He didn’t want to consider the fact that the white sedan and the threatening notes might be connected. Cursing, Sam made a sharp turn that sent his brand new, day old Mercedes barreling in the direction of his wife and Candy and the white car. “Be careful,” Harry said from the backseat in his usual controlled tone. His hands clutched onto the bags of food containing their dinners. “You’re going to spill the raspberry-almond sauce that goes on our salads.” Sam shot Harry a sour look through the rearview mirror. “I think I’m more worried about the white sedan following my wife!” Harry’s head snapped to attention. “What?” Sam followed Candy and the white car into another series of high-speed turns. “Didn’t you hear what Marc said? That car is following Gwenyth and Candy!” “Oh no.” Harry swallowed nervously. “We can always get more raspberry-almond sauce,” he concluded in what Gwen often referred to as his senatorial tone. “Catch my sister, damn it!” “What do you think I’m tryin’ to do?!” “Will you two shut-up!” Marc heatedly chastised. He waved his hand toward the white sedan. “Get as close as you can, Sam. I want to take down the license plate number.” “Good idea.” “Yes,” Harry agreed, “a very good idea.” Thinking more on the subject, he frowned slightly. “And if the raspberry-almond sauce soils my clothing, I plan to sue the pants off of that guy.” “Would you forget about the damn sauce already!” Sam growled. Spitting out a string of inventive curses, he made another sharp turn. “Sweet Jesus, Candy can drive like a bat out of hell.” “She once took drag racing lesson,” Harry added helpfully. “Oh great,” Sam drawled out, “as if I wasn’t worried enough.” “I can almost make out the plate number,” Marc announced, his eyes squinting slightly for a better focus. “Just another foot or two, Sam.” Sam nodded implacably. “I’m tryin’. Give me a few seconds.” “Got it!” Marc jotted the number down on the upside of his hand. “Good,” Sam spat out, his jaw rigid, “because now I’m goin’ to make this guy wish he’d never laid eyes

on my wife.” Harry’s green gaze widened considerably. He’d known Sam for twenty-one years and the icy light in his brother-in-law’s eyes didn’t bode well. “What do you mean?” he asked hoarsely. Sam’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Think Thelma and Louise, my friend.” “They were women!” “Oh well.” Marc’s tie inexplicably tightened of its own accord. He reached up to tug at it. “Just what are you saying here—Saaaaaaaaaaam!” Harry clapped a hand to his forehead. “There goes the goddamn raspberry-almond sauce.”

Chapter 19 “It’s no wonder that opposites attract.” Wearily, Harry closed his eyes while Monique stood behind him massaging his temples and fussing over him. “If two people like Sam and Candy ever got together, World War III would ensue.” Grinning, Sam winked at Candy. “Brian Goodman is as stable as Gwen, Can.” He waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “You still have his phone number?” Blowing out a bubble, Candy flipped Sam the bird, then stood up to go help Marc warm up dinner in the kitchen. Sam and Gwenyth laughed as they watched her shuffle away. Gwenyth could only hope that Candy relented and called Brian soon. She had a feeling the duo would be great together. After Candy disappeared into the kitchen, Gwenyth turned her attention toward another pair of opposites who was suitably matched. Trouble was, Harry hadn’t figured out exactly how well suited he and Monique truly were yet. She sighed. Her brother was a terrific guy and Gwenyth was certain he’d make a hell of a good senator, but when it came to women, the man was as blind as she didn’t know what. Of course, Gwenyth mused, it would help matters considerably if Monique at least attempted to pretty herself up. Poor woman obviously didn’t know the first thing about flirting and seducing. And that was a definite shame; especially in light of the fact that the first person Harry had called after leaving the events of this evening behind was his assistant. Come to think of it, her brother always turned to Monique when he needed comforting. Even now, Monique was standing behind Harry, coddling him with her hands and cooing to him with her voice. Rather than turning away from her ministrations, Harry was nuzzling his face closer, like a kitten that wants petted. Gwenyth stifled a chuckle; Monique was shy enough as it was without being made to feel embarrassed about her seemingly instinctive behavior.

Clearing her throat, Gwenyth turned toward her husband, who was watching Harry and Monique with a bemused expression on his face, and smiled. “Detective Anderson said he would call as soon as he got an ID on the plate, right?” A frown marred Sam’s face, making Gwenyth wonder if she should have reminded him of the day’s earlier events. “Yeah. And I for one can’t wait to get some answers.” Clutching his wife’s hand in his own, he peered harshly into her eyes. “I about had a heart attack when I realized what was goin’ on, Gwen. That man, whoever he is, is damn lucky he decided to break off his pursuit of you, otherwise I can’t say what I’d have done when I got my hands on him.” Sam drew in a breath to steady his nerves. In the hour since the police detective had left, there had already been several moments when he’d silently wondered if he had made the right decision by letting the white sedan get away rather than chasing it down. Sam’s only thought at the time had been to make sure Gwen was unhurt. Deep down he realized that he couldn’t have done anything else, but the vengeful part of him wished he’d followed the sedan. “I don’t want you goin’ anywhere alone until this guy’s caught, Gwen.” He slashed his hand tersely through the air. “End of story, no discussion.” Gwenyth merely patted his hand and nodded—a gesture Sam had come to realize meant his wife was humoring him. His gaze narrowed. “I’m serious Gwen.” He threw his hand toward Harry and Monique. “Don’t try to coddle me like she’s doin’ to your brother.” Harry opened one eye and scowled at Sam. “She is not coddling me,” he bit out. Monique ran her fingers through Harry’s silky light-brown hair until he closed his eye again, purring his contentment. “I never coddle him,” she insisted stiffly, blushing all the while. “It’s just that Harry’s is a very delicate soul and he needs to be treated accordingly.” Sam lowered his eyes to the ground to keep from laughing. That Harry was over six feet tall and thickly muscled, no doubt outweighing Monique by close to a hundred pounds, gave her impassioned plea an ironic ring to it. “Delicate?” Harry’s eyes flew open in alarm. His masculinity clearly affronted, he grabbed Monique’s slight wrist and frowned. “I am a man. I am not delicate. Not by any stretch of the imagination.” Monique smiled wistfully, apparently a pro at dealing with the senator’s reactions. “I didn’t mean physically, Harry, and I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” She gently released her wrist from his tight grip and continued her fussing. “It’s just that I know how much you care for Gwen and how frightened you were for her.” She sighed dreamily. “It’s your heightened sensitivity that makes you the perfect man to represent Florida in Washington.” Appeased, Harry grunted. He closed his eyes again and allowed Monique to work her magic on his temples and scalp. With an amused shake of her head, Gwenyth decided not to comment on the spectacle the pair made. Monique was going to have to realize for herself that Harry would never notice her as a woman until she stopped mothering him. Gwenyth just wished she could be a fly on the wall the day her brother finally did realize it. Turning toward her husband to meet his disgruntled gaze, Gwenyth smiled reassuringly. “I wasn’t trying to placate you, Sam. I was merely being supportive.” She rolled her eyes with a chuckle and amended

her statement. “Okay, maybe I was trying to placate you, but unless they catch this guy tonight, it’s going to be impossible for me to keep an escort at all times.” “You’ll manage.” Gwenyth shook her head with a sigh. “What about work?” “I’ll take you.” “And you plan to stay, to watch over me for the length of an entire shoot?” Sam shrugged dismissively. “That goes without sayin’.” Gwenyth was about to comment on the implausibility of that plan, when Candy yelled from the vicinity of the kitchen that dinner was ready. She patted her husband on the knee before taking to her feet. “We’ll talk about this later, Sam.” Sam smiled sweetly. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Gwenyth narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are you trying to placate me?” “Nah, baby, I’m just bein’ supportive.” ***** It took all of an hour into the following day’s photo shoot for Gwenyth to rapidly tire of her husband’s brand of support. The Prima Donna modeled swimwear one time and suddenly he knew her job better than she did. Annoyed, Gwenyth gritted her teeth as she watched her husband make suggestions to the male model she was photographing for a New York based men’s underwear line. Making matters worse, it was apparent that her model Claude was actually paying attention to her husband’s idiotic advice. “I know what you’re thinkin’,” Sam reasoned aloud as he rubbed his chin and regarded Claude. “You’re thinkin’ that the women who read this catalog will want to see more of you, not less of you, but there’s where you’re wrong C-man.” Sam propped his leg up on the chair next to Claude and impaled him with his icy blue orbs. “Leave somethin’ to the imagination is what I’ve always said.” He splayed his hands at his sides. “Kinda like a family motto.” Thoroughly exasperated, Gwenyth rolled her eyes. It couldn’t be more obvious to her that Sam was jealous of the younger model. His possessiveness apparently taking over what was left of his brain, his only thought was to keep the perfectly honed man fully clothed in his wife’s presence. “But Mr. Trevianni,” Claude stammered out, “if I wear my blue jeans, how will anyone know what the underwear beneath it looks like?” Gwenyth folded her arms under her breasts and smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Yes, Claude, a fine point you’ve made.” Blinking sweetly, she gestured towards her husband. “Sam?” A muscle in Sam’s jaw ticked, but other than that, he showed no outward signs of defeat. “You see, this is where you’re both wrong,” he ground out. “It won’t matter a lick to the readers. It will only heighten their curiosity, makin’ them wonder what the ‘Georgie-Boy Gee-String’ really looks like under the

jeans.” Claude seemed to consider that notion, albeit briefly. “But I think George Finklestein from Georgie-Boy Underthings wants photographs of his wife’s creations.” He smiled brightly. “She’s already a sensation in Europe, you know.” Sam gritted his teeth in an effort to stop himself from wrapping the damned gee-string in question around Claude’s throat and wrenching it tightly. “What does George Finklestein know ‘bout what women want to see?” he roared belligerently. Gwenyth raised a regal brow. “His underwear line was voted #1 by women readers in five different magazines last year.” Sam deflected that comeback with a wave of his hand. “What do women know ‘bout what they want to see?” Huffing, Gwenyth decided that enough was enough. “Out.” Glowering at her husband, she pointed toward the studio door. “Now.” “Excuse me?” “Please, Sam.” She implored him with her eyes. “Let me finish my job here so we can go home and celebrate Christmas Eve with the family, okay?” Muttering something about stay-at-home wives and what a man really needs, Sam finally relented with a begrudging nod. “Alright,” he growled, “but make this quick. And Claude!” he snapped. “Sir?” “Make sure you keep the family jewels in the safe deposit box.” Chapter 20 Christmas Eve had always meant food, family, and friends at the Jones estate and this Christmas Eve was no different. Willy and Verlene hosted a holiday dinner that could put Martha Stewart to shame. Turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, collared greens, yams, cakes and pies—they had it all. And again as always, each of the grandchildren brought a guest with them. Harry brought Monique, Gwenyth brought along Candy, and Sam invited Marc. The eight of them gathered around the dining room table, and after Willy said grace, they proceeded to eat until they were all close to busting at the seams. Sam, who had looked forward to Christmas Eve dinners with the Jones’ since he was a kid, had an even better time of it this year than he’d had back then. Perhaps it was because, as an adult, he was now better able to appreciate the close-knit family gatherings. Or perhaps it was because his marriage to Gwen made him feel as though he truly belonged here. Either way, Sam mused, it didn’t matter. What was important was the fact that they were all here, celebrating the holidays together. “So Marc,” Granddad Willy began as he scooped out a helping of his wife’s mashed potatoes and gravy onto his plate, “I understand you’re an accountant, son.”

“Yes sir, I am.” “Good field?” Marc grinned engagingly. “Monetarily, yes. Unfortunately, it’s also quite boring.” The guests at the table laughed. Sam gave Marc a good-natured slap on the back. “To be honest, Willy, Marc and I are talkin’ ‘bout openin’ up our own restaurant when my contract with the Crusaders is up.” Willy grunted. “Ain’t that what all retired ball players do, son?” Sam smiled, unashamed. “Yep. I’m thinkin’ so.” He held his hands out, palms up, as if surrendering to the inevitable. “Who am I to alter tradition?” Verlene chuckled. The Jones family matriarch looked radiant tonight in her red and green outfit that matched her husband’s. But whereas Granddad Willy’s holiday ensemble, which consisted of green trousers and a red tee-shirt that read, Come sit on Santa’s lap, made him look like a perverted caricature of Santa Clause, Verlene still managed to reek of elegance. “Who indeed. What sort of a restaurant are you two boys planning to open up?” Sam squirmed restlessly in his seat. He and Marc had only discussed the preliminaries, so he hadn’t yet mentioned any of this to Gwenyth. Sam could only hope that his wife would be supportive instead of feeling slighted in the decision-making process. He cleared his throat. “Well to be honest, this is all in the rough draft stage, but since Marc and I are both fans of archeology, we were thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ along those lines.” Gwenyth’s fork came to a halt halfway in between her plate and her mouth. “No kidding? You’ve never mentioned this to me before.” To Sam’s relief, his wife’s reaction was one of interest instead of anger. He let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding in. “Like I said, Cupcake, it’s still in the plannin’ stages. I didn’t want to say anything about it until we had more to go on.” Gwenyth waved that statement away with a flick of her wrist. “Don’t be silly. Tell us what the two of you are thinking about.” Candy glanced up from the rather serious job of buttering a roll. “Yeah Sam, tell us.” Harry scratched his chin. He absently noted that Monique was cutting up his ham into bite-sized pieces for him to eat before he turned to Sam and Marc and inclined his head. “I might be interested in getting in on this. Lord knows I need something to fall back on.” Gwenyth giggled. “True. It’s not like my brother has a steady job. Every two years, he faces getting the boot.” Sam grinned. Gesturing toward Marc, he indicated that the floor was all his. “You tell ‘em.” Apparently delighted with the topic, Marc proceeded to enlighten the group with an excited air about him. “It’s true that a lot of ball players open up restaurants, but those pubs tend to be sports bars. Well not us. We are going to open up a bar and grille with the theme being—are you ready for this? Dead civilizations!”

The table grew quiet. There was an embarrassed pause before the silence was broken. “What are you boys sayin’? Willy asked. “The waitresses are gonna be walkin’ around dressed as pharaohs, or wearin’ togas, or somethin’?” “No we’re not sayin’ that at all!” Sam countered defensively. “Well, maybe we are. Is that such a bad idea?” he asked combatively. Gwenyth swirled apple juice around in her cup as she considered that. “Perhaps not,” she said thoughtfully. “I admit that the idea takes some getting used to, but let’s face it, part of owning a successful establishment these days comes from being able to stand out from everybody else.” “True.” Harry seconded that notion with a nod of his head. “The more I think on it, the more I know I want in on this.” His eyes lit up with a boyish excitement. “Even the rooms could be different themes.” Marc smiled, his own sense of excitement showing. “An Egyptian room, a Greek room…” “A Roman room,” Sam added. “You could build by the beach,” Candy enthused. “This is Florida,” Verlene gracefully intoned, “tackier things have been done.” Gwenyth grinned at her husband, her dimples popping out seductively. “Tourists love tacky, Sam.” Sam shook his head and laughed. “Believe it or not, we don’t want to be tacky. We were thinkin’ of havin’ the eatin’ rooms in different themes, but the waiters and waitresses would be dressed up like explorers, not wearin’ togas or anything like that.” Willy harrumphed, but admitted the idea had possibilities. “Y’all have a long while to work out the particulars, but it does sound like a plan.” The group talked enthusiastically about the tentative restaurant while Gwenyth worried her bottom lip. She wondered how Sam would take to the idea of fatherhood now that he apparently had other things he wanted to do when he retired. After all, she could hardly take a baby on a photo shoot. Would Sam be willing to watch their unborn child at his restaurant? Briefly succumbing to a newfound hesitancy to tell him her news, Gwenyth mustered her courage and plowed full speed ahead. “I have an announcement to make.” The table’s guests stopped what they were doing and regarded Gwenyth speculatively. She swallowed nervously, noting that even mousy little Monique had looked up from her rather adorable task of tucking Harry’s napkin onto his lap. Sparing the gathering one last glance, Gwenyth turned in her seat and smiled serenely at her husband. She didn’t see any point in dragging the pronouncement out. “I’m pregnant.” Forks clanged against plates as they dropped from stunned hands. Laughter and energetic “congratulations” rose throughout the room. But Gwenyth had eyes only for Sam. Biting down hard on her lip, she watched the expressions that passed over his face as if in slow motion. First there was shock, then surprise, and if her senses didn’t fail her, Gwenyth was certain she was now looking at elated happiness.

“Gwen, are you serious?” Sam clutched his wife’s hand in his own and squeezed it. “We’re gonna have a baby?” Gwenyth nodded up and down, smiling brightly. “I’m gonna be a daddy?” Sam lilted out shrilly, his eyes exultant. “A father?” She nodded again. Verlene dabbed at her watering eyes, then did the same for her husband. Clutching Willy’s hand in her own, she waited to see her grandson-in-law’s reaction. It wasn’t long in coming. Sam jumped up out of his seat with a whoop, plucked his wife up out of hers, and swung her into his arms with a laugh. “A baby! We’re gonna have a baby!” The Treviannis heard the cheers and the laughter and they knew that their family and friends were nearly as excited as they were, but they had eyes only for each other. “This won’t get in the way of your restaurant plans?” Gwenyth asked hesitantly. “Are you kiddin’, woman?” Sam hooted. “My babies go where their daddy goes!” Tell me you love me, Sam. “I’ve made you happy then?” “I’m the happiest man alive.” But do you love me? “Really?” “Really, Cupcake.” Sam pulled his wife closer into his side as he accepted the toast Harry was making for them with a jubilant expression arresting his features. Gwenyth offered him a tentative smile in return, wishing she could feel as wonderful about this as her husband obviously was. Sam Trevianni might not find anything amiss about bringing a baby into the world when he wasn’t capable of verbally expressing his love for another human being, but Gwenyth Jones Trevianni certainly did. ***** Sam just couldn’t stop grinning. He realized he was no doubt smiling like a simpleton, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He was going to be a father, a real live, honest to goodness daddy. He couldn’t remember ever being happier. Sam strolled into the living room with two logs under his arms, whistling an animated Harry Connick Jr. tune. The living room was the only area of their new house that didn’t still have boxes piled up all over the place, so he and Gwenyth had opted to spend the night together in a sleeping bag before the fireplace. Sam smiled in anticipation of what was going to transpire in that very sleeping bag once he got the fire blazing. “It’s a cold Florida night tonight, Cupcake. The thermometer out back reads 42 degrees.” Sam threw the logs onto the fire and watched the flames of the already kindled wood begin to lick at the new ones. Satisfied, he turned around to regard his wife. “Cupcake?” His muscled thighs squatted down to where Gwenyth sat, staring into the flames. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Gwenyth blinked a few times in rapid succession, as if she hadn’t been aware of the fact that Sam was in the room talking to her. Not ready to discuss her thoughts, she smiled up at him instead. “Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing at all.” Sam didn’t buy her smooth dismissal for a New York minute. Grunting, he reached out for her small hands and warmed them with his two large ones. “Don’t give me that, Gwenyth Marie. Now tell me what’s botherin’ you.” Suddenly worried that she didn’t want to carry their baby, his throat went dry. “You do want to have our little one, don’t you, Gwen?” Gwenyth snapped out of her dismal thoughts and scowled at her husband. “Of course I do!” Sam released an audible breath. He was glad to hear his wife’s heated denial, but he also wanted to get to the bottom of whatever it was that was bugging her. “Baby, you’ve been quiet ever since you announced the fact that you’re pregnant. What’s wrong? And don’t insult my intelligence by tellin’ me nothing because I know that’s a lie.” He squeezed her hands reassuringly, then added, “so tell me.” Gwenyth mentally counted to ten. She absolutely did not want to have this conversation. She did not want to tell her husband that she was worried about their baby’s emotional health before he or she was even born. On the other hand, Sam looked truly worried, and she didn’t want that either. She did love her husband, even if the stubborn man refused to acknowledge that he felt the same way about her. “Are you going to tell our child that you love it, or will you just expect it to know?” she asked quietly. Sam’s eyes widened considerably. Suddenly, he felt nervous. “Come again?” Gwenyth’s hands balled into fists as she thrust them to her sides. She’d already taken the cat out of the bag, so to speak, so there was little use in backing away from the conversation now. “A baby needs to hear that they are loved, Sam. Will you tell our son or daughter how much they mean to you, or will you refuse to share those feelings with them, the same as you refuse to share them with me?” Sam flinched at Gwenyth’s accusatory tone. She had the right of it, he knew, for they’d been married almost two months and he’d yet to say the binding words to her. Why that was, he had no idea. Oh, he’d been cautious in the beginning, not wanting to verbally relinquish all claims to his heart until he knew for certain that Gwenyth felt the same way about him as he felt about her, but he’d figured out that she did weeks ago. A fact that never failed to amaze Sam. He had flown the coop and stayed out of Gwenyth’s life for ten years, then sauntered back in as bold as he pleased. He had coerced and manipulated his wife into speaking her vows at the altar, yet he was as sure of her love now as he was certain that the sun would rise tomorrow morning. Sam released Gwenyth’s hands in favor of scratching his chin. He took in his wife’s expression—a curious mixture of resignation and fury—and felt his stomach flip over. What a coward he had been! And now when he wanted to shout it to the heavens that he was in love with his wife, he was afraid Gwenyth would think he was saying it only because of the baby they’d made together and not because he genuinely felt it. “Cupcake, we need to talk.” Gwenyth unballed her hands, then folded her arms under her breasts and nodded. “Okay, so talk.” “It’s not easy for me to admit when I’m wrong, Gwen, but I’m admittin’ it here and now. I was wrong.” Sam took a deep breath, expelled it, and plowed on. “If you even get it in your mind that I’m sayin’ what

I’m ‘bout to say because of our child, then I’m goin’ to turn you over my knee and spank you because that’s not the case.” Sam unfolded Gwenyth’s arms from her chest and picked each hand up for a quick, but meaningful kiss. “I love you, Gwenyth Marie Trevianni. I’ve loved you since I was a boy, I never stopped lovin’ you all those ten years while we were apart, and I’ll go on lovin’ you for the rest of my life.” Sam squeezed her hands as if afraid to let go. His eyes begged her, pleaded with her to understand. “Please tell me you believe me, Gwen. I love you so much, baby. I’ve been a fool and I know it, but I’m a fool who loves you.” Gwenyth’s breath caught in her throat. She searched her husband’s eyes and found nothing but honesty and earnestness there. How could she not believe him? She’d been certain of Sam’s feelings for her since the day they’d spoken their vows in Las Vegas. Maybe even before that. Her self-confidence might have wavered a time or two, but deep down she’d always known that Sam cared her. And if her husband was now able to admit to love, then she must be doing something right as his wife. Apparently he had finally figured out that her love was unconditional. Gwenyth clutched Sam’s chin in between both hands and smiled tremulously at him. “I believe you. And I love you too, Sam Trevianni. From the age of five until the day I die, I love you.” “Oh, sweetheart…” “Yes, Sam?” Gwenyth gazed into his eyes. She sensed that Sam had more to say and found herself unwilling to wait to hear it. She wanted to know everything he felt, to relish hearing the words, to— “I’ve got a big-time hard-on,” he rasped. Gwenyth blinked, her smile faltering somewhat. “Y-You what?” Sam pressed his wife’s hands against his erection and groaned. “All this love talk is makin’ me hot, Cupcake.” Gwenyth’s jaw went slack. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, she opted for the former. Throwing her head back, Gwenyth laughed harder and more merrily than she’d laughed in a long time. “What the hell is so funny?!” “Nothing.” Gwenyth shook her head and giggled as she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Nothing at all.” She kissed her husband on the jaw, a gigantic smooching sound left in its wake. “Come down here on the sleeping bag, Sam. All this love talk is getting me hot too.” Sam didn’t need to be asked twice when it came to making love with his wife—one of his finer points as a husband, he was always telling Gwen. Within a minute, he had them both naked and panting. Seconds later, he thrust forward, sheathing himself fully into his wife’s heat with one velvet plunge. “Mmm baby, I love this pussy.” Sam rode Gwenyth’s body lovingly, each stroke and rotation of his hips designed to make her wild. He succeeded admirably. When she arched her back and screamed her exultation to the rafters of their new home, Sam followed quickly on her heels; he threw his head back and depleted himself into her body.

With a satisfied growl, Sam heaved his heavy body from off of his wife’s and flopped onto the sleeping bag beside her. Pulling her toward him, he burrowed Gwenyth into the cradle of his arm and sighed happily. Sam smiled up at the ceiling. This love business was pretty damn cool.

Chapter 21 Nothing on earth could have made Gwenyth happier than hearing Sam say I love you. She constantly reminded herself of that fact over the next few weeks, as his style of loving made him more fiercely protective than normal. Normal, she thought grimly, was pretty bad unto itself. More than normal, therefore, was downright suffocating the life out of her. Added into the equation was the fact that she was pregnant. To hear Sam tell it, or to see the way he treated her, one would mistakenly believe that Gwenyth Jones Trevianni was the first woman in history to carry a baby. Every time she turned around the man was shoving vitamins down her throat or taking her temperature—she had no idea why he did that—or making her lie down so he could read books about ancient Egypt to her womb. She could only hope the baby wasn’t as bored as she was. It was bad enough when Sam acted up at home, but when he started in with his antics while they were on location for Jones & Jones, specifically during the cataloguing of the “Touch Me” line in Aix-en-Provence, Gwenyth was livid. How could she expect anyone to take her role as a professional photographer seriously if her coddling husband was always trailing behind her, treating her like a china doll? “Take your vitamins, Cupcake,” he would nag at her in front of others. Or, “don’t forget to guzzle down that water. Clean urine is happy urine, I always say.” And then there was the time that Sam had shown copies of her ultrasound pictures to everybody on the set. Gwenyth still shuttered at the memory. Her husband had actually discussed her placenta and amniotic fluid with virtual strangers. Worse yet, Sam had pointed out a tiny little protrusion on the baby’s photographic image that he had insisted was a sign his son would be as well-endowed as his father. Red-faced, Gwenyth had reminded him that Dr. DuBois wouldn’t be able to determine the baby’s gender for another couple of weeks. Sam had waved away her comment insisting that a father knows more than a mere doctor. Luckily, a few men on the set had agreed with him, including Gwenyth’s employer, an arrogant French entrepreneur who was known in the world of fashion as Martel. Whether that was his first name or last, no one was certain. Verlene had found the situation with Sam genuinely amusing, to which Gwenyth had gritted her teeth. She had done so much teeth grinding as of late that she once swore to Grandmama that her incisors would soon be dwindled down to nubs. Verlene had simply patted her on the back and assured her that all expectant fathers who cared for their wives behaved as Sam did. Expectant mother or not, Gwenyth was overcome with relief when the “Touch Me” shoot was over and they were free to go back home. She couldn’t recall another moment in recent history when she had experienced such a feeling of gratitude as when the plane finally landed and they were safely ensconced

back on American soil—where her overbearing husband could only humiliate her to a certain degree. Even the fact that Sam had insisted the flight attendants listen to the baby’s heartbeat with the stethoscope he carried around everywhere they went dimmed in its magnitude at the joy of being back in Florida. Gwenyth could deal with Sam on her own turf. Besides, the citizens of Hyde Park were already quite used to her husband’s shenanigans. None of her neighbors so much as batted an eyelash when he preached about happy urine or discussed amniotic fluid with them. Talk about being jaded. The following day, Gwenyth perused the non-perishable food items on the shelves as she pushed the shopping cart down the grocery store aisle. Sam was accompanying her—as usual—and he was at it again, wearing on her already raw nerves—as usual. She rolled her eyes mentally. And to think she actually had another five months of this to look forward to. Gwenyth was counting the days until spring training began so Sam would ease up on her a bit. Not having anything to do with the daylight hours besides tag along behind her was turning her husband into a damned nuisance. “Look at this honey,” Sam enthused as he raced to catch up with her, “these jars of baby food are on sale, eight for four dollars.” Gwenyth quirked an eyebrow. She was only four months pregnant. What in the world did they need jars of baby food for? She was about to tell Sam as much when she paid closer attention to his expression and realized how excited he truly was. It would only be cruel of her to say anything that would rain on his daddy-to-be parade. “Good work, sweetheart. I’m sure the baby will love it.” Gwenyth smiled at the look of delight on Sam’s face. Inwardly, she sighed. It was simply impossible to stay angry with the man. “So,” Gwenyth asked in what she hoped was a mildly curious tone, “when does spring training begin?” “What, honey?” Sam threw a rubber ducky into the cart. “Oh spring trainin’?” He shrugged. “A couple of weeks.” Gwenyth’s muscles relaxed. There was an end in sight. “I sure am gonna miss bein’ with you all day long, Gwenyth Marie.” Sam bent down and kissed his wife on the lips. “I love you so much, Cupcake.” Guilty feelings immediately ensued. Here her husband was telling her how much he was going to miss her and she was mentally checking off the days until he’d leave her in peace. “Tomorrow, I want us to go enroll Junior into that fancy-shmanzy preschool that teaches kids how to speak Japanese before they’re three. It’s never to soon to think about our baby’s education, Gwen.” On the other hand, what was there to feel guilty about? Grinding her teeth, Gwenyth regarded her husband. “Sam, don’t you think it’s a bit early to start worrying over things like that?” “Nope.” “Well, perhaps I don’t want our child to speak Japanese!” “What’s wrong with speakin’ Japanese?”

Gwenyth’s face colored when an old acquaintance pushed his shopping cart by during the pique of their argument. Terry Yokomoto raised his brows but said nothing. Gwenyth inclined her head. “Hi Terry.” “Hi Gwen.” Furious, Gwenyth swung around and turned on Sam faster than a rabid dog. “Can you please keep your voice down!” she whispered vehemently, making certain Terry was well out of hearing range. “I am so embarrassed! I’ll never be able to face Terry again! He probably thinks I’m prejudiced!” Sam crossed his arms over his chest and eyed his wife contentiously. “Perhaps you are.” “What?!” “Perhaps you are prejudiced.” Sam splayed his hands at his sides. “I can’t see any other reason why you’d be so dead set against Junior speakin’ Japanese. It’s a fine language. A little twangy, but as a southern woman, that shouldn’t be too difficult to get used to.” Gwenyth’s nostrils flared to wicked proportions. “I. Have. Nothing. Against. Speaking. Japanese.” “Baby, why is your face all red?” Sam clapped the back of his hand to his wife’s forehead to check for fever. “And you’re bitin’ your tongue. Good lord, there’s a tic in your cheek. What’s wrong, Cupcake?” What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Where do I begin?! Simply overwhelmed, Gwenyth drew in a ragged breath and exhaled it slowly. She could tell her husband that he was getting on her nerves. She could tell him to go away and leave her alone. But when she gazed into those true blue eyes and saw the love for her and their unborn baby burning so intensely there, she knew she had to continue to bite her tongue and say nothing. Gwenyth could only pray that her tongue wasn’t half gnawed off by the time spring training began. “I, uh, forgot to take my vitamins this morning.” Sam clucked his tongue. He shook his head back and forth disapprovingly. “Gwenyth Marie, how will you get along when I’m out practicin’ on the field all day and can’t be here to make sure you do what’s right by our child?” Gwenyth ground her teeth together. She could almost hear enamel grating against enamel. “I’m not certain.” Sam placed eight more jars of baby food into the grocery cart. “Luckily for you, Gwen honey, I’ll be here to keep you in the habit of takin’ your vitamins and whatnot for the next two weeks.” “Oh joy.” “What was that?” “I said oh joy, as in, what a relief.” Sam scratched his chin as he considered that. “You’re lucky as I don’t know what to have a husband like me, Gwen.”

“I thank my lucky stars every night.” ***** Though she had begun to fear the time would never arrive, spring training eventually came to Tampa Bay. The Yankees practiced at Legends Field in Tampa and the Crusaders did their thing just across the bridge in St. Petersburg. The only team Gwenyth cared about, however, was the Crusaders, because it meant that her husband was out of her hair several hours every day. Oh she loved Sam, couldn’t live without him and wouldn’t want to try, but now she understood why spouses never worked together. They’d all be divorced within the year. Spring training also meant the return of Brian Goodman to Florida. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Candy. Gwenyth’s best friend always made certain they were never alone together in the same room. And poor Brian was as flustered as he could be over it. He knew Candy was attracted to him, but try as he might, Brian simply couldn’t penetrate her prickly defenses. But then he got smart. It didn’t take Brian long at all to figure out that, with Candy, jealousy would work where reason would not. His first major move came about one night when the four of them plus Marc went out to eat at a local bar and grille that specialized in seafood entrees. “Will you just look at the way those bimbos are hanging all over him?” Candy hissed. Gwenyth pretended she hadn’t noticed. Smiling to herself, she looked up at the bar where Brian was standing with two drop-dead gorgeous blondes attached to either hip. Sam and Marc were standing not too far away from him, embroiled in conversation with the grille’s owner. No doubt they were getting some tips for their future restaurant endeavor. Gwenyth winked at Brian. He smiled back slyly. “He is a very attractive man, Can. What do you expect?” “You find him attractive?” Candy squeaked out. She pretended to brush a speck of lint off of her sweater. “I suppose he is—for a macho jock, but to be perfectly honest, I hadn’t really noticed.” Yeah. Right. “Apparently the blondes have noticed. Good grief, I think the one on the left just copped a feel.” Candy blew out a bubble and popped it ferociously. “That bitch.” “What was that?” “I said, maybe he had an itch.” Gwenyth studied her glass of tea. Yeah. Right. “Yes. Perhaps the blonde was just scratching it for him.” Candy had heard enough. Standing up abruptly, she spit out her gum, wrapped it up in a cocktail napkin, and handed it over to Gwenyth. “I’ll call you later, Gwen,” she announced without glancing backward toward her best friend. Candy’s stiletto heels clicked on the polished wood floors of the seafood bar and grille as she sauntered seductively toward Brian. Her large violet eyes never left his face as she sashayed up to where he stood and peered up at him. Brian swallowed harshly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

All eyes turned toward the pair. It was as if time in the restaurant had come to a stand still. And then it happened. Candy grabbed Brian by the back of the neck, pulled his face down to meet hers, and boldly thrust her tongue into his mouth. She kissed him like that for what felt like an eternity to Gwenyth. Candy’s attention was never once distracted, not even when the patrons began making whistling sounds and cat calls. And then she released him. With the same gusto and flair, Candy pivoted on her high heels and strutted out of the bar, not even bothering to look back. Bemused, Gwenyth craned her neck around to gage Brian’s reaction. Oh yes, there would be a story there. And if Brian Goodman could close his gaping jaw long enough to make his next move, the story would probably end pretty interesting.

Chapter 22 Gwenyth left the post office at a quarter till four, figuring she had about two hours left to pick up some dinner and get it home in time to meet her hungry husband. Sam always came home famished from ball practice, and since her day was typically over and done with a good two hours before his, she was generally the one that took care of supper time. Gwenyth put the keys in the ignition of her jeep and the engine croaked to life. Literally. Frowning, Gwenyth made a mental note to tell Sam that it was time for her to get a new car. The jeep had definitely seen better days. Pulling out of the parking lot, Gwenyth made a left at the light and headed toward a Greek diner down the road that carried Sam’s favorite gyros and baked the best baklava Gwenyth had ever eaten on this side of the Mediterranean. Grinning, she patted her belly and cooed to the baby. “It’s okay, little one. Mommy’s hungry for something sweet too.” Gwenyth glanced inattentively into the rearview mirror, then back to the road ahead. Frowning, she peered into the mirror again to make certain she had really seen what her distracted eyes had told her she had. Unfortunately, her vision hadn’t failed her. The white sedan was back. Biting her lip, Gwenyth coasted into the parking lot of the Greek diner and veered into a parking space in front of it. Turning around in her seat, she waited to see what the white sedan would do. Much to Gwenyth’s chagrin, it pulled up behind the jeep, effectively blocking her into the parking space. Her heart racing, she clutched her belly and breathed deeply as she waited for the scene to play out. Very slowly, so slow that it felt like something out of a nightmare, the driver’s side window rolled down.

“Devin,” she murmured. Gwenyth’s green eyes rounded to saucers as the lawyer saluted her with the well-known two-fisted symbol commonly used by NAM supporters. The calculating glimmer in his dark, lifeless eyes sent shivers down her spine. The man was crazy. He was going to kill her. He would never stop until she was dead or he was in prison. Or both. And then he drove away. Leisurely. Like he had all the time in the world. The wink Devin gave Gwenyth before pulling out of the parking lot suggested that their paths would cross again. He’d see to it. Gwenyth turned around in her seat and closed her eyes while she collected herself. She would just have to make certain that they never did. ***** “I just got off the phone with my company. Devin hasn’t shown up for work in over a week.” Marc let out a long sigh, then gestured toward Sam. “When will Detective Anderson be here?” “About thirty minutes.” Sam stroked Gwenyth’s hair as he held her securely on his lap. “Unless he comes up with a full proof plan, I’m backin’ out of my contract and stayin’ at home to watch over my wife.” Gwenyth’s head shot up. “Sam, you can’t do that. It will cost us too much money.” “I don’t give a damn about the money, Gwenyth Marie.” “Well I do.” She patted him reassuringly on the hand. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll stay with Candy if need be.” Sam rolled his eyes. He snorted disbelievingly. “Is that supposed to make me feel better or worse?” “Hey!” Candy piped up for the first time since she’d arrived. “Just what does that mean?” “It means that I’ve met detonated bombs with more stability than you.” Candy thrust her hands indignantly to her hips. “Name one.” Sam shook his finger and glowered. “Now listen here—” “Enough.” Gwenyth closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “You know Candy would never do anything to endanger me or the baby, Sam. You owe her an apology.” Sam gritted his teeth at the haughty look Candy threw his way, but relented in the end. “Oh alright, damn it. Candy, I apologize. I’m sure you have more stability than the majority of detonated bombs out there on the market today, blowin’ up land mines and derailin’ passenger trains.” Candy lifted an ebony brow. “In the history of apologies, that was the worst apology that I’ve ever had the misfortune of being subjected to.” Sam blew out a beleaguered breath. “Probably.” Running his hand frenziedly through his hair, he closed his eyes briefly and sighed again. “I’m sorry, Can. I know you’ll watch over Gwenyth better than

anybody. I just hate the fact that it can’t be me.” Candy strolled over to where Sam and Gwenyth sat and took his hand between her own. “I know, Sam. It will be alright. I promise.” Sam squeezed Candy’s hand and grunted. “Let’s just hope the police find this maniac soon.” Marc scratched his head thoughtfully. “Maniac is probably the key word here.” Gwenyth moaned. “Please don’t get my husband riled up.” Marc held up his palms in a gesture of mock surrender and grinned. “I’m not trying to, I swear it.” His expression grew serious. “But Gwen, let’s face it. There’s something seriously off about that guy.” Sam shot to his feet and stomped over to the phone. Gwenyth waved her hand toward him. “Who are you calling?” “I’m callin’ Harry in D.C. I want him to pull a few strings and get us some more help on this case.” “Do you think he can?” “At this point anything’s worth a try.” ***** Even though Gwenyth felt that, at times, her situation resembled that of a chicken penned up in its coop, the next few days passed by well enough. It seemed as if she and Candy spent more time together in three days than they’d spent in the last year. Gwenyth mused to herself that when spring training had finally arrived, she’d basically ended up trading in one prison guard for another. And Candy was taking her duty altogether seriously. Gwenyth rubbed her slightly distended belly absently while she flipped through channels on Candy’s remote control powered TV. Candy was sitting across the room at her computer, typing up a love scene with one hand and drinking a cup of coffee with the other. Occasionally she would mumble something unintelligible, but other than that, the only sound that could be heard from her corner was the clicking of the keyboard. An hour later, Candy turned off her computer and groaned as she stretched out her shoulder muscles. Gwenyth flipped off the remote and grinned. “Tired?” “Yeah.” Candy popped a piece of bubble gum into her mouth, chewed it for all of thirty seconds, then spit it into a nearby tissue. “Good lord, I’m so tired I can’t even chew gum.” Gwenyth rested her chin in the palms of her hands and smiled. “Is that the book about the nun and the ex-con?” Candy picked up her cup of coffee and padded across the room. “No. I finished that one already. This is a short story I’m working on for an anthology.” “Oh? What’s it about?” The rising height in Candy’s coloring made Gwenyth’s curiosity soar. “Come on, Can. Do tell.”

Candy plopped down onto the sofa cushion next to Gwenyth and shrugged. “A baseball player, I think,” she muttered. She took a quick sip of coffee before adding, “And it’s not based on Brian Goodman either, okay?” Gwenyth pretended to study her cuticles. “What’s the hero’s name?” Candy raised her cup up to her lips. “I forget,” she mumbled. At Gwenyth’s raised eyebrows she elaborated, “It’s Ryan Hoodman, okay?” Gwenyth hrrumphed. No connection to Brian Goodman indeed. “So tell me, Can,” she teased, “is Ryan Hoodman good in bed?” Candy had the grace to blush—profusely. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had him. He isn’t real.” “He’s very real,” Gwenyth murmured. “Trust me, Gwen. No man is really as nice as Brian—I mean Ryan—pretends to be. In the end they are all scuzz-balls.” Gwenyth patted her best friend’s hand as she took to her feet. Candy would have to get over that particular problem on her own. “Sam will be home in an hour, so I’m going to head out and pick up some dinner.” “Do you want me to come with you?” Gwenyth shook her head and grinned. “No, you’ve done more than your fair share of babysitting today. Go get some rest.” “You’re sure?” “I’m sure.” Candy stared at Gwenyth for a drawn out moment before acquiescing with a nod. “Okay, but drive carefully.” “Relax,” Gwenyth chuckled, “how dangerous can Chinese take-out be?”

Chapter 23 After exiting Mr. Wok’s Drive-Thru Palace, Gwenyth’s jeep got no further than three lights down the street before it stalled. Hitting the dashboard with the heel of her hand, she cursed the engine, and tried to restart the ignition. No luck. Sighing, Gwenyth reached into her purse and switched on her cell phone. When it made a series of three loud beeps, she flipped it over and peered down at it. Low battery. Laughing humorlessly, she tried once more to ignite the jeep’s engine. “How much worse can this night get?” she muttered to herself.

A few moments later, a white sedan eased up next to Gwenyth on the nearly deserted side street and coasted up beside the jeep. Swallowing nervously, she took the keys out of the ignition and wrapped her fingers around the key on her ring with the sharpest edge to it. Devin disembarked from the white sedan and walked slowly toward the jeep. Gwenyth could tell he was wearing something akin to cowboy boots for she could hear every click of his gait pounding towards her. Determined not to get cornered inside of her own automobile, Gwenyth slammed opened the driver’s side door and stood up. “Devin.” Devin stopped a few paces back from the jeep’s door and grinned. His smile was unnatural, his eyes the same fathomless pits they had been at their last meeting. “The name’s Devin Green, Mrs. Trevianni, but perhaps you already know that.” His gaze flickered around the empty street. “Getting kinda dark, don’t you think?” Gwenyth ignored the chill bumps making gooseflesh of her skin and concentrated instead on figuring a way around the larger man. “Are you threatening me, Devin?” she asked quietly. The lawyer smiled. “No ma’am, I never threaten.” “What do you want from me?” Devin’s sickening gaze roamed the length of Gwenyth’s body. “What do you think I want?” he said just as quietly. Gwenyth needed to hear no more. With a strength she didn’t even know she possessed, she slammed the jeep’s door into Devin’s legs and knocked him to the ground. Without looking back, she then fled into the night. ***** Candy paced the length of her living room recklessly. There was no answer at Gwenyth’s and Sam’s and she knew that Gwen should have been home by now. Candy thought back on every word of conversation that had passed between them before her best friend had left. Gwenyth had definitely mentioned picking up Chinese food on the way home. That could only mean Mr. Wok’s. It was her favorite. Decision made, Candy picked up her car keys and bolted toward the front door. Just as she was about to close it behind her, the telephone rang. Sighing in relief, she sprinted towards it. “Hello? Is that you, Gwen? Are you okay?” “Candy? What’s goin’ on? Where’s my wife?” Candy’s hand flew to her throat. “Oh my god, Sam. I never should have let her go home alone. I’m so sorry.” “Candy calm down. Where’s Gwen?” “I don’t know!” she cried. “I don’t know!” Candy began pacing the length of the floor as she recanted what she knew of her best friend’s whereabouts. “I thought it would be okay to let her go alone! It’s a drive-thru restaurant for pete’s sake!”

“Candy, listen to me. I am less than two minutes from Mr. Wok’s, alright? Do not go anywhere. Lock your door, then call Detective Anderson and tell him what you told me. I’m goin’ after Gwen.” Sam clutched the steering wheel grimly. “Do you got that, sweetheart?” “Yes. J-Just bring her back, okay Sam?” “I will. And Candy…” “Huh?” “You did a good job. Don’t blame yourself.” ***** “There’s no use in running, bitch. I’m gonna catch you.” Devin’s inhuman laughter echoed through the alleyway. Gwenyth clutched her keys tightly in her fist as she dashed through the shrubbery of an adjacent office building. It dawned on her that the jingling sound the keys made no doubt gave her location away to Devin Green, but she wasn’t about to give up the only makeshift weapon she had on hand to silence them. Gwenyth knew that Devin was gaining on her. She could hear his triumphant laughter, hear the heels of his boots clicking on the alley pavement behind her. Of all the sections in and around Hyde Park, why did her jeep have to give out within the confines of the sole deserted one? The clicking of Devin’s boot heels drew closer and closer until Gwenyth was certain she would be overtaken at any moment. She was tiring, her energy was rapidly depleting. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold him off for much longer. And then something extraordinary happened. Something she hadn’t been expecting at all. Something rather ordinary as life goes, but that something gave her energy she desperately needed. The life within Gwenyth moved for the first time. She could feel it, that tiny little being she and Sam had created together, letting her know that it was there and that it needed its mama to keep going. It was as if the baby was telling her that she simply couldn’t give up at this point. With a burst of renewed energy, Gwenyth dashed through the shrubbery of another building and found herself running down a side street with houses situated in it. Now if only she could make it to one with a light on before Devin made it to her and her unborn child. Gwenyth clutched her belly with her hands and ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Please dear God, she prayed, just let someone be home. ***** A million and one memories flitted in and out of Sam’s mind as his Mercedes barreled down the streets of Hyde Park. The ice-cream cone he’d bought Gwenyth when she was five years old. The jersey he’d thrown her way after he’d won the big high school game—the jersey his wife still wore at times. The way

she smiled. The way she laughed. The strawberry scent of her beautiful, tawny hair. The sound of her climaxing when they made love. The way she’d rub her belly and smile down at their unborn child. Sam had never felt so helpless and desolate in his life, as he felt right now. The people at Mr. Wok’s had said she’d left half an hour ago. Gwenyth wasn’t at home, she wasn’t at Willy and Verlene’s, and she wasn’t at Candy’s. The remaining possibility was not a pleasant one. Sam backtracked once more, taking the side roads he assumed Gwenyth would have taken on her way back from Mr. Wok’s. At the next left, he swerved his Mercedes into an alley, then brought it to a screeching halt. Gwenyth’s jeep. Gwenyth’s abandoned jeep. Parked next to an abandoned white sedan. Sweet Jesus. Sam threw the gear into reverse and peeled out of the alley. ***** Gwenyth could hear Devin’s shrill, unnatural laughter. It was hollow and taunting and far too close. He was gaining on her again. He was gaining on her and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. And yet she kept moving. On some surreal, abstract plane, it occurred to Gwenyth that whenever characters in the movies and in books are faced with similar situations, their lives always flash before their eyes. She wished something like that would happen to her now. It would give her something peaceful to dwell on instead of the unadulterated terror that she felt. She had nothing left in her. Her tired body was operating on pure adrenaline, on a primal instinct of survival. But even adrenaline could only run so long. The sounds of a car tearing down the street brought Gwenyth’s chin up. Though still at a distance, there was something vaguely familiar about that car. It almost looked like—“Sam!” Tears pooled in Gwenyth’s eyes as she waved her hands frantically at the oncoming Mercedes. “Sam!” The Mercedes peeled to a grinding stop a moment later and Sam jumped out of the car. “Gwen!” He sprinted towards his wife at top speed. “Baby, are you okay?” Gwenyth threw herself into Sam’s arms and buried her face against his chest. “He was going to hurt me!” she sobbed. “I almost didn’t make it!” Sam recognized that his wife was hysterical and for good reason. He also recognized, however, that Devin was getting away—again. “Baby get into the car and call the police.” He swatted her toward the Mercedes. “Do as I say now. Go on!” Gwenyth’s teeth clamped down hard on her lip as she watched her husband chase after Devin Green. The sounds of police sirens blared in the background, drawing closer and closer with each heartbeat. Just a few seconds later, Sam caught up with his wife’s stalker. Gwenyth had no idea whatsoever what Sam was doing to him, but the sounds of Devin’s screams carried through the dimly lit street. Gwenyth closed her eyes and cried softly. She almost hated herself for enjoying it. Almost.

Chapter 24 “So that bastard was actually related to the former Senator Green?” Candy accepted a glass of wine from Marc, then plopped down onto the sofa next to Gwenyth. “His brother.” Gwenyth shook her head. “I still can’t believe it. All this over some freakin’ photographs.” “Not just any photographs,” Marc added, “but extremely famous photographs.” Gwenyth’s head shot up. She turned her bemused gaze onto her husband’s handsome friend and future business partner. “I suppose the black bar the Miami Herald placed over Devin’s groin was a tad on the small side, but I wasn’t the one who actually put it there.” “God I feel so guilty,” Candy admitted forlornly. “The pictures were all my idea to begin with.” “Don’t do that to yourself, Can, because it isn’t worth it. The man is behind bars where he belongs.” Sam pulled his wife onto his lap and made her stay put. He wouldn’t let the woman out of his sight for a long, long time. At least not until he was totally over this. Like when he was dead. “I for one am just glad this is all over with.” He lowered his face to meet Gwenyth’s lips and nipped at them lovingly. “And that the hospital gave my wife and child a clean bill of health.” Marc raised his wineglass in salute. “Hear, hear.” “There’s something I don’t get.” Candy shook her head thoughtfully, her violet eyes expressive as she turned toward Marc. “How is it that you never put two and two together and figured out that Devin was Larry Green’s brother?” Marc shrugged. “At work, Devin always went by his mother’s maiden name of Coltrane.” Gwenyth made an indelicate snort. “Apparently good ole Larry wasn’t as dumb as I thought. The police said that the former senator was very aware of the fact that his brother’s connection to NAM would hurt him in the polls, so he convinced Devin to go by a different last name.” She glanced up at her husband and shook her head. “What a lying coward. It wasn’t that he disapproved of his brother’s connection, it was that he knew he wouldn’t get reelected if it was found out.” “Which is exactly what happened,” Marc pointed out pragmatically. Candy giggled. “Thank god.” She raised her wineglass toward Marc for a toast. “And may Devin Coltrane Green stay behind bars for the rest of his unnatural born life!” “Hear, hear.” Candy clinked glasses with Marc then turned to face Gwenyth and Sam. “Does anyone mind if I use the events of this night as the basis of my next book?” The others groaned.

“Oh come on,” Candy protested, “I can see it now.” She raised her hand as if reading from a flashing neon sign lit up on Broadway. “The handsome, dashing hero rushes out into the night to save his beautiful, beloved heroine…” “You think I’m handsome and dashin’?” Sam cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. “I can see where you’d believe that.” Gwenyth rolled her eyes and groaned. “Let’s not get carried away.” Sam quirked a pompous brow. “Oh? And you don’t think I’m handsome and dashin’?” “Well,” Gwenyth teased, “you have potential.” “Potential?” Gwenyth threw back her head and laughed. Just teasing Sam felt good—it was, after all, something she never would have gotten to do again if he hadn’t saved her from Devin’s clutches in time. Gwenyth wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and smiled brilliantly. Gazing into the eyes of the man she’d loved for over twenty-one years, the man she knew she’d love for the rest of her life, she admitted without a qualm, “I can’t imagine a more perfect man to base a hero on.”

Epilogue “Merry Christmas, Sis.” “Merry Christmas, Bro.” Gwenyth kissed Harry on the cheek, then waved him inside where the others were gathered. She noticed immediately that he had enough presents with him to put Santa Clause to shame. “Where’s Monique?” “Monique?” Harry shook his head, wondering why his family always asked after her, much like one would a lover. “She couldn’t come along this year. Her family is spending the holiday in Europe.” Gwenyth nodded as she took her brother’s coat. She still held a hope that Harry would eventually see Monique as more than just an ever-efficient assistant. “The gang is in the family room. Go on in there and I’ll join you in a minute.” “Who all is here?” “The usual.” Gwenyth shrugged. “Sam, Candy, Marc, Granddad and Grandmama.” She grinned. “I wanted Brian to come, but he had prior obligations.” Harry snorted. “Is he still hunting Candy?”

“Relentlessly. She hasn’t been caught yet, but I can feel her resistance chipping away daily.” “Good.” Harry chuckled. “They deserve each other.” Turning the topic, Harry gestured toward the family room where he could hear animated laughter and boisterous singing coming from. “So is my nephew in there too?” “Of course.” Gwenyth smiled, the way she always did whenever the subject of her son came up. Sam teased her a lot these days, insisting that she had turned into one of those annoying parents that whips out pictures of their kids and shows them to everyone they meet. Not that Sam was any better. They had both fallen head over heels in love with their little boy the moment they’d laid eyes on him. And whenever Sam teased his wife too mercilessly, she would simply remind him of the time in France when he’d whipped out a picture of the inside of her uterus and showed it to anyone who cared to see, and quite a few that didn’t. “I believe Sam and Granddad are showing Jackson the finer points of Christmas cookie eating.” Harry made a show of licking his lips. “I think I can be of some assistance.” Gwenyth shook her head in amusement as she followed her brother into the family room. “I’ve got presents!” Harry shouted. “Lots of them!” Everyone cheered. Sam stood up to give his brother-in-law a great big bear hug. “We miss you around here, Bro. Marc and I are almost hopin’ you lose the next election so you’ll be back in Tampa in time to open up the restaurant with us.” “Oh-ho! Never say that!” Harry hugged Sam back, then did the same to Marc. “Oh, and congratulations on making it to the finals this year, Sam.” “Next year we’re takin’ the World Series. I can feel it.” Marc nodded. “That’s what Brian says too.” Harry considered that for a moment. “That would be a sweet retirement victory, wouldn’t it, going out on top?” “Sure will be,” Sam agreed, always thinking in the positive. “Then it will be time for this ole boy to settle down into the new function of full-time daddy and restaurant owner extraordinaire.” Candy sauntered up to Harry’s side and kissed him on the cheek. Entwining one arm through his, she gestured with her free hand towards Sam. “Sounds like a plan. Jackson is keeping you on your toes, after all.” Sam grinned. He glanced over to where his five-month-old son was sitting on Willy’s lap while Verlene read from a book of Christmas stories to him. His little tiger had already sprouted a full head of his daddy’s thick black hair. He had also acquired his mother’s expressive green eyes and adorable dimples. Sam had been glad about that. He’d always been a sucker for his wife’s eyes and dimples. Still was. “You’ve got that right. And with Gwen bein’ pregnant again, we will definitely have our hands full.” “When is my sister’s due date?” Harry inquired. “I’d like to make certain that I’m on vacation so I don’t miss the big event like I did with Jackson.” He grinned proudly. “A man doesn’t become an uncle every day, you know.”

Chuckling, Sam rolled his eyes. “Tell that to Aunt Candy.” He ruffled her hair affectionately until she giggled. “You’d have thought the woman had done the honors herself the way she carried on...” From across the room, Gwenyth smiled contentedly. She folded her arms under her breasts as she watched the people she loved make the most of the holiday season. With the arrival of their beloved son, Jackson Joseph Trevianni, a new tradition had begun in the Jones-Trevianni family. Christmas Eves were now spent in Gwenyth and Sam’s home instead of at Verlene and Willy’s. Grandmama and Granddad had insisted, saying as delicately as they could that they were getting up there in years and needed to know all would be well when they left the earth. Gwenyth couldn’t bear the thought. But she understood—she knew why they had wanted her to begin this new tradition. And as much as she wanted to hang on to the old ways, to refuse to deal with her grandparents’ mortality, she could do nothing less than what they had asked of her and Sam. Besides, Gwenyth planned to hold on to her grandparents for many more Christmas Eves yet to come. Gwenyth couldn’t ever remember feeling more blessed than she did at this very moment. All of her dreams from childhood had come true. She was a world renowned fashion photographer that famous designers from around the world wanted to do business with. What’s more, her and Verlene’s firm was a complete success. And then there was her marriage to Sam, the best childhood dream of them all. He was well and truly hers and Gwenyth knew that her husband loved her deeply. It still amazed her to think that they had made such a perfect, beautiful son together. Gwenyth patted her belly with a smile. Another addition to the Trevianni family was on the way. Gwenyth walked over to where her grandparents and son sat and lowered herself down beside them. Kissing Willy’s rough cheek, and then Jackson’s smooth one, she smiled contentedly as she listened to Grandmama’s recitation of The Night Before Christmas. Moments later, Gwenyth felt her husband’s strong arms wrap around her shoulders and pull her back into his embrace. She tilted her head back and smiled up at him, then leaned into him with a contended sigh and listened to Verlene’s melodic voice help bring in the spirit of the season to the family gathering. Sam laced his fingers through his wife’s and rested his chin on top of her head. “Merry Christmas, Cupcake. I love you.” Gwenyth smiled dreamily. “Merry Christmas, Sam. I love you too.”

Also by Jasmine LeVeaux:

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