Chapter Nine

  They didn’t speak at all on the drive from the marina to his building. Madison was grateful for the quiet. She needed time to think and to come to terms with the realization that he’d given his mother Madison’s version of the truth. What did that mean? She had no idea. Just when she was sure she thought she understood this thing between them, he said something that made her doubt her conclusion.

  At least by her refusing to sign the strange marriage test-drive contract, they seemed to be back on the stable footing of a friendship. After the doctor’s visit, Sam had swiftly shifted back to business mode while she struggled to quell the pent-up desire thrumming through her veins. How was she supposed to feel about that?

  He didn’t touch her, aside from offering his hand to help her in and out of the car. She couldn’t make up her mind if that fell into the pro or con category of the evening. Doctor’s orders or not, having kissed him once, she wanted more. More kisses, more of that sensual way his hand in her hair made her body pliant. What would it be like to uncover his body inch by inch and explore the strength and shape of him? To learn what made him weak with desire? If they kissed again—preferably when—she would refuse to stop until she knew all of him and he’d learned all of her.

  I’ll follow your lead, he’d said. If he knew the images those four words evoked, he’d run away or drag her to the nearest bedroom and lock the door.

  Although his “unimaginable resources” had been unquestionably helpful in her current crisis, she wanted to know Sam as a person, not as a wallet. The way he poked and prodded at any sort of problem or puzzle until he untangled the solution had always intrigued her. She might have had a crush on him, but that teenage fascination was shifting into something else with every passing hour. It sounded crazy in her head, standing next to one of the wealthiest, sexiest men in the world, to say she loved his mind first.

  Loved?

  She sighed, abruptly recognizing how much danger her heart was in. For a teenager, the concept of love came with loopy hearts and flower doodles. The real thing had been too big to even entertain. Growing up, being out in the world, she found it impossible to label her persistent hang-up on the cute, nerdy guy from high school as love.

  In the elevator, she peeked at him from under her lashes. She wasn’t feeling anything that qualified as cute or nerdy when she looked at him tonight. When they entered his condo, Sam said her name and her body pulsed with anticipation.

  “I’m going to change clothes and get to work,” he said.

  The memory of his sculpted chest flashed through her mind. She bit her lip so she didn’t beg him to let her watch.

  Sam gave her an odd look. “If you’re tired, you don’t have to join me. We can pick up this discussion again in the morning.”

  “It’s not that,” she said breezily. Stepping out of her heels, she hooked the straps over her finger. “I’m thinking about the clothes.” It was mostly true. “Lucy’s private boutique today does me no good if my purchases are all at her place.”

  “It should all be here by now.” He raised his chin toward her side of the condo. “I asked her to have everything delivered to your room.” He turned in the opposite direction, heading for his office.

  Excited to verify the claim, she hurried to the guest room. Her room, to use Sam’s phrase, for the foreseeable future. While it was far better than a holding cell, living with Sam would give her plenty of other pitfalls to avoid. She couldn’t believe she’d told him about crushing on him in high school or that she’d kissed him. She touched her fingers to her lips, recalling the feel of that amazing kiss. Oh, the risk had been worth it when he took control.

  Desire warmed her skin and that quiver in her belly was back with a vengeance. She sank down on the bed, wondering if he’d meant it. Would he really follow her lead if she asked him to make love to her?

  No, that was insanity waiting to happen. She didn’t know how long they’d be stuck in this limbo. Immersion in Sam’s daily life, without the distraction of her career, wouldn’t be a dream come true. It would be a nightmare when the idyllic time ended. She had no illusions about his dedication to his work or his view of her as a friend. Just because a man knew how to leave her breathless with a kiss didn’t mean he could love her. She’d been on the opposite side of the equation with a man who’d loved her in ways she couldn’t return.

  Because her heart was devoted to Sam.

  She was an idiot, convincing herself her career would be enough satisfaction. That eventually the right man would walk into her life, a man she could trust with her marriage secret, a man who’d be patient while she undid that secret to make room for him. A man with qualities that would shatter everything she’d idealized about Sam.

  Now that she’d kissed Sam, the man she’d fantasized about for nearly half her life, she knew her “someday” man didn’t exist. It wasn’t a pretty thought, being so enamored and infatuated and—yes, damn it—in love with a man who wasn’t looking for the same thing from her.

  A thirty-day test-drive marriage contract wasn’t a marriage. Not the way she wanted to be married and share her life with someone. She didn’t want to be his social butterfly. She wanted him to be more than a legal buffer for her. She wanted them. Together, as a team. Despite the sizzling potential packed into that kiss, she wanted a lifetime partnership with more lasting affection than sexual chemistry keeping them in the same room. She wanted them to be more to each other than various convenient reasons.

  When she’d sought a psychologist to help her get over Sam as Mr. Perfect, she assumed they’d find an answer for her lingering crush. She’d anticipated that a professional could identify why she idealized him, that maybe he exemplified a particular quality or trait she admired.

  No. The best suggestion to come out of a year working on the issue from every angle was that she should reach out to Sam and tell him her feelings. Accepted or rejected, that sort of action would allow her to move on. He’d been spotted around town that holiday season with a regular date, an actress he’d met while consulting on a movie project in Los Angeles. She’d sent the usual Christmas card and put a lid on her feelings.

  Unfulfilled sexually and emotionally, she carried the lavender sleep set with her into the bathroom. Pulling the pins from her hair, she brushed it out, then piled it high on her head, securing it with a band to keep it out of the way while she washed her face. She reached back to unzip her dress and felt the zipper catch in the fabric. Twisting around, fumbling with it, she couldn’t quite wriggle out of the dress. On a heavy sigh, she accepted she had unpleasant choices. Ask Sam for help, cut the dress off or sleep in it and hope for a better result in the morning.

  Embarrassed and frustrated, she stalked across the condo to his office and knocked on the open door.

  “Come in.” He sounded annoyed and for a second Madison reconsidered not disturbing him.

  “I’m stuck,” she said, stepping forward into his domain.

  “Me too,” he muttered without turning. He’d changed clothes. A black T-shirt stretched across his back and he’d pulled on gym shorts. His feet and legs were bare. The man did not get that body from his “nerd work” career in cyber security and development.

  She dragged her gaze away from the delicious view of him to the monitors that held his attention. It wasn’t code or museum protocols. Those were articles and reports about the situation and key players in the South China Sea. She came closer until she was able to read over his shoulder.

  “Resources,” she murmured. “You weren’t kidding.” He’d tapped into reports that were stored behind layers of security and permissions.

  “I’ve gone back and forth through the instances where the museum hacker took credit. He shows up with an affiliation with a group of American radicals who claim we’ve sold out to China, but in the hacks, the code and language are just different enough to make me think that’s bogus.”

  She was skimming articles on the other monitors. “This guy doesn’t care about the fishing rights or shipping lanes in the South China Sea. It’s only an excuse, something that matters to the countries I work with as a liaison.”

  Sam leaned back in his chair. “You do realize China and Vietnam will never be good friends.”

  “We just need them to be civil,” she replied in her cool, State Department voice.

  “I keep asking myself what anyone gains by embarrassing you or sending the FBI into your apartment.”

  “Distraction? Collateral damage?”

  “No.”

  His stern reply pulled her attention and she glanced down to find him staring up at her as if she was one more piece of research he needed to solve the puzzle. Before her eyes could lock with his mouth, she forced her gaze back to the monitors. “These articles aren’t related,” she said, trying to stay on point.

  “Why haven’t you changed clothes?” he asked.

  “The zipper is stuck,” she said. “Hang on. You shouldn’t have access to this report.” She pointed to a draft of a report she’d written last year. The final version had supposedly been sent up the line and stored on secure State Department servers.

  He followed her finger. “Technically, I don’t have access.”

  “Sam.” Fresh panic made her palms sweat. “My boss told me not to log on.” They’d need to come up with an excuse and fast. She thought of calling the office, but it was late and Sam had her phone too.

  The chair creaked. Sam stood up and walked around behind her. “Relax.”

  At his touch she jumped, having blanked on the real reason for entering his office.

  “Madison, it’s okay. You’re not logged in. Neither one of us has disobeyed your boss.” He pointed out a flat black rectangle. “That report was copied from your hard drive and the copy was made in my secure lab when I picked apart your laptop.”

  “Oh.” She clamped her mouth shut when one of his hands slid between the fabric of her dress and her skin as he started working the zipper at her back. Finally it gave, lowering with a slow, subtle rasp to the base of her spine. The office air was cool as the panels parted, exposing her bare skin to his view and the warmer touch of his fingers.

  “Thank you.” Too late, she remembered the new black lace lingerie with the sexy red bow at the back that he could probably see perfectly. If she asked, would he put those lips to her skin?

  “Do you still dance?” His rough voice set her pulse skipping.

  “No.” Her last performance had been for a stage production during the spring semester of her sophomore year of college. “I take ballet classes when I can, just to unwind. There’s a studio near the office.”

  “You move so gracefully,” he murmured. One blunt fingertip trailed down her spine to her bra strap and back to the nape of her neck.

  How could there be so much pleasure, so much significance, in that small caress? She turned to face him, feeling exposed by far more than the open panels of her dress. She ached to wrap herself around him and caught herself as the doctor’s orders clanged through her mind. Sam needed rest. The best way to be sure he obeyed that order was to stay up with him. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  Behind his glasses, he blinked a couple of times. “You don’t have to stay up with me.”

  “I’m your best resource. That’s fact, not ego,” she assured him, pushing her lips into a smile. If she could focus on the puzzle the way he did, she’d get through this in one piece. “Give me just a minute.”

  She dashed back to her room and shimmied out of the dress. She pulled on her new denim shorts and a boxy loose-weave sweater, pushing up the sleeves to her elbows. When she returned to his office, he was back in his chair studying the multifaceted issues between the countries she served as liaison. He’d pulled up the second chair beside his.

  “Why did China choose to feature the white jade cup?” he asked when she sat down.

  “We’ve been working on this exhibit for more than a year. They want to show Americans a trusting, touchy-feely side to encourage understanding and foster cooperation.”

  “Did we send something to a museum over there?”

  She chuckled. “People. In general our best-received asset overseas is our innovation.” She explained a bit more about what the cooperative effort entailed.

  “Tell me about Liu.” Sam’s hands were bringing up the general information from typical online searches of the name. “How long have you known him?”

  She watched him work while she explained the developing professional relationship. Sitting here, talking over the issues with him, was so satisfying and compelling. “Why don’t you like him?”

  Sam shrugged those broad shoulders and then stretched his arms high overhead. “I don’t dislike him. You know I’m better with computers than people.”

  She disagreed, though she kept the thought to herself.

  “Some of the questions he asked at the reception made me uneasy.”

  That put Madison on alert. “What questions?”

  Sam waved off her concern. “Rush and I can get paranoid when people ask about our software.”

  “He wanted to talk about Gray Box during the reception?”

  “We have a global reach,” Sam said. “He’s probably a customer.”

  She stifled a yawn and checked the clock. They were creeping up on midnight and he seemed fresh as ever. She pulled her feet up to the chair and wrapped her hands around her knees. “That’s not what you mean.”

  “No. I ran it by Rush. It might’ve been a polite way to show interest, the way you described him. Something about it felt like fishing, but what do I know?”

  Quite a bit. She kept that thought quiet, as well. “He can’t want to poach you,” she said. “His personal business interests don’t run to software.”

  Sam didn’t reply. He was rolling the mouse around another article until his gaze had landed on her toe. “How did I miss this?” He leaned over for a closer look at the daisy.

  Her heart hammered. Being the object of his single-mindedness made her knees weak and her skin prickle with awareness. “Spur of the moment, girl day decision,” she said in a voice barely more than a whisper. She wiggled her toe, silently inviting him to touch.

  He did. That one teasing stroke along the tip of her toe had her biting back a moan. “It suits you.” When he met her gaze the yearning in his brown eyes scorched her.

  “I want to kiss you,” she admitted.

  “I’m right here,” he replied. He swiveled a bit, tugged her chair closer to his between his knees. He ran his hands over her feet, up to her knees and back down.

  “Sam, the doctor said—”

  His lips twitched up at one corner. “He isn’t here.” He ran his hands up to her knees and down over her thighs this time, his fingertips sliding just under the hem of her shorts before retreating. Started over.

  Feeling boneless, she was primed and ready for him already.

  “Your legs are gorgeous,” he said. “I could do this all night.”

  She’d never survive it if he didn’t do more.

  “Your lead,” he reminded her.

  Her pulse stuttered, but her hands were steady as she laid them over his on top of her knees while she caught her breath. She dropped her feet to the floor and leaned into him. Stroking the length of his arms, she relished the thick, carved shape of his biceps, the solid curves of his shoulders. She dragged her hands down the hard angles of his chest and teased the skin of his stomach just under the hem of his shirt.

  She wet her lips, watched his eyes, dark with need, follow the motion.

  Her lead. She eased her chair back, hiding a smirk when his eyebrows dipped into a frown. He would let her go, she knew it. She wanted to stay right here in this moment. With him. Standing, she peeled her sweater off over her head, let it fall to the floor. His frown was gone, his eyes on the black lace bra as he ripped off his T-shirt.

  She laughed when he hooked a finger into the waistband of her shorts and tugged her closer. Leaning down, she kissed him, with all the tenderness and urgency a lifetime of fantasies had built up. She poured all she had into those kisses, everything she wanted to share with him and didn’t dare speak the words. His wide palms slid up her back and she pushed her fingers through his hair as he nuzzled her breasts through the lace. Then he flicked open the bra clasp and tossed the lingerie aside, his mouth closing over the tight peak of one nipple. She arched into the marvelous heat of his mouth. He nipped and suckled and tormented each breast in turn until he was her only balance.

  “This is better than any fantasy,” she whispered.

  He chuckled, the light stubble on his chin rasping her sensitive flesh as his mouth blazed a trail down to her navel. “Just wait.”

  He dropped to his knees and popped open the button of her shorts, lowered the zipper. His tongue dipped and swirled over her skin, inch by inch as he dragged the denim shorts down her legs. He lifted her foot and planted a kiss on the toe sporting the daisy.

  “Gorgeous legs,” he said again. The words hummed against her skin as he kissed a meandering path from her foot to her inner thigh.

  She looked down into his hot brown eyes and surrendered the lead to him. He slipped a finger beneath the thin triangle of black lace and she gasped and bucked at the intimate touch. She was slick and ready, rolling her hips to meet each passionate caress. His devotion was clear in every velvety touch of his tongue, hot press of his lips and bold, claiming touch of his hands.

  His name burst from her lips when she climaxed and he caught her, cradling her close when her knees threatened to buckle. “Hang on to me.” He surged to his feet, carrying her into his bedroom.