Scarlet was head over heels in love.
The little guy burrowed into the collar of her ski jacket and her hair, one paw at the base of her throat, the other tucked along her shoulder, had squirmed his way into position and now lay perfectly still, breathing a bit uneasily, as though he had a touch of allergies. He was out like a light; she was certain of it.
The other guy wasn’t so bad, either.
Sam Reed had a tall, wide build. Athletic. Powerful. He had longish, disheveled brown hair—not quite qualifying as dark, but not quite medium. Bronzed skin, despite it being winter. Apparently, he spent a lot of time outdoors, even during inclement weather. The tan set off his sky-blue eyes.
She stole glances at him as he expertly eased the truck down the empty two-lane highway in reverse, tugging along her rental. When he reached a side road that was barely noticeable with all the snow covering its opening, he plowed right over the soft bank and continued uphill, carefully towing the SUV. His arm was slung over the back of the seat and he gazed behind him, then into the windshield to check on the other vehicle, then behind him again.
No wonder he’d been insulted earlier. He clearly knew what the hell he was doing.
“Sorry about the grilling I gave you,” she contritely said.
“Actually, you’d be remiss if you didn’t grill me. Stranded out in the middle of nowhere. Not bein’ from around here. Granted, it’s safe enough, for the most part. We don’t get any homicidal tendencies even four months into a biting winter.”
She laughed softly. “I’m sure the endless ‘flurries’ can seem wearing after a while, but so far I’m just astounded. This is really beautiful country. And I don’t mind the snow. Except when something with antlers comes galloping across the road and I have to swerve to avoid hitting him.”
“Galloping?”
She shot Sam a look. “What do deer do?”
“Sure it was a deer? Could have been an elk.”
With a nod, she said, “It was rather large.”
“Courteous of you to spare his life. And if it was an elk, you saved yourself fewer injuries than just your hand.”
“That was my thinking.”
He reached the top of the first slope, with several more rising behind them. They passed under a wide, rounded sign that artistically declared “Reed Ranch” and crested a mammoth clearing at the base of the rolling hills decorated with snow-covered trees.
Sam stopped the truck before an oversized garage and cut the engine. He worked a house key from its ring and handed it over. “To the back door. Careful on the deck. It’ll be slippery. Take the dog with you. The fires are going inside to take the chill off. I’ll unhook the cable and get your stuff from the SUV. Just … Be gentle with him.” He hitched his chin toward the still-burrowed puppy. “Someone made sport of him.”
Her eyes widened.
“Just … Soft voice. Light touch. That kind of thing.”
“Damn it,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“He’ll be okay,” Sam said with unmistakable emphasis.
Scarlet wasn’t sure who Sam Reed was trying to convince more—her … or himself.
She said, “I’ll be extremely gentle.”
“Let me get the door for you.”
He slipped out on his side and went around to hers. Helped her out again.
Scarlet crossed to the enormous redwood wraparound deck, the ledge of the railing laden with a good six inches of new snow. She cautiously tromped through the powder and unlocked the wood-trimmed glass door. Inside, the warmth enveloped her and she inhaled the scent of the blazing fires and the hint of apple spice.
This portion of the house boasted an open kitchen with granite counters showcasing an artistically crafted bi-level island. There was an overhead rack that pots and pans dangled from. A double oven built into the wall. A brushed-nickel farmhouse sink, six-burner gas stove with a grill and a griddle, and a gorgeous glass-French-door Sub-Zero refrigerator.
There was also a long wooden table that sat twelve, with a simple runner and a long-and-low fresh-foliage centerpiece with candles. A large dark-brown leather sofa and matching recliners were arranged before the tall, wide hearth, which took up a good deal of wall space. A moderate flame cast flickering light throughout the oversized room.
Smooth river rock trimmed the walls and fireplace. Above, there were open rafters accented with polished wooden beams and a matching ceiling. Old-fashioned fans on lengthy pulleys overhead complemented the décor, along with pendent lighting.
Scarlet wiped her feet on the rug at the entryway and then crossed the gleaming hardwood floor to the island and deposited the key. Sam came in with a gust of wind and she shivered.
The pup stirred.
She glanced at Sam over her shoulder. “He’s probably ready for some water. If I take the blanket off, how bad is it going to be?”
Sam left the bags and a pastry box on the counter and reached for a tissue from the dispenser in the far corner. Returning to her, he handed it over.
“Fuck.” Scarlet’s heart plummeted at the implication she was about to be emotionally devastated. She swallowed hard. Slowly knelt before the water and food bowls already set out on a small mat and carefully extracted the puppy from her hair and placed him on the floor. She gingerly peeled back the blanket. And gasped.
“Oh, come on!” she softly wailed. She leapt to her feet. Moved away and started to pace as her eyes flooded with tears.
“He’ll be okay,” Sam said once more, in a low tone.
“According to whom?” she quietly demanded.
“I have a vet on call for my horses, and we have a small on-site med facility. Dr. Harmon came out to check on the dog after I found him. Clearly, someone drop-kicked him a couple of times. Tried to starve him. Tossed him out a window on 93, not far from here. We took X-rays. Nothing’s broken. There’s also no chip implanted, so it’s a safe bet to say no one’s gonna come lookin’ for him. And if they did…” His jaw clenched. As did his fists at his sides.
“Yeah. They’d deserve your wrath.” She whisked her fingers over her cheeks, though a few more drops fell. She returned to her kneeling position next to the puppy and very lightly stroked one of his floppy ears. “You sure are a cute little bugger.”
Since he only gazed at the offering in front of him, rather than partaking, she dipped her fingertip into his water bowl and held it to him. He licked tentatively. She repeated the gesture, lowering her hand, guiding him downward, until he actually stuffed his face in the bowl and lapped enthusiastically.
“Seems you know what you’re doing there,” Sam commented.
Her head lifted. Slowly. Taking him in from his wet, tan-colored suede boots, up his powerful-looking jean-clad thighs, over the notably impressive bulge between his legs, to the outline of hard core muscles beneath his navy-colored T-shirt, since his leather jacket now hung open.
It took a few moments for her gaze to continue upward to his jutting pectoral ledge, then the thick column of his corded neck.
Scarlet tamped down a sigh. The visual assessment was enough to make her burn. But then her gaze slid over his squared jawline, his sensual-looking lips, his ruggedly handsome face.
And those blue, blue eyes. Crystal clear and mesmerizing.
She was acutely aware of her chest heaving. Her pulse thumping. Her clit tingling.
“Not a clue,” she said of his comment.
Her response held double meaning. She didn’t have a clue as to how to treat a battered and bruised puppy. Had less of a clue as to how to handle her second hotter-than-hell man in just two days.
Stepbrothers.
Sam Reed was Michael Vandenberg’s stepbrother.
And Michael had called Sam to tell him about her.
What had he told him about her?
The question brought her around. A little bit. She was still swept up in the distressed feelings evoked by a mistreated puppy and the heat flaring within her at the sight of Sam.
She stood and said, “I honestly can’t believe someone could do something so vile. But of course it happens all the time, right?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say all the time.” Letting out a long breath, he added, “Though even once is too much in my opinion.”
He watched the Lab for a few seconds. As did Scarlet. She wasn’t sure what was normal for the dog—was he drinking enough? When had he last eaten? Was he freezing his little paws off?
Snatching the blanket from the floor, she asked Sam, “Think he’d be warmer in front of the fire?”
“Actually, I’m more concerned about him eating something.”
“What have you been feeding him?”
Sam rubbed his chin with an index finger and said in a contemplative voice, “Well, the vet says he’s about nine weeks old, so he’s been weaned. He’s good for dog food.”
“Where do you keep it?”
“Pantry.” He hitched his thumb toward a door beyond the fridge.
She headed that way and stepped inside. Her eyes popped. This was no “pantry.” It was a huge walk-in storage/laundry room.
On a long counter sat a Science Diet bag. She scooped out some kibble and then went back into the kitchen and dumped it in the bowl. Sam was busy unwrapping the box, which accommodated a pie, and then put a tub of what she presumed to be ice cream in the freezer.
He turned back to Scarlet and said, “Your tire’s got a chunk taken out of it. And the idiot with the rental company who serviced the vehicle didn’t check to see if the spare was replaced when last used, so you don’t have one. I’ll need to call around in the morning for a new tire. Pull the dent in the wheel well. Unless the rental company will send someone out for you, there’s not much else I can do but offer you dinner and a place to stay for the night. It’ll have to be my loft, because the guest bedroom’s not finished. But I’ll change the sheets for you and sleep on the couch.”
“I hate to put you out like that.”
“I don’t see that either of us has much choice. I’m not inclined to risk my truck as the weather gets worse. Or our lives.”
Scarlet knew precisely why, aside from the obvious hazard of being on the road in a snowstorm.
Cassidy Harkins.
She’d been Sam’s fiancée.
Scarlet said, “Can’t argue with your logic.”
“Good. Now how about we see to that cut?”
She tugged off her gloves, one a bit ravaged from when she’d sliced her hand. She carefully removed the bloodied napkins.
Sam took her hand in his, palm up. His touch was surprisingly gentle, though with a hint of roughness from light calluses, indicating he wasn’t opposed to manual labor. And like Michael’s hand on her bare thigh, Sam’s touch sent shock waves through her body. So much so, she jerked her hand back, out of the cradle his larger one had created.
Scarlet’s heart bounced off the wall of her chest. To cover her adolescent move and her instant reaction to his skin on hers, she said, “I should rinse this off before I bleed on you.”
She skirted him and went to the sink.
He didn’t speak for a few moments, the tension stretching between them. Finally, he told her, “I’ll get the first-aid kit.”
While he disappeared into the storage room, she fought for a steadying breath. All of Sam Reed’s six-foot-two- or -three inches of rugged virility were so not good for her health.
He came back to where she stood and laid out the canvas-covered kit. Without a word, he took her hand again, dabbed it with a paper towel to dry her palm, and then oozed antibiotic over the wound. It stung, but she didn’t flinch this time. Forced herself to remain as still as possible. Hell, she barely even breathed.
Sam placed a cotton pad over the cut and then wound gauze around her hand. After a few passes, he turned her hand over and in a notably gruffer voice than before—was it sexually strained?—he instructed, “Hold this here.” He tapped the gauze with his long, blunt-tipped index finger and she did as instructed so that he could cut the end of the strand and then apply two strips of tape to secure the bandage.
“Nice job,” she softly said. “Thanks.”
“Should be good as new within the week.”
He glanced up. Their gazes locked. The air shifted between them.
Everything shifted inside her, too.
Her breathing morphed into a paltry crawl. At the same time, a molten sensation flowed through her from head to toe, seeping into all the cracks and crevices created by years of heartache. Making her feel blissfully warm. A little less alone, a little less hollow.
Because this man had experienced heartbreak and loss as well. And the way he so deeply cared for the well-being of the abused and abandoned puppy told Scarlet Sam was a man with vast emotions. Had therefore likely been wrecked to the core over his fiancée’s death. And that of their unborn child.
More tears filled her eyes.
He quietly asked, “Did I hurt you with the antibiotic?”
“No.”
“Then … what?”
“It’s just … I…” She gave a slight shake of her head. Swallowed hard. “I know about the car accident in the Hamptons. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. That.” He carefully released her hand. Made himself busy zipping up the kit and returning it to the other room.
Scarlet felt an odd severing of a sensitive, delicate tie. One that had been woven between them in an instant and cut just as quickly.
While she collected the napkins and paper towel with suddenly trembling fingers because she’d unexpectedly let a wall down that she shouldn’t have, Sam stalked back in.
He abruptly said, “I’ll tell you whatever I can about the art theft, but the car accident is off-limits, Miss Drake. Absolutely not a topic of conversation.”
Anger and something much more evocative flashed in his cerulean eyes.
Pain.
It’s pain, Scarlet.
And maybe he saw it in her eyes, too.
With a nod, she told him, “I can respect that. And please, call me Scarlet.”
“Fine.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a coatrack in the corner by the tall glass panes and the window seating with drawers and cubbies built in underneath.
Scarlet removed her jacket as well, and he hung it with his. Not saying anything further.
A plethora of words welled in her throat, though. An apology. A condolence. And gratitude that he’d helped her out this evening.
If he hadn’t come along or taken that tow call, she might still be out there in the snow. Especially with the road outside of Lakeside closed. It wasn’t as though there were homesteads lining the countryside. The ranches were few and far between. And there probably wasn’t much cause for the locals to be out and about on a night like this, in stormy weather.
She shuddered at the thought of truly being stranded. Though she’d loaded up with provisions to placate Bayli—and because it was the smart thing to do—she had no idea how long the heater would have run. She’d kept the interior lights and the radio off in the event that might aid the battery life, but really, she could have been an icicle by the time someone found her. If not for Sam.
He eventually spoke again, telling her, “You should stand over by the fire. I’ll start dinner.”
“Let me help.”
He eyed her curiously. Or maybe suspiciously. She couldn’t quite decipher all of his expressions. There were myriad ones that ran deep.
“All right,” he said. “I need the portabellas sliced and we’ll do up some baked potatoes.” He gestured toward a basket on the island filled with vegetables. All fresh from some sort of greenhouse farmers’ market, she was sure. “There’s a box of disposable gloves under the sink to protect that bandage from getting wet.”
“Good thinking.”
Sam reached for a stainless-steel colander overhead and gave it to her for cleaning the ’shrooms and potatoes. He asked, “You’re not opposed to venison tenderloin roast, are you?”
“I’ve never had venison. But I’ll try anything once. I’m a bit of an adventure freak.”
“I figured as much, since you were driving across Montana in the winter.”
She loaded up the colander and took it to the sink. “That was born of necessity.”
“Why don’t you talk to me about that?” He preheated the oven and set out a broiler pan.
Scarlet said, “The insurance company that paid out the claim on the art collection hired me to basically do a final-attempt investigation to confirm nothing was overlooked in the initial examination of the case. It’s a good-faith procedure for their stakeholders, to demonstrate no stone was left unturned and justify the check they cut.”
“That’s a fancy, nonoffensive way of saying they want to make damn sure my family didn’t rip ’em off.”
“Why, yes, it is.” She smiled and batted her lashes.
“Hmph.” He actually cracked a grin. Not much of one, but it was more than she’d gotten out of him thus far.
“So I have Michael’s alibi,” she said as she rinsed the mushrooms. “I’d like to hear yours.”
“I already gave it.”
“I’m aware of that, though I haven’t yet read the statement. Sometimes it helps for me to hear these things in person.”
“Then you came a long way for nothing, Scarlet Drake. Because I don’t have a hell of a lot to tell you.” He yanked on one of the handles on the refrigerator door and retrieved a slab of bacon and the roast, wrapped in butcher paper. She dried the baby bellas on a paper towel.
“It’s okay if I hear exactly what the FBI did. It’s a cross-check. And just plain and simple Scarlet is fine.”
His glowing blue eyes flitted to her. “Believe me, there’s nothing plain and simple about you.” His gaze roved her body, from her long hair with the bangs tossed over to one side, down the front of her tight gray wool sweater, to her low-rise jeans and hiking boots. “Scarlet,” he added with another quirk of the corner of his mouth.
Their gazes connected again and her pulse jumped.
Bayli had once joked that the way Christian or Rory looked so intensely at her sometimes sparked a physical jolt low in her belly. She called it eye sex.
Scarlet was fairly certain she’d just had it with Sam Reed.
She reached for the potato scrubber on the ledge and went to town on the skins, her blood sizzling, her skin tingling.
And what was going on between her legs mirrored all the zings Michael had incited the night before.
Christ, had that really been less than twenty-four hours ago? Had she only left his bed at the Crestmont this very morning?
And now here she was, hot for his stepbrother. Completely charged by his powerful masculinity and smitten with his contradictory compassionate nature. His obvious love of animals. His broken heart.
Everything about him pulled her in, hooked her. Made her want him the way she’d so desperately wanted Michael within the first few seconds of meeting him.
That was crazy; she knew it.
Not that it wasn’t possible to be overwhelmingly attracted to two men at the same time. It’d happened to Jewel over the course of twenty-eight years of knowing and eventually falling in love with Rogen when they were kids and then Vin as they’d entered adulthood. It had happened to Bayli much quicker. About as fast as it was happening to Scarlet.
Perhaps it was because her best friends had experienced soul-deep emotional and sexual connections with their guys that it was easily a viable romantic scenario in Scarlet’s mind. Plausible, so that maybe from the onset of meeting Sam she’d subconsciously been open to the concept of sharing volcanic chemistry with both him and Michael.
Who knew how synergy and electrifying vibes really worked, other than to say that they could strike like lightning? And she’d been zapped twice.
She considered this as she wrapped the potatoes in foil, pierced them, and added them to the oven along with the bacon Sam was cooking. Then she found a bamboo cutting board, grabbed a knife from the block, and began slicing mushrooms at the island.
Sam pulled out the broiler pan when the bacon was only about half-done and set the roast on the flat strips, seasoned the meat, then rolled it all up and returned it to the oven.
He washed his hands, moving about stealthily. As he reached for a sauté pan, his chest grazed her shoulder and it was a wonder she didn’t cut open her other palm from the jarring sensation inside her. Just like Bayli’s reaction to eye sex.
Fuck.
She tried to keep her shuddering to a minimum.
Come on, Scarlet. This is serious business.
Don’t get lost in those gorgeous blue eyes. That whole sexy, earthy look the man sported. And the enticing scent of him.
Scarlet had a small window of opportunity to engage Sam and find out more about the missing artwork. It was extremely fortuitous that he’d been the one who’d rescued her and brought her here. Even more advantageous that she couldn’t make it into Lakeside or back to Rollins, so that she had no choice but to have dinner with him.
To spend the night.
Kismet was shining bright and Scarlet was not fool enough to turn a blind eye to it. She had the chance to question Sam without it being the accusatory interrogation he’d originally expected it would be. They could talk. Discuss a few theories. Perhaps Scarlet would learn something invaluable. A key factoid that would explain how the paintings had vanished and where they might be.
Without incriminating Michael and Sam, she hoped. Really, their quilt would be a bummer of epic proportions. Especially with Sam constantly sneaking peeks at the puppy to check on him. That kindhearted gesture did things to Scarlet. Moved her in a way that would have been significant under normal circumstances, but given Sam’s tortured past and obviously still-tormented soul, his concern for the Lab held even more poignancy for her.
She didn’t doubt for a second that Sam Reed would have made an incredible father.
And that choked her up again. Literally as well as figuratively. She sputtered on a half sob and had to go for another tissue.
“You okay?” Sam asked, the worry much too evident in his rich, intimate timbre, causing her to turn a shoulder on him so he didn’t see her dab at tears.
“Yeah, sure,” she said, striving for an unwavering tone. Not fully succeeding. “Saliva down the wrong pipe or something,” she lied.
“Right. Well, that’s probably my fault. I didn’t offer you water or anything.”
“You did. When you saved me from the ditch.” She faced him and smiled softly. “You’re a hell of a guy.”
He smirked. “I’ll try not to let that go to my head. You want some wine? I was planning to open a Malbec to pair with the venison.”
“That sounds great. I feel bad that you’re going to all this trouble.”
“I have to eat, too.” He winked.
And oh, God, what that did to her nerve endings! Every single one went haywire. Stealing her breath.
No, he likely hadn’t been flirting with her. He’d just made a casual remark and followed it up with a casual facial expression.
Nothing to read into there, Scarlet.
Except that she felt the electric current arcing between them. Wanted to bend into it like a reed in the wind.
Wanted to fall into it, to be more precise. Let it capture her, tangle her up. Consume her. Until she lost herself in the moment the way she had with Michael.
That was something she’d never imagined experiencing, had never come even remotely close to experiencing. And while she would concede that it was a trifle terrifying to step away from a reality she’d always clung to, the fantasy of releasing the tether on her tightly contained emotions had led to one seriously amazing night with a man who’d known exactly how to give her everything she’d needed.
Those trusty gut instincts of hers told Scarlet that Sam Reed was as intuitive as his stepbrother when it came to satisfying a woman.
That naughty thought chased away the sentimentality that had crept in on her. She tossed the tissue and picked up where she’d left off with the portabellas.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that Sam still studied her closely, trying to read her. Then he gave up and crossed to the rustic six-foot-long, two-foot-wide riddling racks mounted to the wall separating the kitchen from the great room, which featured double-story, asymmetrically cut windows overlooking the property and another gorgeous fireplace centered between them.
He selected a bottle of wine and uncorked it at the island. Poured two glasses and handed one to Scarlet.
They clinked rims and said, “Cheers,” at the same time.
She took a sip and nodded her approval. “Very nice.”
After a long drink, Sam set his glass aside and collected the green beans from the veggie basket. He prepped the sauté pan, then tossed in the beans. Meanwhile, Scarlet chopped some fresh parsley to go with the mushrooms.
Five minutes passed with a comfortable silence lingering in the air. Scarlet had more questions for him, of course. But for the moment, she absorbed the crackle of the fire and in the atmosphere.
Sam removed the beans from the heat and dumped them into a serving bowl. Then he shaved almonds before sliding them into the pan to toast. When they were ready, he also added them to the bowl. Last, he sliced an onion and started to caramelize the strips.
Scarlet asked, “Anything else you need?”
“Chopped thyme, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“I’ll give the onions a good twenty minutes and then mix them with the beans, almonds, and thyme and finish cooking them all together.”
She went back to work. Then sipped some more.
The aroma of the venison roast and the onions filled the vast room. The puppy took interest in the new scents and rounded the island, sniffing the air.
Scarlet grinned. “Maybe starting him on dog food could take a backseat to a little human food. Can I give him some carrots?”
“Sure.”
She made chunks small enough for easy chomping and then knelt before the curious camper and held her palm out. He did more sniffing, then started to nibble.
“He really likes you,” Sam said.
She glanced up. “He likes you, too. Trusts you. Dogs have great instincts, you know?”
“It’s too damn bad they can’t choose their owners.”
The puppy polished off the snack and waddled toward Sam, brushing his nose against Sam’s leg.
Scarlet laughed quietly. “I think this one has.”
Sam gingerly lifted him into his arms and the Lab settled easily, finding his happy spot.
“Are you going to name him?” she asked.
“Not while he’s in such a sorry state. When he’s healed and feeling better, I can get a read on his personality. Pick a nice strong name for him.”
“That’s a good idea.”
They stared at each other across the span of the kitchen. It was unnerving to see this big, strapping man cuddling a tiny, defenseless puppy. Heart-wrenching, really, because said pup was covered in bruises and cuts. But he looked perfectly comfortable and cozy nestled against Sam. More important, he seemed to feel safe in Sam’s arms, in his care. As though he already knew this man would protect him and love him from here on out.
Scarlet cleared her throat to combat the emotion threatening to overcome her again. She went to the stove and poked at the onions to ensure they cooked evenly. Or just make herself useful and not so teary-eyed.
Over her shoulder, she said, “Tell me when to start the bellas.”
Sam grabbed another pan and set it on a burner, not jostling his now-sleeping bundle. “Another ten minutes or so. Enjoy your wine.”
She slid onto a high-backed stool and lifted her glass. She asked, “Can we talk about the night of the art theft?”
He gave a slight shrug. “Not a lot to say about it, as I told you.”
“Where were you around eleven o’clock?”
“In the guesthouse.” He grinned, a bit mischievously. “With two very beautiful socialites. Misty Ferrera and Pembroke Peters … Peterson … I can’t remember which.”
“Peterson,” Scarlet confirmed. “Adopted by her mother’s third husband.” She took another drink and asked, “What about Michael? He claims to have been in the guesthouse as well.”
“Sure. He was there.”
“Interesting. He didn’t mention your presence when he gave his statement.”
“Obviously, from mine the FBI could put two and two together.”
“Or four,” she muttered. “You, Michael, Misty, and Pembroke.”
“Not exactly.” He propped a hip against the ledge of the counter and speared her with a pointed look. “Me, Michael, and Misty. Then me, Michael, and Pembroke. Follow?”
Her jaw slacked. “That’s some serious stamina.”
The pointed look turned downright wicked. “We were all there for a few hours.”
Curiosity—and the sexy expression on his devastatingly handsome face—got the best of Scarlet. Prompting her to ask, “Do you two do that often? Share the same woman?”
“We’ve been known to on occasion.” He shoved away from the counter and sought out his own wineglass.
Scarlet let this new revelation, this sinfully delicious tidbit, seep through her veins.
“Wait a minute,” Sam said as he eyed her over the rim of his glass. “You don’t look the least bit surprised. Or, I should say, you don’t appear the least bit fazed.”
Her brow crooked. “About you and your stepbrother engaging in threesomes? No. Doesn’t faze me at all.”
Excites the hell out of me is more like it.
And she squirmed a little in her seat at the sudden tickle along her clit.
She added, “I have two sets of friends who enjoy a ménage à tiros arrangement. Quite successfully, in fact.”
“Huh. Guess I didn’t think you’d approve of the alternative lifestyle.”
“Well, I am from California,” she told him. “And as I told you, I like some adventure in my life.”
She instantly clamped down on her lower lip. Oops. Was that opening a can of worms or what?
Had Scarlet just implied that she was more than amenable to a threesome?
Releasing her lip—thankful the lipstick she typically wore in her signature crimson color was of the stay-put variety—she squared her shoulders and brazenly returned his gaze.
“Interesting,” he said, his tone low and soul stirring. His blue eyes blazed bright enough to melt her right off her stool. “Why’d you only read Michael’s alibi?”
Scarlet’s mind faltered. For the first time, she was having trouble keeping up with the quick-fire questioning. Because her brain was stuck on the forbidden.
Sam and Michael enjoyed pleasuring one woman at the same time.
Holy Jesus.
“Scarlet?” Sam prompted her, a tinge of amusement in his tone.
He knew exactly the direction in which her thoughts ran. She was certain of it.
Scarlet cleared her throat again.
How was this all getting so complicated?
Focus!
It was no easy feat, but she got her brain to shift to business again. She said, “Michael caught my attention because five million dollars had been deposited into his account right around the time the insurance check came in.”
That was basically an auto-reply, because it was insanely difficult to concentrate on her case when her body was going up in flames. Her nipples pebbled behind her lacy bra and she was damn certain she was wet. Again. As much as she’d been the night before.
What the hell were these men doing to her?
She’d gone a couple of years without so much as a spark. Now in two days she’d met two men who had her revved to the core of her being.
But she wouldn’t drop the ball. So she added, “Unfortunately, I discovered that you’d received the same amount.” She gave him a hard look. “Just three weeks after Michael.”
To his credit, Sam didn’t seem even mildly taken aback. He said, “Michael had inherited some property and he flipped a portion of it. That’s how he started building his fortune.”
“And where’d the five mil come from that you ended up with?”
Sam stepped away and carefully settled the snoozing dog in his bed. Then he washed his hands again. Checked on the onions. Finally, he rested his sinewy forearms on the countertop and leaned toward Scarlet. Close enough that she could inhale the faint scent of some ultra-manly cologne and his natural heat.
She resisted the compulsion to close her eyes and take a deep breath, draw in his very essence. Let it ribbon through her, caress her heart, her soul. Stroke her slowly, blissfully. Until she was drowning in him.
It was damn near impossible not to cave to this new desire. But she fought its allure. Remained dedicated to her inquisition.
“About the money in your account…?” she asked, all breathy and not the tiniest bit professional sounding. Christ, her eyes were probably all soft and seductive.
His gaze still holding hers, Sam said, “My windfall was an inheritance, too. I moved into the Vandenberg estate when I was sixteen, with only a handful of nickels to rub together. My mother wasn’t much better off. She’d moved us from Colorado to New York because she was hoping to get in at an art gallery—as more than a volunteer. She hadn’t realized she needed a degree, not just book knowledge.”
He sipped his wine, then continued. “While living in Mitcham’s house and the perks improved our situation astronomically—I was given a car for my birthday, had all the stuff a guy wants when he’s growing up—I didn’t actually have any cash that was mine. There was an allowance, sure. But it came with plenty of strings.”
“Were you willing to let Mitcham Vandenberg pull those strings?”
“To an extent,” he admitted. “Existing in the Hamptons requires a working income if you’re going to leave the grounds. So I followed some of the rules.”
“But not all of them?”
“I wasn’t interested in taking the corporate helicopter into the city after school to put in late hours at Vandenberg Enterprises. I suspect that’s one of the reasons Mitcham never elected to adopt me or even broached the subject with my mother.”
Scarlet’s head tilted in contemplation. “Did you want him to adopt you?”
“No.” Sam tore his gaze from hers and straightened. He went for the wine bottle. As he refreshed their glasses, he said, “All I wanted was for my mom to be happy. Did I enjoy the sports car and the parties and the royal treatment because I lived on the estate? Naturally. Who the hell wouldn’t? But was I willing to jump through massive hoops to make Mitcham love me or treat me like his very own son? No.”
“Because you had a close relationship with your real father?”
“I don’t know who my real father is. Disappeared without a trace when he found out my mother was pregnant. She tried to find him, but she’s convinced he went so far as to change his name to keep from having any sort of connection to us or financial responsibility. That’s all I really know, all I really care to know. I’ve never considered him to be my father, not in the true sense. I don’t subscribe to running away from your commitments.… Even as a kid I couldn’t abide by it.”
“Yes, that is pretty shitty.”
Sam nodded.
Getting back on track, Scarlet asked, “How’d you get into Princeton? Expensive school.”
The angst left Sam’s eyes, so he presumably preferred this line of questioning to anything pertaining to his deadbeat dad.
“Princeton is one of the few Ivy Leaguers to offer grants,” he explained. “I had the grades and the accolades to apply for one, plus I received a partial football scholarship. I’ll confess that I told the Admissions people my stepfather was Mitcham Vandenberg, alumnus, and my stepbrother was Michael, who’d been immediately accepted into the university, as though ordained. The name-dropping greased the wheels.” He rapped his knuckles on the granite, a bit pensively. “I still had to work my ass off to survive, though—both academically and with a part-time job.”
“I can imagine. You were an architecture major. That had to be all-consuming unto itself.”
Sam regarded her a few moments, then asked, “Is there anything about me that you don’t know?”
“Plenty, I assure you.”
“Well, I’m feeling at a slight disadvantage.”
“Fair enough.” She slid off the stool and grabbed the cutting board with the ’shrooms and went to the stove. As she drizzled olive oil into the pan and turned on the burner, she said, “Ask me whatever you’d like. However, I regret to inform you up front that unless you’re fascinated by unsolved mysteries and sketchy locales and shady characters you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“I’m interested in you,” he said, his voice a low, arousing rumble.
Scarlet’s stomach fluttered. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He stared intently at her with those intense blue eyes of his, making her think that the inquisitiveness radiating from him had less to do with wanting to know her backstory and more to do with her silent admission and acceptance that the idea of a ménage scenario with him and his stepbrother titillated her.
Exhilaration trilled through her at the image of their naked bodies entwined flashing in her mind. All other thoughts fled her usually sensible brain as she fixated on the mental trailer playing in her head.
Geez, Scarlet. Get it together.
Speak!
Her mouth worked like a gaping fish trying to expel a hook lodged in its throat as she fought to free the words on her tongue.
But not a single one materialized.
So she turned back to the stove and continued what she was doing while also trying to block the fantasy of Michael and Sam working in tandem to make her come. Over and over.
Her nipples tightened further. Her pussy ached.
These two men were preying on her senses.
“Why don’t we start with the basics?” Sam proposed. “Where in California do you live?”
Okay, an easy question.
Breathe, Scarlet.
Just breathe.
She sucked in a long stream of air. Though her body thrummed from a rush of adrenaline, she managed to say, “River Cross. Wine country about an hour and a half outside of San Francisco.”
“Lived there your whole life?”
“Mostly. I had an apartment in the city with friends when I went to SFSU.”
“What’d you study?”
“Criminal law.”
She heard the grin in his voice as he said, “That was a given. Sorry I asked.” Then he added, “How long have you been an insurance fraud investigator?”
She scraped the baby bellas into her pan with a spatula and said, “I interned with a company during college, then moved back to River Cross and hung my own shingle after I graduated.”
“Ambitious of you.”
“Yes.”
She gave the onions some love, then stirred the ingredients.
Behind her, she heard Sam leave the island. He pulled open the fridge again. A heartbeat later he was at her side. He yanked the cork out of a bottle of white wine and splashed a small amount into her sauté pan, making it sizzle.
“Adds an extra punch,” he said with a coy grin. “Better for the garlic-cream sauce I’ll whip up to top the roast with.”
“How are you such a good cook?” she asked, quite pleased she was finally capable of speech after she’d lost her voice earlier. Kind of surprised it didn’t vaporize again with him standing right next to her but pleased nonetheless.
“I’m a bachelor,” he simply said. “It’s either learn or starve.”
“Makes sense. Not exactly convenient takeout or delivery service in these parts, I surmise.”
“That is correct.”
“Though you don’t seem to lack for homemade desserts.”
With a sexy chuckle that reverberated deep within her, he said, “No, I do not. It tends to be the payment around here when you do something nice for someone.”
Her gaze slid along his corded throat, up to his strong jawline, to his mesmerizing eyes. She said, “I bet you do a lot of nice things for the single ladies of the county.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed ever so slightly as he swallowed hard. He told her, “I don’t exactly provide the kind of services you’re thinking of.”
“You have no idea what I’m thinking.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
They stared at each other. At a complete impasse.
While Scarlet would guess he had more than his fair share of admirers and likely gave his affection to one every now and then, she didn’t take him for a womanizer. And given that he wasn’t the least bit concerned about having a new woman at his place, unexpectedly, and he was accustomed to cooking and picking up after himself, she would venture to say there was no revolving door to his bedroom.
He didn’t seem like the type. Even if he was too damn hot for words and made her want to strip him bare and crawl all over him.
She had no idea how much time ticked by as they were both swimming in each other’s eyes. But he eventually stepped away and said, “Don’t forget the mushrooms.”
Scarlet didn’t exactly snap to attention. In fact, she felt a bit boneless and much, much too warm for comfort. She tended to the veggies, then had no choice but to haul her sweater over her head and drop it onto her stool. She wore a white tank top for extra layering, and even that felt too clingy, too oppressive.
If she had any sort of excuse for opening the refrigerator door, she’d just stand there and let the coolness wash over her.
Sam took note, naturally. But didn’t say a word. Instead, he checked on his roast. Then tossed the green beans and almonds into the pan with the caramelized onions. Scarlet put herself to good use—and welcomed the distraction—by trolling the kitchen for plates and flatware. Napkins.
She set the table as Sam finished up dinner. He served while she poured more wine. The puppy expressed mild interest in the festivities and ambled over. It touched her heart that he wasn’t just a lonesome ball of fur on his thick pillow.
Sam set out bread and she tore off a hunk for the mutt, who gobbled it down. His appetite was growing by leaps and bounds.
Not that Scarlet could blame him. Her stomach grumbled at the incredible scent permeating the house. She hadn’t eaten since Spokane many, many hours earlier. But it wasn’t the delicious aroma that had her so ravenous. It was definitely Sam.
She had to tamp down that particular craving, though. Focus instead on dinner.
“This looks incredible,” she said of the feast spread before her. “And smells even better.”
Sam surveyed the bounty, then told her, “I didn’t think to put out a salad.”
“Screw the salad.” She speared a baked potato with her fork and hoisted it onto her plate. “That’s just a waste of space in my mind.”
He grinned. “Careful there, darlin’. I’m starting to like you.”
She couldn’t resist the flirty look she threw his way as she said, “Feeling’s mutual, cowboy.”
And Scarlet was suddenly dying to know if he’d do anything about it.…