smiled. She hadn’t expected to encounter both unique wit and simmering masculinity here in Sutter Gap. It was highly enjoyable. And given the choice, she could think of whole list of things she would also enjoy, beginning with a slow striptease and ending with a night of passion in her motel room…if she were living in Sarah Cantrell’s Sexual Fantasyland where every handsome man was interested in pleasuring her. But she wasn’t.
“You said you know Sam Morgan. Do you know where he is right now?”
Charlie nodded. “I do.”
Sarah opened her purse and withdrew a twenty, placing it on the bar. The bartender poured Charlie a whiskey straight up and left the bottle. Sarah ordered a diet cola, deciding it would be better to keep her head together than impress him with her drinking abilities. “Could you take me to him?”
“Sam’s a real private person. He doesn’t like strangers, even if they do look like you.”
There was a compliment in there somewhere. “Surprise, surprise,” she murmured. “No one in this town likes strangers. And no one knows anything about Sam Morgan either.”
“Or maybe they just don’t want to talk to you.”
“This is very important,” Sarah said, reaching out to touch his hand. The moment she did, she had cause to regret her action. A strange tingle numbed her fingers and began to climb up her arm. “I—I have a business proposal for him that could be financially beneficial. I think it’s only fair that he make his own decision about this.”
Charlie set down his whiskey glass and ran his thumb back and forth over the back of her hand. “And what makes you think Sam is interested in money?”
“Everyone is interested in money,” Sarah said. Although, right now, all she was interested in was the strange effect Charlie Wilbury’s touch was having on her body.
He downed the rest of his whiskey and set the glass on the bar, then slowly stood. “Not everyone, Ms. Cantrell. Hell, I’m interested in lots of other things besides money.” He let his gaze skim lazily up and down her body. “You probably are, too, right?” With that, he started toward the door.
Sarah gasped. Just what was he intimating? Yes, she was attracted to him. And the thought of tearing his clothes off and having her way with him had crossed her mind—once, twice at the most. But she certainly could set aside basic lust in order to focus on the real reason she’d come to Sutter Gap.
She grabbed her purse and ran, catching up to him on the sidewalk outside the bar. “Wait!” He stopped and she circled around him, preventing him from taking another step. “I’ll pay you five hundred dollars if you get me a meeting with Sam Morgan.”
“You still haven’t told me what you want.”
Sarah stared up at him, losing herself in his gaze for a long moment. He had the most mesmerizing blue eyes. Suddenly all thoughts of business fled from her head. If she told him what she really wanted from him, what would he do? What a silly question! From the way he was looking at her, he wasn’t the kind of man who waited for an engraved invitation.
“One thousand dollars,” she said in a shaky voice, knowing that she’d wipe out the last of her checking account to get what she wanted. “You take me to Sam Morgan, no questions asked.” But after she made the offer, Sarah wondered if she could trust the man behind those eyes. Could she trust any man who made her heart flutter and her pulse pound, a man who looked as if he were ready to toss her against the nearest car and have his way with her?
“Nope,” he said. He started off again, but she grabbed his arm.
“All right. Here’s the deal. I want to make a television show about Sam Morgan’s experiences in the wilderness. I own a small production company and we work with the PBS station in Charleston, South Carolina. It would be a multimedia deal. There’d be a companion book, speaking engagements, special appearances. I’ve read Mr. Morgan’s articles in Outdoor Adventure and he’s a wonderful writer. I can make him famous.”
Charlie laughed out loud. “Famous?”
“As famous as…Bob Vila. Or Julia Child.”
“So you like his writing?” Charlie asked. “I always thought his prose was a little flowery.”
“Not at all,” Sarah protested. “It’s descriptive and evocative. He has such a wonderful way with detail, yet there’s an innate simplicity to his words. Do you know if he’s an educated man?”
Charlie hesitated, as if contemplating how much he was willing to reveal. “I’d say he’s just about the smartest guy I’ve ever met. I’d even call him brilliant. But he’s also very humble.”
“And what about his dental situation,” she asked. “Does he have all his teeth?”
Sam’s eyebrow shot up. “Yes, I believe he does.”
Sarah sighed in relief. She was finally getting somewhere. But she still had to convince Charlie Wilbury to take her to Sam. “I could really use your help. Maybe we could have dinner tonight and I could explain all the details.”
She swallowed hard, wondering if the invitation sounded too desperate. But she was desperate—to find Sam Morgan. And maybe a tiny bit interested in his friend Charlie Wilbury. “I’m sure Mr. Morgan will want to listen to my proposal, but I’ll let you be the judge.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Gap View Motor Lodge out on Route 18. Room nine.”
He studied her for a long moment, then shrugged. “All right. I’ll pick you up at seven. Dress warmly,” he said. With that, Charlie Wilbury walked down the street, whistling softly, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.
Sarah watched him go, staring at his backside and admiring the view. She shivered again, then rubbed her arms through her wool jacket. It had been a long time since she’d found a man so devastatingly attractive. And had he been just an ordinary man, she might have considered seducing him.
But it had always been her policy never to mix business with pleasure. She sighed. “A guy like Charlie Wilbury would be a good reason to revise that policy,” she murmured.
SAM STARED at his reflection in the rearview mirror, then raked his hands through his hair. Maybe he should have taken more care with his appearance. After all, this was a date of sorts. He was taking a beautiful woman to dinner, the closest thing he’d had to a real social engagement in almost three years.
“What the hell am I doing?” he muttered.
It had been a simple plan—hide his identity, find out what she wanted and then get the hell out of town. But now that he knew exactly what she wanted, why was he still hanging around? He had no intention of agreeing to her proposal.
Obviously he was staying because Sarah Cantrell made his pulse race and his blood warm. From the moment he’d met her, he’d thought about nothing but getting her into bed. For a man who’d done without sex for months, that wasn’t unexpected. But his fantasies were strangely detailed, imagining the feel of her breast in his hand or the warmth of her mouth on his skin or the—
Sam cursed softly. Nothing good could come of his deception. If he had any intention of inviting her into his bed, then
