trip to a real city to shop.”
“You do that and I’ll take care of the rest. By the time you get back, I’ll have all the arrangements made.”
He stared at her in shock. Steamroller, thy name is Sammie Jo.
He got back to the motel room after his road trip to Charleston at about noon and found a note on the kitchen table.
G.—I took the liberty of packing your stuff—nice silk boxer shorts, BTW. Check out of the motel and meet me at this address. And for God’s sake, wear some uptight rich-guy clothes.
—S.
She’d checked out his underwear? Vixen. He’d have to return the favor sometime. He noticed belatedly that the sticky note was pasted to a hand-drawn map. What had she gone and done?
Bemused, he followed her instructions to Spruce Hollow’s one and only side street and pulled up in front of a one-story brick ranch house that looked straight out of the 1950s. Oh, God. He couldn’t do this.
The house was low and rectangular, nothing like the neat, craftsman-style home that flashed into his head with blinding clarity. A home with blood everywhere. Death. And that horrible, primal scream that wouldn’t stop.
Chapter 4
He’d done some hard things in his life, seen and survived horrors that would have broken a lesser man—at least that was what the shrinks told him. But turning the Bronco into that little ranch house’s driveway, parking it and climbing out like he wasn’t screaming in terror inside his head was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
Two women emerged from the house as he stood by the SUV fighting every warning his body could shout at him to turn and run until he couldn’t take another step. The yard was overgrown and full of weeds, but a neat carpet of green swam in his mind’s eye. Paint peeled from these shutters, and a rusty rain gutter dangled from the front porch. That other house had been fully restored to pristine perfection.
He forced his mind to a place of calm. No emotion. It had been a long time since he’d had to set a date for himself, but he did so, now. One month from today. If the pain had not subsided by then, he gave himself permission to contemplate ending his life on that day. And with the mental exercise came a modicum of peace. It had been the only way he’d survived those first few years. Making bargains with himself that, if it all became too much for him by some set date, he could check out of life’s mortal coil.
He eyed the ranch house critically as he climbed out of the SUV. The roof looked sound and the brick siding looked solid, but that was about the best he could say for the place.
One of the women on the long front porch wore a business suit that screamed Realtor. The other one looked like June Cleaver, complete with pastel-flowered dress, full skirt and a demure little belt cinching in a tiny waist. Her coloring was creamy and soft, her eyes dark, her hair in a French twist… . Good God. Her red hair.
He barely recognized Sammie Jo. She looked sweet. Domestic. Gentle, even. Gone was the leather, the loud makeup, the in-your-face swagger. The change staggered him. He climbed out of the Bronco in minor shock.
“Honey, you’re here!” Sammie Jo cried. “Isn’t it cute? We’ll have so much fun fixing it up. Oh, our first place together,” she gushed.
Oh, God. One month. He could keep up this horrible charade for one month. Jeff Winston deserved that long from him in return for all Jeff had done for him in his darkest days. Gray put one foot in front of him. Then his other foot. One step at a time. One second at a time. Just keep going. Keep moving.
Sammie Jo rushed up to him excitedly. “I knew you’d love it, so I went ahead and started the paperwork. We’ve only rented it for six months. If you hate it, you won’t have to live here that long.” She smiled up winningly at him.
“How could I say no to you?” he managed to choke out.
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the mouth. He was so stunned he just stood there and let her.
“Well, don’t you two make the most darling couple?” the Realtor cooed from behind Sammie Jo.
Couple? A tiny voice wailed in the back of his mind, Nooooooo. One. Month.
He shook hands and murmured appropriate inanities as Sammie Jo introduced him to the Realtor. In a fugue state that made him feel more robot than man, he followed the women inside and duly signed a lease.
He roused enough from his state of horror to register faint surprise at Sammie Jo’s signature. Samantha Jessup. Samantha, huh? Suddenly, the idea of calling her Sam didn’t seem so wrong. As a derivative of Samantha, it wasn’t nearly as masculine and awkward as he’d thought it was. Thankfully, as soon as she dropped a hint about him officially carrying her over the threshold now that it was theirs, the Realtor laughed and took her leave.
“Are you okay?” Sammie Jo mumbled in concern as soon as the Realtor’s car door slammed shut.
“What have you done—” he started as they stood on the porch and watched the woman’s car pull out of the driveway.
“Inside, sweetheart,” she murmured, sotto voce. “The neighbors will be watching.”
“In that case …” He bent down and swept his arms around her. He lifted her in his arms and strode toward the front door. But Lord, the price of it. Using techniques a trauma therapist had taught him, he blanked his mind completely. And then, bit by bit, he let in the details of this one moment. The cool air. The autumn smell of burned leaves. The weight and softness of the woman in his arms. A hint of roses as she shifted slightly. The way his breathing deepened in response to her.
Laughing, she reached down to open the door for him. He added the sultry delight in her laughter to his inventory of sensations.
Carefully, carefully he reached past this moment to the next safest thing: his job. This was a cover. They had to establish themselves as a couple. Being absolutely certain to let no emotion creep into him, he paused in the doorway and leaned his head down to kiss her.
What he hadn’t counted on was her kissing him back. On her mouth opening in surprise beneath his, on her tasting like chantilly cream, all sweet and fluffy with a hint of vanilla. Her arms went around his neck, and she moaned in her throat. She went soft and warm in his arms, cuddling up against him like a purring kitten. Gone was the predator, replaced by this entirely foreign—and entirely female—female.
She casually smashed through every barrier he’d erected for himself, ripping away the fog he’d wrapped himself in like a protective blanket. All that was left was something raw and unnamable, both needy and violent. It scared the living hell out of him.
But the job demanded it, right? It was all part of their cover. It was okay. He let go of the fear and allowed in the sensations bombarding him from every direction. He tested her lips with the tip of his tongue and they were as tasty and alluring as the rest of her. She kissed him back eagerly, almost as if she’d been thinking about it for a while and wondering what it would be like.
And then the heat really amped up between them. What changed, he wasn’t sure. But one second they were kissing, and the next, they were kissing. She was pulling his
