Summer Heat Page 5

  “He owns the galleries and the Lakefield Foundation?”

  How did he know about the foundation? Duh, he’s a private investigator. But why investigate the Lakefields? Better to deal with the matter at hand, Karena, stop borrowing trouble. That’s a problem she’d had all her life, according to her mother.

  “The foundation was instituted about five years ago with the goal of entering into philanthropic arenas. My father comes from a colorful background, his ancestors building off the luck of the land, so to speak. So he and his brothers decided it was time to give something back.”

  “And his brothers are a part of the foundation, as well?”

  He was steadily eating and it wasn’t rude; they were at dinner, after all. He forked his food, watched her as he chewed, asked her questions and every now and then glanced at her plate as if telling her she should be doing the same thing.

  With a shrug she picked up a tuna roll, inhaled the fragrant aroma and took a bite. It tasted as good as it smelled and she almost smiled as her stomach churned in appreciation. She hadn’t eaten all day, she was so worried over this painting issue.

  “Yes, my dad has two brothers. They both live here in New York and all of them got their start in the steel business. Now their corporations are basically run by my cousins, so the uncles are just as bored as my father.”

  Sam nodded. “When my father gets bored he cooks. Then he changes the menu at the restaurants. His managers and chefs hate when he does that, especially my brother, Cole.”

  “You’re from a large family, right?” she asked, finishing off one roll then using her fork to sample the spinach salad that came with her entrée.

  “I’m one of four children. My parents are from New Orleans, where the Desdune lineage could probably occupy two or three counties.” He chuckled at that, sipped his wine and used his napkin to wipe his fingers.

  His plate was clear, she noticed with amazement. Well, he’d said he was hungry.

  “Ever heard of Lucien’s, the Creole-and-Cajun restaurant? There’s one in Harlem,” he told her.

  “There sure is,” she said when she’d finished chewing. The dressing was excellent, and Karena found herself enjoying the meal as well as the company. “I’ve been there a few times. The ham with bourbon-pecan sauce is fantastic.”

  He smiled proudly. “One of my father’s favorite dishes. My brother—he’s the next to the oldest—manages the Greenwich restaurant. There’s one in New Orleans and another one in Atlanta.”

  “You said you had a twin. Are you and she the oldest?”

  “No. Bree and I are the youngest children. Lynn’s my oldest sister.”

  “And you and Bree are the only two who didn’t go into the restaurant business?”

  “Lynn’s a family-law attorney. Cole’s the only one who followed my dad’s footsteps.”

  “Really?” That was interesting. “So what does your mother do?”

  “What doesn’t she do?” He chuckled. “She has her hand in everything, from the restaurants to the hundreds of committees in Greenwich where we live, to the charities she likes to work with. I swear I don’t know how she does it. She’s like the Energizer Bunny pumped with adrenaline.”

  Karena laughed, the tiny sound bubbling from her chest, reaching her eyes and stretching across the table, taking Sam’s breath away.

  “What about your mother, what does she do while you and your sisters are working with your father?” he asked suddenly, wanting to know everything he could about her.

  Sitting back in her chair, she finished chewing and lifted her glass to take a drink. Her smile had dissipated slightly as she seemed to contemplate her response. “Well, for starters we’ve had a sibling defect from the family business, as well. Deena, my youngest sister, isn’t all that interested in the gallery, or the foundation for that matter. My mother believes that Deena is still trying to find herself. Monica thinks she’s flighty, and my father, well, unfortunately Deena wasn’t a son, so he pays her about as much attention as he does me and Monica. No, less, since Deena makes a habit of not showing up for family functions.”

  “I see.” And he really did. The Lakefields were like most families, united yet divided, loving yet judgmental. He wondered how that affected Karena. “What do you think about Deena’s not going into the family business?”

  She sighed. “I think she has a right to follow her dreams. If that doesn’t encompass working in an art gallery or finding a cause to fight for, then that’s her prerogative. I also think there’s a measure of family loyalty to consider.”

  Interesting, Sam thought. “Really? How far do you think you should take family loyalty? Should you sacrifice your own wants and needs for the approval of your family?”

  “That’s not what I said,” she snapped.

  Sam watched her carefully. There was a lot she wasn’t saying. Curiosity had killed the cat—when he’d first gone into P.I. work, he’d had a plaque on his wall that said that very thing. However, curiosity had also begun to pay his bills.

  “I work at the galleries because I love art. I enjoy selecting the right pieces and showcasing them. I’m not much for the charities and planning fundraisers, so I steer clear of that. That’s why I can respect Deena’s choice to do whatever she decides to do. But sometimes I think she’s a little too hard on us. We do and say things most times because we care about her.”

  “That’s usually the way it is with family.” He nodded, and then because she’d still managed to talk about everyone else in her family but her mother, he said, “Your mother is interested in art?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “The foundation?”

  “No.”

  Short and to the point. This was definitely something she didn’t want to talk about. He could push, it was in his nature to do just that, but at that very moment her gaze shifted down to her lap. The tip of her tongue was barely visible as she licked her lips, and Sam’s entire body tightened. Suddenly, talking about her family wasn’t of the utmost importance.

  “Ready to go home?” he asked and was rewarded by a shocked but clearly aroused gaze from her.

  Karena’s apartment was on West End Place in the city. She’d chosen this place for its proximity to the gallery and Riverside and Central Parks. Early on Sunday mornings she’d go running in either park, because that seemed to be the only free time she could find for herself. And even then more than an hour or two was unheard of.

  With her stomach full and her senses on overload from Sam’s close proximity, she used the key to enter her apartment. Dropping her purse and briefcase on the table near the door, she picked up a remote control and pressed the button that would illuminate the living-and dining-room areas.

  “Soooo,” she began, rubbing her now-damp palms over her thighs. “Thanks for dinner and thanks for seeing me home.” And thanks for getting me so aroused I’m now a certified bundle of nerves.

  “Great place,” he said, ignoring her hint and moving around her to peruse the living room.

  Stifling a sigh, Karena turned and walked behind him. She would not look at him, not at the way the muscles in his back pressed against the material of his shirt in such an enticing manner or the way his butt looked in his slacks. She needed a game plan, she thought hastily.

  “I wanted to be close to the park,” she said.

  He turned to face her, the wall full of windows showcasing the breathtaking New York skyline at night surrounding him. “And to your job.”

  Narrowing her gaze, she did sigh this time. “Ok, you’ve already expressed your dislike of how dedicated I am to my job. Can we talk about something else now?”

  To her surprise, he shrugged then moved into the dining room. “Not one for color are you?”

  “What?” She was shaking her head. There were times today when Sam Desdune had been so easy to read—the times when he was leering at her with that sexual hunger that even now had her nipples tingling. And then there were times like right this moment when h
e seemed to go casually from one annoying subject to the next—as if he anticipated her answers and didn’t give them much credence.

  “Your decor,” he said with a flourish of one arm indicating her furniture. “Everything’s one color. Cream. Subtle, safe, neutral.”

  Folding her arms across her chest, she replied, “I like it.”

  He walked toward her then extended both his hands to touch her wrists. Unfolding her arms, he wrapped his fingers slowly around her wrists. “I like you,” he whispered.

  “You’re confusing me,” she said. Her mind was so full of contradictions where he was concerned. Calling him was business, meeting with him this afternoon was, as well. Kissing him was insane, and way too enjoyable. Dinner was being cordial. Standing with him, here in the center of her apartment not three inches away from him, while moonlight mixed with the soft artificial glow of the lamp danced through the room, was…dangerous.

  “Am I?” His voice was a low rumble, the intent in his eyes clear as water.

  “I don’t like to be confused. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on.”

  He nodded. “That’s a fair-enough admission. So how about I tell you what’s going on.”

  She smiled nervously. “Why don’t you do that.”

  His thumbs were whispering over the backs of her hands as he spoke, his dark brown gaze holding hers. “I’m really attracted to you. I have been since first meeting you at Noelle and Brock’s place.”

  “Sam,” she started.

  “Shhh. Don’t interrupt.” Releasing one of her hands, he used a finger to touch her lips. “Seeing you again at the Gramercy’s opening only incited the urge to touch you once more.”

  She looked away, and Sam used a finger to her chin to guide her face back to him. “And when you called today I thought this had to be fate. You see, my Creole grandmother, Ruby, is really big on signs and destinies and all that. Me, I just follow my gut.”

  His fingers brushed softly over her jawline and Karena felt her whole body begin to shiver. “I called you because I needed your help…with the painting. It’s…ah…this…is just business.”

  He smiled, slow and knowingly. Again her response seemed anticipated. His was not.

  “This is much more than business,” he whispered seconds before his lips were once again on hers.

  Chapter 7

  His lips were like slow heat, parting hers until he extended his tongue. He tasted like wine, tangy and just a touch sweet. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she knew she was sinking fast.

  His arms were around her, not resting seductively at the base of her back but slipping farther down, grasping her bottom until she was lifted from the floor and pressed against his rigid erection.

  She tried to speak but her open mouth was only an invitation to him. Tilting her head to the side, she accepted his tongue, twisting and twirling her own around his as her arms went around his neck.

  This was personal, too damned personal. He wasn’t only kissing her—he was touching her, intimately. Touching a part of her that she’d carefully kept under lock and key.

  It was lust. Plain and simple. She needed to get some…soon. That’s what Noelle would say. Hell, that’s what she’d told Noelle only a few months ago when she was debating what to do about Brock Remington. Now the two of them were happily tucked into their lakefront home blissfully in love.

  But love wasn’t for Karena. Not if the price she would pay for it started with losing her identity, as her mother had. Surely she was getting ahead of herself, borrowing trouble again. This was just about sex. Sam wasn’t looking for forever. Or was he? It didn’t matter. That’s definitely not what she was looking for.

  So as hard as it was, she unwrapped her arms from around his neck, used her elbows to push against his chest and twisted her lips away from his.

  Unfortunately, Sam wasn’t catching her drift.

  “I told you not to run from me,” he said, his teeth nipping the heated skin of her neck.

  “I’m not running. I’m stopping this insanity,” she said and squirmed a little more until he set her down on her feet again. He kept his arms tightly around her but her lips were no longer held captive by his, thank goodness. “Let me go.”

  “So you can gather your armor and shut yourself off from the inevitable? I don’t think so.”

  “Fine. Then stand here with your hands on me while I scream to the top of my lungs and we’ll both wait until the security guard at the end of the hall comes rushing in with his gun raised.”

  She thought she had him there, but he simply lifted a brow then chuckled.

  “First of all, rent-a-cop down the hall doesn’t have a gun. He has pepper spray, which is pretty damn bad with the right aim. But I, however, have this.”

  He reached behind his back and pulled out a black gun that looked way too dangerous for him to have casually tucked in the back of his pants.

  Shrugging, he put the gun back and kept smiling at her. “Now, you don’t have to scream, because I’m not in the habit of forcing women to do my bidding.”

  “Good,” she snapped and used the moment when only one of his hands was on her to break free of his hold. It was too easy, she wasn’t fool enough to believe otherwise. He’d let her go, although his gaze all but held her still.

  “Like I said, this is business and we can discuss it further tomorrow.”

  “No. Business was earlier. This—” the hand that had restored his gun to his back now slid sinuously around to his abs, then lower to just over his belt buckle “—this is definitely personal and definitely not going to wait until tomorrow.”

  She swallowed deeply and felt a clutching in her center. This was way too much for her to handle. Her own relationship hang-ups aside, Monica’s warning resounded in her head, punctuating another reason why she couldn’t lose control with Sam Desdune. “I ah…I need…um…a minute.”

  It was cowardice, Karena knew and hated that fact. Still, hurrying past him, she didn’t wait for a response. That probably worked out for the best, because she wouldn’t have liked the smile that spread across his face.

  She was definitely running, Sam thought the moment he was left alone in her living room. And he was no woman chaser. Never had been and never would be.

  Okay, that statement would have been much stronger if he wasn’t at this very moment walking in the same direction Karena had just fled to.

  She’d gone through a door and this was the only one closed, he thought, after walking down the short hallway. Raising his fist, he figured he should knock but decided against it. She’d only run again.

  Sam knew he was attracted to her and he knew she was attracted to him. He hadn’t lied when he said he didn’t force women. He didn’t. But he wouldn’t let one lie to him, either. Especially not when her only reason for denying their attraction was rooted in some strictly business mumbo jumbo.

  So he turned the knob and pushed the door open. What he saw had him rethinking the whole make-her-see-reason plan.

  Standing at the foot of a king-size bed cloaked in a—yes, he should have expected—cream satin comforter, was Karena. That wasn’t what shocked him. It was what she held in her hand that had his penis throbbing, pressing painfully against his zipper.

  “What are you doing?” She turned to face him, her hands going instantly behind her back.

  Sam took three long strides to her, reached behind her back and, with a little resistance from her, managed to pull both her hands and what she held in them around so he could get a closer look.

  There had to be some medical issue with an erection as hard and heated as his was now.

  “What are you going to do with this?”

  She opened her mouth to speak then closed it again. Her tongue snaked out slowly, swiping her lower lip as her fingers still gripped the vibrator in her right hand.

  “You would rather come in here and use this than stay with me and accept the real thing?”

  She shook her head quickly. “No. I wasn’
t using it. I was putting it away. I came in here to give us some space because I’d rather not start something that neither of us can afford to finish.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I fully intend to finish—”

  “No!” Pulling away, she cut him off. “This is not how this is going to go down.”

  He let her move away because she looked tense. Actually, she looked sexy as hell holding a vibrator and standing in her bedroom with her shoes off and her face flushed with arousal. Still, he sensed the struggle in her and thought it best to allow her this bit of space, this final moment of denial.

  “I can’t get involved with you,” she started quickly then turned away from him. “I can’t get involved with anyone. Not right now, I mean. There’s still so much I need to do for myself, in my career. And it’s just not the right time for romantic entanglements.”

  That little speech almost sounded rehearsed. “I don’t recall asking for romantic entanglements. I think we’re on a more basic level here.”

  She was nodding her head. “Yeah, sex. I know. Look,” she said, turning back to him. “I feel it, too. Okay, I’ll admit that we’re attracted to each other. Very attracted to each other. But getting together, even on a basic level, isn’t good for us. We have to get to the bottom of this painting issue and—”

  “And you’re blowing this way out of proportion,” he said, taking a chance to move closer to her. “So let’s slow down and take it one step at a time.”

  She took a deep breath when he stood in front of her and let it out shakily.

  “Right. Maybe I am overreacting. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “I do,” he said slowly. “And I know just how to fix it.”

  Touching a palm to her face, he saw the moment she began to put her shields up again. “No. Don’t. Just relax.”

  “Sam.”

  “Shhh. I said relax. I know what you need.”