Sam and Molly followed the Flynns into the seating area where they had a decent vantage point for the final heats of the races. Kelly tapped Sam on the shoulder. “Hey, Sam? Wanna try my b’nocalars?” She extended the hot-pink binoculars to him. “You can see the ducks better.”
Sam accepted the plastic binoculars. “Don’t you need them?”
“Nah. You seen one duck, you’ve seen ’em all,” she announced, indicating the medal she’d won in the heats earlier that day.
Her father pulled her back. “Bottom on the seat, Kel. Quit bugging Sam.”
Sam was about to thank her for the binoculars when Katie’s voice attracted the attention of the entire group. “Holy cow!” she exclaimed. “Who is that?”
All eyes turned in the direction of the child’s pointed hand. A black limousine had stopped outside the gates of the fairgrounds. A party of three, one man and two women, was making its way toward the viewing stands. Other than their ostentatious black limousine, there was nothing remarkable about two members of the party. The man and one of the women were dressed casually in jeans and sweaters, blending in well with the rest of the crowd. But what had drawn Katie’s attention and was gradually drawing the attention of the entire population of Payne was the flamboyantly dressed woman in a bright yellow designer suit. She wore orange boots and an orange straw hat bedecked with yellow ostrich feathers. She carried a yellow parasol and an orange patent leather purse. As she alighted from the limousine and scanned the crowd, a frown marred her elegant features.
Sam rolled his eyes in a combination of weary resignation and irritation. “That,” he said, rising to his feet, “is my sister.”
“SAM!” Taylor Reed rushed forward to hug her brother. “Sam, I’m glad we found you.” She looked around at the large crowd. “This crowd’s as big as you said it would be.”
“You sound surprised,” he drawled.
Taylor shook her head. “Pleasantly surprised. I called Amy last night and told her that since you described this event, I’ve been dying to see the ducks.” She lowered her voice slightly. “And to meet your new friends.”
Sam glanced at his brother who stood with one arm around his wife, just behind their flamboyant sister. “Ben.”
“I tried to talk her out of it,” Ben assured him. “You know how she is.”
Taylor affected a flirtatious pout. “For your information, I happen to like ducks.”
Molly, who had walked toward the entrance with Sam, was watching the spectacle with fascination. She’d always believed that most celebrities had a secret longing to disappear into the crowd, to shed the watchful eyes of the press and public. Taylor Reed showed no such inclination. In her outlandish costume, she had leapt onto center stage and was holding it with ease. “I assumed you had neglected to invite us along today because you thought we wouldn’t enjoy it.”
“I don’t suppose it occurred to you,” Sam said, his voice indulgent, “that maybe I was looking for a little privacy?”
Taylor laughed with a tone that surprised Molly. It was genuine and warm, lacking the brittle artificiality she’d heard in the laughter of other socialites. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied to Sam. “Of course it occurred to me. I just chose to ignore it.”
Sam’s smile was both benevolent and resigned. He liked his sister, despite or maybe even because of her flamboyance. “I should have known,” he muttered.
Taylor nodded. “Indubitably. Besides—” the expression in her eyes softened as she squeezed Sam’s arm “—I wasn’t ready to let go of you yet.” An unspoken bond between the two seemed to strengthen. Molly noted the exchange curiously.
Taylor then glanced at Molly. The soft look she’d given Sam was gone. In its place were curiosity and devilment. “This must be the one,” she told her brother.
Molly took a deep breath and stuck out her hand. “Molly Flynn.”
Taylor smiled—a wide, generous smile without a hint of guile—then gave her hand a firm shake. “Taylor Reed. You have no idea how glad I am to meet you.”
Molly slid a glance at Sam. “Oh, really?”
Sam indicated his brother. “This is my brother, Ben, and his wife, Amy.”
Molly shook their hands. Amy was studying her with rapt attention. “It’s nice to meet you, Molly.”
Amy looked around at the festivities with keen interest. “I can’t believe I’ve lived in Boston for five years and never knew this was here.”
“Journalistic coverage has always been local. Word-of-mouth draws the crowd,” Sam told her.
“We had twelve thousand last year,” Molly said curtly. “We’re not trying to compete with the Super-bowl, you know.”
Amy glanced at Molly. “Sam says there’s a scholarship involved here.”
Surprised, Molly wondered how much Sam had told his family about today—and about her. “Yes,” she said. She briefly explained the responsibilities of the students who entered the annual event and the motive behind the scholarship. “It might not be the National Merit Scholar Program,” she said, “but we believe in it. These kids work very hard for this.”
Ben’s nod was thoughtful. “I can see why you’d want to get behind this.”
Taylor seemed to grow impatient without the reins of the conversation firmly in her grasp. Twirling her parasol, she exclaimed with keen delight, “I’m guessing Sam’s not in it for the ducks.”
“Taylor—” Sam’s voice carried a note of caution.
She swatted his arm lightly. “Well, you’re not.” She looked at Molly. “And now I know why.”
Before Molly could respond, a loud voice on the intercom interrupted, urging spectators to take their seats before the first heat of the featured races. Taylor linked her arm through Molly’s. “This is so exciting,” she said. “I have always adored races, and I could never get Father to take me. He took Ben and Sam to the Derby once, but he wouldn’t take me.”
Behind her, Sam snorted. “He was afraid you’d embarrass us.”
Taylor clucked her tongue. “Oh, hush, Sam,” she admonished before turning back to Molly. “To be perfectly honest, I’m dying to know how in the world you tolerate him. He can be absolutely insufferable.” Despite the harsh words, Taylor’s expression was benevolent. The woman had a definite soft spot for her half brother.
The voice on the intercom interrupted again, and Sam urged them back toward the stands. Taylor kept her hold on Molly’s arm. “You have to explain everything to me,” she told Molly. “Sam says you’re an absolute expert at this.”
Molly frowned at him as he breezed past her and led the party back to their seats. Introductions were made, her family readily embracing Sam’s family, and they all settled in for the evening’s entertainment. Sam sat next to Molly and immediately reached for her hand. He cradled it tightly in his, watching the field with undue interest. Molly leaned toward his shoulder and whispered, “Did you invite your stepmother, too?”
He looked surprised. “This wasn’t my idea. Taylor’s the one who wanted to come.”
“But you told her about it.”
“She asked me why I was rushing back to Payne this weekend,” he said, his tone pure innocence.
Molly jabbed him in the ribs. “Admit it, Sam. You were fascinated by the idea of the races and you wanted to find out what would happen if someone other than the people of Payne came to see them.”
His eyes twinkled. “Maybe.”
“Bet you she’ll enjoy herself.”
“What are you willing to bet?” he countered.
Molly saw a caution flag at the slightly baited question, but ignored it. “I don’t know. Winner picks the prize.”
“That could be dangerous.”
“Maybe—if I weren’t so sure I was going to win.”
“What are you going to make me do if I lose?”
“Let me write the traditional piece about the duck races for the Sentinel’s Monday edition.”
Sam thought it over. “All right.”
His ready agreement made her suspicious. “That was too easy.”
Satisfied, Molly relaxed. “Good.”
He leaned a fraction closer to her, and she felt his warm breath on her neck. “Don’t you want to know what I’m going to make you do if I win?”
“No,” she said bluntly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Because, as I told you this morning, I don’t think we should let this go to our heads.”
“Too late,” he whispered. “It’s in my head, and in my blood, and I want you, Molly.” He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The brush of his fingers on her cheek sent goose bumps down her spine. “And whether you admit it or not, it’s inevitable and you know it.”
“FOUL,” TAYLOR YELLED, and jumped to her feet. “Foul.” She was pointing to the field where the ducks were running the second heat of the night. “Where’s the referee? Where’s the umpire?”
Amy Reed was laughing so hard her pretty features had flushed. “Taylor, sit down.”
Kelly tugged on Taylor’s jacket. “There is no referee. That’s for football.”
Taylor was not appeased. “But that duck crossed lanes. It was a deliberate foul.”
“They’re allowed to do that,” Kelly said knowledgeably. “It’s not like normal racing.”
“Yeah,” Megan chimed in. “There are no rules for the ducks. Only for the people who race ’em.”
With an outraged huff, Taylor dropped back to her seat. “I liked that brown duck,” she said. “He was a fighter.”
Molly darted a glance at Sam. He sat beside her, still holding her hand tightly in his, his words from before the race ringing in her ears. As they settled into the event, Taylor’s obvious enjoyment began to ease some of Molly’s tension. She felt simultaneously relieved and let down.
Sam had not let go of her hand since the races began. She was unsure whether he was putting on a show for her family and his, or whether he genuinely wanted the contact. The thought frustrated her until she felt the gentle stroke of Sam’s thumb across her knuckles. This was not, he assured her silently, part of the pretense. Fresh in her mind was the haunted look on Sam’s face when he’d stood at her door last night. The surprise of finding him there, of seeing his exhaustion, had given way to a desire to ease the deep shadows she’d seen under his eyes. Before the day was through, she promised herself, she’d have answers to her questions.
But now he was studying the field, apparently ignoring his sister’s avid and colorful commentary. “At least there’s no betting on the races. Your sister would probably lose the family fortune.”
“Thank God,” he muttered. “I can only gamble so much in one day.”
“The kids are enjoying her.”
“Nearly everyone enjoys Taylor.” His tone was pure benevolence.
On Molly’s left, Taylor was still protesting on behalf of the brown duck as she looked through the bright pink binoculars. “He should have won.”
“Too skinny,” Kelly told her. “Skinny ducks don’t win.”
Sam jabbed Molly in the ribs. “Told you.”
She gave him a killing look. “Funny, Sam.”
The ducks finished the heat, and Taylor dropped the binoculars to her lap. “Drat. I was pulling for the brown one.”
Molly’s father leaned forward and began to explain to Taylor the intricacies of duck racing. The rest of the family chimed in with their own expert tips.
Molly listened as the chatter around her grew. Sam’s family had joined hers with an apparent ease that left her feeling confused and inexplicably frustrated. It was easier to picture him leaving Payne without having seen this melding of their lives.
The air turned slightly chill as the sun began to set. Sam’s hand felt warm where it still cradled hers. He rubbed the back of her knuckles again with his thumb. “You look perplexed,” he said softly.
“They’re not what I expected,” she confessed. “Your family, I mean.”
His expression turned slightly amused. “They’re usually not. Especially Taylor.”
“I like her.”
“You sound surprised.”
Molly winced. “I guess I am, a little. I’m guilty of making assumptions I shouldn’t have.”
“Thanks for admitting it.” He studied her for a minute. “And if it makes you feel any better, I am, too.”
Molly lifted her eyebrows. Sam nodded. “Your family. I had other expectations.”
“Oh?”
He shrugged. “I can’t explain it. I didn’t think they’d take me in so readily.”
That made Molly laugh. Poor Sam obviously didn’t have a clue about the Flynns. “That’s what we do, Sam. Some families collect money or art or antiques. We collect people. That’s what it means to be a Flynn.”
He thought that over. Finally, he glanced past Molly to where Taylor was involved in conversation with Kelly. “How much longer are you going to give her before you grill her about the birthday party next week?”
If the stroke of his thumb hadn’t been making her pulse race, she might have laughed. Molly extricated her hand. “Another hour, I think. When she’s really intoxicated from the warm soda and hot dogs, I’ll nail her.”
Sam’s mouth lifted into a grin. “I want you to go with me,” he said softly. “I’d like it very much if you would. I know it’s short notice.”
Molly considered that. “You didn’t on Tuesday.”
“I do now.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Seeing you and Taylor together,” he said. “And other things.”
“Sam—”
He shook his head. “I guess you could say I had different expectations.”
Molly wasn’t sure how to take him. “You thought I wouldn’t make a good impression.”
He frowned. “What gave you that idea?”
“I don’t know. You seemed reluctant for me to meet your family.”
“That had nothing to do with you,” he told her.
Would he ever stop surprising her? she wondered. He’d returned his attention to the field. Molly studied his profile. “Sam?”
“Hmm?” He kept his gaze trained on the starting line where the ducks were being positioned for another heat.
“Are you ever going to tell me where you were last week?”
When he turned to her, the expression in his eyes was so raw, it stole Molly’s breath. “Later. I’m enjoying the ducks.”
She hesitated, but her curiosity gave way to his obvious need for time. She sent him a quick grin to ease the tension. “Can I quote you on that?”
Sam chuckled. “All right. I concede. You can write the piece.”
“Thank God you’ve finally seen reason.”
“If,” he added, “we run it parallel with the historical perspective.”
She nodded. “Deal. I think that’s fair.”
His eyes twinkled. “Then you’re going to have a very long day tomorrow, Molly, because in case you’ve forgotten, you’ve got a four o’clock deadline.”
“I’m very good under pressure,” she assured him.
SAM INSISTED on driving Molly’s car home that night. He wasn’t going to risk his life by letting her drive in the heavy festival traffic. Molly had grumbled, but had finally relinquished the keys. They’d sat in companionable silence while Sam negotiated his way through the stream of cars exiting the parking lot.
He liked that about Molly. She didn’t need to fill up empty space with idle chatter. He found that sexy, he realized. He slanted her a quick look. The moon was full, and it bathed her hair and face with the luminescent glow he’d seen in the boathouse. Now, as then, it awakened visions of seeing and touching her skin, of tasting her secrets and of finding all the places on her body that would make her moan.
Sam shifted in his seat as the stream of images had its predictable effect. Molly’s fingers were tapping an idle rhythm on her thigh. They were long and slender, and he could still feel their imprint on his hand.
The heat in his body spiked up another notch. Tonight, he promised himself silently—just as he had when he’d sat in the grandstands with her, just as he had when he’d watched her with her family, just as he had when he’d seen her leaning over that fence and cheering for a duck—tonight, he would coax that look out of her. He’d see her turn to him with an invitation in her gaze that would finally assuage the hunger he’d been harboring for weeks.
As he finally escaped the parking lot traffic, Sam shifted into high gear. Beside him, Molly sighed and leaned back in her seat. “Thanks, Sam,” she said softly.
He glanced at her, his eyebrow raised. “For what?”
“For driving. For being so wonderful with my nieces. For—” Molly hesitated.
“For?”
She took a shaky breath. “For not being who I thought you were.” She looked out the window. “I’m embarrassed. It’s not like me to jump to conclusions.”
“I was in your territory,” he told her. “I understand.”
“You didn’t seem to understand when I was arguing with you these past few weeks.”
His lips twitched. “That’s because you turned me on.”
She frowned at him. “Sam—”
“You did.” He turned into the long street that led to her house. “Anybody ever tell you you’re cute when you’re angry?”
“Not and live to tell about it,” she muttered. Sam laughed. “I’ll bet.”
“For what it’s worth, though, I like your family.”
“I’m glad.”
“Your sister is…”
“Don’t worry,” Sam assured her. “You’re not the first person to say that Taylor defies description.”
“I’m beginning to see why you’re nervous about this birthday party. Is she always so flamboyant?”
Sam parked in front of Molly’s brownstone. “For as long as I’ve known her,” he said as he opened his door. He rounded the car in four quick strides and helped Molly onto the curb. He liked the way she threaded her fingers through his and kept her grip on his hand as they walked up the sidewalk. It felt quaint and old-fashioned. And very much like something people did in Payne, Massachusetts.
With little effort Sam could picture himself walking down the tree-lined streets holding her hand, wading through the leaves that littered the sidewalks at this time of year. With Molly, he imagined, it would be the same twenty years from now. She’d still have that fire in her eyes and that adorable tilt to her mouth. She’d still argue with him. And she’d still have the power to make him want her. The image caught him off guard. He wasn’t accustomed to imagining longevity or permanence. That was a luxury he’d never been able to afford.
Molly took her keys from Sam and opened her front door. As the light from the foyer spilled across their feet, she looked at him. “Sam—”
In the dim light, he couldn’t read her expression. “Yes?”
“I want you to come in,” Molly said simply.
Sam felt a rush of satisfaction as he pushed open the door. “I thought you’d never ask.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, he sat with his feet propped on Molly’s coffee table, a cup of hot chocolate in his hand, and Molly curled against his arm while a warm fire crackled in the fireplace. He’d experienced world-class entertainment that held far less appeal, he decided.
Molly turned toward him, her look piercing. “Okay, Sam, out with it. I’m out of patience!”
He gritted his teeth. “There really isn’t—”
“Uh-uh. You don’t get to disappear for four days without telling me where you’ve been. This getting involved thing was your idea—not mine.”
He cursed beneath his breath and plunked his mug down. “It’s family stuff. It doesn’t bear—”
“You promised,” she reminded him.
“I did not.”
“When?”
“Doesn’t matter. You promised you’d tell me later.”
“I said later. I didn’t say anything about tonight.”
“I say it is later.” She lowered her head and studied him in the firelight. “What’s the big deal? Were you with the other woman?”
Sam frowned and removed his arm from around her shoulders. She couldn’t possibly know what this would cost him. “Cute,” he said as he surged to his feet. He grabbed his mug and headed for the kitchen.
Behind him, Molly scrambled off the sofa. “Sam—” He kept walking. She caught up to him and blocked his entrance to the kitchen. “Sam, wait. What is the matter with you?”
He could feel the tension rising in his shoulders as he looked at her. What he wanted to do, what he’d wanted to do every night that week, was to take Molly to bed so he could forget. He could bury himself in her warmth, in her sweetness, in her vibrancy. Then all the aggravation and sourness of the past few days, hell, of most of his life would melt away, just for a moment. He knew, absolutely knew, that making love to Molly would do that. She’d consume him, and for an instant she’d obliterate everything else.
Molly’s expression registered her concern. When she laid a hand on his chest, he felt the soft contact all the way to his core. “Sam?”
He hesitated, shocking himself with the realization that he wanted to tell her. The thought sent him reeling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to tell anyone something as personal as what he’d been through this week. Life had taught him the value of privacy. The fact that he was tempted to unload his burden at Molly’s sympathetic feet made him feel inexplicably vulnerable and uneasy. With a soft groan, he covered her hand with his and tugged her toward the kitchen.
Molly followed wordlessly, as if she sensed his conflict. It was one of the things he liked best about her. She knew the value of unspoken communication.
Sam dumped the remaining contents of his mug in the sink and turned to put his hands on Molly’s waist. He lifted her easily and sat her on the counter. With one step, he stood between her legs, his face at her eye level. Molly’s eyes searched his as she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Talk to me,” she urged. “Something’s wrong.”
Dreadfully wrong, he concurred. Embarrassingly wrong. So wrong she couldn’t possibly imagine what this was costing him. Sam drew in a ragged breath. “My mother called Tuesday.”
Molly gently stroked his shoulder. “And?”
“And it’s the first time I’ve spoken to her since she handed me over to Edward.”
Understanding dawned in her gaze. “I see.”
Sam shook his head. “I doubt it.”
“Did she call because of the ad?”
“Molly, I hate to break this to you, but a personal ad in the Payne Sentinel isn’t exactly national news.”
“I know that. You’re the one who insisted we put the personals feature in. It wasn’t my idea.”
He accepted that gracefully. “Actually, she called because she read in some tabloid that Taylor was planning a birthday party.”
“Oh.” Molly’s hands came up to cradle his face. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her thumbs brushing his ears and sending a lick of fire through his bloodstream.
“It wouldn’t have been so infuriating if she’d just called to let me know that Taylor got the date wrong.”
“Did she?”
“Beats me,” he said. Bitterly, Sam remembered Tuesday’s conversation with his mother. She’d sounded angry, as if he’d somehow betrayed her by adapting to life as a Reed. “She’s out of money. It seems Edward’s settlement didn’t last as long as she thought it would.”
“Oh.” Molly’s slid her fingers to his neck where she kneaded the tight muscles. “She asked you for money?”
Again, Sam shook his head. “You know, even that wouldn’t have been so bad.”
Her eyebrows drew together slightly. “Just tell me, Sam.”
He placed his hands on her hips and edged her closer to him. Somehow, her warmth warded off the chill that had settled on him. “She tried to blackmail me.”
He sounded so defeated, Molly felt her indignation swell. “Blackmail! What on earth for?”
“It’s ironic really.” His hands tightened on her hips. “If I don’t pay her what she wants before Taylor’s party, she plans to tell the tabloids that she lied seventeen years ago and that I’m not really Edward Reed’s son.”
“The hell of it is she’s finally telling the truth. She never did have an affair with Edward.”
“Then why—”
“Did she claim she did? For the money.”
“No. Why did he—”
“Beats the hell out of me,” Sam confessed.
Molly exhaled a long, slow breath, and brought one hand around to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“So,” he went on, “I’m stuck with two choices. I can tell her to go to hell, knowing full well she’ll approach the media.”
“No one will believe her. No one’s going to believe Edward adopted you if he didn’t think you were really his.”
He shrugged. “It’ll be messy and embarrassing and a hell of a nuisance.”
“What about Ben and Taylor? How are they going to take this?”
“I doubt they’d care. Actually, Taylor would probably relish the attention from the tabloids. As far as the money’s concerned…” He shrugged. “I never took Edward’s money anyway. I forced Ben to pump my share of the inheritance back into the business.”
“I see.”
“But I don’t like spectacles, Molly.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I know.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to continue. Molly prodded him. “You’re angry at her. For what it’s worth, I think you have every right to be.”
“Hell, yes, I’m angry. God, doesn’t the woman understand that I’d have given her the money?”
“People like that only know one way of surviving,” Molly said gently. “If manipulation doesn’t work, they have no other recourse.” She ran a finger along the line of his upper lip. “It’s sad.”
“It’s infuriating.”
“And mean,” Molly added. “I don’t like mean people.”
Sam took a moment to relish her fingers traveling the planes of his face. His eyes drifted shut and he whispered her name.
Molly traced one eyebrow, then the other. “Sam?”
“Hmm?”
“That’s not the worst part, is it?”
He met her gaze again. She was watching him with an expression that wrenched his heart. “I don’t know who I am.” He surprised himself with the admission. He hadn’t admitted what had made him so angry about the events of the past few days. Though he’d never felt he truly belonged to the Reeds, he’d also never doubted where he’d come from. Now, his mother had changed even that.
“I understand.”
“How could you possibly understand, Molly? I spent my afternoon with your family. I’ve seen how you are together.”
With a smile full of womanly wisdom, she said, “You were very charming.” She stroked his earlobe as she spoke.
“And having had the advantage of a family like the Flynns all your life, how in the hell can you tell me you know how I feel?”
“Because,” she said, sliding both her hands to his nape where she urged him closer. “I’m adopted.”
Sam’s mouth fell open in shock. Molly took advantage of his surprise and kissed him. Her lips were warm and full and sweet, and Sam suddenly felt bombarded with sensation. He wanted to press her for details, demand an explanation. But he was slowly losing his train of thought to the intoxicating sensation of Molly’s kiss.
She tasted like hot chocolate and melted marshmallows, and he’d waited too long and wanted her too much. Sam groaned softly as she slid her tongue along his lower lip and purred. There was no other possible definition for that sound. It nearly undid him. Sam slid one hand to her back and pressed her to his chest. “Molly,” he murmured against her lips. “Molly, what—”
She shook her head, leaned into him and deepened the kiss. “Later, Sam,” she muttered against his lips. “Ask me later.”
When her fingertips dipped into the whorl of his ears, Sam felt it all the way to his toes. He pulled his mouth from hers and ground out, “But you—”
She slid her forefinger along the crease of his lips. “Not now. Just kiss me.”
Sam did. Hard and thoroughly. Lord, he thought, could he die from too much sensation? He reached for a shred of self-control, not sure Molly knew what she was toying with. He wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. He groaned when she raked her fingertips over his nipples. The fabric of his shirt seemed to amplify rather than dampen the impact of the caress. Sam raised his head, cradled her face in both his hands, and looked deeply into her eyes. “I want you, Molly. Tell me you want this, too.” He remembered her lecture that morning and the way she’d tried hard to convince him that she wanted to keep her distance. Her breathing was slightly ragged as she swayed toward him. Sam squeezed her tight. “Tell me,” he ordered.
Her eyes drifted shut and she tipped her mouth toward his. “Take me to bed, Sam,” she said softly.
True to his word, Sam didn’t wait for a second invitation.