Sam set the small table for two using her aunt’s good china and silverware while Eli cooked. As he worked on cutting open the lobster shells, his hair slipped forward over his forehead, strand over glossy strand, and she recalled how soft that hair had felt as she’d run her fingers through it last time he’d been at the cottage. Her heart did that little fluttery thing.
He smiled at her over his shoulder. “What?”
Who wouldn’t find a man like Eli attractive? Between his chiseled features and rock-solid physique, he reminded her of a male model she’d seen on billboards. “Nothing,” she said. “I guess I’m impressed by all the stuff you know how to do in the kitchen.”
“I’m impressive in other rooms, too.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and her legs turned to noodles.
She picked up a piece of Aunt Emma’s mail from the counter and fanned herself with it.
Eli slipped the pan under the broiler. “Dinner in five minutes,” he said. “I hope you like champagne.”
“Sure.” Tonight she was determined to limit herself to only one glass. She liked Eli a lot. Trusting him was a different story, and after growing up with an addict for a mother, she was well aware that certain substances clouded judgment. Any decisions she made tonight would be made with a clear head.
Eli handed her a champagne flute and trailed his gaze over her, and the heat of desire wound through her.
Veiling his eyes, he tapped his glass to hers. “To new friends.” Clearly, he hoped they got very friendly, and Sam was’t opposed to the notion.
Eli maneuvered the kitchen like a sculptor creating a masterpiece. When the oven timer dinged, he pulled out the lobster tails and set them on the stovetop. Then he topped the broccoli with homemade Hollandaise sauce, finishing it with the tiniest dash of salt. His hands moved so deftly she could hardly make out what he was doing. The way he pulled everything together at once reminded her of the guy at the carnival who worked the shell games.
The comparison jarred her like a slap of icy morning air. Eli had said he was a gambler. Did he swindle people like the carnies had? No, Eli wasn’t that kind of person. In the few days she’d known him, he’d been nothing but wonderful to her. Traveling around her whole life, never staying anywhere long enough to make good friends, she’d had to size people up quickly, and every indication told her that Eli meant her no harm. So why not drown her loneliness in those strong arms? No commitment, no promise of anything more than a good time.
Eli set out a spread worthy of a fancy restaurant—broiled lobster tails, steamed broccoli, and warm, crusty bread. While he removed the lobster meat from the shell, she lit the candles on the table.
“Dig in,” he said.
Her first bite of the shellfish was heaven. She shut her eyes and moaned. “Way to sweep a girl off her feet.”
There was that sexy grin of his. He raised his champagne flute. “And now I know the way to your heart.” Staring at her over the rim of the glass, he drank.
A sweet ache settled low in her belly. “I think you found many ways. In three short days, you’ve repeatedly come to my rescue, cooked a gourmet dinner for me, and brought me my favorite pastry.” She made a show of looking past him. “Where’s your white horse?”
His eyebrows pinched tight for a moment. “I’m no knight in shining armor, Sam. You’ve had a lot of bad luck. You deserve better. I only want to help.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond. Everyone went through rough patches in their life.
They ate in silence for several minutes.
“So you like the lobster, huh?” he finally asked.
“Mm-hmm. This is only the second time I’ve had it. It’s been at least fifteen years. I was like seven or eight last time. One of my mom’s boyfriends took us to an expensive seafood restaurant in Maryland or Virginia. But they had a fight halfway through dinner, and we had to leave.”
He finished his bread, eying her as he ate. “That doesn’t sound like a good memory.”
She set down her fork, remembering the evening so long ago. “I don’t have many that are.”
“I’m sorry.” Eli took her hand across the table, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “But things improved when you came to stay with your aunt, right?”
She thought about all the back and forth time in her childhood. “Sure, it got better then.”
He let go of her hand. “How’d you deal with your mom’s comings and goings when you were so young?”
“Art.” She smiled. “I swear, sometimes my fingers itch to hold a paintbrush or a pencil.”
“Why don’t you hang more of your pieces at your aunt’s shop? Or rotate them. I’m sure we could fit more on the walls.”
She pushed away her plate, mulling over the idea. “I only put up a few because I probably won’t be here long.” Now she had a reason to stay for a while—if Eli did. “I guess I could do that.”
“I’ll help you tomorrow.” His gaze drifted lower on her body, and her inner thermostat rose. “If you want me to, that is.”
“Sure, if you have time.”
“I think I can squeeze you in.” He threw her a playful wink. “You’re a talented artist. I’d love to see you make it big. It’s just…”
She straightened. “What?”
“Some of your work is…somber, lonely, you know?” He tipped his chin toward the hallway. He had to be referring to the painting her aunt had hanging next to the bathroom door. “It’s still good, though. I guess I’d like you to be happier.”
A lump lodged in her throat. “Once, when I was living here with Aunt Emma, she took me to a doctor, a psychologist, who gave me pills.”
He nodded. “Depression? I take them, too. It helps.”
Something they had in common. “I haven’t for a while.” With no health insurance and no money for doctors or medicine, she’d quit taking the meds years ago, but now that she thought about it, she realized that not having the antidepressants was probably why her moods had been so up and down recently. “I should get back on them. I hate depending on anything.” She lowered her gaze. “Or anyone.”
Eli stood up and pulled her with him. “I joke around a lot, but I have those dark, shadowed corners in my head, too.”
She cupped his cheek. “Spending time with you makes me happy. You light up those spots.”
Drawing her against him, he kissed her, and she felt his need—raw and honest and sober. She wanted him, too—all of him. Splaying her hand on his chest, she broke contact and eased him back. She answered the question in his eyes, sliding her hand down his arm to thread her fingers with his. Then she led him to her room and sat on the edge of the bed. When Eli took off his shirt, she gasped at the brownish-purple bruises on his skin and tipped her chin toward his chest. “What happened? Does it hurt?”
He ran his fingers over one of the bruises. “It’s nothing, really.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled him down with her, lying back as he pressed languid kisses to her throat and behind her ear.
“Are you sure?” he murmured.
“Mm-hmm.” She brushed her lips over his, tasting wine and desire there. He was exactly what she’d been yearning for, and just for now, she planned to take her fill of him.
Eli rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. Ribbons of early-morning light peeked through the curtains and painted Sam in hues of orange and gold. She was even prettier while she slept if that was possible. He smoothed an auburn curl off her cheek, and his desire stirred to life, but he didn’t have the heart to wake her. He ought to be spent after making love to her three times, yet he wanted her again.
A soft, buzzing noise from the other side of the room pulled his gaze to the chair where he’d left his clothes. There it was again—his cell phone. No one called him this early—except one person, Rodrigo Diaz. He carefully peeled back the covers, slipped out of Sam’s bed, and padded across the floor. With a glance at Sam, he left the room to answer the call. Too late to catch it, he checked the display and stiffened when he saw Rodrigo’s name.
Please let him buy my story that Sam doesn’t have the sapphire anymore.
He dialed his voicemail.
“Mr. Kincaid, I would love to believe you,” Rodrigo said in the message. “Unfortunately, you’ve already shown me that you can’t be trusted.”
Damn it.
Rodrigo went on. “But since today is my fortieth wedding anniversary, I’m in a generous mood. I’ll give you another twenty-four hours to report back with an update. Does Miss Cartwright have the sapphire or not? If she does, then it’s time to make your move and grab it. I’d hate for any harm to come to Lizzy. Mystic Pines seems like a nice place. I’m sure she’d like to go on living.” He laughed. “Go on living there was what I meant to say. Or perhaps not.”
A chill rolled over Eli’s skin. He ended the call, but another message came through right away—a photo that made his blood run cold. He immediately recognized the short, brown, and gray hair, the narrow shoulders. The picture had been taken from behind—probably through a window—and clearly showed his sister in her wheelchair. A time stamp on the bottom of the photo displayed yesterday’s date.
H clenched his jaw. Barely able to breathe, he returned to Sam’s bedroom. As he dressed, he avoided looking at her. What the hell was he supposed to do, sacrifice his own sister? It was a longshot, but he had to try to get to Lizzy and move her to a different facility—one where Diaz couldn’t find her—in the next twenty-four hours. After that was taken care of, he’d tell the slimy loan shark that he was sure Sam didn’t have the jewel. And then he’d disappear. It was the only solution he could come up with to keep both Lizzy and Sam from harm. They were both innocent. If anyone should suffer consequences for his actions, that someone had to be him.
With a final glance at Sam, an unbearable heaviness bore down on his chest. On his way out, he glimpsed her portfolio, open on the kitchen table. Her drawing of him had more detail than it had the day before. Had she worked on it during the night as he’d slept? He swallowed past the lump in his throat then slipped out the door.