Loving Again

Chapter One


“Finally. The last load out the door.” Amanda St. Claire plopped herself on a footstool with a sigh. Most of the friends who’d been helping her pack for her move had just left, taking a truckload of boxes to her storage unit. Only Sam Richardson remained, a man who got her more hot and bothered than all the packing and moving in the world could. However, after what had happened last year, it was hard to know how to handle an attraction that was clearly mutual but which so far, other than one kiss — one wild, passionate kiss — she’d managed to keep tamped down.

She cleared her throat, which was closing in just thinking about that kiss. Or maybe it was the dust she’d inhaled while she was packing up the basement. Sure. Dust. Like that made her breathless. It would probably be better if he left, too, and let her figure this all out when she was in Seattle and he was here, in Portland. “Sam, you don’t have to hang around. You got suckered into helping when the only reason you were here was to say good-bye.”

“Funny, I don’t feel like a sucker,” he said. He was standing way too close. She swore she could almost feel his breath when he spoke, his voice low and husky, creating goose bumps all over her. And those eyes — warm, chocolate brown with an unreadable expression — amused, maybe affectionate. Maybe she shouldn’t overthink this and just enjoy the way he made her feel.

God, he was sexy. She’d wondered for months if there could be something between them. But her life had been so messed up by what happened last year that she wasn’t sure she could rationally say she was in any position to find out. “Sorry, that sounded unappreciative and you know I’m not. I’m just feeling guilty. I owe you more than I can ever repay and getting you involved in packing boxes of books for two hours wasn’t how I envisioned trying to make it up to you.”

“I keep telling you, you don’t owe me anything, Amanda.” He shrugged those broad shoulders of his, then grinned. “On the other hand, I’m not above playing on your guilt if it gets me dinner with you tonight.”

She ran her hands through her curls that hadn’t seen a comb or brush since early morning. “Dinner? I don’t know. It’s tempting but after the day I’ve had I’m not sure I’m up to going anywhere.”

“I was thinking more like getting a pizza delivered.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I have the best pizza place in Portland on speed dial.”

She paused before answering, knowing it probably wasn’t smart to start anything the evening before she was leaving for six months, before she had a chance to sort out how she felt about … well, pretty much everything. But instead of the “no, thanks” her head was telling her to say, her heart — or maybe her hormones — got control of her voice and squeaked out, “Pizza would work.” After she took a deep breath to get her voice under control, she said, “But first, I need to get out of these clothes and take a shower. Digging around in the basement I’ve avoided like the plague for years got me filthy and sweaty.”

The expression he had on his face now wasn’t hard to read at all. “I’ll volunteer to help with that, too, if you’d like,” he said, his voice rich with innuendo, as he tucked one of her wayward curls back behind her ear.

“Thanks, cowboy, I think I can manage it all by myself.” Although the feel of his fingers on her face and the idea of having him help her shower certainly made her heart beat a little faster.

When he smiled this time she noticed for the first time that he only had one dimple. How’d she miss that? It was cute. He was cute. Also hot, good at packing boxes and a genius at saving a girl’s life.

“It was worth a shot,” he said. “Okay then, if I can’t help, tell me what you like on your pizza.”

“My favorite is a Margherita.”

“Thought that was a cocktail,” he said.

“Mozzarella, basil and tomato.” She caught yet another of his amused expressions. “But you knew that, didn’t you?” Before disappearing up the steps she added, “And help yourself to a beer. I think there’s still a six-pack left in the refrigerator.”

• • •

Sam wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he stopped by her house. Not sure exactly what he wanted to happen. At least that’s what he told himself. His excuse for going to her house was to say good-bye, to give her a small gift, to see if it would be okay if he visited her in Seattle. But if he forced himself to think about it for more than two seconds, he would have to admit he wanted more. He just didn’t know how much more she was willing to give him the night before she left.

The first time he’d seen her it was like he’d been hit by lightening. Stuck his finger in a socket. Been Tasered. Something that jolting. But he’d kept his distance. At the beginning, it was because she was with someone else, even if she said he was not exactly a serious boyfriend. Later it was because things got complicated. Assuming that’s what you call having the woman you want arrested for murdering her son-of-a-bitch, cheating, low-life, not-exactly-serious-boyfriend.

And Sam was part of the organization that had done the arresting. No matter how much he helped her, he was still a police detective and she had been seriously unimpressed by the officers of the Portland Police Bureau. For the arrest, for ignoring what she’d found proving her boyfriend Tom Webster had been involved in drug dealing with a couple of dirty cops; for refusing to look further to find Webster’s real killer; for almost killing her by failing to send her to the hospital after she was badly beaten. Hell, for all he knew, she hated the bureau and everyone in it for merely existing.

He’d never believed that she’d killed Webster. Not once in the times he’d talked with her, including the night of the murder, had there been any indication she was capable of that. And if that hadn’t convinced him, what he’d seen a couple weeks after Webster’s death would have. She’d been beaten and terrified in her home by hooded bad guys looking for something they said Webster owed them. No one could have been as convincing in her innocence as she was without actually being innocent. Not in his experience. She was a gifted artist, not a talented actress.

She was innocent and in danger that night. He’d risked his career by taking her from the scene to get medical attention when the responding officers hadn’t moved fast enough. He’d been put on administrative leave for interfering with procedure. But it was worth it. She’d had a pneumothorax — a collapsed lung — and much more delay could have been fatal. The up side was being on leave meant he’d had the time to help her defense attorney.

He succeeded. He found the evidence that identified the real killer, another of Webster’s girlfriends who’d set up Amanda as the perp. After the charges had been dismissed, the police took a second look at the case. Following up on information Amanda had found, they arrested a handful of minor dealers and thugs and the cops who’d siphoned drugs off from their busts to sell through Webster’s club, maybe even at the restaurant he ran in a building Amanda owned. Some of the bad guys were already in prison. The rest were awaiting trial.

Now, instead of being part of an organization that had her under arrest, he was her savior, a role he didn’t like any better. The one he was interested in was quite a bit more intimate.

In the three years since his divorce, joint custody of two sons and a job that sucked up huge amounts of time had made any sort of social life difficult. Then he met Amanda and knew he’d do whatever it took to overcome those obstacles if she was interested.

In the time he’d spent with her during her trial, he’d realized it wasn’t just attraction he felt for her, it was also admiration. She was simply the most amazing woman he’d ever met. He’d seen her physical bravery when she was beaten, seen the steel in her spine when she was in court. He’d also seen her talent — he’d first met her at an exhibit of her glass art.

And she packed a whole hell of a lot of beautiful into a small package. She was barely five feet tall but those wild, caramel-colored curls, that full, sensual mouth and gold-flecked hazel eyes, that curvaceous body …

An image of that body naked in the shower upstairs flashed through his mind. He shook his head to get rid of it. Damn. What that woman did to him. He hadn’t been on the dating scene for years but he was pretty sure it was still tacky to present a woman you’ve promised dinner to with a hard-on and no food.

He headed to the kitchen, his cell phone in hand, to cool off with the beer she mentioned. Then he had a pizza to order.

• • •

A half hour later, clad in clean T-shirt and jeans, Amanda was at her breakfast bar attacking the pizza. Sam had set the table using a roll of paper towels as both plates and napkins and opened two beers.

“I must have been more hungry than I thought. Or else this is the best pizza I’ve ever had. Thank you. Once again, you’ve saved the day.” She picked up her third piece and wolfed it down.

He drained his bottle of beer and took the last bite of his first slice. “You enjoy food. I like that about you. Although I have no idea where it goes. You’re not exactly well-padded.”

“And what would you know about the state of my padding, Detective Richardson?”

“I’m a cop. I’m good at making visual assessments, Ms. St. Claire.”

“Well, since in your expert opinion I don’t look too padded, I think I’ll have another piece.”

When the pizza was gone, Amanda added the paper towels and pizza box to a large black garbage bag under the sink. As she straightened up from the task, she rolled her shoulders.

“I can’t believe I’m this sore. Not even the shower helped. You’d think with all the heavy stuff I lug around in my studio, I’d be able to manage a few boxes of books.”

“No matter how heavy those sheets of glass of yours are, you don’t have to move them around for eight or nine hours a day. And it was more than a few boxes of books today from what I saw.” He came up behind her at the sink. “Here, let me see if I can massage out some of the kinks.” He began to knead the muscles in her shoulders and, using the pads of his thumbs, to do the same to her neck.

“Ah-h-h. Perfect. This is exactly what I needed.” She rotated her head and stretched her neck. “God, that feels good. If you ever need a second career, you could do this for a living. I’d write a recommendation for you.” Her body moved with the force of his massaging, her hair brushing his chest, then her back arching toward him. She could feel the heat of his body, felt her heartbeat kick up a notch at the pleasure of having his hands on her.

He continued down her back, massaging one vertebra at a time. Somewhere in the middle of her back, however, she could feel it become more caress than massage, could feel his breathing join hers in ratcheting up. She slumped back to close the space between them, resting against his chest, hoping he’d take the hint. He did, beginning to nuzzle her neck. “M-m-m. That feels wonderful, too, Sam.”

“Amanda.” His voice was thick and husky. “I … ”

She turned to see a questioning look in his eyes, as if trying to assess what her reaction was to the change of direction. To answer she reached toward him, put her hand at the back of his neck and, as she drew him toward her, felt him embrace her. She’d thought about being in his arms for months and now she was.

Bending his head, he lowered his mouth toward hers. She lifted her face and was about to close her eyes when she felt him hesitate.

“Is something wrong, Sam?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Just … are you sure about this?”

Standing on tiptoe, she answered him, pressing first her lips then her body against his. His mouth opened under hers and all of his hesitation disappeared.

It was no gentle kiss. She could feel every ounce of his hunger and desire, passion and longing. His hard body pinned her against the cabinet. His fingers threaded through her hair, tipping her head to the angle he wanted so he could kiss her even more fiercely. Then his tongue found hers and she gasped at the pleasure of it, the velvet feel of tongues sliding and slipping over each other in what they both knew was the rhythm of what was to come.

Skin. She needed to touch his skin. She pulled his shirttail out from his jeans and slid her hands up under it to his back, to the muscles she could feel flex and move as he repositioned her so his thigh was tucked between her legs, the thick erection she could feel behind the zipper of his jeans pressing against her belly.

Warm, wet arousal pooled between her legs as he rocked his hips into her, pushing harder against her. She moaned into his mouth as he found his way under her T-shirt to her breasts. This massage was so sensual she wanted it to go on forever.

He broke from the kiss but didn’t let up on the pressure of his body against hers. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you, thought about this but … ”

“But our timing sucked.”

“It still does. You’re leaving.”

“We have tonight. We don’t have to waste it.”

“And you’re sure?” He asked again as he pulled back and looked in her eyes.

She was sure of one thing. She’d decided while she was in the shower, he wasn’t leaving her house tonight until she got him into her bed. The events of the year before had ruined so much. She wasn’t going to let them ruin any more.

“Yes. But if you’re not sure yet, I’ll just go upstairs and wait for you. When you make up your mind, it’s the second door on the right. I’ll leave a light on for you.” She turned to go but he reached for her hand. He was laughing.

“We better go together. I might get lost.”

She led him to her bedroom, strewn with more boxes and her suitcases but she didn’t think that would matter to him. She was right. He didn’t seem to pay attention to anything but her. Coming up behind her, he carefully slid the T-shirt over her head.

“This is like unwrapping the best present at Christmas.” He cupped her breasts in his hands and kissed her shoulder. “I love it that you don’t wear a bra. I don’t have to fumble around because I can’t figure out how to unhook the damn thing.”

She giggled a little, suddenly nervous, but he turned her around and kissed her with deep, seriously long, hot kisses, stealing her breath, reminding her why she wanted this. When she put her head back, gulping in oxygen, he moved down to her neck, kissing the pulse in her throat, nipping at the notch between her collarbones. All the oxygen in the universe couldn’t keep her from feeling dizzy with desire.

In spite of his claims that he fumbled with women’s clothing, he had no trouble with the zipper on her jeans or with easing them over her hips. She kicked off her sandals and shimmied the jeans the rest of the way off until they fell to the floor. Clad now in nothing but a scrap of lace, she was aware of how naked she was. From the flare of desire in his eyes she knew he was aware, too.

He led her to the bed, she lay down and he sat beside her. He dipped his head to one breast, teasing the nipple with his tongue, while he massaged the other breast, rolling the hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She arched toward him, as if to bring her breasts closer to his mouth, as a hunger for him increased with each touch, every kiss.

Wanting to feel his bare chest against her, she tugged at the buttons on his shirt, her fingers shaking with desire, finally getting them undone. He worked the cuffs and she slid the shirt down over his shoulders until it joined her T-shirt and jeans on the floor. She wrapped him in her arms, drew him to her, felt her sensitive nipples brush against his hard chest and sighed with pleasure.

But he backed away. She made a soft sound, objecting to the loss of his heat, her arms reaching for him, until she saw he was only shedding his boots, jeans, and boxer briefs. Before he came back to her, he pulled his wallet out of his jeans and removed a foil packet, placing the condom on her bedside table.

If the thought occurred to ask him why he was carrying condoms around, it was smothered in a kiss. And in the thrill of having him run hands down her body until his fingers found the top of her lace thong. When he’d helped her wriggle out of the last barrier of clothing between them, she pulled him close to her, their arms and legs twined around each other. She rocked her hips against his and walked her fingers down his stomach to his thighs, touching the velvety tip of his erection, but he caught her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

“Let’s take this slow, baby. We’re in no hurry.”

As if to prove his point, he didn’t touch her anyplace but her face, tracing around her mouth, her nose and eyes with his forefinger, then kissing each place in turn. “You’re so beautiful. Even in jeans and a T-shirt with dust streaks on your face you were beautiful.”

“You don’t have to say that, I’m already in bed with you.”

He gave her a mock serious look. “There are a few rules with me. The first is when I tell you you’re beautiful, you say, ‘thank you, Sam’ and you don’t give me attitude.”

“Thank you, Sam.” She suppressed a laugh. “Any more rules?”

“Later.” He went back to exploring her with his fingertips and mouth, back again to her throat, her collarbones and her breasts. “Right now, I’m busy.”

This time she couldn’t keep the laugh under wraps. “So, you like rules, do you?”

“Hell, yes. I’m all about rules. Why do you think I’m a cop? Rules, regulations, laws. I’m in my element.”

“And do you always make your women laugh in bed?”

“Yeah. Sometimes, even on purpose.”

She was still smiling when he turned the conversation serious again by making love to her mouth, slowly and sweetly at first then fiercely, demanding she join him in the passionate play of lips. As their tongues explored and played feint and parry, their hands roamed over bodies hot with desire, discovering the texture of skin, finding the places where pleasure lay, warmed by the heat they were generating.

When he finessed her legs apart and slid one of his legs between hers, she urged him on with her hips, wanting him, ready for him, needing him.

But he only skimmed the palm of his hand over her again creating a tingle that spread down her belly. His hand seemed instinctively to follow the path to the place between her legs where the feeling pooled.

He stroked her with his thumb; his fingers slid inside her, moving in a slow and sensual rhythm until the tingle became a burn, then an intense fire. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer, he withdrew his hand and she moaned, wanting it back. He seemed to ignore her little sounds of protest as he moved down her body until he was between her legs. His hands on her hips, he began an agonizingly slow progress of kissing her from her knees to her thighs.

When he reached her sex, just the feel of his breath on her was almost enough to make her come. With his fingers he gently parted the folds protecting her *oris and kissed her there. She moaned again, this time with pleasure as he licked and sucked, circling her most sensitive place with his tongue and nipping gently with his teeth until he took her over the top.

As the waves of climax subsided, he moved back up along her body until he could kiss her again. She tasted her own arousal on his lips as he ravaged her mouth. Aching for him, her body craving his, she shifted restlessly against him. When he finally handed her the foil packet so she could cover him, she wanted him inside her so much she had a difficult time opening the condom and fumbled putting it on him, her hands shaking.

He took it from her and, guiding her hand, helped her unroll it over him. Then taking his time, he entered her.

“Christ, you feel good,” he said into the ear he was kissing.

“You have no idea how good I feel,” she said, “I didn’t know I could feel this good.” She rolled her hips against him, groaning with pleasure as she finally felt him fill her. He felt so hard, so hot, so amazing.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “Stay still.”

“But … ”

“Not yet. Let me just feel how good it is.” His hips didn’t move as he nibbled at her mouth, first her top lip, then the bottom. He explored inside her mouth, caught her tongue with his teeth, gently sucked on it.

She caught fire again. “Oh, God, Sam, please … ” She covered his face with kisses, urging him on.

But all he did was go back again and again to the pulse in her throat and to the hard tips of her nipples, tonguing them, raking his teeth across the sensitive skin.

Just when she thought the delightful torture would never end, he brought her legs up around him and slowly, deliberately, began to rock their bodies together, gradually increasing the tempo, moving to another climax. With their bodies joined, their breathing synchronized, they climbed together until first Amanda, then Sam took the roller coaster down the slope to the other side.

They held each other afterwards, trying to make the journey back to being two separate people. After his breathing had returned to normal, Sam tilted her face up so she was looking at him.

“Any way Seattle can wait?”

“Even if I was willing to turn down a residency at the best glass school in the country, I need time away from Portland, from everything that happened last year. Besides, I’ve shipped most of my studio to Seattle so I can work after my stay at Pilchuck and I have a house sitter who … ”

“Stay with me then until you can unwind everything. Go to Pilchuck later. We’ve been dancing around this … ” he indicated their entwined naked bodies, “for months now. Stay and let’s see where it takes us.”

“This is like my conversation with my parents. They want me back in Shaker Heights so they can help me see where the next phase of my life takes me, to quote my dad.”

He ran his fingertips down her flank. “This isn’t more convincing than a telephone conversation with your parents?”

Laughing, she took his hand and kissed it. “Yes, Sam, it is. You’re considerably more tempting, I admit. But it doesn’t change the answer. Whatever the next step is, I have to make the decision, not someone else, no matter how well meaning. Besides, you deserve a woman who … well, who’s not me right now. I don’t know how I feel about anything.”

“Suppose I told you that doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me. I could hurt you and I’m not going to hurt the person I owe my life to.”

“You don’t … ” He stopped. She assumed he saw the stubborn set of her face because when he spoke again, he tried another tack. “Okay, how about we make a deal? You have your time in Seattle. I’ll come visit you after you get out of your residency, just so you don’t forget what I look like. Then, when it’s over, you come back to Portland so we can see if we can work it out between us.”

“I haven’t decided about coming back to Portland yet.” The disappointed look on his face made her hurry to get to the next sentence. “But absolutely come see me after Pilchuck. And I promise I’ll talk it over with you before I decide what’s next after the six months. That okay?”

“No, I like my deal better. But I’ll take yours if that’s all I can get.”

Tracing the lines around his eyes and mouth with her finger, she said, “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met. And I’m probably the biggest idiot on the planet for walking away from you.” She put her arms around him and held him, nestling into his chest. “But I have to get my life back together, prove I can take care of myself. And going away is the only way I can get it done.” She rolled over and looked at the clock. “And it all starts very early tomorrow morning when the movers arrive to pick up what goes to Seattle.”

“Is that a hint for me to leave? Thought it was the man who wanted to be alone after sex.”

“Is it? I don’t know. I’ve never had a one-night stand before.”

He pulled himself up on one elbow and took her chin with the opposite hand. “I don’t know what tonight is. It could be the beginning of something or the end. But it’s no one-night stand. Not for me. And I don’t think for you either.”

“You have a lot of experience with one-night stands, cowboy?”

“Enough to recognize that this wasn’t one.”

“Okay. I’ll take your word for it. We’ll figure out what it is — was — later.” She kissed him lightly on the lips and slid out from under the sheet. “For now, how about I get dressed and walk you downstairs. We can say good-bye there.”

When they got to the front door, he held her and made her promise she’d be in touch as soon as she got to Seattle. After he released her from his embrace, she picked up a large, cardboard box from the table in the entryway and handed it to him.

“I was going to have this delivered to you. Not that it’s close to paying you back for what you’ve done for me — I’ll never be able to do that — but I want you to have it.”

He opened the box. Inside was a bubble-wrapped package with a metal stand taped to it. “Is this what I think it is?”

“If you think it’s a piece of my work, it is. It’s the first piece you ever saw, the night we met.”

“I don’t know what to say. Except thank you.” He looked inside the box. “Does it have the title anyplace on it? I don’t remember what you called it.”

“It’s called ‘Hope’, the piece is called ‘Hope’. Which is exactly what you gave me at the worst time in my life.”

• • •

She didn’t find the small box he’d left on her kitchen counter until the next morning. In it was a glass charm on a fine gold chain. On the charm was a delicate brush painting of bamboo. The note with it said: “Amanda — This is from the Chinese Garden. You said once it’s your favorite place in the city. I’m told the bamboo represents strength, resilience, and grace — exactly what I’ve seen in you over the past months. I hope you’ll wear it occasionally and think of a beautiful place in Portland. And me. Sam.”