Chapter Eleven
Sheri froze as Sam’s shout echoed in her ear. She opened her mouth to say something, but he lunged for her. His hands were everywhere at once, patting her throat, stroking her arms, touching her face—
“Oh, God—no!” he said.
Oh, yes! screamed Sheri’s whole body as his hands slid down her torso.
She raised her hands and pushed them against his wall of a chest, reluctant to lose contact with him, but needing ease his panic.
“Sam, stop! I’m okay. Please, stop.”
She stepped back, wincing as a piece of glass bit into her heel. “Ouch!” she said, and lifted her bare foot to inspect the damage. It didn’t look bloody, but it was tough to tell with so much beet pulp sprayed around the kitchen.
“Damn beets,” she muttered, flicking a piece off the edge of her big toe before setting her foot back on the floor.
“Beets,” he said slowly, and Sheri watched as his expression went from horror to confusion to relief, all in the space of two seconds. “Beets. Not blood?”
“Of course not blood. Jesus, did you think I was butchering an elk in here?”
“But I thought you were hit.”
“Hit?”
“Shot. All this blood and glass and—”
“Yeah, I’m going to need a new blender.” She rolled her eyes and waved a hand toward what was left of her Black & Decker. “Note to self: don’t stick a metal spoon in a glass blender while it’s running. Any idea how to get beet pulp off the ceiling?”
He blinked at her, still looking dumbfounded. Then he glanced up, and Sheri directed her gaze skyward as well. A chunk of beet lost its grip on the ceiling and dropped down the front of her shirt with a splat.
She sighed. “Normal moms would know how to make homemade baby food without destroying a kitchen.”
“What?”
She shook her head and reached down the front of her shirt to fish the beet out of her bra. After dropping it in the garbage disposal, she rinsed off her hand with a sense of defeat.
“I read this article about how beets make great baby food because they’re colorful and packed with calcium and potassium and vitamin A. Kelli got a bunch of them on sale at the farmers’ market by her house, so I thought I could steam them and blend them into this great organic baby food.” She shrugged and wiped a hunk of beet off her arm. “The story of my life.”
“Your life,” Sam choked out. “Jesus, I’m just glad you’re okay. I don’t care about the damn kitchen, that’s easy to clean.”
She gave him a halfhearted smile and pulled a piece of beet out of her hair. “Easy for you to say, Martha Stewart.”
“Seriously. You almost gave me a heart attack. Let me clean this up while you go take a shower.”
“No!” she said, staving off a fresh wave of shame. “I made this mess, and I didn’t even get any baby food out of it. The least I can do is clean it up.”
She took a step toward the sink and winced, glancing down at her beet-stained bare foot. “Dammit, the glass is everywhere. I just need to—”
He slung an arm around her waist, picking her up like she weighed less than a bag of palm fronds. She squirmed against him, but he locked his other arm around her, gripping her tight against his chest.
“The only thing you need to do is take a shower so you don’t look like the victim of a shrapnel explosion,” he said, carrying her toward the door of the kitchen. “The mess will wait. Or you’ll swallow your goddamn pride and let someone else help you for a change. Either way, you’re getting in the shower right now.”
Sheri pushed at his chest, not sure if she wanted to break free or just to touch him. It didn’t really matter, since the solid plane of muscle resisting her hand was clearly not budging.
“Put me down!” she demanded.
He ignored her, striding through the dining room and down the hall, making a beeline for her bedroom. He kicked open the door, stepping over her discarded robe and panties en route to the master bath. He loosened his grip on her for an instant, just enough to twist the taps for the shower.
“Sam, stop it! Just let me clean up the mess, and then I’ll—”
“This isn’t negotiable,” he said, perching her on the edge of the bathroom counter with one hand holding her in place. He held fast to her rib cage while the other hand moved down her beet-stained calf. She gasped with the pleasure of his palm on her skin, then yelped as he grabbed her foot.
“Ow!”
“Exactly,” he said, clutching her heel in one massive palm. “You’ve got glass in your foot and you’re bleeding all over the place. You’re going to get cleaned up and bandaged, and that’s happening whether you want it to or not. We can do this the hard way, or we can do this the easy way. Your choice.”
She winced as he plucked a piece of glass from her heel, then another one up near the ball of her foot. He flicked them into the sink and ran water to wash away the small shards. Then he opened her medicine cabinet and located a bottle of antibacterial rinse, setting it on the counter long enough to scrounge a Q-tip from the jar beside the sink.
She said nothing as he grabbed her foot again, bending over his work as he tended to the tiny wounds.
“There,” he said. “I think I got all the glass. Wash off in the shower, and we’ll take another look afterward to see if there’s more. Then I’ll put a bandage on it.”
“But I’m already covered in beet juice. Just let me clean up the kitchen now while I’m a mess, and then I’ll come back here and—”
“Goddamn it.” He grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her off the counter with a quick jerk.
Startled, she braced herself as he thrust her into the tiled shower. She gasped as the warm spray hit her, stunned to be standing in the shower in her clothes while some Neanderthal gripped her around the rib cage.
Sam grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged up. Too shocked to resist, she lifted her arms and let him pull off her drenched, beet-stained T-shirt while the water pounded her from above.
She blinked as he tossed aside the shirt, his eyes pinning her in place as she stood there in her pink satin bra made transparent by the water. Her nipples tightened as he grabbed the waistband of her skirt.
He hesitated, probably realizing he’d crossed at least a dozen lines they’d sworn they wouldn’t get near. He started to draw his hand back, but Sheri grabbed his wrist and gripped it tight. Her fingers locked around his hand, and her eyes locked with his. She watched as his eyes went from flashing anger to mild alarm.
Good.
Her belly rolled with a surge of triumph and dizzying lust, and she let go of his hand and slid her palm down the plane of his abdomen, grabbing the top of his shorts. She jerked him to her, catching him off guard. Sam stumbled, tripping forward into the tiled shower, into her.
It was his turn to be shocked as the warm spray hit him squarely in the face. He was still sputtering when she grabbed the neck of his T-shirt shirt and yanked his face down to hers.
“You said we can do this the hard way,” she purred, grazing her breasts against his chest. “Show me you’re a man of your word.”
He swallowed, closing his eyes for the briefest instant before opening them to look down at her.
“My pleasure,” he said, and pushed her against the slick tile wall.