A Cinderella Story. Maureen Child

called his name again and he clutched her to him as her body trembled and shivered in his grasp. Her climax rolled on and on, leaving her breathless and Sam more needy than ever.

      His body ached to join hers. His heart pounded in a fast gallop that left him damn near shaking with the want clawing at him.

      “Sam,” she whispered, reaching up to cup his face with her palms. “Sam, I need—”

      He knew just what she needed because he needed it too. He shifted, pulled his hand free of her body and thought only about stripping them both out of their clothes.

      In one small, rational corner of his mind, Sam admitted to himself that he’d never known anything like this before. This pulsing, blinding, overpowering sense of need and pleasure and craving to be part of a woman. To be locked inside her body and lose himself in her. Never.

      Not even with Dani.

      That thought broke him. He pulled back abruptly and stared down at Joy like a blind man seeing the light for the first time. Both exhilarated and terrified. A bucket full of ice water dumped on his head wouldn’t have shocked him more.

      He fought for breath, for balance, but there wasn’t any to be had. His own mind was shouting at him, telling him he was a bastard for feeling more for Joy than he had for his wife. Telling him to deny it, even to himself. To bury these new emotions and go back to feeling nothing. It was safer.

      “That’s it,” he said, shaking his head, rolling off the couch, then taking a step, then another, away from her. “I can’t do this.”

      “Sure you can,” Joy assured him, a confused half smile on her face as her breath came in short, hard gasps. She pushed herself up to her elbows on the couch. Her hair was a wild tumble of curls and her jeans still lay open, invitingly. “You were doing great.”

      “I won’t do this.” His eyes narrowed on her. “Not again.”

      “Sam, we should talk—”

      He actually laughed, though to him it sounded harsh, strained as it scraped against his throat. “Talking doesn’t solve everything and it won’t solve this. I’m going out to the workshop.”

      Joy watched him go, her lips still buzzing from that kiss. Her heart still pounding like a bass drum. She might even have gone after him if her legs weren’t trembling so badly she was forced to drop into the closest chair.

      What the hell had just happened?

      And how could she make it happen again?

       Seven

      Joy didn’t see Sam at all the next morning, and maybe that was just as well.

      She’d lain awake most of the night, reliving the whole scene, though she could admit to herself she spent more time reliving the kiss and the feel of his amazingly talented fingers on her body than the argument that had prompted it. Even now, though, she cringed a little remembering how she’d thrown the truth of his past at him out of nowhere. Honestly, what had she been thinking, just blurting out the fact that she knew about his family? She hadn’t been thinking at all—that was the problem.

      She’d stared into those amazing eyes of his and had seen him shuttered away, closing himself off, and it had just made her so angry, she’d confronted him without considering what it might do to the tenuous relationship they already had.

      In Kaye’s two-bedroom suite off the kitchen, there had been quiet in Joy’s room and innocent dreams in Holly’s. The house seemed to sigh with a cold wind that whipped through the pines and rattled glass panes. And Joy hadn’t been able to shut off her brain. Or her body. But once she’d gotten past the buzz running rampant through her veins, all she’d been able to think about was the look in his eyes when she’d brought up his lost family.

      Lying there in the dark, she’d assured herself that once she’d said the words, opened a door into his past, there’d been no going back. She could still see the shock in his eyes when she’d brought it up, and a twinge of guilt wrapped itself around her heart. But it was no match for the ribbon of anger that was there as well.

      Not only had he walked away from his talent, but he’d shut himself off from life. From any kind of future or happiness. Why? His suffering wouldn’t bring them back. Wouldn’t restore the family he’d lost.

      “Mommy, are you all done now?”

      Joy came out of her thoughts and looked at her daughter, beside her at the kitchen table. Behind them, the outside world was gray and the pines bent nearly in half from that wind sweeping in off the lake. Still no snow and Joy was beginning to think they wouldn’t have a white Christmas after all.

      But for now, in the golden lamplight, she looked at Holly, doing her alphabet and numbers on her electronic tablet. The little girl was squirming in her seat, clearly ready to be done with the whole sit-down-and-work thing.

      “Not yet, baby,” Joy said, and knew that if her brain hadn’t been filled with images of Sam, she’d have been finished with the website update a half hour ago. But no, all she could think of was the firelight in his eyes. The taste of his mouth. The feel of his hard body pressed to hers. And the slick glide of his fingers.

      Oh, boy.

      “Almost, honey,” she said, clearing her throat and focusing again on the comments section of her client’s website. For some reason people who read books felt it was okay to go on the author’s website and list the many ways the author could have made the book better. Even when they loved it, they managed to sneak in a couple of jabs. It was part of Joy’s job to remove the comments that went above and beyond a review and deep into the realm of harsh criticism.

      “Mommy,” Holly said, her heels kicking against the rungs of the kitchen chair, “when can we gooooooo?”

      A one-syllable word now six syllables.

      “As soon as I’m finished, sweetie,” Joy promised, focusing on her laptop screen rather than the never-ending loop of her time with Sam. Once the comment section was cleaned up, Joy posted her client’s holiday letter to her fans, then closed up the site and opened the next one.

      Another holiday letter to post and a few pictures the author had taken at the latest writers’ conference she’d attended.

      “How much longer, though?” Holly asked, just a touch of a wheedling whine in her voice. “If we don’t go soon all the Christmas trees will be gone.”

      Drama, thy name is Holly, Joy thought with a smile. Reaching out, she gave one of the girl’s pigtails a tug. “Promise, there will be lots of trees when we get into town. But remember, we’re getting a little one this year, okay?” Because of the Grinch and his aversion to all things festive.

      “I know! It’s like a fairy tree cuz it’s tiny and can go on a table to put in our room cuz Sam doesn’t like Christmas.” Her head tipped to one side. “How come he doesn’t, Mommy? Everybody likes presents.”

      “I don’t know, baby.” She wasn’t about to try to explain Sam’s penchant for burying himself in a loveless, emotionless well. “You should ask him sometime.”

      “I’ll ask him now!” She scrambled off her chair and Joy thought about calling her back as she raced to get her jacket. But why should she? Joy had already seen Sam with Holly. He was kind. Patient. And she knew darn well that even if the man was furious with her, he wouldn’t take it out on Holly.

      And maybe it would be good for him to be faced with all that cheerful optimism. All that innocence shining around her girl.

      In seconds, Holly was back, dancing in place on the toes of her pink princess sneakers. Joy zipped up the jacket, pulled up Holly’s hood and tied it at the neck. Then she took a moment to just look at the little girl who was really the light of her life. Love welled up inside her, thick and rich, and she heard Sam’s voice in her mind