“Sure.”
“But you were unhappy when you got back here.”
“Something’s wrong with the Jag.”
“Come on, Susan.” He tugged at her arm, but she kept it firmly in place. “A person doesn’t get drunk over a car.”
“It’s as good a reason as any.”
“Only if you want to ignore the reasons that count.”
Raising her arm only enough to peer up at him, she said, “Another time, Dr. Freud, I’d love to hear your theory.” She dropped the arm back to her eyes. “Right now I’d like silence.”
Sam gave it to her for several minutes, during which time he studied the curve of her ear, the line of her jaw, the slope of her neck. Though she was of good height and ample curves, there was something fragile about her, physically and emotionally. It cried out to him. It made him feel compassionate and passionate. He had seen her at her worst, and she still turned him on.
“Sam?” came the voice beneath the arm, sounding wary now. “You’re too quiet. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I’d drink myself to oblivion, too, if I was confined in this mausoleum.”
“Mausoleum? This house is worth one-point-three million on the open market.”
“Let the open market have it. It’s a mausoleum.” He stood and reached down for her, hauling her to her feet.
She tried to wrench her arms free. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting you out of here.” He ushered her into the hall. “This house wasn’t made for a single woman. It’s got shadows in every damned corner.” He took her fur from the closet.
She pulled back. “It’s my house. It’s quiet.” Her eyes sharpened on him in accusation. “And it doesn’t manhandle me.”
Draping the coat around her shoulders, Sam pulled the lapels tightly together and backed her to the wall. He pushed one of his thighs between hers, but it was the pressure of his hips that pinned her there. “I won’t manhandle you, Susan,” he said, looking at her mouth. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“I’m not up for this,” she wailed softly.
He met her gaze. “I know. You have a lousy headache. Everything from your neck up feels thick. That’s why you’re coming with me without a fuss.”
Despite her confusion, Susan felt an inkling of interest. “Where to?”
“My place. Once we get there, you can lie down to your heart’s content. I won’t bother you.”
She wasn’t sure if she liked the sound of that. “You’re going to ignore me?”
“No. I’m going to make you some breakfast, then let you sleep.” He plopped a kiss on her cheek, then stepped back. “We’ll decide what you want to do when you’re feeling better.”
At that moment she missed the feel of his weight against her. A bit contrarily, she said, “I always read the paper on Sundays.”
“Fine.” Retracing his steps, he took the paper from the coffee table, then paused. “The whole thing, or just the society section?”
She glared at him, then took the fur from her shoulders, but before she could get it back into the closet he blocked the way. “What are you doing?”
“I’m staying here. I have a headache and being with you won’t help.”
“It’ll help.”
“You get on my nerves.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? If I bored you, we’d be in trouble.”
He had a point. Still, there was a limit, especially to what he had in mind. “You do know that this is absurd, Sam, don’t you?”
