Seducing Sam (2 page)

“Oh, I don’t think that’s nec-”

“I’ll check the progress of the
healing, make sure it’s not infected.”  His gaze grew a little sterner.  “If it
continues to throb past a reasonable amount of time, or gets red, or painful,
then go to your doctor and have it checked.  You don’t want it to get
infected.”

She had to be a little sick in herself
to find that sternness a bit of a turn on, but then he flashed that warm smile
again, that surfie-boy expression lightening, the first aid kit swinging in his
hand and narrowly missing taking a chunk out of the wall.

“I’ll be sure to follow your
orders, doctor,” she replied pertly.

His smile grew bigger, brighter,
and she wondered if he’d ever done any toothpaste commercials.  Maybe that’s
what he did, with that surfie-boy handsomeness and that tall, muscular body
that made her want to lick him like an icy pole on a hot day.

Holy Hannah, was she starting to
get a libido back?  After all this time?

“I’ll see you, Carly.”  Sam turned
and strode down the hallway.

As if drawn by an invisible
string, Carly followed, her eyes glued to his backside.  The cargo shorts were
baggy, but she could still appreciate that tanned skin, the shift of muscle
beneath, and the way those cargo shorts hung low on those lean hips.

He stopped in the doorway.

Unfortunately, she was so busy
eyeballing the luscious back view, that tall, strong body, that she walked
right into him.

Automatically her hand came up,
her palm pressing against the hollow of his back, her fingers spreading out. 
Oh
yeah, his skin was warm, almost hot
.  That thought went through her mind
right before she caught herself, snatching her hand from his back as though the
heat from his skin had burned her.

Sam looked back down over his
shoulder, that same pleasant expression on his face.  “All right?”

“Of course,” she replied, as
though she made a habit of walking into people every day.  “Sorry, just
distracted.” 
By a very nice view
.

Damned if she was going to lie to
herself.

“Sure you don’t want a hand to
shift more boxes?”  He stepped through the doorway.

“I’m absolutely fine.”  She
glanced at the boxes on the veranda.  “I’m just doing it nice and slowly,
packing away as I go.”  Catching his undecided expression, she added, “Ed’ll be
here soon.  He’ll do the heavy stuff.”

“If you’re sure-”

“Absolutely.”  She waved her hand
at him.  “Thanks for the patch-up, Sam.  I owe you.”

There went that smile again, all
slow and easy, and so gosh-darned congenial it made her insides squeeze.

No, wait, those was her thighs.

“Friends never owe friends,
Carly.”  And with that, Sam languidly walked down the steps, meandered up the
garden path and across the street.

Leaning against the door frame, she
watched him right up until he disappeared inside his house.

Maybe the shift wasn’t going to be
so bad after all.  A nice neighbour who wasn’t as dumb as he seemed, because
he’d made a bloody good job of patching her hand.

She’d just pushed away from the
doorframe to return inside when she saw Sam come back outside.  Scratching his
thick thatch of hair, he had one hand on his hip as he looked around, obviously
perplexed.  He’d lost something again.

Amused, Carly shook her head and
squatted down to start picking up the kitchen cutlery, returning it to the box
from which it had dropped after the butcher knife had come through the unsecured
bottom and cut her hand.

Which reminded her, Ed was so dead
when he returned.  He’d packed the cutlery.  Straightening, she eyed the box. 
He’d also have to finish carrying in the heavy boxes as there was no way her
throbbing hand would cope.  She’d have to just bring in the bags and smaller
boxes.  After, she thought ruefully, eyeing her bloodied pants, she changed her
clothes.

In the bedroom she’d chosen as her
own, she changed into clean pants and put the dirty pair in a bucket of soaker. 
Returning to the front veranda, she was in time to see Ed come roaring into the
drive on his Harley.  Leaning against the veranda post, she watched as he
turned the bike off. 

Kicking down the stand, he stayed
straddling the bike, pulling off his helmet to grin up at her.  “Hey, sport.”

“Don’t sport me.”

“Feeling a little PMS?”

“Come up here and say that to my
face.”

His grin just widened.  The sun
shone off his carelessly cut hair, the dark strands sticking up every which
way.

“Helmet hair,” she observed.

“Adds to my rakish, bikie persona,
don’t you think?”  Drawing up one skinny arm, he made a muscle.  “Goes with the
tats, the ear ring, the leather, the dangerous-”

“Dickhead.”

“I was going to say ‘daring’.”

“No, ‘dickhead’ is definitely the
word.”

“Harsh.”  Swinging one skinny leg
over the bike, he stood and stretched.  “How could a chick not love this manly
physique?”

Carly raised one eyebrow as she
looked him up and down.  Ed was lanky and dressed habitually in torn jeans,
bike boots and oil-stained t-shirts.  His hair, though washed regularly, rarely
saw a comb.  Leather bands were buckled around both skinny wrists, and tattoos
coiled around his bare arms and beneath his shirt to hug his bony chest.  It
was lucky he owned his own motorcycle sales and repair shop, for he dressed the
same for work and home.

“Oh yes,” she drawled.  “I see the
women lining up for miles to have a piece of Ed Miller.”

“You say that so sardonically.” 
He placed one palm on his chest.  “I’m hurt.”

“I bet.”

Pocketing his keys, he dangled the
helmet from his fingers and leaped up the stairs.  “Are those boxes waiting for
me?”

“You are such a genius.”  She held
up her palm.  “And before you complain, you owe me.”

“Why?”  He eyed the Primapore on
her palm.

“You packed the cutlery, you
jerk.  You promised me you’d do it properly.”

Concern sparked in his eyes. 
“What happened?”

“The butcher knife fell through
the bottom and cut me.”

Catching her hand, he studied her
palm.  “Damn.  I’m so sorry, Carly.  Lucky you had the first aid kit handy.”

“Actually, I didn’t patch it up.” 
She pulled her hand away.  “Sam fixed me.”

“Sam?  Sam Willow?”  Ed glanced
across the street to the house opposite.  “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”  She waved to the
boxes.  “Now I can’t lift anything too heavy that requires both hands, so these
boxes are your job.”

“Sure.”  Still concerned, he
frowned.  “Are you sure you don’t need to get that hand looked at by a doctor?”

“Absolutely certain.  Let’s
move.”  She pushed away from the veranda post.

Ed slung one arm around her neck. 
“If I move all these boxes, will you make spaghetti for tea?”  When she just
looked at him, he said, “Takeaway it is, then.”  Before she could move away, he
pulled her in for a brief hug.  “Ah, this is going to be so good, Carly.  You,
me, Crusher, all sharing the house, the bills, the chores.”

“Yeah, remember that chores bit,
won’t you?”  She gave him a one-armed hug back before pushing away.  “And where
is Crusher?”

“Huggie has him.”

“Why?”

“Because Crusher won’t sit like a
good doggie on the back of the bike.”

“So you’re leaving him at the shop
with Huggie?  What about tonight?”

“Huggie will drop him off.” 
Dropping his helmet on top of a box without even checking the contents, a fact
that made Carly wince, he picked up the box and said cheerfully, “You worry too
much.”

“And you worry too little.”

“Just take a leaf out of ol’ Uncle
Ed’s book and stop fretting so much.  Things always work out.”  He winked at
her and disappeared inside the house.

Carly sighed.  If only she could
be so easy-going things might have been a lot easier.  But what was done was done,
and this was a new start.

Picking up one of the bags, she
followed Ed into the house.

~*~

The lady across the road was a
little testy.  Prickly.  But somehow he kind of liked her anyway.  There was
something about her, beyond the tightness of her mouth and the slight
unhappiness in her eyes.

“Pretty eyes, too,” he informed
SJ.

The ginger cat eyed him without
blinking.

“Brown like chocolate.”

SJ blinked.

“Okay, that’s not an original
quote, but who cares?”  Picking up the shovel, Sam went back to digging the new
flower bed, whistling as he worked.

Ah, he loved gardening.  It was so
soothing, the rhythmic digging, weeding, planting, watering, and trimming.  It
gave him a sense of quiet achievement, watching the carefully tended flowers
flourish, stretching their bobbing heads to the sky.  The flash of bright and
soft colours was a balm to his soul.

After eight hours working in the
ER at the hospital, gardening helped ease the tension, reconnected him with the
earth and life outside the walls, banished the cries and screams, the sobbing,
and yes, even the laughter, for working in the ER wasn’t all alarm bells,
urgency and emergency.  There were slower moments, shared laughter with fellow
co-workers, emergencies that were dealt with quietly and efficiently,
non-emergencies dealt with, and not everything was hurried.  But he still
needed his quiet time, and his home and his garden were his sanctuary.

Several little birds splashed in
the bird bath under a nearby tree, and he smiled at their happy chittering.

SJ flopped down on the lawn not
far from Sam, his golden eyes locked on the birds, the tip of his tail flicking
lazily.

“Don’t even think about it,” Sam
advised him.

SJ blinked again, rolled in the
sunshine and settled on his other side for a sunbake.

Time passed pleasantly, and Sam
managed to finish the whole flower bed and was just getting ready to start
planting the seedlings when a cop car pulled into the driveway.

Straightening, he watched as his
friend got out of the car. “Alan.”

“Hey.”  Alan meandered across the
lawn to study the flower bed.  “Got a body under there?”

Sam waved towards the small box of
seedlings.

“Good idea.  Plant flowers and no
one will ever guess what you’ve really got buried.”

Sam grinned.  “I’d offer you a
beer, but I see you’re still on duty.”

“You know me, always on the case,
justice, law, order, all that shit.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that attitude will
get you promoted.”

“That’s why I’m not angling for
that at this stage.”

Sam raised his brows.

“With promotion comes greater
responsibility, better pay, and more respect.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The responsibility part.”

“Ah.”

“Yep.”  Squatting down, Alan gave SJ
a rub.  “How’s the man?”

“Obviously more responsible than
you.”

Alan laughed.  “SJ doesn’t have a
care in the world.  You dote on him.”

“He’s had it tough.”

“Before he found you, the best
sucker around, and made himself at home.”  Alan straightened.  “I don’t know
that he ever forgave you for getting him unmanned at the vet, though.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t care.”  Kneeling
on the ground, Sam started to carefully plant the seedlings.  “How’s Sophie?”

“Right in the middle of writing
her latest girlie porn.”

“Happy, then.”

“Man, she’s married to me.  Of
course she’s happy.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

Alan continued, “I see your new
neighbours are moving in across the road.”

“Yep.”

“Met them yet?”

“Yep.”

When Sam didn’t continue, Alan
probed, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Don’t be an arse.  What are they
like?”

“He rides a Harley, but I haven’t
actually met him properly.  She’s nice.”

“I saw the Harley in the
driveway.”  There was a pause, then, “Is the chick hot?”

Sam looked up to see Alan gazing
across at the house opposite.  “She’s taken.”

“But is she hot?”

Sam sat back on his heels.  “Alan,
you’re married.”

“Not for me, you nong.  For you.”

“She already has a bloke.”

“But are they together?”

“They’re living together,” Sam
pointed out dryly.

“Doesn’t mean anything.  You and I
lived together, and we weren’t married.”

“Do you know how that sounds?”

Alan thought for a moment.  “Oh.  Right. 
I meant, we shared the house, but we weren’t an item.”

“Thank God.”

“Anyway.”  Alan returned his
attention to the house opposite.  “Is she a hot - whoa.  Big chick.”

Sam followed his gaze to see Carly
striding around from the back of the house to climb the steps onto the veranda. 
Her generous hips swayed gracefully as she walked, and when she turned sideways
to say something, he couldn’t help but notice the equally generous breasts
pushing out the front of her shirt.

“Pretty,” Alan commented.  “Not
like my Soph, of course.”

Man, Carly was built like an
over-blown hour glass.  Sam swallowed.

“You all right?” Alan queried.

“Gardening’s thirsty work, I need
my water bottle.”  No way was he going to let Alan know that the sight of Carly
had affected him a little.  He turned back to the flower bed and proceeded to
pat down the soil around a small seedling.

“Is that her bloke?  Cripes, he’s
skinny.  Needs to work out some, build some muscle so he can wrestle that sheila
to the ground and-”

“Jesus, Alan.  Do you talk to
Sophie like this?”

“All the time.”

“I bet you spend a lot of time on
the sofa.”

“
We
do.  On the sofa, the
table, the bed, the -”

“Try to remember that she’s my
cousin, all right?  I really don’t want to hear about your sexual
exploitations.”