How to Score (15 page)

“Here you go,” she said, releasing him at the side of the bed and quickly stepping back. “I’ll wake you in three hours to make sure you’re okay.” She turned to leave.

He caught her hand.

“Thanks for all your help.”

“No problem. It’s my fault you’re hurt.”

“It was an accident, nothing more.”

Her mouth went dry and her mind went blank. “Well—good night.” She started to extract her hand from his, but he squeezed her fingers.

“Hold on—you’ll need a blanket.” He leaned forward and handed her the soft red one folded at the foot of the bed. “And a pillow.” He gave her the one next to his on the bed.

“Thanks.” There was something unnervingly intimate about sharing his bed linens. The pillow smelled like him—clean and soapy and masculine.

“Do you need an alarm?” he asked.

“Nah. I’ll use my cell phone.”

He sat there and looked at her, his gaze holding her like a chain. Something more seemed to be required. If he’d been anyone else, she would have kissed him on the cheek, but she was afraid he’d misinterpret it. Heck—she was afraid
she’d
misinterpret it.

“Well, good night. Let me know if you need anything.” She fled the bedroom, closing the door behind. She ducked into the half bath and changed into the red T-shirt and navy stretch shorts that Chloe had brought, then washed her face, brushed her teeth, and settled on the sofa. The leather was clammy against her skin. Sammi tossed and turned for more than an hour. She must have finally dozed off, because she awakened to her buzzing phone at 2:00 a.m.

She turned it off, peeled back the blanket, and padded into Chase’s bedroom. The dim light through the sliding glass door lit the room in a pale glow. He lay on his side, facing away from her. “Chase,” she said softly.

He didn’t move. The mattress gave as she sat on it. “Chase.”

Still nothing. Worried, she touched his arm. “Chase, you need to wake up. “ He remained unresponsive.

Alarm shot through her. What if he weren’t just asleep, but unconscious? She scooted closer and leaned over him. “Chase—are you okay?”

He shot up like a missile, knocking her off the bed. She stumbled backward, bumped into his dresser, richocheted off it, and fell against the open bathroom door. Starlight burst across her eyes.

“Holy cow—Sammi, are you all right?”

The back of her skull hurt like the dickens. She opened her eyes to find him out of bed and leaning over her, his brown eyes worried. She touched the back of her crown, and felt something wet.

“Let me see.” He flipped on the light, then crouched down beside her. He placed a hand on either side of her face and gently tilted her head. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sit tight.” He strode into the bathroom, then returned with a damp washcloth and a first-aid kit.

She sat up, holding her head, feeling like a moron, and struggled to her feet.

He put his arm around her and helped her to the bed. “Sit down.”

She sank to the edge of the mattress. He angled the flexible metal arm of the bedside task light toward her. His eyes were somber as he dabbed at her head. “The cut’s superficial, but you’ve got a big lump. You should probably get it looked at.”

“No.” Sammi tried to shake her head, but the movement made her head throb.

“You made me go to the emergency room.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t lose consciousness, and I don’t need stitches.” She’d be darned if she’d go to the emergency room for the second time in the same day.

His brows pulled together in a frown. “Well, hold this and put some pressure on it. I’ll go get you some ice.”

“I can get it.” She started to stand. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be taking it easy.”

“But you’re the one who’s currently bleeding.” His stern look squelched any further protest. “Don’t move.”

He returned a moment later with a plastic bag full of ice, as well as a couple of packages of gauze. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”

He took the washcloth off her head and examined the cut. “The bleeding’s stopped. I’ll bandage it up, and then you can put ice on it.” He placed a square of gauze over the wound high on the back of her head, then looped gauze around her head twice, wrapping it across her forehead like a sweatband. He tied it, then leaned back and grinned. “You look like someone from an eighties workout video.”

“Thanks a lot,” she said dryly.

“You’re welcome.” He took the bag of ice and put it back on her head. “So how do you feel?”

“Like an idiot.”

“Are you dizzy?”

Only when you look at me like that
. “I’m fine.” She started to rise. “Well, I’ll go back to the sofa and let you get some sleep.”

He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “You’re not going anywhere. Scoot over.”

“What?”

He waved his hand, motioning her to the other side of the bed. “You need to be awakened every three hours to make sure you’re okay, too. I’ll set the alarm and we’ll check on each other.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“No kidding. Scoot on over.”

She slid to the far side of the bed.

“If it makes you feel better, we can put a pillow between us.” He picked one up and plopped it beside her, then slanted her a grin. “Maybe we’ve stumbled onto a new medical protocol—the concussion buddy system. Hospitals everywhere will use it as a cost-cutting measure.”

“I wouldn’t want to do this in a hospital setting.”

“Me, neither. I’d probably get buddied with a flatulent truck driver named Gus.”

Sammi laughed.

He adjusted the covers. “I promise I didn’t do this just to get you in bed with me.”

She tried to keep her tone light, but her racing heart made it difficult. “Are you sure?”

“Well, I can honestly tell you I didn’t do it consciously. I can’t vouch for what shenanigans my subconscious might be up to.”

Wow—that was odd. She turned her head and looked at him. “My sister and I were just talking about that. And my life coach and I talked about it the other day.”

He grew very still. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. About how the subconscious sometimes has an agenda that we don’t consciously know about.”

“Hmm.” He carefully put one arm behind his head. His biceps formed a round mountain on the pillow. “What’s your subconscious’s agenda?”

She was afraid to even tell him her conscious one. She rolled over and lay on her side. “Right now it wants to get some sleep.”

“Okay.” He leaned over her to set the alarm. Her breath caught in her throat as he hovered over her, his naked chest close to hers. His body heat seemed to scorch her. She held her breath until he pulled back.

“Do you need anything before I turn off the light?” he asked. “Tylenol, a glass of water?”

A cold shower
. “No. I’m fine.”

“Okay. Good night.”

He flipped off the light. The darkness was jarringly intimate. In a few moments her eyes adjusted enough to realize they weren’t in total blackness. Soft yellow light still gleamed through the sliding glass door to the terrace.

She glanced over at Chase. He was turned away from her, his naked back exposed. She could see the muscles in his shoulders, the slope of his biceps. She closed her eyes, but the image of his body seemed imprinted on the inside of her eyelids.

She tried to divert her thoughts. She counted sheep. She went through the multiplication tables. She mentally named the seven wonders of the world, then tried to name the seven deadly sins. She could come up with only five—the last one being lust. She lay there, aroused and restless, listening to him breathe, burning with deadly sin number five.

The sheets rustled and the mattress bounced again as Sammi once more flipped over. Chase opened his lids to find her gazing at him.

She started. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” Because he’d never been asleep. The woman moved more than a nest of rattlers.

“I’m having a hard time going to sleep.”

“I noticed.” He rolled onto his back and folded his arms behind his head, careful not to jar his head wound. “What’s on your mind?”

She moved onto her back, as well, carefully placing the pillow under her neck to protect the sore spot on her head. “I’m thinking how odd it is that we’re lying here in bed together and I really don’t know all that much about you.”

It was even odder than she imagined. “What do you want to know?”

“Basic stuff—like about your family and why you’re an FBI agent, and, well… ” She paused, and her eyes cut toward him. “I don’t even know if you have a girlfriend.”

Sheez—did she still think he’d been wanking in the shower? The thought made him shift uneasily onto his side and prop his head on his elbow. “I thought we covered all that when we first met.”

“We covered married. I’m not sure if we covered dating.”

“I thought we covered both. Why the sudden concern?”

“Because I’m lying here in bed with you.” She paused a moment. “And I wondered if there’s anyone out there who might be upset by that fact.”

Someone who might walk through the door and find them, like she’d found that jerkoff she’d been dating. But he wasn’t supposed to know about that. “No. I’m not seeing anyone.” He’d better ask her, too. “You?”

“No.” She shifted onto her side and propped up on an elbow, facing him. “So why aren’t you married?”

“I haven’t met the right woman.”

“Did you ever think you had?”

“I guess I came close a time or two.”

“What happened?”

The same thing that always happened. “She wanted to move things to the next level, and when she pushed for that, I realized I couldn’t see myself growing old with her.”

“Why not?”

“Nobody has met the criteria.”

Her eyes widened. “You have
criteria?
”

He creased the fold of the sheet. “Well, yeah.”

“Is this all written out, like a job description?”

The amused tone in her voice made him defensive. “Hey, everyone has certain things they’re looking for in a significant other.”

“So it
is
written out!”

He failed to see what was so funny about it. “I happen to believe that choosing a life partner is serious business. It ought to be thought out logically and rationally.”

“Love isn’t always rational. Sometimes the heart knows things that the head doesn’t.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Well, I do. My grandparents had the happiest marriage I’ve ever seen, but they came from totally different worlds and seemed like complete opposites.”

He waited, hoping she’d continue.

She did. “My grandmother was from a well-to-do family in Philadelphia, and my grandfather was an oilfield roughneck in town to pick up some equipment. They met on the subway. Grams never rode it, but her car was in the shop that day. Anyway, in the span of four hours, Gramps convinced her to break her engagement to another man, marry him, and move to Oklahoma. Gramps said that the moment he set eyes on her, he just knew. And Grams said the same thing. It made no logical sense, but their hearts just knew.”

“They got lucky. For every story like that, there are thousands of couples who fall into that ‘opposites attract’ trap and end up completely miserable.”

“I don’t think it was luck at all. I think it was meant to be. I think divine providence brought them together.”

He should have known she’d believe in something illogical like that. “So you’re going to leave everything up to divine providence? You don’t have any idea what you’re looking for in a guy?”

“Well, of course I have
ideas
.”

“Well, let’s have them.”

She folded her hands on her stomach and gazed up at the ceiling. “I want someone honest and trustworthy. Someone who doesn’t try to control me—who can accept me just as I am, without trying to fix me or improve me or make me feel like I can’t live up to some impossible standard.”

He glanced over at her. “Sounds like your ex was really hard on you.”

“Yeah.” She was silent for a moment. “And to some extent, so was my dad.”

He hadn’t seen that one coming. He turned his head and looked at her profile. “Oh, yeah?”

She picked at an invisible piece of lint on the blanket. “I know Dad meant well, but he was always pushing my sister and me to try harder and do better and be the best we could be. Sometimes I felt like no matter how well I did something, it wasn’t good enough. And he was really overprotective.”

“At least your father cared about you.”

“Yours didn’t?”

Chase blew out a snort. “He didn’t care about anything except where his next beer was coming from.” Chase shifted uneasily. Why was he running his mouth? “Back to your criteria.”

“Would you please not call it that?”

“You didn’t mention physical attraction,” Chase pointed out. “Don’t you think that’s important?”

“Well, yeah. Of course. It goes without saying.” She squirmed beneath the sheet, as if the question made her uncomfortable. “You’re the one with the written list. What’s on it?”

No way was he going to share his SCABHOG inventory. “Sorry. That’s classified information.”

“That’s not fair!”

He lifted his shoulders. “Alas, unfairness is the tragic nature of life.”