17
Of the four superheroes I could have run into while snooping, Fiona aka Fiera Fine was last on my list. Sparks shot out of her clenched fists, fists that looked like they wanted to pummel me into oblivion.
“Um, well, I was just—”
“How did you get past the security doors? And the codes?” Fiona’s eyes narrowed. They glowed with a red-hot intensity.
“Well, you see—”
“Are you spying on us?” Flames licked at her fingertips. “Secretly working for Malefica?”
“Of course not!”
My eyes darted around, looking for some means of escape. I took another step back and bumped into the table. I scooted around it, putting it between myself and the fiery superhero. Not that it would do any good, since it was made of solid wood.
Fiona stepped forward. “I’ll get to the truth—one way or another.”
“Carmen! There you are!” Henry said, entering the library. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I had never been so grateful to see him and his polka-dot bow tie.
“I found her roaming around in here like she owned the place.” Fiona crossed her arms over her chest. Smoke rose from her body. “Evidently, she managed to get past the security doors and codes upstairs.”
Henry blinked. “You did? How?”
I shrugged. “I figured it out. You know, 555 isn’t the safest thing to use.”
“I’ve been telling Sam that for years,” Henry replied. “But no. The code has sentimental value, he says. It’s the only thing we can all remember, he says—”
Fiona shot him a heated look.
“So, er, what are you doing in here?” Henry asked, changing the subject.
I pointed to my boxes. “I brought my things down. I was going to start working on Malefica’s identity. I thought you guys might have some high-powered gizmos or information that might help me.”
“So you thought you’d sneak down here and snoop around while no one was watching?” Fiona said, her eyes suspicious slits in her face.
I put my hands on my hips. “I tried using the intercom. Nobody answered. I called out. Nobody answered. I ate breakfast, and nobody showed up. I did everything but dial 911 to try to get somebody to answer me.”
Fiona glared at me. I returned her hot stare, even though sweat dripped down the back of my neck. I wasn’t going to give the other woman the satisfaction of looking away first. Not unless my eyeballs started to melt.
Henry looked back and forth between the two of us. “We might have some things that you can use, Carmen. I’m not sure exactly how you go about doing what, er, you do.”
“It’s really pretty simple.”
“Well, you two have fun,” Fiona said. “Some of us have to go to work today.”
She flounced out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her. The wood shuddered but remained in its frame. I winced at the big bang.
“I bet you guys go through a lot of doors around here.”
“You have no idea,” Henry replied. “Don’t mind Fiona. She’s just had a rough time of it since—”
“Since Tornado committed suicide.” I finished his sentence.
“They were engaged. They were really crazy about each other. She took his death a bit harder than the rest of us.”
No wonder Fiona hated me. Even though I didn’t think it was humanly possible, I felt even guiltier than before. Driving somebody’s fiancé to commit suicide was definitely not good for one’s karma. My own turned a little darker. Soon, it would be as black as Malefica’s surely was.
“So, where are Sam and Mr. Sage? I mean Striker and Chief Newman?” I shook my head. “What do I even call you guys? Henry or Hermit? I’m not familiar with superhero etiquette.” I’d never had to worry about such niceties before. No superhero in his or her right mind had ever wanted to talk to me.
“Generally, when we’re out on a mission or when we have our uniforms on, we call each other by our superhero names. The rest of the time, we use our real names.”
“Okay, got it. So where are the others?”
“The chief is at work. He said he’d try to drop by after his shift. Sam had some big business deal to tend to. He’ll be holed up in his office upstairs the rest of the day.”
“Oh.” A wave of disappointment washed over me. I’d been looking forward to seeing him, to just being near him. I bit my lip. His absence was for the best, though. Hadn’t I made a solemn vow last night to keep my distance from Sam Sloane? Here I was longing for his presence, for a mere glimpse of him. Geez. I was a mess.
“Well, we should get started. I have some files to go through. I’m trying to track down the Triad through their Internet accounts.” Henry booted up one computer after another. “So far, I’m not having much luck.”
I walked to the table where I’d put my boxes. I tugged the top off one and pulled out a stack of papers.
“You could work over here at the table with me,” Henry suggested. “There’s plenty of room.”
I stared at the empty, dust-covered chair. My stomach twisted. “No, I’m fine where I am.”
A few minutes later, I was ready to throttle Sam and Chief Newman. They had made a complete mess of my carefully compiled and filed papers. Evidently, the two men had just shoved everything into the boxes without trying to keep it organized. As a result, all the papers were mixed together and out of place. I finally just dumped the contents of the two boxes on the floor, sat down in the middle of the snowy pile, and began sorting through it all. Again. Henry’s staccato, gunshot-loud typing accompanied my work.
After about an hour, silence intruded on my thoughts. No more rat-a-tats sounded. Henry had quit typing. I looked up. He stared blankly at the screen. His fingers rested on top of the keyboard. He seemed totally absorbed in whatever he was looking at.
Curious, I walked across the room and peeked over Henry’s shoulder. Rows and rows of numbers and letters flashed on the screen. In an instant, they were gone, replaced by even more numbers and letters. A strange, bluish-white glow connected his hands to the keyboard. Even though the light crackled and sparked like electricity, it didn’t seem to bother Henry. He didn’t move a muscle, not even to blink. I stared at his chest to make sure he was still breathing. How strange. I reached out my hand—
“Don’t touch me,” Henry said. “Or you’ll get the shock of your life.”
I froze.
Henry’s hands lost their glow. His dark eyes cleared. He blinked several times.
“What were you doing?” I asked.
“Mind-melding with the computer. It’s my power.”
“Your power? I thought Hermit didn’t have a power, that you just—” I bit off my words.
Henry pushed his glasses up his nose. “That I just provided technical support to the group? That I’m just some computer geek who spends his time hiding in a black van while the others go out and fight? A lot of people think that. But I do, in fact, have a power. I can open my mind up to computers and other electronic devices and use them. It’s called mind-melding. It’s actually a pretty useful skill. The human brain is far more complex than any computer and operates several times faster. I can view hundreds of characters in mere seconds. I also have a photographic memory, which comes in handy when you’re sorting through billions of bytes of information.”
“I see.” I fell silent for a moment. “How did you get it? Your power? Were you born with it? Or did something happen to you to cause it?”
“No.” Henry stared at his flickering computer screen. The light made the white dots on his bow tie gleam. “When I was a kid, I spent most of my time in my room, playing fantasy games on my computer, trying to hack into the FBI directory, your usual crazy kids’ stuff.”
I blinked. I’d done my share of stupid stuff as a kid, but I couldn’t ever remember trying to hack into the FBI mainframe. Drink a few wine coolers, sure. Break into a secure government network, not so much.
Henry continued with his story. “I didn’t have many friends, except for a few people I’d met online, and those didn’t really count. Anyway, one night when I was sixteen, there was this huge electrical storm. The rain was coming down so hard you couldn’t see two feet in front of your face. It was one of the worst storms we’d ever had, before or since. It flooded most of the city and knocked out the power for days. Despite all this, I was on my computer in the middle of the storm, since we still had electricity. My mom told me to turn it off, but I wanted to finish this game.
“Lightning hit the power line outside. Thousands and thousands of volts of electricity surged inside the house right into my computer. But it didn’t stop there. The body is a wonderful conductor of electricity, you know. The current ran up my fingers and throughout the rest of my body.”
“Did it hurt?” I could see it in my head. Henry typing away, when suddenly . . . BAM!
“Not really. I blacked out after the first few seconds. When I came to, it was almost like something had snapped open inside my head, like a light had been turned on. I could see things I hadn’t been able to before. I could reach out to the computer and make it do anything I wanted.”
“How did you get involved with the Fearless Five?”
“Mr. Sage sensed me. He’s always on the lookout for spikes in psychic energy. He felt my . . . transformation. At first, I didn’t understand what had happened, and I got terrible headaches. Mr. Sage found me. He taught me how to control my power, how to use it to benefit others. Mr. Sage and the rest of the group needed somebody who understood computers and could do what I could. So, I joined the group, and the rest is history.”
“Do you ever regret it? Having powers, I mean? Not being . . . ordinary?”
“Sometimes. I like helping people, I really do, but being a superhero is a full-time job. And it’s an awesome responsibility. There’s always somebody who needs help or wants to rule the world. Sometimes, I wish I could be just like everybody else. Plus, mind-melding can give you one killer headache, particularly if you run into a virus or some nasty security firewall on the Internet.” Henry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
His story awed and humbled me. I couldn’t imagine being a teenager who suddenly developed this fantastical power. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Yet Henry had become a good, kind man despite having this power thrust upon him. He truly was amazing.
“Well, from everything I’ve seen and read, you do a great job, Hermit,” I said. “I’m sure everyone is grateful that you do what you do. I know I am.”
Henry smiled.
I grinned back. “Now, if you feel up to it, why don’t we use that power of yours to track down an ubervillain?”
“I’m always up for that.” Henry slid his glasses back on his face. “Let’s go get her.”
We spent the next two hours going through files and reviewing all the information we’d gathered on Malefica and the rest of the Terrible Triad. The answer to Malefica’s real identity was hidden somewhere among my papers. I could feel it. I just didn’t know where to look. Yet.
Henry left to go to work at The Exposé, but I stayed in the library. By the time I finished reorganizing my papers, it was close to six. I stretched my arms up over my head. My bones snapped and popped in a pleasant way. My stomach rumbled. Time for dinner. Malefica would have to wait until tomorrow.
I turned off the light and left the library. I walked back down the hallways, rode the elevator up to the wine cellar, and made my way to the kitchen. It was deserted, just like this morning. This time, I didn’t hesitate. After all my hard work, I was in the mood for a little comfort—Southern style. I gathered up the necessary ingredients for a bona fide Southern feast. Soon, chicken sizzled in a hot skillet, while biscuits baked in the oven. Peach tea chilled in the refrigerator.
“Something smells good.”
I shrieked at the sound of Sam’s deep voice. A spatula slipped from my fingers.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” I clutched a hand over my racing heart.
“It’s one of my many talents,” he replied.
I glared at him. Or at least I tried to. He leaned against the side of the refrigerator. A navy blue business suit hugged his body to perfection and brought out his brilliant eyes. He looked good. Too good. I turned back to the stove so he wouldn’t notice the flush in my cheeks. It was a good thing he couldn’t read minds, because mine was once more full of lustful thoughts.
Sam walked over and snitched a piece of chicken from the pan.
“Stop that. It’s not ready.” I swiped at him, but he easily ducked out of the way. Stupid superhuman reflexes.
“Mmmm. Tastes ready to me. Where did you learn to cook like that?”
I sniffed. “I, sir, am a Southerner. And every Southerner, no matter the gender, learns at a very young age to make three essential things—fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and iced tea. All of which I have prepared tonight and will soon be dining on.”
“Care if I join you?”
I looked into his eyes. They were the most unusual color, and varied with his mood, from dark, gunmetal gray when he was angry or upset to light silver when he was calm and relaxed, like now. I realized I was alone with Sam aka Striker Sloane, the one person I should be avoiding at all costs, other than Malefica. I thought back to that night in my apartment and how it had all started in my kitchen.
I dropped my gaze to the crispy chicken. “Um, well, I’m not sure I made enough for two people.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t eat nearly as much as Fiona does.”
I laughed. Despite my earlier vow, I wanted to have dinner with Sam. Wanted to know the man behind the mask. So, I did something I shouldn’t have.
“I’d love to have some company,” I said.
We settled ourselves at the island in the middle of the kitchen. Sam loosened his silk tie, while I filled our plates.
“Mmm-mmm. I think I’m in heaven.” Sam rolled his eyes for emphasis and took another bite of his buttered biscuit.
I laughed again. “I wouldn’t go that far, but it certainly beats flat champagne and moldy cheese.”
“Ah, the gourmet cuisine of the Bigtime society crowd.”
For the next half hour, we regaled each other with tales from the society scene. Sam talked about how hard it was to avoid all the money-hungry debutantes and their marriage-minded mothers, while I spun horror stories about the drunken businessmen who hit on me, even though their stone-cold-sober wives stood all of two feet away.
The conversation moved on to other topics. I told Sam about my childhood and what it was like to grow up in the Tennessee hills. He told me about taking his father’s small construction business and turning it into a multibillion-dollar empire that included everything from newspapers to computer companies to farming interests. Sam liked football, hockey, and other contact sports. I told him about my fascination with puzzles. We talked about favorite movies and books and music and more. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I was in hiding, Sam was pretty much stuck with me, and we’d already had sex, I would have sworn I was having the best first date of my life.
I’d never found someone who was so easy to talk to. Sam and I chatted about everything—except that night in my apartment. That was the one topic I didn’t know how to bring up or even what to say. Was it good for you too? What was that thing you did with your hands that drove me crazy? Want to do it again? I didn’t have the courage to ask Sam any of those questions, especially the last one.
Suddenly, Sam cocked his head to one side. “Nine o’clock already.”
“How do you know that?” I didn’t see any clocks in the kitchen.
“There’s an antique grandfather clock in the main hallway. It chimes the hours.”
I could just barely hear the faint murmur. “You must have amazing hearing.”
“Supersenses, remember?” Sam stood. “I’d love to stay, but I have to go downstairs. I’m on call tonight.”
“You go ahead. I’ll clean up.” I rose from my stool as well.
“No, you cooked. I’ll clean up.”
We both reached for the same plate, and our hands collided. A jolt of electricity zipped up my arm at his touch. I stared into Sam’s eyes. They really were the most brilliant eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes that could look right into your soul. I wondered what he saw in mine. Wondered if he could see how attracted I was to him. Wondered if he could see how much I desired him.
“Carmen, what’s happening between us?” Sam asked, his silver eyes burning into mine.
I tugged the plate out of his hand, turned away, and dumped it in the sink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I made my voice light and cheery, even though I trembled inside.
“I’m talking about the night in your apartment. The night we made love.”
“Oh. That.” I closed my eyes to try to block out the memory. But I couldn’t.
“Oh, that? Is that all you have to say?”
I faced him. Sam’s eyes were dark and guarded, his body tense like a coiled spring.
“Honestly, I don’t know what to say, other than it happened, and we can’t change it.”
“I don’t want to change it.”
“Then what do you want?” My heart smashed against my ribs with every breath like waves continuously crashing on a sandy beach. The wrong word, the wrong look from Sam, and my heart would break once more.
“I want to know how it happened. Why. If you enjoyed it. How you felt . . . afterwards. If you thought about me.” Sam ran his hand through his thick, dark hair. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t do that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?”
“Sleep with people I barely know.”
“Never?”
Sam shook his head. “Never. I don’t sleep around, especially not with the women I save. I’m not that kind of superhero.”
“Why not? I’m sure you get lots of offers.” He had to, given how scrumptious he looked in his tight, leather suit.
“It’s not fair. They don’t owe me anything, especially not their bodies. I save people because I want to, not because I expect some reward.”
“And what about your personal life? When you’re Sam Sloane?” All the tall, beautiful supermodels I’d seen him squiring around Bigtime danced through my head.
He sighed. “Not then either. I have a hard time trusting women, letting them get close to me, what with the secret identity and all.”
“So why did you sleep with me? I would think after what happened with Tornado you would hate me. That you would want nothing to do with me. Ever.” The words popped out before I could stop them.
“After Travis died, I did blame you, Carmen. I did hate you.”
Sam’s words pierced my heart. I closed my eyes.
“But I came to realize that Travis’s death wasn’t your fault.”
“Of course it was,” I snapped. “How could it not be?”
Sam shook his head. “You might have exposed him, but he’s the one who decided to take his own life. Travis made that decision, not you, Carmen.”
“But I drove him to it,” I whispered. My stomach turned over.
“No. I don’t think that and neither should you. Being exposed is a fear every superhero lives with. It’s one of the job hazards. Travis knew that, he accepted the risk. We could have gotten through it, if only he’d given us a chance to.”
Sam’s words did little to comfort me. He might not blame me for Travis’s death, but I knew the truth—it was my fault. It would always be my fault.
I’d learned the answer to one of my burning questions. I had to know the other one. “But why sleep with me?”
He stared at me as if the answer was obvious. “You’re a desirable woman, Carmen.”
I snorted. “Oh get real.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sam, you’re an incredibly handsome man. You look better in a business suit than any guy I’ve ever seen. Not to mention the fact you’re smart, charming, and incredibly rich. You’re every woman’s fantasy. And when you put your superhero suit on, well, let’s just say it doesn’t hurt matters.” I gestured at my ratty jeans and T-shirt. “I, on the other hand, am not the stuff men’s dreams are made of.”
Sam titled my chin up until my eyes met his. “You’re a beautiful, strong, intelligent woman, Carmen Cole. A man would have to be a fool not to want you.”
The sincerity in his eyes startled me. Could billionaire Sam Sloane really be attracted to me? Could he want me like I wanted him? Could our time together actually have meant something to him?
The image of Matt and Karen doing the deed flashed through my head. “Tell that to my ex-fiancé.”
“He was an enormous idiot to let you get away.” Sam grinned. “Besides, have you seen Crusher lately? She’s almost as ripped as Scorpion. That can be a little intimidating, even for a superhero.”
His catty comment brought a smile to my face. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for that. And for lying.”
Sam stared at me. Then, he backed me up against the sink and put his hands on either side. I caught a whiff of his musky, manly scent. His silver eyes locked with mine.
“What—what are you doing?” I asked, breathless.
“Proving to you I’m not lying.”
Sam lowered his lips to mine. For a moment, I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe this was happening again. I’d never thought it would. Never thought I would be this lucky.
Sam nibbled at my lips. I opened my mouth, and he slipped his tongue inside. Desire exploded deep within me. Every part of my body hummed and throbbed at Sam’s firm touch. At the feel of his lips on mine.
“I can’t think straight whenever I’m near you. All I want to do is touch you, Carmen. Taste you. All of you,” Sam whispered. He pressed hot kisses against my throat.
I buried my hands in his thick, silky hair and pulled him closer. I wanted him to touch me. All of me.
Sam picked me up and set me on the edge of the sink. His hands trailed up my leg to the junction of my thighs, stroking my wet heat. I hissed. The touch scorched me, even through the thick denim of my blue jeans. I ran my hands up and down his back, marveling at his taut muscles. Why did the man always have to have a shirt on? He’d look so much better without one. He’d feel so much better without one.
We kissed again, long and hard and deep. Sam’s hands ran up my body and dipped under the bottom of my T-shirt. His hands cupped my swelled breasts, while his fingers traced over my hard nipples. Waves of pleasure cascaded through me. Thank heavens I’d decided not to wear a bra today.
Sam pushed my shirt up, and I shivered as the cool air hit my flushed skin. I wrapped my legs around his waist and leaned back, knowing what he wanted. It was the same thing I did. Sam dipped his head to my stomach. He kissed his way up my chest and took my exposed nipple in his mouth. He ran his tongue round and round and round until I felt dizzy from the pleasure of it.
I moaned, on fire, burning alive from the inside out. There was only one thing that could quench the heat in me, the raging need. Sam.
Suddenly, Sam froze, his tongue hot and wet on my breast. A second later, someone called out.
“Sam? Are you up here?” Fiona’s lilting voice echoed through the manor.
My eyes widened. Fiona was the very last person I wanted to find out about Sam and me. She’d fry me alive.
“She’s coming this way,” Sam said.
I dropped my arms from Sam’s neck and pushed him away. I pulled my T-shirt down, darted around him, ran to the island, and lunged onto my stool.
“Carmen, wait—” Sam put his hand on my arm.
Sweat popped out on the nape of my neck. My temperature shot up at least five degrees.
“Well, isn’t this a cozy little scene?” Fiona Fine called out from the doorway.
I froze. And tried not to think about what had just happened between us. It was a good thing Fiona wasn’t a psychic like her father.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked.
Fiona pulled out a third stool at the head of the island and wormed her way in between Sam and me. She sat down and flipped her long, blond hair over her shoulder. Every strand landed perfectly back into place. I eyed Fiona’s outfit. The fashion designer had on a neon pink dress dotted with black-and-white spots. She looked like a cross between a flamingo and a Dalmatian. Somehow though, Fiona still looked fabulous. I stared down at my T-shirt that read ADDICTED TO SHOPPING, CHOCOLATE, AND MEN. NOT NECESSARILY IN THAT ORDER. Truer words had never been printed. I was addicted all right. To Sam Sloane.
“We were just finishing up dinner,” Sam explained. His voice was cool and calm, even though we’d been engaged in some hot ’n’ heavy action a minute before. How had he regained his composure so quickly? My heart was still beating so fast I thought it might explode.
“Really? I’m famished.” Fiona reached for a piece of chicken.
“Actually, Carmen cooked tonight. You should try her fried chicken. It’s excellent.”
Fiona’s hand hovered over the plate. I watched as the other woman debated with herself, weighing her burning hunger against her intense dislike of me. Fiona dropped her hand.
“Actually, I had chicken for lunch. And fried chicken isn’t terribly good for one’s figure. Too much fat, too many calories.”
“I thought you weren’t concerned about calories, what with your fiery metabolism and all,” I said in a snide tone.
Sam coughed, although it sounded more like a laugh. Fiona glared at both of us.
“Your loss,” I continued on in a cheerful voice, trying to take my mind off my latest encounter with Sam. “I make excellent fried chicken. The best there is, or so I’ve been told.”
Fiona gave me a sour look.
“So how was your day, Fiona?” Sam asked, changing the subject.
“The usual. Made some sketches for the new collection. Screamed at my suppliers. Sewed my fingers off. By the way, Sam, I have some more models I’d love to introduce you to. Really beautiful women.” Fiona shot me a pointed look.
I gripped the counter so hard my knuckles turned white. “So that’s where Sam gets all his dates from. I didn’t know you ran an escort service, Fiona.”
I was being bitchy, but I didn’t care. Images of beautiful, buxom, blond models drooling all over Sam floated through my mind. I felt fat and inadequate and depressed. My ego deflated like a popped balloon. Who was I kidding thinking someone like Sam could be interested in me? I hadn’t even been able to keep my ex-fiancé away from my ex-best friend. How could I hang on to superrich, super-cool, supersexy Sam for any length of time? Sure, we had great chemistry, but it took a lot more than that to make a relationship work.
“I take the models out as favors to Fiona, that’s all.” Sam responded almost as if he knew my dark, depressing thoughts. “Being seen with me helps them get other jobs. It ups their credibility or something like that. I’m not sure how it works.”
“What it means is that the model is attractive to wealthy men. Wealthy men have wealthy wives or well-off ex-wives. Those wives want to look good for their husbands or potential husbands. They see a wealthy man with a model, and they want to look like her. Specifically, they want to wear what she’s wearing in hopes of pleasing their men. So I let Sam take out my models, wearing my latest designs. The models get some exposure, Sam has some fun, and my business goes through the roof. Everybody wins.”
Fiona’s logic made sense in a weird sort of way. I hadn’t thought she had anything more than a pretty face and hot disposition going for her. Maybe there actually was a brain beneath that golden hair. Still, I didn’t like the Sam having fun part. Not one bit.
Fiona tore into a biscuit and slathered it with butter.
“Speaking of well-off ex-wives, I did have a problem today with Joanne James.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And how is Joanne?”
Although Joanne James was one of Bigtime’s wealthiest women, she was also a notorious miser. The divorcee never met a penny she couldn’t pinch a few more cents out of. I’d come to dread any society event she was involved in. Joanne James’s champagne was not only flat, but watered down as well. Her cheapskate tendencies were another reason I’d always thought she might be an ubervillain. Evil types didn’t like to part with their money, not a nickel of it, unless they absolutely had to.
“She tried to tell me that I had charged her too much for the couture gown I designed for her. I had a written contract right in front of her with the exact price and her signature on it, and she still insisted I was overcharging her. I wanted to scorch her with my eyeballs. I almost set her dress on fire with her in it. Who does she think she is? I’m Fiera, for crying out loud. Protector of the innocent. Defender of democracy. I don’t cheat people.”
Fiona’s hair hissed and sizzled. I scooted away from the sudden flare-up. Maybe I should cut down on the bitchy remarks. Making Fiona, er, Fiera mad could be hazardous to my health.
Fiona raged on for another ten minutes about Joanne James and her cheapskate tendencies. I made mental notes. The hot-tempered fashion designer had quite a way with words. She spat out several four-letters ones I’d never heard before.
While Sam tried to calm Fiona down, I gathered up the rest of the dirty dishes, dumped them in one of the stainless steel sinks, and rinsed them off. A chill swept over me, and my vision blurred. The room spun around, and I put my hands on the countertop to keep myself from falling.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, putting a hand on my back. The warmth drove away the cold and ignited a fire of a different sort deep inside me. What was it about him that affected me so?
I shook my head. The world returned to normal, but I felt tired. My head throbbed. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. Good night.”
I left the kitchen, trying hard not to collapse. I didn’t want to get dragged back down to the sick bay. Sam started to follow me, but Fiona called out to him. Sam hesitated.
“I’ll be fine.” I waved him away. I needed some time to myself right now. Time to think.
“Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
Our eyes locked. I shivered at the heat in his gaze. I needed something, all right. Him. That was the problem.
Sam headed back into the kitchen. I crept through the manor with one hand on the wall. After about five agonizing minutes, I reached my room, shut the door, and collapsed on the bed.
I stared up at the ceiling, and my thoughts turned to Sam. I closed my eyes, remembering every detail of the evening. His quick wit, his smile, his laugh, his voice. The way he kissed me. The way he touched me. The way he melted my defenses. If Fiona hadn’t walked in, we would have made love in the kitchen.
Damn.
I sighed. It was for the best, though. I didn’t need to get any more involved with Sam Sloane. We could never have a future together. There was too much bad karma between us.
My inner voice chided me. I was already in too deep. I’d learned so much about the billionaire-turned-superhero tonight, and I wanted to know even more. What his hopes and dreams were, how and why he’d become a superhero, whether he thought about me as much as I did about him.
Sam.
His brilliant silver eyes were the last thing I thought of before my strange symptoms overcame me.