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November 2009

Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love

Featuring

Ramirez’s Woman by Beverly Barton

Her Royal Bodyguard by Joyce Sullivan

Protecting the Princess by Carla Cassidy

Sleeping with the Sheikh

Featuring

The Sheikh’s Bidding by Kristi Gold

Delaney’s Desert Sheikh by Brenda Jackson

Desert Warrior by Nalini Singh

Bedded by a desert prince…

SLEEPING WITH
THE SHEIKH

Three smouldering heroes from three

sensual, intense writers

SLEEPING WITH THE SHEIKH
KRISTI GOLD
BRENDA JACKSON
NALINI SINGH

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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THE SHEIKH’S BIDDING

Kristi Gold has always believed that love has remarkable healing powers and greatly enjoys writing books featuring romance and commitment. As a bestselling author and Romance Writers of America RITA^® Award finalist, she’s learned that although accolades are wonderful, the most cherished rewards come from the most unexpected places, namely from stories shared by readers. She welcomes all readers to contact her through her website at http://kristigold.com or by mail at PO Box 11292, Robinson, TX 76716, USA.

To Sandy R for her expertise and her heart of gold.

And to those who go beyond tolerance

and embrace acceptance, acknowledging

that true love knows no cultural boundaries.

Chapter One

“Now, who’s going to bid first on this fine little lady?”

Andrea Hamilton shifted nervously on the platform situated in the middle of Winwood Farm’s impressive arena, wearing the only dress she owned and a self-conscious smile. Resentful of being called “a fine little lady,” she reminded herself that the benefit auction was for a good cause, the reason why she had agreed to donate two months’ worth of horse-training services. In turn, she was throwing herself onto the block at the risk of being passed over for someone with more experience.

“Come on, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer pleaded. “Give her a chance. She’s good.”

“At what?” a stumbling drunk in a disheveled tuxedo called from the corner.

Andi shot him a scathing look that he didn’t seem to heed, evident from his sickening leer. Now nearing the end of the event, the remaining patrons continued to mill around, paying little attention when the auctioneer called her name again. What if no one even bothered to offer the minimum?

“Five hundred dollars,” the drunk called out.

So much for that theory.

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

The murmuring crowd was suddenly silenced at the sound of the booming voice delivering the astronomical bid from the back of the arena. Andi froze with her mouth agape, unable to fathom who would make such an offer.

“Fifty-thousand. Going once, going twice! Sold to the gentleman near the door!”

Andi craned her neck to try to see the mystery bidder, but because of her small stature, she only caught a glimpse of the back of a man in traditional Arab dress leaving the building. Royalty, she assumed. Not at all uncommon in racing circles.

Perhaps he had more money than sense. Or it could be that he had questionable intentions. She certainly hoped he understood that he was buying only her training expertise. If he counted on another kind of assistance, he would be sorely disappointed. She had no intention of letting him near her, even if he’d offered fifty million dollars.

With a muttered thank-you directed at the auctioneer, Andi sprinted down the steps as fast as the silly high heels would let her, passed her drink off to a roving waiter and shoved her way through the crowd to the exit at the side of the building. She escaped into the warm Kentucky night, grateful to leave behind the well-heeled racing society, not to mention the drunk. Now she could be on her way home and worry about the phantom bidder tomorrow.

Once she made it to the walkway leading to the front parking lot, an imposing dark-skinned man wearing an equally dark suit blocked her path.

“Miss Hamilton, the sheikh would like to speak with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“He is the one who bought your services and he wishes to have a word with you.” The man gestured toward a black limousine that spanned a good deal of the nearby curb.

No way, no how, would Andi get into a limo with a stranger even if he was some prince who’d invested a great deal of money to benefit a children’s clinic. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out her card. “Here. Have him call me on Monday. We can discuss the terms then.”

“He insists that he see you tonight.”

Andi’s patience scattered in the breeze. “Look, mister, I insist I’m not interested in doing that right now. Please tell your boss that I appreciate the gesture and I look forward to meeting him soon.” Very far from the truth.

The man looked totally composed, unmovable. “He said that if you give me trouble, I am to present a question.”

How weird was this going to get? “What question?”

He averted his gaze for a moment, the only hint of discomfort in his staid expression. “He asks do you still hang your dreams on the stars?”

Andi’s heart vaulted into her throat and rapidly fluttered in a frightening rhythm. Haunting memories whirled her back to a time seven years before. Memories of lying in a field of grass beneath a predawn sky, alone, immersed in tears until he had come to her. Memories of a sensual awakening that had begun with tragedy and ended with bittersweet bliss. One special moment, one unforgettable man.

One true love.

Why hang your dreams on the stars, Andrea? Why not something more tangible?

His voice came back to her then, mellow and deep and seductively dangerous. That night in her grief she had turned to him, only to be left behind, left alone except for one precious gift that served to remind her every day what she could never have.

Andi trembled and chafed her palms down her arms, suddenly chilled. “And this man’s name?” she asked, although she feared she already knew the answer.

“Sheikh Samir Yaman.”

Andi had known him only as Sam, known only of his family’s wealth, not his title. He’d been her big brother’s best friend who’d spent the better part of his college days at their home as an adopted member of the family. She’d been a teenager smitten by an “older” exotic man who had teased her mercilessly, saw her only as Paul’s kid sister, until that night a few weeks after she’d turned eighteen when unforeseen tragedy had created new life. Ironically, only hours before, another life had been taken away.

But that was ages ago, water under the proverbial bridge, and she didn’t want to unearth the pain or face him again, knowing she ran a great risk by doing so, both to her heart and the secret she had hidden from him for years.

The man walked to the limo’s door and opened it wide. “Miss Hamilton?”

“I don’t—”

“Get in, Andrea.”

The deep timbre of the magnetic voice drew her forward against her will. She suddenly found herself sliding into the limo as if she had no control over her body or mind. How familiar that concept. From the moment she’d met him, he’d held her captive with his charms, his easy manner, his air of mystery, eventually his touch.

The door closed and a small light snapped on, revealing a man reclining against the rear plush, leather seat facing Andi. A man who was anything but a stranger to her—at least he hadn’t been at one time in her life. She stared at him for a long moment, her heart creating a furious cadence in her chest as if it wanted to escape as badly as she did. Yet she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak when her gaze made contact with his intense eyes.

He raked the kaffiyeh from his head as if to prove he was the man she’d known all those years ago. But he wasn’t quite the same. The changes were subtle, no doubt brought about by maturity, yet she couldn’t deny he was still beautiful, with the same thick, dark hair that curled at his nape, same masculine jaw, same wonderful mouth now framed by a shading of evening whiskers. Although his near-black eyes held the familiar elusiveness, they also looked weary, not bright and youthful as before. She imagined hers mirrored that disillusionment, only now they more than likely revealed her shock.

Andi struggled to stay strong in his presence. “What are you doing here, Sam?”

His high-impact smile appeared, gleaming white against his caramel-colored skin, revealing the single dimple creasing his left cheek. Yet he seemed to be fighting the smile as much as Andi was fighting her reaction to it. “It’s been a while since anyone has called me that.” He gestured toward the small built-in bar to his left. “Would you like something to drink, Andrea?”

Something to drink? He expected to waltz back into her life after all these years and ply her with pleasantries?

Andi welcomed the force of her sudden anger, the anchor it provided against the sea of emotions. “No, I don’t want a drink. I want to know why you’re here. I haven’t heard a word from you since Paul’s funeral. Not one word.”

He shifted in his seat and glanced away. “That was necessary, Andrea. I had obligations to fulfill in my country.”

And none to her, Andi decided. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re a sheikh?”

He pinned her in place with his dark gaze. “Would that have made a difference? Would you have understood what that entailed?”

Probably not. It also didn’t change the fact that he’d disappeared without any explanation. Regardless of his status, she was hard-pressed to understand a concept as foreign to her as the clothes he now wore. “So why did you come back?”

“Because I couldn’t allow another day to pass without seeing you again.”

Andi hated the tiny flutter of her pulse, the glimmer of hope in her heart. “Well, that’s great. What did you hope to accomplish after all this time?”

He slipped out of his robes, the final garment that distinguished ordinary man from revered royalty, and tossed them aside, leaving him dressed in a white tailored shirt and black slacks. Try as she might, Andi couldn’t help but notice the breadth of his chest and the spattering of dark hair revealed at his open collar. In a matter of years he had gone from a boyishly handsome college student to a devastatingly gorgeous man. And she would be smart to ignore those differences, the heat coursing through her traitorous body.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I need to know if what I have discovered is true.”

A stab of fear impaled Andi’s chest, making it almost impossible to breathe, to speak. “What would that be?”

He leveled his serious eyes on her. “I know that you’ve struggled with the farm, barely managing to get by. Several times over the years I’ve considered offering my help financially but decided you would have too much pride to accept.”

Relief replaced the fear. Maybe he didn’t know everything. “You are so right about that. I don’t need your help, financially or otherwise.”

“Are you certain about that, Andrea?”

“Positive. I’m doing fine.”

“But you’ve never married.”

“I’m not interested in finding a husband,” she said, when in reality no one had ever come close to being Samir Yaman’s equal. No one had ever affected her in the same way, with the same magic. She’d told herself time and again those were the fantasies of a young girl and they shouldn’t exist now that she was a woman. Yet no matter how hard she’d tried to convince herself to forget him, forget what it had felt like to be in his arms, it hadn’t worked. No man had ever measured up. No man probably ever would. Seeing Sam again brought home that painful truth. Knowing who he was, what he was, only cemented the certainty that she could never be a part of his world.

“I have another question for you,” he said quietly.

She was afraid of his questions, afraid of the hold he still seemed to have on her. “If this has to do with the past, I don’t want to go there. It’s over.”

“It’s not over, Andrea, no matter how much you wish it to be.” His voice, his expression, balanced on the edge of anger as he locked on to her eyes. She couldn’t look away even though she wanted to. “How is your son?”

The fear advanced once again. “How do you know about him?”

“I have the means to learn anything I wish about anyone.”

Damn his arrogance, his sudden appearance that could very well destroy her world once again. “My son is fine, thank you.”

“And his father?”

Bile rose in her throat. Terror closed off her lungs. Protectiveness for her beautiful child pushed it all away. “He’s my son. Only mine.”

“He has to have a father, Andrea.”

“No, he doesn’t. His father isn’t in the picture. He never has been.”

“Then he is mine, isn’t he?”

Oh, heavens, what was she going to do now? Had he returned to claim his child? She wouldn’t let him, not without a fight. “Believe what you will. This conversation is finished.”

“It is far from finished.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to know why you never told me about him.”

She released a mirthless laugh to veil her anxiety. “How would I have done that? You disappeared with no number to call, no way to get in touch with you.”

“Then you admit I am his father?”

“I’m admitting nothing. I’m saying it doesn’t matter, Sheikh Yaman. None of this matters. The past is over. I don’t want to dredge it up again.”

“It doesn’t matter what either of us wants, Andrea. What matters is our child. I’m determined to settle this. If not now, then later. And soon.”

Andi opened the door and tried to slide out, but not before he caught her hand and said, “I will be in touch.”

She responded with tingles where his fingers curled around hers, with regret when she saw a sadness in his expression that she’d only seen one other time. But that surprising display of vulnerability soon disappeared, and his eyes once again took on the mystery—deep, dark waters that threatened to suck Andi into their shadowy depths. Without breaking his gaze, he turned her hand over and slid a slow fingertip along her palm, reminding Andi of that long-ago night when his masterful touch had made her beg him to stop, beg him to never stop.

Andi yanked her hand from his grasp and hurried away to her truck, sprinted as fast as her heels would let her. She raced from the panic that he might intend to take her child away from her, ran from the love for him that had never died.

But in her heart she knew that no matter how hard she tried to get away, Andrea Hamilton could never escape Sam Yaman, even after he left her again.

Samir Yaman sat alone in darkness in the hotel suite, surrounded by the luxury he had known most of his life. He needed a drink and would welcome the bitter taste of whiskey on his tongue, but he didn’t dare give in to the craving, not when he needed a clear head. Truthfully, he hadn’t touched alcohol since that night—the night he had made two grave mistakes.

After all this time Sam had not been able to escape the guilt over his best friend’s demise. He had realized all too late that he should have stopped Paul’s postgraduation drinking binge, but he’d allowed him his freedom that night, feeling it had been hard-earned due to the responsibility placed upon Paul after his father’s death. That freedom had cost Paul his life, and Sam still paid the price for his own poor judgment.

And if only he hadn’t gone to Andrea after he’d left the hospital with the knowledge that her brother had not survived. If only he had waited until dawn instead of following her to the pond where she always went to think, that night to mourn. If only he hadn’t forgotten that she was no more than a grief-stricken girl who had needed comfort. Giving in to that need had been his second mistake. He’d been powerless to resist her, perhaps because of his own need to forget or perhaps because she had always been his ultimate weakness.

She still was.

He had recognized that tonight the moment he’d glimpsed her standing before the masses, wearing a black dress that revealed a woman’s curves. She had looked poised and proud until no one offered a decent bid—the reason he had spontaneously decided to remedy that situation.

Leaning his head back, Sam closed his eyes against images of Andrea that burned in his mind, a flame that would not die, had not died since he’d left her the day they had buried her brother, his friend. No matter how he tried, they refused to disappear, forcing him to acknowledge what he had known all along—time and distance had changed nothing.

Her eyes were still azure, her long hair still the color of a desert sunset, reds mixed with gold. He imagined she still possessed a free spirit, an undeniable passion for life, a strong heart, the attributes that had attracted him to her from the beginning. Qualities he still admired. Yet he had sensed defiance when she’d entered the car, perhaps even hatred. He couldn’t blame her. She had much to hate about him. At times he hated himself. He had thrust himself into his duty, losing his honor in the process by not facing his failures.

Since his return to Barak, he’d had his guard and confidant, Rashid, covertly track Andrea’s life as much as possible. But a few months ago, when he had planned the trip to the States, Rashid had finally revealed that Andrea had a six-year-old son. No matter what Andrea had told him tonight, Sam knew the boy was his. The timing was too coincidental for it not to be the case. He intended to prove it and make certain the child’s needs were being met, though he could never claim him, or Andrea.

He could promise Andrea nothing beyond providing for her and their child. He could never tell her all the things he felt as a man. He could never speak of the times he had considered giving up his wealth, his legacy, to be with her again. She would never know that not one day had passed when he hadn’t thought of her, longed for her.

Sheikh Samir Yaman, first son of the ruler of Barak, heir to his father’s legacy, was bound by duty to his family, his country, groomed from birth to lead, and tied to an arrangement of marriage to a woman he had never touched. A woman he would never love, for his heart always had, always would, belong to a woman he could not have—Andrea Hamilton.

“Mama! There’s a big black car in the driveway!”

Andi froze with her arms full of the clothes she’d gathered for her son’s summer trip to camp. She had hoped this wouldn’t happen today. Hoped that Sam would have waited to contact her until tomorrow. If only she’d hurried and gotten Chance out of the house sooner, she might have been able to avoid this scene. Maybe she still could.

“Get away from the window, Chance.”

He looked back over his shoulder, confusion calling out from dark eyes much like his father’s. “Why, Mama?”

“Because it’s not nice to stare at strangers, that’s why.”

Ignoring her, Chance continued to look out the window. “He’s got a towel on his head and a big man with him.”

“Chance Samuel Paul Hamilton, come over here right now and help me get your things together, otherwise you’ll miss the bus.”

With a sigh he turned and trudged toward her. “I just want to look at the man.”

That’s the last thing Andi wanted, at least now. She would prefer to put Sam off until she could get her child on his way to camp. Then she would deal with the questions that were sure to come—or demands as the case might be.

Andi stuffed the clothing into the nylon tote and told Chance, “Get your toothbrush and put it in the plastic bag in the bathroom with your medicine. Then pick out some books and make sure you pack your paper so you can write home.”

Chance’s lip pooched out in a pout. “Then can I meet him?”

“Not today. I’m not sure what he wants.” A less-than-truthful version. Andi knew exactly what he wanted, to see his son. “He’ll probably be gone before you’re finished packing.”

“I’ll hurry up.” With that, Chance sprinted into the hall.

Andi was right behind him, relieved that he’d gone toward the hall bathroom, not down the stairs. Her son was well behaved most of the time, although he could be determined. He came by it naturally, she guessed, considering she was much the same way. That had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion. A particular summer night came to mind.

The doorbell sounded, jarring Andi into action. “I’ll get it,” came from the first floor.

“I’ll get it, Tess,” she called to her aunt in hopes of stopping her. “I—”

“Well good gracious! Sam!”

Too late. Andi should have forewarned Tess that they might be having a visitor, and exactly who that visitor would be.

Andi slowly walked down the stairs that ended in the entryway now containing her aunt, a bodyguard and her son’s father. Sam immediately looked up and met her gaze. She hugged her arms across her middle as she spanned the remaining stairs. When she came to the last one, she was afraid to go any farther, especially when Sam kept staring at her as if he could see all the secrets she had held in her heart for years.

Tess turned a huge grin on Andi. “Well, looky here what the cat dragged in, Andi. It’s our Sam.”

Our Sam. How odd that sounded at the moment. That’s exactly what they’d called him years ago. But he wasn’t Andi’s. Beyond that one night he never had been, nor would he ever be.

Andi managed a fake smile and spoke through clenched teeth. “I thought you would call first.”

“And give you fair warning?” he said with a cynical grin.

“What’s this get-up you’re wearing?” Tess asked with a one-handed sweep toward Sam’s robes.

He finally took his attention away from Andi, allowing her to release her breath. “My straitjacket, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t look crazy,” Tess said. “You look like a break in the clouds after the rain. Now come here and give me a hug.”

Sam complied, lifting Tess off her feet as he had so many times before. After setting her down, he asked, “You don’t happen to have any of your famous coffee on to brew, do you?”

Tess favored him with a sunny smile. “You know I always keep a pot on. Come into the kitchen and sit a spell.”

The bodyguard remained positioned at the door while Andi followed Tess and Sam into the breakfast room. Once there, Tess poured him a cup of coffee and said, “I’m going to run upstairs and check on the boy. You two have a nice visit.” She hurried away, leaving Andi alone to face her past.

Sam took the chair with its back to the bay window, the place he’d always sat during family dinners. Andi refused to sit, resenting the fact that Sam had made himself comfortable as if he planned to stay awhile. Except for his clothing, he even looked comfortable, at home, as if he’d never left. But he had left, and Andi couldn’t believe that Tess had acted as if he’d only been gone for a week or so, as if nothing had changed. When in fact everything had changed. But Tess had always loved Sam just the way she loved Andi and Paul. Just the way she loved Chance.

“Mama?”

Andi’s gaze shot to the doorway leading to the hall where her son now stood, his large brown eyes focused on the man he considered a fascinating stranger. Tess was nowhere to be seen, leading Andi to believe that her aunt had a hand in this spontaneous introduction of father and son.

Andi didn’t know what to do, what to say. But if she didn’t act normal, Chance would immediately sense something was wrong, and she didn’t want to frighten him.

She held out her hand to him. “Come here, sweetie.”

When Chance walked forward and stood in front of her, Andi braced her palms on his frail shoulders. “Honey, this is Mr. Yaman.”

Sam rose, and Andi immediately noticed the wonder in his eyes, the undeniable emotion as he looked upon his child. With his thick dark hair, his coffee-colored eyes, Chance was almost the mirror image of his father. There was no longer any use in denying the truth.

“I’m Samir,” he finally said, his smile now aimed at his child, not Andi. “You may call me Sam.”

Chance’s mouth opened in surprise. “That’s kind of like my name, the Sam part, anyway. Chance Samuel Paul Hamilton. Aunt Tess sometimes calls me Little Bit.” He sounded as if that was totally distasteful.

“You have a good strong name.” Sam sent only a cursory glance in Andi’s direction before turning his attention back to his son, but not before she saw another glimpse of regret and sadness. He was probably thinking about Paul, maybe even thinking about how much he’d missed in Chance’s life. Andi couldn’t let that sway her. She had to stay strong for her child’s sake.

Tess suddenly reappeared into the kitchen. “Don’t be scared, Little Bit. Shake the man’s hand. He’s an old friend.”

Chance looked back at Andi, and she nodded her approval, then he moved forward and took the hand his father offered. Sam’s smile revealed his pride. Andi couldn’t blame him. She had felt that way about her child from the moment he was born.

After a hearty, exaggerated shake, Chance asked, “What’s that on your head?”

“It’s a kaffiyeh,” Sam said.

“What’s it for?”

“It’s part of my official dress. I come from a country far away. I am a sheikh.”

“Well, I’ll be durned,” Tess muttered.

Chance still looked confused. “A sheet?”

“A prince,” Andi stated, grateful that Sam had enough wherewithal not to announce he was her son’s father.

Chance glanced back at her. “Like The Little Prince?”

Andi smiled over the reference to one of his favorite books. “More like Aladdin.”

“Oh.” He stared at Sam a moment longer. “Do you have a flying carpet?”

Sam laughed then, a low rich laugh that brought back more of Andi’s cherished memories. “I’m afraid I have no magic carpet.”

“Just a big black car,” Chance said, sounding awed over that fact.

Andi took Chance’s hand, determined to usher him out before he asked more questions. “Honey, it’s time to go to camp. If we don’t leave, you’ll miss your bus.”

Amazingly, Chance looked disappointed over leaving his newfound friend. He’d been bugging her for weeks, counting the days until his first trip to camp, something Andi had been dreading even though she knew it would be good for him. Now he looked as if he couldn’t care less. “Can I stay and talk to the prince a little longer?”

“How long will you be away at this camp?” Sam asked.

“Two weeks,” Andi answered for her son. “I’m sure you’ll be gone—”

“I promise I will be here when you return,” Sam said, his eyes still leveled on his child.

Chance’s grin widened, revealing the left-sided dimple that served as another reminder of his parentage. “Can I ride in your car when I get home?”

“Most certainly.”

Andi gave Chance a nudge toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Andrea,” Sam said from behind her. “One other thing.”

She looked back to find that Tess had taken a chair across from Sam who had seated himself once again, his hands folded before him, looking much too cozy for Andi’s comfort.

“What other thing?” she asked, although she wasn’t certain she really wanted to know.

“I will be here when you return.”

Exactly what Andi had longed for through many yesterdays, and what she greatly feared today.

Chapter Two

He had viewed the many ruins in Rome, Sacreé Coeur at Montmartre in Paris, the Acropolis in Athens. Yet those experiences had paled in comparison to gazing upon his child for the first time.

Now Sam could only sit in silence, holding fast to the wish that he could recapture the years and experience every one of his son’s milestones. But that was not possible, and not enough hours existed to make up for lost time.

“Are you okay, Sam?”

He looked up from his untouched coffee and met Tess’s compassionate, gray eyes. “As well as can be expected.”

“I guess finding out about the boy kind of shocked you.”

“I knew about him before I arrived.”

Tess’s eyes widened. “You knew?”

“Did Andrea not tell you that we spoke last night following the auction?”

“Heck no, she didn’t tell me that. She only told me that some guy paid a truckload of money for her to train his horse.”

“I was the one. A small price to pay for the opportunity to know my child.” And the opportunity to once again be in Andrea’s presence, if only for a while. Perhaps he was somehow torturing himself, knowing he could never touch her, never hold her or make love to her again. Some things had not changed with the passage of time.

“How long have you known?” Tess asked.

“I found out a few months ago, when I knew I would be returning. I had someone investigate Andrea’s whereabouts. I didn’t know for certain that he was mine until I spoke with her last evening.”

“She admitted you’re his father?”

“No, but I surmised that fact because of his age and some of what she said to me. I had no doubts after I saw him.” Sam pushed the cup aside and leaned back. “How long have you known?”

Tess propped her cheek on her palm and sighed. “I knew something was wrong with Andi after Paul’s death, something more than losing her brother. I finally nagged her enough until she told me she was pregnant. The girl tried to convince me she’d been with some boy in town, but when Chance was born, that’s when I knew for sure he was yours.”

The guilt fisted in Sam’s belly and held on tightly. “It was the night Paul died, Tess. We turned to each other for comfort. Never before Andrea had I been so careless. I know that doesn’t relieve me of the responsibility, but I want you to know that I never intended it to happen.”

“I know you didn’t. I also know that Andi had her sights set on you the minute you walked through the front door that first time. Add that to her mourning Paul’s death, it’s not surprising at all.”

“That does not excuse my behavior, my failure to protect her,” Sam said adamantly. “I should never have allowed it to happen.”

Tess leaned forward and laid a hand on his arm. “It’s too late to worry about the what-I-should-have-dones. Question is, what are you going to do now?”

Sam knew what he wanted to do. He also knew what he could not do. He couldn’t get involved with Andrea again knowing what he faced on his return home. He also could not abandon his child. “I would like to take the month I have here in the States to get to know my son.”

Tess frowned. “So you’re gonna try to cram six years into a few weeks?”

“I suppose I am. I also want to set up a trust fund to make sure that his needs are met.”

Tess glared at him. “Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Sheikh. Andi has worked like the devil to meet that boy’s needs. After the life insurance money ran out last year, she broke horses no one else wanted to break, all at the risk of getting herself hurt, or worse, just to pay the bills and put food on the table. I’ve done my part, too, and you can bet Chance has been happy, except for the diabetes.”

Searing panic rushed through Sam. “Diabetes?”

“Yeah. Guess Andi didn’t bother to tell you that, either. The camp he’s going to is a summer program for diabetic kids. It almost killed Andi to let him go, but she decided it would do him a world of good.”

“How long has he had this diabetes?”

“He was diagnosed a little over a year ago. But he’s doing okay after having a few setbacks. He’s a regular little trooper, I tell you.”

Sam experienced an overwhelming pain for his child, the need to take that pain away, if only he could. “If I had known, I would have done more. I would have sent him to the finest doctors, the best hospitals.”

“And it wouldn’t have changed a thing, Sam. He’s stuck with this disease, and we can only hope and pray that someday they’ll find a cure. In the meantime, we plan to treat him like a normal kid. Or at least I try to do that. Andi’s pretty protective.”

That much he’d witnessed earlier. “With my money, she can have more financial freedom.”

“She won’t take your money.”

“She won’t refuse as long as she knows I have our son’s best interest at heart.”

“Maybe, but you hurt her pretty badly by just running off and not staying in touch. I’m not sure how you’re going to deal with that.”

Neither did Sam, but he had to try. “After we’ve had the opportunity to talk further, I hope we can come to an understanding.”

She stared at the cup a few more moments before looking up once again. “Okay, so you want to spend some time with Chance, and I think that’s a good idea, which means you need to be close by. So the way I see it, you’ll need to move in here with us.”

Sam secretly admitted he had thought about that, living once again in the place he had considered his true home in America, but he could only imagine Andrea’s reaction. “I doubt your niece will agree to that plan.”

“Let me handle her. I suggest that you get in that limo and hightail it out of here to go and get your things. She won’t be back for another hour or so, since she’s got to stop by the feed store. That should give you enough time to settle in. You can have my room. I’ll stay in the bunkhouse.”

“With Mr. Parker?”

Tess patted her short, gray hair and glanced away. “No. Riley’s working for someone else because Andi couldn’t afford to keep him on. He still stops by now and then.”

Sam grinned when color rose to Tess’s careworn face. “He has yet to propose marriage?”

“He has, every day, but I’m too old to consider getting married.”

“But not too old to…?” Sam let his words trail off on a question, unable to resist teasing her a bit.

“Too old for a good old-fashioned tumble? No one’s too old for that, Sam. Not when it comes to someone you care about.”

Images filtered into Sam’s consciousness, visions of making love to Andrea, seeing satisfaction in her eyes, not sadness or hatred. But he could not consider something so foolish again, no matter how much he ached to do that very thing.

“Perhaps I should wait until Chance returns from camp,” he said, thinking that might be favorable to being alone in the house with Andrea.

Tess shrugged. “You could, but I figure while you’re here, you could earn your keep. The place is falling down around our ears, especially the barn. Might be nice if you could help fix the place up a bit. You could take the time to do that before Chance gets back.”

At least that would occupy his hands during the day. But during the night…“I would be happy to do that. I must admit, I’ve missed engaging in manual labor since I’ve been away.”

She sent him another questioning look. “You know, I’m surprised some girl hasn’t snatched you up.”

Sam mentally winced. “I am to be married by the end of summer.”

“Does Andi know about this?” Tess did well to keep the shock from her expression, but it resounded in her tone.

“No. I prefer not to speak about it.”

Tess stood and went to the counter to refill her coffee. “I guess you know what you’re doing.”

He knew exactly what he was doing—entering into a union with a woman for whom he felt nothing, an alliance that would benefit both their families. A life that held little promise of satisfaction all in the name of producing an heir with royal blood. “I have no choice in the matter.”

Tess carried her cup back to the table and reclaimed her seat, staring at him intensely. “You’re wrong, Sam. Life is about choices. Can you live with this one?”

Before he had returned to Andrea, he had come to accept his fate. Now that he had seen her again, he wasn’t as certain as before.

He could not consider that now. First and foremost, he had to consider his child’s well-being, to make memories that would last a lifetime. And in order to have that opportunity, he must convince Andrea to trust him again.

Andi didn’t trust Sam or his motives. Worse, she didn’t trust herself around him. Today she had cried more than a few tears seeing her son off for the first time. She wasn’t sure she had enough strength to deal with his father. But she had to deal with him. Chance’s welfare was of the utmost importance, and she intended to find out what Sam had planned in that regard.

Pulling up behind the limo, she put the truck in Park and slid out, bolstering her courage. The bodyguard was seated on the front porch glider, looking serious, his arms folded across his chest. When Andi approached, he stood.

She stuck out her hand for a formal introduction. “I didn’t catch your name.”

He glanced at her hand then reluctantly took it for a brief shake. “Mr. Rashid.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rashid. You’re welcome in the house, you know.”

“It is best I remain here to allow you and the sheikh some privacy.”

Andi shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I’m sure this won’t take long.”

Rashid executed a slight bow. “As you say, Miss Hamilton.”

Andi yanked open the door, prepared to face whatever might come, yet she couldn’t have prepared for Sam sitting on the living room sofa, dressed in casual slacks and knit shirt, his dark head bent as he thumbed through a photo album containing pictures of Chance from birth to the present day. So engrossed was he in the task, he didn’t bother to look up. His preoccupation gave Andi a chance to study him while he journeyed through the pictorial history of their child.

Leaning back, he propped the album on one crossed leg and smiled. His smile faded and his expression turned melancholy, wistful. Andi closed her eyes and willed away the threatening emotions, the regrets.

Once she felt more composed, she approached the sofa. “He was such a beautiful baby.”

Startled, Sam looked up and erased the tenderness from his features, but it didn’t quite leave his eyes. “Yes, he was.”

Andi joined him on the sofa, leaving as much distance between them as she could and still be able to view the pictures with Sam. How many times had she dreamed of this? How many times had she hoped that one day he would return? More times than she could count. And now that the moment had arrived, she wasn’t sure how to handle it.

“What made you decide to call him Chance?” Sam asked.

“Other than I like the name, I guess you could say he was my chance to have someone who loved me without conditions.” Her chance to have part of Sam that she could have with her always, but she wouldn’t admit that to him.

She pointed to the photo of Chance on his first birthday, a mound of icing on top of his dark head. “He really tore into that cake. He wore more than he ate.”

He turned the page to a picture of Chance on a pony. “I see that he has inherited his mother’s love of horses.”

“Yes. That’s Scamp. She’s still with us although I’m not sure for how long. She’s about twenty years old now. I don’t know what he’ll do when we lose her.”

“I’ll buy him another.”

“Some things can’t be easily replaced.”

He kept his attention focused on the photograph. “I have learned that to be a strong truth.”

Now seemed like a good time to tell him her greatest concern. “I can’t let you take him from me, Sam.”

He closed the album, slipped it onto the coffee table and leaned forward, hands clasped between his parted knees, but he failed to look directly at her. “Is that what you think I’ve come to do, take him away from you?”

“Is it?”

“No, Andrea. He belongs here with you.”

Although he sounded certain, doubts still hounded Andi. “So now that you’ve seen him, you’re going to turn your back and walk away?”

He pinned her with his fiery dark eyes, his expression hard, angry. “I have no intention of turning my back on him. I will set up a bank account in your name to pay for his expenses. As I understand it, his medical bills have been a burden on you, according to Tess.”

Damn Tess. “He’s doing okay, and I’m managing to pay the bills a little at a time. So it’s really not necessary for you to give us any money.”

His features softened. “I insist that you let me do this for him. For you.”

“I’ll think about it.” And she would, but not for herself. After all, Sam did have an obligation to their son, and she could use the extra money for his expenses. Not to mention, the sheikh probably had several fortunes to spare. Because of Chance, she would put away her pride and allow him to help.

Sam walked to the shelf across the room and ran a fingertip along the edge of the frame that held the most recent picture of Chance, as if trying to connect to the child he’d only known for a few hours. “Do they know why he has this diabetes?”

“No. It just happened. It’s not anyone’s fault.”

He glanced back. “And he’s doing well?”

“Most of the time, now that we have his insulin and diet regulated. He’s so brave. He doesn’t even complain when he has to have his shots.”

“I hate that he has suffered.” Turning his attention back to the photo, he released a long sigh. “Has he asked about me?”

Andi rose and stood behind him. “Yes, several times in the past few years.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him that you couldn’t stay, that you lived far away in another land. I told him that you loved him and you’d be with us if you could.”

Slowly Sam faced her. “Then you did not lie to him.”

“I don’t know. Did I?”

He lowered his head. “It’s true. I couldn’t stay in America, Andrea. And now that I have seen him, I know that I would die before I let any harm come to him.”

Andi swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. “I’m glad you feel that way, but I’m also worried about what we should tell him.”

Sam raised his dark eyes to her. “I will leave that up to you, but I would like for him to know that I’m his father.”

In a perfect world Andi would consider that to be a good idea. But this wasn’t a perfect situation by any means. “Then what? ‘Hey, Chance, I’m your dad and I’m sorry about this, but I have to go back and do my princely duties’?”

“I can return to visit during the summers when he’s not in school.”

“Is that enough, Sam? Will that ever be enough for him?”

He streaked a hand over his nape and sighed. “Would you have given up the opportunity to have spent time with Paul and your father even knowing they would be taken from you?”

Andi cursed his logic. “No, I wouldn’t take anything for that time with them. But that’s different. You’d be absent by choice, not death.”

“Sometimes choices are made for us.”

“You mean your duty? I’m not sure he’d understand why your position takes precedence over him. In time he might come to resent you.”

“As his mother does?” Sam asked in a low, steady voice.

Andi had to admit that she’d resented his sudden departure. Resented that he had made love to her, created a child then left her alone to raise their son, left her alone to deal with her grief over her brother’s death. But she couldn’t fault him, at least when it came to Chance, since he hadn’t known about him until now. He also hadn’t made that possible because of his loyalty to a way of life that Andi couldn’t even begin to understand. Worse, he hadn’t even tried to explain or to stay in touch.

Still, she had to do what was best for everyone, even if that included calling a truce.

“I’m past my resentment, Sam.”

“But you’ll never forgive me, will you?”

“I have forgiven you.” To a point, but she would never be able to forget.

His eyes took on the cast of satisfaction. “I’m pleased by that, Andrea. I only hope that I can earn your trust.”

That would be a bit harder, in Andrea’s opinion. She still feared that Sam might change his mind and try to take her son back to his country, especially after he got to know him. Yet she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for the time being. “So where are you staying?”

“Here.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Tess told me it would be best if I remain nearby, and I agree. She wishes to reside in the bunkhouse during my stay, though I argued against it. But she insisted. I’ve brought a few of my things and I’ll send Rashid back to the hotel in Lexington to wait for me until I’m ready to leave.”

Andi fought the bite of apprehension. If Sam stayed under the same roof, she couldn’t avoid seeing him on a daily basis. And with their son away at camp for two weeks, she worried that she might not be able to resist him. “I think you should wait until Chance returns before you move in.”

“I have promised Tess I will help do some repairs while I’m here, before Chance comes back.”

Tess. Always thinking of everything, darn it. “I guess I could use the help,” Andi admitted. She could also use some courage. Right now it was all she could do not to reach out and touch him, send her fingertips over the fine lines framing his mouth, his incredible lips that now formed a grim line as he studied her. Be brave, she told herself.

As if he intended to test her nerve, Sam took her hand into his, creating pleasant warmth that flowed through her whole body. One simple touch, and already she was battling for control. But she had to remain in control, prove to herself, and to him, that she was much stronger than before. Prove that her memories were colored by the fantasies of a young girl, dreams that no longer existed in a woman’s reality. She intended to conduct her own test.

Putting her best smile forward, she pulled her hand from his grasp and opened her arms. “Welcome home, Sam.”

His gaze roved over her from head to toe in a long, lingering look of appreciation, then finally he accepted her embrace. He felt good against her, strong and solid and warm. She remembered how wonderful it had been to hold him close, remembered his exotic scent, his overwhelming heat. Remembered how she had missed having him in her life, left only with her hopes of his return and memories of one night when he had been completely hers.

Trembling with the force of her reaction, she pulled out of his arms and stepped back. Her greatest fear was now realized.

Nothing had really changed, even after all these years.

Sam brushed a tender kiss across her cheek and studied her with those damnable mysterious eyes, dark and intense and capable of bringing her to her knees.

“Thank you, Andrea. It’s good to be home.”

If only it was home, Sam thought as he stood in the middle of the aged barn. He had chosen to come to the stable first, his favorite place. A place where he had spent many an hour with Paul and Andrea, assisting with the daily chores, shoveling manure, unloading feed, watering the remaining two horses that had belonged to Paul and Andrea’s father before his death, and any others that had happened upon the premises, thanks to a young woman who couldn’t say no.

Even then, Andrea would bring home someone’s colt or filly to break, most of the time solely for the thrill of it, not for the pay. Today, out of the dozen or so stalls, only four were occupied, one by Chance’s pony.

This would never do, Sam decided. He needed to help Andrea acquire some horses to train immediately. Most of those he owned belonged to a syndicate, but that did not mean he couldn’t purchase one that belonged solely to him. He had a gift for choosing good prospects, the reason why he had come to Kentucky to attend the sales. In fact, he had been approached at the auction regarding a promising two-year-old filly. One phone call and the mare would be his, though she was priced at half a million U.S. dollars. That didn’t matter. After all, he had paid for Andrea’s training expertise; he might as well put that investment to good use. But first he must repair a few stalls.

After rummaging through the tack room for a hammer and nails, Sam set out to make the barn more serviceable. Unfortunately, he pounded his thumb on more than one occasion, yet he welcomed the pain. For seven years he had done nothing more than paperwork, since manual labor was considered demeaning for royalty. But Sam was in America now, in a barn, not Barak, therefore he could labor to his heart’s delight.

“What on earth are you doing?”

He turned toward the entry to find Andrea staring at him as if he had grown fangs. He had no fangs, only two nails in his mouth. He spoke around them. “I’m repairing these stalls before an injury occurs.” Considering his deplorable skills, an injury could very well occur. To him.

She took a few steps forward and braced her hands on her hips. “In case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t a horse in that stall, and I doubt there’s going to be one anytime soon.”

Turning away from her, he removed the nails from his mouth and hammered one into the wooden slat.

“You’re wrong, Andrea.”

“What are you talking about?”

He faced her again and swiped the sweat from his brow with a forearm. “I’ve recently purchased a filly.” Or he would by day’s end. “If you recall, I bid an obscene amount of money for your services, and I expect to collect.”

At the moment he would like to collect on several things, none having to do with her training skills. He couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away from the ragged white T-shirt she now wore or the faded jeans that adhered to the bow of her hips like a second skin. His body stirred, calling attention to a need that had been denied far too long. Reminding him that Andrea could still affect him without attempting to do so.

She strolled to his side and leaned a shoulder against the stall, facing him. “You mean to tell me that you actually intend for me to train your horse.”

“That’s precisely what I’m telling you.” He should be telling her that, if she knew what was best for her, for them both, from this point forward she would wear a bra.

She frowned. “And when is this horse supposed to be here?”

“I will arrange for her to arrive in two days. That should give me time to repair the stall.”

Andrea smiled, amusement dancing in her blue eyes. “You intend to do this in your good clothes?”

Sam looked down at his slacks and shirt, then back up again. “I’m afraid this is all I have at the present. I’ll go into town and buy something suitable tomorrow.”

“Can’t you have Mr. Rashid do it for you?”

“I’ve sent him back to the hotel to field calls. I prefer that no one knows where I am.” Then perhaps he could avoid his father’s questions.

“You don’t need his protection?”

Only from his desire for Andrea, and he doubted Rashid could aid him in that regard. “I am relatively safe at the moment.” Yet still in danger of losing his control in her presence.

“You really don’t have to buy anything, at least not today,” she said. “I’m sure I can find you something to wear.”

He let his eyes travel down the length of her—very much at his own peril when he noticed her nipples had hardened beneath the thin shirt. “I doubt that I will fit into your jeans.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, much to his disappointment and relief. “Not mine. Yours. You left some jeans here. They’re in the cedar chest in the attic.”

“And they are still intact?”

“I’m sure they are. Of course, there could be one major problem. You were much skinnier then.”

“Skinnier?”

She sent a long glance down his body, much the same as he had hers. “Yep. You’ve filled out quite a bit.”

He was definitely filling out in some very obvious places. To avoid embarrassment, he turned back to the stall and surveyed his handiwork. “Give me a moment and we can go to the attic.”

“Why can’t we go now?” she asked, sounding confused.

Obviously she was still somewhat naive. He took in a deep draw of air but refused to turn around. “As soon as I’m finished with this board, I will join you. At the moment I prefer not to stop what I’m doing.”

He, as well, preferred to stop his craving for her, but he doubted that would happen soon—if ever.

Chapter Three

Sitting cross-legged on the attic floor, Andi pulled the jeans from the cedar chest where she’d kept them along with other special mementos—Chance’s baby clothes, his first shoes, a few of Paul’s things, treasures that she couldn’t bear to part with. She fought back more tears, already missing her son and he’d only been gone a few hours. Admittedly, already missing Sam even though he wouldn’t leave again for several weeks.

She set the jeans aside and rummaged through the pile in the chest, coming upon Paul’s high school football jersey sporting the number seven. Lucky seven, Paul had said. If only his luck had held out, before he’d been ripped from her life, never having children of his own, never knowing Chance.

How Paul would have loved his nephew, love playing uncle. If he hadn’t died, maybe things would have been different. She probably wouldn’t have made love with Sam. And she wouldn’t have Chance.

She couldn’t imagine not having her son in her life. She also couldn’t turn back time and she couldn’t keep wondering about what might have been. Even if Paul had survived, Sam would have returned to his country, his duty. Hadn’t he all but admitted that to her?

Dropping the jersey back into the chest, she grabbed up Sam’s jeans and held them against her heart. Clung to his old clothes as if they were a replacement for the man.

“You’re so stupid, Andrea Hamilton,” she muttered. “Still pining away over a man you can’t have, so stop thinking about him. Stop it!”

“Did you find what you’re looking for?”

Still clutching the jeans in her arms, Andrea stiffened. With her back to the door, she could only hope Sam hadn’t witnessed her foolishness, hadn’t heard her declaration.

Glancing over her shoulder, she thankfully found his eyes focused on the open cedar chest, not her. He strolled over with hands in his pockets, then hovered above her like some dark, imposing monument to sheer male beauty.

He nodded toward the jersey laid out on top of the other items. “I remember Paul wearing that often.”

Andi tossed the jeans aside and shifted to where she could get a better look at Sam, his reaction. He hid his emotions behind that steel facade, those impenetrable eyes. Tearing her gaze away, she leaned forward again and produced another keepsake. “Do you remember this?”

Sam crouched beside her and took the baseball from her grasp, turning it over and over with his strong fingers. His expression mellowed with remembrance. “I recall this very well. My first major league game. Cleveland Indians. In April, the year Paul and I met.”

“And Paul caught the ball after a two-run homer.”

Sam grinned. “The ball rolled from two rows above us and landed at his feet. It was a foul, not a home run. Paul thought the other story sounded more favorable.”

Andi laughed. “That was just like him, making up something that sounded more exciting.”

“Yes. Exactly like him.” Sam’s tone turned weary and so did his eyes.

When he tried to hand the ball back to her, she said, “Keep it.”

“I could not—”

“He’d want you to have it, Sam. Besides, you two didn’t bother to take me along, so why would I want it?”

His smile reappeared. “We did not take you because Paul worried that you would distract me from the game.”

“He did not!”

“Perhaps he was not worried, but I was, the reason I didn’t encourage your attendance.”

Andi’s face flushed hot as a summer sidewalk. “Always the charmer,” she murmured.

“It’s the truth, Andrea. You were very distracting. You still are.”

Determined to move away from that topic, Andi patted the wooden floor next to her. “Have a seat. There’s something else I need to give you.”

Sam joined her on the floor, his long legs crossed the same as hers, and set the ball beside him. Andi reached into the corner of the chest and found the present in the same place she’d left it years before. The newspaper was yellowed, the blue bow tied around it somewhat flat. Tucked underneath the ribbon was an envelope that read “Sam, The Man.”

She offered it to him. “It’s Paul’s graduation gift to you. I found it in his room when we were converting it to Chance’s nursery.”

Sam took it from her and placed the present in his lap. Andi noticed a slight tremor in his fingers when he slit open the envelope and withdrew the card. While he read to himself, his expression took on a pain so intense it stole Andi’s breath.

“What does it say?” she asked.

He handed her the card and she, too, read in silence.

Hey, Sam. Just a little something for you to take back home. I’d send Andi with you, but she’d just give you grief. So I’m keeping her here for the time being, unless you decide to come back and take her off my hands. Seriously, if anything should happen to me, take care of her. She deserves to be happy.

Remember me.

Your bud, Paul

Tears burned Andi’s eyes. Her throat ached and her chest contracted with the sorrow that she’d kept at bay for more days than she could count.

“He knew,” she said, her voice shaking with the effort to hold back the threatening tide of emotions.

“Knew what?”

She raised her eyes from the card to Sam. “When we were cleaning out his things, we also found two Christmas presents, one for me and one for Tess. Paul never shopped until Christmas Eve. I think he knew what was going to happen.”

Sam sighed. “Andrea, I refuse to believe that Paul would drink himself to death, take his own life.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Tess calls it ‘angels’ intuition.’ The ability to know your fate.”

“And you believe this?”

“I think anything’s possible.” Or she had at one time.

Andi glanced at the unopened package still resting in his lap. “Are you going to see what’s inside?”

He carefully tore away the paper, revealing a framed photo that Tess had taken of Andi standing between Sam and Paul, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, all three sporting bright grins on their dirt-spattered faces, the result of a mud-slinging contest after the boys had dumped Andi in the trough.

They all looked so happy, carefree. If only they’d known what the future held. If only they’d played a little longer, clung to each other a little tighter, told each other what they were feeling inside…

Andi could no longer hold back the tears. They fell at will, rolled down her cheeks and onto her T-shirt. Sam wrapped his strong arms around her, absorbing her sobs against his solid chest. He rocked her back and forth as she had rocked his son so many nights. She didn’t want to need his consolation, his strength, but she did. She needed him, more than she should.

Tipping her face up, Andi brushed a kiss across his jaw, knowing that he could very well refuse this kind of comfort. But the possible benefit outweighed the probable rejection. Yet he didn’t push her away. Instead, he cupped her face in his palms and kissed her. All the sadness melted away and desire took its place, as it had before.

Oh, how she remembered this, his gentle persuasion, the soft glide of his tongue, the velvet feel of his lips, his extraordinary skill. Those memories had served her well. No one had kissed her this way before or since. No one.

Sam abruptly broke the kiss, pushed away from her and stood. “I apologize,” he said, sounding like the prince, not the man.

Andi felt angry, ashamed, weak. She lowered her eyes to the discarded photo and card, reminders that the kiss had come about from Sam’s need to provide comfort and perhaps receive some comfort in return, not his need for her. From grief, not from desire. Although they were in a dusty attic, not stretched out by a pond, history seemed intent on repeating itself.

“This cannot happen again, Andrea,” he stated, then quickly left the room without the jeans, Paul’s gift or the baseball. Left Andi alone to mull over what to do about Samir Yaman.

She agreed it shouldn’t happen again if she wanted to protect her heart, even if she still wanted him, and she did. Regardless, she had to accept that he was here, at least for the time being, and she needed to deal with it.

Andi gathered the jeans and laid the picture and card on top, then on second thought, grabbed the baseball in her free hand. She stood and sprinted down the stairs to find Sam standing in the second-floor hallway beside the attic entry, his forehead tipped against the wall.

“Here,” she said, offering him the jeans. “Try these on. Maybe they still fit.”

He pushed off the wall with both palms and faced her. “I doubt they will, at least at the moment.”

When her confusion cleared, Andi lowered her eyes to the evidence below his belt stating loud and clear that he wasn’t at all unaffected by the kiss.

She raised her gaze to his espresso eyes that expressed self-consciousness and, amazingly, the same desire she had seen the night he’d made love to her.

Maybe this was the answer. By making love with him again, maybe she could somehow, some way get him out of her system, find out for certain if the precious memories were nothing more than the imaginings of a girl who had turned to a man during her sorrow. Not love, only a need for solace.

She doubted Sam would be so quick to accommodate her, but that certainly didn’t mean she couldn’t try to persuade him, beginning now.

She shoved the jeans and photo against his chest, forcing him to take them from her. Then, with a courage she didn’t know she possessed, she rolled the baseball slowly down his groin and slipped it into his pocket. Before she retreated, she ran a fingertip over the obvious bulge below his belt. “If you need any help with this, let me know.”

With that she hurried to the first floor, not daring to look back to see his reaction. Before she made it out the door, she heard what sounded like a baseball hitting plaster, and she figured she’d probably driven home her point. Now she would attempt to drive him crazy with need, drive him back into her arms, and in doing so, drive him from her heart for good.

She’d have to take it slowly, plan carefully and, most important, remember she intended to tell him goodbye, once and for all.

Sam sat at the breakfast table, exhausted from physical labor and lack of sleep. After the way Andrea had touched him two days before, the kiss, the promise in her words, he had stayed awake both nights in Tess’s room, tensing at every sound, worried that Andrea might come to him and he might not be able to turn her away. But in fact she had barely spoken to him as she carried on with her normal activities, not once mentioning the kiss or her proposition.

Sam had avoided her, but he couldn’t avoid her now, especially when she occasionally glanced at him while moving the scrambled eggs around on her plate. He found himself staring at her mouth several times, watched while she nibbled at her food. Everything about her enthralled him, from the slight spattering of freckles across her nose, to the fragile column of her throat and that same fire in her eyes that caused his heart to pound in a fearsome rhythm.

He had tried to listen for the sound of the transport scheduled to bring the filly, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate. Before, the family dog, an Australian shepherd named Troubles, would have alerted everyone. Odd, he hadn’t noticed until today that the dog was no longer around.

Pushing his plate back, he asked, “Where is Troubles?”

Tess shook her head and spoke around a bite of toast. “He ended up on the wrong side of a tire when Chance was four.”

“And you haven’t found another?”

“I haven’t had time,” Andrea said as she stood.

Or the money, Sam thought. “I could provide one.”

Andrea picked up their plates and slipped them in the sink. “That’s not a good idea. With the traffic on the highway, I’m afraid we might lose another dog, and I don’t want to put Chance through that again.”

Sam hated the thought that his son had suffered through such a loss, but he was coming to realize that loss was a part of life that could not be avoided. “Then he remembers?”

Tess swiped at her mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, he remembers, but he’s okay with it. Andi told him that Troubles was with Uncle Paul, jumping from star to star.”

Obviously, Andrea still maintained a fascination with stars. The night Paul died she’d insisted that the brightest held his soul, and that she would hang her dreams on him for safekeeping. In that moment Sam had recognized that his love for her was as infinite as those stars. Making love with her had been a natural expression, a means to show her, since he had never told her.

The sound of a truck brought him out of his recollections and back into the present.

Andrea wiped her hands on a towel and faced him. “Do you think that’s them?” Her excitement came through in her tone and the widening of her blue eyes. The first time Sam had witnessed her joy since Chance had left.

“Perhaps we should go see.”

Before he could move, Andrea had already raced down the hall toward the front door.

“I swear,” Tess said, then chuckled. “Nothing gets that girl more excited than a good horse.”

Sam knew all too well what else excited her, but he would be wise to keep that out of his mind. “True. I hope this one doesn’t disappoint her.”

Tess propped her legs on the opposing chair and sent him a wicked grin. “I doubt she’ll be disappointed. I’m sure you’ll see to that while you’re here, if you haven’t already.”

Without response Sam left the room, determined to ignore Tess’s veiled suggestion. Nothing would please him more than to please Andrea in every way possible. But he would have to settle for providing a prize filly, otherwise he would be repeating past mistakes, knowing that he would have to leave her once again.

He joined Andrea at the rear of the massive trailer and waited for the filly to be unloaded. Sam was more than a bit apprehensive since he had never purchased a horse sight unseen. But when the man backed the filly down the ramp, Sam acknowledged that she was a treasure, as was Andrea who stood staring at the two-year-old. The woman had wonder in her eyes as she watched the filly prance about, restless with the need to run after her journey.

“Sam, she’s unbelievable,” Andrea said, almost in a whisper.

“I have to agree.”

The man held the lead rope up. “She’s all yours.”

When Andrea failed to move, Sam said, “What are you waiting for?”

Andrea stepped forward and took the rope, then allowed the filly to sniff her free hand before scratching her behind the ears. As if the horse somehow knew she had found a friend, she settled down, accepting the display of affection without protest.

“What’s her name?” Andrea asked.

“At the stables we called her Sunny,” the man said. “Her registered name is Renner’s Sun Goddess.”

“Sunny it is.” Andrea turned the horse and led her toward the stable. “I’m going to put her on a longe line and see how she moves,” she tossed over one shoulder.

“Good,” Sam said. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

By the time Sam had signed the appropriate paperwork and paid the handler before sending him on his way, Andrea had the filly in the outdoor arena, working her at a trot.

Sam propped one heel on the arena’s bottom rung and watched both horse and trainer in action. The mare’s flaxen mane and tail flowed with her fluid movements. Andrea’s red-gold hair fluttered in the June breeze, the color very close to the horse’s near-copper coat. Together they were a matched set, a tribute to beauty and grace with a wildness that lingered immediately below the surface.

Sam kept his attention on the filly only a brief moment, now that he had the opportunity to look his fill at Andrea without her knowledge. She had matured into a woman in every way, and that concept unearthed a searing heat low in Sam’s belly that had nothing to do with the Kentucky sun.

She wore a light-blue shirt that barely reached the top of her jeans, jeans that fit every curve to perfection. When she raised her arm to keep the filly moving, Sam caught a glimpse of flesh at her waist. He imagined how it would feel to have his hands there, lower still, molding them to her bottom, pulling her against him, letting her know how strongly she could affect him, how being in her presence aroused him beyond all bounds. He was definitely aroused now and had been for two miserable days with no possible end to that misery, unless…

No, he could not act on those desires. It would be unfair to both of them, even though Andrea had made the offer of her assistance in that matter.

Andrea drew the filly into the center of the arena, turned to face him and called, “She’s a winner, Sam.”

Her vibrant smile had him smiling, too. Pleasing her did please him, and again he thought of many ways he could bring her more satisfaction, ways that would leave them clinging to each other, breathless, sated…

The crunch of gravel turned Sam’s attention to the drive. A massive red truck pulled up next to the pen and a man dressed in typical cowboy garb got out. Without invitation he opened the gate to the round pen and joined Andrea.

Because of his proximity, Sam couldn’t hear the conversation though he assumed they were discussing the filly. Then their shared laughter floated over the breeze, and the man moved closer to Andrea. Too close.

Sam despised the sudden intimacy between them, hated even more that the cowboy touched Andrea’s face then patted her bottom as if he had the right to do so. It took all of Sam’s strength not to scale the fence and go after the idiot with fists raised. Luckily the man turned and left before Sam acted on that impulse. He had no cause to intervene. Andrea could do as she pleased with any man she pleased.

Still, Sam couldn’t seem to get a grasp on his anger. It stayed with him all the way to the barn as he followed Andrea and the filly. The sway of her hips only fueled his fury when he thought about the man touching her with such intimacy, any man aside from him.

Once inside, Andrea turned the filly loose in the stall and came out holding a water bucket.

Sam leaned back against the opposite stall, hands fisted at his sides, no longer able to maintain his silence. “Who was that man?”

Andrea kept her back to him while she gathered the hose and began to fill the bucket. “Caleb? He’s a friend.”

“Only a friend?”

She regarded him over one shoulder. “The bay gelding at the end of the aisle is his. He stopped by to check on his progress. He’s letting me have him for thirty more days for the basics, before he takes him to a cutting horse guy.”

“Then you’re saying that his only interest in you has to do with your training skills?”

She shut off the water and turned, the hose still clutched in her fragile hand. “Of course.”

“Are you still so naive, Andrea?”

Her face melded into a frown. “About what?”

“That man has designs on you as a woman.”

She rolled her eyes. “Get off it, Sam. Caleb wants me to train his horse and that’s all.”

“He wants you, Andrea.”

“Good grief. What on earth makes you think that?”

“The way he touched you.”

“Touched me?”

“Are you saying you didn’t notice when he put his hand on your…on your…butt?”

When Andrea laughed, Sam’s temper flared again. “You find this funny?”

After recovering somewhat, she said, “I’m laughing because your assumptions about Caleb are ridiculous.”

“My observations cannot be denied.”

She tossed the hose to the ground. “You sound like a jealous lover.”

Sam acknowledged that fact, but he couldn’t stop his reaction. “Is he your lover, Andrea?”

Her eyes narrowed with anger. “That’s really none of your business.”

Regardless, Sam had to know. “Is he, Andrea?”

She leaned back against the stall. “Let me ask you something. Have you been celibate all these years, Sam?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh, I think it is. If we’re going to get into my business, then that gives me the right to get into yours.”

“I’m concerned about our son,” Sam said, grasping for anything so he would not have to admit there had been other women, but not so many as she might think, and none that could compare to what he had found with her. “I’m wary of those who would enter your life but have no intention of treating Chance appropriately.”

“If you must know, I’ve dated a couple of men, but it didn’t work out because Chance didn’t like either of them. For me that’s the test. Chance’s approval. Now are you satisfied?”

Only one thing would satisfy him, kissing the defiance from her expression, making her lips soften beneath his. “Obviously, this Caleb would like to be the next in line.”

“Your imagination is running wild, Sheikh Yaman.”

She was driving him wild, her eyes now as blue as flames. Sam wanted to touch her, to make her forget the fool who’d had his hands on her earlier. To forget every man she had ever let touch her. Yet he didn’t dare give her more than advice.

“Your clothing leaves little to the imagination, Andrea. I suggest that you consider how you dress from now on.”

“I’m wearing what I wear every day of the week. Plain jeans and T-shirt.”

“Tight jeans and a very thin T-shirt.”

She took a visual journey from his chest to the boots he had bought on a trip into town yesterday. “I’m thinking you’ve got the tight jeans market cornered. But I have to admit they look pretty darned good. I’m still surprised they fit.”

They did, but barely, and the fit at the moment was less than comfortable. “My attire is not the issue at present.” His gaze slid to her breasts. “You have on no bra. How can you expect a man to ignore this?”

She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it out. “This provides plenty of cover.”

“It shows far too much. Hides too little.” Made Sam ache.

“I don’t have that much to see, Sam. But thanks, anyway.”

“You are wrong, Andrea. Wrong and foolish to think otherwise.”

Her sudden smile caught him off guard. “Does this plain old T-shirt get your blood pumping, Sheikh Yaman?”

He couldn’t deny that. “It is practically transparent.”

She reached down and picked up the bucket. Sam believed she meant to carry it into the filly’s stall. Instead she tipped it toward her, spilling the contents down the front of her, then tossed the bucket aside. She pointed at her breasts. “Now, this is transparent.”

Sam could only stare at the dark shading of her nipples that showed through the saturated material. His hands opened and closed with the urge to touch her.

“Like what you see, Sam?” she asked, her tone full of challenge that he dared not answer.

But he couldn’t keep from answering. He spanned the space between them before his brain registered that he had moved. Yet his body was very aware that he now had Andrea against the stall. He took her mouth without consideration of the consequences, thrusting his tongue between her parted lips with the force of his need while his hands searched beneath the wet fabric to cup both of her breasts. She whimpered when he thumbed each peak. Her hips ground against him in a torturous rhythm that made him hard and aching, balanced on the point of losing all restraint. He wanted to take her right there, right then, without regard to location or lack of privacy.

When she raised her arms, Sam pulled the drenched shirt over her head and dropped it to the ground behind her back while he trailed a path of wet kisses down the valley of her breasts. She arched her back, and her chest rose and fell rapidly in sync with his pounding heart, then her breath completely stopped when he drew one nipple into his mouth.

So lost in the taste of her dampened flesh, in the feel of her softness against his tongue, it took him a moment to notice the downward track of his zipper. Realization caught hold and he clasped her wrist.

“No, Andrea.” He stepped back, away from her, then realized, with her standing there bare from the waist up, he was in danger of forgetting himself once again.

Yanking his own shirt over his head, he held it against her, shielding her from his eyes. “Put this on.”

“But—”

“Put it on.”

When she finally took the shirt, Sam walked to the opposite stall, braced his hands above his head and leaned into them. His chest burned from the effort it took to recover his breath and to calm his body.

When he turned again, thankfully she had honored his request. The knit shirt hit her at the knees, but the sharp sting of awareness was still present within him, even though she was now completely covered.

“I promised myself this would not happen between us,” he said, his voice thick with the desire that he couldn’t disregard.

She folded her arms across her breasts. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve broken a promise, Sam.”

“What promise have I broken?”

She strolled down the aisle a few steps then turned. “That night at the pond, you promised you wouldn’t leave me.”

“I meant that moment, Andrea. That night. Not forever.”

“That’s not at all how it seemed.”

Sam recognized that he probably had led her to believe that he had meant always, bringing about more guilt. “I said many things to you that night, but we were both in pain.” Lost in each other, lost in love both timeless and forbidden.

“Then you didn’t mean any of it?”

He had meant most of it, but he hadn’t stopped to consider that he couldn’t keep those promises. “With you in my arms, I had forgotten who I was, what was expected of me. I regret that I was such a fool.”

Andrea shrugged. “Guess that goes for both of us. Except there’s one thing I don’t regret.”

“What is that?”

“Our son. Having him made Paul’s death more bearable, easier to accept that you had left for good. I thank you for that gift. For him.”

Sam doubted that he could feel any worse, any lower. “I regret that I have not been here for him, or for you.”

“And you’re going to have to leave us again. Do you regret that?”

More than she would ever know. “I do not have the luxury to dwell on regrets, Andrea. I’ve very little time left to know my son before I have to return home.”

“Then why don’t we make the best of that time together?” She sent him another lazy smile. “Do what comes naturally.”

Sam clenched his jaw tight. “If you are saying that we should make love, then that would be unwise.”

She moved closer to him, almost close enough for him to touch her again. It took all his fortitude not to reach out to her once more, finish what they had begun.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Sheikh Yaman, I’m a grown woman now, not a girl. I’m not going to fall apart when you leave.” Her gaze faltered, belying her confident tone. “So just in case you decide to change your mind…”

She brushed past him and headed toward the tack room. After a moment she came out and called, “Catch.”

Sam grabbed the baseball midair, confused. “And the point to this is?”

She smiled a devious smile. “Just wanted to let you know that the offer still stands, in case you decide to play ball. Unless, of course, you can’t handle it.”

He could not handle hurting her again, and he would, once he told her the reasons why he could not stay.

She pivoted on her booted heels and swayed toward the barn’s opening. Without turning around, she said, “Water the horse, will ya? I seem to be a little clumsy this morning.”

For the second time in as many days, Sam slammed the ball against the wall, thinking it might be best if he did the same to his head. Perhaps he could pound Andrea out of his brain.

But a thousand blows and a million years would not begin to force Andrea Hamilton from his heart.