Ladies' Man by Suzanne Brockmann Page B

your hair too—and you can take that as a compliment.”
    Sam ran one hand self-consciously through his hair, still holding her close with the other. “Too long for old Richard?” he asked.
    “Too long, too blond, too sexy, too still-on-your-head.” Ellen ran her fingers through the hair in question. “Richard is…hair challenged. Before the end of the decade, he’s going to be nearly entirely bald.”
    Sam laughed, kissing her, his own hands exploring the softness of her curves, the smooth firmness of her bare thigh. “You sound just a little too happy about that.”
    “He lied to me for twelve years. If God sees fit to make him lose all of his hair, who am I to complain?”
    Sam covered her mouth with his again, but she pulled away before he could deepen the kiss. “Richard would hate the way I’ve been kissing you. Such a typical double standard.”
    “Richard’s not here,” Sam said, kissing her eyes, her face, her neck.
    “Do you know what Richard would
really
hate?” she asked.
    This time Sam pulled back. He gazed into the midnight darkness of her eyes, well aware of what she’d intended to imply. Richard would really hate it if they made love. He knew he shouldn’t say anything. He knew he should simply kiss her, and keep kissing her until their clothes were pushed aside and he was buried deep inside of her. She wanted him to make love to her—to get back at the man who had hurt her so badly.
    What the hell did he care why she wanted him? She wanted him—that should’ve been enough.
    But it wasn’t, and he couldn’t believe the words that came out of his mouth. “That’s not a very good reason for us to be together,” he said softly.
    She took another fortifying sip of her champagne and closed her eyes. “I know,” she murmured. “But it’s not the only reason.”
    Ellen opened her eyes and looked at Sam. His hair was a mess, his tie loosened and askew, the top button of his shirt undone. He looked incredibly handsome with those blue eyes and that perfectly sculpted face, those adorable dimples. He wanted her—she could see it in his eyes—and knowing that gave her the strength to tell him the truth.
    “I haven’t been with anyone since I left Richard,” she said softly. “It’s been more than four years, but I haven’t wanted to. I haven’t wanted any kind of intimacy—not until now.”
    His eyes sparked at her words. “And how many years has it been since you’ve helped to kill two bottles of champagne?” he asked, his voice husky.
    “I’m not drunk,” she told him. Yes, the wine had lowered her inhibitions, but she wasn’t drunk. She reached out to touch his face. “You’re so sweet—you’re trying to protect me from myself, aren’t you?”
    “I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing.” He closed his eyes as he pressed his cheek into her palm.
    “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve spent my entire life doing things other people expect of me,” she countered. “I came to New York this summer to do something for
myself
, to do the things that I want to do.” She lowered her voice. “And I think you know what I want to do right now.”
    It was all that Sam needed to hear.
    Once again Ellen let him take the glass from her hand and set it down. Then he kissed her again.
    It was one hell of a dizzying kiss, and somehow, in the course of it, he managed to pull her gently down onto the seat with him.
    He stopped for a moment to shrug out of his jacket and to pull off his tie, and then he kissed her again—long, slow, deep kisses that nearly made her unable to think.
    Nearly.
    As Ellen closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around this man she barely knew, she vacillated wildly between wondering what the hell she was doing and being thoroughly convinced that she was one hundred percent right.
    She
was
right. She was exorcising the ghosts of her past with this young, handsome, willing stranger. She was the self-proclaimed queen of