Double Dealing by Jayne Castle Page A

think about the cost. He wanted her. Period. No,
not quite period.
    He wanted something more. He wanted her to surrender without
counting the cost, either.
    He had fretted over his uncharacteristic behavior all afternoon,
analyzing it, dissecting it, trying to find a rational explanation for it. When
seven o’clock had come and gone and Samantha had not yet arrived, a strange kind
of panic had invaded his bloodstream only to be followed by an unreasonable
anger: anger at himself for having tried to set the trap and at the woman for
having evaded it. Then he’d heard the crunch of gravel under her car’s wheels
and had immediately gotten himself back under control.
    Setting snares for women apparently wasn’t his forte, however.
Look at how he’d nearly ruined everything by trying to put things out in the
open over dinner. He’d blurted out the truth about his intentions, and she hadn’t
hesitated to put him firmly in his place.
    Mentally he chastised himself for his own stupidity. How had
he expected her to react, for God’s sake? He was damn lucky she hadn’t walked
out then and there. He must have succeeded in allaying her immediate concerns,
though, because she had agreed willingly to spend the night in his spare
bedroom.
    His eyes narrowed as he realized she didn’t appear to be
particularly wary of him in the physical sense.
    That thought brought conflicting emotions. Look at her out there
walking along on the beach lost in her thoughts—as if no one of this world had
the slightest claim on her. Didn’t she sense he was standing here, imagining
various ways of pursuing her, dragging her down into the sand and claiming her
completely? She ought to be running as fast as she could, not ambling along the
waving line of surf.
    “Damn!”
    What was the matter with him? He didn’t want her to run. He
wanted to keep her under his roof and within reach as long as possible. “Face
it, Sinclair,” he growled under his breath. “She’s in no danger from you. You’ve
never forced yourself on a woman in your life, and you’re hardly likely to
start the practice now.” But he found himself wanting her to know that he hungered
for her. He wanted her to be aware of him on the most fundamental level. The
strangely possessive, uncomfortably predatory sensations he’d experienced earlier
in the evening were growing stronger.
    At least she hadn’t laughed or teased him earlier this evening
when he’d confessed his true intentions. She hadn’t played games with him; she’d
simply told him to back off in no uncertain terms. Did that mean that she at
least took seriously the possibility of his desire?
    He watched her adjust the collar of her leather jacket in
the pale light of the outside lamp. It was strange how the blatantly masculine
lines of her outfit only emphasized her femininity. She wasn’t a beautiful
woman, but she was a strong, intensely feminine one.
    He wanted to curve his hand around the curve of her bottom,
find the outline of a nipple under her shirt, and prod it until it was hard
with desire. He wanted to jerk her off her feet and stretch her out beneath
him, taking her totally.
    The palms of his hands were damp. He dried them awkwardly on
the billowing curtain. What was she doing out there alone on the beach at
night? This was a relatively safe part of the coast, but she was his
responsibility. And he always took care of his responsibilities.
    Who was he kidding? Gabriel stopped trying to rationalize
his own actions as he yanked on a pair of jeans and reached for a dark blue
pullover sweater. He wanted to be down there on the beach with her.
    Samantha didn’t hear him as he came toward her softly
through the sand. She could hear nothing above the muted roar of the surf, yet
something urged her to glance back toward the house, and when she did she saw
Gabriel’s dark figure advancing toward her with a purposeful stride that was
becoming familiar. Did the man ever do anything without a purpose? she