For the Love of Sami Read Online Free PDF

out of the tub and dry you?"
    Sami could only stare at him, such was the languorous feeling that unexpectedly beset her. His fingers were again stirring through the water, pushing it against her in caressing ripples, coming closer and closer to her body.
    "I’m not much of an expert on objective, professional relationships."
    He pulled his hand from the water. "But I am, and I should know better."
    Short of breath, Sami shook her head weakly. "It’s okay. I can manage, thank you."
    A long curl slipped free of the tie and fell across one gleaming wet shoulder. Slowly, almost unwillingly, Daniel’s hand came out to finger the silky texture of it, and as he did, the back of his hand brushed the skin above her breasts, burning it. Sami felt as if she were drowning, and gasped with the effort of trying to draw air into her lungs.
    His hand ceased all movement, and rested heavily against the top of the rounded softness, the part that rose so innocently and so sexily out of the water. Neither one of them spoke; neither one of them moved.
    Quite suddenly a muffled oath escaped him. Swiftly coming to his feet, his mood changed completely. "Enjoy your tea and feel free to help yourself to one of the robes you’ll find in my closet. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes."
    Once he had left, Sami didn’t waste time pondering the disturbing events of the last few minutes. Out of the tub and dry in record time, she considered the problem of what to wear.
    Turned off by the idea of wearing wet clothes to Daniel’s dinner table yet loath to face his closet again, her eyes lighted on the linen cabinet. Precisely folded sheets and towels greeted her when she opened it. By now, she was so totally unnerved by the evidence of such perfection that she pulled out the first sheet she saw—silk and of a solid burgundy color.
    Sami wrapped it around herself with well- practiced ease in a bare-shouldered fashion that was uniquely her own. Preferring not to wear nightgowns or pajamas, she frequently wore sheets around the warehouse, much to Jerome’s and Morgan’s amusement.
    She brushed her almost waist-length hair into some semblance of shining order, and not too many minutes later, Daniel found her in his drawing room, warily circling a table of Ming Dynasty porcelain figurines.
    He stood looking at her for a moment, then said softly, "You look charming."
    "Thank you."
    "I don’t seem to remember that particular garment in my closet, though."
    "It wasn’t. It was in your linen cupboard."
    "Oh . . . of course." He walked over to a lighted bar recessed into the wall. "Would you like a drink?"
    Even though Daniel had also changed, he still looked faultlessly unmussed, in his silk-blend slacks and loose-weave summer sweater, over which he wore a lightweight blazer. "No, thank you. I don’t drink." She turned back to critically inspect a Chinese porcelain fishbowl of massive proportions. "You realize that alcohol corrodes your stomach, don’t you?" This last was thrown rather absently over her shoulder.
    Daniel’s hand paused in the act of pouring his own drink. "No, actually, I didn’t."
    "Well, it feels like it does," Sami said, switching her attention to a gilt and gem-encrusted antique box, "and I’ve never seen any sense in drinking something that makes you feel like your stomach is being eaten away, do you?"
    "Uh . . . when you put it like that, I guess not." He left his drink untouched and put the crystal stopper into the decanter. Then he leaned back against the bar. His mouth twisted ruefully. "I can’t help but notice that you don’t seem to approve of my collection either. They’re Ming Dynasty, you know."
    Sami bit back a retort that she knew very well what they were, having grown up in a house that was filled with them. Instead, she commented, "You have no place for children."
    "I don’t have any children," he pointed out with quiet amusement.
    Sami studied him from beneath her lashes. Here was a man who had his