She felt like crying at the thought of having to give up that awe-inspiring, mouthwatering erection when she hadn't even had a crack at it yet, but pride demanded. She refused to be one of a crowd in a man's head, much less his bed.
His only excuse, she thought, was if he was lying in a hospital somewhere, too badly injured to dial a telephone. She knew he hadn't been shot or anything; that would have been in the news, if a cop had been wounded. Mrs. Kulavich would have told her if he'd been in a traffic accident. No, he was alive and well, somewhere. It was the where that was the problem.
Just to cover all bases, she tried to work up a teeny bit of worry over him, but all she could manage was a heartfelt desire to maim him.
She knew better than to lose her head over a man. That was what was so humiliating: she knew better. Three broken engagements had taught her that a woman needed to keep her wits about her when dealing with the male species, or she could get seriously hurt. Sam hadn't hurt her – not much, anyway – but she had been on the verge of making a really stupid mistake and she hated to think she was so gullible.
Damn him, why couldn't he at least have called? If she had a lock of his hair, she thought, she could put a curse on him, but she was willing to bet he wouldn't let her anywhere near him with a pair of scissors.
She entertained herself with thinking up imaginative curses just in case she did manage to get some of his hair. She particularly liked the one that gave him a bad case of wilt. Hah! Let him see how many women were impressed when his joystick became a joyless noodle. On the other hand, maybe she was overreacting. One kiss did not a relationship make. She had no claim on him, his time, or his erections.
Like hell she didn't.
Okay, so much for logic. She had to go with her gut feeling here, because it wasn't allowing room for anything else. Her feelings for Sam were way out of the norm, composed of almost equal parts fury and passion. He could make her angrier, faster, than anyone else she had ever known. He also hadn't been far off the mark with his assertion that when he kissed her, they would both end up naked. If he had chosen his location better, if they hadn't been standing in her driveway, she wouldn't have regained her senses in time to stop him.
While she was being honest with herself, she might as well admit that she was exhilarated by their conflicts. With all three of her fiancés – in fact, with most people – she had held herself back, pulled her verbal punches. She knew she was a smart-ass; Shelley and David had both gone out of their way to tell her so. Her mother had tried to get her to temper her responses and had partially succeeded. All through school she had struggled to keep her mouth shut, because the lightning-quick workings of her brain left her schoolmates bewildered, unable to keep up with her thought processes. Nor did she want to hurt anyone's feelings, which she had quickly learned she could do just by speaking her mind.
She treasured her friendships with Marci, T.J. and Luna because, as different as they all were, the other three accepted and weren't intimidated by her more caustic remarks. She felt the same sort of relief in her dealings with Sam, because he was as much of a smart-ass as she was, with the same verbal agility and speed. She didn't want to give that up. Once she admitted that, she realized she had two choices: she could walk away, which had been her first inclination, or she could teach him a lesson about… about trifling with her affections, damn it! If there was one thing she didn't want anyone trifling with, it was her affections. Well, okay, there were two things – she didn't want anyone trifling with the Viper, either. But Sam… Sam was worth fighting for. If he had other women in his head and bed, then she would simply have to oust them, and make him pay for putting her to the trouble. There. She felt better now. Her course of action was decided. She arrived at the television station faster than she had anticipated, but then there wasn't much traffic on the freeways and streets that early in the morning. Luna was already there, climbing out of her white Camaro, looking as fresh and rested as if this were nine in the morning instead of not quite four. She was wearing a gold silk wrap dress that made her cream-and-coffee skin glow. "This is spooky, isn't it?" she said when Jaine joined her and they walked to the back door of the station, as they had been instructed.
"Weird," Jaine agreed. "It's unnatural for anyone to be awake and functioning at this hour."
Luna laughed. "I'm certain everyone else on the road was up to no good, because why else would they be out?"
"Drug dealers and perverts, every one of them."
"Prostitutes."
"Bank robbers."
"Murderers and wife-beaters."
"Television personalities."
They were still laughing when Marci drove up. As soon as she joined them she said, "Did you see all the weirdos on the street? They must come out at midnight or something."
"We've already had that conversation," Jaine said, grinning. "I guess it's safe to say none of us is a party animal, crawling home in the wee hours of the morning." "I've done my share of crawling," Marci said cheerfully. "Until I got tired of shoe prints on my hands." She looked around. "I can't believe I'm here before T.J.; she's always early, and I'm usually late."
"Maybe Galan had a tantrum and told her she couldn't come," Luna suggested.
"No, she would have called if she wasn't coming," Jaine replied. She checked her watch: five before four. "Let's go inside. They might have coffee, and I need a steady supply if I'm going to be coherent."
She had been in a television station before, so Jaine wasn't surprised by the cavernous space, the darkness, the snaking cables all over the floor. Cameras and lights stood like sentinels over the set, while monitors watched over everything. There were people around, jean-and- sneaker clad, plus one woman wearing a chic peach suit. She came toward them with a bright, professional smile on her face and her hand outstretched.