Free Intimate Betrayal by Linda Barlow

walked back along the shore road listening to the lapping of the gentle waves, Sam had pulled her
     into his arms and invited her to come home with him.
    She’d made a token protest: “Sam, if something goes wrong—”
    He had taken her hand lightly, his warm fingers caressing hers. She had felt the pull of his calm and confident sensuality.
     It had been easy to imagine how his hands would feel on her naked skin
    “You feel it too, don’t you?” he’d asked.
    She’d admitted it.
    “So what do we do, then? Repress the attraction? Ignore it? Pretend it doesn’t exist?”
    “That would probably be wise, Sam. I like working for Brody Associates, and God knows I need my job.” But even as she spoke,
     she had allowed her body to melt against his.
    He had laughed in that lighthearted, joyous, delighted way that was so often heard around the office and said, “Hell, Darcy,
     I’ve always had trouble being wise.” Then he had bent his head to take her lips.
    So it had begun. The most wonderful, passionate, and just plain fun love affair of her life.
    But tonight Sam was in a strange, uncharacteristically quiet mood.
    She reached out and gently stroked his hand. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s worrying you.”
    He looked at her and slowly shook his head. “Jesus, Darcy.” He sounded miserable.
    She heard alarm bells in her mind. She’d never before seen Sam in a bad mood. “This isn’t like you, babe,” she said.
    He looked at their coffee cups, the silverware, his ownhands—anything but her face. Several moments passed, then he shook his head again and raised his eyes to meet hers. “Look,”
     he said. “Oh, hell. It’s over, Darcy.”
    Over?
“What do you mean?” Her brain had absorbed his words, but her heart refused to heed them.
    “I just can’t do this anymore. It was a mistake from the beginning. You work for me. We both know how foolish it is to mix
     the personal with the professional.”
    “I’ve told you, Sam, it’s not a problem for me. I can separate those parts of my life.”
    He sighed softly. “Well, I guess I’ve come to realize that I can’t.”
    You ’re the one who was so quick to overcome my objections about that at the start!
she thought, but she managed to stop herself from blurting out the words. It never did any good to point out to a man his
     blatant inconsistencies.
    “Listen, you’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” she said soothingly. “We all have. It’s not the best time to be making
     decisions. Let’s go home and talk about it—or…” she gave him her sexiest smile, “let’s forget about it and see how we feel
     in the morning.”
    Instead of responding in his usual lighthearted manner, Sam looked at her and shook his head. He reached across the table
     and took one of her hands gently in his and squeezed it. He smiled at her sadly.
    It was then that Darcy realized he was serious. She knew that sad, regretful, guilty look—she’d seen it in the eyes of other
     men:
It’s over, babe. I want you out of my life.
    Darcy felt something shrivel inside her. Jesus! She’d had no warning. None. Two nights ago they’d been together and it had
     been wonderful. She quickly cast her mind back, searchingfor any little thing she might have said to put him off, anything that might have scared him into thinking that she wanted
     a commitment from him or that she was making demands. Men were so wary about that. One false move, and they were out the door.
    But she honestly couldn’t remember making any false moves. She’d gone by the book on this romance, being warm and approachable,
     but independent; sensual, but not too eager; self-confidently assertive, but never in the least bit demanding. She wanted
     Sam, and she’d planned her campaign very carefully. She couldn’t believe that she’d failed.
    “I’m sorry, Darcy,” he said. “I feel awful about this. But I can’t help how I feel. It’s just not working out.”
    The hope inside her