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Was it Sarah’s eyes that captivated him? Those dark, exotic-shaped eyes? Or was it her hair—the lush black curtain? Her skin was beautiful, too. Clear and smooth and the color of temptation.
Before Adam’s imagination took him further, he blinked away his last thought, breaking their stare. Sarah picked up her juice, and he sensed her uneasiness. Was the connection between them loneliness? Was she as alone as he felt? Within the span of a month, everything familiar in Adam’s world had changed. He’d moved, switched jobs and stumbled upon his adoption.
“I’ve been storing some things that belonged to my parents,” he said finally. “Mostly personal items, but there were two tall file cabinets from my dad’s office. They were filled with old business records, but I kept them anyway.” He glanced at Sarah’s slender hands, recalling the shock tied to his discovery, the way his own hands had shaken. “I moved recently. Not a major move, just to a place that’s closer to work. But since I was reorganizing and packing, it seemed like a good time to clean out those files.”
“You found something, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” He swallowed back the pain, the lump that had formed in his throat. “There was a document from an adoption agency. It was in a manila envelope with some old tax records. I guess that’s why I didn’t see it before.” He swallowed again, then released a heavy breath. “I discovered that I was born in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, to a Cherokee woman named Cynthia Youngwolf.” Leaning against the table, he searched Sarah’s eyes, hoping for a miracle. “Do you know anyone by that name?”
She shook her head. “Tahlequah is the Cherokee capital. There’s a large Indian population there. It would be impossible to know everyone.”
Adam’s heart sank. “I’ve been trying to find her, but nothing has panned out. First I checked with the Oklahoma phone directory, and then I placed some personal ads in newspapers. After that, I listed my name with one of those adoption search agencies.” He hoped his biological mother was looking for him, too. Looking for the son who had lost his adoptive parents.
Surely Cynthia Youngwolf wondered about him. What woman wouldn’t think about the child she had given up?
“This whole thing has been pretty overwhelming.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help,” Sarah said.
Adam studied her face, features that were strong yet delicate. Vulnerable yet proud. Were other Cherokee women as compelling?
What did his mother look like? And who was his father? Were they secret lovers? Too young to raise a child? He had questions, and no one but Cynthia Youngwolf could answer them.
And what about his parents? The ones who had raised him? Why hadn’t they told him that he was adopted?
He couldn’t control the turmoil, the jumbled emotions that left him feeling hurt and confused. Why had they lied to him, pretending he was their biological son? They’d had so many opportunities to tell him, especially during all that family counseling.
And what about the critical events leading up to the therapy? Were there subtle hints? Quiet innuendoes? Something, anything that marked the truth?
Yes, he thought, his heart striking his chest. There was.
Adam had been seventeen at the time, a tall, rangy boy with fire in his blood. And two weeks earlier, he’d gotten caught stealing a pint of whiskey from the local market, the place where his mother bought groceries.
Adam had lied, of course, insisting he’d swiped the liquor on a dare. Yet that hadn’t stopped his parents from cornering him, from trapping him with one of their mandatory talks. But why? He knew they hadn’t found the other bottle, the one he kept hidden in the trunk of his car.
“We picked up some literature,” his father said.
Slumped on the couch, Adam glanced up at his dad. His mother sat in nearby chair, twisting the tassel on one of the pillows she’d embroidered. His dad was tense, and his mom was jittery and fretful. Things didn’t look good.
“Literature?”
Ronald Paige nodded, a quick, hard jerk of his head. “About alcoholism.”
Irritated, he righted his posture. “And what’s that got to do with me?”
“You drink, Adam. You drink a lot.”
“That’s bull.” He dragged a hand through his hair and ground a booted heel into the carpet. “I party on the weekends once in a while. That doesn’t make me an alcoholic.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it. You’re addicted. All the signs are there.”
All the signs are where? he wondered. In some stupid brochure his parents had latched onto? “I’m not going to sit here and listen to this.” When he stood, he topped his father by several inches. “You guys are freaking out. Making something out of nothing.”
“And you’re out of control. You don’t even seem like our son anymore.”
“Really? Well maybe I wished I wasn’t. All you ever do is hassle me.” Turning to leave, he caught sight of the look that passed between his parents. A look that said something secretive, something he couldn’t quite name.
Shrugging it off, he slammed the front door and headed for his car, grateful the whiskey was still there.
A horn honked and Adam jolted, realizing where he was. He sat in the juice bar, staring blindly out a window. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. He had come a long way since his bout with the bottle, and, up until their untimely death, his parents had remained by his side. The loving, supportive family that had kept his adoption a secret. None of it made sense.
He turned to face Sarah, hoping she could help him unscramble this puzzle. “Do you still have family in Tahlequah? Will you ask them if they’ve ever heard of Cynthia Youngwolf?”
Her eyes shifted focus. Instead of meeting his gaze, she studied her drink, her tone distant. “My family…my father doesn’t live in Tahlequah anymore. He’s in another part of Oklahoma now.”
“I see,” Adam responded, although he didn’t. All she would have to do was ask her father about a name, yet she appeared reluctant to do so. Why? he wondered. Why wouldn’t she make one simple phone call? And why had her shoulders tensed throughout portions of their conversation?
One minute he saw attraction in her eyes, the next detachment. Warm. Aloof. Gentle. Afraid. She appeared to be all of those things. And that made him want to touch her even more, reach for her hand and hold it. This woman, he thought, this dark-eyed mystery, was connected to his birthplace, a heritage he knew nothing about.
The Cherokee books he’d purchased helped, but they weren’t enough. Reading didn’t combat the loneliness. He needed more than just words on a page.
He needed human contact.
He needed Sarah.
Adam started. He needed a woman he’d just met? Was he losing his mind? The last of his sanity?
No, he thought. He wasn’t crazy. A woman born in Tahlequah, a stunning Cherokee with dark eyes and long, flowing hair. He couldn’t have dreamed her if he’d tried. Sarah was the answer he had been waiting for.
She glanced at her watch. “It was nice meeting you, Adam. But I should get back to work.”
“I’ll walk you,” he offered.
They stood on the street corner, and as she brushed his arm, a ray of hope shot through him—an awakening from one of his ancestor’s arrows. No, he wasn’t about to give up on Sarah Cloud. Somehow, some way, he would break through her defenses, unlock the mystery surrounding her. And in the process, he intended to find his biological mother. The woman who had given him life.
The next week Sarah paced one of the facial rooms, checking and rechecking her supplies. Adam Paige was her next appointment. A facial. The man had booked a facial. Not that she didn’t have other male clients. She encouraged men to take better care of their skin, yet the thought of touching Adam made her palms tingle and her pulse race.
She sanitized her hands for the tenth time, a nervous habit, she supposed. And one she’d just acquired. Checking her watch, she exhaled a shaky breath. Maybe he would fall asleep during the facial the way some of her other clients did. It would be easier touching him if he slept.
Sarah let out an anxious laugh. Mrs. Whipple snored during her procedure, but then Vivian Whipple was nearly eighty years old. Young, virile Adam Paige wouldn’t snore. And he probably wouldn’t fall asleep, either.
Quit stressing and go, she told herself. Adam was probably early, waiting in the reception area for her to greet him.
Sure enough, he was there. As Sarah approached, he stood. Today he wore tan trousers and a matching shirt. Although he looked more stylish than he had the week before, he still exhibited the same rugged appeal. Both the makeup artist and her client checked him out from their vantage point. And, of course, Tina watched with a dreamy smile, probably thinking Sarah was the luckiest girl in L.A.
Yeah, right. More like the most nervous.
“Hi, Adam,” Sarah said, reminding herself it was just a facial—a procedure she had done a thousand times before. “Are you ready?”
“Sure. Lead the way.”
She showed him where her treatment room was, then took him to an empty dressing room. “Just remove your shirt and put this on.” She handed him a kimono-style robe that belted in front, her friendly, professional voice intact. “And when you’re ready, come to the facial room.” Pointing to a rack of hangers, she added, “We encourage clients to keep their belongings with them, so be sure to bring your shirt along.”
“Okay.” He flashed that devastating smile, and she proceeded down the hall, taking a deep, I’ll-get-through-this breath. Men might be low on her list of priorities, but this one made her tingly and weak-kneed, sensations she would prefer to do without.
Sarah waited by the treatment chair, resisting the urge to cleanse her hands again. She couldn’t wash away her nervousness no matter how hard she tried. Touching Adam was inevitable, and dousing herself with an instant sanitizer wasn’t going to help.
When footsteps sounded, she looked up. Adam entered the room, shirt in hand. She took it from him and hung it on a nearby hook. He wore the aqua robe she had given him, and although it was a simple garment, the pale color emphasized every striking feature. She decided his biological parents must have been beautiful, their genes creating a mixed-blood masterpiece.
“Have you ever had a facial before?” she asked.
He smiled again, his teeth white and straight. “No, but I’m looking forward to it.”
“Have a seat, and I’ll explain the procedure,” she said, struggling to focus on her job. She hadn’t been this anxious since her state board exam. This jittery inside. How much physical perfection could one man inherit?
He sat on the facial bed, his presence filling the small room. Sarah closed the door, knowing she had to. A relaxed setting enhanced the treatment.
Once she briefed him, he reclined and she draped him with a coverlet. He had chosen to keep the room quiet rather than listen to a CD from Sarah’s collection. She had a variety of soft music as well as sounds from nature. She would have preferred to have a CD playing. The silence only made her more aware of her nervousness.
“I’m going to cover your hair,” she told him, slipping her hands behind his neck. His hair, banded into a ponytail, felt smooth and thick. Healthy, she thought. Everything about Adam boasted strength.
After analyzing and cleansing his skin, she began the massage. She knew all the clinical benefits of a facial massage, yet when her fingers connected with his skin, she forgot each and every one.
She could have been a woman stroking her lover. A woman exploring his face, the chiseled angles and rawboned sensuality.
Each manipulation felt erotic. Rolling movements, circular friction. She touched his forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. She allowed her fingers to roam his face, the pressure light but firm, slow yet rhythmic.
Heat against heat, Sarah thought. Flesh against flesh. Adam kept his eyes closed, but he didn’t sleep. Instead he moaned his pleasure—a low, masculine sound.
When she accidentally brushed his lips, he wet them afterward. She swallowed and moved down his chin, his neck.
Mesmerized, she became aware of every breath he took, every muscle that twitched, the rise and fall of his chest, the flutter of his eyelids.
He made another low sound and shifted his weight, causing the coverlet to slip. The V on his robe gaped. Sarah was tempted to slide her hands inside, massage his chest, his nipples.
Catching her breath, she chastised herself. She had to end this now. What kind of esthetician fantasized about her client? A stranger?
A beautiful stranger.
Easing back as naturally as possible, she broke contact, lifting her hands to fill a basin with warm water.
Adam opened his eyes, blinking as though awakening from a dream. He tilted his head back and looked at Sarah.
“That was nice,” he said, his voice a husky whisper.
She managed a shaky smile, uncertain of how to respond. Her fingertips still tingled, and the gaping robe still exposed his chest—gorgeous, golden-brown flesh. She even caught sight of a taut, muscular belly.
Sarah adjusted the coverlet, knowing it was her professional place to do so. Adam didn’t seem to notice that his robe had slipped open, but then why would he? Most men bared their chests without modesty.
“I’m going to remove the moisturizer, then prepare a mask,” she told him, an image of his navel imbedded in her mind.
She continued the procedure, shielding his eyes with moist cotton pads. They didn’t talk while she applied the mask, and within an hour the treatment was complete, his skin firm and clean.
He stood and smoothed his hair, his robe still loose, the belt barely tied. “Thank you, Sarah,” he said, coming forward to press some folded bills into her hand.
“You’re welcome.” She accepted the tip, realizing they were only inches apart. He wasn’t wearing cologne, she thought, her heart fluttering in her breast. He smelled natural, like fresh-milled soap.
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
The invitation caught her by surprise. And so did her response. Without the slightest hesitation, Sarah agreed to share a meal with him—this tall, beautiful stranger. A man she knew she should avoid.
Adam stood in the main square of Chinatown, waiting for his date. This was insane, he thought. No matter how hard he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to convince Sarah to allow him to pick her up at her apartment. She had insisted on meeting him.
He checked his watch. 7:20 p.m. She was late. Was he about to be stood up? It would serve him right, he supposed. Plenty of women chased him, and he’d gotten used to the attention. But then, that attention was based on his looks, not on the man he was inside. And he wanted more than a superficial relationship. He wanted…
What? A commitment?
Someday, maybe. But he wasn’t looking for love. At least not at this time in his life. He had too many other issues, too many other goals—like finding his biological mother, bonding with his heritage. He couldn’t think about love and commitment. Not until he knew who he was and where he had come from.
He released a heavy breath. So where did Sarah fit into this? Why was he so eager to see her again?
Because she fascinated him, he realized. And she could lead him to his roots. Adam knew he was lost, a ship that needed to come to port. The adoption had him feeling so damn disconnected. For the past month he had been floating. Going nowhere.
And he had the same vibe about Sarah. He suspected she was troubled, too. And that drew him to her, made him want to help. She was solid, real—so unlike the superficial women who chased him. She would make a good friend.
A good friend? he asked himself. Or a compatible lover? He couldn’t very well deny the sexual spark between them. He hadn’t counted on it, but it was there—lurking, hiding, waiting to be released.
Well he wasn’t about to release it. The last thing he needed was to complicate a new friendship with sex. He would just have to keep those urges under control.
And just how was he supposed to do that? He had already booked another facial for next week. He wanted her to stroke him again, enchant him with her magic.
Her mystery.
Adam frowned. Already his hormones were interfering with a friendship that hadn’t even happened yet. He could find another connection to his heritage, couldn’t he? He didn’t need Sarah to show him the way.
A beautiful, exotic woman. A dark-eyed Cherokee mystery.
Damn. Maybe he should just forget the friendship and have an affair with her. A passionate one-night stand. That would satisfy his hormones, the unexpected lust.
Disturbed by the thought, he shook his head. Maybe it would be better if Sarah did stand him up. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about their attraction.
Adam checked his watch again, then glanced up and caught his breath. It was too late, he thought. Much too late.
Beautiful, dark-eyed Sarah was already walking toward him, and all he could think about was tangling his hands in all that glorious hair and kissing her senseless.
Two
Sarah scanned the menu, wishing she could think of something to say. She wasn’t good at small talk and was even worse at dating. How was she supposed to concentrate on what to order with Adam sitting across from her? A man who appeared relaxed and confident? He probably had the dating ritual down pat.
