Tuesday 11:15 p.m.  The farm, main house

Russell's brow furrowed.  Where the hell was Samantha?  This was the first time she'd failed to show up for her evening sit in the sauna with him.  And quite frankly, that pricked a bit at his pride even as it also worried him.  He tried (and failed) to ignore that niggling feeling of disappointment.  The simple truth was he liked spending time together with her and he missed her.  He was also a little annoyed at the reminder that time was ticking away and the number of nights they had left together was growing smaller and smaller.  Time.  It was his eternal enemy.  He'd had too many last nights in his life. 

Still, for all his musing, it didn't answer his burning question.  Where the hell had she disappeared to?  He knew she hadn't gotten caught up in her painting and lost track of time.  The first place he'd looked for her was the room she was using for a studio.  It was dark and empty.  She wasn't in her bedroom either.  He'd looked there next.  She wasn't getting a snack in the kitchen.  They hadn't had a fight so he knew she wasn't avoiding him because she was mad.  Hell, they'd even managed to keep the sparks in check.  Mostly.  Their mutual dip into the cold plunge had certainly infused their relationship with a healthy dose of male/female awareness that had started hinting towards romance rather than simply friendship, but they were managing to get on well enough together without everything being too awkward. 

So where the bloody hell was she?  With a bit of chagrin, Russell realized he couldn't remember the last time he'd looked for a woman.  They were always finding him no matter how well he hid himself.  The thought amused him.  His smile widened when he stopped on the landing of the stairs that led down to his study.... and he felt the now-familiar surge of warmth in his chest when he saw her.  She was sitting on the floor, resting her back against his chair just like the first time he'd seen her, only this time, she was wearing pants.  Pity.  Russell chuckled as he clomped down the stairs.  He still couldn't see all of her, only the back of the oversized chair and her long, shapely legs. 

"What the hell are you doing down here in the gloom?"  He reached for the dimmer switch and turned the lights up a little more.  

"I'm having a good sook, if it's all the same to you, Cr-"  She broke off abruptly knowing he'd call her on it if she called him 'Crowe' again.  He had before.     

Russell still hadn't moved from the bottom of the landing.  "It's not a good sook unless alcohol's involved, love."  He laughed aloud as her hand appeared around the side of the chair, holding up a nearly empty bottle of red wine for his inspection.  "That plonk?"  He snorted.  "I was talking about the good stuff."

"Hey, this 'plonk' came from your bar, so blame yourself, mister."  She still hadn't moved from her position on the floor.

Her words might have been flippant, but Russell was very aware she was not her usual lighthearted self.  He tried to lighten her mood a little, wondering what had her so tightly wound.  "Well, it seems as if I've discovered the lady has a vice or two after all."  Truthfully, he was a little relieved.  He'd teased her about being a goody-goody, but he had no idea how close to the mark he'd been and it was nice to see she wasn't always as together as she seemed.  God certainly knew she hadn't always seen him at his best and it was nice, for once, not to be the one in the throws of a good sook.  It also made him feel a little less like the Big Bad Wolf to see she had her fair share of vices as well.   

Her wine-roughened voice came again from the floor by the chair.  "I've got plenty of vices as if you didn't know.  You're treated to my verbal bashing on practically a daily basis."  Now that made him smile. 

Russell made his way over to the small, well-stocked bar in the corner of his study.  He grinned at her cheekily.  "You know, I don't believe I've ever considered it a vice for a woman to know how to use her mouth."  He was expecting his teasing to catch her off guard, maybe make her choke a little on her wine.  He was caught completely unaware when her eyes left the dark wine she was swirling around in her glass and pinned him with the most intense stare.  He could literally feel the heat prickling at the skin under his arms and in the pit of his groin. 

Christ, what was she trying to do to him looking at him that way?  It wasn't an invitation.  It wasn't 'fuck-me' eyes.  It was something else.  Something far more compelling.  And it was a gauntlet he simply could not resist picking up.  Behind the bar, he wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans and cleared his throat.  Just because he'd had his share of women didn't mean one couldn't throw him off balance if they did something unexpected.  Like look at him with her soul in her eyes.  It made him uncomfortable.  In a good way.  It was a bit scary... but he liked that.  He liked 'real', probably because he encountered it so rarely.  Sam was an anomaly. 

He couldn't say she'd always been real with him.  On occasion, her professional mask still curbed her initial response to him.  But when she was real with him?  Well, to say she'd blown his mind was an understatement.  And the truth was, he wanted more of that. 

To buy himself a little time so he could read the situation a little better, Russell made a bit of a show as he hunted around through the varied bottles of liquor, occasionally picking up one and opening it for a sniff.  Even in this charged setting, he couldn't keep that touchy-feely propensity of his at bay.  Sam said nothing, just watched the hedonist in him touch and stroke the bottles as he sampled the various aromas.  It made him want to take a slug.  A big one.  "How about some bourbon?"  He didn't know about her, but he sure as hell could use a belt or two right about now.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"  She was still watching him with an expression he couldn't quite put his finger on.  

Russell snorted.  "It doesn't look as if you need my help for that, love.  You're half way there already.  I'm just trying to play catch-up."  He poured himself a generous amount of bourbon.  "Besides, conversations are always more interesting when both parties have had their tongues loosened by drink."  His eyes glittered and he winked at her in that cheeky way he had.  She wondered if he was acting.  His manner was easy, but there seemed to be something deeper lurking in his eyes. 

"Ah, I see.  You want to ply me with bourbon so I'll spill my guts about the rest of my vices."  Her brow furrowed for a moment and then she shrugged.  "Sure.  Why not?  Besides, I've never had bourbon before."  Truth be told, there was a lot of things she'd never experienced before.  Sam frowned at that depressing thought.

Russell looked at her as if she'd grown another head.  "I thought you said you didn't live under a rock," he teased good-naturedly as he retrieved a second glass and poured her an equally healthy amount.  He took a sip of his and grinned.  "Beauty," he pronounced, glancing back her way as he smacked his lips with relish.  "This is a good one.  My favorite actually.  Tastes a bit like burnt caramel and vanilla," he added.  "If you don't like it you can stick with wine or I'll get you something else.  What beer do you fancy?"

Hmmm...  Best to get this over with quickly.  "I don't like beer."

Russell stopped in mid stride, her drink in one hand.  He crossed himself with the other and shook his head.  "Blasphemy."  He chuckled.  "Not liking the taste of beer?  That's a serious character flaw, you know."

Sam took the drink from him and scooted over so her back was against the couch, leaving his favorite chair for him.  She didn't do it so much to be polite as she did because she liked looking at him relaxed in that sinfully red chair.  He and that damned chair were made for each other.  "I didn't say I didn't like the taste of it.  I said I didn't like-" Samantha broke off abruptly, a soft blush dusting her cheeks.  "Never mind."  Sam took a sip of the bourbon and nodded as the caramel fire burned pleasantly down her throat.  "This is good."  Smoky.  Smooth.  Had a kick from hell, but it was definitely good.  

Russell settled his substantial bulk into his chair, once again pleased she'd deferred to him, even if it was something so subtle as letting him have his favorite seat.  He met her eyes.  "Don't change the subject."  He put the glass to his mouth and took another sip.  "I want to know what you meant about the beer."  Even if her words hadn't piqued his interest, the blush that followed certainly had.  He looked at the bourbon in his glass.  "And I'm glad you like it."

Samantha's blush deepened.  "I don't know if I want to tell you all my secrets."  A naughty little smile played at the corner of her mouth.  "The only confidentially agreement I remember is the one with my name on it."

Russell snickered.  He grabbed a pen from his pocket, pulled the napkin from under his drink and scratched something practically illegible on it before he balled it up and tossed it at her.  Samantha giggled when she read it.  It contained exactly three words. 

He took another swallow of the amber liquid and his face grew more serious.  "If I told you whatever you share with me stays with me, would you believe me?"  His words hung heavily between them. 

Thankfully, he hadn't asked her if she trusted him.  Quite frankly, she wasn't sure if she could yet and he seemed to sense that.  Their friendship had grown deep quickly, but Sam had no illusions.  She knew full well he wouldn't have told her half the things he had without the safety net of the confidentiality agreement she'd signed.  And truthfully, some of the things he'd shared with her weren't all that flattering.  He was honest, she'd give him that much, but some of his stories had just plain made her wince for the women in his life.     

"Yes, I believe you... Russell," she said softly.  And she did.  About this.  He'd told her some things that made her wonder if she could trust him, really trust him in the relationship-wise sense, but she did trust him to keep his word about this.  He had a lot of faults, but he was loyal.  Almost frustratingly so at times.  But he was also gregarious and at times seemed seriously lacking in impulse control.  Especially when it came to things that stirred his passion.    

He gave her and odd look and glanced away.  Her face was so expressive he could see her every thought.  "I know what you're thinking," he paused and sighed.  "And just so you know, when things were serious, when there was a real commitment on both sides, I was faithful."

Samantha nodded thoughtfully.  "And before things were serious?"

"I did what I wanted," he admitted.  

Sam toyed with her glass.  While she appreciated his honesty, that bothered her.  Casual dating was one thing, but he wasn't talking about that and they both knew it.  "Sometimes that's not enough for some women."  She was including herself in that group and he knew it.  "It can be incredibly hurtful to know the man you're falling in love with thinks it's okay to sleep with other women just because you haven't talked about commitment."  Though she'd tried to be gentle, she expected him to get a little hot under the collar at that remark, but instead he just sighed and rested his head against the back of the chair.

"I know."  There was a wealth of hurt in those two little words.  "And no, before you ask, it's not okay with me if the woman does the same thing."

"That's unfair."

"Yes."

They were silent a long time, each entertaining their own thoughts.  Samantha was beginning to feel the buzz from the bourbon.  He was right.  Her tongue was loosening.  She'd have never given voice to her next thought were it not for that fact.  "They way you are sometimes..... it reminds me of something I read once."  Sam scooted up a bit higher against the couch.  "Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained."

Russell nodded.  "William Blake."  He was still staring at the ceiling.  "The problem is that some desires are better left restrained."  He rubbed his face with his hand and sighed.  "I never said I was a good man, Sam.  I'm just a man.  I fuck up as much as the next bloke and if I'm lucky, I learn enough not to fuck up the same way the next time around, you know?" 

Samantha stretched out her foot and touched his gently.  "I know."  Again, the moody silence stretched out for long minutes.  

Russell sighed heavily.  How the hell did the conversation wind up here?  This was supposed to be Sam's confessional, not his.  She was the one down here having a sook in the dark.  Russell was suddenly aware she'd managed to avoid both his question about the beer and the reason for her black mood tonight.  He wanted to get her talking again. 

He got up, refilled both their glasses and then dropped back into his chair and grinned at her.  "So, are you buzzed enough yet to tell me what you meant about the beer... or shall we just start in with you listing your vices for me?"  Nothing like a full frontal assault.  But he knew from experience that sometimes that was the best bet with her.  She could be diplomatic, but she could also be charmingly blunt. 

Sam giggled into her glass in a most undignified manner.  "I'm most pleasantly buzzed, thank you very much."  She saluted him with the glass.  "As for the beer thing... I'm not so sure I should tell you about that."

"Afraid it'll tarnish your halo, love?"

"Maybe a little."

"Don't be.  I want to know the real you.  It's our tarnish that makes us interesting.  Besides, I stopped seeing that halo of yours when you told me my life would be easier if I kept my dick in my pants."  Russell chuckled as Sam sputtered into her glass.  "So, lay it on me.  I'm all ears."

"Ha!  You're all mouth, you mean."    

"That too.  But some women like that sort of thing."  His eyes danced and he took another sip, smiling at the smooth, slow burn.  He was beginning to feel it too.  "So, now that we've cleared that up... Answer the fucking question, love."

"All right."  Her eyes glittered.  He asked for it.  "I don't like the taste of beer... but I love the taste of a man's mouth when he's drinking one."  Sam felt her face heat about a million degrees.  "Happy now?"

"You made that up," he challenged.  Surely, she was having a bit of fun with him.  Par for the course for him was more along the lines of 'Eww, Russ, you taste like cigarettes and beer, go brush.'

"Did I?"  She raised her eyebrows at him, teasing him a long moment before she sighed heavily.  "Actually, I didn't.  It's just one of the weird things that makes me, me... You know, like wearing ratty flannel makes you Russell," she teased. 

He was quiet while he thought that one through.  He took a long sip from his glass and shifted in the chair, pulling at the denim that had suddenly become a little more restrictive as something else occurred to him.  A distinctly naughty smile lit his face.  "So, is that why you always watch my mouth when I'm having a coldie, love?" 

"Oh, God."  Samantha covered her face with her hands.  "Why did I tell you that?"  

He noticed she sidestepped his question.  It didn't matter anyway.  He already knew the answer.  Russell grinned wider.  "Well, if this is true confession night, I guess that makes us even then..."  He waited until she met his eyes.  "I perved your legs when you were wearing my footy shirt that first night," he admitted cheerfully.  A little too cheerfully, perhaps.  Bourbon always hit him fast, especially on an empty stomach.

"You're making that up," she accused, trying hard to ignore the excited spark of hope that comment had caused to flare to life in her breast.  It made her uncomfortable. 

"Am I?"  Russell shrugged and let the matter drop.  If she needed to pretend it hadn't happened, let her.  He'd already pushed her awareness of their mutual attraction a little too far and he could sense her withdrawing so he decided to retreat back to the 'friend' square for a while.  He poured himself a few more fingers.  "Come on now, Sam, I've shared my very fine bourbon with you and you've yet to tell me about any of those vices of yours."

"I told you about the beer thing," she grumped.

"That is most definitely NOT a vice."  His voice dropped.  "That's fucking sexy as hell."  And quite frankly, he'd probably never pick up a bottle of beer again without thinking about it.  Just the idea made his blood pool hot and thick between his legs.  He swallowed hard.  "So, vices..."

Damn, he was persistent.  Samantha took another sip and smiled.  "Well you already know about my tendency to just say what I'm thinking without the sugar-coating."

Russell chuckled.  "Yes, I do believe I'm acquainted with that one."  He looked thoughtful a moment.  "I kind of like that one, actually.  What else ya got?"

"I have a serious weakness for good red wine and decadently rich chocolate."

"You and every other woman I know, Mum included," he shot back.    

Sam giggled.  "I'm stubborn, opinionated, I detest mornings, I hold grudges forever, I have no patience with people who are inept..."

"Hmm...  All that, huh?"  He met her eyes.  "Why don't you have another drink and then tell me the real ones," he said softly, wondering if she'd bite.  He hoped she would. 

They looked at each other a long time before Sam took a sip and finally nodded.  The moment of truth.  "I don't take enough risks.  I pick the wrong men."  Her eyes dropped to her glass.  "And you're right.  I watch life instead of living it."  Samantha closed her eyes and took a large, bracing swallow from her glass, thinking again how very cuttingly right he'd been in his assessment of her that afternoon when they'd argued so heatedly. 

Russell suddenly understood what she'd meant by the quote she'd told him earlier, and he also was beginning to understand why his words that afternoon by the fence had cut her so deeply.  'Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.'  He was one side of that coin, she was the other.  She was too restrained.  He wasn't restrained enough.  "That quote-"

"Fits me as well as you it seems.  I've been able to restrain myself all my life."  Sam smiled sadly.  "It's kind of funny when you think about it.  I've always thought of myself as sensual and passionate, but apparently whatever I've felt was weak enough to be restrained."  She sniffed and took another sip.  Samantha was terrified she'd live all her life without feeling that kind of heart-slamming, overwhelming desire that made even good girls toss caution into the wind.  "What if I never feel that?" 

Her pain tugged at his heartstrings.  "Maybe you've haven't been with the right person yet."  His voice grew softer.  "And maybe I've been with all the wrong people."  He picked up his glass and joined her on the floor, resting his back against the couch next to hers.  "Is that what has you down here in the dark tonight?"  He asked quietly.

"Yes and no."

Russell couldn't help but smile at that.  "You're a bloody difficult woman, Samantha."

"I know."  She smiled and so did he.

"So tell me what has you down here tonight."

"I don't really want to."

"Why not?"  In all honesty, he was a little hurt she didn't want to share as much of herself with him as he'd shared with her.  For the first time in a long time, his heart was open and he wanted the same from her.  A deep conversation.  A real connection. 

"I think because it's a bit like complaining about a sore hand to a person who's lost an arm."

"Come again?"  When she didn't answer, Russell touched her shoulder gently.  

"It was my birthday yesterday," she finally said.

Somehow, Russell didn't think it was the lack of a party that had her here tonight.  The more he thought about it, the more was beginning to understand what she was getting at.  God knew he'd felt the same on his birthday for years now.  He didn't apologize for missing her birthday.  If she'd wanted some sort of acknowledgement, she'd have told someone her birthday was approaching.  He simply remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"It's not about the number.  That part's never really bothered me," she said with a small smile.  "It's just that this isn't how I pictured my life."  Samantha swirled the amber liquid in her glass.  "And I feel bad complaining about it to you.  Especially now."  His birthday was less than a week away.  He was not only older than she was by almost a decade, but he'd been waiting a longer time for the things they both wanted.  The right kind of love.  A partner.  Children. 

He watched her toy with her glass nervously.  "Can I ask you something?"  She opened her mouth to say yes, but he stopped her.  "I need an honest answer.  No bullshit."

"Okay, yes."  Samantha was perplexed by his sudden seriousness.

"Would you give up your art for your husband?"  Sam shook her head and Russell's heart sank.  

"No.  No more than you'd give up your acting for your wife."  She could tell by the tight set of his mouth and the tension in his body he was starting to withdraw as she had earlier.  "I'll always paint.  I wouldn't be happy if I didn't."  Sam met his eyes.  "But I'd stop taking commissions and work strictly through a gallery.  It's practically impossible to make a living that way but--"

"But no more traveling?"  

"No more traveling," she echoed quietly.

In the moment of silence that followed, the strange heat between them crackled to life so abruptly they both seemed to flinch.  It was exciting.  And terrifying. 

"We need to talk."  His voice was low and serious.  

"We are talking," she said breathlessly.  The world was spinning and it had absolutely nothing at all to do with the bourbon.

"We need to talk without the bullshit, Sam."  He touched her palm and his eyes searched hers.  "I need for you to let whatever fears you have go and just tell me the truth, even if it's hard.  Can you do that?"

Samantha nodded.  "Yes, I can."

"Good."  

He'd had enough of this pussyfooting around.  He'd made up his mind, and to his way of thinking, it was time to open his mouth and tell her what was on it.