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shape of her face and said something that made the slightly pudgy girl smile.
    Eric had to give Sam that much. She was kind to the kids although they still treated her with a star-struck adulation that set his teeth on edge. She was only a person. No better than the rest of them.
    He felt in the back pocket of his jeans for the letter that had arrived today.
    “Hey, guys,” he called to the dying-of-boredom boys. They whirled as if he’d saved them from a fate worse than death. Chuckling, he understood all too well. To a guy, discussing girls’ hairstyles was pretty deadly.
    “What’s up, Eric?” Lanky Jeremy scraped a chair out from the table to make room for their leader.
    “Got some news today.” He unfolded the letter and placed it on the table. “From Africa.”
    Sam, who had been describing some bizarre thing called shine serum, stopped in mid-sentence and looked up at him. He hadn’t intended to notice her at all tonight and yet, here he was soaking in the way sprigs of blond hair framed her face and brought out the beauty in her gray eyes.
    “Africa?” she asked, tone eager. “From your orphanage?”
    Technically it wasn’t his orphanage anymore though he’d founded and built the place. The missions’ board was in charge. “From the boys I’m trying to adopt.”
    Three of the teenagers in the group had been adopted. Those three always wanted up-to-the-minute details on Eric’s process to adopt Matunde and Amani. They huddled around his back, staring down at the letter. Telephone or Internet contact with the new director was spotty at best, so every time he received a letter from the boys, he was pumped for days.
    To his surprise, Sam rose, too, and came around to his side of the table. “Matunde and Amani?”
    His surprise doubled. “You remember them?”
    “Of course I do. I have a picture of them that I treasure.”
    “Oh, right.” The photo she used for publicity. That was why she remembered his boys.
    Sam pressed in beside him, leaning onto the table to read the letter along with the others. Right at his elbow, she brought with her the luscious scent of some perfume that probably cost enough to fund the orphanage for a year. And as annoyed as he tried to be about that, his senses couldn’t help appreciating the warm, feminine fragrance or the way her slender arm grazed the side of his.
    “Did you say you’re adopting them?” Sam asked, turning her head so that their faces were only inches apart.
    A hitch in his chest, Eric was trapped between Sam, the table and a huddle of kids. He couldn’t escape if he wanted to—and he most definitely wanted to. Yes, indeed. He needed to get far away from Miss Rich and Famous.
    “Trying to. International adoptions are long and complex. The rules change constantly.”
    “So what are the rules saying right now? Can you or can you not bring the boys to America?”
    She seemed genuinely interested, just as she had in Africa. Why was it that the Sam he talked to was not the Sam he knew her to be?
    “The government officials who will make the decision know me, at least by reputation. They’re the same people I’m working with to develop the new African adoption program for Tiny Blessings.”
    “So, when are the boys coming?”
    “I don’t know. These things take time.”
    “But why? They’re orphans, alone in the world. You love them. They should just get on an airplane and come.” She dragged out the chair beside him and sat down, turning to prop a fist on her beautiful cheekbone.
    His pulse, already misbehaving, skittered dangerously.
    Eric looked around and realized that the kids had moved away. A clutch of girls shot sly glances at him. One giggled when he caught her staring.
    What was that all about?
    Bewildered, he returned his attention to Sam’s question. “If all goes well, I’m shooting for Christmas.”
    “Nothing will go wrong. You’ll get them. You and the boys are going to have the best Christmas ever.”
    He wanted that