‘It’s always been easier for me to travel than Mitch and Tom. Mitch had Rachel, now he has Sophie. Tom wasn’t full time at the vineyard until about a year or so ago.’
Ellie narrowed her eyes. ‘Amy hinted at that. I did wonder why he chose to work elsewhere.’
Sam waved her curiosity away. ‘It’s a long story.’
She grinned. ‘I’m getting the impression there’re a few of those around here.’
He laughed. ‘Your impressions are correct.’
Ellie glanced at her wristwatch and frowned. ‘I better head home. I don’t want to waste my only day off this week sleeping.’
His heart sunk. He didn’t want her to leave. ‘How are you getting home?’
‘The courtesy bus. Incredibly convenient.’
They operated a courtesy bus for the Vineyard’s restaurant each Friday and Saturday night. The driver was happy to work some overtime to see the guests here tonight home safely.
‘And you feel safe going home alone at this time?’
She shrugged. ‘Not entirely. But I’m a big girl. Besides, I don’t have many other options.’
He arched a brow, wanting to ask her to come home with him. But the timing wasn’t right. ‘Do you want me to hitch a ride with you, keep you company, and make sure you get inside safely?’ The longer he could spend with her, the happier he would be.
She smiled but shook her head. ‘Thank you for the kind offer, but you don’t have to do that.’
‘I don’t mind. Honestly.’
She shook her head again. ‘You see, Sam, the thing is, I’m a little drunk, and I don’t think I’d have the willpower, if you were to come with me back to my place, not to invite you in.’
His lips parted on a deep breath inwards, her admission sending signals and lots of hot blood to parts of his body he really needed to behave. ‘I totally understand.’
‘So,’ she said with a grin, hands resting on her thighs.
‘Let me walk you to the bus. Make sure you at least get on that okay.’ He took her hand and lingered by her side while she said goodnight to Amy and Tom, then Mitch and the other guests she met tonight.
They grabbed her coat on the way outside. The night was freezing cold. A dusting of snow covered the ground. The grass was frozen crisp and crunched under their shoes.
A couple of other guests had used the time to leave too and climbed into the bus. Sam lingered with Ellie outside in the shadows, not wanting to say goodbye quite yet. ‘I’ll give you a call, and we can catch up?’
‘I’d like that.’ White puffs of steam streamed from between her lips as she spoke.
He couldn’t let her leave without another kiss. He stepped closer, a hand to her soft cheek, already cold from the night air, the other gently resting at her nape, and kissed her until he knew if he went a fraction longer, he’d never be able to say goodnight.
His chest was tight with need and confusion as he pulled away. ‘Good night, Ellie.’
She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and sighed. ‘Good night, Sam.’
‘Text me when you get home, so I know you’re okay?’
She nodded. ‘I will.’
With a wave, she climbed into the bus with the other guests. He slid the door shut and they drove away. He watched the bus until the taillights could no longer be seen in the misty darkness.
Twenty-five minutes later, after he’d gone back inside, his phone buzzed with a text.
ELLIE: I’m home. Thank you for an amazing night.
He grinned, feeling like an intensely smitten teenager.
SAM: And thank you too. Sweat dreams xx
ELLIE: They will be now xx
Chapter 17
Before last night, Ellie had not been intimate with a man for one long year—not a single hand-hold, kiss, heavy-pet, nothing even close to sex.
This morning as she lay in bed, running her finger over her lips feeling the stamp of sensation left there by Sam’s mouth, that fact sat hot and heavy in every cell of her body.
Sam had ignited her, set every fibre, every synapse and nerve-ending alight, and she wanted more.
Baby steps, seriously? What was she thinking? She told the sexiest man she’d ever met, who also happened to kiss like a movie star, that they should take baby steps, and wondered why she now wanted what she couldn’t have so much he occupied her dreams and every thought.
He. Sam. Good god, the way he kissed her last night. Never, ever, ever, had Ellie been kissed like that as though her mouth was the most delectable morsel and Sam was starved.
As the buoyancy of new beginnings buzzed through her muscles, she reached for her phone to check the time.
Almost eleven am, a good sleep in after a big night.
But her belly flipped to see that there was a message waiting for her—sent thirty minutes ago.
From Sam.
SAM: Good morning. I had a great time last night. I was hoping you could join me for a late lunch today. My place. Around 2ish?
Ellie excitedly squealed and flung back against her pillows, her smile growing wider and wider. She had nothing better to do than to spend the afternoon with Sam.
Is there anything better to do ?
And late lunch was good, leaving her time to do her Sunday chores like her pile of washing, perhaps a bit of yoga, a little grocery shopping for the week ahead. A late lunch wouldn’t end too late either, avoiding the implication of sex being on the table.
Although, sex on the table with Sam didn’t sound too bad at all.
She laughed out loud at her own thoughts, then quieted when her high-pitched cackle echoed off her bedroom walls so she heard it fresh in her own ears. My god, he’s making me bloody delirious.
Normally, she’d wait a while before responding, but she’d already made him wait half an hour, so she punched out a reply.
ELLIE: Good morning. Sounds like fun. Do you need me to bring anything? Dessert, perhaps?
His reply took no time at all.
SAM: Just yourself. Everything else is covered. Do you need me to pick you up?
ELLIE: No, I’m right to drive. See you at 2 .
SAM: Looking forward to it.
Stepping out the car, boots landing on soft snow, the freezing mountain winds lashed at Ellie. She pushed her hands into her jeans pockets and rushed up the few stairs to Sam’s front door. A concoction of nerves and excitement tangled in her belly.
Sam opened the door, greeting her with a smile and a kiss on her cheek with toasty warm lips. He smelled of fire smoke that promised heat. He wore jeans and a thin, grey v-neck jumper—designer cut. This guy had amazing dress sense. But with a body like his, it wouldn’t take much to look incredible.
He ushered her inside and led her through to the living room. The warmth of a roaring fireplace wrapped around her like a blanket, the outside chill forgotten.
She’d not been inside his house before: masculine in every sense—from the distressed leather lounges, the big television, the lack of ornaments, prints and feminine touches. Nothing at all like her own home.
But as long as the kitchen and toilet were clean, she didn’t care where else it lacked.
He took her jacket and hung it up in a cupboard in the small foyer, though she still wore a light jumper underneath.
‘Would you like a drink? Wine? Coff—tea?’
She grinned. ‘Tea, please. After last night, I need to treat my liver a little kinder.’
He laughed. ‘Yes. We all need days like that.’
‘I don’t know how you manage to live and work around the most delicious wines.’
Again he laughed as he pressed a hand to her lower back, urging her forward through to the kitchen. ‘Dad, I guess, set an example for us. He barely ever over-indulged. I can’t say so much for myself in my younger years, though. But, when you’ve got something on tap, it takes a lot of desire out of it.’
She nodded in agreement. At the moment, she was one to know about the desire that was created by putting som
ething off limits.
He flicked on the jug to boil while she took a seat at one of the timber stools sitting opposite the bench. Off to the side was a gorgeous timber box, which he pulled in front of her. He opened the lid revealing an array of all different types of boutique teas: French peach blossom; green tea, jasmine and apple; chamomile with honey and cinnamon.
With a grin, she met his gaze. ‘Wow. You just happened to have this on hand?’
He chuckled, and the deep rough sound moved through her like honey. ‘I bought it when I was in Melbourne last. I just haven’t had the opportunity to invite you inside for a drink since.’
Warmth blossomed in her chest to realise he was thinking about her while he was away. ‘I’m impressed,’ she whispered.
He grinned. ‘Good. Like I said, my flowers are my arsenal. With you, I have to think outside the box.’
She nodded towards the tea chest. ‘Or inside one, in this case.’
He smiled, showing gorgeous straight white teeth.
His eyes were bright. And Ellie was besotted.
‘So what variety takes your fancy?’
‘Hmmm,’ she said, lingering over the myriad types. ‘I think I like the sound of the green tea with jasmine and apple.’
‘Great choice.’
She tilted her head to her shoulder and narrowed her eyes. ‘I bet you’ve never even tried green tea in your life?’
He shook his head, grinning. ‘Never.’
A laugh burst from her throat. ‘Thought so.’
‘If it doesn’t start with C and end with O F F E E, I won’t touch it.’
She tapped the side of her head. ‘I’ll have to remember that.’ Looked like she would have to do some shopping of her own.
The jug finished boiling. He spooned tea leaves into a china teapot, then replaced the lid to allow it to steep. From in the cupboard, he gathered an English teacup and saucer decorated in a pink and red floral print. Absolutely exquisite.
The fine china handle was a stark contrast to his enormous hands as he placed it on the bench.
She would have thought initially that he went out to buy this too, but on closer inspection, the slight hint of discolouration inside the cup and some small patches where the paint had faded on the outside, showed this set was well-seasoned.
‘Before you ask, it was my grandmother’s tea set.’
‘It’s gorgeous. I might have to come over more often for tea.’
He arched a brow. ‘I’d like that.’
Never had a man gone to this much effort for her, nor allowed his masculinity to be threatened by serving her tea in a dainty cup rather than a big, thick-handled clay mug.
Funny thing was, the fact that Sam had the courage, no not even the courage, but the insight and nature, to do this, made his masculinity shine even more.
‘So what time did you finish up last night?’ she asked as Sam moved around the kitchen fixing himself an espresso.
‘I think it was three when I got home. Some very messy dance moves were on display by the end of the night, let me tell you.’ He chuckled. ‘And not just from me.’
Ellie laughed. ‘I can only imagine.’
‘You were lucky you escaped when you did.’
‘Sounds like it. You weren’t too seedy this morning?’
‘I wasn’t in the best health. But after a couple of litres of water, two strong coffees and a Berocca, I’m all good. How about you?’
She shrugged. ‘Can’t complain.’ In fact, waking up after a night of kissing Sam, plus a text on her phone hinting that there was perhaps a little more to come, left her feeling better than she had in a long while.
He nodded to the teapot. ‘Do you want me to pour you a cup?’
She shook her head, pressed her hand to the teapot lid. ‘I can manage. Thank you.’
He winked; she real-life swooned.
Ellie poured a steaming cup of tea, while Sam poured frothy milk into his double shot of espresso. Double shot because she took note. She wanted to get it right if she ever had to make him one.
‘So what’s on the menu? You cooking?’
He grinned. ‘My good mate runs a cattle station. Jimmy? He was at the party last night.’
She recalled a Jimmy—a short, stocky guy with blond hair and blue eyes. ‘Yeah, I met him.’
‘Well, he said he’d just slaughtered …’ he trailed off. ‘Sorry, too much information?’
She shook her head. ‘Not at all. I’m pretty sure I know where meat comes from.’
He laughed. ‘I never know with city people. I’ve literally had a girl in tears before by saying something similar.’
‘I’m tough. I can handle it.’
‘Good. Well, he had some beautiful, fresh grass-fed rib fillet.’
Her stomach rumbled. ‘Sound so good.’
He nodded, a grin curling his lips. ‘Excellent. I’m going to season it, then grill it on the barbeque and sear marrow onto it with a hot iron.’
Ellie’s mouth fell open, and her stomach rumbled again. ‘I am really really glad I accepted your invitation for lunch.’
He released a relieved breath. ‘I had no idea if you’d like it. I knew you must eat meat because you had chicken last night at the engagement party, but beyond that …’
‘I eat anything. Literally.’ Then an image of her and Sam eating in a way that didn’t exactly imply lunch, or food for that matter, flashed in her mind. And she gasped. ‘I meant food-wise.’ The worst double-entendre ever.
A cheeky smile and a couple of raised eyebrows. ‘Good to know.’
Her hands went to her neck, covering what was certainly red-flushed skin. He hid his smile behind his mug as he sipped at his coffee.
She cleared her throat, then drank from her teacup. It had lovely strong tannins from the green tea, a beautiful floral note from the jasmine, and a hint of fresh sharpness from the apple. ‘Yuuuuum.’
‘The tea? Or are we still lingering on the last topic?’
Her cheeks flushed doubly hot. ‘The tea. Definitely the tea.’
Again that wink. Again that swoon. ‘Just making sure. Let me put some music on.’ He left the room and within moments, a soulful song sounded.
‘Do you often cook for women you date?’ she asked when he joined her again. Maybe it was transgressing a tacit line, but she did want to know who she was getting involved with here.
He shook his head. ‘Not really. Oh, I have cooked for Amy. And many times for Tom. But they’re family, you know?’
She nodded, hiding her satisfied smile behind her teacup. She didn’t mind being an exception, not one bit.
He lowered his mug to the bench and sighed. When she met his eyes, he was frowning.
Her stomach twisted. Had she delved too deep too quickly?
‘There’s, ah, something I need to tell you.’
Again, her stomach free-fell, like it had dived off a cliff and was on a fast path to the rocks below.
‘I respect that you want to know me, and I guess that means knowing my past too.’
A part of her wanted him to shut up right now and not say anything that was going to burst this happy bubble she was currently in. But hadn’t that always been the way—to wear rose-coloured glasses, only to be so let down when reality set in and the men she hero-worshipped turned out not even close to heroes.
Sam opened his mouth to speak, shut it. He had another big gulp of his coffee, then rubbed his chin with his palm. ‘I have had a few …’ He looked away. When he met her gaze again, his expression was remorseful, perhaps even sheepish. ‘Sexual partners,’ he finally managed.
She nodded slowly, allowing that miserable nugget of information to sink in. ‘I see.’ The nugget was clunky and bitter.
‘I don’t want to hide that because I think it’s important for you to know the truth and to be able to make up your own mind about that.’
This confession was something she had already known, but hearing it from his own mouth made her throat feel tight and
sickly. But Ellie always was one to create wonderful imaginings and storylines of people in her head, and then be utterly shattered when they didn’t live up to her expectations.
She had tried not to do this with Sam. She had observed him, his actions, his words, and judged him based on that, not on grandiose self-made ideals.
No-one was perfect. She knew that herself. She had her own past. If she judged him on this, then he had every right to do the same to her. And she wouldn’t like that because she had learned from her past and become a better person. Who was she to doubt that he, too, had done the same?
Ellie knew how difficult it was to be the person you had blossomed into while everyone else around you still believed you to be the person you were. ‘How many are we talking about here?’
His frown deepened and a touch of shame filled his eyes. ‘I don’t keep a tally, Ellie.’
‘Ball park.’ If he said a hundred, or even half of that, she was out of here. That showed an utter lack of respect for himself and for women.
She held her breath, awaiting the answer.
He shrugged, shook his head. ‘I … I don’t know. Maybe … thirty.’
She nodded slowly.
Thirty?
Maybe thirty.
She sighed. Compared to her six sexual partners, thirty was high. She didn’t feel like she had the years behind her to notch up that many, but then again, when she was constantly in long-term relationships, it made it difficult to accumulate bed friends.
‘Thirty,’ she whispered, staring at her tea. Doing the math. If he was twenty-eight and assuming he lost his virginity at eighteen, then that was what? Thirty divided by ten. She was never good at maths.
Three a year. That wasn’t so bad. She lifted her head. ‘Okay.’
He narrowed his eyes, anticipation in the set of his mouth. ‘And?’ he said after a long stretch of silence.
‘And, I don’t know, Sam. I don’t like it. Of course I don’t. But I can’t change it. Should I beat you up over it? No. I guess I’m just happy, well not exactly happy, but I like that you had the guts to tell me the truth.’
He bit down on his bottom lip, then rubbed his chin. ‘You can see past that, do you think?’
The Sweetest Secret Page 15
