by Nicole Vidal
“Why are you telling me?”
“Until you, I haven’t felt the pull of someone else’s heart. Until you, I haven’t wanted to try again.” He leans forward, brushing his lips across mine.
Immediately I rise on my toes, sliding my hands to his face to kiss him. From the times they call and the limited time I spent with them after the gala, I noticed Sam and his family are incredibly close. He puts everyone before himself—everyone apparently includes me and Scarlett now.
“I want you too.”
Sam wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me to the counter. Stepping between my thighs and tilting my face upward, he kisses me, his tongue exploring the depths of my mouth as if it’s the first time. The desire flowing from his kiss is heavy and so easy to succumb to—not that I’m resisting anymore. My resistance started crumbling at the gala when his fingers branded my back.
Sam travels down my neck and outward as far as my shirt will allow. Sliding my fingers beneath his shirt, my fingers meet sculpted peaks and valleys of muscle. His fingers grip the hem of my shirt, lifting. It yanks me back to my senses. “We aren’t alone,” I whisper.
With that reminder, Sam sets his hands on my upper thighs, his thumbs pressing against my core. That slight skim of his fingers makes my muscles clench in anticipation. His forehead meets mine.
“I should get going to make them leave.”
I frown.
“It isn’t what I want, but I don’t see another option right now. Do you?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I like it. Please call me later.”
Slowly, he pulls on his shoes near the door. “Of course. If it gets to be too much, the three of you are welcome to move in with me. I have plenty of space, more privacy, and security.”
“I’ll talk to Scarlett if it gets worse.”
“Thank you, cara mia. I’ll call you later. Also, I’ll be here to pick you up in the morning, but I’ll stay in the car.” Pulling me into his arms, Sam presses his lips to mine, then my forehead before sliding through the door.
For a few long moments, my hand remains on the door.
“Savi, we need to talk.” Scarlett’s voice pulls me out of the memory of sleeping in Sam’s arms and his deliciously talented mouth.
Chapter 7
Samson
Cash: Is that Savannah? Do you need anything?
Billie: I’m so happy for you. Love you bunches.
Auggie: Do you need some food? Caro can bring some over.
Those are the texts from my siblings since Page Six released this morning. We have a sibling group text. If something needs to be private, we don’t talk in there. Rarely do we not share with everyone eventually. Initially, Cash only shared with me about buying the airline only because of my expertise with our family trust.
Me: Yes, that’s Savannah. Currently, about ten photogs are camping out at her apartment.
Me: I’m good, Auggie.
Billie: Is she okay? That will take some time to get used too.
Me: Her sister wasn’t fazed, but it isn’t something I want them to deal with.
Billie: Sister?
Me: She has a younger sister, Scarlett. She’s a student at NYU.
Cash: Do you need to talk to Jacob from Blackthorne?
Me: Not yet. Savannah is like Noelle. I might get away with a dog. I left offering “no comment.”
Auggie: Do you want company today?
Me: No, thanks. I’m good. I’ll bury myself in work.
At my direction, my driver pulls into the garage of my building. I advise him of the schedule for tomorrow, and he leaves. My phone chimes with another text. This one is private.
Cash: If you need to talk, I’m home all day.
Me: Thanks. This is new for me. Paparazzi was never an issue when we were younger.
He knows I mean with Meghan and before our success in business.
Cash: I know. I will say, York Beach is fabulous. No one cares who I am, and it’s peaceful.
Me: I don’t know if Savannah will leave her sister. It’s also crazy soon for me to approach that.
Cash: Can’t you issue your policies from anywhere?
Me: Probably. Worth looking into. Never had anyone worth protecting before.
Cash: I understand. Don’t let the crazy panic about her safety push her away. Trust me, talking to her is a much safer option.
Me: I’ll do my best.
If anyone understands how I’m feeling right now, it’s Cash. Not only was
he New York’s most eligible bachelor, but his wife, Noelle, is the younger sister of one of Hollywood’s hottest commodities, both as an actor and director, Ellis Barnett. While Noelle was somewhat aware of the paparazzi, Savannah and Scarlett aren’t.
After a scalding shower, I change into sweats and a graphic tee before opting to watch football pregame instead of working. My mind races about Savannah, our dates, and my visceral reaction to having her in my arms. Her lips on mine feel as if they were meant to be there. At least a half dozen times, I pick up my phone to call Savannah. I would prefer to have her curled against me watching the game.
“Mr. Morgan, Mr. Ramon Santiago is here to see you,” Jimmy announces through the intercom.
“Thank you. Please send him up.”
Ramon is my childhood nanny’s son-in-law. His wife, Marisol, was always around when we were younger. Before they were married, and twice after, Marisol and I have been intimate. I’m not proud of that fact, but whenever they separated, she would cry on my shoulder. Their relationship is tumultuous at best. Marisol never indicated that Ramon was physically abusive, nor did I see any signs. Emotional abuse, I would bet on.
Ramon steps off the elevator.
“Good afternoon, Ramon. What can I do for you?”
“Marisol has been in an accident. She sent me to bring you to the hospital.” Question after question zips around in my head. I’m surprised that Ramon heeded her request as well.
“Give me five minutes to change. Would you like a drink?”
He shakes his head. “No, thank you.”
After an agonizing car ride, we arrive at Lennox Hill, and Ramon is ushered back to Marisol. Her condition has deteriorated since he left. I settle into a chair to wait for his return.
Me: Cara mia, I’m at Lennox visiting an injured friend. I’ll call you when I can.
I’m not a fan of hospitals in general. Rarely, do good things happen at a
hospital. A young nurse calls my name in the waiting area. I rise from the stiff chair and follow her. The tag on her green scrubs indicates her name is Shelley.
“Mrs. Santiago needs additional surgery. She requested to speak with you beforehand.”
As I round the corner, Shelley ushers me into a small, windowless room. Tubes and wires surround Marisol. She looks tiny in the huge hospital bed and markedly pregnant. The monitor indicates two strong heartbeats, hers and her baby. Nothing like Billie’s, but nonetheless, lacerations mar her olive skin. Tears have fallen down her cheeks, the trails evident.
Marisol raises her hand toward me with significant effort. I sit on the edge of her bed, covering her tiny hand in mine.
“Sam, I’m sorry. She might be yours. Margaux paid me to say it was Ramon’s. I took the money; I needed to secure her future. Ramon knows about us.” Her voice is raspy and cracked as more tears stream from her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t strong enough.”
“I would have taken care of you and the baby if I knew. I would have helped you.”
We’ve been together twice in the last three years. Before then, before her marriage, it was more frequent. Easy, no strings. That isn’t an “us.” It’s a hookup.
“I know, but you and I aren’t meant to be more than friends.”
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“I don’t know.” More sobs wrack her injured body. The monitors beep, and nurses flood into the room.
“Sir, I need you to step outside,” a male staff member informs me.
I back away from her bed as they work on Marisol, my gaze stuck on the monitor, watching the line that follows the baby’s heart rate. A baby that could be my daughter. My emotions ping back and forth from elation, devastation, fear, and downright hatred. I may be a father in a matter of weeks. I didn’t know she was pregnant.
Savannah.
I recently started a relationship with her. My mother has done some atrocious things, but preying on Marisol and possibly keeping my daughter from me is reprehensible. The walls of my chest squeeze as I walk back into the waiting room. As I search for a seat to wait, my newly minted, raven-haired girlfriend rises from a chair with two cups of coffee.
Chapter 8
Savannah
After a few minutes to center my emotions and push away the notion of what could have happened if Sam and I were alone earlier, Scarlett trudges downstairs. Grabbing a water, I lean against the counter. I’ve wanted to be with Sam since the moment we met, but I didn’t know the lengths the media would go to for a story.
Scarlett plods into in the kitchen. “Were you ever going to mention that your boss is uber rich?”
“No, it isn’t important.”
“Savi, your boss is splashed across covers in the corner market and the grocery store.”
“Scar, it doesn’t matter. Yes, he’s wealthy. So what?”
“He can take care of us.”
“Scarlett Mae! We don’t need Sam to take care of us. I have been taking care of us for a long time.” I can’t believe those words came out of her mouth. “Have you ever not had everything you needed? Do you really think you need a man to take care of you?”
“No, but—”
“But what?” Still I’m in disbelief.
“Did you see the reporters outside? He’s a big deal.”
“Yes, he is. I thought there would be more time. Sam warned me; we have been out only twice. Again, so what? I can’t believe you’re truly that ungrateful. If you take anything from this, know you do not need a man to take care of you. I don’t need Sam, or any man for that matter, to pay my way. I only want his time.” And affection, but I would prefer not to talk about that with Scarlett right now. I shake my head before continuing. “Scar, the reporters likely won’t go away until Sam and I decide to acknowledge our relationship—not that I know what that is now.”
“You looked pretty cozy this morning on the couch.”
It felt amazing too. That isn’t the point though. His whole life he has been dealing with protecting his privacy. Now I need to worry about mine and Scarlett’s.
“We fell asleep watching The Avengers probably because we’ve both seen it before. I’m asking you to simply ignore the reporters. If you need to, please say ‘no comment’ and go about your business.”
“Fine. Is there anything else?”
“When I have more time to talk with Sam or if the attention becomes too much, I may need to take additional precautions.”
“Like?” she asks as if at this point I care what her opinion is on the matter. Her statements have made me question how well, or more accurately, how poorly a job I have done raising her on my own.
“If they refuse to leave us alone, we may need to move or get personal security.”
“Yes, please. I’ll take a hot bodyguard with dark hair and light eyes.”
“Scar, this is serious.”
“I’m sure you think it is. Either way, if I need a bodyguard, he must be hot as hell.”
“I can’t with you.”
“Savi, if you need personal security in addition to the smoking-hot man who slept on the couch last night, I’m not feeling bad for you.”
I agree with her assessment. Sam is beyond gorgeous. His dark hair and eyes are delicious. That doesn’t even begin to consider the sculpted, hard muscles I have only barely touched with my fingertips.
“Savi. Earth to Savi.”
“Sorry, please do what I ask about the reporters and please don’t make it harder by sharing the information with your friends.”
“Fine, I have homework to do.” She walks away with a snicker. Goodness knows what that means.
Sam: Cara mia, I’m at Lennox visiting an injured friend. I’ll call you when I can.
Needing a reason to leave, I decide sitting with Sam is as good a one as any. I tell Scarlett I’m leaving and step outside. Walking though the photographers to get to Sam doesn’t even cross my mind. I want to support him, comfort him.
Seeing the anguish on his face as he steps into the waiting room is heart-wrenching. It tells me I made the right choice.
He motions to a small alcove off to our right. I follow him there. Setting the cups down, I encircle his waist with my arms. His body is taut and fraught with tension. While the tension doesn’t dissipate completely, it lessens some while I hold him in the dim room.
“What are you doing here? You braved the reporters outside your apartment for me?”
“I thought you might want some company. I can leave if you would prefer.”
“Yes. No.” He draws his fingers through his hair. “I need to process everything. Will you sit with me?”
“Of course.”
We sit on the sofa side by side, his leg bouncing on the floor.
I set my hand on his thigh, stilling him. Heat from his skin warms my fingertips. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He opens his mouth to speak but immediately closes it. The look in his eyes tells me somehow this could affect me. “Marisol is my childhood nanny’s daughter. She was in a car accident earlier today. She and I have been close since we were kids. Her parents didn’t mind that she spent time with my siblings and me. Truthfully, it was mostly me. She and Ramon married about four years ago—”
The doors across from us slam against the frame with a harsh bang.
“This is your fault!” an averaged-sized man yells at Sam, approaching him in anger.
Sam rises from the couch, stepping in front of me. I don’t understand why until the man throws a punch, but Sam blocks it. He fends off two more punches before the man steps back.
He mumbles, “Marisol is gone,” before crumbling to the floor.
“What about the baby?” Sam asks so softly with a hint of fear in his tone.
“She was born via C-section a little bit ago. They’re working on her.”
“Mr. Morgan,” a nurse calls from the doorway that Ramon exited. The look on his face is hard to discern.
“Savannah, I’ll explain everything. Please wait.” He leans down and kisses me softly. Anguish and anger roll off him as he follows her back toward…. Toward what? Didn’t the man say she died.
“Mr. Santiago, this way please.” A male nurse escorts him through a different door.
I lower myself onto the bench, finish my now cold coffee, and flip through an outdated InStyle magazine from the side table. Three issues later, the doors open and Sam walks through, visibly shaken.
Chapter 9
Samson
I’m an intelligent man, but what happens now? I have so many questions. Why is Ramon out here if the baby is still being worked on? Does he know for sure she’s mine? In the next few days, I’ll know whether I’m a father. Shelley leads me back to an exam room to take a DNA test. Never did I ever think I would be in this position. Thankfully, Marisol requested the test before her surgery. They won’t let me see Marisol, but I’m able to peek at her little girl through the nursery window. She’s perfect, wrapped in a pink blanket, wearing a hat with a huge bow. Even though she was born a little early, the only thing she needs right now is supplemental oxygen. Shelley, even though she shouldn’t have, indicates that she should be out of the woods in the next day or so. Our little girl. Marisol is gone. My little girl. All these thoughts and emotions in my head and in my heart, while knowing I need to tell Savannah. Then I need to have a serious conversation with my mother and completely cut her out of my life. She’ll never see me, this gorgeous bundle of joy, or woman, or future child I’m lucky enough to have
in my life.
I’m done.
Simply done.
Margaux Morgan has gone too far with Billie, Cash, and now me. It begs the question, what has she done or what will she do to Auggie.
As gently as possible, Shelley indicates I need to leave. I’m sure she broke some rules allowing me to stand here.
“Thank you, Shelley.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Morgan.”
“Please, it’s Sam.”
“I hope things work out for her. She’s lovely. I’m sorry you found out she may be yours today of all days. May your friend rest in peace.”
“Thank you, Shelley. Marisol was a wonderful friend. I would have been involved from the beginning if I knew.”
She nods and points me to the exit. As I step through the doors, Savannah’s gorgeous smile greets me. I’m about to find out how much loss I can endure in one day. While Savannah and I have only technically been on two dates, we’ve been coworkers and friends for almost a year.
As I approach her, she rises from the chair, her arms circling around me tightly.
“Will you come to my place with me? I need to finish explaining and share something with you.” Even though I wasn’t supposed too, I took a photo of the most beautiful baby girl I’ve ever seen, one who may be my daughter.
“Sure, but can we order some food once we get there?”
I nod, intertwine my fingers with hers, and step into the elevator. “How did you get here?”
“Uber.”
The ride to my building is largely quiet aside from ordering food. Savannah’s fingers stay twisted with mine.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan,” Jimmy says as I step through the glass doors.
“Jimmy, good afternoon. This is Savannah Clemons. She’s already on the list. I would like to add her sister, Scarlett Clemons. Both are welcome here even if I’m not.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Also, some food will be delivered in the next thirty minutes or so. Please send it up.”
