Heart Signs

by Cari Quinn

  Thanks to your big mouth.

  Sam cleared his throat. “Those are really expensive, right?”

  “Not necessarily. Two to three thousand should—”

  “Yeah, no. My budget doesn’t extend that far.” Sam jerked to his feet and motioned to the last row of beds left to try at Mattress-O-Rama. “Let’s give these a shot.”

  With renewed determination, he tested the rest of the beds. And less than an hour later, he walked out as the proud owner of an ultrafirm California king with a complimentary bedframe and free pillows.

  That might’ve cheered him some if he hadn’t gotten home and measured the space he’d allotted for the bed. He’d overestimated how much room he had. Significantly. With his new purchase, his bedroom would pretty much be all bed.

  Not that that was sending any sort of signal or anything.

  He went into the kitchen and grabbed a cold beer then headed back into his room and picked up the package of sheets he’d bought. Spice red in some sort of fancy cotton. Women liked red usually. More than puke-brown anyway.

  The bed would be delivered next Wednesday. Until then he intended to keep busy so he didn’t notice what he wasn’t doing that he usually was at this time. He glanced at the silent phone. Yep, he barely remembered.

  His fingers itched with the urge to call her but he held back. That would happen soon enough. Tonight he’d beat the hell out of his bag, take a cold shower and zone out with a book he’d dug out from the back of his bookcase. It was a self-help book and most likely full of shit but he had nothing better to do.

  “Great attitude, Miller,” he muttered, heading into the bathroom. But when he looked at himself in the mirror, he was smiling.

  It felt good to do something. To take a step forward on his own. Rory had given him a shove but he’d needed it.

  Just like he had a strong suspicion he needed her.

  Ninety minutes later, he’d done his workout and showered and was sprawled on his bed staring at page one of Moving Past Grief: A Survivor’s Story. His mother had bought him this book, along with several others tucked away in his bookshelf. The first paragraph wasn’t bad. Only ten million paragraphs left.

  He glanced at the clock, glanced away again. What was Rory doing tonight? Was she down at Loki’s with her friends? Curled up in her bed sleeping?

  Missing him, like he was already missing her?

  He curled his hand into a fist and felt the familiar pinch of the band on his finger. He’d worn that ring for so long.

  Before he could stop himself, he yanked off the ring and opened the nightstand drawer. He dropped it inside and closed the drawer, oddly spooked. He couldn’t really still hear it rattling around in there. Nope. Just paranoid. He flexed his newly bare finger and reached for his phone while he still had some nerve left.

  It went off in his hand.

  He didn’t look at the readout, afraid to hope. “Hello?”

  “Don’t say anything.”

  His heart started again, beating hard against the walls of his chest. He had to work at keeping the smile on his face out of his voice. Maybe she meant for this to be a serious call.

  All that mattered was that she hadn’t given up on him. Not totally. Thank God.

  “Okay.”

  “I would never force a decision on you. I know it seemed like I was, that I expected you to jump when I snapped my fingers. You have to understand something. I’ve never experienced anything like you have. I don’t get grief.” She gave an impatient breath. “Well, I mean, I get it. Intellectually. But I’ve never lost anyone close to me like you have so I’m learning what that means. We’re just getting to know each other and the likelihood is that I’m going to push you too hard sometimes or say the wrong thing. But I want to try. I want to be your friend if you’ll let me, Sam. And if that’s all we ever are, then I’m okay with that.”

  He waited a beat, making sure she was finished. “Are you?”

  “Yes. I’m a much better friend than a lover. At the sex part, I’m okay. All the rest is a big mess.” Her tone didn’t waver. “So yeah, I want to be friends.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “That’s up to you. But I couldn’t leave things where they were this afternoon. I’m not after you just for sex. I could get that anywhere.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good to know.”

  His dry remark elicited a short laugh, as he’d hoped. “That’s not what I meant. God, I suck at deep conversations.”

  “I think you’re doing just fine.”

  “But you still don’t want to be my friend.”

  He pictured the sexy pout that probably accompanied her statement and stifled a groan. “I didn’t exactly say that. I just wanted to know what my options were.”

  “They’re all open to you. Whatever you want this to be, I’m up for. I’ll do my best to keep things loose and easy and we can have fun together. Go check out that car show we talked about, hang out and have lunch now and then.”

  “Talk on the phone.”

  “Yes. Talk on the phone.” He heard her breath catch. “Like we are right now.”

  “It’s nice.”

  “Very.”

  “So I’m reading this book,” he said lightly, gripping the spine. “It’s about moving past grief.”

  “Oh.” Another of those shuddery breaths filtered over the line. “Is it good?”

  “The first paragraph is. I haven’t managed to read more yet since I’ve been lying here thinking about you and trying to talk myself out of calling you.”

  “Oh,” she said again. Then silence.

  “I was reaching for the phone when you called.”

  “That’s good. Were you going to give me the friend speech too?”

  “No.” He rubbed the book against the muscles suddenly quivering in his thigh. “I was going to tell you I bought a bed. It’s being delivered Wednesday.”

  “That’s wonderful. Unless you did it because I pushed you too far too fast.”

  “I needed a push.”

  “Like you needed a push to cancel your next billboard order?” she asked softly.

  He closed his eyes. “Saw that, hmm?”

  “Yes. And it totally wasn’t necessary. I was out of line.”

  “No, you weren’t. My wife’s gone. I loved her the best I could at the time and yeah, I’ll always wonder what I could’ve done differently. But I don’t need to put up signs to try to atone any longer. Whatever is done is done. As much as I loved them, I have to find a way to let her and my daughters go.” He fisted his hand around the book, barely noticing when he bent back the cover. “I’m going to need help, Rory. I’ve never asked anyone for help before but I’m asking you.”

  “Whatever you need. I’ll do my best, God help you,” she said, giving a watery sniffle. “But I’ll try.”

  “Thank you. I can’t ask for anything more.”

  “Yes, you can.” She cleared her throat. “You can ask me over to see your new bed. As friends,” she added hastily.

  There was no stopping his grin. It filled his face, stretching across it until his cheeks hurt. “Are you busy next Friday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, okay.” Disappointment shot through his system and erased his smile. “Well, then maybe the next—”

  “The next Friday I have a date to go to a car show. Sorry, no dice.” He loved hearing the tickle of laughter in her voice again. Anything else seemed wrong. She was meant to laugh and tease and make love…

  He shifted on the bed at the immediate twitch in his cock. One thing at a time.

  “Well, then why don’t you tell me when you’re free and we’ll go from there?”

  “You didn’t ask who I was seeing next Friday night. You might know him. He’s about six-foot-fifty and has enormous feet and an equally enormous—”

  “I get the picture.” He laughed. “God, Rory, I can’t wait for next Friday night.”

  “Me either. Anticipation’s the sweetest longing I’ve eve
r known,” she murmured. “See you, Sam.”

  Chapter Ten

  Sam,

  I’ve never written one of these sorts of letters before. But since you’re trying new things, I wanted to try too. Maybe it’ll get easier if I keep going. Right now the pen keeps slipping in my sweaty fingers. Uh oh. Not romantic. Or friend-like. Moving on. You’re the best person I’ve ever known and I barely even do yet. I can’t wait to discover more. Like the way you laugh when no one’s watching. The way the muscles quiver in your arms when you whale on that beat-up bag in your apartment. How it will make me feel when you whisper, “Ror,” when we’re lying together in the dark with nothing but each other’s heartbeats for company. I can’t wait.

  ~ Rory

  Rory arrived at Sam’s at seven-thirty Friday night, right on schedule. She clutched a bouquet of flowers in her mittened fist. Not even quite November and it was snowing like a bitch. More sleet than snow right now but the changeover was coming soon.

  It hadn’t been easy finding nice flowers at the grocery store but the idea had been a last-minute one. In her other hand she held two bags, one of which contained what Sam had requested—a pint of her favorite ice cream. Kind of late in the season for it but she was game for anything.

  She knocked on the door. Knocked again when he didn’t answer. The bubble of nerves in her throat turned into a sponge, keeping out all her air. Had he changed his mind? Did he think she expected sex?

  A giggle escaped her frozen lips at the irony. How often did men balk at the possibility a woman would demand sex from them?

  Regardless she wouldn’t demand or even ask. Maybe sweetly cajole, depending on the signals he gave her.

  Right now the signals he was giving weren’t good.

  Music swelled on the other side of the door, something loud and…summery. She grinned. How sexy. A man who rocked out not to Godsmack or Staind but The Beach Boys.

  “Yoohoo, Sam!” She knocked a little harder. “Freezing out here!”

  He didn’t answer but the door next to his opened and the part-time guy from Sam’s shop stepped out and flashed her a grin. Handy they lived in the same building. “Hey, I know you.”

  “Ditto.” She cleared her throat self-consciously, suddenly very aware of her bare legs. Her skirt came down to midthigh but skin as pale as hers probably stood out in the darkness. “Shep, right?”

  “Right. So you’re looking for Sam?”

  “I am. I think he’s home. I hear music.”

  “Way to go, buddy,” he said under his breath, leaning around her to pound on Sam’s door. A minute later it swung inward and Sam filled the doorway.

  She stared, stunned into silence. Had he always been so big? Did he just seem huger because she knew—hoped—she’d get to see all of him tonight?

  Shep smiled and took off. “You are one lucky bastard, man,” he called out as he skidded down the icy steps.

  She glanced at Sam and realized he seemed transfixed by the sight of her legs. “I’m not really dressed for the weat—” she began, only to be tugged inside mid-word, mid-thought, mid-breath as he framed her chilly cheeks in his bear paws and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Everything inside her stuttered to a halt. Tangled nerves smoothed. His firm lips molded to hers and he licked her seam, his tongue hot and tasting of smoke and…marshmallows? Surprise had her opening for him and then he was inside, caressing every part of her though he possessed only her mouth. He stroked her and she felt it in her trembling calves, her tightening nipples, even the hollow of her stomach. And then he drove deeper, playfully battling, and the nerves quivering to life in her pussy focused all her attention on the center of her pleasure.

  “Hi,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over her lips as he eased back.

  She didn’t open her eyes but she smiled, still feeling him on her mouth. In her mouth. “Hi.”

  “You brought me flowers? That I crushed?” His rumble of laughter made her lids lift but only because she wanted to see his face. The soft light coming from the other room warmed his skin, making it glow. Flames flickered in his dark irises and she rose on tiptoe, desperate to kiss him again. “Rory,” he whispered, hauling her into his arms where she belonged.

  Their lips met and clung just like the fingers she wrapped around his strong biceps. “Kiss me. Just kiss me.” He already was but it didn’t seem to matter. She couldn’t take enough of him inside her to quell the ache. She rubbed against him, wild in her need, helpless to fight it off any longer. The bags she held pressed awkwardly into their flesh and the cold container froze off her left nipple. She still couldn’t stop.

  Her hands raced up his arms to his broad shoulders and she arched up to find him stiff and prominent where he met her belly. She couldn’t seem to get a solid grip on him because he kept moving and good goddamn, he was so tall—

  “We’re melting the ice cream. It’s starting to drip.” He spoke against her cheek, his harsh pants heating her already burning face.

  “Not all that’s dripping. Trust me.”

  His groan blew hot over her ear and she shivered. “I’ll find out soon. You’re going to be spread out before me, all wet and open and warm and I’m going to spend hours learning every part of you. Where you’re ticklish, where you’re sensitive. Whether you go crazy when you come or if you go limp. How it feels when you take me in so deep there’s nowhere left to go.” He nipped her lobe. “And then, when you’re sure you can’t take any more, when you’re begging me to stop, I’ll go deeper.”

  Her hands fell off his shoulders as his teeth grazed down her neck. “I’ll cast my vote for limp now,” she said weakly, turning her head so he could reach more.

  He chuckled and worked the flowers out of her grasp, along with the bag containing the ice cream. “These are pretty. Thanks. Carnations. Pink it looks like. Hard to see in this light. Let me get them in water and the ice cream in the fridge.”

  She pushed her trembling fingers through her hair and followed him into the kitchen, her knees still loose and on the verge of giving out. If he could do all that to her with a kiss, what would happen when they finally came together? Would she live through the overload to her senses?

  “They’re pink and yellow,” she said when he flipped on the light and dumped the ice cream in the freezer. “I know they’re girly colors,” she added, worrying the handle of the bag she still carried. “I wanted white but they were out. Thought they’d help cheer this place up—” She broke off when he turned on the water and glanced over at her with a smile. “You know, that smile very effectively tells me when I’ve gone too far. So I’ll just stop while I’m ahead and say you kissed the fucking shit out of me, so what do you expect?”

  “These are perfect. Thank you. Next time I’ll bring you flowers. What are your favorites?”

  All she heard was next time. He could’ve threatened to set her on fire and the only words in her head would’ve been nexttimenexttimenexttime. “Mums. The fat gold and red ones people put on stoops. I always wanted a house with a porch and flower boxes and lots of mums.”

  “I had that once,” he mused thoughtfully, arranging the stems in a coffee mug. He’d already neatly snipped the ends with scissors. “The house with the porch and flower boxes. Not the mums.”

  “I bet it was beautiful,” she said, setting aside the bag that contained not only the letters he’d loaned her, but one she’d written for him.

  “It was. Someday I’ll take you by. It’s for sale now. Some family will make a really happy home there, I bet.”

  The fact that she heard absolutely no pain or regret in his voice was exactly what set her off. Tears flooded her eyes and she rushed forward to press her face against his back. Her arms encircled his waist and she hung on, gratitude and sympathy and need geysering up inside her, incapable of being contained.

  “Hey, hey.” He set aside the mug and turned, tipping up her chin with two fingers. “You told me you weren’t a crier,” he said, cuddling her so close that she felt comple
tely surrounded by him.

  “I wasn’t before I met you. I never cried. Never. But now it keeps pouring out of me.” She brushed her wet face over his neck and breathed in his reassuring scents of motor oil and clean male. “You make me feel things I’ve never…I can’t hold them back. You’re too honest. How can I pretend?” She knew she was babbling. Couldn’t stop. “You need to know what you’re dealing with, Sam.”

  He only held her tighter. “Tell me.”

  “I’m the good-time girl. The one who sleeps with her friends and buys the rounds of beer and springs for extra wings on Saturdays. I don’t fall in love. I don’t know how. And God knows, no one’s ever fallen for me.”

  He didn’t say anything and she was glad. Because she had to get this out and if he spoke it would only make it harder. “Sex filled in the holes. It gave me enough of what I needed to get by until the next time. Then I got that first order for your billboard and I laughed at it. Actually laughed. I thought you were a lovesick sap.”

  Still nothing. Just his hand moving up and down her back.

  “But you kept sending them, and they kept getting more and more personal, like you didn’t care if you ripped your heart out and hung it up on a peg for everyone to see. It was so beautiful and brave and I didn’t even know if I had a heart, never mind know how to share it. If I’d ever had one, it was so scarred over I didn’t think anyone would ever be able to find it. But you did. You found it before we ever even talked that first time.” She jerked back in his arms and stared up into his face, refusing to analyze what she saw there. This wasn’t about him. It was about her coming clean. “My aunt told me I fell in love with you before we ever met,” she whispered, scarcely able to force the words out. “And she was right.”

  He looked at her without saying anything for so long that she began to shake. She shouldn’t have told him. It was too soon. She’d ruined everything. God, she’d lost him before they’d even had a chance.

  She had to try to take it back, to explain. To somehow make the night light and fun again, without this heavy pressure she’d just set upon him. Telling a man she barely knew that she loved him was madness. It was hormones. She hadn’t had sex in a while and everything was getting all scrambled in her brain. Once she got back outside into the fresh air, she’d realize she was blowing everything out of proportion.