“It’s great. I’ve done a lot of traveling, met the most incredible people, learned there’s still a hell of a lot to be accomplished. My dad wasn’t all that happy about my leaving, but he taught me a ton, and I’ll always be grateful to him for giving me the opportunities I’ve had.”
“Are you getting along better with him now?”
“Not exactly. But I’m trying to mend things. Without his guidance, I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in today. Of course I don’t have much time for a social life either.” He paused to catch his breath. “So, what about your dad? I seem to remember you telling me he ruled with an iron fist. How’d he take your defecting?”
A lump lodged in her throat at Dean’s question. Chills settled on every inch of her skin. “He’s cut me out of his life and is certain I’ll fail.”
“Sam, I’m sorry.” Dean’s hand reached out to hers and held it protectively atop the table.
The gesture calmed her like nothing else could. She’d felt so safe and secure with Dean during their summer together. Felt appreciated for the first time in her life. He’d protected her fiercely—from the weather, from treacherous terrain, even from a bear. But most of all, from her own fears. He’d given her more that summer than she thought she’d deserved.
“It’s okay. I’m fine. I’m happy with my decision, and that’s all that matters.” She blinked a few extra times to push back the tears forming. “So, is Monument and Heritage Recovery strictly focused on historical preservation?”
He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “No. We plan to venture into urban planning and include newer sites that have become dilapidated due to conflict or Mother Nature.”
“Well, from what I’ve read, you’re off to a stellar start.” Dammit. She hadn’t meant to remind him she’d been aware of his success.
“It’s hard work, but I love it.” He took a long sip of his drink, never taking his attention off her.
Samantha loved it, too. Which meant it was time to finish her drink and be on her way. If she risked spending any more time with Dean, come Monday morning she might regret winning the Route 66 contract. Because she would win it. The consequences of losing—both personally and professionally—were too devastating to think about.
You’ll fall flat on your face. Make no name for yourself. You’re nothing without me. The last words her father had spoken to her still stung. A shiver rolled through her, and she again fought back the moisture threatening to fill her eyes. She’d make it on her own, prove to herself she didn’t need her dad’s help to succeed. And prove to him his expectations were dead wrong.
“You okay?” Dean’s concerned voice freed her from the painful thoughts she couldn’t let go of.
But it also reminded Sam that she didn’t completely trust the man sitting across from her. He might look and sound sincere, and she hated the thought that this meeting might be professional and not personal, but maybe he’d only invited her out because he wanted to soften her up so she’d spill Global Site information.
“Fine, just tired. I think I should head back to my hotel now.”
Dean lifted his glass, drank down the ale in two large gulps, then wiped his top lip with a brush from his hand. “I’ll walk you.”
“That’s not necessary. It was great seeing you again. Good luck with everything.” Despite her parting words, she stayed glued to her seat.
A moment of charged silence passed between them. Was she really going to walk away from him, just like that?
She hated him for leaving her all those summers ago without a second thought. Hated that he hadn’t called to say hello or asked to keep in touch. He’d simply hopped on an airplane never to be heard from again. He’d left her ruined. Her heart in shambles.
Contemplation crossed his face. His eyes held hers with something that resembled regret. “Look, Sam. I don’t want to say good-bye. Not yet. I was wondering—”
“Dean, buddy! How’s it going?” A casually dressed guy with handsome features approached their table, slapping Dean on the back.
Dean looked up, his lips pursing at the interruption before acknowledging the man with a smile. “Hey, Joe, it’s good. How about you?”
“I’m great, man.” He looked from Dean to Samantha. It looked like curiosity, or perhaps surprise, that crossed his face before the corners of his mouth rose to meet his big round eyes. “Sorry to interrupt, but some of us are having a drink and thought you might like to join us.”
“Well, uh…”
“Come on, dude, we haven’t seen you in what, six months?”
“It’s okay with me,” Samantha said, not wanting to keep him from his friends. She’d politely excuse herself before he could get out whatever it was he’d been ready to say.
“Maybe just for a few minutes.” His eyebrows lifted, and he looked at Sam expectantly.
“Great. Joe Kincaid.” He thrust out his palm toward Samantha.
“Samantha Bennett,” she said, shaking his hand.
When Joe released her, Dean rose from his seat and picked up her hand without giving her a chance to argue. As they stepped away from the table, he waggled his eyebrows in a display of flirtatious affection and total disregard for her wish to leave.
She thought about speaking up, but only for a split second, because much to her chagrin, she relished the feel of his fingers intertwined with hers. The contact sent a zing of pleasure ricocheting around her insides. The gesture was intimate and comfortable, like they’d held hands thousands of times before.
Samantha liked it. She liked it a lot.
Dean led her to the other side of the bar where a group of young men and women was busy talking, drinking and…kissing.
“No social life, huh?” she asked, eyeing the couple making out.
He looked back at her with a little-boy grin that shouted mischief-maker. “Really nothing to speak of. That’s just a kissing game that Joe and his friends like to play.”
Her own words coming back at her made her chuckle. “Kissing—”
“Hey Deany boy!” Shouts from a couple of the guys rang out as he and Samantha joined the group. The delighted looks on the women’s faces didn’t go unnoticed by Samantha, but she also observed disappointment when they saw his hand clasped around hers.
“Hey everyone, this is Samantha.”
The small crowd smiled and greeted her with hellos and waves. There was only one vacant seat left, so Dean sat and pulled Sam down onto his lap.
This was so not the position she should be in. But all eyes had swung to them, and she would not falter in front of strangers. Not completely sure what to do to keep her balance, she put her arm around Dean’s neck.
Being so close to him, touching him, sent a rush of warmth through her.
Crap, she was in trouble.
Dean wrapped one arm around her waist while the other fell across her thighs. They looked at each other, their faces only inches apart. If Samantha had to guess, she’d say the grin he wore meant he was pretty happy with their position.
“Two minutes, fifteen seconds,” someone shouted, drawing Samantha’s attention away from Dean.
The group shifted their eyes to the couple who had just finished kissing. They were each guzzling a glass of water while cheers and jeers passed among the witnesses. When they finished drinking, sly smiles spread across their faces.
“Not the best time, not the worst,” Joe’s booming voice acknowledged as he stood and looked around. “Who’s game to try next?”
Samantha leaned her head to Dean’s ear and whispered, “Try what?”
“How about Dean and Samantha?” someone shouted, followed quickly by more votes for the pair.
“What do you say, Dean?” Joe looked at them with raised eyebrows. “Up for a little hot-sauce challenge?”
“I’m game if she is.” Dean regarded Samantha’s quizzical expression then added, “Hot sauce is a kissing game where we each get hot sauce on our tongues, then make out to see how long we can last.”
“Aww, come on!” someone from the crowd shouted.
“You chicken?” Dean asked.
“What? No. I just see no reason to kiss you if I don’t have to.”
“I’ll do it!” a female voice shouted.
Samantha tried to stand, but Dean held tightly to her waist. “I’m not doing this with anyone but you.”
She relaxed against him. He always knew exactly what to say. This time, though, so did she. “Sorry, Dean. I’ve got to go.”
He cupped her cheek and looked deep into her eyes. “One kiss, Sam. I dare you.”
Damn him. If she didn’t agree, he’d think he won something here, and she couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let him beat her over a silly kiss. Especially if he thought his kiss would distract her from the reason she was in town.
“Fine. I’m game.”
Whistles and sighs echoed around their corner of the bar while Joe grabbed two bottles of hot sauce off the table. “The rules are”—he looked at Sam as he spoke—“time starts when I say go. Your lips must stay in contact. Tongue is optional. As soon as you part, time stops. Ready?”
With eyes stuck on each other, they nodded. Joe stood over them with a bottle of sauce in each hand and they simultaneously tilted their heads back to receive several drops on their tongues.
“Go!”
The second Dean’s lips touched hers, she immediately forgot about the hot sauce. Not that it bothered her to begin with. She loved spicy food, but the burning sensation on her tongue held no comparison to the burn sweeping through her body as his lips pressed against hers.
The kiss started off slow, a gentle connection that reminded her of the first time he’d taken her mouth to his. Just as they’d paused to catch their breath while hiking up Yosemite Falls Trail, he’d gingerly leaned in for a taste. Something about the way the perspiration glistened on her lips, he’d told her, had drawn him in.
This time they weren’t alone, but as Dean’s mouth rubbed against hers, she lost all sense of time and place. His lips tasted sweeter than sugar. His touch awakened an eagerness she never wanted to give up.
She opened her eyes to take a peek at him and found his electric baby blues on hers. She blinked, hoping to communicate how much she was enjoying this, and felt the corners of his mouth lift.
The hand Dean had around her waist smoothed its way up her back, stroking her spine. It came to a rest at her neck, his fingers playing with her hair before they inched up to cup the back of her head. She closed her eyes as Dean brought her face tighter to his and parted her lips.
The thrust of his tongue in her mouth made her breasts tingle and a feel-good vibration settle in the pit of her stomach. He stroked the inside of her mouth, the combination of his taste and the hot sauce setting off pulses of pleasure from her head to her feet.
Dean continued to dictate the tempo of the kiss, pulling his tongue back so their lips could close for a quick breath before opening wide again and kissing her like he couldn’t get enough.
Music Sam hadn’t noticed before touched her ears. The soulful sound with a steady bass line influenced their rhythm. The swirl of their tongues, the tilt of their heads, the lean of her body into his, followed the soothing hum of the music and washed over her. Everything else around her faded—the voices, the bodies, the clinking of glasses, the smell of fried food—the only thing in the room was the two of them. So much for thinking Dean meant nothing.
Never letting up on the sweet pressure of the kiss, Samantha steadied her hands on Dean’s shoulders while she lifted her body from his lap. His eyes flew open, but she could see the confident, trusting stare he imparted.
That, and a good dose of lust.
His hands skimmed down her sides to her waist as she turned her body to face him. A moment later his hands were splayed around her bottom as she widened her stance and sat back down on his lap, now in a straddle position.
She relaxed her hands, let her arms fall around his neck. She shimmied in close, eliminating any space between their hips and torsos. The bar music that created a synchronized trance wafted back to her ears, and now with their bodies tight against each other she could feel their heartbeats in harmonious union.
As if he could feel it, too, Dean sucked harder. The gentle roll of his tongue disappeared. A whimper escaped her lips, a groan his. Her heart rate sped faster as their mouths entertained each other’s with a deeper connection.
His body felt so good that she didn’t care if she ever came up for air. She wanted this kiss to last forever. She knew after this weekend she’d never see him again and wanted to linger on his mouth for as long as possible, hoping he’d remember her taste as much as she’d remember his.
Oh God, how she wanted more, though. She wanted to nibble and feast on much more than his mouth. And she wanted him to devour her. A craving to have his naked body atop her, under her, moving inside her, intensified, and it sent potent heat waves down her spine. If she could lock them in a time warp right now, she would, forever losing herself to his hold.
Because this wasn’t a kiss between strangers.
This was a kiss between long-lost lovers becoming intimately familiar with each other again, desiring not only the physical contact but also something real. Samantha’s mind became a blur of happiness. Her brain registered a surge of rapture. She couldn’t have moved her body away from his if her life depended on it.
Forget being turned on. This man, this kiss, encompassed everything she ever wanted. The exquisite touch sent her mental faculties colliding with her sexual desires. She thrust her tongue deeper, pressed her mouth firmer, tried to extinguish any space between them. She kissed him with her entire heart and soul.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard, “Four minutes, fifteen seconds.”
They both shifted, as if they’d held their breath underwater and needed to finally come up for air. Knowing they’d significantly beaten the last couple’s time, they broke the intense suction and the buzz holding her body hostage faded. Then with eyes heavy on each other, they parted lips.
She heard the hoots and hollers around them, but she paid no attention. Dean’s glazed eyes never left hers. Somehow, he mustered the strength to say, “Spend the weekend with me.”
And she whispered back, “Okay.”
Chapter 6
The lobby of Samantha’s hotel bustled with activity. Dean planted himself beside a large ficus tree that afforded a view of every direction. He didn’t want to miss her approach. Didn’t want to miss a second of her.
He’d spent the night replaying their kiss in his mind. What little sleep he’d managed to get had led to dreams of Sam in various stages of undress. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. She’d saturated every cell of his body.
And right about now that made him the world’s biggest fool.
A root canal sounded less painful than spending more time with the woman who had starred in his every fantasy, been the source of his fondest memories, and invoked his current state of mental and physical arousal.
So why torture himself?
Because he couldn’t help it.
Because he couldn’t not be with her one more time.
After their mind-blowing kiss last night, she’d tried to practically bolt from the bar. But after he’d insisted on seeing her to her hotel, she’d relaxed and again agreed to spend the weekend with him. Her well-kissed lips had pressed gently to his cheek in good night, and he’d known he wasn’t the only one affected.
Still, he was an idiot. Or, more accurately, a selfish bastard idiot. He’d left her once and he knew he’d have to leave her again. But he didn’t want to regret not spending every possible moment with her that he could. Maybe after this time around, he’d get her out of his system.
Today he’d lined up just the thing to spark another memorable adventure.
When his phone vibrated in his pocket, he prayed it wasn’t her canceling. He tugged it out and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hey yourself. Guess where I am?” Her youthful voice always made him forget that she was twenty-five years older than he was.
“Mountain biking?” His mom rode every weekend.
“No. I’m sitting in Elmer’s trying to decide between the French toast and Belgian waffle and wondering where the hell my son is.”
Shit. “Damn. I forgot.”
“So I guess that means you’re not on your way?”
“You guess right. Sorry, Mom. I’ll make it up to you at dinner tomorrow night.” He rubbed two fingers across his forehead.
“Really?” she said, a mixture of surprise and shock in her voice. “You must be up to something pretty important this morning to surrender to playing a game of Scrabble with me. That is what you’re implying, is it not?”
Dean chuckled. “It’s not that bad.”
“Says the boy who told me he’d never play with me again.”
“Consider it part of your birthday present.” Dean glanced at the time on his phone. His mother might not be the only one stood up this morning.
“Deal. Have time to tell me what you’re doing today?”
Dean’s vision tracked a young couple with a toddler in a stroller, the young boy giggling at something his mother had said. After they turned a corner Dean swept back across the lobby to find Samantha, eyes focused on him, making her way over.
“I don’t. I’ll see you tomorrow. ’Bye.” He might’ve pressed end before getting the ’bye out.
“Good morning,” she said cheerily.
Good didn’t begin to describe it. She wore a pair of knee-length beige pants and a red tank top over a white one, brand-spanking-new Nike tennis shoes, and a loose ponytail that carried her blond waves away from her face. Damn, she did more than send good vibrations through him.
Worth the Risk Page 5
