Just One Night: Sex, Love & Stiletto Series

by Lauren Layne

  He followed her into the room, and she started to go for the light switch before thinking better of it. These things were better done in the dark.

  Weren’t they?

  She went back and turned the dimmer until there was soft light filling the room. She wanted to see him.

  “You know, if I’d known that the anticipating of sex could make you stop your annoying chatter, I might have initiated it a long time ago,” he said, coming up behind where she stood in the middle of the room.

  “If you had initiated this a long time ago, perhaps you wouldn’t find my chatter annoying.”

  Sam let out a soft chuckle as his hands went gently to her upper arms. “You’re that good, huh?”

  Tell him.

  She opened her mouth to spill her guts as he turned her toward him. “Sam—”

  His expression went from aroused man to concerned friend in the flash of an instant, and she hadn’t even begun.

  “What is it?” he asked. “You look scared to death.”

  And just like that, her resolve to come clean was washed away by a tidal wave of pride. Sam was slipping into big-brother mode, and if he knew what a crucial moment this was for her, he wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.

  Riley very deliberately latched onto the long-dormant lust that was churning through every part of her body and let it overtake the fear.

  And for the first time, she kissed him.

  His fingers dug into her shoulders, threatening to push her back, but Riley was one step ahead of him, pressing her body against his as her arms went around his neck.

  She let her tongue find his, and his fingers tightened again, but this time it was to pull her closer. One of his hands slid to cup the back of her head as the other wound around her waist, pulling her close.

  They were mouth to mouth, stomach to stomach, toe to toe. Exactly as they’d always been meant to be.

  She lost track of how long they stood there kissing in the quiet dark, his hands sliding up her rib cage to rest just beneath her breasts, his thumbs touching their undersides lightly.

  Helplessly, she tilted her hips against his just as his hand slid upward to cover her. Riley moaned. He pulled away from the kiss just enough to watch his hand moving over her, his thumb finding and pressing her nipple through the fabric of her bra and shirt.

  And then the shirt was gone, and she stood before him in a black lace bra and skirt.

  Sam ran his fingers over the top curve of her breasts before sliding his hands down to cup them, lifting them for his inspection.

  He bent his head, brushing his lips reverently against her. “Damn, Riley.”

  Then she was on her back on the bed, his fingers quickly finding the zipper of her skirt and sliding it over her hips.

  “You weren’t kidding about the lingerie,” he said, his voice husky, his hands circling her waist as he looked her over.

  Smiling through her nerves, she pushed herself into a sitting position and her hands went for the hem of his shirt as her fingers slid under and touched him, just slightly.

  She hesitated then, not sure what to do next, but Sam took charge, quickly pulling the sweater up and over his head, taking his undershirt with it, in that easy way men had, not worrying about messing up their hair or makeup.

  Sam Compton didn’t need any lingerie to look fantastic without a shirt.

  She’d seen him in his swim trunks before, so she’d known what she was getting: perfection. But being able to touch was another thing entirely, and the feel of his warm skin was better than she’d ever imagined, and she’d done a lot of imagining.

  Sam gently eased her all the way back against the pillows before stretching out beside her, one hand sliding up the inside of her thigh, stopping just before his fingers brushed the tiny scrap of black lace.

  Riley squirmed, but instead of putting his fingers where she ached to be touched, he slid his hand to the outside of her hip, his fingers pressing her into the bed as his lips found her neck.

  His mouth made love to her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone.

  When he finally moved to her breasts, she wondered if she was being too passive, but from the way his breath was coming hot and fast against her skin, she didn’t think he minded.

  His hands slid around behind her to the clasp of her bra, and she arched her back to give him access, panicking only slightly when she lay topless beneath him.

  Sam brushed a finger against the tip of one breast, then the other, and they both watched as her nipples puckered for him.

  His warm mouth wrapped around her, and she gasped. They’d been moving at a slow, unhurried pace, but it was more frantic now, her nails scratching at him as he let his teeth touch her softly.

  Riley’s hands slid down, not quite bold enough to go for the button of his jeans just yet, but exploring the bulge of his erection through the thick denim, relishing the way he groaned against her chest when she pressed softly.

  “Is this okay?” she asked softly.

  “What do you think?” he asked, with a teasing nip against her belly.

  I have no idea.

  But instinct took over, and her fingers undid the button with only the slightest bit of faltering.

  Riley’s hand dipped into his jeans, under his briefs, her palm finding the hot, hard length of him at the exact second his fingers dipped beneath her panties and found the warm center of her.

  Their twin moans made the perfect sexual moment.

  Right up until the phone rang.

  The standard, unimaginative jingle wasn’t hers, and Sam pulled back with a muttered oath, his hand going for the back pocket of his jeans, which were precariously close to sliding off his butt.

  “Leave it,” she said, terrified that he was about to take a phone call when she was so damn close to finally learning what all the fuss was about.

  “I just want to turn it on silent,” he said, tugging the phone out.

  She saw the second his face changed.

  “Who is it?”

  The warmth faded from his eyes, and the mouth that had just been making her writhe had straightened into a flat line. “My mother.”

  Your mother?! “Can’t you … you know, call her back later?”

  He continued to glare at the screen. “She and I aren’t really talking. She’s been mad at me. If she’s calling now …”

  Riley bit her lip. A tiny part of her—the horny, turned-on part—wanted to tell him that a man who stopped sex to talk to his mother was every kind of bad cliché in the book.

  But the other part of her—the friend—knew that the relationship between Sam and his mother was tenuous and a million kinds of messed up.

  And if he thought she might be calling because something was wrong …

  “Answer it.”

  His finger was already swiping across the screen to answer the call. “Mom?”

  He was sitting up now, and Riley already missed his warmth.

  “What? When?”

  Riley immediately sat up at the strain in his voice, her hand going to his shoulder, which was tense and hard as granite beneath her palm.

  “But—Mom, come on—”

  Apparently Helena wasn’t letting him get a word in edgewise.

  “Now hold on, just a second—tell me where—”

  He broke off again, and although Riley couldn’t make out any words, she could hear the screech of Helena’s voice on the other end. She frowned in confusion. She’d known he didn’t have a good relationship with his mother, but he was good and pissed now, in addition to sounding worried.

  “Fine. We’ll do this your way. But I’m not listening to another word … No, you don’t get it both ways, Mom. You can’t tell me I’m not welcome to visit you in the hospital but then also expect me to stay on the line while you chew me out … Call me if you change your mind, and I’ll be there. But this conversation is over.”

  He tossed the phone aside and moved off the bed, away from her. Her hand dropped onto the mattress.
He didn’t want her comfort. Clearly.

  “Sam?”

  He didn’t turn to face her as he buttoned his jeans. “My mom’s in the hospital. Chest pain.”

  Riley’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh God, Sam, I’m sorry. Do you want me to go with you—”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “Nowhere to go. Didn’t you hear? She doesn’t want me there.”

  Riley’s jaw fell open, even though she’d surmised as much from his half of the conversation. “But why?”

  It simply didn’t compute. What sort of mother would turn her only son away from the hospital during a very real health scare?

  Sam shrugged and finally turned to face her, although he didn’t meet her eyes. “She’s stable. They’re releasing her tomorrow after observation. She merely wanted me to know that it was my fault for causing her so much stress. I haven’t exactly been son of the year. I hardly ever see her, and last time I did, I stormed out of the house.”

  Riley inched toward the edge of the bed, her fingers itching to touch him again, but in comfort this time. “I’m sure she understands. My mom and I have gotten into a few doozies over the years.”

  “Don’t do Erin the disservice of comparing her to my mom,” he said tersely. “This was different.”

  “Why? What did you fight about?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Sam?”

  Finally his eyes met hers, and the frustration in his pale blue gaze said it all. “Me? She doesn’t even know me.”

  “Little details like the truth don’t stop my mother from being cruel, Ri. She probably just hates you because you make me happy.”

  Riley’s heart stopped in her chest. What was he saying?

  But telling as the declaration seemed to be, his expression hadn’t warmed, not even a little bit. And he sure as hell wasn’t moving back toward the bed.

  “Sam,” she whispered, reaching out a hand.

  He didn’t reach back. “I should go.”

  “To see your mom? I can—”

  “No, I’ll respect her wishes. But this can’t happen, Riley.”

  “Of course. I know that you’re worried about your mom, and the time’s not right, but—”

  “This isn’t a rain check, Riley. This is a wake-up call.”

  Riley narrowed her eyes. Something about his tone … “What did your mom say to you?”

  He looked away.

  “Spill it.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar,” she shot back. “You let her get under your skin.”

  “She’s sick, Ri.”

  “Which sucks, but that doesn’t mean she gets to shit on you! What did she say?” she asked, her voice harsh as she climbed off the bed.

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry, Ri. But we both know this would be a mistake for both of us.”

  No it wouldn’t.

  He moved to the wardrobe, pulling out a robe, and for a second he moved like he was going to wrap her in it himself before thinking better of it and tossing it at her roughly.

  Burning with humiliation, she pulled the oversized cotton robe around her, even as her lust-addled brain tried to sort it all out.

  He was leaving her? Like this?

  “The room’s paid for,” he said gently. “Get some room service. The whole menu, since I know how you get when you don’t eat. Rent porn, I’ll never tell.”

  She knew he was trying for a joke to lighten the mood, but she didn’t bite. “You’re acting like the worst kind of mama’s boy. Don’t let her do this to you. To us.”

  He sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I … I’ll call you later?”

  She recognized that tone. He wouldn’t.

  “Just help me understand, Sam.” Her voice went pleading. “I thought we had a good thing, and I get that we’re not going to continue the sexy stuff, but I don’t get why you’re leaving—”

  “She said I’m no good!” he exploded. “She said I’m no good, and she’s right. I’m especially no good for you.”

  Riley took a step backward in surprise. Sam rarely talked about Helena, and that alone had been a clue that Helena wasn’t exactly of the cuddly mother variety. She’d known they weren’t exactly doing cozy Sunday brunches on a regular basis.

  But this?

  She’d had no idea that Sam’s mom was downright vile.

  What sort of mother would say that to her own son?

  “Don’t look like that,” he muttered. “It’s not the first time she’s let me know that I’m a bad son, a bad friend, and was a bad husband.”

  “She’s wrong,” Riley shot back. “She’s dead wrong.”

  His eyes met hers. “Is she? What is it that I’m good at? It wasn’t as an investment banker. I quit that. It’s not making whisky. I’m not selling that. She’s right about the bad-husband thing, I really sucked at that.”

  “Because none of those things were right for you. Well, actually, I think the whisky thing could be if you gave it a chance, but you never wanted to be an investment banker. And Hannah …”

  Hannah wasn’t the one. I am.

  He stepped backward.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Riley. And I sure as hell don’t want to talk about it. When you cool off, you’ll see that I’m right. In the morning, you’ll be relieved that we didn’t do this.”

  “I bet,” she snapped. “You know, on the plus side, I’ll get a great story idea out of this. Female blue balls: a real thing!”

  “Riley—it’s just sex. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to scratch the itch.”

  Oh God.

  She’d been wrong. Female blue balls were the least of her problems.

  Being rejected by this man hurt.

  She inhaled a deep breath through her nose to keep from responding. She knew he didn’t mean to be cruel, but his flippant dismissal of what had almost happened between them was the ultimate reminder that this was so much less to him than it was to her.

  For him it was a failed attempt to defuse the simmering sexual tension between them. For her, it mattered. And not just because it would bump her sexual encounters out of the once-a-long-time-ago category.

  It mattered because it was Sam.

  And Sam mattered to her.

  And his rejection was so much worse than she could have imagined.

  A lump formed in her throat, and she dug her nails into her palms to keep from begging him to stay. Or worse, from begging him to feel about her the way she did about him.

  She wanted to be everything to him.

  But the expression on his face fell somewhere between guilty and indifferent.

  She took a long breath to steel herself. The physical rejection was bad enough. No way would she set herself up for emotional rejection too.

  Riley lifted both hands up in surrender, giving a casual little shrug. “You know, you’re probably right. I am feeling a little, um … unfulfilled, but I guess that’s nothing another guy can’t take care of, right?”

  His eyes turned stormy, and he took a step toward her before catching himself. Sam gave a curt nod. “Right. Well … good luck with your other options.”

  “You too!” she said brightly. “Blue balls don’t become you.”

  He glared at her before stomping toward the hotel room door. His hand paused on the doorknob, and he gave her one last look over his shoulder. “It was good though, wasn’t it? While it lasted.”

  The lump in her throat doubled in size. “Yeah,” she whispered.

  His eyes searched hers and for a heart-stopping second, she thought he was going to come back to her. To finish what he’d started.

  Instead he turned away.

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter Ten

  “Wait, so he just left? And you were naked?”

  Riley snatched the wine bottle out of Emma’s hand and topped off her glass, even as she tried to ignore the pang at hearing the words out loud. “Not entirely naked,” she muttered. “I was still wearing my panties
.”

  “So you were basically naked,” Grace said, holding out her own wineglass.

  “Were they ugly underwear? Maybe that was the problem,” Julie said, bringing over a salad bowl and sitting cross-legged on the floor on the other side of Grace’s coffee table.

  “Yes, I’m sure granny panties were the problem,” Emma drawled. “It had nothing to do with the fact that she was about to hump one of her oldest friends, and that his mom almost had a heart attack.”

  “Whoa whoa whoa. Let’s get a few things straight,” Riley said, setting her glass on the table. “First of all, these were not granny panties. We’re talking itsy-bitsy black lace. Second, his mom is fine. Liam talked to him this morning, and she’s out of the hospital and back to normal, which as far as I can figure is still mean as sin. And third, I’m not really sure that friendship is what Sam and I have had going on all these years. It’s more like …”

  “Sexual combustion?” Julie supplied.

  “Yes, that,” Riley said, jabbing her finger at Julie. “And last … when I called an emergency girls’ night, whose idea was it to serve salad? How am I supposed to derive any comfort out of snow peas?”

  “Calm down, Gigino’s delivery is on the way. The salad was meant to tide you over, because everyone knows how you get when you’re hungry,” Emma said, fishing a carrot out of the bowl and holding it expectantly in front of Riley’s face.

  Dutifully Riley leaned forward and nipped the carrot out of her friend’s fingers. “Did you get the bolognese?”

  “No, we wanted to watch you sulk all night,” Grace said, helping herself to a huge bowl of the salad. “Of course we got your calorie-bomb meaty pasta.”

  Riley reclaimed her glass off the table and settled back into the couch. It wasn’t that she didn’t like vegetables. She just liked other stuff better. Like carbs. And fat. And stuff that didn’t taste like, well … healthy.

  And a period of her life where her heart was halfway to broken was not the time to go all kale and quinoa.

  “So talk us through what happened,” Julie said.

  “I thought I did that on the phone.”

  “No,” Julie said patiently. “What you said on the phone was, ‘Sam saw me naked and then I ate three servings of room service mac and cheese.’ ”