Autumn Getaway (Seasons of Love)

by Gracen, Jennifer

  “Life does that sometimes,” Sam said, his quiet tone matching hers. “Man plans and God laughs, as the saying goes. What matters is how you handle what comes your way. That you handle it, instead of letting it handling you. And it seems to me you’re doing fine.”

  She smirked and joked, “You’re just saying that because I’m in your bed without any pants on.”

  He gave a short laugh, but shook his head and assured her, “No. I think you’re a strong woman. You’re handling things. You’re doing just fine.”

  “No offense,” she said warily, her golden brown eyes searching his face, “but how do you know? I mean, really, what makes you say that?”

  Sam shrugged. “From talking to you. Getting to know you. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’re smart, you're strong, and you’re holding steady. That’s what I’ve gotten from our conversations. Is that so surprising?”

  She snorted again and busied herself with a Clementine, rolling it in her hands. She peeled it in silence.

  “Did I say something to offend you?” he asked carefully.

  “No, no.” A quick smile curved her lips. “It’s just… interesting to hear what someone else thinks of you, an outside perspective.”

  “An outsider’s observation often doesn’t quite match how you view yourself, does it?” Sam said.

  She gave a short, caustic laugh and admitted, “No, it doesn’t.”

  He took a piece of the Clementine she held out to him and thanked her. “So what did I say that you don’t agree with?” he asked. “Or, that you don't agree with the most?”

  “Um…” Lydia shifted her position, fidgety, obviously uncomfortable with the question. She slowly ate a piece of the Clementine before answering in a hushed tone, “I guess the ‘holding steady’ part. I don’t… always feel so steady. Not this year, anyway.”

  Sam nodded, gave her a long look, then lifted her hand and kissed the palm with utmost tenderness. “Mmm, you smell like Clementines.” He smiled. “Sweet and delicious.” His eyes never left hers as he kissed her fingertips, each one slowly, and nipped at the pad of her thumb. It made her insides feel warm and wobbly. He shot her a sultry smile.

  “You know what?” she said, her voice stronger, resolute. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m whining, so forgive me. And I don’t want to sound that way, or be that way, ever, at all. The times when I start to sink, I just think of my son. And then I quickly remember that I don’t have time to throw myself a pity party. I refuse to do it—for him, and for myself. So I pick myself up again and get through another day. That’s all any of us can do, right?”

  “Absolutely,” Sam said, his voice a caress as he watched her recompose herself.

  After a minute, Lydia cleared her throat. “So now let’s talk about your job. Why didn’t you tell me the truth about it?”

  Sam’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Excuse me? What do you mean?”

  She slowly pulled her hand away and said, “I mean, when we had that first conversation, in the garden, you told me you were a graphic designer, Web design. But that’s not the whole truth, it’s only part of it.”

  He nodded and said plainly, “Yes, you’re right.”

  “Creative Director, huh? Like, the boss?”

  He merely nodded again.

  “At a huge company, in a major city. That's big time. I don't understand why you would lie about it.” Lydia let her consternation show. “I mean, you must’ve worked hard to get to the position you’re in, and it’s impressive. You should be proud. So why wouldn’t you—”

  “Because I hate to sound like I’m boasting, like I'm full of myself,” Sam cut her off. He raked his hands through his hair recklessly. “I don’t know how to say ‘I’m the Creative Director at a major firm’ to someone without sounding like a jackass, like I'm bragging, like I think I’m a big shot or something. Because I don’t. I’m not.”

  “Not according to your parents,” Lydia said, then bit her lip, immediately realizing her slip. She closed her eyes for a moment, then expelled a sharp breath.

  A broad smirk spread on Sam’s face, and amusement lit his eyes. “Who told you, anyway?”

  “You still didn’t answer my initial question,” Lydia deflected.

  “If I answer yours, will you answer mine?” His grin had turned wicked.

  “Yes,” she laughed.

  He nodded. “Fine. What was your initial question again?”

  She mock scowled at him. “The question was, why did you lie to me?”

  “I didn’t lie to you,” he said quickly, holding up a finger. “I just didn’t tell you the entire truth. Not exactly the same thing. Withholding information is not actually lying.”

  “Technicality,” she said dismissively, but the grin didn’t leave her face as she waited for him to continue.

  He took a deep breath, exhaled it, put another grape in his mouth, chewed and swallowed it before he finally said, “It's mainly for what I said, I hate sounding like a bragging jackass. But I also didn't tell you because I didn’t know you yet. I wanted to get to know you a little first. And I wanted to see if you liked me for me, and not… my deal.”

  Her brows furrowed in heavy confusion. “Your deal?” She stared at him, trying to decipher his cryptic words. Then understanding dawned, and her eyes widened. “What… like, money? Is that what you're talking about?”

  “Yes. I’m… fairly comfortable,” Sam said carefully. “I’ve been single for a long time, and I’ve been working for a long time, and getting paid pretty well throughout. And, in recent years, I’ve actually had a few disheartening experiences with women who knew what I had, and they were… well, kind of like… gold diggers, frankly. Ugh. That sounds awful. God…”

  Her golden brown eyes rounded from disbelief. A bark of openly incredulous laughter shot out of her. “Oh! Oh, I'm sorry.” She composed herself quickly as they stared at one another. “So… let me get this straight. You have a great job, and you have money, and you didn’t want me to know because you wanted to make sure that wasn’t what I was after?”

  He nodded, feeling stupid and regretful. Now he was the one who was silent and obviously uncomfortable. He simply looked at her, waiting for a further response, expecting for her to huff away from him over the unintended slight. He wouldn't blame her if she did.

  Lydia couldn’t help but laugh again. He stared at her as she clapped a hand over her mouth. She finally leaned in, her eyes not leaving his, and framed his face with her hands. She kissed his mouth firmly, following it with a more sumptuous kiss, long and hot and reaffirming. Then she murmured against his lips, “I guess I'm a lot more shallow than that: I just thought you were drop dead gorgeous. Sexy as all hell. And unbelievably sweet, and funny, and smart, and easy to talk to. Whether you had money or not… I hate to tell you this, but that never even crossed my mind. Ever. I was too busy trying not to visibly swoon every time you flashed that out-of-this-world fantastic smile at me.”

  Appreciation spread across his face, rounded his eyes, and plastered a wide, radiant smile there. He grasped her face between his hands and kissed her deeply, passionately. He caressed her cheeks, her hair, and kissed her a few times before pulling back and grinning. “I really like you.”

  She just laughed, glad that the topic was settled and done with.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but her smile gave away that she was playing along. “Why?”

  “Because I asked you to,” he said plainly, grinning.

  She gave him a look of mock skepticism, then closed her eyes.

  He gazed at her in silence for a full twenty seconds, just taking in her face, her features, committing them to memory. The porcelain perfection of her skin, the long eyelashes, the arch of her brows, the shape of her mouth. The way her thick copper mane framed her face, fell over her shoulders. Everything.

  “What are you doing?” she finally asked. She didn’t open her eyes.

  “Starin
g at you,” he said, his voice deep and sultry.

  She didn’t move, kept her eyes closed, but a light smile lifted her lips. “Aren’t you bored?”

  “Pfft! Not in the slightest. I’m entranced, actually.”

  Her lips pressed together softly as she tried to repress a full smile.

  Sam reached into the bowl and took out the best looking of the strawberries. He silently pulled off the stem and dropped it into the bowl, then leaned in and lightly brushed the strawberry along her bottom lip, with a feather’s touch. Her lips parted as she smiled, her eyes still closed. He carefully slid the berry between her lips. She bit into it gently. He leaned in farther and delicately sucked at the juice, licked her lips, then kissed her.

  “Mmm.” He smiled against her mouth. “Delicious.”

  She opened her eyes, swallowed the strawberry, and looked back at him with a grin of contentment and pleasure. “That was a damn sexy move,” she whispered admiringly. “Gold star for you.”

  He laughed once and grinned back at her.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him to her and kiss him. He shoved the bowl of fruit aside with one hand, while the other hand gently pushed her down to lie back against the pillows. The kisses, soft at first, quickly deepened, and he moved to lie on top of her. Her fingers ran through his hair, over his shoulders, down his sides. She lifted under his shirt to stroke her fingertips up his back, savoring the feel of his warm, smooth skin.

  Before long, he was moving against her slowly, sensually, his hips grinding into hers. The rhythm became urgent, primal, and merciless for both of them. She could feel how aroused he was, his erection undeniable against her hips as she rocked back against him. The power of that flooded her senses.

  His mouth trailed hotly down the side of her neck, kissing and nipping as his hands caressed her breasts. One of her legs came up and curled around his, drawing him in, closer, harder, and a low groan ripped from his throat. That lustful groan both shook her to her core and snapped her back into reality.

  “Oh God. Wait, wait, wait,” she gasped, pushing gently at his shoulders.

  He buried his face in her neck with a soft moan, and she undid her leg from his with a repentant sigh.

  “Aaaagh, I’m not being fair,” she whispered breathlessly. “I'm not. Because again, I can't do this, and again, I’m sorry. But God! You’re not making it easy on me by being so…” The right word eluded her as he nibbled on her skin.

  Sam lifted his head to grin at her. “So what?” he asked curiously.

  “Delicious.” She finally smirked.

  He smiled and kissed her once more before he rolled off her, pulling her to lie against his side while they worked to regain themselves.

  “Maybe I should leave after all,” she whispered.

  “Don’t you dare,” he commanded.

  She grinned in response.

  “I'm sorry if I got carried away,” he said, leisurely dropping more kisses along her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose. “Couldn't help it. You really get me going… but now I’ll really try to behave.”

  “Well, I didn’t say you had to behave,” she giggled, running her fingers through the sparse, dark hair on his chest. “I just… I don’t want to change my mind, and frankly, you’re making it really hard for me to stick to my guns. I mean, besides holding on to my own resolve so I don't hate myself in the morning, I’d like you to remember me well when you think back on this weekend, in the future. I'd like you to recall me with some respect, not just as the slut who gave it all up the day after she met you—excellent taste in music notwithstanding, of course.”

  Sam stopped cold, pulled up to lean on his elbow and look into her face. “Lydia…” He focused on her with intensity, a compelling gravity in his gaze. She stared back at him, taking in his suddenly serious expression. He reached over to smooth a stray lock of hair away from her eyes and said quietly, “I want to see you again. After this weekend. You have to know that.”

  The smile slid off her face, and she froze under his hands as she stared at him.

  Sam let out a nervous laugh. “Wow. Not quite the reaction I was hoping for.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, and nothing came out. She blinked at him in surprise.

  He released her, moved back, but didn’t take his eyes off hers. “What's up?”

  “I… I wasn’t expecting you to say that,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she sputtered. “I met you yesterday! I can’t think… God… you’re too tempting, you turn my brain to mush when you're this close to me. And my buzz is wearing off, I’m getting tired, my brain isn’t working right. I think I’m toast. I can't think straight.”

  Sam knew that was all an attempt at deflection; he could almost hear her mind scrambling, her unease was palpable. He removed the half empty fruit bowl from the mattress and put it on his end table, then turned back to her. Lydia looked skittish, like she was possibly considering sudden flight.

  He reached for her, pulled her to lie against him again, and delicately took her hand in his. Her hand was cold, her skin had turned to ice in a minute flat. That unnerved him. “Look,” he began with caution. “I usually say what I think, what I feel, because life’s too short not to. I have no time, or patience, for game playing. And you and I have both been through too much and are too old for games, so I’m just being straight with you. We clicked right away, you and I. There was just something there, right from the start. I thought we both felt it. We've enjoyed each other's company all weekend, sought it out because that spark is there. So why are you so stunned that I’d want to see you again?”

  “I just am,” Lydia murmured. She couldn’t look at him; she looked down at their connected hands, to her fingers intertwined through his. She loved the look and the feel of his long, masculine fingers weaved with hers. She sighed. She hadn’t been lying about the fact that she really couldn’t think straight, or that his close proximity was having that effect on her, or that the length of the day was starting to overtake her. She suddenly longed for sleep.

  “What’s going on?” he pressed. “Come on, talk to me.”

  She willed herself to focus. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Nope.” His dark eyes bore into her, unyielding as he waited.

  She finally looked up to him and blurted out, “What you just said—how you feel, and that you want to see me again after tonight, all of it—those are wonderful things for you to say. Lovely things to say, that any woman would want said to her in this situation. Only I’m not just any woman, Sam. My life is a bit of a mess right now, as your family has had no problem pointing out to you. I am stunned, stunned that you’re so willing to brush aside what’s going on with me. I’m…” Lydia pressed her lips together so hard they went white for a few seconds. She pulled her hand out of his and looked away, over his shoulder, shook her head. “I don't think you're playing me, I believe you. You mean what you say. And that almost makes it worse.”

  “What?” he stammered.

  “Why did I have to meet you now? I can’t meet a great guy now, when it’s such a bad time for me. The timing is… off. And I don’t think it’d be fair to you. Definitely that.”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about that?” he said with unnerving calm.

  “I’ll worry about that!” she said, her eyes snapping back to his. “You don’t get it… okay, no games. Full disclosure. I felt that click too, and I like you too. More than I should. And of course I'd like to see you again, and I can't believe you even suggested it. But if I let something happen now…” She sighed again. “God! Why couldn’t I meet you a year from now?”

  “Because you didn’t. We met now. I’m here now. So deal with it.” Sam leaned up on his elbow to stare at her. “I’ve been through too much to believe in coincidences. I believe that everything happens for a reason. You may not always be able to see why right away, but it does. So we met here, now, for
a reason. And I’m not sorry, I’m really glad we did. And so are you. We're good together, as crazy as that may be. So why not go with that? It's worth exploring further, don't you think?”

  She didn’t say anything. After a few seconds, she rolled away and reached to her end table for her water bottle. She sat up and finished what was left of it. He merely waited, silent, still watching her carefully. He could almost feel her brain working in overtime. He folded his arms leisurely under his head, regarded her, and waited.

  “You live in Chicago,” she eventually said, so low and so quietly that he almost didn’t make it out. “I live in New York. When would we even see each other? How?”

  This was not what he’d expected her to say. It was… an opening. Scared or not, she was trying to consider it, somehow on the same page as him. Something vital rushed through him, and he sat up to face her, newly determined. “How? I fly all the time.”

  “You’re gonna fly out to see me?” she said in disbelief.

  “It’s sure faster than driving,” he joked. “Look, Chicago to New York is like a two-and-a-half-hour flight. Not a big deal.”

  “You couldn't stay with me,” she blurted. She blushed furiously. “I didn't mean that the way it came out, to sound so rude. What I mean is—”

  He held up a hand in a staying gesture. “I’d stay at a hotel. You don’t have to bring me into your home, or near your son. I understand that.”

  She gaped at him. “Really.”

  “Of course.” He grinned. “Hey, you meeting me at hotels, like we’re meeting in secret or something? Think about it, that could be fun.”

  “Maybe at first, but that could get old for you fast,” she said.

  “We’d have to see, wouldn’t we?” he countered. “Give us the time to get there.”

  “It’ll also get expensive,” she said.

  He shrugged dismissively. “That’s not an issue for me. Next.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Next, huh? How about the big one: I haven't even been divorced for a week,” she reminded him.