“Fully aware of that. And so what? You said it was what you wanted, the divorce was your idea, and you haven't lived together in months. You're not cheating on your almost ex-husband, you're officially single. So what's the problem? If you don’t care, why should I?”
“You don’t care?” she scoffed. “Your family sure does.”
“I care even less what they think about this,” he said flatly. “This is my life.”
Lydia merely raised her eyebrows at him.
“Tell me honestly,” he pressed. “When you got the papers, did you sign them the day you got them?”
A scathing, scornful sound slipped out of her mouth. “Try the minute I got them.”
“Okay. So you had no qualms, no doubts. You signed the papers immediately. You closed that door. So there’s only one more thing,” Sam said. “Do you still love him?”
“Who? Matt?” Lydia released a dry, acidic snort. “No. Not at all. I fell out of love with him a long time ago.”
“Okay.” Sam shrugged. “So, again: what’s the problem?”
She nodded slowly as that sunk in. “Alright, so my divorce isn't much of a problem after all. Fine. But I do have a son, Sam. That's not a problem, but it's… a really big thing.” She gave him a level look and said with quiet resolve, “If you wanted to see me again… do anything beyond this weekend… Andy will be part of the equation. Outside of this one getaway weekend, I'm not a separate entity. I'm a package deal.”
“You're right. That's true…” Sam tried to jest with her. “Luckily, I like kids. Unless you’re worried Andy won’t like me.”
Lydia frowned, hard. “Sam… please don’t take this the wrong way. But even if we did this somehow, even if you came to New York… you wouldn’t meet him. I wouldn’t introduce you to him unless I knew that… well, it’s not just you, I won’t introduce anyone to him unless I get really serious with someone. Andy’s very young, and I’m not going to toy with his emotions that way. Not in any way. Can you understand?”
Sam nodded. “Of course I understand, completely. It’s duly noted. And admirable.” Before she could say another word, he reached for her, pulled her to him, and kissed her. “But that doesn't put me off, if that's what you're thinking. Yes, we'd have some things to consider. But I still think it's worth going for. Why not? Lydia, the bottom line is, I want to see you again.”
He kissed her over and over, slowly, deeply, until he felt her gradually give in and soften in his arms. Once she had, he pulled back to tell her in a velvety but determined voice, “Hey. We’re both tired. This is something we should continue to discuss further in the morning, with fresh heads, when we’re not exhausted. And maybe not half dressed and on top of each other.”
She smiled at him gently and nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.” Her lids suddenly looked very heavy, and she tried but failed to suppress a yawn.
“Okay then.” Sam got out of bed and turned off the light on the desk. The room went dark, the only source of illumination the bluish white streams of moonlight from the windows.
He got back into bed, found her in the blackness, and pulled her close to him. He kissed her a few more times before settling back into the pillows. “I don’t think I snore,” he joked, his deep voice almost a whisper. “But I’m usually asleep, so I really don’t know. How about you? Do you snore? Or drool a lot?”
“I hope not.” She giggled softly. “Guess we’ll find out.”
He nuzzled her hair. “I’m really glad you stayed. This is nice. Feels good. Perfect way to end a fantastic day.”
Her insides seized up, did the churning flip flops she’d been experiencing with him all weekend. She ignored it; she snuggled into him, laid her head on his chest, wrapped her arm around his waist, and slipped one of her feet in between his. It felt totally natural. Lying in his arms, in his bed, felt totally natural. Everything about him felt… right. It couldn’t be that easy. There had to be a catch. She couldn’t just click so easily with someone so fast, it was impossible. Isn’t it? she thought. She closed her eyes and tried to will her brain into a state of calm, to just go blank.
He yawned. “Oh my God. Now that it’s dark in here, and I’m lying still, I’m gonna just pass right out.”
She smiled against his chest. “Me too. I feel like once I laid down and settled in, all the last bits of energy just seeped right out of me. I'm a puddle.”
“Well then, before we pass out, one more thing…” Sam lightly tipped her chin up to kiss her lips. They exchanged a few sweet kisses, then he stopped gently. He held her against him and caressed her back in long, slow strokes. She again wrapped her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. She was so tired, she literally couldn’t keep her eyes open any more.
“Good night, Lydia,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead.
“Mmm,” was all she could manage before she fell asleep.
He heard the even pattern of her deep breathing within seconds, and knew she was out. He stroked the soft skin of her forearm as he thought about her, about the whole night, about what had happened between them. He replayed some of the steamier moments in his mind and smiled. She had been so passionate, so sensual… he thought of the way she'd burst into open laughter at his revelation about his financial status and his now seemingly ridiculous concerns, how she'd been unable to hold back her surprise and then kissed him and flattered him, and he couldn't help but chuckle softly.
He kissed the top of her head, breathed in her scent. He had downplayed it for her earlier; he was beyond merely feeling enchanted by her—he was genuinely interested, hooked, and he knew it.
He recalled the astonished look on her face when he’d told her he wanted to see her again, replayed their whole conversation in his mind, and sighed. People couldn’t get to their mid-thirties and not have some sort of baggage, he knew that. Everyone had something they were lugging around with them, be it big or small. Life progressed, things happened to people, and they carried those things with them. Sometimes, those things became a part of them, interweaving stealthily into the fabric of their core, shaping them and changing them irrevocably for better or for worse. Sam knew this better than most.
He thought back on his own life, his own baggage. Trunk-sized alligator bags, he thought wryly. He'd watched his first great love, his young and vibrant wife, die a long, drawn out, miserably slow and painful death. After Chelsea died, he’d travelled extensively, then eventually went back to Chicago to be near his family. Feeling like a shell of a man, he’d completely thrown himself into his career; he’d worked, worked, and worked some more. It got him through the days, the months, and the soul-crushing pain, until he’d eventually pushed through to the other side and gradually thawed out from having been completely shut down.
When he'd turned thirty, he’d finally made a determined, conscious effort to jettison his baggage, or at least stow it safely away. He’d gotten sick of bowing under its weight, tired of tripping over it. He finally was ready to put the past in the past and try things again; he wanted more out of life. But it had taken him years to get to that point: he’d carried the heavy baggage around with him for a long time before he’d been able to put it away—until he’d even been able to take the actions honestly required to do so.
He was in a really good place now—his career was stellar, he owned a great apartment in a great part of town, he had a busy life between work and friends, and occasionally went on dates with attractive women. But only a week before, on his 35th birthday, he had laid in bed at the end of the night and pondered his life… and when he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit he was a little lonely. He’d realized he was ready to find someone, settle down, possibly start a family of his own one way or another…
He looked down at Lydia and sighed. She was fantastic. She had sparked him immediately, in a way other women hadn't for whatever reason. But she was in a very different emotional place than he was. She was hip deep in the most painful chapter of her life, w
as watching her own family unravel and change, was trying to forge a new path for herself; she was trying valiantly to stay upright under the weight of her baggage and not always succeeding. He recognized that. He was experienced, intuitive, and far from naïve.
Sam briefly recalled Alec’s cutting remarks about finding someone more uncomplicated to get involved with, his need to fix broken people, and his white knight complex; he recalled his mother's questioning remarks about whether Lydia was right now emotionally. He privately considered the possibility of his family being right about Lydia’s state of mind, or about his own, or even of Lydia's own words being correct: finding the right person at the wrong time. In the dark, he stared at the ceiling as he mulled it all over.
Maybe, in the privacy of his own head, he could concede that Alec had a few valid points. Maybe it was, partially, his infamous white knight syndrome kicking in, maybe he pursued challenges more than he should, maybe he got too much satisfaction out of simply proving people wrong.
All he knew was that he genuinely liked Lydia. He enjoyed talking with her, he was extremely attracted to her… she made him laugh and think and relax, all at the same time. She made him feel good. He felt drawn to her, had from the start. Just because it almost didn't make sense didn't make the feeling any less real. Some things in life couldn't be easily explained—they just were.
If she lived in Chicago, he'd absolutely pursue her with everything he had. So why couldn't he pursue her anyway? It wasn't about getting her to change her mind and sleep with him. He could get laid whenever he wanted to; Chicago hadn’t been lacking in that respect. But he hadn’t found someone there whom he had an emotional connection with that was this immediate and this powerful, and that wasn’t something to dismiss just because she lived in New York, or that it might not be easy going to follow up on it.
Sam decisively chose to brush aside the concerns for the time being. After all, he’d been in a much worse emotional place and come back from it. While Lydia’s tumult and shaky sense of self were real—he wasn’t downplaying that—he saw it as of a more temporary thing. Workable. He was a patient man, had never been afraid of hard work, and certainly liked challenges, as Alec had been all too happy to point out.
Sam exhaled slowly. The bottom line was, he liked her more than any woman he’d come across in a very long time, so to him, as he'd said to her, it was worth exploring. He had the freedom, the funds, and the urge to go for it, so why not? If anything, the minor obstacles made it a little more interesting for him. He could admit that much to himself.
When they woke up in the morning, refreshed, in the light of day, they’d talk some more. Nothing was impossible. Improbable, maybe, but Sam liked those odds. He gave Lydia a gentle squeeze, just to feel a bit of extra contact, and kissed her forehead once more.
His eyes felt like there were weights on them, and he suddenly realized he was beyond exhausted, rapidly flowing away into unconsciousness. The last thought he had before sleep overtook him was one of amused disbelief. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself, on so many levels, so completely, as he had on this long day. He was both elated and content. He fell asleep with the hint of a smile on his lips and holding Lydia in his arms.
SUNDAY
LYDIA WOKE UP slowly, her body functioning a step ahead of her brain. She felt like she was lost in a fog, and had a bad taste in her dry mouth. Eyes still closed, still half asleep, she took stock of her faculties. Headache, yes, but not pounding. Not nauseous, thank God; in fact, she was a little hungry. Parched mouth, dry throat—nothing a tall glass of water couldn’t cure. All in all, pretty tolerable, considering how much alcohol she’d consumed the night before.
The night before…
The events of the night before flashed through her head in a jumble, assaulting her mind like scenes in a video game: quick, bright, vivid, one after another, overlapping. Her eyes snapped open and she looked around.
She was in Sam’s hotel room. She was in Sam’s bed. She was wearing his black T-shirt that just reached her mid-thigh. Slowly, she lifted her head from the pillow and sat up. The room was quiet. Silent. A glance over at the clock told her it was 9:03 a.m. Then she noticed the note that lay on Sam’s pillow, only a few inches away.
It was written on hotel stationery, in clear, neat handwriting:
Good morning, Lydia—You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you. If you’re reading this, I’m still out for my morning run. Be back soon. I’d love for us to go to the brunch together. I think it’s at 10:00.—Sam
A vision of him—shirtless, rearing over her on the bed, moonlight shining on the muscles in his shoulders, his mouth hot and demanding on her skin—blazed through her mind and made her stomach do a slow flip. Dropping the note onto the pillow, she closed her eyes and sank back down into the pillows. She pulled the heavy comforter up over her head. “Oh my Goood,” she groaned, cocooning herself.
She tried to figure out what she should do. Stay in bed? Stay in his room? Wait there for him? The note sounded lovely, like he was looking forward to seeing her when she woke up. But what if when they actually looked at each other in the harsh light of the morning after… and he regretted it? She'd enjoyed being with him so much that if he rejected her now, if she saw even a hint of that on his face, she might shrivel up and die from humiliation.
Face things or flee? She curled up into a ball as her mind sorted through options.
After a minute, Lydia flung the covers back and went into the bathroom. She relieved herself, then rinsed her mouth out several times with cold water and took a long drink. As she rummaged through Sam's toiletries for some mouthwash—ah! he had some, thank God, she thought. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and groaned again. It could have been worse, but it was certainly not her best. She ran her fingers through her thick, slightly tangled hair, trying to tame it into submission. Her eye makeup had barely smeared, amazingly enough; but her lips were pale, naked, and dry, screaming for artificial color to help her look more alive, or at least some lip balm. She gnawed on her bottom lip to force some color into it as Sam’s words crashed around in her head: We clicked right away. There was just something there, right from the start. I thought we both felt it… why are you so stunned that I’d want to see you again?
She shook her head at her reflection in the mirror. Too good to be true. She wanted to, but just couldn’t, believe him. Men you just met didn’t talk like that. Not unless they were lying. She used the mouthwash and spat it fiercely into the sink before looking at herself again.
God, she wanted to believe everything he'd said… all those lovely, sweet words… and there was Sam's gentle, rational ending to the discussion: We’re both tired. This is something we should continue to discuss further in the morning, with fresh heads, when we’re not exhausted.
He’d be expecting to pick up the loaded conversation where they’d left off. Half of her was thrilled by the things he'd said, and the other half just couldn't believe him. If he wanted to take it all back, she'd totally understand, but at the same time… she'd be embarrassed. Slightly mortified. Even somewhat crushed. She just wasn't ready for that. Especially not before coffee.
She recognized that she was scrambling, and was mad at herself for it. But she needed space. She needed time to think, to get herself together. She needed to leave.
She went back into the bedroom and looked around for her clothes. Her beautiful burgundy silk dress was laid out carefully on the couch beneath the window. She realized that Sam must have placed it there for her when he woke up in the morning; she clearly remembered how, last night, he had helped her out of it: slowly pulling down the zipper along her back, easing her out of it with warm, skilled hands… and then, once they'd hit the bed, how he'd tossed it across the room with a deliciously sinful smile. His eyes had rounded and lit at the sight of her revealed to him, and it had made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
Last night had been incredible.
> Last night… Sam had taken her by the hand and led her out of the lounge with everyone watching. Everyone. Only now did the ramifications of that start to hit home; she could only imagine what scathing comments Alec and Paige would have ready when she walked into the brunch. The grilling session that Donna, Kathryn, and Melanie would have in store. The looks she'd possibly get from Sam's parents, or even Melanie's parents, or from any of the people who'd been in the lounge and aware of them… her headache was picking up steam, getting strong enough to make the thought of facing anyone seem like too much to deal with just then.
She looked at the dress, then closed her eyes and winced as she realized that it was the only thing she had to wear. She’d have to put the dress back on to return to her room. If anyone she recognized saw her, sneaking back to her own room wearing last night’s clothes, she would possibly die of mortification. It was almost kind of funny to get caught doing that in your twenties; it was simply wretched to get caught doing it in your late thirties.
But there was no other way. Suck it up and deal, she told herself coldly. After finding her bra on the floor next to the bed, she removed Sam’s long black T-shirt and shimmied into the dress. She folded the T-shirt neatly and placed it on the arm of the couch. She looked at it for a few seconds, touched it wistfully, then turned to look back at the messy bed. Her heart rate jumped as steamy scenes from the night before replayed in her head, again like flashes of lightning. Her face heated as she remembered.
Sam was, without question, the most sensual and passionate man she had ever gotten physical with in her entire life. She could still vividly recall how his lips had felt on her, his hands… she remembered some of the lusty things he'd whispered into her ear as he'd advanced on her… a shiver went through her entire body and she closed her eyes as she quickly recalled some of the more sultry, breathtaking moments. How she had managed to stick to her guns and not have sex with him was utterly beyond her.
Autumn Getaway (Seasons of Love) Page 23
