Love at the Electric (A Port Bristol Novel Book 1)

by Jenn Hughes

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Rik told you I invited her to the office party. No surprise there.”

  “Richard mentioned it, not that I care who you take to your party. So what do you want?”

  “I want to explain.”

  This should be entertaining. For a minute, Lillian let him hang, standing outside her door and desperate to come in. His expression softened into the forlorn look of a big-eyed puppy left out in the cold. He was good. Very good.

  “Oh, fine. Come in. I’ll give you five minutes, and then I’m going to bed.”

  She stepped aside and leaned against the door. Sam walked into her apartment, a scent made up of old leather and butter and bourbon trailing behind him. Oh, God. The Electric. She’d never be able to go there again and not get turned on.

  Lillian shut the door, took a deep breath, and then turned to face Sam Owens. She didn’t start the conversation. Didn’t ask a question. She simply waited. Arms folded. Shoulders back. Confident. She waited for the nervousness to push him into making the first move. Best little legal trick she’d ever learned, and with him, it worked like a charm.

  Sam could not stop fidgeting. He ran his hand through his hair, and then awkwardly squirmed out of his scarf and coat before tossing them onto the back of her sofa. After a loud exhale, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.

  “Okay, uh . . . Well, first, about the party—”

  Lillian raised her hand to stop him and smiled. “I honestly do not need to hear anything about your dating decisions. I hope you and Jacinda Shields have fun. As much fun as two incredibly immature people can have.”

  Burn. Good job. Now reload and wait.

  “Jacinda and I are nothing more than friends. My going to the Christmas party with her had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with a standing invitation I kinda-sorta forgot. You made it abundantly clear your career is important, too important to risk for me—and I understand that. So, I didn’t cancel on her.”

  “Oh. That makes complete sense. It’s your off-season, but of course you didn’t cancel on Jacinda.”

  Another burn. Lillian waited for Sam to burst into flames. Instead, he jerked his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest. “Dick.”

  “What?”

  “Dick. Rik. Richard. Dick suits him best. So he told you about it, about how I spend my time during the holidays?”

  “Oh, yes. Your love life is sparkling dinner conversation.”

  “Love has nothing to do with the way I live my life. And I guess he made me out to be a total asshole, right? I avoid dating and relationships because I don’t want them to get complicated, blah, blah, blah . . . ” He shook his head and unfolded his arms. “He’s absolutely right. I did avoid all of it. But he only told you enough so you’d assume the worst of me. Let me tell you how it really is.”

  Lillian laughed. “Can’t wait to hear this.”

  Sam’s jaw tightened, the muscles clenching and twitching slightly. He stayed silent for a minute, all tense and eyes smoldering. Lillian half-expected him to walk out, or say something typically inappropriate or rude.

  But suddenly the air in the room changed. Sam changed. He loosened up. His jaw relaxed. Those eyes that had been drilling into her now held the look of someone who had let go of something heavy.

  “I came here to apologize, to back off and walk away on good terms . . . But screw that. I want you. Before, during, and after the holidays, Lillian. I want you.”

  Chapter 21

  Nothing but the Sexy Truth

  The dull, stress-induced ringing in Sam’s ears vanished. He’d finally said the words weighing him down since that night in Old Henry’s. The first night he’d really met Lillian, and the beginning of her daily invasion into his thoughts.

  He wanted to get closer to her. Hold her for the first time and never let her go. But as the seconds ticked by, Lillian didn’t respond. Or blink or say anything at all. She only stared back at him with her hard-to-read blankness and left him feeling like he was standing naked in the middle of a physics pop quiz. So he waited a few more seconds.

  Then he couldn’t wait one second longer.

  Lillian was way too slow and needed to take a cue from a next-gen processor at making up her mind. Twenty-year-old MIT Sam might have waited for her like a gawking dork, but not CEO Sam Owens. If she couldn’t say what she needed to say, whether it was good or bad or in between, he’d nudge her along.

  Sam scratched the stubble on the side of his face and slowly walked over to her. Lillian’s wide eyes never left his. But every step seemed to drive the doubt away. By the time only inches separated them, she looked strong. Ready for him. God, what a turn-on.

  “Afraid to admit you feel the same way? I expected a little more fire, Lillian.”

  Her dark caramel eyes flashed. “I’m not afraid. I’m rational. I’m not going to dive-bomb my career for—”

  “For what? A roll in the hay? A few nights of fun? No, you’re right. You shouldn’t. And that’s not what I want from you, so stop using Preston the Prick as an excuse to keep me away. This is real. We are real.”

  Sam gently slid his hand around her waist, coming to rest at the small of her back. He pulled her toward him with no resistance. She gasped a little, and he hardened even more in response.

  “C’mon. How cocky do I have to be to get a rise out of you?”

  She pressed her lips together, and her cheeks flushed. “From the feel of things, I’d say you’re cocky enough at the moment,” she replied in a breathy voice.

  “Every moment.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t a case of wanting what you can’t have?”

  “Of course I want what I can’t have. Everyone does. But I usually get what I want, remember? Well, so should you. What do you want?” Sam lowered his head and brushed his lips against her ear. “Tell me what you want so I can give it to you.”

  And then it happened. The walls came tumbling down. Sam’s volley of truth and honesty with a heaping side of heat burned them to ashes. He felt her hands on his back, her delicate touch urging him to press himself even closer to that soft body. He kissed her neck, making a slow line down from her ear until he felt her relax in his arms.

  “Say it.”

  “I want . . . ” She paused, and he grabbed her ass to spur her on. “Assurances.”

  Sam pulled back and looked down at her. “What?”

  “Not the sexiest thing I’ve ever said in the heat of the moment, but necessary. I mean, suddenly you want me more than the image? More than the supermodels and publicity?”

  “That’s the truth, and none of this is sudden. I knew it in Old Henry’s Tavern. I knew it at The Electric and at dinner and at my apartment. But what I didn’t know was how far I'd go to be with you. And what I’ll give up to make it happen.”

  A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Okay . . . If that’s the truth—”

  “It is.”

  “Well, then, maybe I’m willing to risk things to see where this leads. I . . . I do . . . care about you. And that’s scary for me to admit. So if I’m only a fill-in for the holidays, a placebo to get you through and easily ignored after the fact, don’t string me along. It’s cruel and unusual, and I’ve had my fill of that.”

  “I’m not stringing you along. You’ve got to realize my only experience with relationships has been that Christmas and New Year’s put them into hyperdrive. It’s all twinkling lights and parties and gifts and families. I blame greeting card companies and coffee commercials. You know the one about the guy who gets stuck in another city during a snowstorm and can’t make it home Christmas Eve to see his girlfriend, so he sneaks in the next morning and makes her coffee?”

  Lillian’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes! Can we do that right now, or can we skip it and go get married?” she jo
ked, then gave him an eye roll.

  “Funny.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Do you enjoy watching me squirm?”

  “A little. But that’s what you’re getting into, Sam. I won’t make everything easy for you. I know you’re accustomed to that, but it isn’t reality. Reality is imperfect and difficult, and what holds a relationship together is trust.”

  “I know, and I’m ready to start building both. I’m not who I used to be, and that’s because of you. You’re different. You’re not a fill-in or placebo. You’re real. And I’m crazy about you.”

  Her eyes shimmered in the light. “I wish I could just jump. Let go and not worry about where we’re headed. But that’s inherently not me.”

  “I am not Rik.”

  “It’s not about Richard. Maybe I thought it was, at first, but what’s holding me back runs a lot deeper than an old flame . . . ” Lillian blushed and looked away. “God, how embarrassing. I don’t know why I’m admitting any of this.”

  Sam reached up and gently turned her head until he caught her eyes again. “I know why. Like you said, we have a connection. I’ve given you an up-close-and-personal view of my convoluted life. Why can’t you do the same?”

  She didn’t say a word, only stared at him with hard eyes as a battle raged in her brain. But when they softened, he knew his side had won.

  “My mom was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma when I was fourteen and my sister Tessa was three. Between cancer and chemo, taking care of Tessa came down to me. Dad had a farm to run and when the medical bills hit we nearly lost it. It was one terrible thing after another and another . . . and it changed me,” Lillian explained, her calm voice tinged with pain.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t pretend to know what that’s like.”

  “It’s like wearing a sweater made out of stress for the rest of your life. Even when Mom recovered and Dad managed to get his head above water with the mortgage, the stress stuck with me. But it taught me to depend only on myself. There are no safety nets, and something miserable is usually waiting around the corner.”

  Sam shook his head. “Not this time. No matter how deep your fear runs, what’s happening between us will run deeper. You’re not on your own, Lillian. Take the first step and try to trust me. I don’t play games . . . well, I do, but not the real-world kind. I promise if you fall you’ll know exactly where you’re landing.”

  He had more to say. He’d unleashed the floodgates and a lot of feeling-type stuff waited in his throat. It was a knot Sam had nearly choked on more than once. But words would have screwed up the moment. And when Lillian suddenly kissed him, he didn’t need them anyway.

  Sam didn’t think it was possible to have a better kiss than the one he’d stolen in The Electric, but she gave him one. She’d been surprised by him at the theater. Not this time. This time she knew exactly what she wanted.

  Lillian’s soft, hungry lips and hot breath nearly brought him to his knees. Her hands slid up his back, fingernails grazing his neck. He gripped her ass again, his palms rubbing against the flannel of pajama bottoms as his fingers pressed down into her soft flesh. She felt as good as she looked.

  Sam opened his eyes and zeroed in on her bedroom door. He grabbed her thighs, pulling her up and into his arms. Lillian’s legs clamped around him, and everything started spiraling beautifully out of control. But he wouldn’t move until he heard what he wanted.

  “Say it.”

  “What?” she gasped, her lips leaving his neck with a smack.

  “Say it. Tell me exactly what you want.”

  Lillian leaned back and looked at him hard. “How’s this for exact? I have condoms in my nightstand and I want you. Every inch of you. So shut up and carry me into my bedroom like I’m a sassy Southern belle and you’re a broad-shouldered blockade runner. Now.”

  Sam got what he wanted—specifically. And frankly, he loved it. So he didn’t waste another damn second.

  Chapter 22

  Walkering Away

  Daydreams and epic old-Hollywood fantasies didn’t come close to the reality of Sam Owens.

  Lillian writhed on the bed, aroused by the exquisite agony of his rough cheek rubbing against her sensitive neck while his lips learned the slope of her shoulder. Heavy breaths caressed her as his mouth made a map of her body, each location requiring extensive, aching exploration. Sam’s long fingers tugged at the buttons of her pajama top, while Lillian worked at ripping his sweater off.

  She slipped her hands under the hem and tried pushing but didn’t get very far. The hard lines of his chest, taut muscles contoured to perfection, demanded her tactile attentions. Sam offered no assistance with the sweater, his efforts focused on unbuttoning her top. His fingers deftly slid each button out of its slot. When he loosened the last one, he sat up, yanked off his wadded sweater, and then tossed it aside.

  When Sam started lowering himself back down onto her, Lillian stopped him. She’d waited too long to enjoy the view of his bare torso. She needed a sugar-fix of eye candy. He grinned as she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest.

  His six-pack tensed as she traced the trail to the button of his jeans. Her imagination had run wild thinking of what hid beneath those tight sweaters and wool coats, but touching him was so much more fun. She studied his lines, that beautiful body accentuated by the faint glow from the lamp and Christmas lights in the living room.

  She stole maybe seven seconds of unabashed inspection before Sam lost patience with her. Gently wrapping his fingers around her wrist, he pushed her arm away and lowered himself until his body barely touched her own. Then he kissed her, slow and sweet like molasses dripping from a spoon.

  So much sugar. The rush hit. Lillian planted her heels against the bed and pushed up against him. Sweet no longer, Sam pressed his crotch down, the denim of his jeans incapable of hiding his hardness. The grinding got her going. A hot wave of anticipation made her moan while Sam kissed the exposed skin of her chest.

  Lillian grabbed the back of his head, her fingers clenching Sam’s dark hair like reins on a horse. His lips traveled slowly across her skin, tracing a line down from the base of her throat. Every move was unhurried, deliberate, and self-assured. No hesitation. What. A. Tease. Every kiss or flick of Sam’s tongue elicited exactly what he wanted from her. A moan. A sigh. The man always got what he wanted.

  He nudged her top a little to one side. Then the other. Not enough to completely expose her to the cold air of the room, but enough to make her so sensitive it hurt when the fabric moved. A magnificent kind of ache. The kind leading her even further into the moment.

  Finally, he pushed both sides of her pajama top off her chest. Those lips never left her skin. They slid from the soft flesh of her breast straight to her hard nipple. When he started sucking, her eyes closed and her entire body tensed from the pleasure of it.

  “Sam . . . ” she whispered, breathy and rough.

  Out of nowhere, he kissed her. Nice and easy disappeared. It was wild. He was wild. Hungry. Desperate. Lillian drowned in his kiss, unable to breathe and never wanting to again. A lifetime of Sam Owens driving her crazy in every direction was what she needed. No job should stand in the way of licking her way down through that tasty, sexy shell to his sweet, insecure—

  “No way will I let Preston come between us. Not again . . . ” Sam whispered in the half-second he left her lips.

  But that was all it took. From far away in the back of her mind, a voice cut through the sexual white noise.

  Whoa. Why is he bringing up Preston? Pump the brakes.

  His fingers slipped under the waistline of her pajama bottoms. She didn’t stop him.

  Harder.

  Sam’s hand slid down between her legs. She might have thrusted up a little to meet it.

  Shit, slam down your foot!

>   “Stop,” she gasped, jerking her head to one side and pulling away from Sam’s lips with a smack.

  “What? Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Probably has something to do with mentioning your mortal enemy’s name during foreplay, Dr. Freud. And what did you mean by again?” she asked, grabbing the edges of her shirt and frantically trying to button it up.

  Sam pushed himself upright and then sat back on his legs. “Nothing. I meant nothing. I mean, shit, I don’t know why I said it. I guess I wanted you to know you don’t have to worry about Preston.”

  Lillian fumbled with her top, finally managing to get one button into its hole before scooting back against the headboard. “Aside from breaking my contract, which is a legitimately big deal and definitely something to worry over, you made it sound like there’s something else going on.”

  “You’re reading too much into it.”

  “If I had you on the stand right now, you’d plead the fifth, Sam. I can read it all right—all over your face.”

  Silence filled the room. They sat there, him half-naked and her half-crazy. Finally, Sam sank down with a deflated sigh. “Preston knows something’s going on between us. We met up at the docks and . . . discussed you. And me. And your job.”

  Lillian shook her head in complete disbelief. “Fantastic. How very Neanderthal of you. So what did the two of you decide? Or am I allowed to know?”

  “I told him I’d back off.”

  “And backing off looks like this?” she asked, pointing at his bare chest.

  Sam groaned. “C’mon, give me a break. When it comes to you, I have no off button. Your life would probably be a hell of a lot easier if I left you alone but . . . I can’t. When Preston threatened you—”

  Oh, hell no. “He threatened me?”

  “Not like he was going to send his goons to rough you up or something. He just threatened to make you head of legal at Mythos and pay you millions of dollars.”