“What about my lie about Lally? You were pretty pissed off about it.”
“I was being a total hypocrite. I told you that personal conversations were off-limits and then I got irritated with you for not divulging the truth about your personal business. I don’t like being lied to, but it was none of my business in the first place. As long as you’re not cheating on someone and making me an accomplice in that act. I wouldn’t stand for that.”
“So we’re flinging again?”
“Until you get sick of me, or I get sick of you, or you leave. Whichever comes first.”
“One day, when you meet the man of your dreams, you won’t regret having a wild, crazy fuckfest with me, will you?”
She winced at the description, and Sam grinned unrepentantly.
“Nope. He should be thankful that I’ve gained useful experience that will contribute toward his pleasure in the bedroom.”
The thought of Lia in bed with someone else had the immediate power to wipe every trace of humor away, and Sam attempted to conceal his overwhelmingly negative reaction from her.
“But like I said,” she continued, “I doubt there’s a man of my dreams out there. I’m pursuing other goals right now.”
“Don’t let a few fucked-up dates put you off, sunshine. If you don’t wind up married with kids down the line, I’d be surprised. Any guy would be lucky to have you, Lia.”
“Thank you for saying that, Sam. But I’ve decided it’s not that important anymore. Like I said, other goals.” She considered her words and knew that they were the absolute truth. Her obsession with finding the right man and living the perfect life was waning with every step she took down this unknown path with Sam. Her self-worth was no longer tied up in being Mrs. Somebody. It was all about Dahlia McGregor and the life she was creating for herself. She pushed herself away from the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”
She was gone before he could get his own good night out.
The following morning, she was already in the kitchen when he came downstairs wearing his running clothes.
“Morning, sunshine,” he greeted, his voice still thick with sleep. He came up behind her and hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her back to his front and dropping a kiss into the cove of her neck. Lia reached up and cupped his jaw, tilting her head to allow him greater access to her neck.
“Morning. Your breakfast will be ready in half an hour.”
“I wanted to take a quick run, think you can push it to forty-five minutes?”
“Yes. Don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t, need to save some of my energy for you.” He gave her an additional hug, stepped away, and spared a little squeeze for one of her breasts before heading out the back door.
Lia sighed and went upstairs to make up his bed and tidy up the place a bit before she started his breakfast. But she looked at the mess for a moment and snorted.
Yeah, right, she so wasn’t his maid. This inclination she had to tidy up after others had to stop. She might as well put that new resolve into practice now. Food was one thing—she wouldn’t want the guy to get malnourished, and she enjoyed cooking. But fixing other people’s messes? That was about to stop right now.
He returned close to an hour later, looking hot and sweaty and so unutterably sexy that Lia could do nothing but stare for a long moment.
“Sorry it took so long, I ran into Mason in town and we got to talking. Did I ruin breakfast?”
“Uh-uh, I haven’t started it yet. You grab a shower and I’ll fix something.”
“Thanks, sunshine.” He grinned. “You’re joining me for breakfast, right?”
“I’ve eaten.”
“I prefer having breakfast with you.”
“I’ll have a cup of coffee while you eat. We need to talk anyway.”
“That never bodes well,” he said with a frown, and she grinned.
“You’re the one who wanted to rethink the guidelines,” she reminded, and his face cleared.
“Definitely. I’ll be down in a jiff.” Lia bit back a grin at the quintessentially English expression.
He was down in less than ten minutes, wearing a pair of jeans and a gray Henley. He smelled amazing—she loved his woodsy aftershave—his hair was damp and his jaw freshly shaved. The hollows in his face were starting to fill out, and he was looking healthier and handsomer every day.
“What’s for breakfast?” he asked, squeezing her butt on his way to the table. He sat down, folded his hands on the tabletop, and watched her expectantly.
“Pancakes,” she said. She put the stack of pancakes in front of him and was gratified by the delighted smile that lit up his face.
“How did you do this?” he asked, his voice filled with boyish wonder. “They look like snowflakes. They’re amazing.”
He couldn’t stop staring at the lacy pancakes she had so painstakingly made for him, and Lia was happy that she’d gone to the effort.
“What other patterns can you make?”
“The options are pretty limited when it comes to design. I can make snowflakes, hearts, these round doily-type ones, flowers. I keep experimenting to see what other designs I can come up with. But they can be pretty disastrous at times.”
“They’re perfectly golden, how do you manage that? I burn the edges even on normal pancakes.”
“Practice. They taste good, too,” she said pointedly, pushing a bowl of freshly cut fruit toward him. “So dig in.”
“It seems a shame to eat them.”
“They were made to be eaten,” she encouraged, taking a sip of coffee and watching him over the rim as he poured syrup on his pancakes and then added the fresh fruit. She held her breath when he scooped the first forkful into his mouth and released it when his eyes closed involuntarily. That was a good sign.
“This is so fucking good,” he said, his mouth full.
“Glad to hear it,” she said and watched him devour the rest in very little time. After a contented sigh, he finally put his fork down and reached for his coffee.
“So . . . guidelines,” he said.
“What were your thoughts?”
“You know I want you to sleep over.”
“Nope. That one’s not negotiable.”
“Well, if I can’t have that, then I want to be able to talk about shit.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“All kinds. Whatever strikes our fancy. Nothing is off-limits.”
“It seems foolish.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Fine. Although I’d like it stated, for the record, that I think this is unwise.”
“Noted. No more dates while we’re together.”
“Ugh, no. I’m off that for a while.”
“And . . . I’d also like to snuggle after sex.”
“No! Why?” she asked, completely horrified at the notion.
“Because you’re cuddly and because it’s relaxing.”
“I didn’t take you for a cuddler.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he pointed out smugly.
There’s a lot I don’t know about me, either, Sam conceded to himself. Such as the fact that he enjoyed a snuggle after sex—where the fuck had that load of bullshit come from? He wasn’t a snuggler. He was a retreat-to-his-own-side-of-the-bed-immediately-after-orgasm kind of guy. Good sex was hot and sticky and disturbingly moist. Not ideal circumstances during which to snuggle up with somebody.
Maybe he just wanted to fuck with her guidelines, and since there was already one he couldn’t touch and the others made sense, this was the only other one he could change.
He watched her shoulders lift as she sighed.
“Fine. But once again, I don’t think it’s a great idea.”
“Stop worrying so much, sunshine, we’ll be fine.” She smiled at his appeasing words, but she didn’t look at all convinced. “Now, what will we do today? A long, lazy Sunday stretching ahead of us endlessly. So many options. We could fuck in the kitchen
. Maybe in the living room? Definitely the shower, you owe me a shower shag. Then we could . . .”
“Sorry to throw a wrench in your big plans there, mister,” she interrupted lightly. “But it’s Daisy and Mason’s last day in Riversend, so I’ll be spending the day with my family. Knowing how they feel about you, I’ve no doubt I’ll see you there.”
“Can we at least do the shower thing?” he asked wistfully, and she grinned before cupping his jaw with her hands, leaning over to kiss him.
“Tonight, I promise.”
“Lia, I’m glad we’re doing this again. I’ve missed you.”
“You’ve seen me every day.” She laughed, and he grimaced.
“You know what I mean,” he said gruffly, looking almost embarrassed, and Lia nodded.
“I know. I’ve missed you, too.”
Daisy and Mason left the following morning. The family all gathered at the farm, before work and school, for an early breakfast before the couple hit the road. Lia, Daff, and their mother finalized some plans to meet Daisy in Cape Town in a month’s time for a weekend of bridesmaid and wedding dress shopping. Then, sooner than anyone would have liked, the couple and their dogs were on the road back to Grahamstown again.
“Spence and I have to get to work,” Daff said, her voice curt but husky with unshed tears. “Brand, we’ll drive you back to the cabin.”
“Don’t you have to drop Charlie off at school?” Sam asked, his eyes moving to the young girl, who was already in her school uniform.
“It’ll be tight, but we can do both,” Daff said.
“I’ll drop him off, no need for you guys to rush around like that,” Lia said, and Daff’s eyebrows rose.
“Oh, how accommodating of you, Lia,” Daff said, her voice alive with sarcasm. And Lia’s eyes narrowed.
“I aim to please,” Lia said with a bland smile.
“I’m sure you do,” Daff said smoothly, and Spencer rolled his eyes before taking her elbow.
“Thanks, Lia, ’preciate it,” he muttered. “Let’s go, darling.”
Lia and Sam left soon after Daff and Spencer.
“I’m off to the retirement home later. You joining me?” Lia asked while they were en route to the cabin.
“What time?”
“In about an hour or so,” she said, and he made an approving sound in the back of his throat.
“Want to work off that huge breakfast?” he asked playfully, and she laughed. She had to admit flinging with Sam was surprisingly fun and stress-free. She loved his body and what he could do with it and enjoyed his company. He was a great guy. He was also an expert cuddler—immediately after sex last night he had gathered her into his arms and tucked her close.
Lia had fallen asleep during their first postsex snuggle session. And he hadn’t awoken her. Luckily she had slept only an hour and then, despite his protests that it was too late for her to leave, had gone home. She had to be careful not to do that again.
Her parents had eyed her speculatively this morning, but neither of them questioned her whereabouts. As long as she let them know she was safe. Thankfully, she would be moving into Daisy’s house on the weekend and would no longer have to feel like a teenager creeping upstairs on bare feet.
“Well, you did miss your run this morning,” Lia said in response to Sam’s question. “You’ll need the exercise.”
“I can always count on you to have my best interests at heart,” he quipped.
“Of course, I’m selfless like that,” she retorted with a serene smile, and he chuckled, tugging at her hair.
“Get us to the cabin quickly, sunshine. I don’t want to waste a second more in this car than we have to.”
“You’re a great dancer. I didn’t take you for the sort of guy who could fox-trot,” Lia said after they left the retirement home later that morning, and Sam grinned.
“Considering all the dance classes my mom made me take when I was a kid, it would be a disgrace if I didn’t at least know the fox-trot.”
“Dance classes? How long did you have to take them?” Lia asked, intrigued by that morsel of information. She had to admit, lifting the ban on personal conversations was proving to be fascinating. Especially when he revealed such diverting snippets about himself.
“From nine years old to sixteen. I was pretty proficient by the time I quit. Junior ballroom champion three years in a row. If I’m going to do something, I like to do it right. It helped that the girls were pretty and often wore leotards and tights.”
“Did you?” she asked wickedly.
“Did I what?”
“Wear leotards and tights?”
“Of course I did.” He nodded, then in typically arrogant fashion added, “I fucking rocked those tights. The girls couldn’t get enough of my muscled thighs and manly bulge.”
“Why did you stop?” she asked, ignoring his last comment.
“Well, I didn’t want to be a professional dancer, so I didn’t see the point in continuing. My mother enrolled me in the class because she thought it was a good skill for a young gentleman to have. My mother loves dancing. She’s great at it—she competed at a semiprofessional level for a few years. When she was between partners, she liked me to escort her to some of the high-end parties she often attended. And that meant not embarrassing her on the dance floor.” He grinned before continuing, “She’d inevitably meet her next man at one of those parties.”
Lia still couldn’t get over his easy acceptance of his mother’s constantly changing male companions. But she found it quite charming how much he seemed to adore his mother.
“You and your mother seem close,” she observed.
“Well, due to the transient nature of her relationships, in the end it always boiled down to just the two of us. I won’t say she was the ideal mother, she’s a little too neurotic for that, but she was fun, lovable, and supportive.”
“But how did you cope without a stable home life?”
“My mother was my stability. As long as she and I were together, we were home.” Lia pondered that answer for a moment. It was an incredibly sweet sentiment and completely melted her heart.
“So how are things going with Trevor?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“He’s awesome. He’s been taking treats from me more regularly, and they’re moving his usual walk time today so that I can take him for a stroll. Apparently his on-leash skills are pretty terrible, and because of his temperament and his lack of discipline they’ve had trouble controlling him. Dr. Gunnerson-Smythe wants to see if I’ll have more luck with him.”
“You’ve already done wonders with him, Sam,” Lia said.
“I think he’s going to make someone an amazing pet someday. He just needs some time to learn to trust.”
Lia smiled, fighting to keep the concern from her eyes. Trevor was learning to trust Sam, and she was very worried that once Sam left, the dog would regress. She knew that everybody at the shelter thought that Sam would wind up adopting Trevor, which was why they allowed him so much leeway with the dog. Lia wasn’t sure if she should intervene.
“Do you think maybe he’s becoming too attached to you?” she asked tentatively, and he went quiet.
“He needs help,” he said, his voice cooling significantly. “I’m helping.”
“But—”
“He’s better off now than he was when I first got here. That’s amazing progress in just a month. Way I see it, that’s a good thing.”
“I’m just a bit concerned that he’ll backslide when you leave.”
“He’ll be fine,” Sam insisted.
He was out of the car seconds after she parked at the animal shelter.
“See you later, sunshine,” he promised before rushing off to see Trevor. He barely limped at all anymore, recovering some of the sexy, pantherlike grace that she remembered from their first meeting.
She followed him into the building at a slower pace, her thoughts still in turmoil. For now, she would leave him to work with Trevor. She hop
ed that he would get the dog to a point where Trevor would start to trust others as well.
The move into Daisy’s quaint little house right on the edge of town was much smoother than Lia had anticipated. It helped that the house was fully furnished and that Lia had little furniture of her own to move. The depressing fact was that she had managed to pack up thirty-two years of her life in just a few boxes. Seeing her scant personal possessions made Lia more determined than ever to remain on this path of positivity and growth.
She enjoyed the sense of purpose her studies gave her and loved her few hours at the preschool during the week. She eagerly soaked in everything Aisha and the other teachers told her and taught her. Because she was trying to balance her time between studying and Sam, she had reduced her time at the library and the homeless shelter. She didn’t want to give up the senior dances and the animal shelter, so she had been forced to choose which projects would get less of her time. She comforted herself with the knowledge that she would pick up the slack again after Sam left.
Her eyes strayed to where he was sharing a pizza with Spencer in the living room of Daisy’s—Lia’s—house. She found herself staring at him all the time. Because of his daily run, he had all but lost the sickbed pallor, his skin taking on the healthy golden tone of before. He was also starting to fill out his clothes better, and over the last week she had felt the difference in his body and in his strength during their lovemaking . . . Her thoughts crashed to an abrupt halt at that word.
Lovemaking?
Don’t you start using words like love in relation to Sam Brand, you idiot, she berated herself harshly.
She tore her eyes away from his handsome, laughing face and went back to unpacking the boxes Spencer and Sam had carried into the house for her earlier. Essentially, aside from her electronics, bedding, and few knickknacks here and there, the boxes contained mostly clothes, books, and framed photos.
“You should have kept your wedding presents,” Daff said as she stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the sad collection of small to medium-size boxes.
The Wrong Man Page 26
