by Terri Osburn
“I needed to touch you,” she said, which was scarily true. “Is that a bad thing?”
His answer was a kiss that threatened to short-circuit Callie’s brain. She squirmed closer and wondered if the fancy leather chair had a recline feature. When Sam brushed his fingers over the cotton of her underwear, Callie twisted hard enough to nearly eject them onto the floor.
“Now you’re trying to kill us both,” Sam said, pulling Callie’s skirt back into place. “Since that door isn’t locked, this will have to wait until later.”
The hum rushing through her body didn’t want to wait, but practicality won out. The last thing she needed was for Yvonne to walk through the door and catch them having sex on Sam’s desk. Though the thought had Callie calculating how quickly she could lock the door and return to Sam’s lap.
“You do need to spend the next several evenings at my place,” she said, allowing Sam to put her back on her feet. “Since I own the other half of your act.”
He followed Callie out of the chair, looming over her with their bodies pressed intimately together. “If you think I’m coming over to spend all my time with your parrot, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Callie knew the silly grin splitting her face likely made her look like a lovesick schoolgirl, but she didn’t care. Rising on her tiptoes, she said, “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Mr. Edwards.” Then she kissed him with everything she had. As he kissed her back in kind, Callie’s heart came dangerously close to getting involved.
CHAPTER 21
By Saturday morning, Callie couldn’t imagine sleeping without Sam beside her. It had taken until Thursday to convince him not to leave in the middle of the night, but she’d done it. When he’d arrived with personal items on Friday, with the intention of leaving them for future use, she tried not to let the panic show on her face.
She was already in danger of giving more of herself than she’d planned. Was she setting herself up for heartbreak? Was she confusing sex for something more? But then she’d remember that it was during those late-night moments when Sam completely let his guard down, when he was gentle and caring and held her as if he never wanted to let her go, that she imagined a future together.
In other words, this was all Sam’s fault.
The man had even painted her toenails. After a rambunctious bout of incredible sex, Callie had lamented her lack of time for a pedicure, so Sam had volunteered. She’d never had a man paint her toenails before. The simple act had been incredibly arousing, and she’d made sure Sam was adequately rewarded.
“You look rather pleased about something,” Henri said, joining Callie at the edge of the kids’ tent. “Where’s your hunky bedmate?”
“He’s around the back, practicing with Cecil,” Callie said. “I hope this goes well.”
“Cecil’s a pro,” Henri said. “He’ll be fine. It’s anyone’s guess about Sam.”
“He’s been so good with him, Henri. So patient. Sam will be a better dad than he thinks.”
Henri spun so that her back was to the crowd inside the tent. “Please tell me you’re not pregnant.”
“What? No! Where would you get that idea?” Callie’s heart beat double time at the mere thought of having kids right now. She wasn’t ready for that. They weren’t ready for that. “Are you crazy?”
Taking her by the hand, Henri dragged Callie to a tree not far from the tent entrance. “Did you hear yourself?”
“I said I’m not pregnant.” Callie pulled her hand away and rubbed her shoulder, which Henri had nearly pulled out of the socket. “What is wrong with you?”
“You said Sam would make a great dad.” Henri jabbed her in the arm. “You’ve been sleeping with him less than a week, and you’re already in love with him.”
Callie met Henri’s glare. “I am not!”
Henri stared into her eyes as if trying to read her mind. “You’re going to get hurt, Cal.”
“I’m not in love with him,” she said. “But even if I were, I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“Like the last time?” Henri asked.
“That’s not fair, and you know it.” Callie had been a different person when Josh died. Weak and insecure. She wasn’t that person anymore. “I’m not going to fall apart if Sam doesn’t want me,” Callie argued. “But this conversation is pointless. It’s sex.”
“Every single night?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“What if he still expects you to leave after Christmas?”
Callie held Henri’s gaze. “Nothing has changed. When this job is over, I move on. We both know that.”
Her cousin stood there shaking her head, her eyes solemn. “You’re setting yourself up for a fall.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion,” Callie said. “Now I need to get back inside.”
“I hope I’m wrong,” Henri said, sincerity and concern clear in her eyes.
After a brief hesitation, Callie returned to the tent without responding.
Sam couldn’t remember the last time he had been this nervous. Which pissed him off even more about having to do this. He could practically hear Morty cackling from wherever he was in the afterlife, saying, I knew you’d come around eventually.
“Screw you, Morty,” Sam said, only to have Cecil echo the words back to him. “That is not part of this act, Feather Brain.”
A squawk was the bird’s reply, followed by “Don’t ruin the act. Don’t ruin the act.”
Sam rubbed damp palms down his denim-clad thighs. Callie had insisted he wear casual clothes. Heaven forbid he not look like any other islander. He didn’t see how dress slacks would have made a difference, but his wardrobe wasn’t something worth fighting about.
Not that he and Callie fought. They passionately debated now and then, but even when she was arguing some business approach or political stance contrary to his own, she was still intoxicating. The combination of a quick intellect, professional confidence, and mouthwatering curves made Callie the sexiest woman Sam had ever known.
And he wanted to keep knowing her, both biblically and personally. Which was all the more reason to let her go after Christmas. Besides, if Callie knew he was having more permanent thoughts, she’d likely break it off before then. She’d wanted sex and nothing more. That was what Sam had agreed to, and that was the deal he would keep.
Though the thought of her in another man’s bed was like a knife in his gut, Sam wanted her to be happy. And someday she would meet the guy who could give her everything she deserved and more. That man simply wasn’t him.
“You’re on in one minute, Mr. Edwards,” said Helga Stepanovich. As proprietor of the day-care center on the island, Helga was the logical choice to run the kids’ tent at the festival. “Step up this way, and when you hear me introduce you, come on in.”
Sam moved close to the tent flap where Helga had indicated, carrying Cecil’s cage with him. They’d considered letting him sit on Sam’s shoulder, but since he’d been away from the circus for so long, there was no way to know how Cecil would react to a tent full of kids. Better to keep him in the cage, where everyone was safe.
Helga’s voice came through the thin material. “I hope you’re all ready for a very special treat. Put your hands together for Sam and Cecil.”
Right on cue, Sam stepped into the tent and carried Cecil to the front of the crowd, taking a seat on the stool next to him. Kids bustled about, a couple of parents having to restrain their little ones from running closer to get a better look at the colorful bird in the cage.
“Hi there,” Sam said, flashing the biggest and fakest smile of his life. They were a bunch of little people. How hard could this be? “I’m Sam, and this is my good friend Cecil.” Pointing to the cage, Sam waited for Cecil to greet the crowd, as they’d rehearsed. The bird held his beak.
“Say h
ello to the kids, Cecil.”
Silence.
“He’s a little shy,” Sam said, ignoring the drop of sweat that slid down his spine. “We’re here to tell you a few stories today. Would you like to hear some stories?”
The kids cheered, and Sam’s confidence grew. This was not that difficult. He was sitting next to a talking bird, for Christ’s sake. The bird had to do the heavy lifting.
Once the excited cheers faded, Sam turned toward the dangling cage. “Are you ready to tell the stories, Cecil?”
Several seconds of silence passed before Cecil, staring straight ahead as if he’d been stuffed and mounted, made a gurgling noise.
Sam glanced around until he found Callie standing off to his left. He raised his brows and she shrugged, then mouthed the word crackers.
“You need to earn your crackers, Cecil,” he said, smiling and nodding at the children as if to reassure them this was all part of the act. Sam wished someone would reassure him that this bird’s beak would start flapping soon.
“Is he real?” a little girl in the front asked.
“He’s very real,” Sam answered, flicking the side of the cage. The damn bird didn’t so much as flinch. “He’s nervous. Aren’t you, Cecil?”
“I don’t think he’s gonna talk,” said a little boy.
Sam swiveled on the stool. “Sure he is.” Leaning close to the cage, he whispered, “Don’t do this to me, Cecil, or I’ll turn you into shish kebab.”
To Sam’s amazement, the bird whispered back, “Feather Brain.”
Really? The bird was pissed because Sam called him a name? This had to be a joke.
“The kids are excited to hear your stories,” he said, loudly enough for the crowd, then dropped his voice again. “I’ll buy you all the crackers you can eat. Even those oval party ones Callie won’t let you have.”
“Hey there, boys and girls,” Cecil bellowed, stirring the room into a frenzy of excitement once again. “My name is Cecil, and I’m the pretty one in this act.”
Relief flooded Sam’s body. He didn’t care how much the poultry insulted him, so long as he kept talking. The kids were practically buzzing, clapping and hopping around, with joy evident on their tiny little faces.
So this was what Morty had experienced when he told his stories. Sam could see the attraction. The munchkins were kind of cute, in an I-don’t-have-to-take-them-home kind of way. For some reason, he looked over to Callie in that moment and recognized a similar joy on her face. And maybe a hint of pride, though whether for him or her bird, Sam wasn’t sure.
“Which story do you want to tell first?” Sam asked once the crowd had hushed a bit.
“The Three Bears,” Cecil replied, as he’d been trained to do. Sam told the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, allowing Cecil to recite all of the dialogue, which he did to perfection.
The kids were enthralled. Even the adults in the tent looked to be absorbed in the show. By the time Sam and Cecil finished telling the stories of the bears, The Three Little Pigs, and Hansel and Gretel, the adult population inside the tent outnumbered the kids, and for their first performance ever, the pair received a standing ovation.
Through it all, Callie had smiled and laughed, beaming her support from the sidelines. And she’d been right. Less than twenty minutes after the show ended, Sam and Callie had been approached by nearly a dozen people offering to lend a hand with the renovation. He’d deferred to Callie, letting her carry the conversations to learn the skills of the volunteers and give them instructions for when their services would be needed.
She’d taken the lead without hesitation, then handed out business cards to anyone interested, even those who weren’t sure if they would be able to help or not.
“I don’t remember authorizing business cards,” Sam said as they walked to his car. He was carrying the other half of Sam and Cecil, while Callie carried the cage stand.
“Yvonne found some business-card stock that was already perforated. All I had to do was design the card using the template, and voilà,” she said. “I’m all fancy official-like.”
Sam took her free hand and gave it a squeeze. “You could have ordered business cards,” he said, “though I’m not sure why you’d need them for such a short-term position.”
Callie tensed. He could feel it all the way down to her slender knuckles. “I knew I’d be dealing with both employees and vendors. I needed to make it clear I carried the authority to make decisions.” All casual laughter was gone from her words. “Having business cards helps make people take me seriously.”
“Then I’m glad you made them.” Sam buckled Cecil onto the backseat, then took the stand from Callie and slid it across the floorboard. “I have to give you credit,” he said, climbing into his driver’s seat. “You were right about today.”
“I nearly died when Cecil clammed up,” she said, clicking her seat belt. Her voice had lightened again, but she had yet to look at him since he’d mentioned the temporary condition of her job. “What did you say to get him talking?”
“Puttin’ on the Ritz,” chimed the passenger in the backseat. Sam sighed. He hadn’t intended to deliver on the promise.
“You didn’t?” Callie said, looking his way with a twinkle in her eye.
“I was desperate.”
She turned to glance at her pet, then back to Sam. “You know you have to buy them now, right?”
Unable to help himself, Sam dropped a quick kiss on Callie’s mouth. “This is why it’s never good to overpromise.”
As if the words had another meaning, Callie’s eyes went dim again. She pulled away from him. “Wouldn’t want to do that.”
Sam didn’t like the way this conversation was going. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Callie was upset with him about something, but what, he didn’t know. “Have you started looking for positions opening up around the first of the year?” he asked, choosing to change the subject.
“Not yet,” she said, keeping her eyes on the passing scenery.
“I could put out some feelers for you,” he offered, cutting his eyes her way to gauge her reaction. “I have a friend who owns a few properties in Florida. That would be the perfect place to look in the dead of winter.”
Gnawing on the edge of a nail, she said, “I can take care of myself, thanks.”
“I’m happy to help.”
“I said I’ll be fine.” The words were clipped and louder than necessary. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m tired today.” Finally looking his way, she said, “I think I’ll take a nap before dinner. You probably have something else to do besides watch me sleep.”
Sam wasn’t dismissed often, and he didn’t like it. He preferred to spend the day with her, whether she was sleeping or awake, but that was all the more reason to give her the room she seemed to want.
“That’s fine,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “I need to check in on a few things at the hotel anyway.”
Her only response was an empty smile before returning her gaze to the passing trees. The rest of the short drive passed in silence, broken intermittently by Cecil singing about his Ritz from the backseat. Sam carried the cage and stand into the cabin once they’d arrived at the Peabody, accepted her chaste kiss good-bye, then left.
He didn’t know what had upset her but didn’t believe it was a change of heart. Callie was honest to a fault. If she wanted something more from him, something that carried beyond the end of the renovation, she would tell him. Maybe she’d decided she wanted less. Perhaps she’d had enough of him and wasn’t sure how to say so.
If that was the case, he’d deal with it. An early ending was probably the best way to ensure no one would get hurt. Then again, considering the ache in his chest as Sam drove away, it might have been too late to prevent that.
CHAPTER 22
By the time Callie met Sam that evening at the Marina restau
rant, she felt like a complete ass. She’d promised Henri that she was not in love with him, that their relationship was strictly sex with a definitive end date, and then gotten pissed off when Sam mentioned her impending departure.
What was wrong with her? Less than a week ago she’d been ripping Sam’s clothes off with the claim that all she wanted was sex. Something she wholeheartedly believed at the time. Then, out of the blue, all these long-buried emotions had started clogging up the works. This was no time for her heart to overrule her brain.
She’d offered up the apology Sam deserved as soon as they’d ordered their drinks. As expected, he’d tried to dismiss her words with the whole that was in the past thing. It had been the same damn day, for heaven’s sake. But getting snippy while trying to apologize for being snippy seemed counterproductive, so she’d said what she’d needed to say and let him do with it what he would.
She’d also taken him up on his offer to help her find another job. There was no reason not to use his connections if Sam was going to offer them. He’d agreed to make some calls and get back to her, which, she had to remind herself, was exactly what she’d wanted.
“Was it really necessary to make the punch green?” asked Sid as she stepped up next to Callie near the dessert table. The punch looked like a kale smoothie. Thankfully, it didn’t taste like one.
“Maybe red was too close to pink?” she asked, trying to give Will the benefit of the doubt. Speaking of Will, Callie watched her slide up next to Sid with a plate full of finger foods.
“Red would wire the mom, which would wire the baby, and she’s getting kicked enough,” Will said, before shoving a celery stick into her mouth. “If I’ve learned anything in the last eight months, it’s to do everything the pretty pregnant lady tells me to do.”
“That hormonal, huh?” Callie asked, never having had the pleasure of spending a great deal of time with a pregnant woman.
“You should have seen her while we were planning the wedding.” Sid plopped a chocolate cupcake on top of the empty wrapper on her plate. “When you thought you were talking to the sweet and pleasant Curly, she’d threaten to cut you and spit in your eye.”
