Sam walked into the kitchen, shirtless, a ladder of hard muscles rising from the waistband of his jeans. He picked up the bottle of wine and looked at the label. “I’m usually a beer guy.” He reached into a cupboard and pulled out a glass. “But I’m going to save you the shame of drinking alone.”
She wished he’d saved her the shame of shoving her hand down his pants. She drained her glass and held it toward him for a refill.
He dipped his head, and his blue eyes looked into hers. “Are you mad about what I said?”
She shook her head. She hadn’t heard anything beyond the rush of blood leaving her brain and her own voice yelling his name. Thank God Conner hadn’t woken up. “What did you say?”
“If you don’t remember, forget it.” He looked a little relieved and filled her glass. “If you’re not mad, why is your face all red?”
She put a hand on her hot cheek. “The wine.”
“Does wine make you frown?” He poured the Cabernet into his own glass. “Do you want me to apologize?”
If he had to ask that, he wouldn’t mean it anyway. And besides, an apology from Sam would be so unexpected, she just might pass out. “No. I’m not mad.”
“Then what are you?” He set the bottle on the counter and took a drink.
“Mostly, I’m embarrassed by my spectacular loss of control.”
He lowered the glass and smiled. “It was spectacular.”
She shook her head and fought the urge to smack him. “Do you know how many times I’ve told myself that you were the last person on the face the earth that I would ever have sex with?”
One corner of his mouth turned downward. “I’m guessing a few.”
“More than a few. Do you know how many times I told myself that I would never have sex with you again, even if it meant saving my own life?” She took a drink. “Just a month ago, if given the choice between having sex with you and getting hit by a truck, I would have taken the truck.”
“Yeah, I think you mentioned something like that a few times in the past five years.” He spread his arms wide. “And yet you chose me and spectacular sex.”
“I meant my loss of control was spectacular.”
“The sex was spectacular.” He raised a finger off his glass and pointed at her. “You came twice.”
She shrugged and turned her face away before her cheeks caught fire. “It had been a while.”
“How long?”
“Never mind.”
His finger on her hot cheek turned her face toward him. “A few months?”
“Drop it.” She took a drink. Maybe if she got drunk enough, she’d think the whole thing was funny. There probably wasn’t enough booze in the world for that, though.
“A year?” At her silence his brows shot up his forehead. “A year and a half?”
“I’m a mother. I work and take care of Conner. When I have time without him, I get a pedicure.”
“A foot rub is no substitute for good sex.”
“Depends on the quality of the foot rub. Some people are good at it. Others just can’t get the good spots.”
“I wouldn’t know.” He chuckled. “How long since someone rubbed your good spots?”
“Really long.” She moved into the living room, and said over her shoulder, “I have a son. Your son. Remember?”
He followed and stood next to her in front of the windows. Waves crashed just beyond the sea grass, and she felt rather than saw him raise his glass to his lips.
“Looks like the storm might be letting up,” she pointed out.
“Two years?”
“Are we back to that?”
“We never left it because you didn’t answer.”
Lightning struck farther in the distance, but the rain still poured down in sheets. “More than five years. Less than six.”
It took him a few moments to do the math. The second he figured it out, he choked on his wine. “That has to be bullshit. No one can go that long.”
“Why? Why is it so hard for you to believe?” She held up her fingers and counted down the reasons. “I was pregnant for nine months, covered in baby vomit for an entire year after that, and trying to start a business on almost no sleep. I was tired for the first three years of Conner’s life, and the last thing I wanted was another person in my life demanding my time. Being a working mother is very difficult.”
“You haven’t had sex in almost six years?” Out of everything she’d just said, he was stuck on the actual years. “Jesus. No wonder you’re so mean.”
“I’m not mean.” She took a drink, and the sleeve of her robe brushed his bare arm. “It’s just hard for you to believe a person can go that long because you’ve probably never gone without sex for six days.”
“It’s been longer than six days. Sometimes I’m on the road for two weeks.”
“Big whoop.”
“But I can tell you one thing,” he continued, “if I went without sex for six years, I’d have gone blind by now. Then where would I be? I’m a hockey player. Can’t play hockey if I’m blind. Now can I?”
She wondered if he believed his own warped logic. Sadly, he probably did. “On the rare nights I don’t work and you have Conner, what am I supposed to do? Go to some bar and pick up a guy?” Hadn’t she recently had this same conversation with Shiloh and Vince?
His voice was a low murmur in the darkness when he said, “Some women do.”
“Well, I’m not some women. And despite what you might think of me, given the way we met and how I behaved in Vegas, I was never that woman.”
“I never thought you were.”
Sure. “You made me take a paternity test.” He opened his mouth to defend himself, and she held up one hand to stop him. “I understand why you did it. At the time, it made me mad, but I understood.”
“If I’d seen Conner first, I never would have asked.”
“It doesn’t matter. My point is, that the last time I hooked up with a guy I’d met in a bar, it didn’t exactly work out for me.”
“Yeah.” He was quite for a long moment, then said, “But we have Conner. I haven’t always been a great dad, but I’ve always loved him. I’ve never regretted that he’s in my life.”
Which brought the conversation around to, “On the two-hour drive here tonight, did you think to call?”
“Of course, but you would have told me not to come.”
“You’re right. You can’t just invite yourself on our vacation because you want to see Conner.” Like Halloween and Thanksgiving.
“This isn’t about Conner.”
She looked across her shoulder at him. Into the shadows of his profile. “Then what’s it about?”
“I’m still trying to figure that one out.” He turned to face her and shoved a bare shoulder into the glass. “I think it might have something to do with unfinished business between the two of us.”
“Whatever ‘business’ we had was finished a long time ago.” When he’d divorced her.
He brushed his hand across her cheek and pushed her hair behind her ear. “That first night I saw you at Pure, you reminded me of the time when I was ten or eleven and mom took me and Ella to Washington, D.C.” His gaze moved over her face and hair. “It was night, and we were standing at the Vietnam Memorial, and I looked out and saw bright blinking lights in the darkness. My mom said they were fireflies. I was so intrigued, I ran after them. Trying to catch one.”
She tried to ignore the brush of his fingers on her neck. “Did you just compare me to a fly?”
“To a flash of fire. A bright intriguing light that I wanted to catch and hold in my hands.”
When he said things like that, it reminded her of exactly how and why she’d fallen in love with him so easily. If she didn’t know him, she might be in danger of falling all over again. “I’m not going to have sex with you again, Sam.”
He smiled and dropped his hand to his side. “Okay.”
Clearly, he didn’t believe her, and the wisest thing to do would be for her
to send him home. Or make him go get a hotel room. She pointed to the sofa. “That folds out.”
She expected him to argue. To charm her. To kiss her until she gave in and shared her bed. Instead, he grinned as if he’d just gotten his way.
“See you in the morning.”
Chapter Fourteen
Any Man of Mine:
Recognizes the Need for Speed
Sam stood at the kitchen counter and lowered a couple of whole-grain waffles into the toaster. The previous night’s storm had blown over, and the bright morning sun poured in through the windows.
“Mom makes pancakes that look like hearts.” Conner knelt in a chair by his side, waiting for the waffles to pop up.
“You told me, but you shouldn’t tell anyone else.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause some guys at school might not understand heart pancakes and think you’re a sissy. You don’t want to get your butt kicked.” He put his hand on Conner’s head and ruffled his fine hair. Sam had risen with the sun pouring in through the windows and had already jogged five miles on the beach. He’d needed to clear his head. To think about the last two days. About Thanksgiving and last night. Had he been bored?
Yes. The Chinooks were on the road, and he was dying to get back in the game, but that wasn’t the real reason. He could tell himself that it was about Conner. That he wanted to spend more time with his son before he was cleared to play. And that was true. He did want to spend as much time as possible with Conner before he left again, sometimes for weeks at a time, but Conner wasn’t the only reason. And if Sam was honest with himself, he’d admit that his son wasn’t the reason he’d jumped in his truck last night and driven through a storm. It was Autumn and the hot compulsion he felt whenever he was around her. The percolating memory of a few days in Vegas and not getting enough.
He’d arrived on her porch last night, rain beating on his shoulders and running down his face, staring at the door. Hot compulsion and percolating memory churning in his gut. He’d stared at the door, a tangle of confusion and desire. For the first time in a very long time, uncertain about a woman. Uncertain whether she’d let him in or slam the door in his face. Uncertain whether she’d let him touch her all over with his hands and mouth. Uncertain if she’d get naked and let him do something about the hard-on she’d given him the night before.
Sam had had a lot of sex in his life. A lot of sex with a lot of different women, but he’d never had sex like that. Autumn had been so hot and turned on. So wild in a way that had nothing to do with whips and handcuffs and naughty outfits but everything to do with how much she wanted him. She hadn’t been faking it. Hadn’t been trying to impress him or play games. She’d wanted him. Maybe it was just because she hadn’t had sex in over five years. Maybe not. Either way, he wanted more.
A lot more.
Earlier, when he’d returned from his jog, he’d found Conner watching cartoons in the middle of the fold-out.
“Dad?” Some sort of long blue fruit snack had been hanging from one side of Conner’s mouth. “You’re on vacation, too?”
Sam had brushed the forearm of his sweatshirt over his sweaty forehead. “Yep. Is your mom up?”
Conner chewed, and the blue snack slipped up his chin. “Not yet.”
“What are you eating?” he’d asked.
“Fruit By The Foot. Want some?”
“No.” He’d checked the cupboard and was surprised that there wasn’t any real food. Just coffee, some milk, and kid snacks. “Get dressed, and we’ll go get some real food.” It took them about twenty minutes of driving to find a strange little market that smelled like a weird combo of fish and kettle corn.
“Get a few plates down,” Sam said as he slid his hand down Conner’s back.
Conner climbed up on the counter and opened a cupboard. “I saw a slug yesterday. Yuck. I hate slugs.”
“I smell waffles,” Autumn said from the bottom of the stairs. “This is a ‘no cooking’ vacation. Where did you guys get breakfast stuff?”
Sam looked over his shoulder at Autumn, moving toward the end of the counter in her dried wiener-dog pajamas, and his throat got a little tight. He’d seen a lot of naughty lingerie in his life, for some reason, the wiener dog was hot as hell. Maybe it had something to do with the memory of her cold wet breasts the night before.
Conner peeked around the cupboard door. “Mom, Dad’s here,” he announced. Like she hadn’t known that. Like she hadn’t jumped on top of him last night.
“I can see that.”
“We found a little store while you slept.” Sam pointed to the toaster. “Up for some waffles?”
She raked her fingers through her hair and pushed it behind her ears. “Coffee first.” Her bare feet moved across the kitchen floor, and she grabbed a mug above the coffeemaker. Morning light poured in through the windows and caught in strands of her red hair.
“What do we have planned for today?”
She looked at him as she poured. “Well, we were going to the Fireman’s Breakfast Feed this morning.”
“Oh.” The waffles popped up, and he quickly put them on the plates Conner had set on the counter. “Lucky you. Now you don’t have to go.” He put a little butter and syrup on both. “What else?” He handed the plate to Autumn, but she shook her head. Her hair fell across her shoulder.
“Kites.” She blew into the mug. “At some point, clam chowder at Paddie’s Perch.”
He carried his and Conner’s plates to a small kitchen table. He wasn’t at all surprised she had everything planned out. In Vegas, she’d had a long list. Most of which she never got the chance to cross off. Thanks to him. He smiled at the memory. “What about building sand castles?”
“We don’t have the stuff.”
He cut into his waffle. “You do now.” Her gaze narrowed and he held up one hand. “I know the world does not revolve around me, but it was Conner’s idea to build a sand castle.”
“Like it was Conner’s idea to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner?”
He shoveled a waffle into his mouth and chewed. Yeah, kind of like that, but sand castles were so much better than kites.
She raised the mug to her lips, then lowered it slowly. “Where did you get those clothes?”
He glanced down at his Chinooks T-shirt and jeans. “I brought a duffel.” He’d set out last night, spur-of-the-moment, sure, but he’d come prepared to stay. Prepared to figure out what it was about her. Now and five years ago that made him act like a kid again. Like he was thirteen, fantasizing about the girl down the street and riding by her house on his Haro Freestyler, just on the off chance he’d catch a glimpse of her. These days, he had a truck instead of a bike. He was a man not a kid. He liked to think he’d developed some skill with women. A little finesse. Maybe a little charm. That he didn’t have to hunt a woman down. Stalk her through the night.
Yeah, that was what he liked to think, but there he was, with Autumn in Moclips, feeling like he was a kid again. Uncertain and freestyling.
“I thought you just jumped up from Benihana and drove here,” she said.
She pursed her lips and blew into her mug, and his head got all twisted around with thoughts of what he’d like her to do with that mouth. Things he shouldn’t even think about so early in the morning but couldn’t help. “I may not have been an official Boy Scout, but I’m always prepared.” He looked at her and smiled around a bite of waffle, remembering her grabbing the condom from his hands and tearing it open with her teeth. “I always keep a duffel of stuff in the truck. Mostly to change at the Key.”
“Well, Mr. Unofficial Boy Scout, I didn’t particularly want to dig around in the cold wet sand today.” She took a drink. “So I’ll watch from the deck.”
“Can I have some juice, Mom?”
She moved to the refrigerator and opened the door. Sam’s gaze moved down her back and hips to her nice butt. “Do you want some, Sam?”
Oh yeah. “Yes, please.”
She poured the juice, and h
e purposely kept his gaze off her wiener dog as she moved toward them. She set the juice on the table, and his hand slid up the back of her thigh.
Her eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“Eating my waffle,” Conner answered.
Sam didn’t know and dropped his hand. He hadn’t meant to touch her at all. It had just happened, like it was just a natural thing for him to do. Like they were a couple. A family, but of course, they weren’t either of those things.
Autumn was his son’s mother, but they weren’t family. She was hot and sexy and made him want more, but they weren’t lovers. She was the girl he thought about, but she wasn’t his girlfriend.
So what was she? To him.
It was fifty degrees, and a breeze blew Autumn’s hair across her face. She wore a heavy sweater, jeans, and Ugg boots as she lounged on a chaise above the beach. She was glad she wasn’t kneeling in the wet sand digging with little plastic shovels. Flying a kite had made much more sense, but she had to admit that there was a little piece of her that was glad she wasn’t down on the beach, holding a kite and getting chapped lips. Up close to the house, the wind was a bit calmer.
She lowered the Bride magazine she held in her hands and peered over the top at Conner and Sam. They’d been at it for a couple of hours. Longer than she would have thought they’d last. From where she sat, the castle looked like a pile of sand with a moat. Mixed with the sound of the ocean and seabirds, snatches of their voices came to her on the breeze. Conner’s childish giggles blended with Sam’s much deeper laughter. More than his charm or the lust in his blue eyes or the touch of his hands on her aching body, or just the pure beauty of Sam, seeing those two blond heads bent together over a pile of wet sand, pinched one corner of her heart. She was in no danger of falling in love with Sam. She’d been there, done that, learned the lesson the hard way. But she might be in danger of liking him, and liking him was scary.
It had been two months since the Savage wedding and the afternoon Sam had brought Conner home late. Two months since Sam had become more involved in Conner’s life. Somehow that had translated into Sam’s being in her life more. So much so that she’d ended her more-than-five-year sexual drought with him on the entry-room floor last night.
Any Man of Mine Page 18
