The Right Swipe

by Alisha Rai

  Samson grunted. “Being a dad has made you really bossy.”

  “I know. We could be teammates again, Samson. Working together for all our other teammates.” While Samson digested that, Dean rose and picked up the tablet. He clapped him on the back. “Call Trevor. At least meet with him.”

  After Dean left, Samson wandered into his room and picked up his phone. Still no call from Rhiannon.

  What the hell. Before he could think twice, he dialed Trevor.

  The other man picked up on the first ring. “Samson. Hello. What a surprise.”

  Samson looked out the window and beat back his instinctive, immediate dislike. His personal feelings had no bearing here. “I want more information about this job offer of yours. Will you be out west anytime soon?”

  Trevor paused, and when he spoke, it was cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if Samson was kidding or not. “I will be, yes. In a week?”

  “Sounds good. I have a condition, though. Before we even sit down to chat.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want a public apology.”

  There was a beat of silence. “I’m sorry?”

  Ahhh yes. He hadn’t even known what he wanted until he’d said the words, and relief, glorious relief coursed through him. “What was it that you said, when I retired? What did you call me?”

  “The Lima Curse. Samson, I regret—”

  “If you regret it, you’ll give me a public apology.”

  “If this is an ego thing, I absolutely understand, but we’re on the same team now, Samson.”

  “We were on the same team then too. I walked for Dean. I would have walked for you.” Samson’s hand clenched tight over the phone. “This isn’t for ego. Do you know where my nickname started? The Lima Charm? From my father. When he was himself, before the disease turned him into someone I didn’t recognize. That was all I had of him. And you twisted that. That part of my legacy, you destroyed it.” He took a deep breath. “I want a fucking apology.”

  Trevor was quiet for so long, Samson wondered if he’d hung up, but then he spoke. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll be on a couple of morning shows next week. I can deliver an apology right there. Is that public enough?”

  “Yes.” The tension leaked out of his shoulders.

  “Done. We’ll talk next week about the position then.”

  They said their goodbyes, and Samson slumped on the couch. He felt like the weight he’d carried for a decade had been lifted off him. Was that all it took? Telling someone who hurt him that they’d hurt him?

  Was this . . . closure?

  He didn’t know how long he sat there in a relaxed haze, but he was startled when his phone pinged on his chest. He rarely turned the ringer on, it was always on vibrate.

  He crunched up to look at the display, and a new kind of relief suffused him.

  Rhiannon. Finally.

  Hi. Thank you for texting me, I had my phone off. I’m so sorry for getting mad at you. I land at LAX in about five and a half hours. Will you come pick me up?

  He didn’t hesitate. His fingers flew over the screen. It’s okay. Yes, of course. See you then.

  Chapter Thirty

  WHAT WOULD he say to her? What could he say?

  There were about a million things that ran around his brain for the next six hours, even as he drove slowly through the packed evening LAX traffic.

  He saw her sweatshirt first. It was a soft lavender, the same one she’d worn when she’d walked into a bar in central California months ago. If she hadn’t been wearing that, he might have missed her. She stood on the curb with big sunglasses on, her hoodie pulled over her hair.

  He didn’t blame her for the impromptu disguise. He assumed, after Helena’s show, those people who hadn’t known the owner of Crush now would.

  Samson maneuvered his car through the traffic and pulled up to the curb. Before he could get out and open the door for her, she opened it herself. “Hey,” she said, her voice hoarse, and tossed her bag in the back seat.

  “Hey.”

  She avoided his gaze as she slid in. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “No problem.” His fingers twitched on the steering wheel. He didn’t want to spook her by grabbing her close and hugging her. But he also . . . really wanted to touch her.

  Once she was buckled in, he settled for resting his hand over hers and squeezing it. “Am I taking you to your place?” He hadn’t been to either of her homes yet. He knew the one she shared with Katrina was farther away, but he’d happily drive her there, let her out, and return. Whatever she wanted.

  He was so gone.

  She twisted her hand over so they were palm to palm. “Can we go to yours?”

  “Yeah.” He left his hand where it was, even if it made maneuvering through traffic one-handed a little difficult. Sorry, other drivers. My girl’s got her hand in mine.

  He glanced at her a couple of times, but she was silent, head against the window, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling like she was asleep.

  It was so late the roads were relatively traffic free, and they pulled up in front of his condo in no time, which was both good and bad. Good because he wanted to get her in his home so they could talk. Bad because he didn’t want to let go of her.

  She stirred when he did release her and she lifted her head. He usually self-parked, but he tossed his keys to the valet this time and grabbed Rhi’s bag before she could.

  She kept her head bowed as they walked inside, and he used his larger body to block her from view of anyone in the lobby. Rhi kept inching closer to him in the elevator, until he finally pulled her to his side. She belonged there anyway.

  She must have thought so, too, because she melted against him. He didn’t let go of her even when they walked to his door and awkwardly shuffled inside. “I can order Thai for you,” he said. “It’s supposedly the best place in L.A., according to about three thousand reviews on—” He dropped her bag, and grabbed her, because what else was a man supposed to do when a woman he liked this much leaped on him?

  She pressed her lips against his, and Samson’s grip tightened on her ass. Her long legs twined around his hips and he turned them around and stumbled farther into the living room. He fell on the couch with her straddling him.

  He ran his hand up her sides and yanked on the zipper of her sweatshirt. It was hard to get her undressed without separating their mouths much, but he managed to get her sweatshirt and top and bra off.

  Finally, he paused. “Wait,” he panted.

  Her fingers were busy on the buttons of his shirt. “I don’t want to wait.”

  “No.”

  Her fingers immediately halted, and she peered down at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “We need to talk first.”

  “About what?”

  It was so hard to think when her breasts were in his line of vision. They were so full and lovely, the nipples perked up, waiting for his hands and mouth. “Uh.”

  She grabbed his ears and pulled him close. “Samson. I need this.”

  Well, fuck. What was he supposed to say to that?

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and came to his feet. He carried her into his darkened bedroom, their lips fused together until he laid her on his bed. His blinds were open, and the city lights painted silver and gold across her body. He stripped off all his clothes and her jeans, then started at her breasts and kissed down her body, licking and sucking her flesh.

  He wanted to consume her, but that was a bad idea. If he consumed her, there would be nothing left, and he wanted all of her. For a long, long time, no expiration date.

  That was scary, the thought of indefinitely being with someone. But also . . . kind of lovely.

  He pressed her thighs wide and licked her until she cried out. She tasted so good, her legs straining on either side of his head. He knew she enjoyed it, but he also didn’t want to torture her.

  He rose up on his knees and slipped his fingers inside her. “Fuck me,” she breathed, an
d he nearly did exactly that before he remembered.

  “No condoms,” he said, regretfully, and withdrew his hand.

  Her eyes flew open. “You don’t have any here?”

  “I’m moving soon and I don’t see the point in stocking condoms if there’s no one I want to have sex with. I bought that box for you.”

  Her lips wavered into a smile. “That’s kind of sweet.”

  He shrugged, embarrassed. “Well, right now it means we can’t have sex.”

  “Yeah . . .” She bit her lip. “I wish I could say condoms don’t matter, but—”

  “No, they matter.” Rhi’s trust issues wouldn’t be solved in a day, and neither would his. They needed time and words before they got to a point where condoms wouldn’t be an issue. And that issue couldn’t be decided in the heat of the moment.

  He ran his fingers back over her vulva. She was so sweet and wet. Her lashes fluttered as he played with her. “Luckily, there’s about eight hundred things we can do with each other that don’t require a condom.” He slipped his fingers deeper, thrusting them back and forth. She moaned, and he added his thumb on her clit, rubbing the little bundle of flesh.

  Rhi ran her hand up his thigh and he moved closer, until her palm grasped his cock. He closed his eyes, luxuriating in each grasping pull, and the speed of her motions dictated his own.

  They played together like that for a long time, taking slow pleasure in each other’s hands and bodies, but finally the need built up. He bent his head and licked her clit while he fucked her with his fingers. Her thighs tightened around his arm as she came. He gave his own body free rein and thrust against her palm, spilling on her belly.

  With the last ounce of strength in his body, he leaned over the bed, grabbed his shirt, and used it to clean off her stomach. People who made penetrative intercourse the whole and sole point of sex really missed so much. This was as intimate and pleasurable as being inside her.

  Samson tossed the shirt toward the bathroom. She curled into his side and he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Has Annabelle offered the company to anyone else?”

  Of course Rhiannon orgasmed and moved straight to business. He shook his head, a spurt of humor making him grin. “No. Are you thinking of renewing your bid?”

  “Don’t tell Annabelle yet, I have to talk to Katrina. But, yes, I think I’m going to counter her counter with an investment offer. It seems like she’s in no rush to sell the company. She could cut me in for a slice. I can help her with her senior management issues. It could work, at a partnership level.”

  He laced his fingers through hers and brought their hands to his mouth to kiss. “I like the idea of a partnership.”

  “Yeah?” Rhiannon rolled onto her side to face him.

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess now’s the time we talk?” She gestured between them. “About us?”

  “I think so.” He stacked his hands under his head. “I’m serious.”

  “Serious about . . . me being naked and in your bed?” she asked lightly.

  “No. Well, yes. But not exactly. I’m serious about you, woman. I’m looking for something serious with you. I’m not content with this just being sex for a night or a week or even a month. I want more. I want a relationship. With you,” he stressed, in case she didn’t quite understand him.

  She wrinkled her nose. “What about your marketing campaign? Hard to be serious when you’re seeing a bunch of other women.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not seeing anyone else. I filmed one last date for Matchmaker.”

  “I saw it.” Her eye twitched. “She seemed nice.”

  “She was lovely, but she wasn’t you. If we continue any campaign, it’ll be the one with you and me. We still have one meetup left in the contract you made me sign, don’t forget.”

  “William might be annoyed by that.”

  The relish in her statement told him she hoped he was. Samson couldn’t blame her—he didn’t like William much either. “William’s out.”

  Rhi’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “You’ve missed a lot.” He decided her breasts looked cold and cupped one. Her eyes fell to half-mast, but her expression remained expectant. “William and Aunt Belle decided their management styles are too dissimilar, Aunt Belle’s searching for a replacement, she knew from the start that I was into you and engineered us meeting, my friend Dean told me to be more like Beyoncé, and also I agreed to hear out my former nemesis about the job at that nonprofit.” He paused for a breath. “I think that’s most everything you missed.”

  “Whoa. That’s a lot.” She glanced around. “I should put my shirt on.”

  “It really wasn’t that much,” he insisted and strummed her nipple. “No need for shirts.”

  “Sounds like a lot. What made you flip on the job?”

  He told her about Al’s interview, and her face softened. “I guess that’s what it’s all about. Making all this”—she gestured to the world at large—“better for the youths.”

  “That’s kind of a nice way of thinking about it.” He tipped his head at her. “Now you. What have you been up to since we last saw each other?”

  “Well, I went on national television, told the world Peter harassed me, turned my phone off for twenty-four hours, had a real heart-to-heart with my brother about my trust issues, potentially acquired another roommate, and Peter stepped down as CEO.”

  He stared at her. “You turned your phone off for twenty-four hours?”

  “Literally the longest I have ever turned my phone off in the history of having a phone.” She blinked rapidly. “I was scared to turn it on. But when I did . . . there were so many nice messages, Samson. From so many people.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get even more love in the days to come.”

  “I’ll get hatred in the days to come too.” Shadows darkened her eyes.

  “You might.” The people who hated him didn’t compare to the vitriol she’d have to weather. He pulled her close so he could smush her like she liked.

  “No might about it. More people for sure believe me now than they would have four years ago, but that’s not saying much. There’s a nice majority who are going to be livid with me.” She inhaled. “But I figure, that’s okay. I’m glad I said what I did. I’m not alone, and with me talking about it, neither are the others.”

  “I think you’re brave either way, but I’m glad you feel better, having come forward. And I’m glad he stepped down.”

  “Me too.” She wrinkled her nose. “I thought I’d feel so much satisfaction at him losing the position and power he loved. Revenge, you know? But mostly, I’m happy because it means it’ll be harder for him to hurt someone else.”

  Samson still wanted to punch Peter. That would be the only thing that would fully satisfy him, but this was a start. “Use me for whatever you need.”

  “I’ll try to ask for help. Old habits are hard to break, you know.”

  “I know.”

  She got quiet. “My trust issues will probably take eons to work on.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. I told you my mom was a lawyer.” Samson snuggled closer, because he could. “She used to tell me about this thing called the eggshell plaintiff rule.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m probably messing up the explanation, but basically, if you walk up to someone with a thin skull and hit them in the head, and they get hurt, you’re responsible for the damage you caused. Even if hitting someone with a normal skull wouldn’t have resulted in any damage.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “The lesson she meant for me to take away, is that you take a person as you find them.” He thought of how Lulu had stubbornly stuck by his father’s side. He’d been angry, sometimes with her, after the Switch. Angry that she hadn’t been more angry at his father’s fate.

  Now he knew. His mother had taken life as it was. Grateful for every extra moment she got to spend with the man she loved, in sickness and in heal
th.

  “I’m patient, Rhi. I’d like it if you could give me the benefit of the doubt, not jump to conclusions without hearing me out if you’re feeling nervous about me . . . but I will take you as you are, baggage and all. The flip side is, you have to take me as I am.”

  “Easy. You’re almost perfect.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “I definitely am not. I don’t really know how to be with someone like this. I’m learning, and I’ll probably get scared and freak out and mess up. I don’t know what the future holds.” He thought about one day unfolding after another with this woman. How long had it been since he’d thought about the future and not been terrified? “We can, however, communicate and be patient with one another.”

  “We could.”

  “In that case, will you answer my earlier question? Can we be serious?”

  She gazed down at him. Her eyes were so pretty, endless pools of dark brown. “Yes.”

  “Yeah?” His smile widened.

  HIS HAPPINESS SCARED Rhiannon, because God knew if she’d be able to keep him looking that happy. She’d fail. Or he would. “Though I’m not the kind of woman you probably envisioned when you wrote your Matchmaker bio,” she said. “Kind and sweet and loyal.”

  He stroked her arm, leaving goose bumps. “You’re all those things and more. Also . . .” He winced. “Uh, don’t tell anyone, but Tina wrote that bio.”

  She huffed out a laugh, thinking of how many times she’d obsessed over those three words. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Nope. As of right this minute, the Crush bio you swiped right on is the only thing I’ve ever written.”

  Well, damn. Damn. “How about that.”

  “The Matchmaker quiz, though, I did take, and so did you.”

  Rhiannon’s eyes narrowed and she recalled what he’d said, about Annabelle engineering their meeting. “Wait. Did she make us all take that questionnaire so she could see if you and I were a good match?”

  “Yup.”

  “Diabolical.” But she said it with admiration. Annabelle might not be a standard businesswoman, but when had Rhiannon ever surrounded herself with conventional people? “I might actually enjoy being her partner more than buying the business outright.”