Her eyes were a siren song he couldn’t resist, drawing him in.
He leaned in to kiss her, lips slipping over satin lips.
Gradually she leaned back, taking him with her. The bed could barely accommodate Sam alone. The screech of springs stretched to their limit was accompanied by the scent of Red’s perfume. She smelled like hope and consolation.
He’d lost his towel somewhere. Naked and vulnerable, he raised himself up on his elbows and gazed down reverently at Red, fully dressed. There had always been heat between them. But now there was so much more. His chest swelled with a feeling too big to contain.
Red’s hips shifted until they were beneath his.
His entire body throbbed with pent up need. He was hers now. He knew it with the certainty that the Earth spun around the sun. She made the rules. He was simply a player in her game.
The instant he accepted that fact, he felt exhilarated. The truth really did set you free.
Their chests rose and fell in ragged breaths. Red’s cheeks grew rosy, her pupils expanded to black disks, entreating him to lose himself in their depths.
Sam was almost rabid with desire. His hands itched to touch her. He searched her face for answers. “You said we can’t. You said not tonight.”
Her brow furrowed with her own clashing needs.
He swallowed hard. “Tell me now,” he growled, his hand sliding up her ribcage. “Tell me to stop. If you don’t…”
* * * *
Red fought to keep a clear head. This was what she had wanted all along, wasn’t it? For Sam to open up to her? She’d just never dreamed it would happen like this—in a twin bed atop an old Army blanket. Until this moment they’d never shared a bed of any size. Isn’t that what she wanted, too? To stop having sex along the side of the road and move it into the bedroom, where it belonged? Or at least, where it would be more comfortable?
But far from solving anything, Sam’s admissions had only complicated matters.
She needed to set her emotions aside and think like a scientist. What were the facts?
She wanted him. Oh, she wanted him. Their chemistry was the one thing that had never been in doubt.
This exercise in chastity had been no picnic for her, either. She wanted him inside her. She needed his touch to send her soaring as only he could.
His eyes pleaded. He was waiting for her to go back on her rules, to give her the green light.
Sam had had a breakthrough of sorts, telling her things he’d kept buried for years.
But there was still so much left unsaid.
She had to decide—now. But how could she make a rational decision when his warm, naked body smelling of piney soap lay atop hers, the force of his need fully apparent through her skirt?
Sam cupped her breast, his thumbing brushing lightly across her erect nipple.
His eyes glazed with desire. “You want me as much as I want you.”
Her tongue darted out to lick dry lips.
“Say something,” he ground out, tightening his grip.
She was molten hot. It took all the strength she had not to arch against him.
Their breaths filled the space between them as seconds ticked by.
Sam’s jaw tensed. “You’re killing me, Doc,” he rasped breathlessly. “Say yes or no, but say something.”
“Yes,” she said helplessly.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Moments later, a deep, thumping wave of pleasure rolled through Red.
No doubt the farmer cutting hay in the distance heard her call Sam’s name over the rumble of his tractor.
Chapter 19
Red and Sam spent the rest of Friday night entangled in each other’s arms. The bed left them no choice. He had to admit though, even a twin mattress was better on his lumbar region than the ground.
Saturday morning, they breakfasted at Poppy’s. Red hadn’t brought up his past again, and no way was he going to stir the pot, not when he had just gotten her back again.
And then it was back to work for Sam for the remainder of the weekend, filling the backlog of wine orders.
Monday morning, he finally got through to Dad’s doctor.
“I’ve given him a complete physical, including medication review and lab tests, and a preliminary cognitive exam. He didn’t seem depressed. No treatable abnormalities were found.”
“Something’s not right,” said Sam. “He’s as confused as a fart in a fan factory.”
“Dementia is a hard condition to accurately diagnose. He might just be experiencing a normal, cognitive decline. It would help if he had been seen regularly over the years, but I’m scrolling through his records and I can’t find much history here.”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “He never was one for doctors. I don’t recall him ever being sick.”
“That’s all well and good, but not having a baseline makes it difficult for me to ascertain any significant changes. Has your father been having noticeable memory lapses?”
“Not that I recall. Tell you the truth, I don’t spend any more time around him than I have to.”
“Trouble communicating, then?”
“You kidding? Only way I got him to the initial consult was telling him we were making a run to McDonald’s for a hamburger. We went in and he asked the nurse at the counter for a Big Mac and a large fry.”
“Sometimes dementia can masquerade as a psychiatric disorder. Has your father had a personality change recently?”
“You mean, is it normal for him to go around jumping curbs with his truck, setting house fires, and hitting on married women half his age?”
Sam sniffed. No. He’s always been crazy.
“That last one’s pretty typical.”
“Flirtation, when excessive, is a documented cause for concern. Unfortunately, it’s still very subjective. We can only confidently say a patient has dementia in about half the cases that present.”
“I need answers. A lot’s riding on your conclusion. He almost burned down his own house. I can’t let him go back there unless I know he’s not going to do it again. Isn’t there some kind of test?”
“There is one…”
“What are we waiting for? Let’s get it scheduled.”
“It’s never an easy thing to hear, but the only way to confirm dementia is after the patient passes... by autopsy.”
A beat of silence filled the phone.
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
The doctor sighed. “My recommendation is to either recheck in six months—”
“I don’t have six months. I don’t even have six days.”
“—or refer him to a specialist. Woodcrest has a couple of contractors. Your father wouldn’t even have to leave the premises. Do you want to see to it, or have us set it up?”
Between his temperamental wine subscription service, his new “relationship” and the house thing hanging over his head, he didn’t need another headache.
“Could you schedule it? That’d take a load off. And would you let me know as soon as you get the results?”
“Of course. And sorry about the delay, earlier.”
Sam’s next call was to his lawyer to find out what his options were.
Chapter 20
On Saturday night, Sam and Red went to Junie’s place to help Junie and Manolo pick out wedding songs for their reception, along with Poppy, Heath, Mona and Rory.
“Should we start?” asked Junie, curled up in a chair with a pad and pencil.
“I thought Keval was coming,” replied Poppy.
“Keval is in Portland,” said Red.
“Keval’s been going to Portland a lot lately,” Poppy replied.
“Let’s do this,” said Red as she distributed sheets of paper from the stack in her arm. “I’ve compiled a
list of the most popular wedding reception songs from the last twenty-five years. I even printed copies so that we could all be on the same page. No pun intended.”
Without commenting,Junie looked at her pad, then across the patio at Manolo.
“Now. What do we think of Stevie Wonder?” asked Red.
“Absolutely. Little Stevie, Big Stevie. The more Stevie, the better,” replied Poppy.
“Really?” Mona made a face. “That’s not very contemporary.”
“It’s a wedding,” argued Rory. “You need stuff that everybody knows, from your great aunt on down. Now’s not the time to be showing off how hip your taste in music is.”
“How about Michael Jackson?” asked Red. “He’s number five on the list.”
Rory raised his wineglass in agreement. “Now you’re talking. Got to have some Michael in there to get people dancing.”
“Is “I’m Too Sexy” on here?” frowned Heath from where he sat on a stone wall in his “Quantum Mechanic” T-shirt flipping through his pages.
Poppy leaned into him, smiled fondly and gave him a one-armed squeeze.
“It doesn’t have to be exclusively retro,” said Red. “The more contemporary numbers start on page—”
“Um, Red,” said Junie.
“Hm?” asked Red, licking her finger to make shuffling through the papers easier.
“Manny and I... we made up our own song list. We just wanted your help in narrowing it down.”
“Huh?” Red looked up, her fingers stilling as she saw Junie hold up her pad.
There was a pause. Around the patio, eyes fell in an effort to spare her humiliation. Poppy suddenly found a new fascination with Manolo’s intricate stonework and Heath, well Heath was just Heath, no doubt thinking deep thoughts about such things as the origins of the stars and all the lyrics to “I’m Too Sexy.”
Red swallowed. “Oh.”
“I appreciate you going to all this trouble. Really, I do. But if you’d just asked... we want to pick out our own songs.”
Red’s face grew hot.
“I’m sorry. I just thought...”
“It’s okay.” Junie got up, went to Red and laid a hand on her arm. “We’ll check this out after we’ve exhausted our list, won’t we, Manny?”
“Definitely.”
“Maybe there’s something here that we hadn’t thought of. In fact,” she said, flipping through the thick pile, “I’ll bet you anything that there is.”
* * * *
“I’m going in to get some more wine,” Manolo told Sam. “Want to give me a hand?”
“Sorry about that,” said Sam, when it was just the two of them. “Red means well.”
“Oh, hey. No apology needed, man.”
“She just wants everything to be the best it can be for your wedding. Sometimes she goes a little overboard.”
“I get it. Junie definitely picked the right person to be her maid of honor. From the moment Junie asked her, Red’s been right there in the trenches with her. To the point of even second-guessing Junie’s color scheme.”
Sam winced. “You didn’t grow up around here. You didn’t see what we saw. Red growing up in a home like a revolving door. When it came to men, well... her mom didn’t discriminate. Red was helpless to make it better. I think that’s why she became a therapist. She’s still trying to fix things.”
“How’s that square with this house Red’s so set on buying?”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked cautiously.
“I could tell you were bothered by it the other night at the consortium.”
“I wasn’t bothered.”
Manolo thumped his chest. “This is me, Manny, you’re talking to.”
Sam steeled himself. “The house is between me and Red.”
Manolo leaned on the bar. “You can talk to me about anything, man. Don’t you know that? When did I not have your back?”
Sam looked over his shoulder at the patio where the others were arguing animatedly for their song choices.
It would do him a world of good to get the house dilemma off his chest.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “The house Red wants is the house I grew up in.”
“I knew it.” Manolo stood to his full height, letting his hand fall on the bar with a smack. “Does she know?”
“No.” Sam rubbed his hand over his face.
“Why not? Why haven’t you told her?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? What are you hiding?”
“I don’t want her to have it.”
“You said you weren’t attached to it.”
“I’m not. I want to get rid of it. I want it gone. The sooner, the better.”
“Why so defensive? What exactly’s wrong with it?”
“Don’t make me explain. If no one important to me knows about it, then it can’t come between us. It doesn’t intrude on the good parts of my life.”
“A house is a house is a house.”
“Not this one.”
Manolo glanced furtively around Sam to the patio. “Keep it down. What is it about this place? It haunted or what?”
“You could say that. I was never happy there. Because of that, I kept it separate from the rest of my life. I didn’t plan to. It just kind of evolved that way, being that it’s so far away from town, from school, from my friends.”
“Well, it’s a moot point, isn’t it, being that belongs to your dad.”
“If he can’t go back to it, I can take control.”
“And what? You don’t want it. Sell it. Sell it to Red. Make her happy.”
“Except…”
Manolo’s face lit up as he pieced it together.
“Then you’d have to keep going there.”
“I won’t sell. Especially not to Red.”
“Then what? Just let it sit there and rot?”
“I don’t know yet. I keep thinking about how Dad almost burned it down. I half wish I hadn’t come along when I did.”
All his problems, up in smoke. He’d never have to go back in there again, to be faced with them.
“Well, you didn’t.”
Sam heard footsteps, and then the lively discussion on the patio grew louder as the door opened.
Red’s gaze traveled over a somber Manolo and Sam. Normally, they would be bantering, cutting each other up. “Thought you were bringing some more wine,” she said cautiously.
“Looking for a certain bottle,” said Manolo in his usual, devil-may-care voice, opening a cupboard.
She put her arm around Sam, sitting at the bar. “Hey,” she said, eyeing him up and down. “You okay?”
It didn’t take a therapist to see that something was off.
“Yeah. You?” In his empathy over her overstepping by bringing her own playlist, he found himself touching the small of her back in consolation.
“Sure.” As if to prove it to him, she managed a small smile.
“Go on back out. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Red regarded Manolo and him with suspicion, but left without saying anything more.
Sam watched her return to the patio and the noise.
“So. What’s your next move?” asked Manolo.
“I wish I knew,” Sam replied.
“Whatever it is, you got to come clean with her. It’s the honorable thing to do. If the situation were reversed, it’s what you’d be telling me, man.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
That made it even worse.
But this wasn’t some minor hang up, some problem that could be solved over beers with the guys. What Sam was dealing with had been his whole life. Now it was coming to a head.
Chapter 21
“Oh!” Red fanned her warm face with both hand
s. “I…it’s… I can’t.”
Jutting out her chest, Junie turned sideways in the giant three-way mirrors. “Are you sure?” She jammed her thumbs into the boned bodice and yanked upward. “It’s not too low-cut? I don’t want people to think I’m trying to flaunt my assets.”
Red adjusted a wrinkle in Junie’s train, propped her hands on her waist, and scrutinized Junie’s scant A-cups. “It’s perfect. When Manolo sees you walking down that aisle, you’re going to take his breath away. What did your mom say?”
“She likes it.”
“Well, then. That’s half the battle.” Red and Junie had been dress shopping for months. Maybe, God help her, maybe she had finally made a decision.
Junie slumped inside her dress, which didn’t budge an inch. “I’m not one hundred percent sure.” She turned her back to Red. “Unbutton me? I just want to try the blush one on one more time.”
Red came face to face with the same fifty-four tiny satin buttons she had just forced into their too-tight loops minutes earlier. She glanced at her chipped manicure, then scraped her hair back and looped it through the elastic band on her wrist.
But it wasn’t about her.
“Did you hear about Keval?” asked Junie while Red struggled with her task.
“What about him?”
“He’s become friends with Jordan Hasselbeck.”
“Really?”
“I saw them at the café the other day. What about you and Sam?”
“Making progress. We’re more than just friends.”
There was a sharp intake of breath. Junie twisted inside her ivory cage. “Really? It’s about time.”
Red was so happy she couldn’t even be annoyed that Junie’s quick movement had made the button she had almost wrestled from its loop slide right back in. “I spent the night at his place last Friday.”
“Next year this time, maybe you’ll be the one trying on dresses.”
Wedding fever was contagious. And Red was still riding high from the weekend. “I shouldn’t jinx myself. But I think I may have already found The Dress.”
“You have?”
Given the extent of her digital scrapbook plus thirteen hours shopping in real life with Junie, who wouldn’t have? Just thinking about it made her wish she was planning her wedding, too.
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