by Robyn Neeley
“You’re a virgin.” She said it very matter-of-fact. “Is that all? Gosh, Sam, I’ve got to tell you, with that build up, I was afraid you were going to reveal some freaky secret that I wanted no part of.”
“I’m a thirty-year-old virgin. That doesn’t disgust you?” Again he tried to remove his hand. She placed it on her lap, wrapping the palm around her thigh and holding it there.
“With this solitary existence you’ve taken up, punishing yourself by living out in the boonies, it’s no wonder.” She stopped, blinked. “And if it’s because you were saving yourself for marriage, for the right person, well, that’s commendable. There are so few men like that in the world today.”
He didn’t say anything, just kept looking between their hands on her thigh and her face. Then it dawned on her. She was the right person. He had chosen her to give his virginity to. Wow. This had suddenly become a much bigger deal. It was no longer about casual sex, it was about making love. The stakes were higher.
She realized now that they couldn’t just share a bed for the brief time they had together before she moved to Scallop Shores. He might think he was ready for an encounter like that. But Sam was a different kind of man. Sam was a man with morals, and principles that were old-fashioned and … refreshing.
“I can’t tell what you’re thinking right now. It’s freaking me out.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
“I’m thinking we should take our time. Make sure we’re ready for this.”
He muttered an expletive under his breath, turning his head to stare out the driver’s side window.
“I knew you’d be disappointed.”
“Samuel Dennis, where on Earth did you get that idea? I still want you, you stubborn lug!” He refused to look at her. “But I want this to be special for you. I want to do this right. You only get one first time.”
“I don’t deserve you.” He’d turned his head and was smiling sadly at her.
Would things have been different if Sam had stayed? If the three of them had gone on to college together? She hadn’t thought of him like that, back in high school, but her need of him had gone beyond casual friendship. She felt his loss so deeply that it had affected nearly every decision she had made regarding her future. Could she have loved him back then and not realized it?
And why did her head choose this moment to bring these thoughts to the forefront? She needed some time alone to sort it all out.
An all-too-familiar trumpeting sounded from the backseat, followed by an unpleasant odor. Saved by the poo! Wynter scrambled from the cab of the truck at the same time Sam flung open his own door. As they were both embarrassed, she mostly felt relieved when he quickly disappeared from view. Not the best way to wrap up such a highly charged conversation, but it provided them both the escape they needed. She reached into the backseat and hauled out her stinky daughter.
• • •
Morals sucked. He’d waited his whole adult life to share the most intimate of moments with someone he deemed worthy of the wait. That it happened to be the same person he had pictured as an idealistic teenager still shocked him. He knew Wynter was the one for him. He knew he’d never love anyone else the way he loved her. But he did not know if she felt the same way.
Sam cracked another stick across his knee and tossed the pieces in the yard waste bin. The warmth of the bright sunshine was negated by the chill wind that blew through the back yard. In like a lion … He put his back into the labor in an effort to stay warm.
So did he say ‘screw it’ and share what little time they might have left memorizing every detail of their developing relationship? Would that make it worse when the time came to say goodbye? Or, and this was the option that made him feel like a jerk, did he convince her to give up her dreams of raising Charlotte in Scallop Shores to stay with him in Braeden, or somewhere they chose together?
Sam wished like hell that he could go with her. Things were good between them, really good, and if he agreed to go back to Maine, they stood a chance of making it. But the town, those memories, he was scared it would drive him insane. Every time he drove by his old house, every time he saw an ambulance, he’d remember the dread upon hearing those sirens from the quiet safety of Wynter’s bedroom. He couldn’t save his parents and, God help him, he still believed he should have died with them that night.
He attacked the flowerbeds with a vengeance, raking the dead leaves away from the daffodils more roughly than was necessary. Wynter was over at Riley’s, working on the built-ins that she was going to surprise him with. Wynter and power tools. Sam groaned, his jeans feeling a tad too tight. Yeah, teenage Sam had much tamer fantasies about the girl next door. Teenage Sam wouldn’t have known what to do with a woman like Wynter.
Quite honestly, he didn’t know where all this confidence stemmed from. It wasn’t like he had the experience to back it up. Thinking about Wynter, about being with her, it just felt right. They were meant to be.
Then why did she marry Holt? The niggling doubt sent unwelcome chills down his neck. Back then, he’d been just as close to Holt as he was to Wynter. Was he betraying his friend by stealing the woman he’d loved? Could he get away with telling himself Holt would want him to take care of his wife and daughter?
Guilt. If anyone was intimately familiar with this cruelest of emotions, it was Sam. Survivor’s guilt. Guilt over leaving Wynter and Holt. Guilt from avoiding his sister, his nephews, and his grandmother. The different facets of guilt that made up his life were getting too numerous to mention. It was both physically and mentally exhausting. Sam knew he should just let it go. And he wanted to. For Wynter.
The sickeningly sweet crooning of some boy band from years past had Sam dropping the rake and scrambling in his pocket to answer his phone. Wynter’s idea of a joke. She saw Sam leaving his cell phone out as an invitation to mess with his ring tone—the more obnoxious the better. This was worse than the Village People song she’d stuck him with last week. He hit the answer button without even checking the screen.
“What crap is this? A boy band? I could have hurled all over my phone, thank you very much.”
“Samuel?” His grandmother’s voice sounded confused, a little annoyed.
Whoops.
“Hey, Grandma. Sorry about that. I thought you were Wynter.”
“Not even in my prime.” He could hear the laughter in her tone, could picture her shaking her head in mirth.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while.” Might as well get the apology out there before she could ask for it.
“That’s all right, actually. I understand you’ve been quite busy.”
Paulie had been filling their grandmother in on his private life again. Leave it to his sister to butt in and stir things up.
“I received a letter from Wynter.”
Sam stumbled, casting his gaze around for somewhere to sit before he fell. Is this what a panic attack felt like? His lungs were on fire and whatever breath he could draw was raspy and weak. It was as though a thousand ants were crawling over his skin, behind his ears, across his scalp. His knees felt liquid and he let himself sink to the ground with a grunt.
“Samuel?”
“Still here, Grandma. She wants to run your bookstore. I know.”
“Well, then you can tell her it’s hers. I’ve waited until I was sure she was ready. She’s a bright girl. Good head on her shoulders. And now she’s a single parent who could definitely use a break. Unless … ?” She let the question dangle.
“Yeah, she wants it. She’ll do a great job. You’re the best, Grandma. We owe you big.”
She said nothing. The silence was even more unnerving than her grand news.
“I was hoping … Well, it’s none of my business. An old woman’s foolish dream.”
“I can’t do it, Grandma. I can’t go back there.” He put his elbows on his knees, hanging his head.
“I was going to say that I hoped you and Wynter would find that spark you once had. I would have laid odds tha
t you were the one she was crazy about, not that other boy, Holt.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to call his grandmother crazy, but he bit it back in time.
“Things between us aren’t like that, Grandma.” As much as he wanted them to be.
“So you’re just going to let her go?” It grated on Sam that she sounded as though she were speaking to a young child.
“It’s what she wants, Grandma. I want her to be happy.”
“Could you make her happy?”
Could he? He’d like to think so.
“It doesn’t matter, anymore. Her heart is already in Scallop Shores.”
“And what about once she’s here, will your heart be in Scallop Shores, as well?”
That wasn’t fair.
“Samuel, you had no control over losing your parents. It was tragic, but it wasn’t your fault. If you let Wynter go without telling her how you feel, without even trying to get past whatever this is that keeps you from home, well, that’s on you, Sammie.”
She was right. It hurt to admit it, but she spoke the truth.
“Pass on my message for me, won’t you? The job is hers if she wants it.”
“I will, Grandma.”
“I miss you, Samuel.” She sounded so old, tired.
“I love you, Grandma.” Tears stung the backs of his eyelids as regret washed over him. He hadn’t seen his grandmother in so very long. God, how he missed her!
Sam turned off the phone, holding it in his palm as he stared moodily at the skinny stem of a struggling new daffodil.
“Who ya talking to?” Wynter had snuck up on him from the driveway.
“My boss. New project in the works. We should celebrate.”
“You didn’t seem exactly happy about it.” She frowned.
“You know how it is, big bucks coming in but long hours to earn them. Just trying to wrap my mind around it.” His smile fell flat.
He’d just lied to his best friend. And to make matters worse, he had no intention of telling her that the bookstore was hers. His grandmother had wanted him to take control of the situation, to ensure himself a favorable outcome. He had no doubt she’d flay his hide for manipulating things this way, but he was buying himself some time. He needed to make Wynter fall in love with him. Then maybe she’d give up the idea of going back to Scallop Shores. She’d understand the subterfuge in time, right?
Chapter 16
She smelled like baby puke. Wynter leaned her head against the door to the nursery, breathing a sigh of relief that Charlotte had finally drifted off. She just wanted to jump in the shower, get into her pajamas and talk Sam into a cuddle on the couch. Maybe with a little kissing. Or a lot of kissing.
Good grief. She was bone tired and embarrassingly smelly. Sex should have been the last thing on her mind. But just thinking about Sam had her willing to trade that most valuable of commodities, sleep, for a little alone time with her man. Her man.
She’d never craved Holt’s touch the way she did Sam's. Sex with Holt had been pleasant. Wynter cringed. What kind of description was that? The guy knew his way around a woman’s body. But her reaction had been purely physical.
She understood why now. She had loved Holt. But she’d never been in love with him. Sharing her body with him had been a duty, a wife’s responsibility. Sam wasn’t even her husband, but a connection was there that had never existed between her and Holt. As was the case of late, thoughts of Sam had her tingling, squirming.
“Hey, Wyn, can you come in here?”
See? Just his voice could curl her toes. Wynter smiled, turning toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. She’d just peek in, tell him she was in desperate need of a shower. A strange glow lit Sam’s room from within. Shuffling forward, her heart raced with equal parts fear and excitement. What was he up to?
Candles. The room was filled with them. And the bathroom too, by the looks of it. Wynter sniffed the air. Cinnamon? And some kind of pine? Every surface was covered with tiny tea lights, votives in holders and regular water glasses, and jars from her favorite candle company of all time.
“They’re Christmas scents, I know. It’s all I had. Paulie sent me a buttload so I’d be prepared in the event of a blizzard.” Sam dug a toe into the carpet and looked up sheepishly. “It’s too much. I can put them out.”
“No! Please leave them. I love them. I love Christmas scents, flavors, everything about Christmas.” She stepped into the room, turning in a slow circle. If it was possible for a smile to spread from her face to the rest of her body, then it did. She felt the smile in her heart and it warmed her and filled her with a sense of belonging, of purpose.
“I ran a bubble bath for you. Take your time.” Sam held up the baby monitor he’d swiped from her bedroom.
“Sam, are you … Is this … ” Afraid to look him in the eye, she twisted her fingers together into knots. Her eyes darted from one flickering flame to the next.
He tossed the monitor on the mattress and strode toward her, taking her hand in one of his. Reluctantly, she met his gaze. His grin was fortifying. Reaching up with his thumb, he worked her bottom lip out from between her teeth, rubbing it slowly. Wynter held her breath.
“Take your bath, Wyn. I’ll be waiting.” The kiss he dropped on her lips was full of promise.
The sudden rush of heat between her legs made her knees wobbly. She nodded, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other as she made her way into the steamy bathroom. Was she supposed to shut the door? Would that be rude?
She glanced back to find Sam standing in the center of the bedroom, his hooded eyes watching her every move. Emboldened by his gaze, she left the door open and peeled off her clothes, one item at a time. Automatically, her hand reached out to cover her tummy pooch. Sam’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. Had he gotten closer to the doorway? Wynter’s stomach lurched and nerve endings all along her skin stood at attention. And this was how he affected her with just a look?
Careful not to slip, Wynter slid a foot into the foamy water. This time, in addition to the pine and cinnamon wafting through the thick air, she picked out vanilla and … was that bayberry? It should have been a chaotic, overwhelming mix of scents, but somehow it actually fit. Her body sank into the bubbles. She let her head fall back, the hot water tickling her chin. Her eyelids drifted shut.
Her ears were beneath the water, but she knew the moment Sam entered the bathroom. Suddenly shy, she wasn’t sure if he intended to join her in the massive soaking tub or just sit and watch her bathe. Her eyes remained closed as she waited for him to make the first move.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Good first move.
Wynter cracked an eye open and peered up at Sam, who was on his knees, his elbows resting on the edge of the tub. She glanced down to see if any of her lady parts were sticking out of the bubbles, thinking that was what he was referring to. Nope. Actually, his eyes had never left her face.
“I was wondering … ” His voice trailed off. Spots of color bloomed on his cheeks. “I wanted to try something.”
She sucked in her breath, rising out of the water a bit, panic awakening a flight or fight response within her. Was this a kinky something? Just as quickly she shook that thought from her head. All of this was new to Sam. Of course he was nervous.
“Would you let me wash your hair?”
Wait, what? Okay, she hadn’t been expecting that. She blinked him back into focus, as a broad smile slowly spread across her face. Why, yes, yes he could wash her hair. What a delicious idea. Her heart tripping in her chest, she nodded.
Wynter slid lower in the water until her hair was floating around her. For the first time in forever she wished it were longer again, able to swirl through the water, the strands long, silky, and incredibly sexy. Her spiky cut now felt boyish, butch. She sat up, drawing her knees to her chin and hugging them against her body.
“I remember your hair when we were in high school. You always kept it down with that big, fat headband to k
eep it all in place.”
He liked it better longer too. A frown pulled at the edges of her mouth.
“Heck, you could have just tumbled out of bed and never brushed it. It was always the color that got to me.”
She chanced a look through her lashes. Sam’s eyes were bright but his smile had that faraway look that told her he was more in the past than in the moment. He reached for the shampoo in the corner and drizzled a little directly on top of her head. Wynter couldn’t help the giggle that burst out. It tickled. Who knew she had such a sensitive scalp? Shivering, she concentrated on getting her head back in the moment.
“Fire and … life. That’s what I always thought of when I thought about the color of your hair. You always looked so full of life.”
“Did you think of my hair often, Sam?” She’d meant it as a joke but the way his fingers hesitated, Wynter knew she’d struck a chord.
“Well, when you have hair the color of molten lava, it tends to be a focal point.” He quirked one side of his mouth up, a funny half-smile.
And then his fingers began to tunnel through, massaging her scalp and she could no longer focus on anything but pure sensation. She purred—she was sure of it. And she didn’t care. Sam was working magic and she hoped he’d never stop. His blunt fingernails raised goose bumps over every surface of her skin as he scratched them over the top of her head, multiple circles swirling in tandem. It was luxurious. The purr turned into a deep-throated moan. Wynter’s tongue slipped out to wet her suddenly parched lips.
Sam’s fingers pressed harder. Another quick glance told her this one-sided foreplay must have been torture on him. His eyes were nearly black with need. His nostrils flared and the delicious way he nibbled at his lip had her wondering what it would feel like were he to nibble at her the same way. Yes, it was time to wrap up this bath.
“I think I should wait for you … in the other room.” His voice had come out strangled. He seemed to be struggling for every breath he took.
“I’ll be quick.”
Sam gave a hard nod, fixed his gaze on her mouth, and then, as if he were fighting a losing battle, cupped her soapy head and drew her in for a soul-searing kiss. Just as quickly he let her go, both of them shaking. With a last searching look he turned and hurried from the room. Wynter could see him just beyond the doorway. He was pacing.
