by Jaid Black
* * * * *
Sam was pissed.
The flight to Tampa was God awful bumpy, the food was dry and about as tasty as he imagined dog food would be, and worst of all, he had some “helpful” fan sitting next to him during the entire flight, pointing out what had gone wrong with his game last season. Yeah right. Like that five-foot-two, skinny-assed weasel had ever played ball. Like he had the first clue what it was like out there on the field. Sam was damn sick of free advice. Like Harry’s granddad Willy used to say to his doctor if he’d get on to him about watching his calorie intake, “when I want your advice, mister, I’ll beat it out of ya.” Sam smiled. He sure enough missed that old man there.
Which brought Sam to his next complaint. When he’d finally arrived in Tampa after surviving dismal weather, air traffic delays, yucky food, damned annoying conversations with a particular fan who shall remain unnamed because he couldn’t recall said name even if he tried, and a suicidal cab driver who got him from the airport to the Jones family’s estate in Hyde Park faster than his namesake traveled in the old TV show Quantum Leap, Sam at least thought he’d be greeted by smiling faces. Not so. Nobody was home. Jesus H Christ! What a damned day!
Of course, Sam reminded himself, nobody was expecting him to show up for another three days. Lee had thought it would take that long to talk the Crusaders into upping his salary by another three million. Goes to show how much his manager knows. Sons of bitches caved in after forty-eight hours of negotiating.
Sam threw his suitcases to the ground in order to pound louder on the front door. Surely someone had to be around. There was usually at least a cleaning lady trailing about. Irritated with himself for not calling Harry ahead of time, Sam raised his fists to the front door and hit it repeatedly with everything he had in him. Between weather, dumb fans, and insane taxi drivers, he was just pissed off enough to all but put a hole in the door.
Just when Sam was about to give up and take another anxiety-inducing cab ride to the nearest hotel, the front door whirled open. Standing before him in all her furious glory was a fuming hot little firecracker. She narrowed her eyes as she swung the front door wide. “What the hell do you…”
The firecracker’s eyes widened in surprise. Sam’s widened in amazement. He gulped at the sight that greeted him. His arousal was instantaneous and extremely painful.
Lord have mercy.
It was Cupcake. A very sexy, all grown up Cupcake. She was molded into a pair of Daisy Duke shorts that just begged a man’s mind to wander to what was inside of them. And the jersey she wore, his jersey, he thought possessively—gawd damn!
Sam’s eyes trailed over the shirt, noticing with much delight how his boyhood jersey fit Cupcake snugly across her bountiful breasts. He looked closer and realized— oh baby!—she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her large nipples were puckered into points that reminded him of cherries on top of a sundae. He bet they tasted like them too. He shifted uncomfortably when his erection grew larger, but couldn’t seem to break his gaze from that jersey.
Sam sensed a little furious tension emanating from the object of his desire when she cleared her throat, all but demanding he look her in the face. Reluctantly, Sam tore his gaze from her chest to her eyes. And oh baby, she looked just as good up there! Gwen’s eyes were still as green as ever. Her hair was still long, tawny, and sleek, and yes, it was pulled up into that cock teaser of a topknot. And her lips—sweet Jesus!—he’d never noticed how full and ripe they were before. Man oh man what lips like those could do to his…
Sam cleared his throat, trying his damnedest to erase his brain of its wayward thoughts. He supposed Gwen would take it badly if after eleven years of absence, he suddenly burst through the door, threw her to the carpet, and buried himself deep inside of her like a caveman who’d been gone too long from the cave. Ahh well, that could happen later.
Sam offered Gwen his most killer smile. The same one he reserved for a lady he was wantin’ to score big-time with. It was the grin that showed off his white teeth and lifted one corner of his mouth in an ever so slightly rakish way. “Hi there, Cupcake. Can I come in?”
Chapter 4
Gwenyth was briefly disconcerted by the fact that her first impulse upon opening the door and realizing who was standing there was to throw herself into Sam Tremont’s arms and beg him to make love to her. She sighed dejectedly. He’d never welcome that. He thought of her as a—gee how sweet—little sister.
Gwenyth’s face colored slightly when she realized that Sam was staring straight at her chest. Great. Just great! He was obviously wondering why she had kept his #33 jersey after all these years. He probably thought she was still pining away for him. Well, she’d show him. Gwenyth Jones pines over no man! She might still fantasize about him, and her last serious relationship two years ago might have broken up after she’d inadvertently screamed out Sam’s name in a crucial sexual moment, but she never, ever pined, damn it!
Clearing her throat and quickly donning what she hoped was a nonchalant air about her, Gwenyth waited for Sam to meet her gaze. And when he did, her knees all but buckled. She knew his eyes were blue, but she hadn’t remembered them being that blue. And when he smiled—good grief—she almost forgot that it wouldn’t be at all the thing to tear open his very fashionable blue jeans, jump into his embrace, and impale herself on his flesh then and there. Lord knows she was wet enough to make it an easy entry.
Sam’s voice broke through Gwenyth’s daze, causing her to straighten up and take a deep, steadying breath. “Hi there, Cupcake. Can I come in?”
Cupcake—he still called her Cupcake. Annoyed by how much wetter her panties were growing with each word he uttered, she ruthlessly squelched her attraction to Sam, consigning it to the nether lands, and concentrated on answering his question. Smiling like the gracious southern hostess Verlene had taught her to be, she gracefully threw her hand toward the hall. “By all means, come on in.”
Sam inclined his head, his eyes never leaving her. Was she going crazy, or was he studying her dimples like a snake caught in a mesmerizer’s hold? She shook her head mentally, telling herself she was only imagining things. Thrusting her hands into the back pockets of her cutoffs, she regarded Sam. “Would you like me to show you to the bedroom?”
Sam gulped. She watched in fascination as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in time with his swallow. Great. Just wonderful. He was looking at the jersey again. “Sam?”
Sam finally dragged his gaze back up to Gwenyth’s face long enough to answer her. “That would be nice, Gwen.” He swallowed again, shaking off the weird dazed look she’d seen in his eyes in the process. “I’m sorry, Cupcake.” He grinned. “I’ve had a hell of bad trip and I’m very tired.”
Gwenyth felt immediately contrite. She reached out and rubbed Sam’s arm up and down. If she wasn’t already positive that her imagination was running on overdrive today, she would have sworn she’d heard him suck in his breath. “I wasn’t thinking. Let me show you upstairs.” She smiled up to him, her dimples popping back out. “You look like you could use a rest.”
* * * * *
Sam took in a series of deep, heaving breaths as he recovered from the best orgasm he’d had in a long, long time. That he’d had it in the shower—alone—was beside the point. He’d been left with no other viable option. Ahh well, at least Junior was now squeaky clean.
Sam wrapped a cotton towel around his hips and padded his way from the bathroom over toward the bed. He stretched out his heavily muscled shoulders and yawned sleepily, realizing that he truly was tired now. After a quick glance at the mounted wall clock to assure himself that his presence wouldn’t be expected downstairs until dinner time—which wouldn’t be served for another few hours—he drew in a deep breath, flung the towel into the nearest chair, and dropped onto the guestroom bed with a thud.
Sam reclined on his back and drew his hands behind his neck for support. Gazing up at the ceiling, he smiled dreamily at the purdy picture Cupcake had turned into. Lord have mer
cy, he couldn’t believe how hard he’d got after just a glimpse of her! It was all he could do to contain himself long enough to make it into the shower with his trusty bar of soap in hand.
Gwen had always been fine to his way of thinking, but he hadn’t anticipated her getting even finer. He’d expected to come down here and meet up with his purdy little pudgy princess…not a twenty-pound trimmer but still ample and curvy goddess.
And those nipples. Mmm-mmm. Had they always stuck out, long and hard like that? Her breasts had been big since fourteen, but he’d never noticed the nipples before.
Sam smiled his cat-that-ate-a-particularly-tasty-canary smile when he recalled the fact that Cupcake had been wearing his high school jersey. She’d kept it. After all these years, Gwen had kept the battered thing. Amazing. No woman had ever gone and done something sentimental over Sam Tremont like that before. Oh sure, they all wanted jerseys as sexual souvenirs from a night or a week in his bed, but none had ever done something so sweet as to keep his jersey “just because.”
And Sam was willing to bet that no one outside the Jones family even realized Gwen owned a genuine Tremont jersey. No sir. Tale tellin’ wasn’t Cupcake’s style. Never had been.
It wasn’t like Gwen didn’t have the dough to buy herself whatever kind of a wardrobe she wanted. Harry had said she was doing real well with her picture taking. So that could only mean that somewhere deep down, Gwen still cared about him enough to have kept his shirt…if even as just a friend. The knowledge of it was making him hard all over again.
Sam sighed as he raked a punishing set of fingers through his short black hair. He needed to get himself under control…now. Gwen had certainly given him no sign that she still carried a torch for him and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by ogling her generously endowed body like a sex-starved boy of fifteen when he made his way downstairs for dinner in a few short hours. He could only hope Cupcake had donned a bra to cover up those jutting nipples by the time he next saw her.
Hell, he thought dejectedly, the nipples were only one of many erection-inducing things about Gwen. Even if he was lucky enough to find her sporting a bra—and not sporting those Daisy Duke shorts—she’d still have a million curves, cuter than all hell dimples, and strawberry scented hair. Sweet Jesus, even the woman’s dainty little ankles set his blood to racin’. And that tiny little dot of a mole set right above her lip…
Sam blew out a breath and flopped onto his belly to go to sleep. He couldn’t let himself start thinking about Gwen like this. It was too soon and he had no intention of scaring her away from the game before he even made it to first base. She was probably still mad at him over that scene with Stacy eleven years back. He’d definitely have to handle this situation with expert precision.
Sam decided he’d treat this just as he did any competition he’d set his mind to winning. He’d play hard and give it his all. Strategy. It always came down to strategy. And with Cupcake the best strategy would be to reel her in slowly, like a doe he was trying to lure closer to feed from his hand.
Sam fell asleep with a grin on his lips. He’d waited over a decade to take his not-so- pudgy princess to bed, and he’d be damned if he’d go home before it finally happened. He wasn’t certain if he was quite ready to settle down and make a family just yet, but maybe he was. Hell—who could say what he was or wasn’t ready for ‘til the time came.
But there was something he was definitely ready for. One way or another, Sam “The Slam” Tremont wasn’t leaving Tampa Florida ‘til he gave Gwenyth Marie Jones the fuckin’ of a lifetime.
Poor little girl. She’d never know what hit her.
Chapter 5
“You’re lookin’ good, boy, lookin’ real good.” Granddad Willy nodded toward Sam as Verlene fussed over him, slathering Sam’s baked potato up with a heavy dollop of creamy butter and the smooth as sin sour cream Willy had made from scratch.
Harry slapped Sam on the back and grinned. “You don’t look much different. A few more laugh lines, old man, but not much different.”
Sam grunted affectionately at his lifelong pal. It was good to have someone to verbally spar with again. Most people approached him with kid gloves, afraid to offend him in any way. “You’re one to talk, Jones. I see more than one laugh line or two crinklin’ at the corners of your eyes as well.”
Harry chuckled. “The ladies rather like my laugh lines. They say it gives me character.”
Willy harrumphed, drawing Sam’s attention toward him. He had to grin at the Madea t-shirt old Willy was wearing today. “You date some strange women, son. Your Grandmama, on the other hand, was always partial to my backside.” He inclined his head in a gesture of pure male ego. “She’s a butt woman, my Verlene.”
Said butt-woman rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Sam laughed. God he’d missed this bunch.
Dinnertime began with the same flair and panache as it always did at the Jones family home. Sam closed his eyes briefly as he inhaled the aromas of the food rising up around him. He could barely stand the wait. He was just dying to fork a bite of the green beans that had been prepared in bacon fat into his mouth. This was true southern cookin’ at its finest here. Yet another thing he’d missed about this place.
Verlene and Willy had really outdone themselves tonight. Steak, baked potatoes, green beans, freshly baked bread… ecstasy, pure and simple. Sam just wished Cupcake would hurry up and get her cute little backside upstairs. He was itchin’ to see Gwen again in a way he’d never itched to see another woman. That, and the fact that he was hungrier than he didn’t know what and he knew they would never start dinner without her.
Sam took a sip from his bottle of imported beer as he surveyed the motley group surrounding him. They were all so different, so unique from each other. Willy was outrageous, in both attire and mannerisms. Verlene was his opposite, as elegantly and gracefully feminine as her husband was brusquely masculine. Harry was a bit on the prudish, shy side, but was as nonjudgmental of others as a person could get. Gwen was… well…
Gwen was just Gwen. She was the baby of the family and as such she’d adopted characteristics of all the Jones’. She was as elegant and graceful as Verlene, as opinionated as Willy, and as tolerant of differences as Harry.
The Jones’ were one hell of a good people. They were all very much their own person, yet they respected everyone’s differences and loved each other deeply. Perhaps that’s why Sam had spent more time at the Jones house growing up than he had at his own. Every kid wanted some place where they felt accepted.
Even now, after a decade of absence, the elder Jones’ were treating Sam like their prodigal grandson come home. They offered him no recriminations on his past behavior, they demanded no explanations. They simply accepted him, for whatever it was worth. And Sam realized it was worth a hell of a lot. He’d never give them up twice.
Harry glanced at his watch and then at the pile of food spread out on the dining room table. He frowned. “I’m giving Gwen another two minutes and then I’m going downstairs to fetch her from the dark room.”
Willy harrumphed. “Best idea I’ve heard all day.” He waggled his eyebrows at his grandson. “You know how your sister is when she turns her mind to her pictures. Just like Verlene, she is. Gwen will be down there all day and night with the rest of them Vantry photos and won’t see fit to resurface ‘til tomorrow.”
Sam raised a brow. “Vantry photos?”
Verlene smiled warmly at Sam, then nodded. “Uh huh. Gwen just got back from cataloguing their women’s swimwear line in LA.”
Harry grinned affectionately at Sam. “We’re very proud of her. The Vantrys were so impressed with the photos she developed before leaving LA that they’ve asked her back to catalogue the men’s line in a few weeks.”
Well isn’t that interesting. “No kidding.” Sam tipped back his beer bottle and took a swig. He made a mental note to call Lee later and inform his agent that he’d decided to take the modeling job after all. “I always knew Gwen would make so
mething important of herself.”
Harry nodded as if that was a given. “She’s tenacious, my sister.”
Sam wondered if Cupcake would be just as tenacious in bed. Something told him she would be. Sighing, he shook his head to clear it of his lusty thoughts, then concentrated on downing the remainder of his beer.
“Two minutes are up,” Harry declared as he tossed his napkin on the table and made to stand up. “I’m going to fetch Gwen.”
Verlene shook her head and chuckled. “Hungry, are you? Well sit back down, sugar. I hear your sister coming up the back stairs now.”
Sam’s heartbeat accelerated. His pulse raced in anticipation of seeing her again. He sipped from what was left of his beer and frowned, highly annoyed by that fact. He glanced toward the doorway he knew Gwen would soon materialize into, hoping he looked more devil-may-care than he felt.
Lord have mercy.
She hadn’t changed out of his jersey, or out of those Daisy Duke shorts. It was enough to drive a sane man over the edge and back again. Swallowing roughly, Sam polished off the remainder of his beer while he got his raging hormones back under control. Strategy. It always came down to strategy. Now if only he actually had one.
Cupcake looked him dead in the eye and grinned. “Hi there, Sam. Did you sleep well?”
Sam smiled faintly as he reached for another beer. Her dimples were popping back out again, damn it anyway. “Yeah, Cupcake, I slept great.” He took a long, slow swig of the imported brew, carefully studying those bedeviling dimples as he did so.
Sam set the bottle down on the tabletop and sighed mentally. Lordy, lordy… this was going to be one hell of a long dinner.
* * * * *
An hour later, Sam stood up to help Gwen and Harry clear off the dinner table. He picked up all the condiments that had been set out for supper and strolled into the kitchen with them. As he walked into the room and glanced around, the familiarity of it struck him deeply.
