Enduring (Family Justice Book 8)

by Suzanne Halliday

  Reasonable plan, right?

  Ryan glanced around, saw his leather cord necklace, and put it on. Then he found his clothes and gathered them in his arms on his way inside. Having zero recollection of taking off his boots, he found them next to the French doors and grabbed them too.

  The very second he stepped into the apartment, he had a sensation of falling through the looking glass into a completely upside down, inside out alternate world because it turned out that neat, tidy, uptight, OCD driven Jenna Carlton was anything but.

  His jaw dropped open at his first glimpse of her real life.

  Stuff was everywhere. Literal stuff. Everywhere.

  But not in a hoarding, dirty way. There was ... evidence of order and a weird scheme to things but still. Jenna was either a pack rat or had really shitty organizational skills.

  As he looked around, he marveled at the lack of available wall space because something was hanging every foot or so. A grouping of pictures here. A framed painting there. A colorful box-framed quilt hung above the sectional. More throw pillows than one person could use in a lifetime piled on the chairs and sofa. The coffee table was a book and magazine repository. A basket overflowing with pens and markers sat on top of a stack of coloring books.

  He walked naked around the living room taking it all in. Her bookcase was jammed with romances and Oprah Book Club shit. He had to laugh when he noticed a row of books about Emerson, Thoreau, Muir, and Theodore Roosevelt.

  How had he missed what was such a big part of who Jenna Carlton really was?

  He found the bathroom and another surprise. She might be a slob, but her bathroom was health inspection ready. Evidence of her quirky habits was apparent in the shower stall where the bottles and tubes of hair and body products sat in a line, tallest to shortest.

  Washing up and quickly dressing, Ryan left the bathroom and peeked into her bedroom—the door was open, so he didn’t feel bad—and almost burst out laughing.

  The biggest bed he’d ever seen dominated the large room. Made from ornately carved wood, he suspected it was a family heirloom. One side of the bed was a cluttered mess. Books piled on the nightstand along with a couple of water bottles and a gigantic pump bottle of lotion.

  The other side of the bed was unused. He pictured himself propped up against the grand headboard enjoying the shit out of watching Jen smooth that lotion head to toe every single night.

  A sound startled him, and he turned around as footsteps came thundering toward him. It was Jenna, and she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

  Oh, and she was completely naked.

  “I thought you left,” she cried a second before throwing herself on him. He caught her as she slammed into his body. Her distress touched his heart.

  “Hey, hey,” he said soothingly. “It’s okay, baby. Bathroom call. Was about to come back with a blanket so you didn’t catch a cold.”

  She clung to him with her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” she murmured into his skin. “I don’t know what came over me. When I woke up and you weren’t there ... your clothes all gone ... I panicked.”

  “Newsflash, it’s not going to be that easy to get rid of me.”

  She reared back and searched his face. “Really?”

  “We both seem to be dancing around the L word, and that’s okay. Going from park to Mach 3 takes some adjusting. I get that this is the weirdest timing ever, but who’s to say how anything happens?”

  She kissed his face over and over.

  “Thank you.”

  He heard her stomach growl and squeezed her with a laugh. “Why don’t you freshen up, get dressed, and prepare to be amazed by the best hand-thrown pizza this side of the Mississippi.”

  She laughed. “So there’s crazy animal sex on the patio and then we have our first date?”

  He shook his head and rolled his eyes at her smart mouth.

  “Be a good girl, Ms. Carlton, and run along before I change my mind and teach you a thing or two about my dick that may come in handy later.”

  Her naughty smirk sent his pulse racing. Again.

  “Are you saying class will be in session?”

  He swatted her bare butt.

  “Yes. And today’s class includes an oral exam.”

  “Oh, goody.” She giggled, clapped her hands, and hopped on her toes. The sight of her tits bouncing and the wicked pleasure he found in her eyes almost did him in.

  “Hurry, baby.”

  His phone buzzed. They both went silent. He pulled it from his pocket and sighed. “It’s John. He’s probably freaking.”

  She patted his arm. “Go ahead and take it. I’ll jump in the shower and get dressed. Please tell me jeans are okay. I’m not in the mood for business attire.”

  He answered the call, growled, “Hold the fuck on,” and then gave her nakedness a long, thorough once-over.

  “I like this version of Jenna. Don’t keep her from me again.”

  She kissed him and ran off while he enjoyed watching her sexy ass.

  “What?” he snarled into the phone.

  John’s instant retort was, “Fuck you, Ryan. It’s been hours. What the hell?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. “Dammit. You’re right. Sorry. Look,” he drawled as calmly as he could. “You really shoulda warned me before I walked into a trap that stepping on Jenna’s vacation time was a contract destroyer.”

  “Oh, shit. She told you that?”

  “Yes, she told me,” he shouted. “John, Jesus Christ!”

  “How mad is she?”

  Ryan thought about the question for a moment, glanced at the shut bathroom door, and made a calculated decision. If John thought Jen was having an employee meltdown, that’d buy him some time. Time to get their relationship on firm footing before they had to deal with his brother’s fuck up.

  “Well, I’ve convinced her not to cause me any bodily harm, so we can go to Freddy’s and scarf down a pizza. Maybe some food will make her less scary.”

  “Do you think she’ll help? With Samantha?”

  “I think she wants to smack you upside your damn head for being a monumental putz.”

  “Oh, good.” John chuckled. “So everything’s normal.”

  Ryan had to snicker. “Brother, you are one fucked-up unit.”

  “Convince her, Ry. This is important. I’m in love with Samantha. I know I fucked up, but I’ve never been in this situation before.”

  “You and me both,” Ryan mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing,” he said. “Look, I’d better go. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  “And John?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Not to state the obvious or anything, but have you considered telling Samantha how you feel? You know, dude, a mea culpa phone call might go a long way, and while you’re at it, cut the crap and tell her.”

  Silence.

  “I’ll consider it,” he finally mumbled.

  “Great. Okay. I’m out. Later, bro.”

  Chapter 13

  The door to Samantha’s apartment swung open, and she gave him a fearsome scowl. “What are you doing here, John?”

  He took a deep breath and willed himself to stay calm. Ryan was right. He needed to man up and tell Samantha what was in his heart.

  Knowing she was still furious, he came up with a way to offer his apologies and hopefully break the tension between them. He thought he was pretty clever and had his fingers crossed that she’d accept his admission of manly stupidity.

  After a bolt of inspiration, he tapped into the wonders of Yelp and Google maps, found what he wanted, and ran into a party store even though his driver offered to do it.

  Every groveling apology needs a prop. Or a prize, right?

  While she glared him down, John swung the arm he held behind him to the side and then brought it in front of him. In his hand, he held a pretty goddamn realistic play sword from the Wonder Woman movie.

  “I
came to fall on the sword, Samantha. I was a fucking idiot, and I’m more sorry than you can possibly imagine. I think you’re a wonderful mom and wasn’t trying to take away your authority.”

  “What were you doing, John? What in the world were you thinking?”

  He swallowed and nodded his head, so she knew he agreed with her opinion of his dumbassery. Her arms remained crossed, and she still had him in the hallway. The only way out of this was to do what Ryan said.

  “Honestly, Sam? I was thinking I’m in love with you and had some crazy idea that impressing you with my parenting potential would give me an advantage.”

  Her head performed a series of half double takes. Eyes that normally looked at him with warmth squinted fiercely.

  “Excuse me, what?”

  “I’m falling on the sword for you, Sam. For you and Chelsea. And yes, I know what I’m saying. Please give me a second chance. I, um, well, you see, it’s true. I’m in love with you.”

  Her expression registered shock. She shook her head. To clear her thoughts? Probably, he surmised.

  “John.”

  He handed her the sword. “Samantha, please.”

  “Oh, my god,” she muttered when the fake plastic weapon was in her hand. “What am I going to do with you?”

  With a grimace, he admitted, “You know I have a hard time reading these things, so tell me how thin the ice is, okay?”

  It was his turn to be shocked when her free hand shot out and grabbed his to pull him inside her apartment. He took four steps and stopped, unsure of his status and wishing he was better at reading the tea leaves.

  She shut the door quietly and turned the locks. Motioning to him for quiet with a finger at her lips, she tiptoed away from the door and waved at him to follow. They were in a hallway. Samantha stopped at a half-closed bedroom door and stuck her head in. A few seconds later, she pulled the door closed and walked further—to another room on the opposite side and at the end of the hall.

  He was pushed into the room rather abruptly. Stumbling as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he immediately realized they were in her bedroom.

  Holy crap.

  He hadn’t been in a woman’s bedroom since ... well, since before his father died. His sex life, what there was of it, involved business sex and nothing more. Bedrooms, romance, and seduction weren’t part of the deal once he was CEO of the company.

  Uh-oh.

  His palms grew warm. The collar of his shirt felt far too tight. Not even sliding a finger between the fabric and his skin made any difference.

  He smoothed a hand down his tie and then wondered who in their right mind put on a suit and tie at nine o’clock in the evening.

  Shit. He did.

  Frozen to one square foot of space, John worried he was sweating bullets as Samantha walked the perimeter of the room, switching on a low lamp and shutting the blinds. She stood the sword in a corner.

  What was happening?

  She moved a pile of laundry from a hope chest at the foot of her bed, placed it on a chair, and then sat on the wooden trunk.

  He felt his brows rise.

  The fact he hadn’t noticed until this very second that she was in a nightgown and robe reminded him what a clueless dimwit he was.

  Would he have noticed if she was naked?

  Damn. He hoped so, but with his track record, John couldn’t be sure.

  “Now,” she said with a sharpness that made him jolt. “I think we need to talk.”

  Okay. He could do talking ... but why was she looking at him like that?

  And what should he do with himself? Stand there? Pace? Maybe fall to his knees?

  “So you’re in love with me. Do I have that right?”

  John gulped heavily and nodded eagerly. In an awkward attempt to appear cool and hip, he slid a hand into a pocket of his slacks and assumed a casual posture.

  At least, he hoped it was casual.

  When she coughed on a snicker and looked at the floor, he knew it wasn’t.

  She recovered and sat straighter, tugged the sides of the robe together tighter and yanked on the sash. Crossing her legs, though, made the robe slide off her exposed thighs. Whatever she was wearing beneath the robe was short because all he saw was the pink robe and none of the rest of the white evident around her throat.

  Just like that, he was a dead man.

  As the sight of her tongue swiping around her lips distracted him, he didn’t catch the beginning of what she said. But he heard the end.

  “Tell me what being in love with me means. Use your words, John.”

  A reflex chuckle shot from his throat. Use your words was one of Jen’s favorite expressions.

  “It means I don’t dread the office anymore because I get to see you. It means I think about you day and night. It means I’ve driven my assistant nuts because of you. It means I want to be with you all the time. To hear your thoughts, listen to you laugh, and experience the enormous love you have for your daughter. It means I want to blow up that motherfucking war and make everyone pay for taking your fiancé from you. It means I worry about you, all alone, trying to do everything. It means I want to take away your sadness, Sam, and spend my life doing nothing but bringing out your smile. Do I know what love means? Yeah, it means you.”

  They gazed at each other in the dim light. He held his breath. When he was sure he couldn’t stand there another second, she sighed and stood.

  “That was quite a speech.”

  “I meant every word,” he assured her.

  Her smile, when it came, meant the world made sense again.

  “The way I see it, we could dance around each other, play dating games, try to act grown-up.” She sniggered. “Something that I fear would be a challenge for both of us.”

  He perked up. What was she saying? Was this her way of helping him down off the emotional ledge and cutting him a break?

  “Or,” she drawled in a voice that grabbed his balls and squeezed, “we could bypass all that nonsense and go right for the main event.”

  John nodded. Whatever she said, he would agree with.

  Wait, what? The main event? His eyes searched for hers. She was moving slowly toward him, her hands on the sash of the robe.

  “Er, uh, the, uh, what? Sam?”

  She smiled, and the sash came undone. A second later, the silken robe slithered off and drifted to the floor. Underneath, she wore a white tank top that barely made it to her navel and a pair of polka dot panties.

  The curves scaring him shitless were on display. It was all he could do to stand still when she walked right into his personal space and began removing his tie.

  “You’re thinking I’m bold and brazen, aren’t you?” she asked teasingly. “Believe me,” Samantha said with a happy laugh, “it’s all an act, but I figure if we wait for you to find your moment, the time would be counted in dog years.”

  She tugged on an end of the tie and slowly pulled it from around his neck. The effect was strip tease-ish. Next, she went for the buttons of his shirt.

  “Feel free to slip off the jacket at any time.” She chuckled.

  “Uh, Sam?”

  She winked and laughed. “I love that you call me that. And because we both know I could have ripped your head off and made you feel awful for taking the liberty, I found your boldness sexy.”

  His anxiety vanished in a flash. He enjoyed her playful side, but she had a thing or two coming if her taking control meant she thought he was a boy or, worse, a loser in the bedroom.

  His suit jacket dropped on the floor, and he pushed her hands away to finish with the shirt buttons. With a smirk, she stood back, crossed an arm around her middle, and rested her elbow there as she eyeballed him and tapped a finger on her lips.

  “Why, Mr. Lloyd,” she purred. “What have we here?”

  He grinned or maybe he leered and ripped his shirt open with a dramatic flair. The custom-made garment joined the jacket on the floor.

  “Oh, my,” she exclaimed when his chest was b
ared.

  He might not be a workout freak and haunt the gym day and night, but he did enjoy playing tennis and employed a local pro to take him on once or twice a week.

  And he swam—like a motherfucker—because when he was alone in the water with just his thoughts, John found one of his few moments of Zen.

  If there was a scale for guys his age, he was vain enough to figure his forty-two years stacked up pretty damn well against a lot of others.

  Samantha must have agreed because she stared at his torso and gave a soft, appreciative whistle.

  “One naked chest deserves another,” she said in a husky, deep drawl. When she whipped off the thin tank top, John made a bunch of decisions based solely on the magnificence of her boobs.

  First, he would marry her. Immediately. And second, he planned to make love to her until she had nothing left to give.

  He came back from a boob fantasy when her laughter cut through the thick sexual haze engulfing him.

  “What the hell is it with men and boobs? Is it genetic that you all lose your shit?”

  “You can’t be serious,”” he told her with a disbelieving snort. “I mean, come on! Have you seen those things?”

  His hands moved through the air—cupping, molding, and gesturing in every possible way to demonstrate the bodacious magnificence before him.

  “If I could, I’d take a picture and then have the image recreated in mosaic tile on the wall of my shower, so when I jerk off, I can do it while enjoying the view.”

  She gasped, and her mouth dropped open. “Why, John! I think that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” Her laugh made him smile. “But let’s get one thing straight. If I have anything to say about it, you won’t be wasting a perfectly good woody on a suds session.”

  He slapped his thigh and barked with laughter. “Suds session? Bwah!”

  She said, “Shh,” and jumped to cover his mouth with her hand.

  “Parenting rule number one: don’t wake the kid. Not if you know what’s good for you.”

  John didn’t waste another second. He grabbed the hair at the back of her head with a forceful yank, angled her face just so, and helped himself to an overflowing handful of tit.