Simon Says...

by Donna Kauffman

  Later. Later she’d deal with what came next.

  SOPHIE WAS ROUSED by the feeling of Simon kissing her temple, then the tip of her nose, the side of her chin. She stretched, feeling exactly like a cat must, after an afternoon spent napping in a sunbeam. Warmed throughout and more content than she could ever remember feeling. She fought to keep the storm of other thoughts at bay. She’d contend with all that, but she wasn’t ready for the dream sequence part of her personal movie to end.

  So she stretched, and rolled to her back, tugging him on top of her, then slowly opened her eyes as she felt him ready for her again. “My,” she teased, “what big—oh. Well.” She grinned. “My, indeed.”

  He slid into her wordlessly, the look in his eyes softer, yet every bit as intense, as focused, as it had been last time, when their mating was furious and fast. This time it was anything but. It was lazy, languid, and quite wondrously perfect as he brought her slowly up, and tremblingly over, before he climbed there himself. It was only afterward, when he had, with a naturalness that made her eyes sting, pulled her close again, her back curved to his chest this time, his leg tucked over hers as he fell into a deep slumber, did she realize how well and truly he’d claimed her. And that her life would never, not ever, be the same again, now that Simon Lassiter had a piece of her heart.

  “Not running,” she breathed, letting her eyes drift shut, knowing sleep would be a long time coming. She had a lot of thinking to do. Only an idiot would walk away from this kind of man. She might have done some questionable things since meeting him, but this part wasn’t in question. She was going to find a way to keep this. She tugged his arm more tightly around her. Keep him.

  THIS TIME SHE WOKE FIRST. He still had the curtains drawn, so the room was cast in deep, dark shadows. She had no idea what time of day it was, and, for the moment, anyway, she didn’t care. Instead, she carefully slipped from beneath the heavy weight of his arm and leg, and shifted around until she was on her side, facing him. Watching him. He looked less formidable while he was sleeping, but not exactly vulnerable. She studied his face, took her time looking at him, learning him. He was far, far, too pretty. In a rugged, intense kind of way. And he was hers. She looked up to the ceiling and smiled the smile of a woman who couldn’t believe her good fortune.

  Then she looked back at him, and the smile faded. Reality began to make its slow, insidious return into her head, if not exactly her heart. And she had no choice now but to let it. In a few short hours, she would go back to work. She would, no doubt, be dealing with some kind of fallout from allowing Tolliver’s hired pillars of beef to stand sentry. Delia would still believe that giving up her career to become a full-time Wingate Wife was a good idea, and that her husband-to-be would, at some point, stop being Cro-Magnon and treat her like his equal.

  And the benefit gala would go on this weekend, and Simon would figure out some way to retrieve what he’d come for…or not. And then it would be time for him to return to his life abroad. Far away from her life here. She studied his face. How did a person conduct a relationship over such a long distance? Did he come to this country frequently? She supposed she could travel to his when her budget and time constraints allowed. Which would be basically never if she ever had hope of opening her own place. And what did his work entail, exactly? How much did he travel? Did he have an office? For that matter, where did he live?

  The enormity of what she’d gotten her heart into really started to hit her. Because saying you would contend with the obstacles, that you’d find some way, that if you really wanted something, to figure it out, didn’t exactly solve the problem, now did it? Easy to say, but where was the solution? She didn’t see one. And she wasn’t sure she was cut out for a partnership where she hardly ever actually saw her partner.

  “You’re killing me, you know,” he murmured, his eyes still closed, his voice a gravelly mumble.

  She started for a moment, wondering how long he’d been awake. “How am I doing that? I’m just lying here.”

  “Thinking,” he said. “I can hear the wheels grinding from all the way over here. Speaking of which…”

  He reached out and covered her hip with his hand, and the next thing she knew, she was right back, flush up against him, tucked into the warm curve of his body.

  He rested his cheek on the top of her head and nestled her closer. “Much better. Now quiet down in there.”

  She should have been annoyed, but she was smiling, which made the annoyed part much harder to sustain. Somehow, with him wrapped around her, so steady, so certain, it made it much easier to think there might be a solution. Maybe that was the trick. Staying close to him. Letting him be the one to keep reality at bay. Maybe he would figure it out and she wouldn’t have to worry so much.

  “Still grinding,” he murmured, then pressed a warm kiss to her temple. He finally opened his eyes to stare deeply into hers. “Don’t worry so much. Where there’s a will…”

  “I don’t see the way,” she whispered. “How can we—”

  He cut her off with a short kiss, then heaved a deep sigh as he rolled her to her back and settled his weight half over her. His eyes were still dark with slumber and his hair was soft and tousled. His jaw was shadowed with the start of a morning beard, even though it had to be afternoon by now. He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t annoyed, either. Just…steady.

  “What?” she said, when he simply kept looking at her.

  “How willing are you to think outside the box you’ve built for yourself here?”

  “By box, do you mean my entire life?”

  “Yes,” he said succinctly.

  “Wow. Well.” She tried to mentally scramble through possible responses to that one, but he was too close, too serious, too…much. And she wanted all of it. To the point of it being a deep, aching, gaping chasm of want. “I’m willing,” she said simply. Though she was convinced there couldn’t be anything simple about this. Which figured, really. She’d finally found someone who could be The One, The Only, and of course, it was going to be impossible. She’d thought it was too good to be true that he’d want her as much as she wanted him, but it was true. So there had to be something else, right? The too good to be true part wasn’t that he wanted her back, it was that they both wanted and couldn’t have.

  “So am I,” he said, surprising her.

  It hadn’t occurred to her that maybe he’d be willing to make the adjustments.

  “You look surprised,” he said, pushing the hair from her face, his regard of her never wavering as sleep left his expression completely and the full-intensity Simon Lassiter returned.

  She wished she could say that she’d feel better, more at ease, if he’d dial that part of him down, only it would be a lie. She liked everything about that intensity. Most especially, most very especially, when it was exclusively focused on her. “I wasn’t thinking,” she said. “I mean, I was thinking about how I could adjust things, make this work, find a way to see you after you go back, and—do you travel here a lot, then?”

  “Sophie, I’m not interested in a commuter relationship with you.”

  Her eyes widened a bit, but she was rather proud of the steady, calm way she said, “Oh?”

  “No,” he responded.

  “So…what, then? You’re going to stay here? For me?” The very idea should have panicked her. A man she’d only just met, a man she wanted desperately to have a chance with, but still, a man she’d only known a few short days, was going to rearrange his entire life for her, a woman he’d just met. Yeah, terror would be the sane reaction to that possibility, on both fronts. So, where was the panic? The terror?

  “I’m a grown-up, you know,” he said, still toying with her hair, the slightest bit of twinkle surfacing in his otherwise still intent gaze. “I can put myself where I want to be. If it turns out I don’t want to stay, or you don’t want me to, I can always change paths again.”

  “Can it be as simple as all that? You just switching continents?”

  “In so
me ways, yes.”

  She didn’t say anything to that, and a few moments passed where he mercifully allowed it to sink in. “For me,” she said. “Really.”

  “Really.” He leaned in, kissed her chin. It made her heart tip, that perfect little gesture.

  “Are you in the habit of making major life changes for someone you only just met?”

  “Never. Not once.” He smiled.

  And she couldn’t help it, she smiled back. “You’re insane.”

  “I suppose it could look that way. I don’t feel crazy, though. In fact, I feel bloody fantastic.”

  “That’s just the sex talking.”

  “That feeling started before the sex,” he said, “although I’m not averse to elevating fantastic to extraordinary from time to time. So, would you?”

  “Would I what? Be averse to elevating…things? No, not at all.” She moved her hips a little, and felt him respond.

  “Hold that thought,” he said, his voice a tad bit rougher. “What I meant was would you make such a leap? For a man you’ve only just met. Me, in this case.”

  It surprised her, the vulnerability she heard clearly in his request. He didn’t even try to be casual or no-big-deal about it. Quite the opposite, really. And the idea that this big, strong, gun-toting, globe-trotting man could in any way be rendered less than one hundred percent sure of himself just sent another piece of her heart tipping his way.

  “Had anyone asked me that three days ago, the response would have been a swift are-you-crazy followed by a hearty laugh.” She smiled and reached up to smooth his bed head, and run her fingertips over the light stubble shadowing his jaw. “Now, however, I’d have to say that I’m certainly willing to consider it.”

  “A start, I suppose, right?”

  She tugged a lock of his hair. “That’s what all this is, isn’t it? A start? And considering how we truly began, wouldn’t it be surprising that any of this would have a normal evolutionary process? So how about you?”

  “Did we just not discuss the possibility of my staying in your lovely country?”

  “We did. But the pesky realist in me doesn’t think you’re going to just up and want to live in Chicago forever.”

  “People have been known to live in more than one place. I own land in New Zealand as well. My father’s vineyard, in fact.”

  Her eyes widened. “Is it still operational?”

  “Oh, yes. Once he figured out that I was unlikely to follow in his immediate footsteps, he looked at his own staff, and worked from there.”

  “Is he still…?”

  “Alive?” Simon shook his head. “He poured himself into work after my mum died, but I don’t think he was ever the same. He had his share of health issues, and without my mother there to nag him, he didn’t take as good care of himself as he might have otherwise. I offered to come back, help him, but he knew I was finding my own way and turned me down, whenever I’d make the offer. I did go back, several times, anyway. After his first heart attack, then again, later when his new manager in chief contacted me to let me know he was declining.”

  “And?”

  “And, he’s a smart man, my father, at least when it comes to safeguarding the business he spent a lifetime building. He chose well in who he trained to manage it, and in setting things up legally so that it stayed in the family. It was his legacy to me and my future offspring, but he wanted to ensure it was run well in his—and my—absence. I think…” He trailed off, until Sophie brushed her fingers over his forehead, pushed at his hair.

  “You think, what? That he wasn’t as interested in living without your mom?”

  He nodded. “I was there, when he went. And he was almost relieved. He fully believed they would be reunited.”

  “I think that’s a perfectly wonderful thing to leave this world believing.”

  He smiled and kissed her nose. “It took me a bit longer to get past being mad at him for not trying harder to take care of himself. But, in the end, I did have to accept, as he’d told me often enough, that he was captain of his own destiny. As I was of mine. He wanted to leave me what he’d built, but that was because it was important to him. He told me, both personally and in his will, that what happened to the vineyard after his passing is up to me, and I’ll have his blessing regardless.”

  “Have you thought about it? What you want to do about it?”

  “Right now, I have the luxury of not worrying. It’s only been a few years since he’s been gone and it’s in very good hands. At some point, when Mac wants to retire, depending on who he’s groomed, and how the place is faring, and what is going on in my life, I’ll have some important decisions to make. But, fortunately for me, not today. Or tomorrow.”

  “You’re a very lucky man. To have the love and support you’ve had. Particularly given your path hasn’t exactly been what most people would call typical. How did you get started doing what you’re doing? Were you—or are you—some kind of private detective?”

  “Actually, my degree is in archaeology.”

  “Really.”

  He smiled dryly. “Seriously.”

  She swatted him; he laughed. “So, how did you go from being Indiana Jones to being a retrieval specialist?”

  “Well, archaeologists are retrieval specialists, of a sort. I was working for a university outside London after getting my degree, hoping to get on to one of the dig teams, help raise funding, whatever I could, and my professor mentioned a problem he was having, trying to track down a personal item he’d lost on his last dig site. In Egypt.”

  “So…you found it?”

  Simon shrugged. “I admit, I was trying to impress the guy. I really wanted to be on the team.”

  “Did he pick you?”

  “Well, he certainly would have, he was very impressed with my initiative, but in mentioning it to a colleague of his, there was talk of a family heirloom that had been put up for auction, and a question if perhaps I could look into it.”

  “And you did.”

  He nodded.

  “And you found it.”

  “It took some doing. I wasn’t aware, when I agreed, that it had been put up for auction in the eighteen hundreds.”

  Sophie’s eyes rounded. “And you actually located it?”

  “Well, in this case, it had been rightfully purchased, several times over, but eventually, yes. So—”

  “You put the parties together and they came up with an equitable solution. Like the marbles.”

  “Something like that, yes. And, I suppose, as you say, the rest is history.”

  “What about your passion for archaeology? Do you miss it?”

  “I wonder about it, at times, where it might have taken me, but this sort of odd niche I’ve carved for myself is fulfilling in much the same way. I’m not uncovering details of the ancient past, or finding new information about the history of our world, but I am delving into a far more intimate, personal history of whoever it is I take on as a client. It’s still digging, still uncovering clues, just of a slightly different nature.” He kissed her. “I know it doesn’t sound like the most stable way to earn a living, but I’ve been at it for some time now, and my list of contacts keeps growing. Plus, I’ve only had myself to take care of, so I’ve had plenty of time to invest wisely. My father taught me well.” He smiled. “Some things, anyway.”

  “I think what’s most important is that you found something that fulfills you and that you really enjoy.”

  “I have, and I do. What about you? Why hotel management?”

  “I grew up pretty much in the kitchen of my grandmother Winnifred’s restaurant. Studying after school, working when I was old enough. She had such a passion for people, and for food. Her place was a home away from home for me and a lot of regulars. It’s incredibly hard work, but I thought it would be a great way to spend a life.”

  “But?”

  She made a face. “I can’t so much as boil water. Something you should know.”

  “Handy you work in a hotel with
round-the-clock kitchen service.”

  She grinned. “I know. Good planning, right? I knew I wanted to do something in the service industry, but that it wouldn’t be running my grandmother’s restaurant. My aunt took it over when her health wouldn’t allow her to run it full-time, and eventually her husband took it on.”

  “Is it still here? In Chicago?”

  She shook her head. “No, he’s from Philadelphia originally, and his son opened a place there, and when my aunt passed on, he moved east to run the place with him. We talk when we can, keep in touch, but I don’t see them very often.”

  “Any other family here?”

  She shook her head. “I’m it.”

  “So, how did you decide on hotels?”

  “Well, I don’t really aspire to run a huge hotel, but if I want to eventually open up my own inn, then this is where the money is at, and the hands-on education earned along the way will be invaluable, no matter what scale the place is I eventually open.”

  “You want to open your own place, then?”

  She smiled, and her expression went slightly shy, but excited at the same time. “That’s the plan. Long-term plan, but the plan. I’m not sure where. I don’t know that I want to stay in the city. I have in mind something more intimate, more of a getaway-type place. But, who knows? Like you said, it’s not something I have to worry about today. Or tomorrow. I have a ladder to climb, first. And a nest egg to grow.”

  “I have every faith.”

  “You know, that means a lot. And I’m lucky in that my friends, the ones I’ve made here at the hotel, who are close enough to know my dreams, are all rooting for me. But sometimes I miss the family aspect of it, that lifelong foundation. I’m not complaining, mind you. Just saying.”

  “I know what you mean. I feel the same about home. About my family.”

  “Do you spend much time there? New Zealand, I mean.”

  “Not as much as I used to, or as much as I’d want. Work has kept me in London more and more. It’s central to a larger community demanding my services. But, I’ve been thinking…I imagine there are folks here in your lovely country who might find my services attractive, and Chicago is rather central, as well. And you all have far less heritage to be researched. Could make my job loads easier.”