by Beth Ciotta
Sam reached over and squeezed her thigh. “Let’s see who’s up for the trip then take it from there.” If Harper didn’t get a grip on this phobia, he’d have to talk to her about seeking professional help. The thought of it snowballing and somehow affecting Ben and Mina was troubling. Also, he didn’t want Harper living in fear. He wanted to vanquish her stress, her every worry and fear. He wanted normal and happy and, hell, maybe he was the one who needed a shrink. He was chasing a memory. Forcing a dream.
As he listened to Harper making call after call, working her magic with confidence and zeal, he acknowledged, deep down and for certain, her intense drive to finesse people’s lives for the better. Once she had her green card, she could rebuild her former career as a spin doctor for troubled celebrities. Unless she redirected her passion. Could she be content solely promoting the Cupcake Lovers and Rae’s charitable efforts? Was she capable of cutting back on her workload and devoting a portion of her energy and attention to Ben and Mina? To Sam? To herself?
Since he’d known her, she’d been a hyper, driven force. Even before the spa shooting. He’d never seen her dance or laugh or let her hair down—with the exception of their sexual trysts. What, he wondered as he sped toward Sugar Creek, would it take to make Harper happy?
By the time they reached the farm, Sam’s mood had dipped and Harper had touched base with every member of the club. He’d known the results even before she’d rattled off her summary.
“Okay. Not as many as I’d hoped for,” she said as they walked toward the house, “but pretty much what I’d anticipated. The only real surprise was Rocky. Since she’s the president of the club, I thought she’d be a shoo-in, but she’s adamant about sticking close in order to help Chloe after surgery. Monica and Rae begged off for the same reason although their situation is complicated by their own pregnancies. Plus, since Daisy is going, someone has to step in to cover a few hours at Moose-a-lotta. Casey said she can’t afford to shut down her business for two days. Joey wasn’t part of the recipe book and she hasn’t been with the club long enough to contribute any connected stories. That leaves the senior members and you and I’m pretty sure you won’t be all that talkative.”
“Thought you just wanted me for eye candy.”
She grinned while unlocking the door and moving inside. “Still,” she said while flipping on a lamp, “it would be nice to have the perspective of another younger member to show that the Cupcake Lovers are multigenerational. A member who has stories to tell. Someone who’s not camera shy.”
“Tasha Burke.” Sam couldn’t believe he was suggesting this, but Tasha had spearheaded the recipe book to begin with. Since she’d made her peace for past indiscretions, it only seemed fair to include her in this televised event. Unlike Sam, Tasha craved glory and attention like a drug. “Her mom and grandmother were longtime members. Tasha’s a former president of the club and she contributed several recipes and stories to the book. I’d check with the other members first, but I’m fairly sure if you invited Tasha, she’d be on the first plane out of Phoenix.”
“Brilliant! I guess she didn’t enter my mind because she’s no longer an active local member, but she’s been commenting on the Cupcake Lover social networks all night. Knowledgeable, entertaining, and if she’s as pretty in person as she is in the recipe book, bonus!” Harper texted as she spoke. “Checking with Daisy. Sam, seriously, thank you. I can’t believe this is coming together. What a rush.”
Sam attributed his funky mood to Harper’s source of excitement. Any other soon-to-be bride would have been scoping out wedding chapels or obsessing over what she was going to wear. Harper’s thoughts were consumed with a media coup. “I’ll reach out to Nash,” Sam said, palming his own phone. It pinged with a new text. Daisy? Luke? Dev?
Harper.
WANT YOU. NAKED. NOW.
TWENTY-ONE
In the past, Harper had never been shy about sending Sam a racy text. Then again, instinctually, she’d known he’d rise to the occasion—so to speak. There’d been a fierce physical attraction, a mutual attraction from the split second they’d met. Even though they’d clashed on several levels, she’d never doubted her ability to tempt Sam with sex.
Until now.
First he’d sworn off making love until after they were married. Then today, she’d said, no sex ever. Her juvenile, cowardly attempt to stave off emotional intimacy. But on the ride home she’d felt him shutting down and suddenly she wanted to get close. She was nervous about the wedding, nervous about the trip, but she didn’t want to wallow or whine, so she’d focused on putting the wheels in motion. She was high on caffeine and adrenaline … and Sam.
Watching him interact with friends and family, seeing him choke up when he’d presented his cousin with the wedding rings and then hugged him for luck. Sam McCloud was a good man. She didn’t want to screw up his life. She didn’t want to hurt the children. She wanted to treat their marriage as he’d first suggested—a business arrangement. It was the only way she could fix all their lives so that they could all move on. Love would only complicate matters. Still, witnessing the depth of affection between Chloe and Devlin as they’d said their vows, Harper was suddenly and desperately keen on sampling even a slice of that amorous pie.
She’d gone through the giddy infatuation stage of falling in love with Andrew, but then he’d been deployed, and during their long separation they’d fallen out of sync. She’d assumed they’d rekindle the magic once he returned. They were engaged, after all. But he’d changed and Harper had been lost.
Connecting with Sam on several occasions today and then feeling him pull back triggered old insecurities, making Harper twitchy. It was not something she felt comfortable discussing, so she’d fallen back on their old ways, anything to lose herself in Sam’s hypnotic kisses. She’d sent him that sexy text on a whim and now she was afraid to glance up for fear of rejection.
Her phone pinged.
COME HERE.
They were in the same room. Standing no more than a foot apart. This was crazy. Eyes glued to her phone, she typed … MY REWARD?
EYE CANDY.
Pulse skipping, she looked up and saw Sam peeling off his shirt. Not in a Chippendale smarmy kind of way but in a manner that affected Harper all the same. Sam wasn’t obnoxiously ripped, but he was extremely fit. A definite six-pack and a chest to die for. What revved her most was his arms. Strong arms that made her feel safe. And his hands—gifted hands that caressed and thrilled.
He pocketed his phone.
She did the same.
“Come here.”
She did as beckoned, expecting him to strip off her tee, as well. Something swift and dirty, here and now. Over the couch, on the floor, against the wall. Something familiar.
Instead he lifted her into his arms. “I’m taking you to bed.”
“And then?”
“Fair warning.”
Her senses buzzed.
“Nothing kinky. Not tonight.”
“If you’re not in the mood—”
“I’m in the mood. But for something I won’t name.”
Love.
It was so romantic. So un-Rambo-like. Harper’s heart lurched and her stomach knotted. She tried not to read into it. He didn’t love her, couldn’t love her. She hadn’t given him any reason. She told herself he’d been swept away by the emotions of the day, just like her. Still. “Sam—”
“Take it or leave it.”
He breached the top landing and someone whispered, “Take.” Harper’s skin prickled. Mary? But it couldn’t be. In all the time Harper had spent in this house, she’d never once seen or heard the ghost of Mary Rothwell. Sensing her presence, respecting her memory was one thing, hearing voices was another. Unless … was that Harper’s own heart speaking?
Entranced, anxious, she palmed Sam’s cheek. “Do your worst, Rambo.” It was as close to romantic as Harper dared. Seconds later they were in her bedroom, in her bed. She tore at her clothing, but Sam slowed her efforts and t
ook charge.
“There’ll be no vying for control, Harper,” Sam said as he peeled off her jeans. “For tonight, at least, I own you.”
She didn’t argue. Couldn’t argue. She was too busy feeling. Sam’s fingers skimmed and caressed. His lips sampled and savored. Harper knew his touch well, but she’d never relaxed enough to allow this kind of focused intensity. There was an added element, an elusive emotion that seduced her senses into an electrified stupor.
Rather than overthink it, Harper gave in and gave over. She didn’t grapple for control, which was scary and exhilarating at the same time. She stretched out on her bed, which would soon be their bed. It was almost too much to comprehend and yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like they’d done this before, exactly like this, as if they were meant to be—like the Rothwells. The soldier and the Cupcake Lover. Only Sam was both and Harper was neither. But even as Sam murmured endearments, Daisy’s voice echoed in Harper’s ears, “You’re a natural born Cupcake Lover.”
As in reborn? An incarnation of an old soul?
Living in Mary’s house. Baking in Mary’s stove. Sleeping in Mary’s room.
The thoughts welled then vanished as Sam drove Harper to erotic distraction.
Heart drumming, she sighed as his fingers skimmed over her stomach, her inner thighs and then … “Yes!” She bit back the habit of issuing orders. Sam didn’t need or want direction. He knew her body, only this time he pleasured Harper on his own terms. This slow and tender domination trumped their wildest interludes, shaking and thrilling Harper to her core.
Desperate for release, she moaned and arched into his practiced touch, the walls around her heart crumbling when his mouth claimed hers in an achingly passionate kiss. Her body tensed and quivered, thoughts blurred. Stars shattered into iridescent sparkles as Harper peaked then rode the sensual wave.
Aching for more, she stared into Sam’s eyes as he positioned his body over hers. She anticipated the first thrust like never before. And she knew this, too would feel different. That added element. She could name it now. Affection. She saw it in his eyes. Felt it skating around her own senses. It scared the hell out of Harper yet Sam tempted her down that road with every look, every touch. Trepidation melted away as he interlaced his fingers with hers, pinning her hands in the pillows and branding her lips with a possessive kiss. An amazing, cinematic kiss. More stars, a galaxy of stars. And rainbows. Freaking rainbows. The promise after the storm. A miracle as in—maybe, just maybe—a happily ever after.
Sam nudged her legs apart. “You’re mine, Harper.” He nipped her earlobe. “Say it.”
“Take your pleasure, Sam.”
He remained poised … teasing, tempting, demanding …
“Say it,” that haunting voice urged.
Harper shivered, unnerved and needy. So needy. “I’m yours.” If only for tonight.
Sam plunged and she was gone.
As she drifted into an orgasmic haze, Harper’s senses exploded with euphoric sensations while Sam made slow and deliberate love. No kink, just old-fashioned, missionary-style coupling accentuated with soul-stirring kisses. He broke off, searching her face, her thoughts—so intense. “Let me in, Harper.”
He didn’t have to elaborate. She read it in his eyes, felt it in his touch. He wanted the key to her heart. Wanted the emotional intimacy she’d denied them from the start. This moment she was hard-pressed to deny him anything, yet she was too consumed to speak.
Oh, God. Oh, God, Oh, God. Tears pricked her eyes as Sam intensified their lovemaking. She wanted what he offered. Something beyond a business arrangement. She wanted what burned between Chloe and Dev, Rae and Luke, Monica and Leo, and yet she didn’t trust herself, fate, the universe, whatever. Even so, Harper responded to Sam with every fiber of her body. The most exhilarating sex of her life, and when they climaxed together, as one, as a couple, Harper cried. She couldn’t help it. Tears rolled down her temples, into her hair, her cheeks burning when Sam thumbed them away. “Before you ask,” she said, “I’m fine. Just … overwhelmed.”
“I’m thinking that’s a good thing.”
“Maybe.”
Sam rolled onto his side, taking Harper with him. A tender embrace—protective and loving in nature. He finessed the covers, cocooning them both in her fresh sheets and quilted bedspread. They’d made love and now Sam was going to spend the night. All night. A first for them and a first for Harper since Andrew.
Twisted with conflicting emotions, she snuggled deeper into Sam’s arms, taking comfort in his warmth, his strength. She wouldn’t run from the affection welling inside her, but she didn’t know what to do with it, either.
“It’s okay,” Sam said as if reading her thoughts. He kissed her forehead, held her close. “I’m a patient man.”
TWENTY-TWO
Harper woke with a start—bolted upright in bed, heart pounding, brow sweating. Gunshots rang in her ears.
Andrew.
She’d fallen asleep thinking about Sam, but she’d dreamt about Andrew. She felt hollow and panicked. Something was off. Something was wrong. Guilt ravaged her gut. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t marry Sam without telling him about Andrew.
But Sam was gone.
Moonlight blazed through the windows, illuminating the rumpled covers, confirming she was alone. Sam wasn’t in bed and the bathroom door was wide open, light off. She glanced at the bedside clock. The digital numbers glowed 3:05. What the hell? Had she tossed and turned? Hogged the space, the blankets? Had he sought out the bed in the guest room? Had something upset him? News from Dev or the kids? Something that gave him insomnia or maybe caused him to leave in the middle of the night? He wouldn’t leave without telling her, right? What if he’d gone downstairs for a drink of water and tripped and hit his head or … “This is crazy.”
The nightmare had spooked her and now she was having crazy thoughts. Obsessive thoughts. Sam was fine. She was fine.
Out of habit, she nabbed her cell from the nightstand. No emergency texts. No missed calls. Although there were several notifications from Facebook and Twitter, alerting her of activity on her personal account as well as the Cupcake Lovers’. Rocky would have texted her personally before posting an announcement if Chloe had given birth, right? Although maybe in the excitement …
Harper tapped the app, scrolled posts. Rocky had indeed commented on the Cupcake Lovers’ sites, but only in response to other posts. Same with Tasha—an apparent night owl.
Harper skimmed. Nothing she had to address immediately. Same with her personal accounts. Except … Her gaze stalled on one post. A post on her personal Facebook page.
Why are you dragging your feet in Sugar Creek? Shouldn’t you be packing? Time’s ticking.
It was signed: The Avenger
She clicked on the avatar, an illustrated soldier brandishing a gun. There was nothing of value on his timeline. His privacy settings blocked her from prying. But she knew. She knew it was him.
Her response was automatic. She went back to her page and deleted the post without commenting. Without a second read or thought. It was Andrew’s father. Reminding her he was waiting over the border. Waiting to torment her, to punish her for his son’s death. He hadn’t given up. He wasn’t going to fade away.
Harper put her phone into sleep mode and shoved it in the nightstand drawer. Another first.
She stared into the moonlit room, braced for a panic attack. She was ready to beat it back, but instead all that welled was the urge to fight. She bolted out of bed and snagged her robe. Taking control was paramount. Control the situation. Control her life. She’d start with telling Sam about Andrew. She owed him that much. As for Edward … she’d handle him in her own way. She should have done it a long time ago. She wasn’t ready before. Now, she was.
* * *
Sam couldn’t get a grip on his insomnia. Making love to Harper had been exhilarating and exhausting. Emotionally exhausting because, in the back of his mind, he’d been managing past f
eelings for Paula and new feelings for Harper. Acknowledging and accepting that he could attain the same wonder, the same tender passion a second time without betraying the magic of the first. Sam was pretty sure he’d come to terms. His conscience was clear and his heart big enough to love two very different women in equal measure. A monumental realization. One that should have brought relief and a certain amount of contentment. Enough that he should have easily drifted to sleep holding his soon-to-be-wife in his arms.
Even though Harper hadn’t said the words, he knew he’d touched her guarded heart. They’d connected on the intimate level he’d craved and he knew they could be good together. But something was off. Something he couldn’t pinpoint. And that was what kept his brain churning.
Something about this house.
So he’d eased out of bed, careful not to wake Harper. He’d stolen downstairs, rooted sweats and a tee from his duffel and pulled them on. He’d checked all the doors and windows. Everything was locked. He’d peered outdoors from different vantage points. Nothing looked out of sorts. Yes, it was the middle of the night, but the moon bathed the yard and surrounding woods with a soft glow. A month back, he’d wired the front and back porches with motion-sensitive detectors. If anyone or any woodland creature approached they’d be greeted with floodlighting. Nothing had triggered the detectors. All was quiet. Yet Sam felt unsettled. As if they were being watched.
Mary?
It was a passing thought, one rooted in old ghost stories. But Sam had been in this house numerous times over the years and several times for extended periods over the last few months. He’d never seen an apparition or experienced a ghostly encounter such as cold spots, eerie sounds, or misplaced or reassigned objects. Hell, if he seriously thought this place was haunted he would’ve balked at making it Ben’s and Mina’s new home. Instead, he was contemplating his course of action regarding the move. Which spurred concerns overall pertaining to the next few days. If he put some of those tasks to bed, maybe he’d be able to sleep.
