by Beth Ciotta
Sam nabbed his phone, sent a quick text, then pulled Harper against his strong and oh-so-capable body. He nuzzled her ear. “It’ll be all right, Slick.”
“Absolutely.” She envisioned a positive outcome and played it over and over in her mind. “Giving up control isn’t easy, but I trust you, Sam.”
“I’m glad.” He dropped his forehead to hers. “Now. How do we get back to perfect?”
* * *
Sam was impressed by the way Harper had handled the news about Edward. The way she’d devised a sound and wise plan—even though he’d asked her to revise it. He was touched that she trusted him to handle the situation and that she’d directed all her energy to a positive outcome. Her calm demeanor overall had been a surprise and his heart had swelled when she suggested they return to the restaurant to finish their meal. She’d even been game for dessert.
It was as if she’d put the situation with Edward into perspective, knowing there was nothing more to be done about it tonight. Knowing there was no advantage to discussing it to death.
She directed the conversation toward the kids, how and when they should break the news about the marriage, how and when to handle the move from his house to hers. They talked about the Cupcake Lovers, and Harper told Sam about the first time she’d heard the sad tale of Mary Rothwell and how she sometimes felt Mary’s spirit and that she thought she was happier these days, less lonely. Sam liked to believe that was true even though he didn’t actually believe Mary’s spirit lingered. He told Harper about the upgrades he’d researched for his furniture-making Web site and they discussed Harper’s work on Rae’s behalf, promoting children’s programs and charities, and how she’d like to throw more muscle behind those efforts.
Conversation flowed along with great food, one bottle of very expensive wine, and a panoramic view of the vibrant sunset and glittering vista. Sam marveled how quickly and expertly Harper finessed their evening back to perfect. For the first time, he seriously considered the work she’d done for her past clients. He knew without a doubt that she’d been amazing. He couldn’t fathom how the firm could so easily cut her loose, but he was morbidly happy that they had because now Harper was his to cherish. Ben and Mina, the Cupcake Lovers, and Rae’s charities would benefit from her warm and vibrant spirit. Hollywood’s loss was Sugar Creek’s gain.
Sam signaled the waiter for their check and Harper excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. Sam watched her go, admiring her beautiful body, her confident, sexy stride. As soon as she was out of sight, his mind skipped ahead. He’d only planned up through dinner. Should he take her dancing, to a late-night show, drinks on the observation deck?
His phone blipped.
A text from Harper. NEED U NAKED.
HOW FAST?
FAST.
Sam grinned, typing, MEET ME @ ELEVATOR.
Hallelujah.
Harper had ideas of her own.
* * *
Harper contained herself until they were within the backseat of a taxicab. Then she practically crawled onto Sam’s lap. She was an energized ball of tangled emotions. Sam’s calm was a turn-on. His kindness was a turn-on. His let-me-handle-it confidence a massive turn-on. The latter felt a little shallow. A little too Hollywood. But she was blinded by love, so everything, every thought, every feeling, every desire, felt right.
She clutched his lapels and yanked him close for a kiss. A ravishing kiss. A hot and heavy, brain-frying kiss.
“Newlyweds,” she heard the driver say.
She tightened her hold, deepened the kiss. Sam’s tongue danced with hers, a crazy tango with him leading. He finessed her fully onto his lap, cupping her face, fanning the fire.
Harper had never climaxed while kissing, just kissing, but she swore it was possible because she was close, so close.
The cab stopped, and in order to pay the driver, Sam shifted, breaking the kiss, but not the heat. Harper wasn’t thinking very straight but straight enough to grab her lovely bouquet and her purse that contained their souvenir flutes.
Sam whisked her from the cab and escorted her into the building. She didn’t feel like she was walking as much as floating or flying. She was high on that kiss, on Sam, and on the future they’d discussed.
“If we pass any of the Cupcake Lovers along the way,” Sam said as he guided her through the bustling casino, “we’ll have to explain our fancy duds and the flowers.”
“The magic show just started at seven-thirty and it runs two hours,” Harper said. “Then Sebastian’s treating them to after-dinner drinks and the Fountains of Bellagio. And I think Ethel and Judy wanted to play slots. We’re fine. I’m sure we’re fine.” Why did her voice sound so gravelly? Why was her vision a little hazy?
Sam pulled her into an elevator, an empty elevator, where they kissed again. Seconds or a lifetime later, he finessed her down the hall then swept her into his arms, into his room. Had he just carried her over the threshold?
The door clicked shut and Sam lowered her to her feet. “I don’t know what to do with you first,” he said.
“Anything that involves naked would be great.” She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, loosened his tie and whipped it from his neck a little too fast to be seductive. She told herself to slow down. She knew how to tease. She knew how to tempt. Right now she felt as clumsy as a virgin.
He lowered the zipper at the back of her dress, his fingers skimming her skin, igniting her senses.
She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. She’d never fumbled before. She felt Sam smiling against her neck, kissing down her neck, over her bare shoulder. She wanted to do the same to him. Frustration welled as she struggled with the last button. Meanwhile Sam had expertly slid her dress to her hips. She yanked his shirt apart and that damned button popped.
Well, hell.
Sort of mortifying. Sort of sexy.
“Wanna know what I think?” Sam asked as she peeled his shirt off his broad shoulders and down his muscled arms.
“Sure,” she said, trailing her lips over his chest while wiggling out of her dress.
“I like the heels. Keep the heels.”
Sam unclasped her strapless bra and Harper nixed her thong. She kept the heels.
“I want you flat on your back,” Sam said as he seductively nudged her toward his king-sized bed. “I want to lick every inch of your body, concentrating my energy in one delicious place. I want you to come for me again and again and again. When you’re weak and whimpering I’ll bury myself inside you and make you beg for more.”
Her heart hammered as he yanked back the satiny comforter. “I don’t beg easily,” she warned as she fell back on the pillow-soft mattress.
“Good.” He crawled onto the bed—all panther like and predatory—parted her legs, and lowered his head.
His mouth claimed her heat and within seconds Harper was whimpering, drowning in euphoric sensations. She exploded with a climax. So fast, so intense. Her body quivered and ached for more. Take me, her mind whispered. But she refused to beg. She wanted to pleasure Sam with her hands and mouth. To make him crazy with lust. But she hesitated a second too long. He was kissing his way up her body, making her shiver and burn with every flick of his tongue. Her body pulsed with renewed need—building, intensifying. She gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer. She wiggled against his erection—yearning, needing.
“I want to feel you,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her ears.
“You can’t feel this?” Sam asked. He suckled her breast while touching her heat, his fingers stroking, working her up, working her over.
She tensed and came … again and again. “Want you inside me,” she said, voice weak, mind spinning. “Please.”
Sam stilled then shifted, his amazing body hovering over hers, his gorgeous face looking down at her with such intensity, her heart ceased to beat.
She was grateful he didn’t prolong her misery, sighed when he slid inside—so hard, so thick—filling her, pleasing her. She reveled in the friction
, the rocking, and pulsing. She should do more, take control, but Sam’s dominance pushed all the right buttons, making her crazy with lust … and love. “Oh, God.”
She buried her hands in his hair—kissing, kissing, kissing.
He changed his rhythm, the intensity. His body tensed as he broke the kiss to gaze deeply into her eyes, her soul. “Come for me, wife.”
Wife.
Harper broke and shattered and soared and shattered some more.
Sam peaked, matching her fervor.
They held each other tight, continued to hold tight.
The words danced through her mind, tingled on her lips. I love you. I love you I love you.
Her eyes burned with the beauty of this day, this moment, and with her inability to declare her feelings.
Sam rolled to his side and pulled her against his body. He smoothed her hair from her face.
She saw it in his eyes, sensed what he was feeling, what he was about to say. She gently touched her fingers to his mouth. “Don’t say it.” She needed to say it first. Wanted to say it first. And yet the words froze.
“Okay,” he said after a long second. “But know what I feel.” He clasped her hand then pressed it to his chest.
Overwhelmed, Harper took his other hand and held it close to her breastbone. Their hearts beat hard and fast in tandem and she smiled a little as she repeated the toast she’d remember all her life. “To us. To happy.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Adam was up before the butt-crack of dawn. Restful sleep had eluded him for yet another night this week. His mind wouldn’t shut down. He was trying not to obsess on Peppy. On how great the sex had been with Peppy. How cute she was and how funny she could be when she wasn’t in a pissy mood. Her moods changed with the wind. He chalked it up to her artistic nature. Artists—musicians, actors, painters—tended to be eccentric, right?
Adam swung his legs over the side of his bed, scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw, dragged his fingers through his rumpled hair. He glanced toward his window. Still dark outside. He didn’t mind running in the dark and dawn would be on his heels. He needed to burn off this edginess. In addition to work, he had an important meeting this morning. He needed to be focused and sharp, not daydreaming about a pixie half-pint who possessed some wicked moves in bed. A woman who’d named her hoo-haw Lucy.
Oh, yeah. Lucy and George got along fine. Better than fine. Better than Peppy and Adam.
After their morning romp, they’d taken a morning run. Peppy had bitched throughout most of the jog, she hated running, but she was determined to transform her body. Adam didn’t have a problem with Peppy’s body, but Peppy did. She’d gone off on a tangent about the Ivy Vines in the world getting all the big breaks and how talent rated second to sex appeal. Adam wasn’t in the business. He wasn’t keen on the ins and outs of entertainment, but he knew what he heard and saw and what he liked when it came to music. Or movies, for that matter. And, yeah, okay, sometimes sex and beauty trumped impressive talent.
Peppy had talent.
He’d recognized it when he’d heard her rocking that electric guitar with Mountain Fever. He heard it here at home when she picked and strummed that fat-bodied acoustic.
Last night she’d locked herself in her bedroom, working on a new song. She was a songwriter, she’d informed him. And one of these days she’d hook a major recording artist with her original compositions. She’d been sending out demos.
“All it takes is one break,” she said, flouncing toward her room with a cocky wave to Adam, saying, “Inspiration calls.”
He’d thought maybe she’d emerge an hour or two later. Thought maybe they’d watch another movie. Thought maybe they’d fool around. But she’d remained behind closed doors, working on that new composition for the rest of the night. Because the walls were thin, because he’d turned down the TV, because he was curious, Adam had listened as she’d gone through the process. Different chords, different arrangements. He’d listened to a song take shape and he’d known when she’d gotten it just right. He’d gotten a weird rush.
And then there’d been silence.
Sort of like now.
Adam pulled on his running shorts, yanked a wrinkled tee over his head. He padded out of his room barefooted, needing to pee. Peppy’s bedroom door was closed but he heard movement in the living room. He spied her silhouette, fully clothed and juggling two suitcases and an amplifier. She was creeping toward the front door. What the hell?
Adam hit the nearest lamp, flooding the room with light. “Going somewhere?”
She gasped and turned. “Scared the daylights out of me, Adam. Jeez!”
“Sorry about that.”
Her face turned beet red. Her gaze bounced around the room.
He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and waited.
“I have to leave,” she finally said. “I got a gig. A gig with a band that opens for headliners. You wouldn’t know them. Yet. But you will. They’re based in Nashville and, well, this is the break I’ve been waiting for. I got the call late last night. Thought I’d get an early start.”
An ember of anger glowed in Adam’s gut. “Without saying good-bye?”
“I left you a note. It’s on the kitchen table. I’m not good at good-byes,” she added when he raised a brow. She shifted, her arms no doubt cramping from the weight of her gear. “I should go.”
“Hold up. I’ll write you a check.”
“For what?”
“A refund for your month’s rent,” he said while moving toward the computer desk wedged in the corner.
“I don’t want a refund. That’s not fair to you.”
“I’ll write a refund minus three days.” That’s how long she’d lasted.
Luke had warned him.
That girl’s got wanderlust. You’ll be lucky if she lasts a month.
Ha. Try three frickin’ days.
“I don’t want it,” Peppy said, sounding angry now as he stuffed the check in her rear pocket.
The woman was broke and she was driving a clunker. How did she think she was going to make it all the way to Nashville? Unless … maybe she’d borrowed some cash from her dad. Not my problem, Adam told himself.
“Think of it as my contribution toward your career,” he said. “I heard that song last night, Peppy. You deserve your break.” He relieved her of the amp and one of the suitcases. “Your guitars—”
“Already loaded in my car.”
So he’d slept heavier than he’d first thought. And she’d crept around like a thief in the night, intending to skip out because, why? Oh, yeah. She sucked at good-byes. How many other people had she skipped out on in her short lifetime? He shouldn’t care, but he did. He’d just been another stopping point on Peppy’s journey to the top.
Temper burning, Adam opened the door, motioned her ahead. The first rays of dawn barely breached the horizon. He imagined Peppy driving all those miles … Imagined her clunker of a car breaking down or running out of gas. He wanted to say, Call me when you get there, but he didn’t. He felt betrayed. It was crazy. He knew it was crazy. But he’d sworn they’d connected … and now this.
“Thanks,” she grumbled when Adam loaded her stuff in the trunk.
“Don’t forget Daisy and the Cupcake Lovers are going to be on television today,” Adam said, because what the hell else was there to say? “Considering your grandpa’s with her, he’d probably be pleased if you watched.”
“The show airs at three our time, right? Thought I’d stop at a bar or diner. Sweet-talk the management into tuning it in.”
Sweet-talk wasn’t in Peppy’s repertoire, not that Adam had seen anyway, but he kept that thought to himself.
She climbed behind the wheel and shut the door. She rolled down the window, which stuck halfway.
Adam rocked back on his bare heels, his mood worsening by the minute. “Drive safe and good luck.”
“Break a leg.”
“What?”
She shoved her shaggy bangs out o
f her eyes and turned the engine over. “In show biz, telling someone good luck is bad luck. You’re supposed to say break a leg.”
Adam didn’t bite because he imagined her doing just that … after her clunker ran out of gas and she had to walk a mile, after she tripped and fell down a steep mountain shoulder. He told himself to stop worrying. She wasn’t his to worry about. She was a grown woman. Impetuous, but grown, and sure as hell independent.
Peppy cleared her throat, gave Adam one of those cocky salutes then peeled out of his drive.
Her car backfired as she drove away.
George bemoaned the loss of Lucy.
Adam glared down at his crotch. “Shut up.”
He stood there a moment, mystified by the intensity of the knot in his gut and the freaking ache in his chest. He barely knew Peppy but he’d felt a deep connection.
She’s the one.
Yet he’d allowed her to blow out of his life without a fight. He’d done the same thing with Rocky. Stepped aside, snuffed his affections. Considering the circumstances, it had been the right thing to do. This—allowing Peppy to leave without acknowledging she’d touched his heart, without exploring the chance of something more—felt wrong.
He could call her later, but life was freaking short. He turned for the house—he’d grab his keys, chase her down—but then a series of short beeps rent the air, causing him to look back toward the road. Peppy had done a one-eighty and was headed back his way.
Heart pounding, he jogged to the end of the drive.
She pulled to a stop, staring straight ahead, both hands locked on the wheel. She looked angry and lost.
And sweet.
Adam braced his hands on the car-top and peered through the partially open window. He feigned nonchalance. “Forget something?”
“Yeah.” She shoved open the door, nearly knocking Adam on his ass. But then she was in his arms. Kissing him hard. Her arms locked around his neck.
His thoughts blurred. His heart sang. He kissed her back, held her tight. He had no intention of letting go.
