by Lydia Reeves
He was silent a long moment, his intense eyes trained on my face, and again I felt that pull between us, the urge to lean into him the way I had when he’d taken my hand in the bookstore growing even stronger. After a moment he took a drink of his tea and asked, “And was it?”
“Was it what?” I asked.
“A better experience.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. This was usually the part of the conversation I tried to skip past quickly—how cool that must have been, where all had I been, what had I done? In my few brief stints of being enrolled in a regular public school, which never lasted long, kids had always treated me like a celebrity—so worldly, how lucky! Wish my parents were as cool as yours—and while I didn’t particularly like the attention, or the uncomfortable insinuation I should be feeling grateful, and not like I was missing out, still I’d grown used to it. But never before, in all my years of meeting new people and the million questions I’d been asked, had anyone ever thought to ask what I’d thought of it, or even if I’d wanted it at all.
“I guess I don’t know,” I said finally. “I’ve never had anything to compare it to.”
He nodded slowly, still watching me like my face was saying more than my words were, and I shifted under the weight of his gaze.
Finally, he looked away and drained the last of his tea, sitting the mug on the coffee table. He yawned, stretching his arms up over his head, and his shirt rode up to reveal a sliver of skin above the waistband of his jeans. The skin looked soft and warm, and for a second I wanted nothing more than to reach over and hook my finger over the edge of his pants and see if I was right.
When he lowered his arms and saw me looking, I didn’t flush or look away. Sam was gorgeous, all hard edges and solid muscle, and I wasn’t ashamed to be caught noticing. I considered for a second, if I made a move, would he go with it? I’d felt the weight of his eyes on me all night, seen the intensity in the way he looked at me. And I supposed I might be reading into it; maybe he looked at everyone that way, but it was a chance I might be willing to take.
Honestly, it would be the perfect situation. One night with a hot guy, much needed, no strings attached. A really hot guy, one I was more attracted to than anyone I’d met in a long time. And here I was, by some twist of fate, stuck with him in his apartment. I’d be on my way tomorrow, free and clear with no time for feelings or regrets. Should I seize this opportunity?
Before I had a chance to say anything one way or the other, Sam rose to his feet and grabbed my empty mug from the coffee table, carrying it with his into the kitchen. “I’m going to turn in,” he said over his shoulder, and just like that, the moment was lost.
I rose to my feet and followed him, tamping down my disappointment and clicking off the light in the living room as I went. It was probably better this way. I really had only just met the guy. “Guess I should as well. Hopefully I’ll be on my way early tomorrow.”
He rinsed out the mugs and put them in the sink, then turned off the kitchen light and escorted me down the short hallway to my room. We both paused there in the doorway, the dim light from the hall casting his features into shadow, and my heart sped up at his nearness.
“Is there anything else you need?” he asked, and the low, gravelly sound of his voice rumbled inside me like distant thunder.
You, my mind answered, and I was too afraid to open my mouth in case the word slipped out, so I just stood there, frozen in place. But he didn’t turn to leave either, and after a long moment his hand came up, and snagged the edge of the towel I had completely forgotten was still wrapped around my hair. A little tug, and the fabric came loose in his hand, sending my hair falling free around my shoulders. A strand caught on my lip and he reached to gently pull it free, and when his thumb grazed my mouth I reacted without thinking, parting my lips and letting my tongue dart out to taste him. He sucked in a breath and I couldn’t see his eyes, shadowed as he was in the darkness.
I don’t know who moved first, but his mouth was on mine between one heartbeat and the next, and my arms came up to circle his neck even as his hands came to my waist, fingers splayed wide as he held me. His hands were huge and warm through my shirt—his shirt—and I let out an involuntary moan at the feel of them gripping my waist. When I let one of my hands drift up and tangle into his hair and give a soft tug he pushed me back, pinning me against the wall, his tongue teasing at my lips until they parted, letting him in, and everything was lost in a tempest of sensation and heat.
Chapter 4
SAM
I hadn’t been able to stop myself. My clothes looked ridiculous but perfect on her, and I needed to see her hair out from under that towel. And then the feel of her tongue had shocked me, slick against my thumb, sending a lance of heat slicing through me, and I’d been lost.
She was perfect in my arms—soft and warm—and the sounds she made drove me wild. She wouldn’t have stopped me, I knew it, could feel it in the grip of her fingers in my hair, her other hand fisted in my shirt, and the voice in my mind that cautioned that this was a bad idea was growing less and less insistent. It was only when I felt the smooth glide of her hand on my skin, under my shirt, and realized my own hand was gripping her leg where it wrapped around my waist that I realized how fast things were moving and the voice came roaring back.
This was a bad idea. I didn’t do one-night stands, and I wouldn’t be like my brother. I barely knew Ellen, but I knew enough to know she deserved better.
I broke the kiss and pulled back with a groan, resting my forehead against hers. Her breathing matched my own, and I could feel her heart pounding where her chest was pressed against mine.
“We have to stop,” I whispered, tracing her jaw with my fingers to take the sting out of the words.
“We do?” she whispered back, which made me smile. I bent my head and kissed her again, long and sweet, savoring the feel of her soft lips against mine, before pulling back again to look at her. Her face was flushed, and she looked so beautiful.
“We do,” I confirmed. I felt like I should apologize, but I wasn’t sorry that I’d kissed her. Nothing had ever felt as good as she had in my arms. So instead I stepped back, and just said, “Sleep well.” It wasn’t enough, and I knew it, but if I stayed a second longer, I would give in. So, I turned away and walked to my room, closing the door firmly behind me.
* * *
That night was a testament to my self-control. I nearly left my room to seek her out a hundred times, but each time I reminded myself that as much as I hated living in my brother’s shadow, the last thing I wanted was to embrace his negative traits. Still, every time I closed my eyes, I remembered the way she looked in my clothes, and felt in my arms, and sounded when I kissed her.
I was up with the sun the next morning, and out the door for a run to clear my head in the cool morning breeze before coming back to quickly shower. Ellen wasn’t up yet, so I was able to mostly keep myself from thinking about how she’d been the last person in my shower before I hurried downstairs to open the bookstore.
Geoff, one of my three employees, was there when I went down, busy opening up the cafe. The bookstore did all right, situated where it was right on Main Street, but we still made more on coffee and pastries than we did on books. Geoff usually got up around four in the morning to bake, using rented space I paid for in an industrial kitchen before carting his delicacies across town, the smell of warm cinnamon and honey wafting in his wake. On weekends he was sold out by noon. I didn’t deserve Geoff; he could do so much better than the corner of a tiny bookshop; maybe even open his own cafe. Fortunately for me, he hadn’t realized it yet.
It was cinnamon rolls today, as big around as my hand, and I could smell them the second I walked in the door. He handed me one as I went by on my way to the office, and I slapped him on the back appreciatively, then studiously ignored his sympathetic expression as I walked by a display of my brother’s books. We worked well together, Geoff and I—I never told him what to bake and
gave him free reign of the cafe, paid him well, and he kept me in customers who sometimes happened to buy books.
It was a Wednesday, and therefore slow, customers coming in fits and starts to buy coffee and cinnamon rolls and peruse the shelves. I kept an eye on the back door as I went about my work, turning the register over to Rachel, my part-time employee, and accepting a donation of used books, always alert to the presence of the woman upstairs in my apartment, wondering when she would come down, and if it would be awkward when she did. Would she be angry with me? Hurt, or offended? Did it matter if she was? She was leaving today, after all.
As luck would have it, Ellen showed up just as my cell phone began to ring. The light of day had done nothing to dim the beauty I’d succumbed to the night before. Her hair, now dry and brushed to a gleaming shine, was a dark auburn color, with hints of red and coppery brown that I hadn’t seen while it was wet the night before. She was wearing her own clothes again, rumpled, but dry now, and I forced myself not to be disappointed that she was no longer wearing my t-shirt and sweats. She paused in the doorway, looking around, then her eyes lit with a smile when she found me across the store, causing my stomach to lurch in a not-unpleasant way.
I smiled back, pulling my phone out of my pocket and answering it as she reached my side. “This is Sam.”
A second later I handed the phone to her. “It’s Tony, about your car. He forgot to get your number last night.” I turned back to the books I was unboxing, giving her privacy to talk. The conversation took longer than I expected, and I tried not to listen, but her side of the conversation gave little away.
“Uh-huh.”
“Of course.”
A laugh. “Well, I have no idea what that means.”
“No, I can work with that.”
“Sure, no problem. Thanks Tony, I really appreciate it.”
She ended the call and handed the phone back to me.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked.
She grimaced. “I barely know what he was talking about. Something about alternators and spark plugs. It sounds like there are a few different problems, but he seems to think that’s reasonable for a seventeen-year-old car.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Your car is seventeen years old?”
“Anyway,” she said with a glower, “he says he can fix it, but he’ll have to order some parts, and it might take a few days, maybe even a week or more.”
I immediately shut down the feeling of satisfied pleasure I felt at the thought of her staying for a week. “You’re welcome to stay with me,” I said, but she was already shaking her head.
“No, I can’t impose like that. I appreciate it, really, but that one hotel had an opening. I can stay there for a few days.”
I protested, but she shut me down again, with a meaningful look, and her voice was softer when she said, “No, really. I think…I think it might be better if I didn’t stay with you.”
I didn’t push it. She was probably right. I didn’t know if I’d hurt her feelings or not, but I did know that I’d barely made it a couple of hours before throwing myself at her, and it would be much safer with her out of easy reach. As attracted to her as I was, I wasn’t looking for a one night stand, and there was no reason to get in over my head with someone who was just passing through town.
“Well, let me know when you’re ready, then. I’ll take you to pick up your stuff from your car and drive you to the hotel.”
She nodded. “I’ll just call and make sure that room is still available. And I guess I need to call Dana again, and tell her I won’t be there today either.”
I headed back to my office to give her space, and she found herself a corner of the cafe and settled in to make her calls.
Geoff caught me on the way back to my office. “She with you?” he asked, cocking his head in Ellen’s direction. I’m sure it hadn’t escaped his notice that no one ever came through that back door except me.
I shook my head. “She’s just passing through. Her car broke down last night and she’s staying in town for a bit while Tony fixes it.”
He eyed me. “Where’d she stay last night?”
“In my spare room.” I glared at him. “Nothing happened.” Not exactly true, but unfortunately much truer than I would have liked.
He didn’t say anything, just eyed me appraisingly before walking away. But the next time I looked, a cinnamon roll had appeared on Ellen’s table next to a steaming cup of coffee. I shot Geoff a look, but he ignored me. I watched as she sent Geoff a dazzling smile, and then took a bite. When her tongue poked out to lick a drop of glaze off the corner of her mouth, I had to look away.
Stop it, Sam. She’s not for you.
It wasn’t much later before Ellen came to find me in my office, where I was updating inventory on the computer.
I pushed the keyboard away and sat back in my chair. “Any luck?”
“Yep, that room was still available. I booked it for a few nights. The Traveler’s Inn.”
I nodded. “Give me a second to finish up here and I’ll take you over.”
She smiled that dazzling smile again, and my heart skipped a beat. “Thank you, Sam. For everything. Oh, and hey, whoever made those cinnamon rolls...never let them go.”
* * *
The Traveler’s Inn was a little dingy-looking hotel, located right off the interstate on the main road that led into town. The place was noticeably run-down, with chipped paint and torn blinds in some of the windows, but the front desk staff was friendly, and the room seemed clean.
“And it’s cheap enough,” Ellen said as we started pulling boxes out of the back of my truck. “I didn’t exactly budget for a week in a hotel.”
I reminded myself that it was much better this way, but the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You’re welcome to stay at my place for free,” I said, but she only shook her head.
“You’ve done more than enough for me already. I’d rather not impose.” She winked. “Besides, if Geoff keeps making those cinnamon rolls, you’ll see me every morning anyway.”
I wanted to say that I wanted to see her every morning because that would mean she’d spent the night in my bed, but I reminded myself again that it had been my decision to stop things last night before they progressed too far. And it was still the right thing to do, I thought. There was no reason to get attached to someone who was just passing through, and I could already tell there was no way I’d be able to avoid getting attached if I slept with her. I liked her too much already.
It hadn’t taken long to pick up her belongings from the trunk of her car in Tony’s lot; she really did only have a handful of boxes to her name. I couldn’t imagine living like that, but she didn’t seem to think anything of it.
“I tend to rent furnished apartments,” she explained as we carried the boxes up the stairs. “So, I really don’t need much. Some clothes, a few mementos. Honestly, most of these boxes are art supplies I couldn’t bear to part with. Even though I mostly work digitally these days.”
“That’s right,” I said, holding the door open for her at the top of the stairs. “You’re an illustrator, you said. Do you have a job lined up in Ohio then?”
She shook her head. “It’s just a stopgap while I figure out where I’m going to go next. I’m working on a couple of small projects right now, but I was hoping to pick up more along the way. I’ve got a lead on a magazine looking for an illustrator, and there’s a children’s book publisher I’ve worked with before who may have some new projects.”
She passed ahead of me through the door, hitching the box higher on her hip. We arrived at the room and I watched her for a moment, her long hair cascading down her back as she balanced the box and pulled the room card from her pocket. It took two hands to unlock and open the door, so I shifted my box to one arm and lent her a hand. So close, I could smell her hair—the scent of my shampoo, and under that, the fresh clean scent of her. It probably really was best she was staying in a hotel.
“Hav
e you always wanted to be an illustrator?” I asked as we set the boxes down in the corner and went back to my truck for another load.
She looked thoughtful. “I think so. Drawing has always been a big part of my life. When I was a kid…well, I didn’t have a lot of friends, so I used art as a way to escape, and then I really fell in love with it. Plus, I wanted to find something I could do anywhere, so I wouldn’t be tied to one place.”
“Why didn’t you have many friends?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t being pushy. I just found I wanted to know everything about her. She seemed like such a happy, upbeat person, but I could swear sometimes I caught a glimpse of something sad behind that wide smile and twinkling eyes.
She shrugged. “I guess that’s not exactly true. I had a lot of friends, just not that I was close with. It’s hard to get too close to people when you move a lot.”
I thought about that. Aside from college, I’d lived my whole life in Fairfield. The idea of having to make all new friends every year or two seemed so foreign.
“Did you like moving that much?” I asked.
“Mostly yes, I think I did. It felt very glamorous, as a kid, and a part of me liked having all these experiences that no one else my age had.”
We worked together again to open the door and stacked our boxes on the growing pile in the corner before heading back down for the last few.
“What kind of experiences?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I speak a few different languages—French, Spanish, a little bit of Mandarin. I’ve traveled through every state and every Canadian province, and I think I’ve been to every National Park. My mom went through a phase where she liked to take weekend classes, like workshops on different subjects? So, when I was a teenager, we tried everything. And I mean everything,” she said with a laugh. “Welding, woodworking, yoga, gardening…lots of other stuff. But just in bits and pieces. I think she wanted me to try everything so I had a lot of options.”
