"Nothing," he said quickly.
"It was definitely something. Did you—did you think I was going to kiss you?" she asked, taking a shot in the dark. To her surprise, a dark color flooded his cheeks. "You did. You actually did. That had to be the last thing on my mind," she lied, because the idea hadn't been that far away.
"You should go home, Tessa."
She stared at him, annoyed that he seemed to feel she was pursuing him, when he was the one who'd said he was sorry and had been sending out all sorts of mixed messages. He hadn't exactly run from her embrace.
"Maybe I don't want to go home yet," she said, just to be contrary
"Go anyway."
Sam walked out of the kitchen, leaving her alone in the middle of the room. "Sam," she called after him, but he didn't return.
Resisting the sudden childish urge to stamp her foot, Tessa took a deep breath and counted to ten. As she did so, she took a good look around the room, and saw exactly what she didn't want to see—the signs of a family. There was evidence everywhere, from the dish towels that said HOME, SWEET HOME to the crayon drawings and photographs on the refrigerator, a stray belt on the counter, and a stack of bills on a small desk in the corner of the kitchen. Megan's shoes and socks had obviously been kicked off in a hurry under the round oak table in the breakfast Kindle.
Sam was right. She didn't belong here. She needed to get away and fast, before she started thinking about how this life could have been hers, how that little girl upstairs could have belonged to her and Sam, and the calendar on the wall could have had their dates written on it, their life, their plans.
She hadn't wanted this life, Tessa reminded herself. A small house in a small town had never been her dream. In fact, she'd spent many a day dreaming of a future far away from Tucker's Landing. But now that she'd come back, she realized how much she'd missed having a home, a real home, not a luxury apartment forty-two stories in the sky, but a house with creaks and groans and rusted pipes and peeling wallpaper.
She could see Alli in every crumb on the linoleum, every hastily scribbled recipe on a card falling out of a cookbook, every plate, every glass. This was Alli's home, Alli's life, and Sam was Alli's husband. At least he used to be.
"Tessa?" Sam was back in the doorway again, keeping his distance, his hands solidly in his pockets to prevent any accidental touch.
"I know, I'm going."
"It's just that I can't talk to you right now, not with Megan upstairs. She's notorious for eavesdropping."
"So was her mother. Alli and I used to eavesdrop on our parents after Alli discovered we could hear what they were saying in their bedroom if we stood by the heating vent in the laundry room. We once found out what they were going to buy us for Christmas."
Sam's eyes registered his surprise. "You never told me that before."
"This house reminds me of my parents' house. I wonder if Alli deliberately decorated it that way, or if she even realized what she was doing." Tessa sighed. "I never wanted to talk about them because they were gone, and once something is gone, it's easier if you just forget you ever had it in the first place."
"Is that what you did with me—forget?"
"I tried."
She walked past him, careful not to touch him again, and she didn't pause until she reached the front door. "Tell Megan I said good-bye."
He opened the front door for her, but still she hesitated.
"Sam, if I had kissed you—would you have kissed me back?"
"Maybe it's better if we don't find out," he said.
Chapter Eight
Alli returned home just before eleven. Every light in the house was on, but there were no sounds of life downstairs, so she went upstairs to Megan's room. Her daughter's bed had been turned down, but it was empty. Moving across the hall, she stopped outside her bedroom door, almost afraid to look inside.
She hadn't changed anything since Sam left. Some of his clothes still hung in the closet they'd shared. She'd told herself to get a new bedspread, new curtains, start over, but she hadn't found the time to do it. Now she wished she had.
For lying on his side of the king-sized bed was Sam. Fast asleep, one arm flung over his eyes; he looked like he'd looked every night for the past nine years when they'd shared this very bed. And curled up next to him in her pink pajamas was Megan.
Alli thought her heart might just break. For this scene, this moment, was all she had ever really wanted.
Taking a deep breath, she walked into the room and flipped off the television. Megan and Sam slept on, Sam making an occasional deep-throated snore that was so painfully familiar.
Her side of the bed was empty, waiting, the sheets still cool and crisp.
They'd slept this way, the three of them, many a night when Megan had a nightmare or a stomach ache or just wanted to be close to her parents.
But Alli couldn't leave them like this, not tonight.
Megan needed to be in her own bed, and Sam in his bed, at his house, far away from her own treacherous longings. Leaning over, Alli touched Megan on the shoulder. "Bedtime, honey."
Megan blinked sleepily, not really waking up, but alert enough so that Alli could get her up off the bed and walk her into her bedroom. " 'Night, Mommy," Megan murmured as Alli tucked the covers under her chin. "I love you."
"I love you, too," Alli replied, planting a kiss on Megan's forehead as the little girl drifted off to sleep once again.
Oh, to be so easily able to sink into oblivion. Alli would give just about anything for a few hours of peace away from all of her problems, but she doubted she'd be able to sleep even when she got to bed. There was too much going through her mind.
Returning to her bedroom, Alli stopped by Sam's side of the bed and stared down at him. He simply could not stay here.
"Sam, wake up. You have to leave," she said.
He grunted, then rolled over on his side, facing away from her.
"It's late, and I'm tired, and you can't sleep here." She slipped off her shoes and contemplated her options. She knew from past experience that Sam could sleep through anything. With renewed purpose, she put her hand on his arm. It was a mistake. She could feel the power of his muscles and for a moment briefly considered moving her fingers under the edge of his T-shirt so she could really touch him. Lord! What was she thinking?
"Okay, this is it, wake up, Sam!" She raised her voice loud enough to be heard but not so loud that she'd wake Megan. It wasn't enough. His breathing didn't even change.
"You just won the lottery," she tried. "A new boat," she continued. "You just won a new sport-fishing boat. You'll love it. But you have to wake up, so you can go get it."
Sam slept on.
She leaned over, planting her mouth right next to his ear, determined to let loose a scream that would surely wake him. But as she opened her lips, she was caught by the sexy curl of hair that graced his earlobe. She could remember kissing that earlobe, sliding her tongue along the edge.
Her breath came in a ragged gasp, and she felt a sensuous warmth draw heat to her cheeks and her hands and her breasts and her thighs .
She fought against the instinct to kiss him. It wasn't right. It was wrong, absolutely wrong. She couldn't do it!
But even if she did put her lips against his ear, he wasn't going to wake up. Nothing could wake him up. She knew that. It was safe.
One little lick, she told herself, one tiny kiss for old time's sake...
Her tongue touched his ear in pure rebellion against her common sense. She kissed his earlobe, then moved over to his jaw, his strong, sexy jaw, bristling with the rough edge of a dawning beard. She trailed her lips along his jawbone, which ended so close to the curve of his lips.
She couldn't resist. She put her mouth against his in a soft, breathy kiss that couldn't possibly wake him up.
She let her tongue play along the line of his lips and when he opened his mouth ever so slightly, she had to fight to stop herself from slipping inside, from tasting him completely. He smelle
d so good. He tasted even better.
And then suddenly his mouth wasn't still beneath hers, it was hot and seeking, taking her own mouth with a hard surety that couldn't be compromised. Sam's arm came around her, and she was tumbled on her back on the bed next to him. Sam pressed his body against hers, every long, hard inch of him touching every short, soft inch of her body.
His mouth came down again and again and again, until she was trembling from the onslaught.
When his hand came up under her sweater, his fingertips brushing her breast, she gave a soft cry. She tried to tell herself to stop, but his fingers brushed her nipple, and his hard groin fit perfectly between her thighs, and her body started melting into liquid fire.
She wanted to make love with him, to bare her body, and then bare his. She slipped her hands up under his shirt and stroked the packed muscles in his back as he moved against her, as the sweet friction built between them like the start of a long, hot fire.
"Sam," she whispered. "Help me. I shouldn't. We shouldn't."
"Don't wake me up," he murmured, his mouth touching off more sensations in the sensitive curve of her neck. "Make love to me."
It was then she realized his eyes were still closed. "Sam?"
He didn't reply.
Was he awake? Or was he dreaming? And who—who was he dreaming about? A sudden terrible thought bolted into her mind.
"Beautiful," he said softly.
Her entire body stiffened. Beautiful was Tessa. He had to be thinking of Tessa. Oh, God! She pushed on his shoulders, trying to get him off her.
"Stop," she cried.
Sam finally opened his eyes, blinking quickly against the bright light in the bedroom. "What?"
"Get off of me."
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
She pushed him back so she could sit up, so she could catch her breath, so she wouldn't feel so dominated, not by him but by her own traitorous body.
"You were dreaming," she accused him.
He eyed her warily. "Was I? I thought you kissed me."
"You didn't know it was me. You were asleep.”
"Who else would it be?"
"You know who else," she said, pulling her sweater back down, her breath still coming in breathless gasps.
Sam put a hand to his head and rubbed his temple. "I wasn't dreaming of Tessa. I wasn't dreaming of anything. You kissed me, and I kissed you back." He paused, sending her a thoughtful look. "Why did you kiss me?"
"I--” She swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to."
He pushed a piece of hair off her face in a tender gesture that almost undid her. "Why do you always have to fight—even if it's only yourself? Can't you give in once in a while?" He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, leaving his mouth a whisper away from hers as he murmured, "We were always pretty good at this."
"It will only make things worse," she muttered.
"Can they get worse?"
"I can't do this." She rolled away from him until she found her feet on the opposite side of the bed. "You have to go home, Sam."
"I am home."
Alli felt the threat of tears behind her eyes. She wanted this to be his home. But he had to give her more than his body, he had to be able to give her his heart and his soul, and there were too many things unresolved between them.
Alli shifted from one foot to the next, filled with a restlessness she didn't know how to quench. Actually, she did know how to quench it, she just couldn't do it. Making love with Sam wouldn't solve anything. It would only make it that much more difficult to say good-bye.
"Come here," he said softly, holding out his hand to her.
"I can't."
"Sure you can."
"It's been a long, difficult day, Sam."
"That's why you need to come here. I'm not going to jump you."
After a moment in which she fought helplessly against her need for this man, she sat back down on the bed. He reached out his hand and pulled her across the mattress until she was cuddled up next to him, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist.
"This is better," he said.
It was better. It was heaven. And even though she knew she should get up, she just couldn't make her body move.
"Phoebe will make it," Sam said. "She's too strong to die." He stroked the top of Alli's head, a gentle, loving touch that made her eyes water.
"I hope you're right," she said. "I started to miss her today, and then I felt guilty for even thinking that way. I shouldn't have any negative thoughts, only positive ones. I can't let the unthinkable take over my mind, because then--”
"It might happen," he finished. "But this battle can only be fought by your grandmother."
"I know. But William told me that Grams worried about having a stroke, ending up like her mother, trapped in her body. I don't want that to happen to her. And she must be scared. When she looked at me, I could see the fear in her eyes, and I didn't know how to reassure her." Alli lifted her head to look at him. "She was always the one to reassure me, to take care of me. How can I take care of her?"
"You'll find a way. You always do. Your grandmother's strength runs through you, Alli." He smiled at her. "I remember when you were in labor with Megan. I've never seen anyone sweat so much."
"Gee, thanks."
He laughed. "And every time a contraction hit, you grabbed my hand and squeezed it so tight I thought you were going to break my fingers. But you never gave in to the pain, never cried, never stopped pushing even when you were exhausted. You were amazing."
She looked at him in surprise. "You never told me that before."
"Didn't I?"
"No."
"It was all those sleepless nights in the beginning. I didn't know if we were coming or going half the time."
"That's true." She thought back to those early days with both affection and sadness for the dream of family she'd had then, a dream that had ended three months ago.
"Don't," he said, tweaking her chin with his finger. "Don't go there now." He put her head back down on his chest. "Just relax and let everything else slide. In fact, I've got a joke for you."
She groaned. "Not another knock-knock joke, please."
"This is a good one. Knock-knock."
"Who's there?" she asked with a sigh.
"Boo!"
"Boo who?"
"Don't cry, it's only a joke."
"And a really bad one," she said with a smile that he couldn't see.
"Megan laughed for five minutes."
She raised her head again to see him smiling.
She grinned back at him. "Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
"Did it work?"
"You've always been able to make me laugh, especially when I'm trying to be mad at you.”
"Maybe you should stop trying," he said more somberly.
"We can't make this go away with knock-knock jokes."
"You take everything so seriously, Alli."
"Someone has to."
She rolled over onto her back next to him and stared at the ceiling. "You have to go home."
He turned on his side to face her. "Are you sure you want to be alone tonight?"
"I'm not sure at all. But –"
"There's always a but."
"It will confuse Megan. She'll think we're getting back together."
"I'll leave before she wakes up."
She looked at him. "You will?"
"Yes." He put his arm across her waist and curled up to her, resting his head on the pillow next to hers. "Sleep, Alli."
She closed her eyes and felt the comfort of his body and his words seep into her soul. "Sam, I said something I shouldn't have," she whispered.
"Tell me tomorrow," he said.
She hesitated, but he tightened his hold on her, and she felt so warm and secure that she couldn't bear to let go of him, and she knew he would leave if she told him what she'd said to Tessa.
* * *
True to his promise, Sam was gone by the time Alli
awoke the next morning. After taking Megan to summer school, she made her way to the shop, where she pretended to work. But in truth she spent most of her time worrying about Phoebe and thinking about Sam. Restless and too distracted to be of much use, she slipped out of the store just before noon and sat down on a bench outside.
The pier was alive with summer tourists, and the smells of fresh fish, baked bread, and chocolate chip cookies mixed in with the breezy salt air made Alli take a deep breath of appreciation. She loved the wharf, the sea, the town. Unlike Tessa, she had never wanted to leave. Tucker's Landing had been her safe place after her parents died, a warm blanket she wrapped herself in whenever the outside world got too close.
Only now, the outside world and Tessa were intruding on her safe place. Alli looked down the road toward Sam's boat dock. She could see his morning fishing boat transferring piles of fresh salmon to the truck for Petrie's restaurant, waiting to haul the salmon a few blocks down the road, where it would be seasoned and broiled for dinner that night.
It had been her idea to use the mid-size of their three boats for commercial fishing purposes. They used the large fifty-footer for deep-sea charters and whale watching and the smaller boat for friends and family looking for some sportfishing a few miles offshore.
Alli wondered if Sam had taken the morning charter out or left it to one of the other captains. Lately, he'd been more office bound than he liked, taking care of paperwork and bookings. She knew he felt more comfortable on the water. For Sam it was all about what he could touch, what he could feel. Which brought up a disturbing memory of his touch the night before.
It would have been so easy to make love to him. So wonderful. One kiss and she'd been blown away. It had always been like that, for her anyway.
"Alli?" Mary Ann poked her head out of shop. "I thought you were getting us a sandwich."
"I was."
"But?"
She hesitated, then blurted out, "I slept with Sam last night."
"You did what?" Mary Ann stepped out of the shop and pulled the door closed behind her. "Cassie can handle the customers. You need to talk to me about what you were thinking—if you were thinking."
Summer Reads Box Set, Books 4-6 Page 38
