“I’m not sure,” I whispered.
“You not with me?”
“Um… well…”
“You might not be sure but you are definitely with me,” he stated and made his point by giving me another squeeze. “So how about you go with that for now? Yeah?”
I stared up at him.
Then I predicted, “You’re going to get bored of this.”
“Yeah?” he asked on another grin.
“Definitely.”
“We’ll see,” he muttered.
“I’ll bet you a thousand dollars you get bored of me,” I told him, his head tilted to the side and then he burst out laughing. “Seriously,” I said through his laughter.
He sobered but, still smiling, he replied, “I’ll take that bet, Kia. It’ll serve me right to pay up; I’m stupid enough to get bored of you. And an example of why I know I’d be stupid to get bored of you is that you’d make me a fuckin’ bet for one large that I’d get bored of you.”
My heart fluttered and my fingers spasmodically pressed into his chest.
His smile got bigger.
“I’m back to thinking I need champagne,” I informed him.
To which he murmured, “I bet you are.”
“I’m serious,” I pressed.
“I bet you’re that too.”
“Sam,” I snapped and he grinned again.
Then he moved back but curled an arm around me and moved me down the terrace toward the doors we went through to come out.
“Champagne then I’ll show you Luci’s other cars,” he declared and I had to admit, after the Lamborghini, which also didn’t fit her, I was intrigued.
“With a euro-trash rating of first to last, where does the Lamborghini fit?” I asked.
“Number five,” he answered instantly and my head jerked around and back to look at him.
“You mean the others are worse?”
“She’s got great taste in clothes, shit taste in cars. She let me pick which one I wanted and the one I have is the only one of her rides I’d even consider putting my ass in.”
“What did Gordo think of this?”
He guided me in and immediately jerked up his chin to someone, I followed his eyes and saw a white-coated waiter nod and move away and Sam looked back down to me.
“To forget she goes to bed alone and until she sorts her shit out, she’ll keep doin’ it, first, she’s up in my business and next, she buys cars Gordo would lose his mind if he ever knew she’d even test-driven much less bought them and brought them home.”
My eyes slid through the room trying to find her and not succeeding as I muttered, “Interesting.”
“Yeah,” Sam said distractedly. “I can read a lotta shit, baby, but that I do not get.”
I had no reply and luckily didn’t have to make one because the waiter came bearing a flute of champagne. I took it and I sipped.
Then Sam took my hand and moved me through the people, muttering, “Cars.”
Then we went and inspected Luciana’s cars.
He was right. The Lamborghini was the least flashy. Even Vin Diesel and Paul Walker would turn their noses up at that lot.
And, not able to stop myself from giggling at beautiful, sultry, sophisticated, sweet Luciana’s very bad taste in automobiles, Sam did it again.
When I thought I could never relax, when I thought there was no way I could get over my latest life drama, I underestimated Sam’s determination to make me do both so, without even noticing it, I relaxed and got over it.
Chapter Five
Smart Enough to Hold On
I woke feeling warm, content, comfy and something else, something that felt strange, something I knew didn’t feel strange once upon a time in my life.
It was a feeling I registered and understood when I was six years old.
It was the feeling I used to have all the time, every second of every minute of my life but I understood it when my Dad took my brother Kyle and me to that haunted house.
I’d been terrified, completely, even though, looking back, it was meant for little kids like me so it was seriously tame. But I’d never experienced anything like it until then.
And as I wandered through that haunted house with Dad and Kyle, monsters popping out, the bloody bride and groom gruesomely murdered on their blessed day, I got more and more scared when, suddenly, my father took my hand and that feeling of fear evaporated completely.
Dad was with me. Dad was close.
I was safe.
Dad wouldn’t allow anything to harm me. Not monsters. Not zombie brides.
Nothing.
And I felt that upon waking, I felt it again for the first time in ages.
I opened my eyes and saw the corded, dark-skinned column of a man’s throat and I felt my legs tangled with long, heavy ones, my arm resting around a man’s waist, my other hand pressed to a hard chest and two strong arms around me, holding me close to a solid, steady heat.
I tipped my head back and saw Sam’s head tipped slightly forward, his eyes closed, his handsome face relaxed, his power at rest and I stared, immobile, such was his beauty. His eyelashes were black, short and spiky but they were thick, so many of them, their fan seemed a unit, not individual lashes and, instantly, I was transfixed.
Then, as they had a tendency to do, memories washed through my head taking my mind away from feeling warm, comfy, safe and fascinated by Sam’s eyelashes and forcing it to last night.
I tipped my head down and, I didn’t know why but automatically my body sought more contact with his by pressing forward.
When it did, Sam’s arms convulsed, going tight and staying that way a moment before they partially released. My head tipped back again, thinking I woke him but he was still asleep.
He was still asleep.
This meant Sampson Cooper hugged in his sleep.
Oh man.
I sighed.
Then I closed my eyes tight and sifted through my memories of last night.
* * * * *
After I giggled myself silly at Luci’s cars while Sam watched and smiled, he took me back to the party. Thus commenced me meeting a variety of Luci’s friends and acquaintances, very few who Sam knew, almost all of whom knew Sam. I did this while drinking and, several times, Sam led us to the dining room where Luciana had indeed put out a spread.
Even though the food looked gorgeous, luckily Celeste had primed me for this so I nibbled and enjoyed rather than gorged myself which was probably what I would have done not having lunch or dinner.
Before my fifth glass of champagne, I realized a number of things.
One, I was having fun.
Two, Sam did not leave my side.
Three, he did this not in an overbearing way but in a way that simply said he liked being there.
Four, I liked this, like, a lot.
Five, Sam was funny in a dry, blunt, observational way.
Six, because of this, I laughed a lot.
Seven, Sam thought I was funny and I knew this because he also laughed a lot.
Eight, I liked it when Sam laughed mostly because it sounded good, he looked beautiful doing it but also because he was making a habit of touching me when he did, either sweeping an arm around my waist and pulling me tight to his side or sweeping an arm around my waist, his other arm joining it, pulling me tight to his front and holding me close.
Nine, Luci liked it that Sam and I were laughing and touching a lot and I knew this because, either when she was with us or she was across the room, any time I noticed her, she was smiling at us like a happy sister who, after years of putting up with her brother’s girlfriends who she loathed, she’d finally met her soul mate who she could shop with, gossip with and instigate regular margarita nights and get drunk with.
And ten, Luci’s friends and acquaintances were awesome. I knew this because they were obviously rich, obviously well-traveled, obviously well-educated but they were also nice, welcoming, entertaining and easy to talk to. I also knew this because
I caught her friends openly and often glancing her way with concern on their faces. She wasn’t hiding anything from them either and they were worried. I liked this too even though I didn’t like the reason they were feeling it.
But after glass of champagne number five, Sam handed me glass of champagne number six which, with the bottle I shared with Celeste, was actually glass of champagne number nine.
And, I learned last night, that was one glass too many.
This I learned when, three sips into glass number nine, Sam led me out to the balcony. There were others out there but by that time it was dark, the lake was set in moonlight and for those who wanted privacy (like, clearly, Sam) Luci had not turned on the outside lights and thus it seemed romantically secluded.
Sam settled us at the stone balustrade, me facing front, Sam fitting his body into mine at the back, his arm stealing around my ribs, the other one around my chest and I felt his jaw come to rest at the side of my head.
Like his voice, like his laughter and like the now gazillion times he’d demonstrated his gentlemanly behavior (for instance, I did not have to ask for a glass of champagne, Sam always procured them for me, I did not have to walk unguided or unprotected, Sam always was close with a hand at the small of my back or arm curled around my waist and I did not have to introduce myself to anyone and start conversation, Sam did it for me and was certain to lead any discourse so I never, not once, felt left out or ill-at-ease), the position he held me in settled in my soul, deep and warm.
And when he settled us, he didn’t speak, he just held me and we both took in the view.
I found myself sighing.
And I sighed right before I panicked.
Because in that moment it came to me with drunken clarity that I wanted this, all of it. This life that led me to wearing beautiful gowns, meeting interesting, friendly people, giggling over silly but unbelievably expensive cars, eating delicious food while drinking dry, crisp champagne and, most especially, standing outside in the moonlight on the terrace of a beautiful home on an even more beautiful lake with a man who would hold me like Sam was holding me after treating me like Sam had been treating me.
In fact, the bottom line truth of it was, I really liked all the other stuff but it was Sam holding me like he was holding me and treating me like he was treating me, if it was in a fantastic villa in Italy or if it was getting bitten by mosquitoes and not caring even a little bit on a deck in Indiana, that was what I really wanted.
I wanted it then. I wanted it the next day. I wanted it forever.
And I couldn’t have it.
This was Sam’s world, not mine.
But he couldn’t possibly know that, not with me staying at our swanky hotel and wearing fabulous footwear every time I saw him.
And, right then, into my sixth sip of glass of champagne number nine, I completely forgot all of Celeste’s worldly advice and drunkenly decided he had to know who he held in his arms.
Full disclosure.
For the sake of my sanity because, if he found out later I was not a jet-set, high heels wearing socialite but instead a… well, not jet-set, flip-flop wearing non-socialite, I knew he’d be angry. He’d think I’d duped him.
So he had to find out now so, if he so chose, which I drunkenly decided he would, he could move on and so could I (maybe).
“My friend Teri has a life-size, cardboard cutout of you.”
Yes. That was me. That was what I said into the moonlight, breaking the comfortable, cozy, romantic silence Sam had guided us to.
His arms gave me a slight squeeze and he muttered, “What?”
“My friend, Teri, has a life-size, cardboard cutout of you,” I repeated.
No arm squeeze and also no reply.
“In her bedroom,” I went on.
Again, no response whatsoever.
“You’re in your Colts gear.”
Nothing.
Hmm. I wasn’t sure if this was working or not.
I took a sip of champagne.
Sam remained silent.
I drunkenly blathered on.
“At an average of thirty-five percent, we’ve calculated it, the men she takes in that room can’t go the distance.”
More nothing.
“As in, they can’t bring it home,” I clarified, just in case he was not instantly revolted by these words and setting me aside never to touch me again because he didn’t get.
Still nothing.
I kept sharing.
“In other words, they can’t bring it home for her, obviously, but also for them.”
Nothing.
“We think it’s you or, um… the cardboard cutout of you in your Colts gear. We think they find it intimidating. Still, although this is disappointing for Teri and, as I mentioned, an alarmingly frequent occurrence, she hasn’t moved it.”
That was when I got something.
Sam’s body started shaking so violently, my body started shaking with it. Then his jaw left my hair because he shoved his face in my neck and roared, yes, roared with laughter as his arms went super tight.
It felt nice.
Well, that didn’t work.
Onward!
I sipped through my mind drunkenly attempting to latch onto a new strategy, it found one and I sallied forth.
“I don’t have a college degree,” I informed him when his laughter died.
His face went out of my neck and his jaw went back to my hair and he muttered, “You don’t?”
“Nope.”
His jaw left my hair so his lips could go to my ear where he murmured, “Hmm.”
That felt nice too.
Like, really nice.
Argh!
Onward!
“You graduated from UCLA,” I told him though he had to know this fact unless he had patches of amnesia and forgot bits of his life which was highly unlikely because, since I borderline internet stalked him, I would know about it if he had.
His mouth went from my ear and he agreed over my head with a, “Yep.”
“You grew up there,” I kept telling him about his life. “In LA, that is.”
“Yep,” he agreed again but his voice was vibrating like he was laughing but yet not.
Undeterred, I carried on.
“You grew up in a not very good neighborhood so within weeks of you signing your contract with the Colts, you bought your Mom a house in Malibu.”
Sam went back to silence.
I didn’t.
“On the beach,” I continued.
Sam said nothing.
I kept going.
“Because of the lessons you learned from your Mom, you told Sports Illustrated you wouldn’t accept any endorsement contracts for products you didn’t actually use and feel good about endorsing.”
“This is true,” he muttered, completely unperturbed at the extent of knowledge I held about him.
I sighed.
Then I sipped more champagne.
Then another tactic came to me so I announced, “I have a dog.”
“You do?” Sam asked.
“Yep, her name is Memphis.”
Sam said nothing but he moved away from my back though only so he could pull me gently from the balustrade while turning me. When he did, he took the glass of champagne from my hand and set it on the balustrade then he grabbed my hand and pulled me down the terrace.
I kept talking. “She’s a King Charles spaniel.”
Sam led me through some doors and I looked up at him, intent on my course so only vaguely noting he tipped his chin up toward someone and when my eyes went in that direction, I saw Luci grinning madly at us. I gave her a wave so as not to be rude because her eyes had moved to me but I did this still talking as Sam guided me along the outskirts of the partygoers.
“A King Charles spaniel, just in case you don’t know, is a small dog. She’s soft all over, brown and white; she has fluffy, floppy ears and big, sweet, dark brown eyes. But she’s also yappy. She talks a lot, she has a lot to say and, unless yo
u’re her Momma, you wouldn’t get it, it would just seem like yaps to you. She’s also overly friendly. Many people find that annoying.”
This last was a lie. Everyone loved Memphis.
Sam guided me to some stairs and up them. What he didn’t do was speak.
I decided to get direct to the point.
“How do you feel about small, overly friendly, yappy dogs?”
At my direct question, because he was a gentleman, Sam answered it.
“I prefer big, not overly friendly, not yappy dogs who can sense danger and bark loud.”
“I don’t think Memphis can sense danger,” I told him. “I think Memphis likes everyone, including criminals. Though I can’t say that with any certainty since I don’t think she’s met any but if I had to guess, my guess would be, she’d like them.”
“That’s too bad,” Sam muttered as if it was all the same to him and he guided me into a room, closing the door behind us.
Then he moved me through the dark room as I abandoned Memphis and found another topic.
“I live in a small town,” I told him as the room lit dimly when Sam turned on the lamp beside a bed.
“Yeah, baby, you told me,” he said quietly.
I noted he was shrugging off his suit jacket then I noted him tossing it to the end of the bed. Then I noted his shirt looked even better without his jacket on. Then he sat on the bed and instantly pulled me in his lap then just as instantly fell back, taking me with him and twisting so we were lying side by side, facing each other.
I was drunkenly determined to follow the path I was on thus found nothing amiss in our current situation. I simply settled my head into the pillows and found his eyes.
“Outside my wedding gown, which was gorgeous, by the way, though not as gorgeous as this dress and seriously Cooter was not worth how gorgeous my wedding gown was but, obviously, now you know that, so outside of my wedding gown, this is the first gown I’ve ever worn in my life. I didn’t even go to my proms because Cooter thought they were stupid and I was seeing him all the way back then.”
I noticed Sam’s brows had drawn together slightly but, surprisingly, not at the stunning news I didn’t traipse through life in fabulous gowns, instead he asked, “Your husband’s name was Cooter?”