As we approached, I saw the woman was nearly bouncing in her chair. The man looked like he wished he had a syringe filled with a fast-acting sedative he could stick her with. And yes, I didn’t know the guy but that was exactly what he looked like.
“Ohmigod! You’re with your girlfriend!” the woman cried when we were within five feet of her table, she shot out of her chair (her husband coming up much more slowly) and her eyes shot to me. “Are you a model?”
“Uh… no,” I answered.
Her brows shot together. “An actress?”
“Uh –” I started but she cut me off.
“I haven’t seen you in any movies. What movies have you been in?”
“I’m not an actress. I’m an administrative assistant,” I told her and her jaw dropped.
Then she jabbed her husband with her elbow three times and exclaimed, “How neat is that!” Her eyes moved to Sam. “I love that! I just knew when you settled down it wouldn’t be with some fancy actress or something but a girl next door type. I knew it.” She turned to her husband. “Didn’t I know it?”
“How ‘bout we take this shot so you can get on with your dinner,” Sam suggested, tipping his head to the nearly full plates of food on their table.
“Oh, we’re good, we’re fine,” she assured Sam. “I know! Would you like to join us? I know you’re done eating but you could have a drink or a glass of wine or something.”
“Actually, I need to get my woman home,” Sam declined.
“Why? The night is young,” the woman noted truthfully but rudely.
“Tilda,” her husband muttered, taking her arm.
“Well it is,” she told him then looked at Sam. “We’d love it. It’d be an honor to have a drink with a hero.”
“Yeah, pumpkin,” her husband said with strained patience. “But maybe this hero would like some private time in a romantic place with his lovely lady.”
“Nonsense,” she shot back, indicating that the flame had died between Tilda and her hubby because if Lake Como couldn’t wake up the romance, nothing could and clearly the romance was dead between them, so dead, she couldn’t see that the romance might not be dead for everybody. Then she looked to Sam and me and declared, “Nothing better when you’re in a foreign place and you meet folks from home. Feels like you are home.”
This was an odd thing to say considering you were in a foreign place to experience that place and not be home.
Then again, Tilda was an odd woman.
But I couldn’t think of Tilda because, as this wore on, I felt Sam’s hand get tighter and tighter in mine so I felt it was time to step in before he broke bones.
“Actually,” I started my lie, “Sam needs to get me back to our hotel because I’m expecting an important call from home and I need privacy when I take it. Truthfully, we don’t have a great deal of time so I hate to be the one to rush this but do you mind awfully if I take the shot? Then we really need to go.”
“Oh,” Tilda mumbled, her face falling, “I hope everything is okay.”
“Me too,” I replied, taking matters into my own hands and reaching out to the camera that was sitting on their table. “But I’d hate for my call to come while we’re on the sidewalk or something so…” I trailed off, grabbed the camera and lifted it toward me. “Is there something special I need to do?”
“Point and click,” the man said quickly as he shuffled around the table toward Sam, dragging his wife with him.
To my shock and, apparently, seeing the visible tightening of his entire body, also to Sam’s, Tilda wrapped both her arms around Sam’s middle, plastered her front to his side, turned her head and smiled scarily at the camera. Her husband stood awkwardly off to Sam’s other side and smiled just as awkwardly.
Sam, being Sam, wrapped an arm around Tilda’s shoulders, placed a hand on one of the man’s shoulders and looked at me.
“Right, say cheese,” I called.
“Cheese!” Tilda screeched.
Her husband and Sam just smiled. I took the shot.
“One more, just in case,” I said swiftly then, “Ready, set, go.”
“Cheese!” Tilda repeated her shriek.
Sam and her husband just kept smiling. I took the shot.
Then I handed the camera to Tilda who nearly snatched it out of my hands, turning it around to look at the display even as she brought it toward her.
“Thank you, really,” the man muttered to Sam, “Kenny’ll like those.”
“They’re great!” Tilda cried then looked up at Sam and me. “Now, one with Coop’s girlfriend in it.”
“We have to go,” Sam’s rough voice rumbled.
“Just a quickie,” Tilda stated.
“We have to go,” Sam’s rough voice repeated on another rumble, this one firm and unyielding, so much so, Tilda’s body twitched and her eyes snapped to him in shock though how she could be shocked, I did not know but I was not a rabid celebrity hound who couldn’t take a hint either.
“They have to go, pumpkin,” the man murmured.
“Enjoy your meal and your vacation,” Sam said, curling an arm around my shoulders and guiding me away. “My best to your boy, yeah?” Sam finished, his eyes on the man.
“Yeah. Thank you Mr. Cooper,” the man returned.
Sam tipped up his chin to him then to the woman but he did this while continuing to lead me away.
Then we were gone.
The restaurant was a ten minute walk from our hotel. We’d been walking two when the noise came from my throat because I couldn’t continue choking back my laughter.
“I know, fuck,” Sam muttered, totally with me.
“She hugged you,” I forced out, all three words sounding strangled.
“I know,” Sam repeated then, “Fuck.”
I couldn’t hold it back anymore, I giggled.
Sam’s arm around my shoulders gave me a squeeze, I tipped my head to look at his profile and saw him smiling.
Then I faced forward again, controlled my hilarity and asked, “Now does that happen all the time?”
“People gettin’ that in my space?” Sam asked back.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck no,” he answered then finished on a mutter, “Thank Christ.”
I giggled again.
Then I sobered as something hit me, it was unpleasant, scary even… and weird.
“Uh… Sam?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you something?”
That got me another arm squeeze and an, “Anything, baby.”
I pulled in a breath.
Then I reminded him, “I borderline internet stalked you.”
His voice was filled with humor when he replied, “Kia, honey, the shit you spouted last night, nothin’ ‘borderline’ about it.”
Uh-oh.
“Well then –” I started but stopped when Sam stopped our progress, turned me to facing him then pulled me loosely in both arms.
“Different,” he whispered when my eyes caught his.
“How?”
“You remember how we met?”
Uh… yeah. I’d never forget. Never, ever, ever.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t talk to you would you have talked to me?”
Ah. I saw his point.
“No,” I said quietly.
“Right, no. You wouldn’t have talked to me. Definitely not asked me for a picture and absolutely you wouldn’t have pressed up against me.”
This was true.
“Though,” he grinned down at me, “even if you had, I wouldn’t have minded you doin’ it.”
“Sam,” I whispered.
“Seriously,” he said as he kept grinning.
I rolled my eyes.
Sam kept speaking after his grin faded and his face got serious.
“So. Different,” he whispered. “You were respecting my privacy.”
“Actually, I was terrified of you.”
He grinned again.
“Either way works fo
r me.”
I rolled my eyes again.
Then I rolled them back and asked, “So it doesn’t creep you out that one of my best friends has a cardboard cutout of you?”
“Fuck no,” he answered immediately. “I get a cut of that shit. She probably paid for a six pack of beer.”
At his words, I burst out laughing.
When I quit laughing, Sam was smiling down at me.
Then he asked, “You got a room at home wallpapered with my pictures?”
“Uh… no,” I answered.
“You ever send me sick ass letters describing the house we’d live in, the pets we’d have, the names of all our children, goin’ into detail about how we’d make those kids?”
Ick!
“Definitely no,” I told him.
“A shrine?”
I started giggling but shook my head and repeated, “No.”
He let me go with one arm and turned us on our way again, muttering, “Then we’re good.”
I walked beside him, my arm around his waist and asked, “Have you received letters like that?”
“Yeah.”
Ohmigod.
My head jerked to look up at him. “Really?”
“Yeah, pre-Army, had a woman, she sent me at least a hundred of them.”
Okay, now that was creepy. I was now seeing there were degrees.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” I told him.
“I didn’t either. I just didn’t reply. It died when I quit playin’ ball and never came back. She probably found some other guy who plays ball to fixate on.”
“Doesn’t that creep you out?”
“Absolutely.”
“How do you deal with it?”
“I don’t. Not anymore. Got an agency who reads that shit, sends me what I need to see, files the rest.”
Hmm. Interesting.
I got another arm squeeze before Sam said softly, “You should know, Tilda gets a wild hair, pictures of you and me at a restaurant in Lake Como, wrapped up together, sittin’ close…” he trailed off and I stopped dead.
This was because I knew what he meant.
She could sell them to someone or even just put them on a social network site and they’d spread like wildfire.
Oh.
My.
God.
He turned me into his arms again as I tilted my head back to look at him.
“Ohmigod,” I whispered when my eyes found his.
“That shit happens to me all the time, baby.”
I knew that. I’d seen him with a variety of babes. But none of them was me even though I wished they were me.
And now they could be!
Oh.
My.
God!
He studied me as I freaked out.
Then I asked him, “Doesn’t that freak you out?”
“No.”
“But… we barely know each other!” I cried, yes, cried and loud.
He pulled me closer, his arms getting tight and his face dipping close to mine.
Then he asked, “This feel good?”
“What?”
“Us.”
I sucked in breath at his question.
Sam kept speaking and when he did he yet again rocked my world.
“It does to me. That shit, it’s my life. I can’t care. I did, I’d lose it. So I see it or live it, then I let it go. Now, I’m worried about you ‘cause this feels good. If it feels this good now, that means it could get better. What happens tonight is close to what happened this morning, it’s definitely gonna get better. But right now, it feels good enough I give a shit about it stayin’ this good, enough to work at it, enough to make it better. And I don’t need to find a woman I finally feel good with and have her not able to handle the shit that comes with me.”
I was still holding my breath and staring at him.
“Kia.”
I kept holding my breath and staring at him.
His face got even closer and his arms gave me a squeeze.
“Kia, baby, breathe.”
I let out my breath.
What I didn’t do was speak. Sam waited but my brain was too full with the idea of “us”, I couldn’t get it together to answer.
“Baby, I need to know if you can handle the shit that comes with me,” he prompted gently.
That was when I blurted, “I liked Sampson Cooper not because he was hot and rich and cool. I liked Sampson Cooper because my husband was a dick who treated me like shit and I knew Sampson Cooper was a good man, a decent man, a loyal man and I preferred to spend my time with that man not with my husband.”
It was Sam’s turn not to speak.
I kept talking.
“But I like Sam Cooper better.”
Sam closed his eyes.
And it was my turn to give him a squeeze and when I did, he opened his eyes and I whispered, “So, yeah. Definitely yeah. I can handle the shit that comes with you just as long as it comes with you.”
I watched his eyes heat right before his hand slid up my back, into my hair, cupping the back of my head, tilting it and his mouth slammed down on mine.
Then he kissed me, not like he’d been doing all day, sweet lip touches that settled in my soul.
No.
Like he did that morning.
A hot, wet, deep kiss with lots of brilliant tongue action that made my knees get weak.
I held on and kissed him back.
It… was… brilliant.
Then he tore his mouth from mine, growled, “Hotel,” and he started us walking again.
This time faster.
A lot faster.
Oh.
Man.
Chapter Eight
Bury Him
Sam led us directly to my room, no discussion over “yours” or “mine”.
Decisive.
He was not wasting any time.
But by the time we got there, I was not so sure about “us” anymore.
In fact, I’d convinced myself this was all a huge mistake.
And I’d convinced myself of this because I’d had one lover.
Cooter.
And I found out that morning, just with the little I did with Sam, that Cooter wasn’t very good at what he did and even with experience with me and whoever else he slept with along the way, he didn’t get any better. And this was true even before he started hitting me which made me want nothing to do with my husband touching me.
The sorry fact was, I never really enjoyed sex with Cooter. I tried but never got there. We had our moments, sure. But they were few and they caused no fireworks. Sparklers, maybe, but those sputtered out and died.
There was a pocket of time I tried to be all I could be for Cooter in bed in hopes that would make him happy enough so he would be less inclined to get pissed and take it out on me.
This did not work and I quit trying.
But it stood to reason that Cooter went to Vanessa and any of the other women he might or might not have cheated on me with those times he was late home because it was actually me who wasn’t good at it. I was not his first but he was my first and only and he didn’t exactly take his time to teach me nor did he make our bed a safe place to learn.
And it was clear with the first kiss Sam and I had shared that I didn’t know what I was doing. Just with kissing. So the rest of it might be even worse.
And that couldn’t happen.
It couldn’t.
After the last twenty-four hours with Sam, it couldn’t end like that.
The horrible kiss was humiliating enough, if I couldn’t satisfy Sam in bed that would be mortifying.
And by the time we got to my door, I’d convinced myself that was what was going to happen. That hot kiss with Sam this morning and the one five minutes ago were flukes.
And I couldn’t tell him this. I couldn’t explain any of this.
“Baby, your key?” Sam prompted as I stood staring at the door, trying to figure out how to get out of having sex with Sam a
nd how to talk him into being my hot guy friend that I made out with twice instead.
My head jerked up to look at him then it jerked down and I pulled my purse off my shoulder, dug inside and came out with my key.
Whether it was because Sam saw my hands shaking (and they were) or he was just being Sam, he slid it gently from my fingers, unlocked the door, pushed it open and held it for me to precede him.
I didn’t want to but I did.
Sam followed me and the door closed behind him.
I stopped breathing and my stomach clutched.
Sam hit the light switch and several lights came on around the room.
That jolted me to action.
“Sam –” I started but he was right there, his hand wrapped around the side of my neck, pulling me in and tilting my head back with his thumb at my jaw.
His face was so close, it was all I could see when he whispered, “Breathe, baby, just breathe. Stay with me, two minutes, stay with me. Then I promise to make it okay.”
Two minutes?
He promised to make it okay?
“Promise me you’re gonna stay with me,” he ordered.
I bit my lip.
Two minutes.
I could do that. Right?
I nodded.
He let me go instantly and moved around the room, turning off all the lights but one by the bed.
Then he came to me and guided me to the bed.
Oh no.
“Sam –” I began again.
“Baby, you promised.”
I did.
I shut up.
He turned me and gently pressed me to seat me at the side of the bed. Then he bent, hooked a hand behind my knee, lifted my leg and slipped off my sandal. Repeat with the other one. Then he sat down beside me.
I sucked in breath.
“One more minute, Kia,” he said gently.
I turned my head to him and nodded again.
He pulled off his boots and socks.
Then he turned to me and in a smooth, swift movement, he wrapped an arm around my waist and hauled me up the bed so we were lying perpendicular across the middle of it, both down to our sides, facing each other.
Okay, no.
No.