by Grace Risata
“Yes. You can turn around now.”
I slowly swiveled to feast my eyes upon Samuel wearing nothing but a tight t-shirt and low hung pajama bottoms. Evidently my bodyguard had gained some muscle since moving to New York, because the clothes fit like a second skin.
“I approve of your outfit,” I said, leering like an old man at the park watching perky females stroll past in short shorts and tank tops. “Are we getting ready for bed? Should I change next?”
He nodded his head without really paying attention to the question, and landed right in my trap. I had no sleepwear.
Deftly reaching down and pulling the v-neck top right over my head, I was left standing in nothing but a lacy black bra. Samuel growled and averted his eyes like a gentleman.
“Can you warn me before you do that?”
“Can you quit being such a damn prude?” I responded, shimmying out of my black yoga pants and flashing expensive silk panties. I lived for shock value.
Samuel tugged open a dresser drawer and threw a t-shirt at me.
“Cover yourself up and get into bed. I’m turning off the light and going to sleep. This has been a long day and I’m over it.”
I put on his t-shirt and reveled in the smell of him as it surrounded me. So masculine and musky.
“You owe me,” I purred seductively while sprawling out on the double bed. Is it called a ‘full size?’ A ‘twin bed?’ I have no idea. I’m sure that ‘single’ is the name of the one that comes in college dorms, but I’m accustomed to a California King. This was definitely not luxury living at its finest.
“I know I do,” he sighed in embarrassment. “My bedroom is about a quarter of the size of your closet back in New York. I apologize for the accommodations. This is the best place to keep you safe. No one would ever think to look for you here.”
Samuel held his arm up and waved it around to indicate that a small bedroom on a Kansas farm was the last place on Earth I’d be caught dead in.
Honestly, there was really nothing wrong with his room. Yes, it was tiny and claustrophobic, but it was clean. I suppose I didn’t have to worry about the boogeyman jumping out from a secret hiding place, since the room held a closet, dresser, bed, and nothing else. So sparse. But that’s not what I meant when I said he owes me.
“I don’t give a fuck about the size of your room. Would I rather be sleeping in a spacious hotel suite with my bodyguard across the hallway? Or would I prefer a tight, enclosed area while sharing a bed with an extremely handsome man? You do the math.”
I licked my lips and patted the bed.
“Are you going to behave yourself or do I have to sleep on the floor?” he asked warily.
“Do I ever behave?”
“No.”
“You’re no fun at all.” He really wasn’t. Imagine how inventive we could be…fucking in every different corner of the room while forcing ourselves to be quiet so his parents and sister didn’t hear us. So deliciously thrilling with the threat of getting caught, like we’re in high school or something. I love role playing.
Samuel snapped his fingers in front of my face and whispered, “Snap out of your daydream and move over. In case you hadn’t noticed, this bed is barely big enough for the both of us.”
“Quit changing the subject,” I demanded. “This morning you made me a deal. I shut up for twelve hours and now it’s time for you to give me information. I’m waiting…”
He walked over to the light switch, flipped it off, and then plopped down on the bed. Using his body to hip check me, the massive man nearly bumped me off the mattress entirely.
Samuel spread out, tucked his hands behind his head, and let his body relax as it sank into a familiar resting place.
“I thought it would feel a lot different when I finally came home,” he confessed. “I somehow remember my bed as being more comfortable.”
“Your bed in New York is a king with expensive Egyptian cotton sheets. This is no comparison. Last chance. Give me information or I’ll have no choice but to torture you.”
“You know my last name and met my family. For God’s sake, you’re sleeping in my fucking bed. That’s good enough for one day. Also, I don’t think you’d really torture me. There was no mention of any tools for that in your duffel bag.”
I began to run my fingers along his stomach in an attempt to make skin on skin contact with the stubborn man. He instantly jumped out of bed and growled.
“Please don’t do this, Leandra. I’m asking nicely. What are the odds of you going to sleep on your side of the bed without touching me?”
“What are you so afraid of?” Most men would not consider my hot body pressed against theirs to be ‘torture’ in any way, shape, or form. Just my luck to get the one exception to the rule.
“I’m a man, okay? I’m not a monk. There’s no way I can hold out forever when you shove this in my face.”
He’s right. Why should I offer myself up on a silver platter? Yes, the sex would be legendary, but that’s not the point. Samuel can earn a piece of this, just like everyone else before him. Besides, I would have to be too quiet and there’s no way I’m holding back when I take him for the first time. Can I use the situation to my advantage?
“I’ll try to stay on my side of the bed if you answer some questions. Deal?”
“No,” he responded, sliding back into bed, taking all the room he needed, and then desperately trying to shove a blanket between our bodies. “We do this on my terms or not at all. I’ll tell you more, but I refuse to answer direct questions. I’m twenty-nine years old, I ran away to New York in a hopeless attempt to make some quick money, and I have a very strained relationship with my parents. They’re buried under massive amounts of debt from a few rough years of farming and piles of medical bills after my dad got hurt in an accident last August. He’s had several surgeries…and that’s why he’s in a wheel chair. I don’t like to talk about any of this, so that’s all you’re getting. Good night.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, taken aback by his confession. It was actually the most I’d learned about him since he came to work for me, and I could tell he was having a hard time getting the words out. Everyone likes to think their father is invincible. I wanted to ask more details about the accident, but it was clearly a touchy subject.
“No, thank you,” he replied.
“For what?”
“No one has ever stood up for me the way you did at dinner tonight when speaking to my father.”
“I protect what’s mine, Samuel. Don’t ever forget that.”
A deep rumble of thunder boomed as if to punctuate my words. I vaguely wondered if it was tornado season as my eyes closed and sleep took hold.
Chapter Fifteen
Leandra
KA-BLAM!
My eyes snapped open and I forced myself to calm down and take a deep breath. Where was I, what was the situation, and how did the present danger need to be dealt with?
Attempting to roll over, but being firmly held in place by strong arms, I suddenly realized my location. Much to my amusement, Samuel had actually cuddled up to me in his tiny bed. Our limbs were entwined like puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.
“Relax, baby. It’s just a storm. That noise was thunder. You’re safe with me,” he murmured, obviously half-asleep to be throwing around terms of endearment so loosely.
I couldn’t help but smile at his use of ‘baby.’ Did he think I was someone else? If I pretended to be frightened, would he let me stick a hand down his pants for comfort?
“But it’s so scary,” I whispered, playing along. “We’re in Kansas. Storms are notorious here. They suck up your house in a twister and the next thing you know you’re surrounded by singing munchkins. I suppose I wouldn’t mind a new pair of ruby red heels, though. Or a ménage with a lion, tin man, and scarecrow. Mmm.”
Samuel abruptly untangled our bodies and got up to peek out the window. Naturally, I followed him.
“See the lightning?” he asked, completely
ignoring my brilliant ‘Wizard of Oz’ reference. “You have to count the time between the lightning and thunder so you know how far away the storm is.”
A flash of lightning lit up the night sky and a crack of thunder sounded about two seconds later.
“It’s two miles away. Now go back to sleep and stay on your side of the mattress.”
We returned to bed, but I couldn’t fall asleep. I missed his warm arms around me.
“Do you have a storm cellar?” I asked, not worried in the least, but desperate to have his baritone voice lure me to dreamland.
“Are you afraid of the Wicked Witch?”
“No, honey. I am the Wicked Witch. You should know that by now.”
Lightning. One Second. Thunder. CRASH. BOOM. CREAK. THUNK.
I instantly clung to Samuel, not appreciating any of those earsplitting noises. They were all too fucking close.
“Do you know what that was?” he asked in a very apprehensive tone.
“The house being sucked off its foundation and launched into the sky?”
“Worse. The giant oak tree in the front yard just got struck by lightning and probably fell over.”
“How do you know what tree it was?”
“That was the largest one…the others wouldn’t have made a sound so deafening.”
“What do we do?”
“We go see if my hunch was correct.”
He quietly slipped out of bed and went to investigate with me trailing close behind. If there was any action, I had to be front and center.
We met up with Chrissie in the hallway.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
“Yeah, we’re not deaf,” I replied, then realized that was kind of rude. “Come with us and let’s check out the damage.”
She tip-toed along as the third person in our bizarre conga line. As we traipsed down the stairs and past the kitchen, my stomach rumbled.
“Do you have any cookies?” I asked her. Four noodles with some bread did not make a very filling meal.
“We have crackers. Would that work?”
I nodded my approval and she veered off to grab me a two-in-the-morning snack while my bodyguard pulled back the living room curtains and assessed the situation.
“Tree down. No damage to the house or vehicles, but it’s blocking the entire driveway.”
“Who comes and fixes it?”
“You’re looking at him.”
“Who are we looking at?” Chrissie asked, coming up behind me and handing over a box of salted square crackers. They weren’t Ritz and they weren’t even name brand. I desperately needed a trip to the grocery store.
“The massive oak is now in tree heaven,” I whispered, breaking the news gently. The woman didn’t seem to care one way or another, but I definitely noticed the way she stared at my crackers.
“What are you going to do with those?” she inquired.
What? What the fuck does one generally do with a cracker?
“I’m going to carry them upstairs, introduce them to their new friend, Mr. Peanut Butter, and we’re all going to have a food orgy.”
“Is it absolutely necessary to speak like that?” Samuel chastised, adding his opinion into the mix.
“Yes,” I replied. “Are you two hungry?”
Chrissie eagerly nodded her head, and Samuel didn’t protest so I assumed he was on board with the plan. We all marched back upstairs as quietly as possible and then had a picnic on the miniscule bed that now groaned under the weight of three adults.
“This is so much fun,” Chrissie whispered loudly, shoving a cracker into her mouth. “I don’t usually eat so late.”
As the chef of the group, I used a knife to gob massive amounts of my peanut butter onto a cracker. I then made ‘sandwiches’ by placing another cracker on top of the peanut butter layer. Simple, yet effective.
“Why does this taste so outstandingly delicious?” the young lady asked in awe of my concoction.
“This isn’t plain peanut butter. It actually comes mixed with cinnamon. Don’t you have that here?”
“No! Where are you from?”
“New York City.”
Chrissie froze, hand to mouth, eyes widening. The reason I could see her expression so clearly, is that she had a flashlight with her that illuminated the room. We were having some sort of hillbilly camping experience with peanut butter crackers instead of s’mores, and food stories instead of ghost stories.
“What? Sam, is this true? You left home to go to New York and you didn’t take me with you?” she gasped in horror, close to tears. “I wanted to see New York City ever since I was a little girl.”
“It’s nothing special,” he stated casually while leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a lot of crime, dangerous people, and loud noises.”
What the fuck? I happen to associate with a large percentage of the dangerous people, involve myself in shitloads of crime, and…what’s up with the noise thing?
“For real?” I mumbled, eyebrows raised. “You’re going to bitch about the noise when a fucking tree just crashed down at the ear splitting level of a sonic boom?”
Chrissie gasped yet again and looked back and forth between us.
“What?” I asked in confusion.
“You cuss a lot,” she admitted. “I was waiting for Sam to say something about that.”
“I’d like to see him try. Let me give you a little bit of life advice, if I may…”
Sam sat up and rested a hand on my arm.
“Watch your words,” he warned. “She’s very innocent.”
“Quit treating me like a baby,” Chrissie hissed in outrage. “I want to hear what Leandra has to say.”
“When you find the man that you want to spend the rest of your life with…or woman if the case may be…no judgment here…make sure it’s the right person. Your special someone should never try to pressure you into behaving a certain way that fits their needs. They should love you for the person you are and not seek to change your behavior. If Samuel would ever tell me to tone down my larger than life attitude, or lose weight, or obey his every command…well…that just means that he’s not the right one for me. Relationships should be an equal partnership where both people contribute in their own way. If you’re having a bad day, your partner lifts you up and carries the burden. If the other person is struggling, you make sure to offer help in any way you can. True love is not about finding someone attractive, although that does go a long way, but rather about mutual respect and trust.”
While I would assume that this was all common knowledge, my audience stared at me like I was reading from stone tablets with the Ten Commandments. Samuel cocked his head in surprise while Chrissie gazed at me wide-eyed as though she should be taking notes on this vast revelation.
“What? Am I speaking Latin or something?” I asked in confusion.
“That was just really…deep,” she replied. “My mom doesn’t talk to me about stuff like that. Would you mind if I went back to my room now? I’d like to write that down in my journal.”
For fuck’s sake, I’m not the poet laureate of the world.
I nodded and waved her away. Once she was gone and we were left alone, I turned to my bedmate.
“What are you staring at? You want my autograph now?”
“She doesn’t…my mom never…I don’t think my sister has a decent female role model. Thank you,” he whispered in appreciation before taking on a totally different attitude. “Did you see that bullshit speech in a movie or what? You’re the last person I would ever think might believe any of that crap about love.”
So the gratitude for mentoring his sister lasted all of twelve seconds and now we’re moving right along to accuse me of plagiarizing a movie? Heaven forbid I might have words of wisdom to pass along.
“Do you honestly think I’m a whore completely incapable of genuine emotions? Fuck off. I’m not the one that’s been spewing lies to his family all damn day. Pardon me for being brutally honest and owning
who I am instead of trying to pretend to be a fucking artist. You’re not fooling anyone.”
I rolled over, turning my back to the son-of-a-bitch, and asked myself for the nine hundredth time why I cared about him so much. Men were nothing but heartache. Every damn one of them.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he began, resting a hand on my shoulder.
“If you touch me one more fucking time, I will not hesitate to shove this peanut butter knife some place that you really do not want it. Try me…I dare you.”
The ignorant jerk sighed loudly, rolled over, and punched his pillow a few times for good measure.
“Sit up,” I demanded, causing him to instantly rise. I ripped the pillow out from under his head and tucked it under my own. “You don’t deserve a pillow, asshole.”
There were no more downed trees, peanut butter picnics, or harsh words spoken for the rest of the night. Only blissful silence reigned supreme as several different thoughts ran through my mind.
What was happening back in New York City?
Would Samuel want to stay here instead of going back with me?
How far away was the nearest town with a decent grocery store? A girl needs more than just tuna, tap water, and saltines. I’m wasting away here.
Chapter Sixteen
Leandra
I again woke to find myself cradled in the arms of my sleeping bodyguard. I definitely wouldn’t have pegged the guy as someone addicted to spooning, but that certainly seemed to be the case.
Should I be pissed about last night? Some harsh words were spoken, mostly from me, but had he really done anything truly unforgivable? Nope. Not at all. I just needed to prove that there was more to me than the bossy, demanding, and wildly successful career woman that constantly flirted with him.
Maybe that was my problem. If I wanted to get him hard, maybe I had to play hard to get?