The Unforgettable Kind

by Melanie Munton

  But I have not lost her.

  I won’t allow that. It’s unacceptable.

  “Same with my mom. She’s got Drake’s daughter, Laylah, but she complains all the time about how they live too far away in LA. Likes to remind me that I live much closer and am depriving her by being ‘selfishly child-less.’”

  I want to ask if she even has kids on her mind. But I forego that line of questioning. Because if I ask her, then she’ll ask me and she probably won’t like hearing my answer.

  Why yes, Sam, I do want to get married and have kids. With you. I fantasize about that all the time.

  Yeah, probably shouldn’t touch that subject just yet.

  “Is she still in Mason?” I ask instead.

  “Yep. Still working herself to death at the hospital. She’s dated a little I think, but nothing has stuck. To be honest, I think she’s still hung up on my dad, which is…sad.”

  “How are you two doing? You and your dad.”

  Things had changed in their relationship right before ours had ended.

  “Pretty good. We talk on the phone, and he comes to visit sometimes.”

  I understand what her dad’s absence did to her all those years ago, so I’m happy to hear the situation has improved. “I’m glad you were able to forgive him.”

  She laughs but it’s devoid of any humor. “Able to forgive a man who left me without an explanation? Which is apparently the theme of my life. Don’t go getting your hopes up, Jennings.”

  Direct hit. Her aim was certainly true with that barb.

  “Sam—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Kade. We’re not going there tonight.”

  I sigh. I want to discuss the past so we can move on. But I honestly don’t know if explaining my actions will make things any better. My reasons for leaving her might very well piss her off even more.

  “What can I do to make it up to you, Sam?”

  She doesn’t answer. And when I pull over alongside the curb in front of her condo, she immediately swings open the door and hops out before I can say another word. I quickly follow after her, watching as she rifles through her purse. She’s teetering on her heels, and I wonder how much longer she’ll be able to stay upright.

  “You do realize I drove you here in your car?” I dangle her keys from my finger. “Exactly how drunk are you?”

  She spears me with a glare. “I have a spare somewhere in here.”

  “Seriously, Sam? You’re that stubborn that you can’t ask me for your keys?”

  Her lips clamp shut, her body seething with anger. Lighting fast, she reaches out and tries to swipe the keys from my hand. But I’m faster. I pull them back at the last second.

  She pushes out a frustrated breath. “So, that’s your plan? You hold my keys hostage until I agree to your demands or something?”

  “And what do you think my demands would be?”

  She cocks out her hip, looking like the Sam of old. All sass and fire.

  “I don’t know. But like you said, I’m stubborn. I could stand here all night.”

  My gaze slides down her long, perfect legs. “Not in those heels you can’t.”

  Without looking away, she bends over and removes her shoes, one at a time. Dangling them from her fingers, she crosses her arms over her chest and raises a challenging eyebrow.

  I smirk.

  I consider my options. I know forcing her into anything tonight is not the right course of action. She’s got her defenses up, her liquid courage fighting on the front lines.

  I hold out her keys. She just stares at me, suspicious.

  I shrug. “Like you said, not tonight.”

  Her lips flatten into a straight line as she carefully takes the keys from my hand. Once she has them, she quickly jerks her arm back like she’s expecting it to be a trap of some kind. I just put my hands in my pockets and keep my distance.

  “You going to be okay?”

  She nods slowly, never taking her eyes off me. That look of distrust guts me.

  “Take two aspirin before you go to bed, and make sure you drink plenty of water.”

  She taps her foot, considering me with an inscrutable expression. If she’s looking for a fight, I won’t give her one.

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Yeah.”

  Before I can say anything, everything she’s holding hits the ground and her arms wrap themselves around my neck. Instinctively, I pull her against my body just as her mouth crashes against mine.

  Fuck, yes.

  I don’t give her time to reconsider.

  My arms tighten. My mouth moves against hers, lips sliding, matching every bit of her heat and fire with my own. Our lips part, our tongues meet, drawing a loud moan from her. A deep groan comes from the back of my throat when she snakes her leg around my hip and thrusts against my erection.

  Holy Christ, that’s good.

  She’s still in that damn pencil skirt, allowing me to feel every bit of her heat when the material rides up her slender thighs. When her spiked heel digs into the back of my leg, I actually welcome the pain. One of my hands lowers to cup her ass as the other one buries itself in her mass of hair. I force her head at a different angle, taking the kiss deeper and eliciting another moan from her. The taste of wine on her tongue is a reminder that I have to stop this. She’s drunk and it’s not right.

  “God, Kade.”

  Fuck, her voice. So full of need and lust.

  Just a little more, a little longer…

  I push her up against her front door. Her cleavage has been torturing me all day, so I finally give in to the urge to take her perfectly round, full breasts into my hands. She attacks my mouth with hers, as if she needs my kisses just to breathe. We thrust against each other, seeking more, desperation fueling our movements.

  Old passions drive us. Old instincts guide us.

  Her hand suddenly covers the bulge in my pants, cupping me. I hiss in a breath, slamming my palms against the door.

  Everything inside me wants to take her hand for a ride, but I stop myself.

  I don’t want our first time in eight years to start with her drunkenly groping me and end with me coming in my damn pants. Even if those things were to happen, there’s no guarantee she’ll remember any of it tomorrow. And that would kill me.

  I rip my mouth away. “We can’t. Not tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  Jesus. Her voice is all sultry and seductive. Is she doing that on purpose? Or is she even aware of how tempting she is?

  “Because you’ve been drinking,” I say. “And I don’t want it to go down like this. Not this way.”

  “Not even once? Just a quickie?”

  I close my eyes and pray for control. “Let’s get you inside.”

  “Boo. You suck. Which is a bummer for you because I’m in the mood to suck.”

  That sends her into a fit of giggles. Not quite sobered up yet.

  Stopping was a good call.

  I take the keys from her and open the door. She stumbles through before I can grab onto her, but she somehow stays on her feet. There’s already a lamp turned on in the living room, throwing me into a panic. Does she have some live-in boyfriend I’ve yet to hear about? She broke up with Aaron Simmons months ago, didn’t she? Are they seeing each other again?

  Then a memory from the past surfaces.

  Her mom used to always leave a lamp on whenever she had to work a late shift. Sam must have adopted the same habit.

  She collapses onto her living room couch, her hair falling across her face. “After all this time and he turns me down,” she mutters, talking to the invisible third person in the room. “Guess I’m losing my touch.”

  You haven’t lost a damn thing, sweetheart.

  “Well, you had your chance, Jennings. And you blew it…before I could blow you.” She chuckles to herself again.

  Yep, she’s still tanked. And thank God for that because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to stop her if she decided to all of a
sudden start sucking me. Hopefully, this won’t be my only opportunity to take her up on that.

  Mere seconds later, I hear light snoring coming from the couch. Sure as shit, her chest rises and falls with her deep, even breaths. She’s fallen asleep, halfway slumped on her couch.

  I can’t leave her like that.

  I go over and lift her into my arms. She wakes up long enough to wind her arms around my neck, and then she’s out again.

  Or at least I think she is until she murmurs, “Jus’ so you know…this doesn’t change anything. Nothin’ has changed.”

  Then she’s out again.

  Walking down her hallway, I peek through every doorway until I spot the master bedroom at the end. I cross the room, tripping on a stray high heel, but eventually make it to her king-size bed. Why one woman needs a bed that big all to herself I’m not sure.

  Maybe she’s not always by herself.

  Yeah, I can’t think about that right now.

  I pull back the sheets and gently lower her onto the mattress.

  Well, shit.

  Should I undress her? Seems a little creepy. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but she’s also unconscious. And she hates me. Decision made, I remove her shoes and tuck the sheets in around her fully-clothed body.

  Moving her hair off her face, I lay a soft kiss on her cheek. “Goodnight, Sam.”

  I swear part of her mouth twitches in a half-smile, but it’s probably just my own wishful thinking. I leave her keys on her coffee table and make sure the door is locked before I close it behind me. Walking down her sidewalk as I call a cab is a truly uncomfortable experience. The task of getting my blue balls under control is an arduous one.

  Needless to say, Sam is a talented woman when it comes to inflicting pain on a man.

  But she also made a tactical error tonight.

  Drunk or not, she revealed she still has feelings for me. Whether those are just of a physical nature or something deeper is yet to be seen.

  But it’s something.

  And I can work with something.

  Sure, one could argue that she was just drunk and horny and I was simply there. Some could say it didn’t mean anything. That it doesn’t matter. She may not even remember kissing me in the morning, so maybe it shouldn’t count.

  But I say it does count.

  She says nothing has changed?

  She’s wrong.

  Because now, everything has.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “The Chain”

  by Fleetwood Mac

  Sam

  Why the hell am I on a boat?

  That can’t be right.

  I crack open an eyelid.

  Nope, no boat. It’s just my bedroom, and I’m on my bed. That ear-piercing sound to my left is my phone’s alarm going off, telling me it’s time to get my ass up and ready for work. And the room is spinning because I polished off a bottle and a half of Cabernet last night. Which explains the horrible taste in my mouth.

  I slap my palm down on my phone, silencing the oppressive noise. Then I push up from the bed to discover I’m still in my work clothes from yesterday. Classy.

  How I got home last night is still in question. Surely, I didn’t drive. No, no, I distinctly remember Kade driving me home in my car. Yes, he drove me home.

  Really? I actually got into a vehicle with him? Why the hell did I do that?

  Everything after that is fuzzy.

  I glance at the clock on my phone. No time to think about last night’s events.

  With great care, I hobble into my bathroom and peel off my clothing. Battling nausea and a screaming headache, I rush through the washing and scrubbing process in the shower, all while struggling to remember what happened after I got into the car with Kade. After drying myself off, I shrug into my robe and begin applying my makeup at lightning speed.

  Ugh.

  All wine and no water makes Sam a sick girl.

  I memorized that adage a long time ago, dammit. I know better. I’m sure paying for it now by showing up to work hungover for the first time ever. I blame it on freaking Kade and his sudden, unwelcome reappearance into my life yesterday.

  I get a look at myself after a quick makeup run-through and wince. The hair and makeup people are really going to have their work cut out for them today. I run to my closet, throw on the closest dress I can find—a curve-hugging magenta Ralph Lauren number—and grab some nude heels.

  I’m brushing my teeth when it happens.

  Oh. My. God.

  I kissed Kade last night.

  I offered to suck him off.

  Toothpaste goes everywhere. All over the mirror, the sink, the floor. Luckily, everywhere but on my dress.

  Holy. Shit.

  I can’t believe myself. What is wrong with me? I’m supposed to be pissed at the man. He is never to have another shot with me. Yet I was all too ready to spread my legs for him last night?

  What the effing hell, Sam? Just kill me now.

  I need coffee before I can contemplate the ramifications of my actions. But unfortunately, I’ll have to grab some at the studio. I snatch up my phone—ignoring the two missed calls—my purse, my keys, and sprint out the door.

  Is it possible to do the walk of shame from your own house?

  ***

  I’m literally walk-jogging to my office at the studio when I feel a large hand wrap around my arm and pull me to a halt. I already know who it is before I turn around.

  “You trying to ignore me?” The fury in Kade’s voice knocks me back a step. “Why the hell haven’t you answered your phone?”

  Apparently, the alcohol is still clouding my brain because none of what he’s saying is making sense. “What?”

  “I’ve been calling your phone. When you didn’t answer I went by your place to see if you were okay, but you didn’t answer the door. Or you had already left.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Don’t think for a second you’re going to shut me out now. It’s not going to happen.”

  I just need my freaking coffee. He’s coming at me guns blazing, and without caffeine it takes several moments for me to catch up.

  “First of all, I didn’t exactly have time to return any calls this morning.”

  I pull on my arm to create some distance between us, but he holds firm. Dammit, I can’t deal with this right now. And no one needs to see how close we’re standing. They’ll get all the wrong ideas.

  “Second of all, you must have come by after I’d already left.”

  I watch as some of the anger in his expression banks. “You feeling okay?”

  My heart wants to melt at his concern. Damn him for cornering me before I’ve had the chance to shore up my defenses. “I’ve been better.”

  The anger returns. “I’d planned on giving you a ride. If you would have just answered your goddamn phone.”

  My annoyance rises when he still doesn’t let me go, so I shove at his chest. “I’ve had a bit of a rough morning, Jennings, so maybe you want to back off.” Something else he said suddenly registers. “And what the hell do you mean, I can’t shut you out now?”

  He lowers his face to mine. “I’m saying you opened a door last night. I came through it, and now you can’t kick me back out.”

  Oh, no, no, no. “I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  He chuckles darkly. “Oh, you knew exactly what you were doing. You forget you can’t lie to me, Sam.”

  “I’ve got work to do. I don’t have time for this.”

  I pull on my arm again, but he refuses to let go. I’m about to unleash a tirade that everyone from here to Denver will hear when he starts moving, tugging on my arm so that I have to follow. “What are you doing?”

  He doesn’t answer. He just drags me down the hallway before eventually swinging open a nondescript wooden door. After peeking inside, he shoves me through and closes the door behind him. It’s some sort of storage room with boxes and large tubs stacked against the walls and some cleaning supplies in the corner. />
  Uh-uh. Nope.

  I know what happens in storage rooms. I read romance novels. Outraged, I whip around, ready to unleash hell, when he cages me in with his body.

  “Are you kidding me right now?” I whisper-shout. “Manhandling me into a closet? What the hell, Kade?”

  It’s like I didn’t even speak. He bodily pushes me against a stack of boxes and braces his hands on them, trapping me between his arms.

  For some absurd reason it’s at this point that I notice what he’s wearing. A perfectly fitted navy blue suit with a lighter blue shirt underneath and a midnight blue tie. I swear, the man makes everything look good. He could probably wear a puke green suit during a broadcast and probably start a new trend.

  “Let’s get some things straight here,” he says in a low voice that brooks no argument.

  “There’s nothing to straighten out. Let me out of here.”

  I try wriggling around him, but the space is too cramped. I avert my eyes instead. It’s the only form of distance available.

  He cups my chin and pulls my face back, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Things changed last night, Sam. Like it or not, what happened did happen. We can’t act like it meant nothing.”

  “It was a mistake. Whatever you think it meant—”

  He presses his finger against my lips, silencing me. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear how you’re about to downplay our entire history. That kiss was something. But it doesn’t have to be more than something if you don’t want it to be. I’m willing to let it go.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes.”

  Why am I sort of disappointed to hear that? I should be rejoicing from a mountaintop that he’s not going to hold that kiss against me. The feeling that someone just kicked my puppy is an irrational one.

  But hey, irrational thinking is par for the course around Kade. So, there you go.

  “What’s the catch?” I ask warily.

  His upper lip curls. “The catch is you have to admit that we’re friends. This is a new game with new rules. And the first rule is you don’t get to act like I don’t exist anymore.”