Popping the top off another beer, he eased back down in his chair, wondering how rude it would be if he told them all to get the fuck out of his house. Because beyond all the jealousy and anger riding him, he felt an ache for her in the vicinity of his chest. She looked so damn fragile and he had the craziest urge to wrap her in his arms and never let her go, unanswered questions be damned.
But Sam wasn’t a man who operated that way. There would be answers tonight. Even if it meant he had to get out a shovel and a drill.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ali managed to leave Sam’s house before the shit hit the fan. Like the coward she was, she’d skedaddled her butt out of there after drinking only one beer, Grady’s jeers for her to stay and get drunk with them following her back to her own porch. Quietly declining, Ali had sought the privacy of her own house, although she fully intended to get drunk. Anything to wipe away the look of confusion, of accusation, on Sam’s handsome face. She had a reprieve, but it was a temporary stay. His body language had gone from open interest when he’d first spotted her, to irritation bordering on hostility after Grady had made his appearance. Ali had been shocked clear down to her cherry red painted toenails to see him walk out of Sam’s house and if she could have slunk away then, without being seen, she would have. But instead, Grady’s presence, and larger than life personality, had ruined what Ali was hoping to be a sexy and scorching reunion between her and Sam.
Sam. Laying eyes on him for the first time in days was like a balm to Ali’s bruised and battered soul. God, she had missed him. Actually ached with it. It was downright scary how strong her attachment to him had become in the few, short weeks she’d known him. An invisible tether tied them together and she wanted nothing more than to walk into his strong arms and let him shelter her, love her. And she wanted to do the same for him. The fact that he had house guests threw a real wrench in her plans, though, because Ali was prepared to lay it all on the line for him. The truth and nothing but.
Ravishing his hard body, confessing her many sins, and then begging for forgiveness had been at the top of her To Do list. And in that exact order. Declaring her love and devotion rounded off the list, but after what had just gone down next door, she was pretty sure that mending a broken heart was now firmly in the number one position.
Opening a bottle of white wine, Ali filled her fluted glass nearly to the rim and took a large sip, letting the chilled liquid calm her frayed nerves. She’d quickly showered, wanting to wash away both the sand from the beach and the stain of her lies, and was now sitting on her sofa in complete darkness, counting the minutes as she waited for him. Wearing the same worn out sweatshirt he’d handed her when the trade winds had chilled her bare arms, Ali dipped her chin into the fabric and inhaled his musky scent still clinging to it. She knew he would come, demanding answers and rightfully so. The silent accusation in his gray eyes had promised as much. Blinking away the image, she lit the fat, vanilla scented candles sitting on the reclaimed wood coffee table, their dancing flames the only light in the room. Her mom’s words of wisdom replayed in her mind as she relaxed back against the plump sofa cushions, propping her bare feet against the low table and absently rubbing her finger along the zippered front of his sweatshirt.
Even though she’d stayed in Oklahoma only a few days, the long years of Ali’s absence had vanished, and it was as if the two of them had never lost contact. Mama never said another word about Danny, only nodding when Ali vaguely explained why her marriage had ended, leaving out the more sullied details. She knew there were things Ali wasn’t telling her, but was intuitive enough not to ask. They spent the long, sweltering days in the garden, weeding and tilling the dirt by hand, planting seed packets until Ali’s nose was sunburned and her manicure was ruined. They spent the mosquito infested evenings drinking iced tea laced with rum and talking late into the night. About her childhood, about her daddy, and about life. How it had a way of kicking you when you were down and offering you a hand up when you didn’t really need it. Mama didn’t lecture her on the choices of her past, nor did she give advice on how Ali should live in the future. She did, however, have some wise words the morning Ali left.
“It’s time for me to go, Mama, but I’ll call you. And I’ll visit again soon, I promise,” Ali said, wanting Sam with her next time. Mama didn’t know about him, of course. She wasn’t ready to share that special part of her new life yet. Not until they had a future.
Mama nodded firmly. “And I need to get my squash out of the ground. Nobody wants to eat a zucchini the size of a baseball bat.”
They laughed but it was bittersweet, neither one sure how to say goodbye.
Motioning toward the sky, dark with ominous storm clouds, Mama finally said, “You best be on your way now, Ali Ann. The rain’s coming before too long and my old bones tell me it’s gonna be a heavy, cleansin’ one, too. Strange how the good Lord just seems to know. He withholds nourishment until we almost break, then gives it when we need it worse than anybody else. When we’re most thankful to receive it.”
Slipping on her gardening gloves, a new pair the color of a robin’s egg, she lifted Ali’s chin with a gentle finger. “Wonderful thing about rain. It washes away the dirt and debris that’s been collectin’ over time. Cleans the ground and feeds the earth, givin’ it a fightin’ chance. The choking oppression that was there before is no more. It’s gone. Things begin to grow again.”
With her heart in her throat and those words fresh in her mind, Ali had made the drive back home to southern California in record time.
Home. If someone had asked her a month ago where her home was, Ali would’ve been hard pressed to name a place. It sure hadn’t ever been with Danny in Connecticut, even though they had a massive house filled with beautiful and expensive things. In those days, whenever anyone mentioned home to her, her mind had always wandered to the old, white farm house in Oklahoma. Ali didn’t dare say it out loud, though. The one time she had absently mentioned to Danny that she wanted to go home—meaning visit her parents—he made sure she regretted it. Ranting at her for hours, he’d yanked every piece of her clothing from velvet hangers and lavender scented drawers, tossing it all outside in the snow, along with anything else of hers he could get his hands on. If she thought this wasn’t her home, he’d roared, then she could pack the belongings he’d paid for, remove herself from his house and take her white trash ass back to Okieville. Ali had wanted nothing more, but he’d hidden her car keys along with her handbag that night, something he’d taken to doing during his more lengthy tirades. Not that there was any money or credits cards stashed in there. No, Danny kept close tabs on his money and according to him, that meant she didn’t get any unless he handed her the cash himself, carefully counted out to the last dollar. Ali had kept her composure that night and he’d eventually wound down, locking himself in his study while she spent hours trekking back and forth between the house and the front yard, carrying armfuls of clothes, shoes and make-up in balmy, twenty degree weather. The next morning it was as if nothing had happened because in Danny’s world, a new day meant the slate was wiped clean.
The word home had never left Ali’s lips again, but she now knew that this place, her cozy beach house in La Jolla that sat right next to Sam Gleeson’s, was truly home. And while it rarely rained in southern California, it was time for Ali to wash things clean and give her and Sam a fighting chance.
The sharp tap on the glass startled her. Not waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a decisive slam.
“Am I interrupting something?” Sam growled, his eyes narrowing as he scanned her living room. He was not a happy man. “Grady’s not in here, is he? Or anyone else?”
“Yes, I’m entertaining a man.” Ali said, rolling her eyes dramatically and reaching for the nearly empty bottle of wine. Did he really think she had another man in here? Or Grady, for crying out loud? Holding up the wine bottle, she sarcastically added, “Sam Gleeson, meet Kendall Jackson.”
“You share a common trait.” He smirked and crossed his arms, not a hint of friendliness in his body language. “He’s not much of a talker, either.”
Swallowing the last bit of chardonnay in her glass, she poured what little was left in the bottle, tapping it against the rim to get every delicious, courage giving drop. “Nope. But he doesn’t cheat on me.”
He tilted his head in question and Ali cursed her fourth glass of wine. Thankfully, he left the telling comment alone. “You have my sweatshirt.”
Yeah? Well, you have my heart and probably my soul, so guess what? You win.
Holy shit, she didn’t say that out loud, did she? Christ, she had never been able to hold her liquor. And now his panty melting, five o’clock shadow wasn’t helping matters, either. He was so big and so sinfully handsome and... and so Sam. Looking him over from the top of his dark, tousled hair to his sexy bare feet, Ali sighed in appreciation. His muscled chest was covered in a faded black t-shirt and his jeans were worn out and thin, especially in that yummy place where she wanted first her hands and then her mouth to be. She felt a shot of liquid heat roll through her and settle between her thighs, and it had nothing to do with the wine.
“Do you know the biggest obstacle with enhanced interrogation techniques, Ali?” he asked, his voice hard, laced with menace. “It’s that while applying pain can make a detainee talk, it cannot make him tell the truth. It increases the amount of information, but does not guarantee the accuracy. You and I aren’t gonna have that problem, though, are we? Because I’m willing to use whatever means necessary to make you crack, and just so you know, several of my tactics are unpleasant at best, counterproductive and illegal at worst, but effective none the less.”
Wow. She actually tingled. “You obviously have no idea how hot it is when you go all bad ass soldier boy. It makes me want to use my mouth in ways that don’t involve talking.” She stood, brushing past him, her hand lightly grazing the front of his jeans as she headed for the refrigerator, not the slightest bit intimidated by his speech.
But Ali gasped when he suddenly reached out, banding an arm hard around her waist and pulling her tightly against his body, propelling them both the few steps toward the kitchen counter. The granite was cold against her palms as she braced herself, his big body enveloping her from behind. If the impressive erection pushing against her backside was any indication, he was fully aware of her mouth and what it could do for him. Roughly brushing her hair aside, he clamped down on the sensitive skin of her neck and she whimpered, the love bite hard, possessive. He licked the spot quickly, soothing the sting as he moved closer to her ear, placing biting little nips along the way. She shivered, knowing he left behind teeth marks.
“Make no mistake about it, babe. I’m getting what I want out of you tonight. You’re gonna tell me your whole fucking life story before it’s all said and done. From your second grade report card, to who you lost your virginity to, right up to this very moment.” His arm tightened around her waist, his words a frosty command. “And it better be the goddamn truth, too, you understand?” When she didn’t answer, he bit her neck again, harder this time, and her breath caught. “Do you understand, Ali?”
If he meant for that bite to punish her, it missed the mark by a mile. “Yeah, I’ll talk. Just don’t stop touching me.”
Rough fingers slid up the outside of her thigh and underneath the hem of the sweatshirt, gliding over her bare hip. Ali was glad she hadn’t bothered with panties when she heard his low growl of approval, felt his breath against her cheek as he leaned in, placing his much larger hand over top of hers to pin her in place, pressing his hips against her ass.
“It’s gonna be a real enlightening chat for me, too, don’t you think? Just as soon as I get this out of my system.” He released her abruptly and stepped back. “Turn around.”
Ali missed his warmth immediately, but did as he ordered, her breath coming in silent pants as she waited to see what he would do next. His gaze raked over her body, from her red painted toes straight up to the juncture of her thighs, barely covered by his sweatshirt and nothing else. The stretched collar hung off her right shoulder, exposing her tanned skin and the fact that she’d passed on a bra tonight, as well. Not that he wasn’t already aware of it, given the way he was staring at her chest as it rose and fell with her heightened breath, her hardened nipples pressing against the well worn fabric. Ali needed his touch, his mouth right there. This was a Sam she hadn’t seen before. He was edgy. Dominant and demanding, and ready to pounce. The hot emotion in his eyes and callous tone in his voice didn’t scare her, though. Just the opposite. Oh, there was no doubt he was pissed as hell, but he was turned on, too, and that fact probably only fueled his anger.
She let out a tiny squeak when he reached out and abruptly lifted her to the counter. The sweatshirt gathered around her hips, the granite surprisingly cold on her bare ass. Ali reached for him, grumbling her objection when he immediately stepped back.
“Spread your legs.” The directive was harsh and she widened her thighs a bit, her hand going to the zipper of the shirt, but she froze when he sternly repeated himself. “I said. Spread. Your. Legs.”
She blinked, shocked at his audacity, but did it anyway and he stared down at her, his shadowed face unreadable. Sam was as alpha as any man she’d ever known and the sex they shared was wildly satisfying, but this side of him—this arrogant and controlling, devil may care attitude—was intriguing, and she had to admit, sexy as hell. And instead of taking away her power, it only gave her more, along with a boldness, a sense of sexuality and confidence she’d never known.
Smiling at her little secret, she reached down, placing her hands on her widespread knees before slowly sliding them up the inside of her thighs and toward her center, wanting him as worked up as she was. His eyes tracked her hands and he reached for the collar of his t-shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion and distracting her with the sight of that mouthwatering maze of a tattoo. With a quick flick of his wrist, he popped open the button fly on his jeans but didn’t push them off and Ali followed the enticing line of dark hair that bisected his defined abs and led to her prize. He was hard, his long length outlined in the faded denim, stretching it tightly.
She licked her lips and grinned seductively. “I guess absence really does make the heart grow fonder.”
His expression was distinctly skeptical. “Are you talking about mine or yours?” Looking down at his lap, he added meaningfully, “Because it’s not my heart that’s fond of you.”
Ouch. That stung.
Her hands stilled and she searched his face, hoping to see the exact opposite in his eyes, but he was in front of her a heartbeat later, roughly yanking the zipper open to reveal her nakedness underneath. Ali never had a chance to respond, to ask if he really meant what he said.
The sudden, sharp pull of his mouth on her nipple zapped her of all rationale thought, his fingers plucking at her other breast before moving down her flat belly. She ran her hands along the hot skin of his bare back and up through his hair, touching him for the first time in days. It made her unreasonably happy and she dipped her head, wanting him face to face, loving his mouth on her breast but needing his kiss more. Sam wasn’t cooperating though, as he straightened away from her, roughly pulling her hips forward until she was near the edge of the counter.
His fingers swiped through her wetness, opening her to a deeper touch and she watched his face while he looked down at her, open and exposed. “You get so wet for me.”
Her eyes closed in embarrassment as he touched her intently, increasing the flood of moisture before moving up to circle her right where she wanted it most. His caress was firm and right on target, with no pretense of teasing. Forget the arousing torment of a slowly building orgasm, he was swinging for the fences on the first pitch.
“Sam...” Gripping his bare shoulders tightly, she tilted her head back and whimpered, more than happy to oblige. When he pushed one finger, then two into her, his thumb rubbing agai
nst her in a perfectly timed rhythm, she lost it completely, her body clenching against him in waves as she moaned her pleasure.
It took all of two minutes for him to make her come.
She heard the sound of foil ripping before she caught her breath, opening her eyes to see him sheathing himself, his jeans barely pushed down his hips. He gripped her ass and guided himself fully inside her with one long, quick thrust. She gasped at the sudden intrusion, leaning back to brace herself as he began pounding into her, hard and fast.
“Sam... Sam...” she said again, unable to utter anything beyond his name. Her hand reached out for him, wanting him closer, needing to feel his arms around her. She craved the touch of his lips against hers, fortifying their inescapable connection to each other.
“What?” he replied absently, remaining just out of her reach as he gripped her hips tightly and thrust deeply, their bodies touching only where they were connected.
It was odd how detached he was, how withdrawn. Never making eye contact, his hot gaze stayed on her body, watching as her breasts bounced in time with his driving hips. Ali knew he hadn’t come here for sex. He’d shown up angry and loaded with questions that she was fully prepared to answer, knowing in her heart that the truth would most likely have him walking away for good. And if so, this would be the last time she could touch him, love him.
Savoring the feel of his big body plunging inside her, she tightened her inner muscles, wanting to grip him within her body and never let go. Encouraged by his ragged breathing—the only outward sign of his pleasure—she trailed her hand down the soft hair on his lower abdomen and felt him suck in a breath. Rubbing her fingers over the base of his wet erection and the soft sac underneath, she stroked him boldly then brazenly touched herself, hoping for some kind of reaction from him. Anything that would replace this robotic, unemotional man with the passionate lover she’d come to know.
NEXT TO ME (A Love Happens Novel Book 1) Page 13