His To Keep (His and Hers Book 4)

by Vivian Wood

  She didn’t know a damn thing about Jenny, and they’d started at nearly the same time.

  “I had no idea.” It was all she could think of to say.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Mrs. Whiteworth said. “You’re young. I know you’re probably tired of hearing that at this point in your life, but it’s true. You have no idea how young, or how much is ahead of you. I know it feels like whatever you’re going through right now is too heavy to carry. Trust me, it isn’t. You’re a strong woman.”

  Sam blushed at the unexpected compliment. She wanted to look away; the woman’s eyes were almost too intense. But she forced herself to hold the gaze. “Why do you think that?” she asked. She wanted to take it back. It sounded too much like she was fishing for compliments.

  “You think I’d hire anything else?” Mrs. Whiteworth asked.

  She went over the roster of employees in her head. Mrs. Whiteworth was right. There were elements to all of them that were impressive. How else would this agency have so quickly become the powerhouse in the industry it was?

  “Just remember,” Mrs. Whiteworth said as she stood up. “You can talk to me.”

  “Mrs. Whiteworth?” she asked as the woman was halfway to the door. She turned in her flawlessly tailored Chanel and looked at Sam. “Why event management?” she asked.

  The woman laughed. “Turns out I was shit in the kitchen,” she said. “I went to culinary school when I was forty. Or tried, at least. This is the next closest thing. As it turns out, I never wanted to be a chef. What I wanted was to throw one hell of a party.”

  Sam smiled. The woman was forty before she even gave what she really wanted a chance. There was time. There was time to decide. “And the boy?” she asked. “What happened to him?”

  Mrs. Whiteworth sighed. “I wish I could tell you I don’t know,” she said. “That he disappeared into the great wild, that all I carry of him are romantic notions of what he could be doing. Who he could be. But this is a small town at its core,” she said. “All I can tell you is he followed, diligently, in his family’s footsteps. Although, do you want to know something?” she asked.

  Sam leaned forward, the promise of a secret way too tempting to pass up. “What?”

  “He got bald and fat before he was thirty-five,” she said with a conspiratorial grin. “My torch for him went out long ago. That doesn’t happen with real love, does it? Believe me, you’re not too old to still be confusing lust for love.”

  Sam sat back and let that soak in. Was she right? Is that all this was?

  The glass doors to her office swung shut in silence.

  Sam leaned back in her white leather chair and wondered about the self-imposed deadline. It was just a few days away. When she’d said she’d just finish up the month, she’d meant it. She didn’t care that she hadn’t told Connor. Who was he to deserve a notice, anyway?

  That’s it, she thought to herself. You have until the end of the month. Either you get him to see things your way, or let him go.

  That was easier said than done. Sam searched Connor’s name and a plethora of images popped up of the two of them together. A few local bloggers guessed at their potential wedding date. Some completely made up how the two of them met. Journalism at its finest, she thought.

  Still, she had to admit they looked more than good together. They looked right.

  She knew she shouldn’t do it as soon as her fingers started to type the name. Sandra Brewer. It took her a few minutes to narrow down the search—but there she was.

  Moderately pretty and largely unassuming. Sam was surprised. It wasn’t the airhead hot blonde she’d expected.

  The girl had gone to Vassar, worked at an NGO, and was from a town in Connecticut she’d never heard of. She seemed moderately well-off and educated, but not leaps and bounds “better” than Sam in any regard. Why her and not me?

  Sam stared at a photo of Sandra until her image had to be permanently burned into her brain. She just couldn’t figure it out.

  Why did she get the real engagement?

  28

  Connor

  Connor couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous. With every ring of the phone, he prayed that she wouldn’t answer. Not that he wanted to leave a voicemail, either, though.

  “What?” Sam said for an answer.

  “Hi,” he said. “Um, I know it’s last minute, but my family is having an overnight retreat—”

  She gave a mean laugh. “And let me guess, I’m expected to accompany you.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “What kind of family has a ‘retreat’ anyway?” she asked.

  “Apparently mine,” he said. “I know it sounds ridiculous, and it’s usually in the autumn, but due to a ton of stuff, it got changed last minute to tomorrow.”

  She sighed. “And what exactly does such a ‘retreat’ entail?”

  “You’ll be somewhat happy to know it’s simply an overnight stay at The Cottage.”

  “Really?” she asked. Sam seemed to warm to the idea that it was nearby, only required a thirty minute drive, and The Cottage was known for the saltwater pools, massages and pampering, and not much else.

  “So, can you do it?” he asked.

  “I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Just one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I drive there myself. I don’t care what excuse you tell your family. I don’t want to spend a second longer with you than I have to.”

  “Agreed,” he said.

  “That Sam of yours is certainly a dedicated career woman!” his mother said as she nursed her Arnold Palmer.

  Sean rolled his eyes while he worked on his second gin and tonic of the morning.

  “Quite impressive, quite impressive,” his father agreed. “Of course, I expect you’ve talked to her about lightening up her ‘duties’ after the wedding? You know what such demands can do on a girl who’s expecting—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Connor said. He checked his phone again, and as if Sam had been waiting, a text popped up.

  Five min away, she said.

  “She’s almost here,” Connor told his family. He stood up and brushed the croissant crumbs from his lap. “I’m going to go meet her.”

  “Perfect timing,” his mother said. “I’m sure the two of you will love the couple’s massage I booked for you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Connor said. It took all his power to force the sarcasm out of his voice.

  Sam was just walking up the steps to the resort with her camel tote bag when he walked onto the patio. She looked beautiful as always in wide-legged white linen pants and a bright pink silky top. “Here,” he began as he reached for the tote. “Let me—”

  “I can handle a bag, Connor,” she hissed as she tucked her sunglasses into her tote. In a second, her expression changed completely. A warm smile spread across her face. For a moment, he thought maybe she’d somehow forgiven him, though he couldn’t fathom why.

  “Hello, dear!” his mother cooed from behind him. She rushed past Connor and embraced Sam in her arms. “It’s so lovely to see you. And don’t you look beautiful!”

  “So do you,” Sam said sweetly. “I just love that dress.”

  “Vintage,” his mom told her quietly, as if it were a secret. “Connor’s father hates how I adore these ‘old clothes,’ but men don’t understand much, do they?”

  “No, they certainly don’t,” Sam agreed. She looked at Connor pointedly.

  She gave a twinkling laugh. “I’ll let you two get settled in your room. I’ve booked a couple’s massage for you that starts in, oh, an hour. You know,” his mother said as she hooked arms with Sam, “I’d booked one for his father and I, too, but the man absolutely refuses. Says he doesn’t want some stranger fondling him.”

  Connor thought he saw Sam stiffen slightly at the mention of a couple’s massage. If she had, she’d recovered nicely. She told his mother it sounded wonderful.

  “Here we are,” Connor said as he opened the do
or to their suite.

  “It’s just one bed,” Sam said.

  “Yeah, well, my parents booked the rooms. I couldn’t exactly ask them for bunk beds.”

  She made a face at him and tossed her bag on the chaise. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” she said.

  “Don’t be so dramatic. Do you need to change or anything? Before the massage?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “Who do I have to impress? I mean, we won’t be seeing your parents for a couple of hours, will we?”

  In the dimly lit massage room, the two middle-aged women waited for them, warmed oils at the ready along with hot stones. “Please go ahead and remove everything, except your underwear if you’d like, and get under the sheet,” one of the women said. “Face down. We’ll be back in just a moment.”

  Sam turned her back to him as she undressed. It was maddening. He wanted to tell her not to bother, that it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. But he still found himself getting aroused as he stole peeks at her bare back. He felt an erection shift when he took in the fullness of her ass in that satin underwear. Stop it, he thought to himself. That’s exactly what you need in a massage room is a raging hardon.

  She didn’t look at him at all as she slipped under the white sheet and nestled her face into the massage table opening. Connor took the moment to give her a long, hard look. He couldn’t see much anymore, but it might be the last time he could gaze at her unabashedly.

  When he heard a knock at the door, he quickly got under his own covers. The two women went to work as the New Age music swelled in the room. “How long have you two been engaged?” the brunette who worked on Connor asked.

  “Engaged? Not long now,” he said. “But we dated for quite a bit before that.”

  “Ah, yes, I think I saw a photo of you two in the pap—”

  The woman stopped herself before she could reveal that she knew who he was. It was uncouth to act like you read the gossip column at such a posh place. He heard Sam sigh contentedly as the blonde who hovered over her hit a sweet spot. “Have you ever had a couple’s massage together before?” the woman asked her.

  “No,” Sam said quietly.

  “It’s very romantic,” the woman said. “I recommend all couples get one at least every few months. It can work wonders, especially when stress at home or work is high. It’s a good reminder of simply being together and pampering yourselves. You know?

  Connor nearly laughed. It felt good, but if this woman thought a massage was all it was going to take to fix their problems, she was crazy.

  After the massage, he had to admit he felt loose and calm all over. Even Sam walked back to their room in a more languid way than he’d ever seen. She didn’t even barge ahead of him like she tended to do these days. He felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled his phone out. “Fuck,” he said.

  She looked at him curiously.

  “I thought—damnit. The whole family’s coming after all.”

  “What do you mean the whole family?”

  “The extended family. Two uncles, an aunt, and all their kids and grandkids.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. My mother had told me they couldn’t make it given the last-minute change of plans.”

  Sam sighed as they stepped into their suite. Someone, he guessed his mother, had ordered red flower petals to be sprinkled across the bed with a bottle of chilled champagne on the nightstand. “Did you—”

  “It wasn’t me,” he said quickly.

  “You’re really testing me,” she said. Sam pulled a dress out of her bag and shut the bathroom door hard behind her.

  Connor took Sam on the requisite rounds as the whole family gathered for pre-dinner cocktails. Even he could barely remember some of the names, especially of the kids, and was wildly impressed at Sam’s ability to charm. She cooed at and held all the babies, connected with his cousins, and won over even his gruff uncle Bernard with ease.

  As he watched her immerse herself in his family, he could easily see her there for good. It was natural. A few times he caught his father watching her, but what the hell? Let him. He knew that even in the state they were in right now, Sam would never do anything.

  Dinner was largely uneventful. There were toasts, and quite a few were directed at them and their impending marriage. “May we perhaps set a date once and for all this weekend,” his father had said to a round of cheers. Sam smiled broadly, as if that was her greatest wish, too.

  “Everyone’s drunk,” he whispered to her by nine o’clock.

  Sam nearly laughed, or so he thought. The two glasses of champagne had softened her.

  “Want to make our escape?”

  She nodded, took the last swallow of the bubbly, and accepted his hand when he offered it. She didn’t let go, not even when they were far out of sight.

  In their room, she threw herself onto the bed. A flurry of red rose petals exploded from around her. Connor took a white pillow and tossed it on the couch to start making his bed.

  “No,” she said. “It’s fine.” Sam patted the bed. “There’s plenty of room for both of us. What difference does one more night make?”

  What does she mean by that?

  Connor went to the bed cautiously. When he lay down, she turned on her side to face him and tucked a pillow under her cheek. “I hope I did okay tonight. Because—”

  He cut her off. Whatever she was going to say next, he didn’t want to hear. “You did great.” As always.

  She hadn’t changed out of her bright orange dress. It had hitched up close to the apex of her hip. He could see her cleavage easily through the peephole neckline. He reached out and touched her arm. “Sam—”

  She closed the distance between them. As soon as he felt her lips on his, all bets were off. His body responded like he’d been starved, and he pulled her against him. His hands squeezed her waist and tested the swell of her hips. He needed to be certain she was real.

  Their tongues met, and she bit his lower lip gently. Connor caressed one of her breasts through the thin summer material. She responded with a leg over his.

  It was insane, how he simultaneously felt like he already knew every inch of her and how she was still a mystery every time. Connor wiped a stray lock of her hair from her cheek and held her jaw in his hand.

  He needed her immensely. As he reached under her dress to pull down her underwear, she moaned in pleasure—and that seemed to break the spell. Sam’s eyes shot open as she froze. She looked at him like she’d just woken up and found him assaulting her.

  She pushed back, eyes big. “What…”

  Fuck. He didn’t know what to say or what to do. Frustrated and angry at her, at himself, he got up silently and threw himself on the couch. Somehow, on that little velvet settee with his back to her, he forced sleep upon himself after what seemed like hours.

  The last thing he remembered was listening to her running the shower in the bathroom.

  29

  Sam

  When Sam woke up, Connor was nowhere to be found. She eased her head up from the pillow and looked around the suite. Flower petals were everywhere, and the expensive bottle of champagne’s label was peeling in the bucket of melted ice. She spotted a note left on the nightstand.

  Out golfing. That’s all it said.

  She let out a breath. Good. After what had happened last night, and her stupid mistake thanks to the champagne, she was grateful that he was gone.

  Her hair was still slightly damp from the late night shower. Somehow, she’d managed to get a good night’s sleep. Sam blamed the champagne and the sheer exhaustion of putting on a show for a room full of strangers all night.

  She pulled on a pair of light denim shorts and a loose floral blouse that fell off of one shoulder. As she slid on her gold strappy sandals, she gazed into the mirror. It was one of those rare occasions when her naturally wavy hair had behaved perfectly. It looked like she’d spent hours at the salon. With just a swipe of rosy lip gloss and a touch of mascara, she grab
bed her sunglasses and headed to the breakfast area.

  Sam didn’t recognize anyone, and glanced at her phone. Eight o’clock. She supposed it might still be a little early for some people.

  The waiter rushed to her little table on the patio. Sam ordered a latte and an English scone. The thick white linen tablecloth and fresh flower arrangement was, admittedly, lovely. She tried to take it all in while she could. Checkout was in the afternoon. When her latte arrived alongside the little currant scone, she smiled at the idyll heart made with the milk.

  “A beautiful girl should never eat breakfast alone.”

  Sam jumped at the voice and looked up. It was Connor’s father, looking surprisingly disheveled without his usual suit and tie. Instead, he wore long gray shorts and a short-sleeved Tommy Bahama-style shirt. It looked fake, like he was an actor playing a role. And not very well.

  “Mr. Harris! You startled me,” she said.

  She couldn’t read his eyes behind the mirrored sunglasses, but had the suspicion he angled to see down her shirt. He made no reply.

  “Um, would you like to join me?” she asked. Suddenly, she wished Connor was there. Anyone except his sleazy father.

  “Connor hasn’t accompanied you?” he asked. He looked around the empty restaurant.

  “No, he, uh… he scheduled a morning golf game. With some of his cousins, I think.”

  “Huh,” his father said as he sat down uncomfortably close to her. “I thought that boy hated golf. Well,” he said as he removed his sunglasses. “Maybe his tastes have improved as he’s matured.” When he said it, he looked blatantly at her thighs.

  She wanted desperately to make her shorts longer, but resisted the urge to tug at them. The waiter appeared with a black coffee and slice of frosted lemon bread. He hadn’t even had to ask. Instead, she toyed with the massive engagement ring she’d at least had the sense to put on that morning.

  His father watched her, appraised her, and bit into the sweet slice of bread. She watched crumbs as they gathered at the corners of his mouth and fell into his lap. “You’re different than what Connor’s slinked around with before,” he said.