“If I listened to everything you said, I’d still be sitting on the other side of town waiting for you.” He downshifted to pass a car, the fingers of his hand deliberately grazing my knee. “You specifically said Belmont. I’ve got the text message. Do you want to see it?”
“No.” I crossed my arms over my chest and huffed, unwilling to concede he might be right.
“So how’d your interview go?” His hand left the gearshift to caress my thigh. I felt an instant rush of heat up my leg and into my center.
“It was good, I think.” I frowned, mentally running through the course of the meeting. “I don’t know. How about you?”
“Good,” he said, but from the tone of his voice, I knew he was holding something back. I tensed, the backlash of our previous issues rearing their ugly heads. Although the last week had been relatively uneventful, we were still finding our way around each other, walking on eggshells. He shot another sideways glance at me, filled with heat and strength, the kind that made me rub my thighs together to soothe the internal itch. “I closed on the Chicago apartment and the office too.”
I eased my fingers around his, knowing how big a step he was taking. He’d built an empire and lost it, and Sam never liked to lose. His life was about to change drastically. I studied his profile, the squared jaw, the high cheekbones, and stubborn chin. He looked younger, more relaxed than I’d seen him since our reunion.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” I said softly.
He lifted my hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. The heat of his breath on my skin sent a ripple of gooseflesh up my arm. “It’s fine, baby,” he said. “I’m good.”
“Really?” I disentangled my hand from his and reached across the car to brush his hair back from his forehead.
“Really.” The genuine light in his eyes eased my worries.
“You wouldn’t hold out on me, would you?” I wrinkled my nose, thinking of how fragile the trust was between us. One slip, one omission, could end this relationship for us. “I mean, if something’s wrong, you’ll tell me. Promise me.”
“I promise, Dakota.” His deep voice held a note of irritation, but his gaze held nothing but desire. I liked to challenge him at every turn. Guys like Sam needed to be kept off balance, and I planned to do my best.
The following week, Sam arrived at my apartment a little before sunset with Chinese takeout and a movie. I loved watching him move around my kitchen, overtly male and overpowering in my tiny space, banging cabinet doors and searching through the drawers for utensils. He wore faded blue jeans and a short-sleeved Henley, items I’d chosen for him on an impromptu shopping excursion. He looked at home, like he belonged there.
After dinner, I watched him rinse off his plate in the sink. Tears of happiness stung my eyes. I wasn’t sure how this had all come about or when things had changed. Neither of us talked about the future or the direction of our relationship. We hadn’t had sex, wanting to prolong the newness of being together, to reconnect on an emotional level before getting physical again. For the first time, it was enough to just be together, to just be.
Sensing my gaze upon him, he looked up. Our eyes met. He stopped, plate in hand, hovering in midair. I felt the weight of his gaze travel over me, saw his tongue sweep over his lower lip, heard the heavy exhale of his breath. The heady jolt of attraction surged into my center. I placed a hand on my belly to calm the fluttering inside.
“Dakota.” There it was. That one word. My name. The way he said it, deep and low, made my breath hitch.
“Yes?” His eyes hadn’t left mine. My mouth went dry. I tried to swallow.
“Come here.” He set the plate into the sink and came around the counter.
My heart rate accelerated, blood plummeting through my veins. I recognized the tone of his voice and what it meant. I walked to him until we stood toe to toe and looked up into his eyes. They were dark, hooded, and liquid as they traveled from my lips to my breasts and back up again to my eyes. “Sam?” I placed a hand on his chest, surprised to find his heart thudding as hard as mine.
“I want you,” he said. Three simple words. They held a million different meanings, a million possibilities. My mind skipped through each one, trying to decode his thoughts.
“I want you, too,” I whispered.
He rested his forehead against mine and ran his hands over my bare arms from shoulder to wrist. We swayed together to silent music. I enjoyed the mingled heat of our bodies. His big hands went to my waist and gently lifted me into the air. I wrapped my legs around him and let him carry me toward the bedroom.
After he set me down, his hands drifted over my breasts, thumbing my nipples through the cotton of my T-shirt. They drew up into tight nubs. He bent and sucked one into his mouth, his breath hot and wet against the material. I moaned, unprepared for the instant bolt of pleasure jolting into my core. I dug my fingers into his hair. He looked up at me, eyes filled with emotions I couldn’t identify, then stood to kiss me again.
“I’ve fucked you a hundred times,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But this is different.”
“Yes.” I slipped my arms around his neck and held him close, savoring the warmth of his body next to mine and the sensation of being safe. I knew he’d always protect me, always have my back, through the best and worst of times. We’d already been through hell and come out on the other side, singed but still together.
“If you ever leave me again, I won’t make it,” he said. The tremor in his voice tore my heart into tiny pieces. Inside my big, strong man lurked an insecure boy who just wanted me to love him. “Promise me you won’t leave.”
I took his face between my hands and stared into his eyes, willing him to understand. “I promise.”
His fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of my neck and pulled my head back, exposing my throat. He dropped soft, hot kisses from my jaw to my collarbone. My pulse fluttered where his lips lingered, sending rapid bursts of adrenaline through my body. I struggled to move, but he held me against him, easily overpowering me, always gentle.
“One of these days, I’m going to tell you I love you.” He nipped the tender flesh beneath my ear. I clenched my thighs together to stave off the burgeoning ache between them. His murmured words drove me crazy, made me wriggle with need.
“I’ll say it back,” I said, choked by the power of his confession. “I’ve already said it.” I bucked against him, impatient to have him inside me.
“Sweet,” he whispered. “My Dakota. Mine.”
“Always,” I replied, thrilling at his words.
His hands left my hair long enough to drag my sweats down to my ankles. I kicked them off, drawing my T-shirt over my head at the same time, eager to get on with the business of making love. He pulled off his shirt, revealing taut abs and the trail of dark blond hair leading beyond the waistband of his jeans.
I sucked in a breath, always overwhelmed by the sight of his naked beauty. We moved onto the bed together. I inched backward on my elbows while he crawled over me, graceful and predatory. His knees nudged apart my thighs. I opened for him, willing and eager. When his fingers slipped between my legs, I was slick for him.
“So wet. So ready,” he whispered against my mouth. He fumbled in the nightstand for the foil packet. We’d done this so many times before as husband and wife. And now we were doing it again, divorced but together.
“See what you do to me?” I said as I watched him roll a condom over his erection.
He gripped it by the base and grinned back at me. “See what you do to me?” he replied.
We didn’t speak again for a long while. He covered me with his hard body, centering his cock at my opening. Our gazes locked together as he slid into me, one inch at a time. The sweet, agonizing pleasure of it robbed me of all speech. I watched his face, mesmerized by the tiny twitches of muscle in his jaw as he slipped in and out of me.
It was worth it. The heartache. The pain. I’d do it all over again for one night like this with him, to hear his grunts of ecsta
sy, to enjoy the wiry hairs of his thighs against my legs. The way his hands clutched my breasts, the way he shifted my pelvis to intensify the friction between us, deepen the angle. Our love had nearly ruined us, yet it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever known.
Chapter 38
Dakota
AUGUST ARRIVED with a blast of heat, but Sam and I were still together. I sat at the picnic table in my mother’s garden with Rockwell across from me and Crockett on my left. I had to wonder how we’d gotten here, to this place, from where we’d been. Sam sauntered from the kitchen, a plate of steaks in his hands. I smiled at the sight of him, experiencing the same tingles and jolts I’d experienced the first time we’d met. He was wearing faded blue jeans, a pinstriped dress shirt untucked with the sleeves rolled up, and a baseball cap. My mom followed with a tray of potato salad, baked beans, and her special broccoli casserole.
“Smells great,” Rockwell said. “You’re going to make me fat, the way you feed me.”
Mom patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll see.”
Crockett rolled his eyes, catching my gaze and smiling. He looked good. The apples of his cheeks were pink from too much sun, and he’d cut his hair into a bristly crew cut. For the first time in years, his blue eyes were clear and bright. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”
Sam folded his tall frame onto the bench beside me, his hand finding mine beneath the table. We’d come a long way over the past few weeks. We went on dates, fought about everything and nothing, just for the pleasure of making up.
After dinner, I helped Mom do the dishes while Crockett, Rockwell, and Sam sat outside and argued about sports. I watched them through the kitchen window. That was when it hit me. I was happy, truly happy, for the first time in years.
“Can I steal your helper?” Sam eased up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and planted a kiss on my neck.
I shivered, enjoying the warmth spreading through my veins at his touch.
“Sure. Get out of here.” My mom waved a hand at us. “Rockwell will help finish up. Won’t you, Rockwell?”
He nodded ascension. By the way his blue eyes drank in my mother, he regarded the request as a privilege. Before the door closed behind me, I caught a glimpse of Rockwell pressing a kiss to my mom’s cheek. Pure bliss exploded inside my heart.
Sam and I walked down to the lake, holding hands, not talking. When you’re really comfortable with someone, the spaces between words can be as telling as the words themselves. It was that way with us. I knew he had something on his mind by the way his jaw tightened every few minutes. He skipped a few stones across the water, watching the concentric rings ripple and fade, before finally speaking.
“I think we should buy a house together,” he said.
I found a smooth, flat stone at my toe and handed it to him. “With what? Your good looks?” I asked. “You know I don’t have any money.” I had a new job, but the pay was less than exceptional.
“I’ve got some money put back,” he said, casting a sideways glance at me.
“I thought you were broke.” I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Define broke.”
“Broke is looking for change in your car to buy groceries. Broke is hocking your stereo to pay the rent.”
We started walking again, farther around the bend of the water toward a fallen willow tree.
“I might have overstated the situation,” he said. “Broke to you and broke to me are two different things.” He let the stone fly, and I cheered when it hopped a total of five times before plopping into the depths.
“Exactly how much money do you have socked away in your piggy bank?” I teased.
“About ten million, give or take.”
We’d reached the willow tree by then. He sat down on the fallen trunk and pulled me onto his lap. I tried to squirm out of his embrace, laughing, but he held me tighter.
“Are you kidding me, Seaforth?”
“No.” The grin on his face lit up my heart in a way I hadn’t known possible. “It’s not much, but it’s enough to give us a start with a new business. One that we can run together.”
“Are you offering me a job?” A flutter started in my belly when he ran the tip of his nose along the side of mine. “Because you know that didn’t go so well last time.”
“Yes, I’m offering you a job, and a home if you want it.”
“I’d like to pay for my half,” I said in a wavering voice, distracted by the tiny kisses he peppered along my collarbone.
“We’ll see,” he murmured. “Reach in my breast pocket. I’ve got a present for you.”
Excitement heated my cheeks. He was always doing little things for me, bringing flowers, writing love notes and putting them on my refrigerator, or sending sweet texts in the middle of the day. I dug into his pocket and pulled out a small blue velvet box. I pried it open and there, nestled inside, was my wedding ring.
“Where did you get this?” I searched his eyes in surprise, finding mischief and admiration in their depths.
“I’ll never tell,” he said, but then the smile fell from his lips. He took the ring from its resting place and held it in the air, pinched between thumb and forefinger. “You are the most frustrating, infuriating person I’ve ever met. I told you once that I never know whether to spank you, fuck you, or strangle you, and I meant it. But I hope I have a lifetime to figure it out.” I swallowed down the lump in my throat, remembering those very words during our first meeting in his conference room. “I gave you this ring once before because I loved you. I’m giving it back now because I still love you. More than ever.” His voice softened. “Marry me, Dakota. Again.”
EPILOGUE
Sam
A SOFT rap on the door tore my concentration from the computer screen. I rubbed the sting of overuse from my eyes. From the second-floor landing, the grandfather clock charmed an elegant reminder of the time. Midnight. I had no idea it was so late.
“Can I come in?” Dakota’s quiet voice floated on the silence.
“Sure.” I minimized the computer screen and watched her walk across the room. God, did she have any idea how she affected me? The way her smile wrenched my insides? “What are you doing up?” I asked. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“I know exactly what time it is,” she replied. “Do you?”
Her gaze connected with mine, locking me in, pulling me away from thoughts of work. I’d begun to look forward to her outfit each day, to see what tantalizing dress or blouse she might wear. Tonight, a straight green skirt hit just above her bare knees, showing a stretch of tanned, toned calf. When did she have time to sunbathe or work out with all the research I’d piled on her? I held my breath as she came around the desk, swiveled my chair to face her, and rested my palms on top of my thighs. She bent down to look at the computer monitor, and when she did, I caught a peek at the tops of her breasts. My heart did a ridiculous dance inside my chest.
“What are you working on?” she asked.
“Nothing now,” I replied, grateful I’d sent the computer to sleep before she got here.
“Poor Samuel. All work and no play.” She affected an adorable pout.
With her standing only a foot away, I caught a whiff of her perfume—gardenias, lilacs, and honey—sweet and understated. Her bare arm brushed my shoulder as she straightened, sending a vibration of awareness down my arm.
“You’re one to talk,” I said. “You should’ve been in bed hours ago.”
“Someone had to stay up and keep you in line,” she replied. “Which I’m beginning to find is a full-time job.” Her gaze roamed my face, lingering on my eyes and lips. “You look tired.” Even after five years of re-marriage, she had a way of seeing through the mask of my defenses unlike any other person. “Let’s go to bed.”
“I’m not done yet,” I said, thinking of all the income statements and projections still requiring my attention.
“Why do you wear a necktie?” she asked, ignoring my statement. “You always hated
them.” As she spoke, she straddled my thighs and took a seat on my lap. Her fingers slid along the length of the tie from the tip to my neck. She loosened the knot then pulled it from my collar with agonizing slowness. The silk hissed against the linen of my shirt. Hot blood churned through my veins.
“Because my job requires it.”
“Bullshit.” She released the top of button of my collar, then another one, and another one. I shivered as her fingers brushed the hair on my chest. “You’re the boss here. You can wear anything you want.”
When I’d married Dakota the first time, she’d been a girl, little more than eighteen. When I married her the second time, she was all woman, racy curves and feminine features. I watched her breasts rise and fall with each inhale, wondering if I should slip a hand beneath her skirt or leave her to explore a little longer.
“Haven’t you ever heard of the term dress for success, Mrs. Seaforth?”
“Why, yes, Mr. Seaforth. It’s my mantra.” By this time, she’d unbuttoned my shirt to the waist. She ruffled her fingers through my chest hair. My cock twitched behind my zipper, awakened by desire.
“Is there anything I can help you with before I leave?” she asked. Her cool, blue-green gaze connected with mine. I tumbled headlong into the depths of her irises, seeing a reflection of myself in the inky blackness of her pupils. She rocked her hips, grinding down onto my growing erection.
“I can think of a few things.” In fact, all I could think about was her pouty lips wrapped around my dick, the rough smoothness of her tongue, and the wet heat of her mouth. I never really thought she enjoyed going down on me, though, and I certainly wasn’t about to ask.
“Jesus, Sam.” She palmed my erection between us. “That’s got to hurt.”
“It’s a little uncomfortable.” I’d been semi-hard since our meeting earlier in the day, a tidbit of which I was sure she was aware, given her silent flirtations during the conference call.
Pretty Filthy Lies: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 2) Page 16