Dare Island [2] Carolina Girl

by Virginia Kantra

  His phone vibrated. His pulse jumped as he looked at the display. Meg.

  Flying into RDU 2nite 10:30, the text read. Can u meet me in Morehead around 1:30? Will call.

  She was coming back early. She was coming home tonight. She wanted him to meet her.

  And if she was flying back tonight—Sam took his first deep breath in what felt like hours—then she couldn’t be sleeping with Derek.

  “Sorry, Dad.” He slid his phone into his pocket, already doing the math, calculating minutes and miles. Meg was expecting him to pick her up where he’d left her this morning, at the car rental lot in Morehead City. But if he left now—right this minute—he could drive the extra three hours to Raleigh and meet her flight. “Something’s come up.”

  “Where the hell are you going?”

  “Where you said.” Sam flashed his teeth in a grin. “I’m going after what I want.”

  * * *

  SHE NEVER SHOULD have texted Sam, Meg thought as she wheeled her rollaway from the gate past the closed shops and shuttered eateries of the Raleigh-Durham Airport. Her staccato heel taps echoed in the bright, empty corridor.

  She shivered a little, tired to the bone. She still had her trench, but she’d left her scarf back at the condo, along with six years of her life. She wondered what Derek would do with it. With all her things.

  Don’t think about that now. Put it on the list for tomorrow.

  She nodded to the lone security guard as she passed through the checkpoint on her way to the terminal. She had dropped off her car at the rental agency lot here at RDU. The smart thing—really, the only thing—to do was to rent another car and drive straight to Dare Island. She and her family could sort out the vehicle situation tomorrow.

  Exhaustion welled up, threatened to spill over. Her head felt stuffy, her sinuses congested from air travel and tension.

  The problem was that in the aftermath of that nasty little scene with Derek, she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Her only instinct had been to get out, to get home. But now she had to tell Sam that she didn’t need him. There was absolutely no reason he should have to leave Dare Island after midnight and drive almost an hour to Morehead City so that she could drop off her rental car tonight. She had to text him and tell him . . . No, she had to call him to explain . . .

  She emerged from the corridor into the brightly lit cavern of the new terminal. And saw . . .

  Her feet froze. Her throat swelled with emotion.

  “Sam?” she whispered.

  Tall, dark, and broad-shouldered, waiting at the corner by the deserted Starbucks. He smiled crookedly, and something inside her that had been stiff and cold and solid for hours began to thaw. “Welcome home, Meggie.”

  Her eyes burned. She blinked furiously. “I’m not crying.”

  “Course not.” He put a friendly arm around her shoulders, relieved her of her suitcase with his other hand.

  She wanted to turn her face into his chest and bawl her eyes out in gratitude. She gulped. “I can’t believe you’re here. At the airport.”

  “Of course I am. You said you needed a ride.” He slanted a look down at her. “Well, I’m your designated driver.”

  “I was going to rent a car.”

  He shook his head as he steered her past the baggage claim. “You’ve had a long day. Why would you want to tack a long drive on the end of it?”

  “Your day’s been every bit as long as mine.”

  He flashed his teasing grin. “Yeah, but I’m a guy.”

  An answering smile worked its way from deep inside to tug the corner of her mouth. “That is so sexist.”

  “We can argue about it on the way home.”

  “I should have called a friend,” she fretted as they stepped onto the moving walkway to the parking garage. She felt light-headed, almost giddy with relief and hunger.

  Sam steadied her, one hand at the small of her back. “I’m a friend.”

  “I mean somebody in New York.” Fatigue made her babble. Her blood buzzed with adrenaline. “I could have slept on someone’s couch. Or gone to a hotel. But all I wanted was to get home. The only thing I could think of was you.” Hot color stormed her face as she realized what she’d said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  Those creases in his cheeks appeared. “I liked the way it sounded.”

  She watched him pay for parking at the automated kiosk, realizing too late she should have reached for her wallet. “Did I say thank you?”

  He pocketed the ticket. “Sugar, you don’t have to thank me.”

  “Yes,” she insisted. “I do.”

  In the world she inhabited with Derek, a subconscious points system ruled, everything tallied to preserve parity in their relationship—picked-up checks, favors, infractions, omissions. She realized with a sense of shock that she didn’t live there anymore. The thought was oddly liberating. She didn’t have to keep score anymore.

  “Have you had dinner?” Sam asked as he started the truck.

  Her stomach clenched. “Peanut butter crackers at the airport.”

  He shot her an assessing look. “Right. Let’s get you something to eat, then.”

  “I’m fine. It’s after ten thirty.” She smiled, attempting a joke. “We’re not exactly in the city that never sleeps.”

  And her churning system was in no shape to handle the all-night drive-through at Taco Bell.

  “I know a place,” Sam said.

  She could have argued. The longer they delayed, the longer they would be on the road. But there was an almost unspeakable relief in letting someone else take charge for a while.

  She leaned her head back against the cushioned leather, staring out at the Carolina pines black-etched against the midnight blue sky, drinking in the quiet. No effort, no explanations. Less than ten minutes later the truck slowed at an intersection. Meg caught a glimpse of a spotlit modern sculpture before the truck turned onto a winding, wooded road.

  She roused enough to sit up. “Where are we?”

  “The Umstead.” They pulled under a well-lit arch over a drive of paver stones. Sam handed the keys to a valet while another attendant helped Meg from the car. She paused a moment, trying to get her bearings, and then Sam escorted her past the smiling doorman into another world.

  The walls of the entrance glistened like a jeweled cave, rich, muted, glowing. A massive granite table held a small forest of potted orchids, pink and cream. She glimpsed a concierge desk for the hotel to the right, a discreet sign for the formal dining room to their left. The view through the bar extended through a wall of glass to an outdoor terrace overlooking a naturally landscaped garden. Everything was low and soft and welcoming—the lighting, the seating, the voices of the staff, the piano playing one room over.

  “Holy crap,” Meg muttered. “This is nice.”

  Sam grinned. “You looked like you could use a drink.”

  The hostess, young and smiling, asked if they would like to sit on the patio outside or in the lounge.

  Meg glanced from the artfully lit trees on the terrace to the cozy private corner inside and then at Sam, trying to read his preference.

  “Whatever you want,” he said.

  Lights gleamed on the flatware, spotlighting the single scarlet orchid reflected in the polished stone table. “Inside, I think.”

  The next ten minutes passed in a blur of choices between something good or something better, all offered with easy smiles and the comforting accents of home. Flat or sparkling water? Wine or a cocktail? The seared red snapper with succotash or the macaroni and cheese with lobster?

  Meg was used to high-powered business dinners and high-profile restaurants, but not to pampering on this level. She melted into her chair, sinking into comfort, letting the muted noises of the bar—women’s voices rising over the men’s, the rattle of the bar shaker—wash over her.

  She was braced for questions, but they didn’t speak beyond commenting on the menu and the music.

  Gradually, she relaxed, cockin
g her head to listen to the melody from the next room. “‘Piano Man’? Seriously? Isn’t that a little clichéd?”

  Sam smiled. “He can’t help himself. It’s in the Lounge Performers’ Contract or something.”

  Plates began to arrive, heaped and studded with color like the treasures of Aladdin’s cave glowing in the lamplight, delicate greens and rich, acidic tomatoes, sharp olives and melting cheese, succulent seafood and fragrant bread.

  Sometime during the procession of food, Meg looked up and flushed, a little embarrassed by her appetite. “I can’t believe I’m eating so much.”

  “It’s your recovery meal.”

  “My what?”

  “Fueling after an event.” He signaled to their server, gestured toward Meg’s glass.

  “You mean, like Josh eating a banana after a game?” Meg asked, amused.

  Sam’s smile creased his cheeks. “Something like that.”

  “I remember you and Matt coming home after practice. You used to eat standing in front of the refrigerator.”

  “Only until your mom made us sit down for dinner.”

  Meg chuckled. Whatever else existed between them, she and Sam shared a history, a mine of memories and emotions that went deep to the heart. He knew her.

  With a sigh of contentment, she eased away from the table. The setting was as sophisticated as any in New York, but the buzz, the pulse, the pace of the city was missing. The pressure was off. A weight she hadn’t acknowledged even to herself rolled from her shoulders. A handful of business travelers congregated at the bar. A couple in their midthirties sat close together on a couch facing the windows, celebrating . . . What? Meg wondered. A birthday? Anniversary? They looked happy, his arm around her shoulders, her hand on his knee.

  She felt a wriggle of envy and looked away.

  Right into Sam’s eyes. A jolt of sexual awareness tightened her stomach. A trick of the light made his green eyes gleam, cast the planes and angles of his face in sharp relief. He needed a shave, she noticed. She wanted to rub her fingers over his rough cheek, to test the texture with her thumb. Her breath went.

  Attraction spun between them, fine and inescapable as a spiderweb, wrapping them in a silken cocoon. She moistened her lips, watched his gaze drop to her mouth.

  Their server appeared to whisk away Meg’s empty glass and replace it with another. Meg inhaled, ignoring the little twist of disappointment at the interruption.

  Later for us, then.

  “Thanks,” she said to the server. She toyed with the fresh flower petals under her glass, a pink martini made with watermelon and rose water. She never ordered girlie drinks when she went out after work. It was too important to look like one of the guys. But with Sam, she could indulge herself.

  The thought made something inside her loosen and then pull tight. “Aren’t you having another beer?” she asked him.

  He shook his head with a slight smile. “Driving, remember?” He settled back in his chair, at ease in his body. “I wasn’t expecting you until Sunday. How’d things go in New York?”

  A question. The question, couched in the same easy tone with which he’d made small talk through dinner. Only the utter stillness of Sam’s hands, the sharp focus of his eyes, betrayed that he had anything more than a casual interest in her reply.

  I broke up with Derek, she almost blurted out.

  But once she said the words, there was no going back.

  She dropped her gaze to her drink, feeling herself unravel, slowly unwinding with gin and fatigue. Was she ready to tell him? Was she ready for Sam?

  She’d been so determined not to cheat on Derek, so focused on her boyfriend as the barrier to any possible relationship with Sam, that she hadn’t considered the other reasons why they shouldn’t get involved.

  She and Sam were . . . connected, she supposed. He knew her family. He was friends with her brother. That closeness, that familiarity, was part of his appeal. But all those connections could turn into complications if they took things to the next level. I put everything that mattered at risk, he’d said, your parents’ trust, Matt’s friendship.

  She bit her lip. Was any relationship between them worth that risk?

  “Hey,” Sam said softly. She looked up as he reached across the table and gently brushed his thumb across her lower lip, releasing it from the grip of her teeth. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk now.”

  She held his gaze, her heart pounding.

  What if there was no later? What if all they had was now?

  Greatly daring, she touched her tongue to the pad of his thumb.

  He inhaled sharply.

  She sank back in her chair, savoring the salt of him on the tip of her tongue, the unfamiliar hum of power.

  Sam’s eyes were dark. “We should get going.” He signaled for the check. “Anything else you need? Anything I can get you?”

  They weren’t kids any longer, Meg told herself. They could handle complications.

  “Yes.” She smiled across the table at him. “Get us a room. Take me upstairs, Sam.”

  Fifteen

  SAM WATCHED MEG cross to the windows overlooking the lake, wobbling slightly as her heels sank into the deep plush carpet, cautious as a cat exploring new surroundings.

  Any fantasies he’d entertained about fucking her against the wall the minute the suite door closed behind them died a swift, painless death.

  Meggie would let herself be taken, but not rushed.

  Fine by him. He wanted to prove to her, to both of them, that he could do better than twenty minutes on musty canvas in a cold, deserted boathouse. He wanted . . . to take care of her, he supposed. To impress her, maybe.

  She turned from inspecting the bathroom, her cheeks pink, her eyes glowing, more perfect than any fantasy. “This is great.”

  He strolled forward, hands in his pockets. See? Harmless. “Glad you like it.”

  She held her ground. “Thank you for dinner. And for coming to get me. And for . . . everything.”

  “Sugar, I’m just getting started.”

  “No, really,” she insisted. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

  He wondered when the last time was that somebody did something nice for her. When she had let them. Meggie was the take-charge one, self-confident, self-reliant, protective of herself and her family. He liked and admired that about her. But it must occasionally be exhausting. She deserved a change.

  She’d discovered the guest bag he’d been given at check-in and was poking inside. “Look at all this,” she exclaimed with delight, pulling out little girlie bottles.

  Her pleasure made him feel good inside. “There’s a spa attached to the hotel. That’s their stuff.”

  Humor warmed her eyes. She held up a handful of foil packets. “These, too?”

  Busted. But the hotel store was closed. “I asked the concierge for those when I checked us in,” Sam admitted.

  “You don’t carry one in your wallet?”

  Something in her tone made him lift his eyebrows. Something there, he thought. He came up behind her, running his hands up and down her bare arms. The smell of her hair, citrus and spice, worked its way inside him. “Not usually.” Not anymore. He’d cleaned up his act in the last five years. When he took a woman to bed these days, it was something he planned for, not a quick score. “I wasn’t counting on this.”

  “This.” A hint of a question.

  “Us.” He kissed the join of her neck. “You.”

  Her head fell back against his shoulder. His hard-on lodged, heavy, ready, just above the rise of her bottom, below the small of her back.

  “You haven’t asked about Derek,” she said.

  He skimmed his hands from her upper arms to under her breasts, cupping them. Cradling them. “I don’t need to.”

  Her swift inhale raised her breasts. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” She sounded more breathless than annoyed.

  He smiled against her neck, letting his fingers trace the taut outline of her nipples
against her blouse. “Sure of you.”

  She stiffened even as her back arched, pushing her breasts more fully into his hands, her buttocks more firmly against his aching cock.

  Sam turned her in his arms, meeting those incredible eyes full on. “Because I know you. If you were still involved with him, you wouldn’t be with me.”

  Her lips parted, a round, irresistible O.

  “And right now I don’t give a fuck about Derek,” he said and kissed her.

  * * *

  SAM’S LIPS WERE warm and firm, taking hers in sweet, hungry bites. His mouth eased over hers, pursuing, exploring. She closed her eyes and opened to him as he deepened the kiss, as his fingers threaded through her hair, making tiny circles against her scalp. He kissed her until her nerve endings tingled to life, her lips swollen and sensitive, her skin awake and softly clamoring.

  I wasn’t counting on this. He hadn’t taken sex with her for granted. It was a choice.

  Her choice, she reminded herself.

  Sliding her arms around his waist, she kissed him back, enjoying the feel of him hard and solid against her front. The thick ridge of his erection jutted against her stomach. Even to her more experienced perceptions, he was . . . big. She wriggled, seeking a better fit between their bodies, and he made a sound of encouragement in his throat and widened his stance. His big hands spanned her rib cage. She felt the pop of a button before her waistband eased and her skirt slithered down her legs, leaving her standing in her underwear, blouse, and high heels.

  Determined to reciprocate, she tugged at the back of his shirt, pulling it free from his jeans. The skin at his waist was smooth and hot. Sam kissed her again, backing her a step toward the bed, then two. She stumbled out of her shoes, leaving them tangled in her skirt on the floor. She trembled, exposed and off balance. There was something undeniably erotic about Sam undressing her, divesting her of her armor piece by piece while he was still fully clothed. But it wasn’t enough.

  She wanted him with her. Naked.

  She reached for his belt buckle, her fingers clumsy with desire. Sam helped her with one hand while his other slid under her blouse to the back catch of her bra. She was shaking, coming apart as he undid the buttons of her blouse one by one, his knuckles brushing the inner curve of her breasts. She caught her breath. Touch me.