He slid the blouse from her shoulders, the bra straps from her arms, his face intent. His hand skimmed gently over her, his teasing fingers flirting, sliding, making her hips jerk convulsively toward him.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said.
She was embarrassed, burning up, suffused with blushes and lust. “Well, I’m naked. That’s enough for most guys.”
He smiled, as she intended, but his gaze meeting hers was serious. “You’re always beautiful to me.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “But not always naked.”
The creases deepened in his cheeks. “That is a plus.”
“You have some catching up to do.”
“Eighteen years,” he agreed.
Her heart skipped a beat. “No, I meant . . .” She gestured to his clothes.
His grin flashed. He pulled his shirt off over his head and toed out of his shoes, stroking her constantly, her arm, her hair, her hip, as if he might lose her in the dimly lit room. He stroked beneath the stretchy band of her underwear, easing it over the curve of her butt.
Obeying the urging of his hands, she sat on the edge of the bed. He kissed her, his mouth warm and urgent, and then pressed her back until she was lying across the mattress, her feet not quite touching the floor. She went willingly, opening her arms to him.
But instead of falling on top of her, Sam straightened, standing between her legs, looking down. “Look at you.” His voice was thick with satisfaction. “All spread out like some virgin sacrifice.”
Her stomach quivered low inside. Her nipples were tight, puckered with anticipation. She could feel herself falling, succumbing to the seduction of his hands and voice, sinking into the temptation to lie back and let him do . . .
Anything he wanted. Anything at all.
The realization terrified her. She wasn’t used to being vulnerable, in or out of bed.
She moistened her lips, working to inject a dry note in her voice. Ridiculous, when she was already wet for him, her skin damp and blooming. “Hardly a virgin,” she pointed out. “Or a sacrifice, either.”
This time.
She didn’t say the words out loud. She wasn’t expecting even to think them. But the past was suddenly in the room with them, smothering and inescapable.
Sam’s lashes lifted. His eyes met hers. “I have a lot to make up to you for.”
She resisted the urge to squirm. “Don’t be silly. I take responsibility for my choices. For my actions.”
He continued to hold her gaze, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t have to be responsible all the time. How about we agree that for tonight I’m in charge?”
She almost lost her breath.
Sex was another area where she and Derek had kept careful score, neither of them yielding control, both of them stinting what they would give and what they would allow. You do this for me, and I’ll do this for you. With Derek, she was always conscious of her boundaries. And his. She was comfortable with that.
Her heart pounded. And now Sam was suggesting . . . Sam was proposing . . .
No responsibility. The temptation was staggering.
“Designated driver, Meggie,” he whispered wickedly. “I’ll get you where you need to go.”
She was sure he could. But did she want him to? Did she trust him that much?
She started to speak, but whatever she’d been about to say was lost in a wordless rush, buried in fascination as Sam reached for the front of his pants. He shucked his jeans and underwear, freeing himself to her gaze. Her insides clenched involuntarily. He was undeniably naked. And alarmingly large.
“You’re thinking again,” he observed. “Don’t.”
He went to the bag to retrieve a condom before kneeling on the floor between her legs. Running his hands from her knees to her hips, he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. She hitched helplessly toward him.
Meg cleared her throat. “Maybe we should have a, I don’t know, like, a safe word?” she suggested.
Sam raised his head. His smile gleamed. “You won’t remember it,” he said. “When I’m done with you, you won’t remember your name.”
Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth to her in a warm, searching kiss, his tongue stroking straight to her center. Her mind blanked. Her moan shook them both. She grabbed fistfuls of the cover as he harrowed her with teeth and lips, his breath searing against her wet flesh. Her eyes closed. Her head moved restlessly back and forth as he ate at her softly, probing for her response. Sensation shot to her brain. He penetrated her with one finger, then two, driving her higher, taking her deeper, making her pant and groan.
“God. Sam. I can’t . . .”
“You will,” he promised.
He kept at her, his tongue silky, insinuating, insistent, his hands demanding. The tension twisted inside her, tighter and tighter. He did something else with his mouth and with his hands, and her ravaged system exploded. She saw stars. He licked into her again, making her quiver, before he crawled over her. His chest brushed hers as he reached for the nightstand. She heard the crinkle of the condom wrapper and then he was there at her entrance, blunt and seeking, heavy and warm.
She struggled to lift her arms. “Sam.”
“That’s right,” he said, his voice raw. He thrust inside her. Hard. Deep.
She convulsed with pleasure. It was too much. He was too much. She wasn’t in control. The tremors started again, quickening low in her womb. He held her wrists and pinned them to the mattress as he plunged into her again and again. Her muscles contracted helplessly around him as she yielded to brutal delight. Until her spasms caught his and he groaned and jerked and came inside her.
She lay stunned under him, her breathing ragged.
“Meggie.” He kissed her, his lips cruising over the arch of her brow, the hot curve of her cheek.
A corner of her mouth twitched. “Who’s Meggie?” she slurred, and was rewarded when he laughed.
Sealed together with sweat and sex, they slept.
Sixteen
COFFEE.
The scent sank into Meg’s consciousness, sliding through layers of sleep, and gave a little tug. She stretched and sighed between the sheets, floating on a wave of well-being. Every cell in her body felt pampered, replete. Every inch of her skin still hummed with pleasure. Because of Sam.
Warmth rippled through her. Warmth and unease. She opened her eyes, already aroused and wanting him.
No Sam.
Sunlight edged the heavy amber drapes. The large room glowed like a jewel box in shades of topaz, citrine, and gold. Oh, God, it must be late.
She sat up, her head beginning to throb.
“Good morning.” Sam stood in the doorway wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else, holding a steaming cup of coffee, looking like every woman’s perfect rebound fantasy.
Her system jangled with craving. Warning. Fantasies didn’t last. And neither did rebounds. She sat up cautiously, pulling the sheets up over her naked breasts. Breasts Sam had kissed and licked and sucked and . . . A blush spread over her chest. “What time is it?”
He strolled forward, easy in his skin, looking rumpled and morning delicious, wearing a smile and a hint of stubble. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. Her fingers itched to push it back.
He offered her a mug. “Just nine.”
“Nine?” Another uncomfortable little jolt. “I never sleep that late.” She never did all kinds of things she’d done last night.
Sam’s smile warmed his eyes.
Her heart performed a complicated maneuver in her chest. Oh, no.
“Thanks.” She took the coffee, holding it in front of her like a shield. “What time is checkout?”
He sat on the edge of the bed, threatening her grasp on the sheet and her composure. “Relax. I told the desk we wanted a late checkout. Or . . .” His green eyes watched her face, gauging her reaction. “We could keep the room for another night.”
A spurt of panic accelerated her heartbeat. Fight or flight?
“I can’t stay,” she said.
“I don’t see why not,” Sam said. He stood. “Are you ready for breakfast?”
“What?”
“I didn’t know if you’d be hungry when you woke up, so I ordered a fruit plate and some pastry things from room service. But if you want something hot . . .” He trailed off suggestively.
She flushed.
He grinned. “They do great omelets here. Or waffles.”
He sauntered out. Meg stared after him, distracted by all those long, smooth, golden muscles, that lovely indentation along his spine, the red, parallel scratches down his back . . . Her jaw sagged. Dear God, sometime during the night, she’d scratched him. She didn’t know whether to feel appalled or smug.
“Fruit is fine.” She frowned. Fruit was perfect.
And that, she admitted to herself, was part of the problem. Sam’s constant anticipation of her needs, his attention to her preferences, made her nervy and unsettled. She was used to taking care of herself.
She wasn’t sure of her moves anymore.
Or of his.
Jumping out of bed, she stuffed her arms into the hotel-provided robe before following him out of the bedroom. “Listen, Sam . . .”
He looked up at her entrance, the devil dancing in his smile. “More coffee?”
She narrowed her eyes. He was laughing at her. Or he was managing her. She wasn’t sure which was worse.
She grabbed her dignity with both hands, belting herself firmly into the thick, plush robe. Not the best armor, but at least she wasn’t naked anymore. “Thanks.” She glanced at the breakfast tray. “This looks wonderful. Last night . . .”
“Was wonderful,” Sam said quietly. She met his gaze, all laughter stilled.
And her irritation melted away.
Maybe she was a little out of sorts this morning, overwhelmed by the Grady charm, uncomfortable with her lack of control—over herself, over Sam, over the situation. But she couldn’t fault Sam for her feelings. He’d done everything he could last night and this morning to take care of her, to make her feel better. She admired his attention to detail. She appreciated his genuine kindness. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
She didn’t want to hurt him.
The realization shivered through her. She wasn’t used to considering that sexy, teasing, impervious Sam could be hurt. That he had that depth of feeling, that she had that degree of influence. And she would hurt him eventually if she made this out to be anything more than what it was, a temporary escape from the rest of their lives.
“It was wonderful,” she said. “But we have to get back.” Back to Dare Island. Back to reality.
Sam pulled the cloche off the fruit plate, mangos, strawberries, kiwi, pineapple, glowing like a stained glass window. Almost without thinking, Meg sat.
“I’m in no hurry,” Sam said. “And your family’s not expecting you until tomorrow.”
Something Meg was trying not to think about. Why on earth had she called Sam last night and not her brother? “I need to let them know where I am.”
“You’re thirty-five.”
“Thirty-four.” She grabbed a sweet roll, annoyed with herself for that quick, defensive retort.
Sam smiled. “A consenting adult. Tell them you’re with me.”
“That will thrill my mother. Dad, on the other hand . . .”
“Let’s leave your parents out of this for a minute,” Sam suggested. Under the charm and good humor, she heard steel. “Tell me what’s going on. What did I do to screw up?”
“You didn’t.” She swallowed. “It was perfect.”
“Past tense? That sounds like a brush-off.”
“It isn’t meant to.”
He raised his brows.
She sighed. He knew her too well, saw through her too easily. “Look, Sam, I really appreciate you coming to my rescue yesterday. I was upset and you were . . . Well, you gave me exactly what I needed. A real night off. But I don’t know what we’re doing here.”
“Based on last night, I’d say we’re recovering from a night of great sex,” Sam drawled.
She was crushing her napkin. She relaxed her grip, smoothing the linen square over her lap. “I should say, I don’t know what I’m doing.” Looking up, she met his gaze. “I just left a long-term relationship. Two, actually. Six years with Derek, and—poof!—we’re through. Twelve years with the company and—boom!—I’m gone. I’m facing a huge learning curve with a new client, and . . .”
“You got the job?”
“I got the contract.” Despite her current worries, she couldn’t keep the satisfaction from her voice. “A book promotion.”
“Congratulations.” He sounded warm. Sincere.
“Thanks.” Under the pleasure, nerves vibrated. She set down her coffee. “I’m pumped about working on something besides quarterly earnings reports and bullshit class action suits. But I’ve never done anything like this before. This is the author’s first book. It could be big. Really big. There’s a lot of media interest in her story already. But I have to figure out how to spin it so she’s not a one-book wonder.”
“What’s her name?”
This was not the conversation she intended to have this morning. But she appreciated Sam’s interest. Derek had never asked. Not that it mattered anymore, Meg told herself. “Lauren Patterson.”
“The hostage girl,” Sam said. “I saw the story on the news. Bank robbery, right? She negotiated to get everybody else out.”
Meg nodded. Every time she thought she had Sam figured out, he shifted. Surprised her. “The challenge is that Hostage Girl doesn’t want to be known forever as Hostage Girl. She’s so much more than that—she’s got a master’s in psychology. She has a great message that goes beyond the headlines. It’s my job to help her get it out to a wider audience.”
“Well, you’re good at finding out what people are interested in. What they’re passionate about.” Sam squeezed her leg where the terrycloth robe had parted. “You’ll do great.”
His palm was warm and sure on her knee. Meg gnawed the inside of her lip, letting her uncertainty show. “Do you really think so?”
“Sure.” His smile spread warmth through her midsection. “Look at the way you hooked me into the Dare Plantation project. You got me working with my father again. Convincing people to buy a book should be a piece of cake.”
He’d done it again, she realized, dismayed. Fed her, focused on her, making her relax. Making her open up to him. She took a breath, shoring up her defenses. “My point is I’m dealing with a lot of changes. I don’t think we should rush into things.”
“I wouldn’t call eighteen years of foreplay rushing.”
She squelched a quick bubble of laughter, a flash of heat. “You know what I mean. You’re launching a major island development that could tie you there for years. I don’t even know where I’m going to be three months from now. Neither one of us has the time or energy to devote to a serious relationship right now.”
Their gazes held, his expression inscrutable.
“Who says we’re serious?” Sam asked evenly.
* * *
MEG’S MOUTH DROPPED OPEN.
Sam swallowed a grin. Her reaction went a little way toward easing the slap to his ego, the sting to his heart.
Damn it, they were already in a relationship. Had been for years. They were bound with ties of affection, a thousand threads of memory and feeling. Hell, he was so tangled up in her he couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to even think about her going back to New York. But he knew Meggie. Pushing her for a commitment now would only spook her into full, panicked retreat.
He shoved down his own frustration and spoke mildly. “You’re overthinking this. Last night was good, right?”
“Are you looking for a grade?”
He laughed and shook his head. “I’ll leave that to you. You were the straight-A student. I’m just saying I had a good time.”
“Me, too,” sh
e admitted. Her blue eyes were soft.
He breathed in relief. “So why not let things be what they are? We can see each other without pinning a label on it.”
That double pleat appeared between her brows. “You mean, like an open relationship?”
Hell, no. The very idea revolted him. He watched her carefully. “Is that what you want?”
“No.” She pressed her lips together. “Apparently that’s what I had before. With Derek. I just didn’t know it.”
“Son of a bitch.” Even though the bastard’s actions had sent Meg flying home and into Sam’s arms, Sam still wanted to beat the shit out of him.
“Thank you.” She curled her hands around her coffee cup as if to warm them.
“The guy’s a fucking idiot to dump you.”
“Oh, he didn’t dump me.” Her tone was bitter, her smile wry. “He said the whole thing was a misunderstanding. He said that in any long-term relationship both parties are bound to fail from time to time. He expected me to take him back.”
What an asshole. “I hope you told him to go to hell.”
“I threw a glass of wine in his face.”
“You should have tossed him out a window, but okay.”
Her smile flashed. Faded. “You know what really gets me? It’s not that Derek deceived me. Okay, actually that really bothers me. But I deceived myself.”
“Sorry, sugar, you don’t get the blame on this one. He’s the one who cheated. He’s a dick.”
“But I didn’t see that, didn’t let myself see that. I was so focused on my personal checklist that I ignored my own feelings. My values. I let him diminish me. I diminished myself to be with him. And that was a bigger betrayal than anything he did.”
“Well, see, that’s one problem we won’t have. You already know me. You know my faults. And I know you. I want you. We don’t have to pretend with each other.”
She studied him, still with that furrow between her brows. “And that’s enough for you.”
It would have to be. Sam grinned. “It was last night.”
Dare Island [2] Carolina Girl Page 20