More to Give (An Anchor Island Novel)

by Terri Osburn

  “So the second-floor paint, minus the suites, should be wrapped up in a couple weeks?” Sam asked. “That will leave us only three weeks to install the floors and get the furniture loaded back in.”

  Callie shook her head. “The plan is to start installing the floors while the painting is still going on. When a block is done, the painters will move out and the floor installers will move in. Every time one step is done, the next step will move in, cycling through until we’re adding the finishing touches days before the wedding guests arrive.”

  Sam looked pleased but skeptical. “And you have enough bodies to do that?”

  This was where hope came into play. “The goal is to pick up more workers as we go. Some people I spoke to on Saturday said they couldn’t help right away but would be available in a few weeks.”

  “Let’s hope that’s true,” he said with an odd grin on his face. The look did funny things to Callie’s brain. And other parts of her anatomy as well. “Where are we on the furniture?”

  Callie had to drag her wayward mind back to the work.

  “Olaf is back and working on the dining room chairs. The nightstands we were able to save are finished and ready for installation once we’re ready to start setting up the rooms. The new pieces are still in boxes in the kitchen, along with all the décor and linens.” Callie stepped aside to let a member of the outside crew pass by. “We’re waiting on some specialty items, but those should arrive within the next two weeks.”

  “Good to hear.” Sam pulled away from the wall and took Callie by the elbow. “Let’s duck into your office for a minute.”

  Callie didn’t have a choice but to follow, and she almost tripped over several workers as they maneuvered through the lobby. Once they were inside the office, Sam shut the door and swung Callie into his arms. The kiss he planted on her mouth took her breath away and made her weak at the knees.

  When Sam finally broke the kiss to allow both of them some much-needed air, Callie slumped against him. “What was that for?”

  “I held out as long as I could,” he said, his voice husky. “But when you started rattling off the renovation details, the urge to kiss you got to be too much.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Renovation details turn you on?”

  Lifting her chin with one finger, Sam said, “You turn me on.”

  And then he was kissing her again, stealing Callie’s thoughts and making her forget there was nothing more than a two-inch door between them and a room full of people.

  “I’d give you some privacy, but you’re blocking the door.”

  Sam ended the kiss, dropping Callie to the floor with a thud.

  She’d completely forgotten that Henri was working in the office.

  “Hello, Henri,” Sam said, still standing close enough to Callie for her to understand why he couldn’t turn around.

  “Heya, Sam.”

  Looking down at Callie, he asked, “Doesn’t she have a job to get home to?”

  Before Callie could answer, Henri said, “I’m a writer. I can work anywhere.”

  Why did she have to be such an agitator?

  Callie gave Sam her most apologetic look, then slid to the side, taking Sam with her. “The door is clear now,” she said, praying that Henri would make a prompt and silent exit.

  Of course, Henri took her good old time. When she reached the door, she looked their way. “I’m totally using that ‘you turn me on’ line,” she said, giving Sam a wink before walking out.

  “I don’t want to know what kinds of books she writes, do I?” Sam asked.

  Callie sighed. “Probably not.”

  “Are we completely alone now, or is your mother hiding under the desk?”

  “That isn’t even funny,” Callie replied, an involuntary shudder running down her spine. “We’re alone in here, but there’s a hotel full of people out there who will probably tell their friends that we had sex during lunch unless we go back out soon.”

  Sam squeezed her hips. “They’re jealous.”

  Flirtatious, making jokes, and shucking responsibility? This was definitely a new Sam.

  “Be that as it may,” she said, pushing against his chest, “we need to get out there.”

  Looking like a little boy who’d been told to come out of his fort and eat his broccoli, Sam stepped back. “Fine,” he said, sweeping an arm toward the door. “After you.”

  As soon as Callie opened the door, Sam whispered in her ear, “But we’re going to continue this tonight. I like having you against a wall.”

  Heat raced up her neck as Callie stepped into the lobby. He was going to pay for that one.

  Sam wiped the sweat from his brow, then took a swig from his water bottle as he strolled into Olaf Hogenschmidt’s territory at the back of the dining room. The man was planing what looked to be a chair leg, intent on his work and oblivious to Sam’s presence. Or so Sam thought.

  “You come to check my work?” the older man asked, as the whining hum of the planer died away.

  Shaking his head in the negative, Sam said, “Nope.” He remembered Olaf from his childhood visits. The younger version had been ready with a smile and a piece of candy for his best friend’s nephew. “Just watching.”

  Without looking Sam’s way, Olaf said, “Softening out the curves. Making it more modern, per Ms. Callie’s request.” He brushed shavings off the work in progress, and Sam had to agree the leg did look more modern.

  “Looks good.” Sam examined a newly upholstered chair to his right. The dark veneer was gone, along with the dated fabric that had once covered the seat. “This thing looks brand new.”

  “Supposed to,” Olaf said, bumping the chair with his knee. “Took a couple extra rounds to lighten the finish, but she’s sturdy and ready for another twenty years.”

  A memory tickled at the back of his mind. “You built it, didn’t you?” He glanced around. “And several of these other pieces as well.”

  “You ought to know. We hauled them in here during one of your last summers here.”

  Sam’s head jerked up. “You remember me?”

  “Of course I do,” Olaf scoffed. “I may be old and forgetful at times, but I’m not so far gone that I’d forget Morty’s only nephew.”

  In his mission not to blend in with the local community, Sam had made a point to avoid Morty’s friends the most. He wasn’t even sure why he’d wandered into Olaf’s territory, considering he’d barely done more than nod at the man in the last two years. And that was only when they passed on the street.

  “Well,” Sam said, not sure what to say. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Say, do you remember that time we were all fishing off the pier and Morty started acting a fool, like he often did, fell in, and nearly ended up hooked?”

  Sam chuckled. “He’d been trying to push me in, but I was too fast for him.”

  “That’s right.” A semitoothless smile split Olaf’s face. “Swore up and down that he’d get you back. Did he ever do it?”

  “Yes, he did. Two days later, I climbed into bed to find I wasn’t alone. Uncle Morty had put a big blue crab under the blankets, and that sucker was not happy to see me.”

  Olaf let out a loud cackle. “That sounds just like the old coot. Morty had a sick sense of humor sometimes.”

  “And a mean streak,” Sam added, memories washing over him like a tidal wave. “When I first started visiting, he’d wait until I was out near the water, then throw a handful of bread crumbs around my feet. The gulls went nuts and scared the crap out of me.”

  “Holy moly, you could have lost a toe.”

  “If I had, Mother would have taken a chunk out of his hide.” Shaking his head, Sam added, “I think that’s the only thing that kept him in check sometimes.”

  As their laughter died down, a comfortable silence settled around them.

&nb
sp; “He sure liked having you around,” Olaf said. “We all did, truth be told.”

  Sam’s brows shot up. “You did? I thought you guys just tolerated me for Morty’s sake.”

  “Nah,” he said, waving Sam’s words away. “You were a good kid. Smart as a whip. Outgoing and always willing to help. I suppose that work ethic of yours was always there. Even though it was your summer vacation, you were always looking for something to do. Hauling in crab nets or carrying suitcases for the hotel guests.”

  Those summers had felt like a gift of freedom, out from under his mother’s constant badgering to do or be better. Even so, Sam couldn’t abide doing nothing. He needed to be moving. To have a purpose. Interesting that Olaf remembered that part but Sam hadn’t.

  Maybe Callie had been right about him. Maybe his ambition and drive had been in him all along, regardless of his mother’s standards.

  “And you haven’t changed a bit,” Olaf said, snapping Sam from his thoughts.

  Feeling sheepish, Sam said, “Maybe not as outgoing as I used to be.” Callie was right. It was better to face things head-on. He’d been unfair to slight Morty’s friends, and he owed them an apology. “I can do better in that area.”

  “Meh.” Olaf shrugged. “You’re an important man now. Got things to take care of. We’ve kept an eye on you,” he said, pointing at the ceiling above their heads. “It’s what Morty would have wanted us to do.”

  The men exchanged a smile, and Sam felt as if Uncle Morty were standing right there with them. Nodding and flashing his big grin. Looking satisfied. And proud.

  “I appreciate that,” he said, extending a hand in Olaf’s direction.

  After wiping his own hand on the back of his overalls, Olaf took the offering. “And the same to ya,” he said. “You’ve done good by this island, just like Morty said you would.”

  Sam had never entertained the idea that Morty felt the island needed Sam and not the other way around. As Olaf’s words pinged around Sam’s brain, Olaf returned to his task, filling the air with noise and wood chips.

  And Sam returned to his painting with much to think about.

  By the end of the day, Callie’s feet ached, her back wasn’t speaking to her, and her cheeks hurt from laughter. When the locals weren’t telling jokes or making fun of each other, they took aim at Sam, who played the good sport and even gave as good as he got. More than once, Callie wondered if he’d downed a bottle of liquor on his way to the inn.

  But his breath was normal, his eyes clear, and his full attention on her was making her feel all the things she shouldn’t be feeling about a man who would likely dump her in a matter of weeks.

  Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. This new Sam acted more like he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d taken every opportunity to touch her. To brush by her or tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. And he looked at her differently. Sam rarely dropped his guard completely, outside of the moments when he was buried deep within her, and even then, Callie never felt as if he gave her everything.

  Let her in all the way.

  Maybe that was changing, though for the life of her, Callie couldn’t figure out what had brought on the shift. Was she imagining a difference? Was the hope that Sam would be happy to know she might stay clouding her mind and making her see things that weren’t there?

  If that was the case, Callie needed to wake up from her dream world now, because in one afternoon Sam had knocked more holes in her defenses than she was comfortable with. She was already struggling to remember this affair had an end date, but at least if she’d lost her heart before then, there would have been distance between them to help her get over him.

  Seeing him every day would make getting over Sam Edwards downright impossible. Maybe the real estate company wouldn’t offer her much. Perhaps she should leave no matter what. But she really did like this island.

  “You look like you’re a million miles away,” Sam said, sneaking up behind Callie where she stood at the stove—though, to be fair, he probably wasn’t sneaking at all. She was too preoccupied trying to figure out her exit strategy for their relationship to have heard him enter the room.

  “Just thinking,” Callie said, sliding too easily into the comfort of Sam’s arms.

  Dropping a kiss on the side of her neck, he asked, “About what?”

  Sharing her dilemma of living around him but without him didn’t seem like a good idea. So Callie lied.

  “The renovation. I keep running the timetable in my head and coming up short.”

  The second part was actually true. Nothing was exact, since she couldn’t know how many more islanders would show up in the next few weeks, but even the best-case scenario had them running over schedule.

  “You’re off the clock,” Sam said, pulling her tighter against his chest. “Leave that alone for tonight.”

  It was a good thing Sam couldn’t see her face, because Callie knew she must have looked shell-shocked. “I’m starting to believe you ran into some body snatchers this morning. Seriously,” she said, spinning to face him, “who the hell are you?”

  The question didn’t seem to faze him. “I’m the man about to give you a bath.”

  Callie blinked. “Uh . . . what?”

  Without explanation, Sam reached around her to turn off the stove.

  “Wait,” she argued. “That’s for the spaghetti.”

  “The spaghetti can wait.”

  Sam dragged Callie through the cottage, past the bed she’d failed to make that morning, and into the master bath. To her surprise, the giant soaker tub was filled nearly to the top, the water covered in a thick layer of bubbles. Instead of the harsh overhead lights, the scene was lit by a series of candles spread around the room.

  “Where did you . . . ,” she started, but then Callie noticed that the condoms had been placed conveniently near the tub faucet. “Are we both getting in there? I thought you wanted a shower.”

  “What I want,” Sam said, “is you. Covered in bubbles and nothing else.”

  Her mouth went dry as Callie swallowed the knot that formed in her throat. He kicked off his shoes without taking his eyes off her. Mesmerized, she couldn’t look away as he reached for the hem of his T-shirt. Slowly, he revealed his incredible abs and then his chest, with its dusting of light brown hair.

  The jeans were loose and hung low enough on his hips for Callie to worry her brain might actually ooze out her ears if he kept going.

  “Unless you plan to get in with your clothes on,” Sam said, dropping the shirt to the floor, “I suggest you undress.”

  Callie would have taken the suggestion, only she’d forgotten how to use her arms. And her legs. Her eyes continued to work perfectly, thank God.

  “Do you need some help?” he asked, completely relaxed, as if he were offering to open a door for her, instead of getting her naked.

  Nodding up and down, Callie remained silent. Clearly, her body was focusing all its energy on making sure not to miss a single movement of the man in front of her.

  “I hope you plan to participate in this at some point.” His hands glided over her hips, then pulled the shirt up her torso, gracing her with his touch all the way up. “I like it when you tell me what you want.”

  Callie had no doubt that what she wanted was written all over her face. But just in case, she whispered, “You could go a little faster.”

  Sam shook his head. “Not tonight,” he said, putting word to action as he lifted the shirt over her head, then stood watching her, running his fingertips over her shoulders, her breasts, and the line of skin above her waistband.

  “I feel like I’m melting,” she said, closing her eyes as he slowly drew the straps of her bra over her arms. “I don’t know if I can endure this.”

  Sam nudged her chin, and Callie opened her eyes. “You can endure anything,” he said, his stormy eyes locked on hers. “You’re
the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

  CHAPTER 25

  That wasn’t a line meant to get what he wanted. Sam believed what he was saying. And that made Callie believe it, too. Once again unable to speak, she nodded her agreement, and Sam returned to admiring her body.

  He lingered around her breasts, touching and testing but not tasting. She wanted his mouth on her more than Callie wanted her next breath. “Please,” she mumbled, knowing he would understand.

  And he did. “Not yet. Let it build.”

  If she let it build any more, she was going to explode. The fact that Sam clearly had a plan was the only thing that kept Callie from demanding he move things along. It wasn’t as if she didn’t enjoy what he was doing. She was enjoying it quite a lot.

  “Can I touch you?” she asked, feeling meek and vulnerable for the first time since they’d fallen into bed together. “I want to touch you,” she said more forcefully.

  “You can have anything you want, Callie.” Sam trailed his knuckles down her spine, then undid the clasp on her bra.

  One shimmy of her arms, and the blue lace hit the floor. Callie slicked her hands over Sam’s abs the moment she was free. “So hot,” she said, exploring his ribs and then his chest. “Your skin is burning.”

  “For you,” Sam replied, reaching for the button on her jeans.

  Callie let him slide the jeans down her legs, sitting on the side of the tub so that Sam could remove them, along with her socks. Remaining seated, she reached for his zipper, relieved that he let her proceed without a struggle. What she hadn’t expected was to find nothing else to remove.

  Looking up with a smile, she said, “Now who’s trying to kill whom?”

  “I knew they were only going to come back off.”

  Helping him step out of the jeans, Callie said, “Very practical choice.”

  How she was even carrying on a light conversation, Callie didn’t know. There was nothing light going on in that bathroom. If anything, Sam seemed darker. More determined. Like a man about to claim something he’d fight to the death to keep.