“Don’t touch anything,” Bebe ordered. “God only knows what it takes to get this smell off.”
“I’m trying—”
“Where are the trash bags?”
“How the hell should I know? I’m not the cleaning lady.”
“You never take out the trash?”
“That’s her job. She’d be very annoyed if I tried to do it for her—”
Bebe laughed. A solid guffaw.
He grinned and started pulling open cupboard doors. “There must be some bags here somewhere. Or we could just put everything in the wash?” He pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt.
“Wait. You can’t put wool in the wash. Everything we have on except underwear has to go to the cleaners or to the dump—”
“So we’re back to trash bags,” he said. More cupboard doors opened and shut. “Finally. Here.”
Sam flapped the black trash bag open wide and dropped his blazer into it.
“Strip, baby,” he said with an exaggerated leer. “The shower awaits.” Sam tugged his shirt over his head, slipped his loafers off, then his pants and socks. Everything but the shoes went into the bag. He stood in only his briefs, holding the trash bag.
Bebe hadn’t moved. She simply stared at him with a very sexy half grin lifting the corners of her mouth.
Her gaze had a definite effect on his anatomy.
…
Bebe’s steady stare slid slowly down the length of him and ever so intensely back up again until their eyes met.
“Some things are evidently not affected by smell.” Her glance dropped to his sleek black briefs and the impressive erection doing its best to escape. A hot flare swept her body, toes to throat. “Amazing.”
“The thought of you stripped naked—I’d have to be stone-cold dead not to be affected.” Sam shook the trash bag. “But I’d like the reality a whole lot more. Need some help?”
“I think I can manage.”
Looking at Sam, eye to eye, she tossed her leather handbag onto the dryer.
“I’m not throwing that bag out—it’s a Coach and it will just have to stink.”
“Fine. Quit stalling.”
Bebe dropped her blazer into the bag and pulled her sweater over her head, tossing it toward him. Into the bag it went.
He raised his brows expectantly.
She tugged off her boots.
“Those can be saved,” Sam said, his voice sounding very husky.
Bebe undid the button and zipper on her skirt and let it drop to the floor. She kicked it toward the bag. Her silk half-slip followed. Sam scooped both into the black plastic bag.
Bebe, now wearing lace-topped panty hose, her sheer lace bra, and matching thong, reached for the back fastening on the bra.
“Do you think this smell will really wash out?”
Sam dropped the bag.
“Who the hell cares?” he said reaching for her.
He scooped her up. Sam’s strong hands cupped her butt. Bebe wrapped her legs around his lean waist and her arms around his strong neck.
She could climb Sam like a giant oak, sink her claws in like the bravest tabby, and have no fear of falling.
She’d already fallen.
C’est vrai, Bebe. C’est vrai. Mon Dieu.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The kiss overtook the smell. Electricity sparked.
All the way down the hall and into Sam’s bedroom.
Only Bebe’s insistent uh-uh’s kept Sam moving across the room past the king-size bed and into the bathroom’s walk-in shower. He flipped a switch, turning on multiple water heads, creating a rain-forest deluge of deliciously hot water.
Sam stood her on the silver-flecked gray marble built-in bench seat and his hands skimmed her lace-top panty hose.
“These need to go.” His fingers eased in the edges and shimmied them down her hips. His mouth followed, tasting skin, his tongue swirling in her belly button.
“Ah, Sam, ahhhhh.” Weaving her hands through his wet hair, she pressed his face to her flesh. His mouth and tongue sent thrills of sensation through her body until her legs trembled, ready to sink to her knees in surrender.
The lace-top hose rolled off one foot, then the other; the thong followed. Sam’s hands encircled her ankles, coaxing her to widen her stance.
Exposed, naked except for the wisp of a lace bra she still wore, she didn’t feel embarrassed, she felt desired. She watched the expression on Sam’s face as he ran his hands along her hips and around to cup her buttocks. She undid the bra’s clasp and let it fall.
When he looked into her eyes, there was nothing but hunger. He pulled her hips forward, and she leaned against the cool tile, arching her back, warm water sluicing across her breasts. When he put his mouth to her, she cried out.
The climax came in a shocking rush with Sam’s tongue tormenting her and his fingers inside touching, pressing until all she felt was the electric scream of sensations she couldn’t stop, couldn’t back away from. “Sam. Ah, God, Sam.”
He pressed harder, his tongue snaking the core of her until she cried out, crumpled, and he caught her in his arms. He turned and sat on the bench cradling her, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth, when her head lolled against his shoulder.
“Oh, baby,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “a man could die happy with the taste of you on his tongue.”
Bebe lay back, content to be held in Sam’s strong arms, hot water sluicing over them.
With only the strength to caress his stubbled jaw, she slid a glance up at him. His head rested against the tile wall. She could see his half grin and feel his hand flexing on her butt.
She closed her eyes, unwilling to move, enjoying the gently pulsing water.
“Only one problem now,” she said.
“Only one?”
“That’s the impression I have.”
“Really?”
Bebe settled herself across his thighs and rubbed with purpose.
“Oh, that impression.”
“You do make quite an impressive impression.”
“And what do you suggest we do about the escalating situation?”
Bebe sat up slowly, swiveled until she sat astride Sam’s hips, heels braced on the marble seat’s edge, and grinned.
“Make the most of a very good thing?”
Sam let out a belly laugh. Bebe slid down on him. The sound he made, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, pushed him deeper. Her groan of pleasure had him gripping her hips.
“God, Bebe, hold still. Don’t even breathe.”
He pressed into her. She felt the taut muscles in his thighs like stone pillars between her legs. Her own sex responded, pushing, thrusting, unable to stop the urge to take him in as hard and fast as she could.
“Come with me, Sam. Come. With. Me.”
The roar of his release muffled her shriek, but not by much.
The world took a time-out as she straddled his strong thighs and clung to his sweat-dampened chest and tried to catch her breath.
“We smell better—more sex than sulfur.” Sam traced his fingers in a sensual path down her spine. “The scent of sex is okay, but the sulfur smell has got to go.”
Bebe reached around him and flipped the shower on full blast. All ten motion-sensored jets aimed and sprayed.
“Where’s the Dawn?”
The concoction to get rid of the rotten egg smell nearly took the top two layers of skin with it. But the smell was gone.
Lathering on lotion was its own reward.
…
Spooned with Sam in his king-size bed, Bebe dozed in utter contentment.
“You know Freddy isn’t smart enough to pull this whole scheme off,” Sam’s voice rumbled. He was running one big hand across her bare butt and pulling the quilt up around her shoulders with the other. “He’s not even smart enough to think of it to begin with.”
“I know.” Bebe cuddled closer to Sam’s deliciously warm body, slid her thigh across his leg, and up until her knee m
ade contact with an enthusiastic body part.
“This is a sophisticated plan of sabotage—too much for Freddy to mastermind.” His responsive groan let her know he was paying attention.
Bebe continued to slide across his hips until she could straddle that enthusiasm. Friction would do the rest.
“You know there is more to this, and we can’t let up now.”
“I have no intention of letting up.” She had Sam right where she wanted him and would deal with the saboteur later.
“No, we definitely won’t let up,” she sighed, easing down on Sam, feeling every rock-hard inch of him. Moving on him. Deep and hard. Harder.
“Ah, God, baby. Bebe. Baby.”
All thoughts of disaster, mayhem, and ruin were overtaken and replaced by the sheer joy of loving Sam. For now he was hers.
Scarlet had the right idea: deal with tomorrow…tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty-Six
How could she miss him when she’d only been home for two hours?
Tweety perched in his cage looking forlorn. He hadn’t said anything since she’d transferred him back to the antique wrought iron habitat on the stand near the window in the Very Berry Victorian’s turret.
Bebe fluffed the pillow on the bench seat nearest his cage and sat, comfortable in sweats and Uggs, but somehow still restless.
“You miss him, too, Tweety?”
The budgie bobbed his head and moved closer on his perch.
She gazed around her. She loved her apartment. It suited her, soothed her.
Sam wouldn’t really fit here. He was big. He needed space. Where would she put him? His things? Even her bed was too short for him.
Living with Sam in his condo had been okay as a temporary fix, but it was rather like living in a huge gray warehouse. It would take serious changes to turn it into a place she could call home…and Sam hadn’t asked her, anyway.
Bebe pulled a pillow into her arms, hugging it to her, and stared out the window at the traffic below.
The melodic door chimes sent her to the peephole. Surprise had her hurrying to unlock the door.
“Sam. What are you doing here? I thought you had meetings this morning?”
He bent to land a quick kiss on her lips, then backed her through the doorway, bringing a duffel and a suit bag with him.
“I’m not leaving you and Gracie and Tweety here alone while the mastermind to this whole plot runs free. I brought a few things so I can be here at night. There’ll be someone on security while you and I are at work so Gracie won’t be at risk.”
“But Sam—”
“But Bebe,” he said, dumping the bags on the couch and reaching for her. He sat in the overstuffed armchair and coaxed her onto his lap. Just where she wanted to be.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, tried to look sullen, prepared to be convinced when he outlined his plan. Sam would always have a plan.
The kiss was the preamble. An excellent beginning. Hot and delicious.
“I spoke to the police,” he said between featherlight lip touching. “Freddy is out on bail. He’ll likely plead to misdemeanor offenses, but since they couldn’t prove he was the one who broke into your apartment and you’ve agreed to accept restitution, he won’t see jail time.”
“I couldn’t send Freddy to jail. It would break his parents’ hearts. Could you really do that? Send Freddy to jail?”
“In a heartbeat.” Sam’s voice was a near-growl. “The thought of him terrorizing you—well, let’s just say he’d be safer in jail.”
“Thank you. For caring and for helping me.”
She kissed him, framing his face in both her hands. So handsome, the look in his eyes hungry and just for her.
“What did Freddy say to the judge? To the police?” she asked, trying to keep track of the conversation, but way too aware of Sam’s heat and masculine strength beneath her thighs.
“Freddy?” Sam’s attention seemed to be centered on his hand flexing under her left breast. She could feel the heat.
“Yes. What did Freddy say when your lawyer told him what the agreement entailed?”
“Oh,” he said, settling her closer and looking into her eyes with a lifted brow. “He whined, cried, none of it was his fault—just what you’d expect—but he now has a court-appointed business manager and won’t be allowed to spend one unauthorized penny until he’s paid you in full, and paid off his loans. By the time he’s done, he should have a better idea of how to run a successful business. They’re going to be very strict with little Freddy. Trust me on that, princess.”
“You’ll explain this to his papa? The deal he’s made. Before Uncle Herschel kills him?”
“Uh, no. You’re on your own there. Personally, I hope his papa disowns the stupid shit. It would serve him right. He’s skated on this, but only because that’s what you wanted. I’m done with him. Now he’ll deal with my lawyers, and there’s not an ounce of mercy in the bunch.” He kissed her with greater intensity. “Just let me know if there’s anything else you want me to do.” His hand stroked her thigh, his thumb pressing upward.
“What I want you to do?” She opened her legs to allow better pressure, wishing she weren’t wearing sweatpants.
“Uh-huh. Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” His hand pushed higher, then eased back. She stopped his hand from moving lower and eased it up where his thumb could finish what it had begun.
His other hand reached around under her sweatshirt to tantalize one peaking nipple, pinching gently and plucking.
She pulled his face to hers. “Sam. I want Sam.”
He grinned and wedged and wiggled his thumb until she gasped. “I was hoping you’d say that…hmmm…pull these down,” he said sliding a hand inside the pants, across her belly and sliding deeper. Fingers delved into her tight passage, now slick with the need he’d caused. “You feel so beautiful. Wet and hot.”
She grabbed his wrist and pressed harder. “There. Right. There.”
Her back arched with the electric shudder that coursed through her.
Sam pulled her top up and bent his head to take one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue in tight circles.
Bebe felt the rush, the red-hot flush, the exquisite internal spasms take her until she cried out Sam’s name. He swallowed the shriek in a kiss she experienced to her core.
She shuddered in the aftermath.
“How do you do that?” She turned her face into his chest, his fully clothed chest. He covered her bare parts with clothing eased up and down.
“Just lucky, I guess. I should probably practice more, though…so I can perfect my technique.”
“Any better and I won’t live through it.” She laughed.
“All the more reason. You need to build up your stamina. We’ll go slow.” He stood with her still in his arms and walked down the hall toward her bedroom.
“Sam’s a good boy!” Tweety said clearly.
“You betcha, Big Bird.”
Another conquest, thought Bebe.
…
“We’re gonna need a bigger bed…”
Bebe giggled. “Poor Sam. I told you your feet would hang over.”
“It’s not my feet that are the problem. It’s your pixie-sized bed that’s the problem.” He pressed her closer, tucking her bottom into his hips, bringing his long legs up against her thighs. He pulled the crochet-edged comforter over them and snugged it around her. “I could have a proper-size bed here this afternoon. With your permission, of course.”
The kisses along her nape and below her ear urged her to agree, but the thought of that big bed swallowing her, like so much kindling in a fire she couldn’t put out when Sam was no longer there to share it, made her hesitate.
“Bebe?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided.
“Fine. I’ll rent one.”
“Rent a bed? Do they even do that?”
“I’m sure they must.”
“And I’m sure I can have a new one here this afternoon.
One that no one else has ever made love on—”
“Oh. I can see how that would be a consideration.”
“This one will be ours.”
She’d ask Gracie if she could store her smaller one in the attic until Sam left, taking his big-body bed with him. A shiver went through her, a shadow of the pain his leaving would bring with it. She pressed closer.
“Are you cold?” He wrapped his strong arms tighter. “Let’s see if we can’t warm you up.”
Bebe turned in his embrace to face him. “You set me on fire. I’m never cold with you.”
Their kiss proved the words. The arctic shadows faded when the flames of their passion pushed them beyond control. But Bebe knew the shadows would return.
She clung to him, glad for every moment, every memory. She would savor him, like a fine wine. Like the richest chocolate melting on her tongue. Like the love of her life in a finite world.
She knew there were no guarantees. Some people never found love. Never found that person for whom they would risk abandoning all pretense, all games, and simply give everything in their power to give.
Hell, Bebe thought, holding him as tight as if he were a lover leaving on the next troop ship, if he wanted a bigger bed she’d get him the biggest bed made with all the trimmings.
“Sam?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you have a preference on thread count?”
“Frankly, as long as you’re between the sheets, I don’t give a damn.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“You are a serious distraction,” Sam sighed into her hair, breathing in the lush scent of her pressed against him, both of them buried in the silky cotton sheets.
“Hmm?”
“I could lie here with you for the next hundred years.”
“But?”
“But I’ve got a meeting with the board this afternoon and my dad’s sitting in. He has issues. I need to be there.”
“Okay.”
“No argument?”
“You’ve got a business to run, Sam. I’ll always understand that. I’m in the same position. We have responsibilities. That’s never going to change.”
He crushed her closer. Did she seem a little too eager for him to leave? She wasn’t the clinging type, but couldn’t she be a little less understanding? If he didn’t know himself better he’d think his feelings were hurt, as though she were mentally tossing him out of her bed and hoping the door hit him in the ass. Was he serious? Didn’t matter. The thought had crossed his mind.
Bride by Chocolate (Death by Chocolate) Page 22