“Yeah.”
“So why are you here?”
Autumn kicked him under the table. “Be nice, Vin,” she warned.
Vince turned and looked at her. His eyes wide and innocent. “I’m just asking. I’m sure Sam doesn’t mind answering a simple question.”
“Not at all.” He looked across the table and give Vince a big kiss-my-ass grin. “Autumn and Conner were gracious enough to invite me.”
Which wasn’t really true. She hadn’t even planned to make Thanksgiving dinner. Conner was supposed to be at Sam’s and Vince at work.
“I thought you were going to spend a quiet day alone packing,” Vince reminded her as he took the potatoes from her.
Which she had, until a few days ago, when she suddenly learned that Conner was bringing Sam to Thanksgiving at her house and she was cooking. She still wasn’t quite sure how that had all transpired. Naturally, she’d had to invite Vince, who fortunately, or unfortunately—depending on how she chose to look at it—had an hour free for dinner. Just enough time to drive to her house, eat, stir things up, and go back to work. She supposed she should just be thankful that Vince would be there less than an hour. Not nearly long enough for Sam to get all comatose on L-tryptophan so that Vince could go commando on him.
“Where are you and Conner going tomorrow?” Sam asked, and forked turkey on and his and Conner’s plates.
“I’ve rented a beach house in Moclips.” Autumn added a little cranberry to her plate. “It’s about a two-hour drive from Seattle.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s probably because you spend your vacations in the upper rooms at Scores,” Vince said.
Sam raised a brow. “What do you know about those upper rooms at Scores?”
“Just what I’ve read.”
“Giving your fifth-grade education a workout with big words like lap and dance?”
“Yeah. And with letters like f and u.”
“Little ears.” Autumn lifted her finger off her fork and pointed to Conner. “We rented the same house last summer and really enjoyed it, but I’ve read that it’s kind of stormy this time of year.” She talked about clamming and sitting on the beach. She talked about Conner flying his kite and the little Moclips museum. She’d never talked so much in her life, but she kept it up until both men retreated back into their caves and shut the hell up.
“Are you about through talking?” Vince asked her before he took a bite of his croissant.
“Are you?”
“Not by half.”
“Then I’m going to have Conner fill your ears with nonstop knock-knock jokes.” She held up one hand. “I swear to God, Vince.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, defeated for the moment. Sam laughed, and Vince shot him a look that said he was retreating, but the war was far from over.
“Knock knock.”
“Not now, Conner. Just eat your dinner please.”
“Where’s the green bean casserole?” Conner asked.
Of course the one thing she didn’t make was the one thing he asked about. Since she was leaving in the morning, she hadn’t gone all out. She’d cooked just the basics, and not a ton, so she wouldn’t have a lot of leftovers to rot in the refrigerator. “We’ll have it at Christmas.”
Vince poured gravy on his potatoes and turkey and looked across at Sam. “How’s that shoulder?”
“About 60 percent.” Sam lifted his elbow away from his body and grinned. “Thanks for asking, frog squat.”
Conner laughed, Vince’s gaze narrowed, and tension pulled at the back of Autumn’s skull. She didn’t know what a frog squat was. She was sure Conner didn’t know either, but she was fairly sure it wasn’t nice. She pointed to Sam. “Did you hear what I said to Vince?” She knocked on an invisible door. “Until your ears bleed.”
He tilted his head back and laughed like everything was just hilarious. Then he settled in and ate as if he was on death row, and this was his last meal. He seemed happy and relaxed, like he ate dinner at her house every day. Like they were friends. Like they hadn’t been going at each other’s throat a few months ago, and like her brother wasn’t staring holes through him. He didn’t seem bothered by anything, and several times she caught him watching her as if he was looking for something.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Not a thing.” He reached for more turkey and stuffing. “You’re a very good cook. I didn’t know that about you.”
Why would he? “Thank you.”
“Hey, Dad, you should move in here.” Conner pushed his peas beneath his roll as if his mother wouldn’t notice. “We have a bedroom downstairs.”
Autumn’s forehead got tight and achy.
Sam chewed and swallowed as if giving it some thought. “I don’t know. I have a lot of stuff. And where would I put that water wall you like so much?”
Vince muttered something under his breath that sounded like an impossible suggestion for where Sam could put the “water wall.” By the time dinner was over, Autumn was so tense her spine felt brittle.
Vince looked at his watch and placed his napkin beside his plate. “Gotta get back to the grind.”
Vince was her brother, her friend and protector. Besides Conner, he was the only family she had, but she was relieved to see him go.
“I drew you a picture, Uncle Vince. It’s in my art center.” Conner jumped down and ran from the room
Vince stood and tucked his Titan Security shirt into his Dickeys.
Sam leaned back and pointed to Vince’s belt. “Where’s your gun, cowboy?”
“I don’t need a gun, asshole. There are more than a hundred ways to kill someone.” He smiled. “And a hundred ways to dispose of a body in places it will never be found.”
Autumn knew he was kidding. Kind of. “Well, I hope you come over while I’m gone and eat the leftover turkey. Or do you want to take some with you. Pie?”
Vince ignored her. “I wasn’t around the last time you hurt Autumn. I’m here now, and it’s not going to happen again.”
Sam folded his arms across his chest and leaned the dining-room chair back on two legs. “I heard you the first time.”
There’d been a first time? Where had she been? She stood and followed her brother into the living room. “What was that about?”
He gave her a big hug, the kind of deep squeeze that settled in her bones and let her know how much he loved her. The kind of love that would last forever. No matter how much he made her mad. “Call me when you get to your beach house tomorrow, so I know you’ve made it.”
She didn’t tell him not to worry about her. He would anyway. “I will.”
“Here it is.” Conner walked into the room and handed Vince the picture. “We’re playing putt-putt like last year.”
“Yep. There you are.” Vince pointed to the little blond figure, then folded the paper and put it in his breast pocket. “I’ll study it at work.” He gave Conner a quick hug, then moved down the stairs. “I’ll come over while you’re gone, check up on things, and eat the leftovers.”
“Thanks.” She raised her hand as he walked out the door and shut it behind him.
She felt like a half-ton brick had been lifted from one shoulder. The other half ton was still in the dining room. “Are you going to help me clean up?” she asked Conner.
He shook his head. “I gotta draw Dad a picture.” He took off down the hall to his bedroom. Typical. “Tell me when it’s dessert time,” he called out over his shoulder.
Autumn walked into the dining room and stopped in her tracks. Sam stood at the kitchen sink, the spray nozzle in one hand. Autumn’s gaze stuck on the stretch and pull of his thin sweater across his wide shoulders and big arms as he reached for a plate on the counter. He whistled as he rinsed in one side of the sink and bent over to put the cleaned plates in the dishwasher. No man had ever done her dishes. Sam towering over her sink, squirting water all over, then bending over, was about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen in her life.
He rose and looked across his shoulder. “That was fun.”
“That was the dinner from hell,” she said as she grabbed the basket of croissants and moved into the kitchen, the heels of her red pumps lightly thudding across the vinyl floor. “I wouldn’t have guessed you knew how to load a dishwasher.”
“Growing up, I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. After my dad died, my mom went to work full-time, so Ella and I had to split up the chores.”
She’d never thought of Sam as a kid, losing his father or stepping into his dad’s shoes. A lot like Vince. Only their father hadn’t died. He’d run off.
“Most of the time I paid Ella to do mine.” Sam chuckled. “Which used to make my mom livid because then I’d have to ask her for more lunch money.”
She’d met his mom a few times when she’d come to Seattle to spend time with Sam and Conner. “How’s your mother?” she asked, as she set the basket on the counter.
His blue eyes looked across at hers and slid to her mouth. “Good.” His gaze slowly moved down her body, over her breasts and the curve her waist and hips in the tight skirt, all the way to her red shoes. “She’ll probably be here for Christmas.”
“That will be nice for Conner.” She ignored the tingle in her pulse and opened a drawer by his right hip, pulling out a roll of tinfoil. “You don’t have to clean up.”
“It’s the least I can do for inviting myself.” He raised his gaze to hers and dried his hands on a dish towel.
She’d cleaned as she’d cooked, so there wasn’t much more to do. “I thought Conner invited you.”
“Conner’s five.” One corner of his mouth lifted, and fine lines appeared in the corners of his eyes. “I might have planted the suggestion in his head.”
She paused in the act of tearing some tinfoil. “Why?” Why was he there? Rinsing her dishes, filling up her kitchen with his big shoulders and bigger presence. Running his gaze up and down her body and making her stomach take a tumble.
He flipped the dish towel onto her shoulder, then moved into the dining room. Her gaze took a journey of its own, moving down the back of his gray sweater to the back pockets of his black wool pants. There were just some men on the planet who filled out a pair of pants to perfection. Sam was one of those guys.
“Curious,” he said as he returned with the turkey.
“No.” She wasn’t curious. She’d seen his butt, and even though it had been a while, she imagined that it was as tight as ever. The kind of tight that came from serious exercise.
“What?”
“What?” She looked up into his eyes and tore off a big chunk of tinfoil.
“You asked why I’d invited myself.”
Oh yeah. She tossed the roll into the drawer and shut it with her hip.
He set the turkey on the counter. “And I said I was curious.”
“About?”
“About what you and Conner do on Thanksgiving.”
That’s right. She’d allowed herself to get distracted, but in her own defense, she was a bit unnerved. “Probably the same thing you do. Only on a different day.” She covered the platter with the tinfoil, scrunching it around the edges.
“I haven’t done the whole Thanksgiving thing in years.” He closed the dishwasher with his foot. “Here or in Canada.”
“That’s sad.”
“Not really. I’m never sure where I’m going to be on that Monday or Thursday.”
That explained his presence. He had nothing better to do. “You really don’t have to stay and clean up.”
“The quicker the dishes get done, the sooner I get pie.”
“Seriously?” She’d been so tense, still was, that she hadn’t eaten much, but Sam hadn’t suffered from nerves. He’d eaten more than anyone. “You want pie?”
“Honey, I always want pie.” He looked into her eyes and reached for the dish towel. Slowly, he pulled it from her shoulder. “It’s been a while since I’ve had good pie.”
Somehow, she doubted that. “No pie jokes.” She lifted a hand and rubbed the back of her neck.
“I never joke about pie.” He tossed the towel and moved behind her. He pushed her hand aside. “Pie is serious business.”
“What are you doing?”
“You’re all knotted up.” He pressed his thumbs into the base of her neck and pushed inward. “You were so tense during dinner, I thought you were going to shatter.”
She’d thought she might shatter, too, and his hands felt good. So good, she almost moaned out loud. Totally inappropriate, though, and she’d stop him in a minute. “That might have had something to do with you and my brother acting like idiots.” Then he pressed his thumbs into the base of her skull, rubbed in tight circles, and she put her hands on the counter to keep from melting into a puddle by his size-fourteen loafers.
“It could have been worse.”
She dropped her head forward and her hair fell across her cheeks. “Yeah. You two could have jumped across the table and stabbed each other with butter knives.”
He laughed and slid his thumbs beneath the collar of her blouse. “Unbutton your shirt.”
“Are you high?”
“Not today.” He squeezed her shoulders in his big hot hands. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course not.”
“That’s probably wise.” He laughed, a soft little chuckle that slid up her skull with his thumbs. “Your collar is in the way.”
“I’m not taking my shirt off.”
“Not off. Just maybe two buttons to loosen up your collar.” He pressed his fingers into her knotted shoulder muscles, and her eyes about rolled back into her head. “I get my kinks worked all the time. I’m pretty much a professional.”
Two buttons. She raised her hands and unbuttoned her shirt to the white bow in the middle of her white bra.
His voice got a little deeper, and he said, “Slide your hair to one side.”
With her right hand, she reached behind her and pulled her hair over her right shoulder.
He pushed the back of her collar. “One more. I promise I won’t look.”
She unbuttoned one more, and somehow the top of her blouse was halfway down her shoulders.
“Better?” His hands squeezed her bare shoulders.
“Yes.” Definitely not safer, though. But God, his hands were magic, sliding over her skin and pressing into her taut muscles. The tips of his fingers slid across her collarbone, and his thumbs worked the knots where her neck met her shoulders. Her tension eased, and she relaxed. With each magic squeeze of his warm hands, her guard lowered, and her body heated.
His palms worked outward, pausing to squeeze the balls of her shoulders and slipping down her arms. His hands spanned her ribs on the outside of her blouse, and he pressed his thumbs into her spine. “Are you sure you don’t want to take off your shirt?”
No, she wasn’t sure at all. She wasn’t sure she didn’t want to lean back into him, into his solid chest, and stay there a while. “I’m sure.”
He slid his hands down her sides to her waist then to her hips. She felt his warm breath by her ear. “I like your skirt.”
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she swallowed hard. “It’s vintage.”
“It’s tight,” he whispered against the sensitive side of her neck. “It makes your ass look good.” His palms slid to her belly and pulled her back against his chest. The curve of her bottom pressed into his groin. “It gives me bad thoughts.” Through the fabric of his pants and her skirt, his erection brushed against her bottom. “Wanna hear a few?”
Yes, she did, but she knew it was a really bad idea. Her voice was weak and not at all convincing when she answered, “No.”
He kissed the side of her throat. “Is this still one of your sweet spots?” The wet press of his hot mouth forced a shudder to work through her relaxed body from the inside out. “Mmm,” he hummed against her skin, adding delicious little shivers and sending her into a sensory overload.
She turned and put her
hands on his chest to stop him. Through the thin wool of his sweater, and the hard muscles of his chest, she could feel the beating of his heart, much faster than the slow smooth touch of his hands. “We can’t do this.”
One of his hands moved across her bare shoulder to the side of her face. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.” His lips touched hers, and her breath caught in her throat. “Thinking about you and wondering.”
“What?” Her fingers curled into his sweater.
“Wondering what it is about you that made me lose my mind six years ago.” His lips brushed hers, and hot little shivers tingled her spine. She couldn’t help it. It was involuntary, just like her palms sliding up his chest, over his shoulder. His face was so close, his nose touched hers. She didn’t want him to lose his mind. She didn’t want to lose her mind, either.
“Wondering if being with you would make me lose my mind now.” He slid his palms to her behind and cupped her bottom in his hands. “I wonder if it would be like the first time we had sex.”
She wondered if he even remembered.
He pressed her against him, against the long length of his erection just left of his zipper. “When we were going at it so hard we fell off the bed. So hard we both got rug burns.”
Okay. So he did remember.
He rocked against her pelvis. “Would it be like that again?”
Her breath caught in the top of her lungs, and she moaned a soft, “Yes.” She didn’t know if she meant yes she remembered or wondered or wanted more. Maybe all three. She couldn’t think straight, then he kissed her, and she couldn’t think at all. It started with a gentle press of his lips that she felt in the backs of her knees and the soles of her feet. Her heart pounded, and she opened her mouth beneath his. His tongue touched hers, warm and wet, and he tasted like suppressed aggression, reminding her of something she hadn’t had for a long time. Something she’d forgotten she liked so much.
Hot sex with a hot-blooded man.
Her pounding heart sped up, flooding every part of her body with liquid fire. Her emotions remained detached from the long, slow kiss, but her body was fully engaged. Aching with need. Itching for him to soothe the desire tightening her nipples.
His pectoral muscles bunched as she slid her hands up his chest to his shoulders and rose to the balls of her feet. She pressed the length of her body into his. Against her bare cleavage, she felt every fiber of his wool sweater. Against her pelvis, she felt his rock-hard erection, and she opened her mouth a little wider and devoured him with passionate, feeding, kisses. Undiluted lust twisted her stomach into knots. It had been so long since she’d felt so alive. So burned up inside. So long since the overwhelming urge to touch and be touched. To eat him up, run her mouth all over him. She moved her hands over his shoulders and back, ran her fingers through his cool hair. She wanted him badly. Wanted the hot push and aggressive tug of sex with Sam. The tumble and grind until she exploded and imploded all at the same time.
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