by Beth Ciotta
She buckled in and tried to ignore the heat that wink inspired. They’d just spent two hours pleasuring one another first in bed then in the shower then—have mercy—midway between the bathroom and bedroom, up against the wall. She should be spent, every sexual desire sated, yet Sam stirred her juices with a damned wink.
How long could it burn like this between them? Surely things would cool at some point. Maybe even as soon as tomorrow. Maybe sex after marriage would sour because the marriage itself was a sham. Sam wanted a mother for his children. She needed a green card. They would mutually benefit from this alliance, but it was not a love match. She wondered if they could get the chaplain to refrain from using the word love, making their union less a lie. It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. Just like it bothered her to elope to Vegas without having some sort of interaction with Ben and Mina beforehand. She hadn’t seen them in over a month, and even though Sam had said they’d voted for her as his “wife,” she’d feel better if she reconnected with them before she got on that plane. She’d suggested dinner. They had to eat anyway and since Rocky had canceled, Harper and Sam had no obligations and a couple of hours to burn. Afterward, Sam would drop her at the farm and then he and the kids would return to their house for the night. She understood that tomorrow was a school day and they had a routine. Sam would drive them to school then pick her up and, together, they’d drive to Starlight Airfield.
It seemed like a sound plan to Harper. All the same, the closer they got to the Kesslers’, the more she twirled her bracelet.
“Whatever you’re worrying about, stop.”
Harper sighed. “What if I say something wrong?”
“Then you’ll spin it around to something right.”
“I just … I want the kids to like me.”
“Then you can definitely stop worrying. They already do.”
“The Kesslers. What if they don’t like me?”
“They will.”
“You’re the most confident man I’ve ever met. Confident without being arrogant, that is.”
Sam didn’t respond, not that she expected him to. He focused on the road and Harper focused on her phone. She scrolled through several apps checking for e-mails, voice mails and texts, messages—public and private—on her social sites.
“Everything okay?” Sam asked.
She’d been checking periodically, partially out of habit, partially to make sure Edward hadn’t issued a new taunt. “No crises.”
“That’s good.”
Not hearing from Edward? Definitely good. Not hearing from previous clients? “I used to thrive on running to the rescue,” Harper said honestly. “Calm seas are disconcerting.”
“You want chaos?” Sam asked. “Brace yourself.”
He pulled into a driveway and Harper tensed. She couldn’t help herself. Four people poured onto the front porch before Harper and Sam even got out of the cab. Mina raced across the lawn. Ben followed, more slowly, dragging two backpacks. An older couple hovered on the porch side by side—smiling.
Harper registered their blinding kindness a split second before homing in on the kids.
“Daddy!” Mina rushed forward and jumped into Sam’s arms. They hugged and then the little girl bounced over to Harper. “Hi, Harper! Like my shirt? It’s purple!”
Harper stooped down to eye level with the five-year-old ball of energy. Mina twirled and Harper smiled. “I like the sparkles on the kitty.”
“Hi, Harper,” Ben said with less zeal. “Dad said we could pick where to eat tonight. We pick Rock ’n’ Roll Lanes. Burgers and bowling. It’s kind of fun.”
Harper suppressed a cringe. Bowling? She hadn’t planned on making a fool of herself this evening. Crap. At least she was dressed for the occasion. Jeans and a peasant blouse. Sandals, no heels. That was something anyway. She flashed one of her most polished smiles. “Okay.”
He kicked at a nonexistent stone then chanced her gaze and lowered his voice. “It’s okay if you stink at bowling. I stink, too.”
Harper’s heart cracked then swelled. She squeezed her own hands together instead of reaching for Ben’s. “I stink worse.”
He looked away. “Wanna bet?”
Harper stuck out her hand. “Sure.”
“You’ll just pretend to be worse,” Ben said while eyeing her hand, “to make me feel better. Nice people do stuff like that.”
Self-conscious now, Harper hugged herself. “You think I’m nice?”
“Sure. Don’t you?”
Harper blinked. It wasn’t often that someone struck her speechless. Crazy that a nine-year-old had just given her cause to search her soul. No. She didn’t think of herself as nice. Rae was nice. Chloe was nice. Mrs. Kessler’s aura screamed nice, and from everything Harper had heard, her daughter, Ben’s mom, had been the epitome of nice.
“We should go.” Sam touched Harper’s shoulder, calling her back to the moment.
“Yeah, let’s go! Let’s go!” Mina chirped, clutching a ratty rabbit wearing a pink boa and jumping up and down like a crazed pogo stick.
“Get in the truck,” Sam told the kids. “In the backseat and buckle up!” he called as they raced for the extended cab.
“Ready to meet the folks?” Sam asked as he helped Harper to her feet.
She rolled back her shoulders and squeezed his hand. Ben thinks I’m nice. “Ready.”
* * *
Sam pushed through the evening battling a barrage of emotions. He noted a few key points throughout the heart-bending sequence of events.
Mina dialed it down a notch in Harper’s presence. Typically, his animated, chatterbox daughter dominated the conversation. Typically, she demanded Sam’s full attention, showing off or acting out. Typically she clung to him like a three-foot swatch of Velcro. But tonight she was on her best behavior. No tantrums, no clowning around, no clinging. She interacted and listened—mostly to Harper, but to Sam and Ben, too.
Ben was oddly protective of Harper, making sure she had the right-sized bowling shoes and weighted ball. Like with other live sports as well as anything mechanical, Sam had thought Ben had turned a deaf ear to Sam’s advice regarding the finer points of bowling. He’d been stunned to hear his specific instructions on technique flowing from his son to Harper. He’d also been stunned by a noted difference in Ben’s attitude throughout the game. Ben wasn’t particularly skilled at bowling, but instead of getting discouraged and sulky, he kept his cool and tried his best. He scored better than usual and Sam had fought to find the right tone and amount of praise. He didn’t want to make too big a deal out of it as it would embarrass Ben, but he was damned proud of his son’s efforts and improvement.
As for Harper … She didn’t excel at bowling, but she didn’t suck, either. At least that’s what Ben told her. Honestly, she sucked, but like Ben, she tried. She even seemed to have fun. With the exception of scrolling through her phone apps every now and then, she’d participated full-out in the family event. She munched on a burger and fries with a smile, even though Sam knew she would’ve preferred a salad, and she’d answered all of Ben’s and Mina’s questions which, to Sam’s disappointment, centered on her ties with Hollywood, rather than her everyday life—although Ben did ask if she liked pancakes.
At one point, Sam had tried to give Harper tips on form. It meant getting up close and personal—hands-on. He’d heard Mina giggle and he’d turned to see Ben giving him a shy thumbs-up. Sam knew in that moment that his kids had been on their best behavior as a way of impressing Harper. They wanted her to like them. They wanted her for a mom. “We don’t want you to be a lonely old man.” Sam had choked up for the second time in one day.
Two hours flew by in five minutes. Before Sam knew it, he was loading everyone in his truck and driving Harper home. The closer they got to the farm, the darker Sam’s mood. He didn’t want to leave her alone, not for the entire night. What if she got another taunting message? What if the bastard called? What if she decided to watch television while packing and saw some new
s report that set her off? What if … “Aw, hell.”
“You cussed, Daddy!” Mina called from the backseat.
“I know, pumpkin. Forget you heard that.”
“Anything wrong?” Harper asked in a soft voice.
“No.” Yeah. I’m thinking the worst and obsessing. I’m pulling a you. He kept that thought to himself along with several others as he turned onto Swamp Road. He hadn’t heard anything back yet from Jayce. Harper wasn’t distracted or anxious. Sam had no immediate reason to worry and he sure as hell didn’t want to set those wheels in motion for Harper.
“Are we there yet?” Mina asked.
“Almost,” Sam said.
“Seen any ghosts yet?” Ben asked.
“No,” Harper said. She shifted and turned. “You don’t have to worry about those old stories, Ben.”
“You don’t think it’s haunted?” He sounded disappointed.
“I think something sad happened there once and that sadness seeped into the walls. But I’ve been cheering things up, giving the walls and floors and every inch of every room a makeover with the help of your dad and Aunt Rocky. It’s happy there now.” She glanced at Sam, crooked a smile that hugged his heart. “And it’s going to get happier.”
Sam pulled into her driveway, scanning the property, the house. Nothing out of sorts. Nothing to worry about.
“Can we come in?” Mina asked.
“You’re supposed to wait for an invitation, honey.”
She poked Harper’s shoulder. “Will you invite us inside … please?” she added.
Harper smiled. “I wish I could. I want to. But you have school tomorrow and it’s getting late.”
“You should walk her to the door, Dad,” Ben said.
“You’re absolutely right, son.”
“And don’t forget to kiss her good night!” Mina said as he swung out of the cab.
Sam rolled his eyes as he rounded the hood to help Harper out. He had no idea where Mina had gotten that from. Probably television or maybe one of the babysitters. Harper slid out of the cab into Sam’s arms and it was all he could do not to kiss her then and there. She looked radiant in jeans and a loose-fitting, puffy-sleeved blouse, her thick hair twisted in a loose knot.
“Did you ask her yet, Daddy?” Mina called from the backseat.
“Ask her what?” Sam responded, transfixed by Harper’s glittering blue eyes.
“To be our mom.”
“That’s private stuff,” Ben said to his sister. “Stop being a Nosey Nate. You’ll ruin it.”
“I’m not a Nosey Nate!” Mina pouted.
So much for best behavior. “I’ll be right back,” Sam told the kids. “No fighting.” He escorted Harper up the porch steps.
She lingered at the front door. “I’m really glad we did this, Sam.”
“So am I.”
“They’re good kids.”
“You’re good with them.”
“I’m good with people in general. Kids are just little, younger people, right? I was a kid once. I remember certain aspects. Insecurities. Needs. Mostly, they just want to know that they matter—what they say, what they do. I tried to be sensitive to that tonight. I wanted Ben and Mina to know that I was paying attention. That they matter.” She glanced away suddenly, looking embarrassed. “Listen to me preaching to you. You could write a book on good parenting.”
“I don’t know about that, but thanks.” Sam angled his head, studied her intense expression. “I’d like to know more about you as a kid. What you were like. What you said, what you did. Are your parents still around? Do you have siblings? You’ve never mentioned your family.”
“That’s because I don’t have one.” She groaned. “That sounded pathetic.” She looked back to Sam. “I’m an only child. Parents divorced long ago. They’re estranged. We’re estranged. It’s not a big deal. Just very different than what you have.”
More than ever Sam wanted that report from Jayce. Details about Harper’s past. He’d never been more intrigued with a person in his life.
Pulling her keys from her purse, Harper glanced at his truck, gave Ben and Mina a smile and a wave. “You should go,” she said to Sam.
“They’re okay,” he said. “Trust me, they’re riveted, hoping we’ll change our minds and call them inside. They don’t want this night to end and I don’t blame them.”
Harper leaned against the doorjamb, sighed. “I wish we could fast-forward to two days from now.”
“Nervous about the flight? The show?” Being alone?
“Anxious to get on with life.” She pressed a hand to Sam’s chest, smiled. “If you don’t kiss me good night there’s a good chance you’ll get an earful on the ride home.”
“I’ll get an earful anyway, but it doesn’t have to be about that.” Hand at the small of her back, Sam pulled Harper closer. “Unfortunately, their idea of a good-night kiss and mine are two different animals.” He brushed his mouth over hers, sampled her lush lips briefly, just long enough to make him ache for more, then eased away. “Call me or text me if you need me. Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning. Make sure to pack your identification.”
She hesitated before moving inside. “You can still back out.”
“But I won’t.”
“Because Ben and Mina want a mom and because I’m desperate for a green card.”
“That’s part of it.”
“I’m not sure I can handle more.”
“The question is, do you want more?”
Her gaze flicked to the truck, his children, and then back to Sam. “Yes.”
“We’ll take it slow. See what happens. No pressure, Harper. No expectations.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Slow is good.”
His heart hammered at the thousand things he read in her eyes—hope, regret, joy, fear. Sam smiled and brushed a thumb over her cheek. “See you in the morning, Slick. Sleep well.”
Blushing, she moved inside and closed the door.
Sam waited until he heard the dead bolt lock then ambled toward his truck.
Slow. He could do slow. And when she was ready, he’d give her more.
One eye on the house, he slid into the driver’s seat, jonesing to hear from Jayce, and gearing up for whatever grilling the kids had in store.
“That’s not how they kiss in the movies,” Mina said.
Sam glanced over his shoulder. “What movies have you been watching?”
“Bridgett likes those sappy, girly movies,” Ben said. “You know. Like Twilight.”
“That’s the one where the vampires sparkle,” Mina said. “You should watch it, Daddy. See how Edward kisses Bella.” She hugged herself, closed her eyes and made kissy, mushy sounds.
Ben rolled his eyes and pulled his iPod out of his backpack.
Sam pulled out of the drive, wondering what other movies Bridgett had subjected a five-year-old to. A smile touched his lips as he realized he wouldn’t have to fly solo when speaking to Mina about the kissing thing. He could scarcely wait to hear Harper’s two cents.
TWENTY-NINE
Sunday had proven a full and interesting day for Adam. A morning of excitement at the hospital. The awkward greeting between Adam and Peppy’s grandpa, the jubilant celebration of Dev and Chloe’s little girl (a special whoop from those who’d won the betting pool), and the way Rocky had expressed subtle curiosity (or was it concern?) about Adam’s choice in a roommate.
That afternoon, Adam had driven Peppy to Shady Oak, where he freelanced as a sports instructor, and introduced her to the resort’s gym. She wasn’t very athletic, but she was determined, and yeah boy, George had twitched every time Adam had laid hands on Peppy’s soft skin in order to instruct her in technique.
They’d parted ways after—Adam to work out, Peppy to rehearse—and when he’d run into her again at home later that evening there’d been a sexual zing. Peppy didn’t acknowledge it, but Adam sensed her interest, and George, damn him, wouldn’t behave, so Adam had taken a cold shower, dressed,
and gone back out. He’d met Kane and Nash at the Shack, intending to throw back brews to celebrate the birth of Lily—like they needed an excuse to drink. Only Nash had opted for soda, saying he had a long flight the next day, and Kane had bitched about the absence of Luke and Decker’s annoying habit of flipping channels, surfing right over ESPN. Adam had bailed early, feeling restless and horny and, dammit, lonely. The latter two being crazy because Adam had plenty of friends and some of those friends were female and a couple would be up for a spontaneous tango. All Adam had to do was call. Instead he drove back to his teeny-tiny rental, hoping Peppy had gone out with a friend or maybe holed up in her room with her guitar. Just his luck, she’d kicked back on his couch with her acoustic, idly picking notes while watching a movie.
“Sorry,” she’d said, leaping up as if her pants were on fire—those damned cute-as-hell monkey-face pants. “Thought you’d stay out later.”
“So did I. What are you watching?”
“A Good Day to Die Hard.”
An action flick. Huh. “I’ll grab a beer and join you. Want one?”
“Sure.”
So they’d shared the sofa, drinking suds, and watching Bruce Willis kick ass. There’d been that sexual pull, only Peppy had kept her distance and Adam had given George mental hell. They’d retreated to their rooms and Adam had fallen asleep hearing Peppy noodling (as she called it) on that guitar. The music wasn’t loud, but the walls were thin so, later, he’d also heard her bed creaking as she tossed and turned.
Adam woke up at two twenty-five, four-oh-three, and five twenty-one. Whacking off would have solved his problem but he felt weird about that considering the object of his obsession was sleeping one room over. “To hell with it.”
Adam rolled out of bed. Dawn was breaking. He’d head out early. Jogging would solve his problem, too. But first he needed to hydrate. His throat was froggy and dry. His brain fuzzy. Normally he would have padded to the kitchen buck naked since that’s how he slept, but that didn’t seem smart what with a woman in the house and George at full attention. So he pulled on a pair of boxers, eased out his door, crept down the hall. He froze on the kitchen threshold, mesmerized by the sight of bare legs and a cute ass clad only in those skimpy girly briefs—boyfriend shorts, he thought they were called. Peppy was bent over and peering into the lower shelves of his fridge. He considered retreating to his room without a word, but then she backed out with a piece of fruit, catching him staring, because … yeah. That shitty timing thing.