Made To Love

by S. M. West

  A shrewd grin appears as his eyes sharpen, even more penetrating, like he’s looking inside me.

  “Olivia, you’re so cute.” He chuckles. “We’re not done,” he firmly and loudly states, loud enough for Jean François to catch it. He kisses me, full on the lips. It’s tender, light, and over way too fast.

  Before I can regain my composure, he’s gone. His taste—a mixture of the hops and barley from the beer he had earlier and something spicy yet fresh—lingers long after he leaves.

  Waking at six o’clock in the morning is pure torture, particularly because we’d only just gone to sleep. Erin insisted we stay at the bar ‘til last call, then we dragged our sorry asses back to the hotel over two and a half hours ago.

  “I’m too old for this,” Sin croaks from across the room. She’s slumped over the side of her bed, her blonde hair disheveled, head in hand.

  “I need coffee,” Erin whines.

  “You said it, you get it,” Tamsin and I groggily deliver in unison. Our directive takes me back to our school days when that was just our thing. Erin growls, tosses back her comforter, and stands. “Dammit, when am I going to learn to keep my damn mouth shut?”

  Despite the achiness and fatigue, I giggle. Erin was always bad at this game. She stomps to the washroom with clothes in hand while we both flop back into bed. I’m so glad I packed yesterday—it means I have another fifteen minutes of shut-eye before I must get dressed.

  By the time Erin returns with our coffees, Tamsin and I are as ready as we’ll ever be in our current state. I’m in comfy clothes—leggings and a baggy off-the-shoulder sweater—and my hair is in a messy bun.

  Before I can take the little green thingy that keeps the coffee warm out of my lid, there’s a knock at our door. Erin’s closest and flings the door wide open; Sam stands in the doorway, looking like every woman’s fantasy. His brown hair is slightly wet, likely from just showering, and he’s clean shaven. His black faded jeans mold to his long, sculpted legs and his white fitted t-shirt defines his firm, broad chest. The pièce de résistance is the leather jacket casually slung over his shoulder. He looks like he just walked off the runway. Be still my heart. If I weren’t hungover, I’d think my lightheadedness was because of him.

  “Sam,” Erin cheers. She’s obviously had her mandatory espresso shot before the coffee she has in her hand. She’s way too chipper for having gotten only two hours sleep.

  “Ladies.” His voice is deep and smooth.

  His eyes flit from Erin to Tamsin, then rest on me. Just a look from his piercing eyes has me undone. With my lack of sleep, no makeup, and grungy attire, I’m in no shape to face him.

  Erin grabs her suitcase, rolling it ‘til she stands directly in front of Sam. “Lover boy, you blew it last night. Good luck,” she states with a pat to his pec.

  Sam arches his brow and Erin matches his expression in jest as she walks out of the room. Sin is right behind her.

  “Tamsin,” Sam warmly says with a tip of his chin.

  “Sin,” I call to her. She veers back to look at me questioningly. I don’t have to ask— it’s in her face. “It was you.”

  “Me? What are you talking about?”

  “I thought it was Erin who told Sam our room number the other day, but it was you, and you told him when we were leaving today.” Her face flames and that’s all the confirmation I need. “What happened to chicks before dicks?”

  Sam coughs, eyes wide, shocked at my crass comment. Sin laughs and winks at me.

  “Exactly,” she responds, like that answers everything, before leaving us alone.

  Sam enters the suite, shutting the door behind him.

  “Hi.” His tone is low and heavy.

  I fidget with a loose strand of my hair, trying to weave it back into my haphazard bun. Covering my hand with his, he steadies then lowers it. With his other hand, his finger twines around the wayward lock, intent on wrapping my hair around his finger.

  “So soft and shiny,” he rasps. “I told you last night, we’re not done.” His voice is soft like silk against my skin, and shivers cascade down my spine.

  “Sam, this was two people getting to know each other over a couple of wonderful meals. It’s time for me to go home.” One side of his mouth quirks upward and he shakes his head at me. “Besides, you’re too young,” I add, like that says it all.

  Sighing, he releases my hair to rest his hands on my shoulders. “Olivia, it’s only a number. It doesn’t matter.” He gently squeezes.

  “It matters to me,” I try again, more firmly, hoping he gets my point.

  “Why?”

  He’s observing me like he’ll find the answer in my eyes, in the way I hold myself. The weird thing is, I’m not able to answer. My reason is something intangible. I can’t name it or put words to it; it’s a feeling, gnawing at my insides.

  It’s my insecurities. It’s not only his age, although that definitely bugs me. It’s that he’s young and beautiful. He can have whoever he wants. He could leave, and while that’s true of any relationship…he’s younger, and it feels like that makes it more of a possibility.

  “I’m not ready for a relationship,” I declare, gentle yet boldly honest.

  My words contradict the growing disquiet at the actuality of my fears. Having been married for twenty years, being single and now faced with the prospect of dating is causing some serious jitters. That’s natural, isn’t it? Yet standing in front of Sam, this man who likes me, it seems weak and stupid. Stupid to walk away from the possibilities.

  “Okay.” His hands soothingly glide across my shoulders, up the sides of my neck. His thumbs caress my jaw as his nose delicately rubs against mine. A small whimper passes my lips and my eyes flutter close. I’m a fool.

  “What if we just take it one day at a time? Let’s not label it. We’ll just enjoy it,” he says.

  My eyes open. His intense pale ones are so close, inches from me as his forehead comes to rest against mine. Our lips are practically touching.

  “Olivia, you see, I like you. I want to explore this. I don’t want to walk away, and age, distance, you name it—it doesn’t matter, not to me. I want to get to know you.” Each word strokes my heart, touches me and floods me with warmth.

  The irony of this situation is not lost on me. Sam easily and willingly shares with me. He has no hang-ups or trepidation being honest about his feelings or showing affection. I’ve spent years with a man who couldn’t give me that, a man who stopped showing me that I mattered, and now, here I am contemplating turning my back on Sam, a man who is giving me just that.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. As I inhale deeply, his scent wafts over me. My lips touch his, feather light, as I whisper, “Okay. No labels. Let’s just take this nice and slow.”

  As soon as my terrifyingly honest words leave my mouth, my heart rate spikes and I break out in a cold sweat. Before I can overthink it, take it back or panic, he slides his hands deeper into my hair. Weaving his fingers along my scalp, gently but insistently, he tugs me closer to him. My breath hitches and shallows at the press of my chest against his.

  My nipples tingle, my nerve endings on fire. His assertive move ignites my craving, the one I’m so desperately trying to suppress. Like a match to a bonfire, his touch kindles my desire, starting small and mounting, smoldering deep within me.

  My fists clench his tee, anchoring myself to his hard body as my knees weaken, sway, then buckle when his mouth seizes mine, blistering and consuming. Pulling me closer, he clutches me tightly, his tongue hard and demanding, coaxing my lips apart. Willingly, I give him entry, losing myself to his mind-blowing kiss.

  He kisses me until I’m breathless, demolishing all kisses before. Virgin lips. Never been kissed. Taken. His lips mark me. Consume me. Raging want and a mighty need build within me as a deep moan escapes my lips.

  Sam slows and his lips stop moving but remain on mine. Pressing his forehead against mine, his eyes open at the same time mine do. The wonderful crinkle at the corner of
his eyes hint at his imminent smile before the upturn of his mouth against my lips. His look is reverent, like I am the sun, the moon, and the stars.

  “Olivia, we’re just getting started,” he gruffly claims against my mouth, kissing me with his words.

  Carefully releasing his fingers from my hair, he steps back. His release leaves a vacancy and a chill, not only at the nape of my neck, but deep in my core. The need to stay connected is strong. Sam places his hands on my shoulders, and the icy void vanishes.

  His thumb rubs a small patch of skin on my neck. Unable to simply walk away, I kiss his scruffy cheek, not daring to go near his lips. As much as I want to, we will never leave this hotel room if I do.

  With another light kiss to my forehead, he releases me. The distance is vast and icy. I shiver, quickly brushing it away before he grabs my suitcase and takes my hand.

  As the hotel door inches closed behind us, I shriek, remembering my coffee. Diving for the narrowing crack in the door, Sam reacts quickly, wedging his foot in the opening. With my coffee in hand, I smile with gratitude.

  In the elevator, we’re still close, hand in hand, comfortably silent. Apart from my quickening pulse and my jittery stomach, everything is normal, though I’m still reeling from our knee-weakening kiss.

  With my first sip, the dark, hot elixir hits my tongue; my taste buds rejoice and I release a low, satisfied moan. Sam snaps his head my way, want ablaze in the depths of his eyes. His gaze lands on my mouth.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, embarrassed. “It’s my first taste of coffee for the day and I so need it.”

  He chuckles. “I get it. Just go easy on me. You’re leaving and your sounds, first in the room, and now…” He pauses as I look on in eager anticipation. “You’re killing me over here. What I’d like to do to you…”

  His words linger without further explanation, like a tease and a promise. It’s my turn to rake my eyes over his face, stopping at his lips. I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking about the same thing: our kiss, the best kiss of my life.

  Unable to resist, I latch onto his shoulders, on my toes, and pull him in for another soul-searing kiss. His mouth captures mine and for a fleeting, breath-catching moment, I worry how I’ll be able to cope without this for the weeks we’ll be apart. We haven’t even begun and I’m already hooked.

  Olivia

  “Olivia, what do you think about changing around this area so the stools are over there and the chaise lounge is here?” Mrs. Preston calls from across the open space, which will one day be the lounge of her hotel spa.

  With a deep sigh, I search for inner strength and sanity. While winning this project is the biggest coup of my infant career and has already brought in new clients and created buzz for Cassidy Designs, working with Eliza Preston is challenging on good days.

  She has an opinion on everything, yet changes her mind like the wind. We only just agreed on the final layout of the spa, for the fifth time, last night, and I’ve already ordered a significant amount of the materials. There is no room for changes at this point.

  “Well, Eliza, we could. It would certainly look fine. You do recall we spoke yesterday about having the stools over there”—I point to the original location—“because, as you pointed out, it would allow for more seating, give more open space for the guests, and separate the conversation area from those who want to relax.”

  I hold my breath and hope she buys my positioning. She didn’t point that out, I did, but making her think it was her idea is my last-ditch effort. I’m not sure I can have this conversation for the millionth time.

  “Oh yes, thank you for reminding me dear. I don’t know what I was thinking. That makes perfect sense.” She waves her dainty fingers in the air with a smile. “Well, I’m going to get out of your hair,” she says, heading for the elevator. Yes.

  “Bye, Eliza. Talk to you soon.” My phone rings; glancing down at the screen, it’s Sam. “Olivia Cassidy,” I answer in my most professional voice.

  We’ve been talking and texting since Montreal and I’ve been enjoying every minute of it. I haven’t felt like this in years, and can’t help but feel younger and more alive as my interactions with Sam take me back to when I was in college, or even high school. Our flirting and daily talks remind me of the fun of dating.

  “Ms. Cassidy, just the person I was looking for.” Sam’s deep, sexy voice sends tingles down my spine. “I’ve been thinking about you all day and wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Sam.” I sigh. “It’s great to hear your voice too. I’m glad you called,” I boldly admit.

  Why is it always easier to be truthful over the phone or via text? I’m pretty sure if Sam were here in person, while I’d love to see him, I wouldn’t be nearly as bold.

  “What’s new with you? Did you get the shipment in today?”

  Butterflies take flight in my stomach because he remembered I was stressing about a shipment. I don’t know what to do with that. I can’t recall a time when Pete would have remembered, let alone cared, about any of my concerns, then to actually ask me about it? I’m blown away.

  “It came on time.” The relief is clear in my voice. “And better yet, everything I ordered was there. You should have seen me screaming and dancing like a crazy woman down in the docking area this morning.” I laugh.

  “Dancing? Hmmm, I definitely would’ve liked to see that. Were you alone?”

  “What? Why?”

  “I want to know who might have seen your gorgeous body swaying and moving. I don’t like the idea of other guys getting a look at you.”

  “Sam.” I quickly dismiss his caveman comment, although the edge to his voice spreads warmth throughout me. “Really? I was alone.”

  “Good. You’re going to have to dance for me sometime.” His smooth voice skitters across my skin.

  “Sam.” I blush, even though I’m alone and he’s nearly six hundred kilometers away. “Tell me about your day.” I change the subject.

  “My day was okay, but I’d much rather talk about you. What are you doing now?”

  “I’m at the hotel, finishing a few things, then I’m meeting a prospective client for dinner.”

  “Dinner? Do you usually have dinner with potential clients?”

  “No, but he’s leaving for Europe tomorrow and this was the only time he could see me within the next month.”

  “He?” It’s obvious where this is going. He asked me similar questions about a week ago when I told him I was going to the theatre with a male client. I had to explain it was strictly business and that the man was married. I was doing the couple a favour, and it was also an opportunity for me to meet new people and promote my business.

  “Sam, they’re an older couple who want their cottage renovated. I met the wife a few days ago, but the husband couldn’t be there. She’s in Europe and he’s following her, he leaves tomorrow.”

  “How much older?”

  “Sam! Stop this.” I laugh. “It’s a business dinner and it’ll likely be over in an hour.”

  Sam laughs too. “Sorry, Olivia. I don’t like that I haven’t seen you in weeks. When I hear all these things you’re doing, all these men you’re meeting, it’s just…” He exhales. “It’s silly, I agree, and I won’t do it again. I guess this long-distance thing is new to me.”

  “Me too.” While I’m not thrilled with his questions, I must admit that I like the attention. I like that he cares. “And I get it, but you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m not looking to start anything with anyone else. What we have is working out just fine.”

  “Just fine? That’s it?”

  “More than fine, amazing!” We both laugh.

  The rest of the week flies by with work, family, and friends. Sam and I continue to connect at least once daily, and my business is doing well. In addition to the hotel project, I’ve two smaller ones in progress and half a dozen lined up for the next six months. There’s always the risk that one or two might fall through, but for now, I’m basking in the glory of how
well I’m doing.

  Today has been non-stop and I’m exhausted. It’s only as I step out of the shower that I realize I haven’t looked at my phone since well before lunch. I put it in my bag after leaving Jonah’s and never took it out again.

  I worked out with Sin, refusing to forgo that no matter how hectic my day was going to be. Then from that point on, it was go, go, go.

  Wrapping the towel around me, I find my phone and see that the battery is dead. While it charges, I get dressed for bed, throwing on my cotton nightie.

  Instinctively, I know that if anything bad had happened or if my kids were trying to reach me, I have a land line. There’d be messages if anything was wrong, but I can’t deny feeling like I should know better. No matter how busy my day is, my kids need to be able to reach me.

  After about twenty minutes of trying to put all the possible scenarios out of my mind, I check the phone. There’s enough juice to turn it on and check my messages. There’s nothing from my kids, but I do have several texts from various people, including a few from Sam.

  Sam: Livvy, are you having a good day?

  Four hours later:

  Sam: Hey, you ignoring me? ☺

  Another five hours later:

  Sam: Olivia, I know you’re busy, just let me know you’re okay

  My heart sinks when the unnecessary stress I’ve caused him washes over me. This is the first time I’ve taken this long to respond, and it hits me that part of my trepidation about not checking my phone was my concern with possibly missing a call or text from him. I’m a lovesick teenager.

  I call him, but it goes to voicemail. It’s after ten o’clock, he’s likely in the kitchen at one of his restaurants.

  Me: Sam, I’m okay. Sorry for not responding sooner. Had a crazy day and stupidly left my phone in my purse. It was a case of out of sight, out of mind. I just tried calling you. How’s your day been?

  He immediately responds.

  Sam: Better now that I know you’re okay. Gimme a sec.