by Karen Booth
His hips moved faster and his breaths followed suit. Mindy was on the edge, but she wanted to wait for him. She wanted to get there at the same time. Still, her body was chipping away at her resolve, going tight. Then tighter. And even tighter again. It felt as though fireworks were going off in her body, a chaotic onslaught of electric pulses. Sam froze for a moment and buried his face in her neck, then he took labored thrusts, pulsing inside her over and over again. Mindy didn’t dare let go of her legs around him.
When he tried to roll to her side, she followed.
Sam laughed. “It’s okay to let go, you know.”
“I don’t want to,” she said, kissing his chest and drinking in his smell. She’d just had two powerful orgasms and she wanted only more of him.
“Well, I’m going to need at least a half hour to recover from that. Maybe more.”
Mindy sighed. “Okay. But I just want to stay in bed for the rest of the night, okay?”
“What about the dinner you made?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Okay. I just need to pop in some pasta, then we can eat in bed and watch TV and have sex again.”
Sam kissed her on the forehead. “Pasta and sex. You really are a dream woman, aren’t you?”
He traipsed off to the bathroom and Mindy grabbed one of Sam’s T-shirts, then scurried out to the kitchen, turning on the flame under the pot of water she’d left out earlier. The sauce was already prepared. It wouldn’t take much more than ten minutes once the water came to a boil.
Sam appeared moments later in his boxers and poured them each another glass of wine. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in just a T-shirt. I’m so used to the designer version of you.”
“I can go get my robe if you want. I just grabbed this because it was quicker. I’m highly motivated by the idea of eating in bed.”
Sam grinned. “No. I like it. It gives me this idea of what you might have been like when you were younger.” He set down his wineglass and formed his fingers into a frame, peering at her through it. “I see seventeen-year-old Mindy Eden, making spaghetti in the kitchen of the family mansion.”
“I wouldn’t call it a mansion. It was a penthouse.” Mindy always got a little defensive when the privilege of her youth was brought up. Yes, she’d had anything material she could have ever wanted, but there hadn’t been a lot of love and affection in that household, aside from what was between Sophie and Mindy. It was a big part of the reason they were so close.
“What were you like as a teenager?” he asked.
“Pretty much the way I am now. I’ve always been focused on accomplishing things. Staying busy. Keeping myself occupied. Otherwise, I get bored.”
“So you weren’t running around with your friends chasing after guys?”
Mindy gave the pasta sauce a stir. “Oh, no. I did my fair share of that.”
“Lots of boyfriends?”
“Lots of dates. Not many who stuck around very long. I had a tendency to pick guys who thought like my dad. Guys who didn’t like the fact that I was driven. They wanted a girl who would sit back and let them be at center stage. I’m just not like that. I don’t have to be the center of attention, but I’m not going to set aside my dreams for a guy.”
“How could your dad not admire that in a daughter?”
“He had a lot of preconceived ideas about what a girl should be like. I also think he wished I’d been a boy. I was the firstborn. I wasn’t much of an heir in his mind.” Mindy fought back the sad feelings that came along with this topic. She had enough confused thoughts and guilt about her dad to last a lifetime. She’d never felt loved by him. Not once. Still, she wanted to share this part of herself with Sam. Maybe it would help him see that she wasn’t as indestructible as he thought.
“I guess you eventually got past the stage of picking guys like your dad?”
“Not really. Honestly, you’re the first one who wasn’t entirely like him. Of course, it was a little different with you. You pursued me. I’m not sure I would have had the guts to approach you the night we met.”
Sam reared back his head. “You don’t strike me as a woman who has any problem introducing herself to a man.”
She smiled and lifted the top off the pot of water, dumping in half a box of bucatini pasta. She gave it a healthy dose of salt, a stir, and set the timer for nine minutes. “You’re a little too intimidating, Sam.”
“Physically, maybe. But I’m not once you get to know me.”
She shook her head. “No. You can still be intimidating. You play things very close to the vest. You get closed off sometimes. In that way, you’re a lot like my dad.”
“I don’t mean to be that way. It’s just my personality.”
He turned away from her, walking across the kitchen, getting a water glass from the cabinet and filling it at the fridge. It was a perfectly innocent act—he was thirsty. But she couldn’t help but feel like he was doing the exact thing she’d just brought up. He was closing himself off, when all she wanted was to talk. He’d mentioned in passing at Sophie’s wedding that his mom had passed away when he was a teen. She wondered if he’d open up to her about it.
“What about you? What were you like as a teenager?” she asked.
He drew a deep breath through his nose, then downed the rest of his water. “Sullen. Moody.”
Mindy didn’t want to immediately jump to the conclusion that he was that way because of his mother. Surely there had been some happy times. “What about girls?”
“Not until college.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Mindy was getting the distinct impression that he did not want to talk about this. She didn’t want to push. Not when they were having such a perfect night. She wasn’t going to ruin it with questions and prying. If Sam wanted to open up to her, he would. She only hoped it would happen eventually. She needed to be close to him. In more ways than one.
Nine
By Sunday night, Mindy was cooking again. She couldn’t help it. It was the only way she could cope with her anxiety, and it was much healthier than downing entire bottles of wine. Sam had gone for a run, which left Mindy to do nothing but think about the week ahead. Being pulled in so many directions was making her feel like she was losing her mind. She couldn’t handle the constant push and pull—she was stuck between Eden’s and BMO, stuck between wanting to believe Matthew and not trusting him at all, and most difficult of all was the spot she was in between her sisters and Sam. Sophie and Emma would both be back at Eden’s tomorrow, which meant that a storm was moving in.
She and Sam had given themselves a week. Tomorrow morning was supposed to be the end. Logic said that she should move her things out, that these seven days had been nothing but a fantasy fulfilled. But that thinking was too focused on logic and right now she was feeling more like she wanted to follow her heart. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay put. But was that her wanting to hide from her problems? It wasn’t like she and Sam were ready to move in together. Not for real. Plus, she knew exactly what Sophie and Emma would say if they knew where she was right now. Forget the bet—even if that had never existed, they would be shaking her out of her dream state, reminding her that she had deluded herself many times when it came to Sam. She and Sam had enjoyed stretches of happiness before and it always went south. Always.
Sam’s home phone rang, and Mindy jumped at the sound. Sam always got calls on his cell. She hadn’t heard this line ring once while she’d been here. She shuffled to the far side of the kitchen counter and squinted at the caller ID, but it displayed Private Number, so she let it go to voice mail. Back at the stove, tending some sautéed mushrooms, the phone stopped ringing, but only for a few seconds before it started up again. Once more, Private Number. Whoever was calling certainly wanted to get through. Maybe there was some sort of emergency. Maybe it was Sam and his cell was acti
ng up again.
“Hello?” she answered, cradling the receiver between her ear and shoulder while carefully trimming the ends of green beans.
“Uh, hi. I’m looking for Sam. Who’s this?”
It was a woman’s voice, one Mindy did not recognize. “Who’s this?”
“Sam’s sister. Isabel.”
Sister? Sam had never, ever mentioned that he had a sister. Not even the other night when she’d tried to ask what he was like as a teenager. What the hell was going on?
“I don’t want to be a jerk, but again, I’d like to ask who’s answering my brother’s phone,” Isabel said. “And is he there? I need to speak to him.”
Mindy stopped working and set the knife on the marble counter. “Sorry. I was in the middle of making dinner and got distracted. This is Mindy. Mindy Eden.” For a moment, she considered whether or not she should label herself—girlfriend? Houseguest?
“Oh, my God. You’re the one who broke my brother’s heart.”
“Excuse me?” This was all too much to process at one time. A sister? And Mindy as the heartbreaker? More like the other way around. It was officially time to pour herself a glass of wine. Sam might have kept his sister hidden from her, but he’d apparently had no problem telling his sister about her.
“He told me all about you,” Isabel said. “I know every last thing about you and your crazy family.”
Mindy didn’t even know what to say. Part of her wanted to defend herself, part of her knew that it was the truth—she loved her family, but crazy things did tend to be part and parcel of being an Eden. “Sam’s not here right now. He went for a run. Would you like me to tell him that you called?”
Isabel laughed quietly. “You’re changing the subject. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just very protective of Sam. I don’t like to see him get hurt.”
“Understandable. I’m the same way about my sisters.” Mindy turned off the burner on the stove and took a seat at the kitchen peninsula. “I don’t know how to say this, but he never told me about you. He never mentioned anyone but his mom. And that was only in passing.”
“Interesting.”
“What? Tell me why that’s interesting.” Mindy realized how desperate she was for information. It was like a portal into Sam had opened up before her and she wanted to peer inside before it closed. “Please.”
“If he didn’t tell you about me, it only means that he doesn’t trust you. Not completely, anyway. Sam’s secretive, but most of that comes from things that happened when we were kids. He had to grow up very fast. And I couldn’t always be there to help.”
None of this was answering anything. It was only leaving Mindy with more questions. It was also saddling her with a growing sadness, one so big it was threatening to swallow her whole. Sam didn’t trust her. That wasn’t a guess. She had hard evidence of it. “Can you tell me more?”
“If you know about the fundraiser he’s hosting, that explains a lot of it.”
“No. I don’t know anything about it.” Now her sadness was becoming outright despair. She’d really fooled herself, hadn’t she? She’d thought she and Sam were getting closer this week. Now she knew she was wrong.
“Well, you might want to ask him about that. Or not. I don’t know the state of your relationship, but considering the fact that you’re answering his home phone, I’d guess you two are back together.”
“It’s complicated.” Mindy hardly knew Isabel. She wasn’t going to offer more.
“I’m guessing he would say the same thing.”
“Probably.”
“Well, let him know that I called, please. I tried his cell but I couldn’t get through.”
“I will.” Mindy said goodbye and returned the phone to its cradle, but was left with a more unsettled feeling than she’d had before she answered the call. She’d been looking forward to a nice night with Sam. Clearly there were things that needed to be discussed.
From the other side of the apartment, Mindy heard Sam’s front door close. “Hello?” Sam called out, appearing in the kitchen moments later, sweaty from his run and with a wide grin across his face. Mindy simply watched him as he closed in on her, the unease from the phone call abating for the moment, replaced by the thrill of being in the same space with him.
Sam surveyed the landscape of the countertops and island, where Mindy’s cooking project was strewn about. “Hi. I’m looking for Mindy Eden. She’s tall. Gorgeous. Real ball of fire. The last time I saw her was a little less than two hours ago and she had not yet turned my kitchen into a war zone.”
She stepped closer to him, feeling even more conflicted than she had when she’d come home to start dinner. She was over the moon to see him, but there were uncomfortable subjects ahead. Big decisions to be made. “You’re funny. So funny.” She didn’t care that he was sweaty. She just wanted to be close to him. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself against the hard plane of his chest. It was hard to escape the feeling that this was where she belonged, but was that just wishful thinking? Was she pinning hope on a situation that wasn’t real? That didn’t really exist? Isabel’s phone call right before Sam walked in the door certainly felt like a sign. It was without question a reminder—Sam had secrets. She knew it.
The kitchen timer buzzed, pulling them out of their quiet moment. “That’s the gratin. Time to take it out of the oven.” She hustled over to the stove.
“Smells amazing.”
Mindy placed the ceramic casserole dish on the stove, wanting to get past the mental block that was stuck in her head. “Before I forget, you got a phone call.”
“You answered my phone?”
“Well, yeah. I’ve never heard it ring before. It startled me. And I guess I thought it might be important. Your cell phone is always acting up.”
“Next time, you can feel free to let it go to voice mail.”
Now this was officially not sitting well with Mindy. “It was your sister. Isabel? The sister I had no idea you had.”
Sam craned his neck, looking up at the ceiling, drawing a breath through his nose. “I really wish you hadn’t answered the phone.”
“Do you want to tell me about her? Or would you rather keep expressing the idea that I have somehow crossed the line by daring to answer your phone?”
“Well, you did cross the line. I would never do that at your place.”
“So you trust me to sleep in your bed or make dinner in your kitchen, but you don’t trust me to take a message? You trust me with a key to your apartment, but you don’t trust me with this?” Mindy was more than hurt. She’d thought she and Sam had been making progress. Moving forward. Now it all felt like a lie. “I’m sorry, but that’s insulting, and I can’t help but be hurt. You have a sister and you never told me about her.”
“Min, I really don’t think you should be lecturing me about trust. It’s more than a little hypocritical considering that there have been many times when as soon as something goes wrong, you look to me.”
Sam was right. He was absolutely right. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I shouldn’t have answered your phone. Especially when we both know that what’s between us has been temporary.”
“Oh, right. Tomorrow is the day you surrender to your sisters.”
“Don’t you understand? I’m not giving in to my sisters. I’m not letting them determine my future, just because they think they know what’s right for me. I’m not letting them keep me from everything I’ve worked so hard for, but I need to be able to do it on my own terms. No guilt.”
“You realize a future is about more than what you do for work all day.”
Mindy just looked at him, his words tumbling around in her head and getting stuck in a perpetual loop. “You live for your work.”
“I do, but after this week, I’m starting to see that maybe I want more.”
; More of what? Her? Was that possible? If so, that meant that he needed to stop hiding things from her. “If you’re suggesting you want more with me, I don’t see how we’re going to make that work if you’re getting upset with me for answering the phone. And especially not when you’re keeping family members a secret, especially ones who know about me. Who know about us.”
“Oh, no. Did Isabel say something?”
“She referred to me as the woman who broke your heart.”
“She doesn’t have much of a filter. I’m sorry.”
“Is that true, Sam? Did you talk to her about me? Did you say that? And I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me about her. I don’t think you realize how much it hurts to have you shut me out like that.”
Sam then did the same thing he did the other night—he turned away from her. Except this time, he walked right out of the room, over to the bank of tall windows in the living room. A person could accuse Sam Blackwell of many things, but he did not shy away from confrontation. You could call him out on the most horrible thing in the world and he would own up to it if the deed was his own. This secretiveness was making Mindy sick to her stomach. This was all wrong. “Sam? Are you going to talk to me?”
He shook his head, not looking at her.
“Are you serious?” She stepped closer and attempted to look him in the eye, but he avoided her. And he did not say a thing.
Mindy couldn’t stay. She couldn’t endure this. Not the quiet. This was the sort of thing her dad always did when he was angry—he’d kill everyone with silence. It was the cruelest form of punishment to have someone refuse to engage. “If you aren’t going to talk to me, I can’t stay.”
Sam didn’t move. Not a single twitch of a muscle. He just stood there in the dim light of the living room, staring off through the windows at the city.