by Michele Hauf
He stopped. Girlfriend—was that what Cleo was? It seemed too tame a word for the way he felt about her. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman, but there was more to it than that. He liked her. She made him laugh. She brought out his good side, the side Lena had all but destroyed. He hoped they could build on that. It wasn’t the worst basis for a relationship.
What if she’d discovered the truth? Would she give him a chance to plead his case? It wouldn’t be easy convincing her to give him another chance. He would grovel if he had to—press or no press.
Sam turned on the light in the foyer, sat on the chair, and removed his wet shoes and socks. The fatigue he’d pushed away thinking of holding her in his arms dropped on him like a heavy cloak. Maybe he would have a shower before deciding where to look for her. She was in the hotel somewhere. How hard could it be to find the most beautiful woman in the place? The muted sound of voices came from the living room. She must have left the television on—she’d probably watched it, seen it all, including his name. Damn.
He padded barefoot through the foyer, passed the glass table with its large bouquet of roses, and headed toward the sitting area. He saw the room service table near the couch, and his stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since their picnic lunch in the canyon. He noticed the wine bottle on the table. Cleo or Liz must have taken it out of the fridge.
He walked over to the coffee table to pour himself a glass of wine and stopped. Joy filled him, and his weariness evaporated. Cleo hadn’t left him. She’d fallen asleep. She lay curled up in a ball on the couch. His heart melted at the sight of her. He bent down to wake her and saw the telltale swelling around her eyes indicating she’d been crying. For him? He didn’t remember anyone ever doing that. He knelt and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“Wake up, sweetheart.”
Her startled eyes flew open, and she sat up quickly and flung her arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of her.
“You’re back! Thank God, you’re back.” She burst into tears.
Sam stayed there, held prisoner by arms as strong as any steel bands he could envision. She cried as if she’d never stop.
“It’s okay, Cleo. I’m here. I’m safe. It’s over. I meant to call, but everything was a little crazy. I was going to phone when I got into the car, but it seems I left my cell phone on the helicopter.” At least he hoped he had. He didn’t care about anything on it but the picture the man at the dam had taken of the two of them.
She continued to sob and he managed to pick her up, sit on the sofa, and pull her into his lap. He rocked her and mumbled what he hoped were soothing words as she cried her heart out. Eventually, her tears abated and she sup-supped the way his sisters always did after a crying jag.
He continued to hold her, letting the last of her tears add to the wetness of his shirt, and rubbing circles on her back to calm her. It took all of his concentration to keep his body from reacting to her nearness, but the last thing he needed right now was to scare her with a hard-on. He noted the empty glasses on the table and wondered if the alcohol were adding to her distress. He knew some people got weepy when they drank, but that hadn’t been her case last night.
“Shush. It’s okay.” She was no longer crying, and her hands playing in his hair made him yearn for greater intimacy. He pushed her back so he could see her face.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her nose red, and her lower lip caught in her teeth. He’d never seen a more striking sight. The tears were for him, for his safety, and his heart softened.
Unable to help himself, he lowered his head. The moment his lips touched the full sweetness of hers, he was lost. A powerful longing swept through him, changing the kiss, changing everything.
12
Cleo moaned and opened to him. Sam devoured her mouth. He couldn’t hold back any longer, not when what she wanted was the same thing he did.
He moved to position her atop him. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth with a primal urgency. Hands—his and hers—were everywhere. Clothing seemed to melt off their bodies as the urgent need to be one took them both. He couldn’t think. All he could do was feel. He’d known fear tonight, and needed this to validate his existence, to prove he was alive. He’d cheated death—not by much, but he’d come out the winner. He moved his mouth down along her face to her breasts, and in turn, took each of the hard, pink buds into his mouth. She moaned, and the sound spurred him on. He laved each nub and suckled, his groin aching more each moment he denied himself. His hands traveled along her body to the neatly trimmed nest of brown curls. Whatever control he had snapped and he entered her quickly, deeply, meeting her as they climaxed in a shower of stars.
They lay panting on the couch. He held her close. When his breathing settled, he nuzzled her neck and smiled. “I’m really glad you waited for me here. This is the best homecoming I’ve had in a very long time.”
Her head lay on his chest. “I was worried about you, about those men. I saw the rescue on television. I saw you go down that ladder to get the man on the stretcher, the lightning flashing all around you. Don’t say it’s not true because I know it was you. The news people did too. They flashed your name across the screen. I was so scared.”
Her voice filled with emotion, and he was afraid she was going to cry again.
“It wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t in any real danger.” Sam sought to minimize things. He breathed a sigh of relief. They’d flashed his name, but not his position. His secret was still safe. It was ironic. Women chased him for his money, and here he was chasing one who didn’t want it.
Instead of crying as he’d expected, she pushed up and off of him, stood beside the couch, magnificent in her nudity, and he felt himself harden again. She was angry; no, she was furious. She reached for the wine bottle, poured some into her glass, and chugged it. She turned, hands on her hips, and glared at him.
“Bullshit! The reporter said you could have died! I saw that hillside collapse under you. I’m not stupid. I know how dangerous mudslides can be. Matt is definitely the world’s best pilot, managing to hold the chopper steady in those winds so you could grab that ladder. You were up to your knees in muck—another minute, and it would have been too late.” Her anger vanished replaced by concern. “What you did tonight was heroic, but don’t you ever do anything that stupid again.”
“Yes, ma’am. I promise—Scout’s honor. Now, how about we get cleaned up and go out on the town to celebrate. Six men got home safely tonight—seven if you include me.”
He looked at her wrinkled clothing on the floor next to his. “Do you have something else to wear? It looks like those will need to be cleaned before you can wear them again.”
She reddened as if she’d just realized she was naked and picked up her discarded pants to cover herself.
“Don’t! You’re gorgeous, just as I knew you would be.”
Her tongue darted out and her teeth caught her lower lip. He was as hard as a rock.
“I have a dress. I went down to my room after I saw you get aboard the helicopter. Mitch was already gone to the convention, and you did say we were going out …” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. She’d planned to stay with him and that was all that mattered.
Cleo watched Sam stand, his erection showing her exactly what she was doing to him, and what he wanted to do to her. He swept her up into his arms, cradling her naked body against his chest, and she felt his shaft thicken as her bottom brushed against it. Heat pooled within her.
“Have you ever had the pleasure of making love in a multi-jet shower?”
Desire and curiosity flared within her. “I’ve never made love in any kind of shower,” she admitted.
He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re in for a treat. There’s nothing like getting your back, and all the rest of your delectable parts washed by someone else.”
“Sam, I don’t have a lot of experience with … things.” She tangled her fingers in the soft brown hair on his chest an
d bit her lip. She had to stop doing that. it would end up all puffy and swollen if it already wasn’t, and while collagen lip implants might be in style for some, they weren’t for her.
“Sweetheart, that’s not a problem. We can explore and learn together. For example, do you know what you do to me when you bite your lip like that? I was so hard at breakfast this morning, I couldn’t stand up to greet you. After this shower, you may never want to shower alone again.”
Sam carried her into the bathroom. He flipped on the fluorescent light and set her on her feet. She looked at him in the glow of the bathroom lights. He had a magnificent body. She saw a scar on his lower abdomen and her finger reached out to trace it.
“What happened?” She watched his abdomen quiver under her hand and his penis jumped in response.
“You make it hard to think when you touch me like that. Nothing special, I had my appendix removed a few years ago. Not a war wound, I can assure you. Turn around, and let me undo your hair. I’ve fantasized about doing that all day.”
The heat in his eyes brought a rosy glow to her skin, but she wasn’t embarrassed. She wanted this just as she’d wanted him a short while ago. He removed the elastic at the end of her braid and slowly unplaited her hair. When he’d finished, she turned around to look at him, bent her head, and shook out her hair. He groaned and she looked up at him.
“I love your hair like that. It’s the first thing I noticed about you. You should always wear it loose. The first night I saw you, I dreamt of you. I imagined you naked beside me with your hair spread across the pillow. My imagination can’t hold a candle to the real thing.”
Sam turned on the shower and Cleo gasped as the cold spray erupted from the jets around them hit her. She felt the water grow warmer and when he reached for her, she went into his arms willingly. He captured her mouth, his kiss as ardent and needy as the one he’d given her earlier, and she responded eagerly. She opened to him, let him sip from her, and when he gave her the opening, she did the same to him. She loved the taste and texture of his mouth, the sensation of power she had when her tongue twisted and danced with his. She felt his erection grow harder against her and anticipated him filling her again. Why had she ever thought sex was overrated? Obviously, she simply hadn’t had the right partner. Sex with Sam was awesome.
Sam broke the kiss and slowly moved away from her. He put his hands on her shoulders and led her to the main showerhead where he angled her directly under it, letting the hot water sluice down her body. She watched him reach for the bar of soap and lather his hands. Once his palms were covered in thick suds, he approached her.
“Turn around again, and I’ll wash your back. I guarantee, you’ll enjoy this.”
Eager to experience everything she could, she smiled demurely and obeyed. With soap-covered hands, he caressed her skin and massaged and soaped her from her ankles to her neck. The slow circular motion of his hands increased her yearning. She felt his erection straining against her back. He turned her around to face him and repeated the process. Her breasts were engorged, her nipples so hard and tight they hurt. He allowed the water to rinse the soap off them, and then took one and then the other hard bud into his mouth. She groaned.
“I’ve wanted to make love to you ever since the moment I saw you in the bar with Mitch.”
He bent down and captured her lips, his need fueling her desire for him. Her breathing was as ragged as his, and when he slipped one finger into her, the tension that had been building within her threatened to burst. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. He leaned her against the shower wall and plunged into her, and she shattered. She clenched around him and cried out his name. He spilled himself into her. Whatever existed between them was something she didn’t understand, but she was powerless to deny it. How could she let it go?
The jets of water continued to rain down on their sated bodies, as they waited for the Earth to resume its orbit.
“You were right,” she whispered, her voice husky in the aftermath of their union. “That was more breathtaking than the Skywalk.”
Sam shook his head. “You are incredible. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve you in my life.”
“I feel the same way.” She shivered.
“Come on. Let’s get you warmed up.”
“I was pretty warm a minute ago.” Cleo smiled coyly.
“You’ve turned me into a superman. Let’s see if I can warm you up once more.”
Sam picked her up, and carried her into the bedroom and over to the bed. She loved being in his arms. When she saw he was about to lay her on the bed, she cried out.
“Sam, stop! I’m all wet. My hair will wet the pillows.”
“I’ll call room service and get others.”
He put her down and stood there looking down at her. Desire and need was raw in his eyes just as it had been earlier, and she realized she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
“This is the way I saw you in my dreams,” Sam whispered. “Let me worship you.”
Cleo groaned, turned over, and slowly opened her eyes, momentarily confused by the unfamiliar room. Where was she? As her vision adjusted to the dimness and her brain kicked in, she recognized Sam’s bedroom.
Her head throbbed, and as she came fully awake, the memory of what had happened, in and out of this bed last night, snapped into focus. She stretched like a cat and realized her body was stiff and there was a tenderness she’d never experienced before—from the physical exertions of the past night, no doubt. How many times had they made love? Who knew it could be like that?
Maybe having more wine hadn’t been the smartest decision she’d ever made, but when he’d come back to her, safe and sound, she’d thrown caution to the wind. She’d wanted him, needed him, and as she’d expected, he’d taken her to infinity and beyond. She knew making love with a stranger made no sense. It certainly wasn’t something levelheaded Cleo James would do, but she didn’t regret one second of it. He’d turned her into a wild woman and had definitely broadened her sexual education. Cleo looked at the pillow beside her, saw the indentation where he’d slept, and reached over. It was cold. He must have wakened earlier and left her to sleep it off. She looked over to the night table and saw the clock. Eleven thirty! She’d slept most of the morning away. How could she waste even a second of her last twenty-four hours with him sleeping?
She sat up quickly, moaned, and fell back onto the bed. Her head was spinning—or was it the room. Either way, it wasn’t a pleasant sensation. She closed her eyes and forced her mind to focus. What exactly had happened last night? She concentrated so hard it hurt.
She vaguely remembered getting dressed and going out for something to eat. They’d taken the limo. It had been almost midnight, and there had been people everywhere. Sam had insisted they celebrate the rescue as well as the beginning of their relationship. They’d had more champagne. He’d talked about getting together with Liz, Jane, and Charlie, but it had only been the booze talking. After this weekend, he would be off to Wales and back on stage in August. He’d ring another woman’s bells, and she’d live the rest of her life on memories of what might have been but couldn’t be.
They’d made no promises to see one another, at least none that she remembered, but why would they? They still had tonight. She focused her mind on last night once more. They’d gone down to the Strip and moved from one casino to the next. Memories of a large video screen and fireworks flittered through her mind, and she recalled dancing in the street. Images of brightly lit casino floors and ringing bells warred in her mind with others of fancy beverages in glasses of all shapes and colors. What the hell did she drink last night? She sat up again and gripped the bed for support. Whoa! If the planet would just stop spinning a second, she would be fine.
She stood gingerly and walked to the bathroom. She washed her puffy face—too much alcohol, not enough sleep—took two acetaminophen tablets she found there, and then returned to the bedroom. Her stomach roiled.
So this was a hangover. N
ot good.
Wrapping herself in one of the bathrobes she found on the floor at the foot of the bed, she padded to the living room for a bottle of water. She stopped dead as the scent and color hit her. Given the precarious state of her stomach, the aroma of what must surely be a hundred roses nauseated her.
The room was filled with blooms of every imaginable color. Why in the world would Sam send so many? She blinked her eyes and saw a card on the table. She reached for it and opened it.
Good morning, Mrs. Mason,
I hope the headache isn’t too bad. I have business to attend to, but I’ll be back by two. Think about where you’d like to go for our honeymoon. I have a couple of suggestions.
Love,
Sam
Her heart pounded wildly. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt as if the world had stopped spinning and reversed itself. For a brief moment, she was elated. Mrs. Mason?
The wonder of it thrilled her. This time, the handwriting on the card was definitely his. It was bold and large, an extension of the man himself. She plopped into the nearest chair and stared at the note in her hand, awed by what the words implied.
She looked around the room, trying to find something to kick-start her brain. Further along the table was a picture of the two of them standing in front of a pair of white and gold wedding bells. Instant Bliss Chapel was emblazoned in gold under the picture along with the names Sam and Cleo Mason, and the date. She stared at the number. July fifth. She’d been married earlier today. You would think she would remember her own wedding. That wasn’t something a girl was supposed to forget.
She scrutinized the photograph. She and Sam were smiling, arms wrapped around each other, their left hands clasped in front of them. She wore her white eyelet dress, the silver and turquoise jewelry Sam had bought her at the Skywalk, and on her wild hair sat what was definitely a small veil. She held three red silk roses in her hand—the same three roses sitting on the table beside the photograph. Her eyes were a little glazed, but she looked deliriously happy, as did Sam beside her. In fact, he had a smug, sappy, satisfied look on his face as if he’d just gotten exactly what he’d wanted. She’d seen the look on the faces of too many five-year-olds not to recognize it.