“But we burned off ten thousand calories in the baby shop marathon,” Samara pointed out.
“Works for me,” Jenny decided, reaching for a cherry cheese Danish.
Samara took a seat across from her friend and stretched out her legs to wiggle her own toes. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve got more than the baby on your mind?”
“Because you know me so well.”
“What is it?”
Jenny sighed. “There are some things going on with the new TAKA hotel division.”
“Problems?”
“One on top of another, it seems.” She licked a smudge of icing from her finger. “There have been some nasty accusations made about Robby Axelrod, the Tokyo manager.”
“What kind of accusations?”
“Claims of extortion, bribing inspectors and cutting corners in every stage of the construction. The kinds of accusations that could destroy the business before it even gets off the ground.”
“They can’t be true.” Samara was aghast at the possibility.
“Of course they’re not true,” Jenny insisted.
But Samara thought her friend still looked worried.
“True or not, however, they need to be dealt with. And Richard and Jack have been working closely together for damage control.”
“I’m sorry, Jen.”
Her friend shrugged. “It’s his job. He loves what he does and he’s good at it. I just wish he had a little more time to focus on matters closer to home right now.”
Then she shook her head, as if to shake off her melancholic mood. “Enough about that,” she said. “Tell me about your new job.”
“Well, I’m taking pictures,” she said.
Jenny laughed, as she’d hoped she would.
“But are you having fun taking pictures?” her friend wanted to know.
“Yeah,” Samara said. “More than I expected to, actually.”
“Any prospects?”
“Prospects?”
“Men,” Jenny clarified. “I would think working at a magazine devoted to the classic car industry, you would be surrounded by hunky men.”
“There are more than a few,” she agreed, if only to appease her friend. Because the truth was, there was only one who really piqued her interest, and she wasn’t ready to share that information with Jenny just yet.
“Well, that’s something anyway,” her friend said.
“And something else?” Samara asked, waving the plate of pastries under her friend’s nose in a desperate effort to divert her attention.
“You’re the devil,” Jenny told her, and snagged a double chocolate brownie.
She crossed paths with Steven frequently over the next week at work, though Samara wasn’t sure if that was by accident or design. After going out of his way to avoid her the week before, he now had all kinds of legitimate excuses for dropping in at a photo shoot or questions when he stopped by the studio, but she thought he lingered maybe a little longer than he needed to, and the heat in his gaze left her in no doubt that he was remembering the kisses they’d shared and perhaps thinking about what might happen the next time.
Because she was sure there would be a next time. The attraction between them was too strong to ignore, though she knew they’d both made a valiant effort to do so.
They both had reasons for not wanting to get involved—Steven’s even more numerous and complicated than her own. He was still mourning his wife, a woman he’d loved for more than fifteen years; he had two children to consider, including a daughter who had made it more than clear she didn’t intend to let anyone else into the tight circle of her family.
Caitlin could be a very big obstacle to the development of any kind of relationship between Steven and Samara, but Samara didn’t blame the girl for her feelings. Though she did wonder, as the weekend approached and Steven made no mention of getting together, if he’d decided she would just be too much work. And maybe that was for the best.
So she went to a yoga class Friday after work, then ordered takeout from her favorite Chinese place before hopping into the shower.
She was just toweling off when the buzzer went from downstairs. She wrapped herself in her robe and grabbed the money she’d set out on the dresser before hitting the button to release the security lock downstairs and going to answer the door.
She wasn’t in the habit of answering the door in a robe, but she knew it would be Mr. Chang. The delivery man was an elderly brother of the restaurant owner, at least ninety years old and barely able to see past his nose, so it was unlikely he’d even notice what she was wearing. And she was too hungry to waste time finding clothes and risk having him take her order back to the restaurant.
When she opened the door, she found it was her Chinese food, but it wasn’t Mr. Change who was holding the bag in his hand. It was Steven.
She stared at him, surprised and suddenly conscious of her half-dressed state as she clutched the open neck of her robe.
“Are you moonlighting for Mr. Chang now?” she asked him.
“Whatever gets me in your door,” he said. Then, when she only held out her hand for the bag, “You are going to let me in, aren’t you?”
“I’m not exactly dressed for company.”
His eyes skimmed over her slowly, approvingly. His lips curved. “I have no objections to the way you’re not dressed.”
“What are you doing here, Steven?”
“For reasons I cannot even begin to fathom, Richard and Jenny invited the kids to spend the weekend with them, and I was on my way home after dropping them off when I realized I didn’t want to go home to an empty house.” His eyes locked with hers, and she saw the reflection of the needs that churned inside of her in his. “I wanted to see you.”
“You’re angling for an invitation to share my kung pao chicken, aren’t you?”
“I am definitely hungry,” he admitted.
The undercurrents in his words and the intensity of his gaze made her pulse skip, then race. She knew he was talking about more than food. She also knew—and appreciated—that he was leaving the final decision to her. And she knew that her decision had been made the first time she ever kissed him, the first time he’d ever held her in his arms and she’d felt as if she’d found the place where she belonged.
Maybe it was foolish to believe in such things, to let herself hope they could somehow overcome the obstacles between them and build a future together. But she wanted a chance to try, so she moved away from the door. “Since you seem to be holding my dinner hostage, you might as well bring it in.”
She led the way to the kitchen, her heart hammering harder with every step, as if aware they were moving not just into her apartment but toward something from which they wouldn’t be able to turn back.
As she reached into the cupboard for plates, she was conscious of Steven standing behind her. She heard him set the bag down, then felt his hands on her hips.
The dishes clattered to the counter.
She could feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of her robe. His hands moved lower, skimming over the curve of her buttocks, the tops of her thighs, then upward again. The slide of cool silk against her bare skin was deliciously erotic, the confident stroke of his strong hands incredibly arousing, and her fingers had to grip the edge of the counter for balance as the world seemed to shift beneath her feet.
“Steven?”
“Mmm.” He nuzzled her neck and the scrape of his unshaven jaw against her skin made everything inside her quiver.
There was a soft misty fog slowly enveloping her brain, making rational thought difficult and coherent speech almost impossible.
She turned to face him, but Steven didn’t step back. He stayed where he was, so close that her thighs bumped against his and her breasts grazed his chest. Her breath caught in her throat.
She tipped her head back, to say something, anything, to break the sensual spell that was winding around her.
But before she could speak, he covered her m
outh with his own in a sweet, sensual kiss that further ensnared her.
She’d almost forgotten how much pleasure there could be found in kissing. She and Kazuo had been together for three years, and after a while, they seemed to have forgotten the enjoyment to be found in the simpler things. Gentle touches. Holding hands. And long, slow, deep kisses.
She wondered if it was the same for Steven and his wife. She couldn’t imagine that living with two young kids allowed for much leisure or creativity in the bedroom. But he certainly hadn’t forgotten how to kiss—and he didn’t seem to mind taking his time about it.
His hands slid over her ribs, his palms grazing the sides of her breasts. She felt her nipples pebble, straining against the silk, aching for his touch. Then his thumbs brushed over the peaks, and she gasped with both pleasure and demand.
She arched against him, felt the hard ridge of his erection press against her belly, and she moaned as greedy flames of heat licked at her insides.
It was too fast. She didn’t even know him really. And yet, there was a connection between them, a sense of inevitability that she’d felt from the first. And she knew that she wanted him. Right now.
But Steven apparently had a different idea, because as soon as she started to tug his shirt out of his pants, he drew back.
Holding her wrists in his hands, he took a moment to catch his breath before he said, “I didn’t come here to have sex with you.”
“You didn’t?” She failed to hide the disappointment in her voice, and he smiled.
“I’m not saying I don’t want to have sex with you,” he assured her. “Just that it wasn’t the reason I stopped by. Not the primary reason anyway.”
“Then you do want to have sex with me?”
His hands curled under her buttocks, pulling her closer so that there was no question about his desire for her. “What do you think?”
“I think—” she lifted herself onto her toes to brush her lips against his “—we should move to the bedroom.”
Chapter Eight
Following Samara down the short hallway, Steven felt as nervous as a teenager trying to get under his girlfriend’s skirt on prom night. Except that he hadn’t been a teenager in a lot of years and Samara wasn’t wearing a skirt. She wasn’t wearing anything except a short, silky robe that highlighted every sweet curve of her body and he couldn’t wait to get her out of it.
She led him into the bedroom, automatically hitting a switch on the wall to illuminate the room. He had a glimpse of a narrow bed covered in a brocade spread and piled high with pillows. There were clothes piled over the curved back of an antique chair, a stack of books on the table beside the bed, a variety of pictures on the wall.
Then she reached for his hand, and everything else faded away. As she linked their fingers together, he noticed that hers were trembling.
“We don’t have to rush into anything,” he told her.
“I want to do this,” she insisted. “It’s just that…it’s been a long time. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“Are you going to let me see you naked?”
“I’m working up to it.”
“Then I promise I won’t be disappointed,” he said. Then, because she looked so genuinely worried and adorably earnest, he couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “I make no guarantees to you, though. It’s been a while for me, too, and the first time around, I’ll probably be focused exclusively on my own pleasure.”
She frowned at that for a moment before she realized he was joking, then she pressed her hand against the front of his jeans, squeezed him gently through the denim. He knew that if she kept touching him like that the moment would soon be a memory, so he reasserted control by tugging at the belt of her robe. The knot came undone and the fabric parted, revealing a narrow glimpse of pale skin.
His gaze skimmed over her, from the pulse point hammering at the base of her throat, to the valley between her breasts, the glitter of something at her navel, the dark thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs.
He let his fingertips follow the path of her skin, from the base of her throat, to the hollow between her breasts, and lower. She shivered, though he knew she wasn’t cold. He opened the robe wider, touched his lips to her breastbone, her belly, the diamond stud at her navel.
No, she definitely wasn’t cold. She was warm and soft and fragrant and he was aching for her.
He pushed the robe over her shoulders. The silk whispered as it pooled at her feet. Standing naked before him, she was like a delicate porcelain statue. Beautiful. Perfect. And at least for right now—his.
He eased her back onto the bed. Her hair spilled over the pillows like a puddle of ink, a stunning contrast to her pale skin.
He stripped away his own clothes before stretching out on the mattress beside her. She shifted closer, her earlier concerns and insecurities forgotten. Her breasts were small but nicely rounded, and her dark nipples were deliciously responsive to his lightest touch, the gentlest kiss.
His hands moved over her, seeking and finding all the secret places that made her gasp and sigh. His lips traced along another path, teasing and enticing.
Her hands weren’t idle but indulged in their own exploration. At first light and tentative, then more boldly and confidently, until he grasped her wrists and pinned them up over her head before he lost complete control. The shift brought his body in full contact with hers, and she moaned and arched beneath him.
As much as he wanted to give in to the need that raged through his body and plunge into the slick beckoning haven between her thighs, he held himself in check, taking a moment to find one of the condoms he’d slipped into his wallet to ensure she was protected.
When he rose over her again, she wrapped her legs around him, urging him closer. He rocked his hips, letting the tip of his erection slide against her.
“Steven—”
He silenced her with a kiss, teasing her lips with his teeth and his tongue, tweaking her nipples with his fingers, and continuing to rub against her sweet spot.
He heard her breath catch, quicken; watched her eyes glaze, drift shut; felt her body tense, and then the hot flood of her release.
He was pretty darn close to losing it himself. Just being with her, witnessing her experience of pleasure, had nearly pushed him over the edge right along with her. Maybe that wasn’t surprising after going it alone for the last few years, but he wanted it to be even better for her.
He kissed her again, gently this time, giving them both a moment to savor and regroup.
Her eyes flickered open again.
“You told me you were only concerned with your own pleasure,” she said, in a tone that somehow sounded both aroused and accusatory.
“You have no idea how much pleasure that just gave me,” he told her.
“Well, then.” She cleared her throat. “Maybe you should think about me next time.”
He couldn’t prevent the smile that curved his lips. “I’ll get right to work on that.”
She’d been teasing, of course. Samara couldn’t imagine anything more earth-shattering than what she’d just experienced. But even as the aftershocks continued to reverberate through her body, the anticipation started building again. With every stroke of his hands, every touch of his lips, every press of his body, her excitement continued to build.
And then—finally—he was poised at the juncture of her thighs. He eased into her, slowly, carefully, as if she were infinitely precious to him. And though she was more than ready for him, eager to take him inside her, it didn’t happen easily. But her body shifted, adjusted, accepted.
Only then did he start to move: slow, steady strokes that seemed to touch her very center. Faster, harder thrusts that made her sob out his name. Long, deep drives that pushed her into oblivion and beyond.
This time, he went with her.
It was several minutes before he spoke.
“I’m crushing you.” The words were muffled against her pillow.
“A litt
le,” she said. But she didn’t mind. She was still feeling too wonderfully sated to complain about anything.
She’d never known lovemaking could be lighthearted and playful, or that it could be as deeply emotional as it was physical. Steven had shown her that it could be both—and she was incredibly grateful for the circumstances that had brought him into her life.
After another minute, Steven rolled off her. But then he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close, and the simple sweetness of the gesture arrowed straight to her heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She swallowed around the sudden tightness in her throat. “For?”
“Not making sure it was good for you.”
She smiled at that. “Well, you did warn me.”
“We could work on that,” he suggested sleepily.
“That might be a good idea.”
“But I think I’m going to need a few minutes first.”
“I’m going to need food first.” She started to pull away from him, but his arms tightened around her.
“Just let me hold you for another minute,” he said.
So she did, because she wasn’t the type of woman who could resist such a request. In fact, she was beginning to think that she wasn’t the type of woman who could refuse Steven anything. She pushed the idea from her mind, knowing it was the kind of thought that might worry her if she let herself dwell on it.
“So where do we go from here?” he finally asked.
“The kitchen,” she told him. “There’s a container of kung pao chicken there with my name on it.”
“The question was actually intended to refer to some point in the future beyond the next five minutes,” he said.
She’d suspected that, of course, but she wasn’t quite ready to dissect what was still so new and exciting. “Is that really something we need to worry about right now?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t have a lot of experience with this kind of thing.”
“So we’ll muddle through it together,” she said lightly.
“And you’re okay with that?”
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