CHAPTER 10
SAMANTHA
“I should have gotten something better than pizza,” Xander said in a disgusted voice. “It’s New York City, home of some of the best restaurants on the planet.”
“I asked for pizza,” I reminded him as we hung out in one of the most incredible hotel rooms I’d ever seen. Of course, we were staying in an expensive penthouse, and it had amazing views of the city. “This place is a lot bigger than my old apartment,” I told him.
“Micah still has a place here in New York, but I wanted to give him some space. He’s going to stay here for a few days with Tessa after she’s discharged to make sure she’s up to flying,” he shared.
I went into the fully furnished kitchen to get some plates and napkins for our pizza. “Staying here isn’t exactly a hardship,” I called to him as I pulled plates out of the cupboard.
I piled both plates with our newly delivered dinner, then grabbed a couple of sodas from the full bar, trying not to think about how much the hotel would probably charge for bar items.
“The hotel is okay,” Xander said as he accepted his plate of pizza and his drink. “But I kind of feel like you’re getting cheated while you’re staying with me. Julian’s taking Kristin out to some exclusive Japanese place. You get pizza in a penthouse.”
I wanted to remind Xander that I was an employee, and not his wife. But I just laughed instead. “I don’t care much for Japanese food.”
I sat down in a comfortable chair across from his position on the couch.
He grinned at me, an expression I was starting to see more and more often. It was a mischievous look that made my heart leap into my throat as he answered, “Are you screwing with me?”
“No. Honestly. I don’t eat sushi. I find it pretty bland and boring.”
“Me too,” he confessed. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only person who hates it.”
I knew exactly what he meant. I had friends who were constantly telling me how much they craved sushi. And me? I . . . didn’t. “I’d rather have pizza,” I confessed.
“My kind of woman,” he said with a satisfied nod.
We consumed our dinner in silence for a few minutes with a comfortable lapse in conversation. Lately, the two of us had become easier with each other, and I didn’t feel like I needed to fill up the silence with conversation. We were content to just eat because we were hungry.
I also didn’t feel like I had to eat politely. I devoured my food until I was satisfied and then looked up to continue our conversation.
“Tessa looked like she was doing well. She’ll probably get out tomorrow.” I was proud and touched by the fact that Xander was here in New York, even though I knew he’d rather not be.
He finished swallowing a large bite of his pizza before he replied. “She looked good. I think Micah was more scared than Tessa. She’s been through a lot, and she’s still so damn happy.”
I held back the laugh I wanted to let go. “Do you really want people to be miserable?”
“Yeah,” he answered immediately. He paused before adding, “No. I really don’t. I guess it’s just hard to imagine being happy now. But I’m actually glad that my brothers are in a good place.”
I watched him as he ate, wanting to ask him so many questions. “Your overdoses? Did you do it because you wanted to die?”
His dark eyes shifted to me, the look he was giving me cautious. He looked torn about whether or not he really wanted to talk about his days of being an addict. Then, he finally shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I was so fucked up I don’t think I knew what I was doing. I just knew I didn’t want to be stone-cold sober. But did I do it because I never wanted to wake up? Hell, not consciously. It happened a lot when I couldn’t get the opiates I wanted right then, and used a substitute.”
“Heroin?” I asked.
“When I couldn’t get other drugs . . . yeah. I’d shoot up like a damn junkie. Hell, who am I kidding? I was a junkie.”
“You were addicted, Xander. Did you start out using pain medications after you were in the hospital?”
He nodded. “I did. I had a bunch of surgeries and I was hurting, especially the first month out of the hospital.”
“And your doctor just kept giving them to you?”
“He eventually cut me off, and I hated it. I liked being stoned because it made me numb. If I took enough drugs, drank enough booze, I’d forget about what happened. Drugs can be bought for a price on the street. If I couldn’t find the opiates, I’d get a different but similar drug. I was chugging alcohol, but I could never get enough.”
I was quiet as I consumed the rest of my pizza, thinking about what Xander had just told me. I hated the opiate-addiction epidemic that was spreading around the nation and growing worse every day. What Xander was saying wasn’t unique. A lot of people started on prescription pain medication and ended up addicted. When their doctors would no longer prescribe the drugs, patients found a way to avoid the horrible pain of withdrawal, or ended up finding street drugs instead.
“Anything to stay away from reality,” I murmured. If he’d been as badly wounded as Julian had described, I had no doubt Xander had needed those drugs. But after he’d healed, I was willing to bet he wanted anything he could get his hands on to hide from the world.
“Do you really blame me?” Xander asked defensively. “I woke up with my entire life turned upside down. I couldn’t deal with the images, the flashbacks, and the fucking guilt.”
“No, I understand,” I told him honestly.
“I still don’t know how to deal with it,” he admitted huskily. “Why did I live when they both died? Why wasn’t it me? I was the guy he was after. What the fuck good am I? Hell, I won’t even leave my house.”
“Those are normal reactions and questions, Xander,” I told him emphatically.
“But there are no damn answers,” he said angrily.
“A normal person will never understand the actions of a psychotic man. Someday you have to accept that. You’ll never understand, because your mind doesn’t work the way the killer’s did.”
“How can I forget that I never even got to say good-bye to either one of them? How do I live with the fact that I should be the only one who died since I was the only one he wanted to kill?” he asked in a voice that cracked with emotion.
The tormented expression on his face nearly brought me to my knees, but I tried not to think about the gut-wrenching pain he was experiencing.
I was already getting too close to Xander and his emotions. My involvement was no longer just empathy. I was actually starting to hurt for him and with him.
“Where are your parents buried?” I asked softly.
“Julian brought them back to rest in northern Massachusetts. We grew up there, and my mom’s parents are buried in the cemetery of our hometown. It’s what they both wanted.”
“Can we stop there on our way back to Amesport?” I wasn’t sure he was ready for some closure, but he really needed it.
He finished chewing the last piece of pizza on his plate before he asked, “Why?”
“So you can say good-bye,” I explained.
He didn’t say no. In fact, he didn’t say anything as he stared at me with a tumultuous expression. Finally, he replied, “I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll be with you,” I offered. I knew it would be incredibly hard for Xander to deal with the finality of his parents’ deaths, but if he could do it, I wanted to be there to help him.
“Thanks,” he answered in a low baritone.
I smiled at him, realizing it was the first time Xander had really thanked me for anything. “You’re welcome,” I said.
He was so much stronger than he thought he was, and his love for his family was obvious to me. If he didn’t love them, he wouldn’t be so hard on himself. New York was full of people, loud, and definitely not the place for a guy who still had occasional symptoms of PTSD. I’d seen Xander flinch a couple of times when we were walking out of the hospital and into the hotel. But his expression had just become grimmer and more determined as he’d fought through his fear.
He won’t do it for himself, because he doesn’t think he deserves anything, but he does it for his family.
I think that had touched me more than I wanted to admit.
“It’s almost time for Supernatural,” he commented as he looked at the clock on the wall.
I stood up and took our empty plates to the kitchen and dropped them into the sink. I’d take care of them in the morning. “You hate that show,” I reminded him as I walked back to my chair.
“You like it,” he grumbled as he leaned over and snagged me by the waist. “You can see it better from here.”
I laughed as my body slammed into him when I landed on the couch cushion beside him. “Admit it,” I teased. “You’re getting addicted to the show.”
He settled my body next to his as he said, “It’s growing on me.”
“How could it not?” I’d been addicted to the program for several years. Sometimes I was pulling my hair out over the cliffhangers, but it kept bringing me back for more.
I’d been catching up on episodes at Xander’s house, and he’d come to watch it with me, complaining about the ridiculousness of the whole fantasy of demon-hunting brothers. But a few episodes in, I’d noticed how he’d started asking questions about the characters. Then later, I’d had to practically catch him up on the entire cast of the show.
That’s when I knew he was hooked, but didn’t want to admit he’d been drawn in just like I had by the quirky television series.
He shrugged. “I can tolerate it now. You like it.”
I sighed as he pulled my head against his chest. He felt so good, so warm, and it felt so natural to be plastered against him that I didn’t object. I took a deep breath in, reveling in his masculine scent. I couldn’t be this close to Xander without my body reacting to him. My core clenched with a vicious need that I had to try to ignore, something that was getting harder and harder every time I was close to him.
“I don’t want you to watch it just because I like it.” I knew damn well he wanted to see this week’s episode, too, but he didn’t want to admit it out loud.
“I like this,” he said as he buried his face in my hair and stroked a strong hand up my back. “I like the way you feel, and the way you smell like some kind of flower I can’t identify. I like the way you listen to me talk, like what I’m saying is important instead of crazy. I like being close to you, Sam, because when I am, I don’t feel so fucking alone anymore.”
I put my hand on his chest. “You’re not alone, Xander.”
My heart stuttered because I knew all too well how he felt, and he’d been solitary for way too long.
“I think I’m starting to understand that, Sam. For some reason . . . you get it. And you have no idea how much I regret what happened the first time I fucked you.” Genuine remorse echoed in his voice.
“It shouldn’t have happened,” I told him. “I shouldn’t have offered. I thought I could do the ‘no emotional involvement’ thing. It turns out that I suck at it.”
“No woman deserves that, Sam. Not ever. I was a dumb fuck for thinking that would ever be enough. It’s not what I want from you.”
I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “What do you want?”
He was silent for a minute, and when I looked up at him, I could see the muscle in his jaw ticking, his expression tense.
Our eyes met, and I fell into his darkness for a moment, transfixed by his molten stare.
Finally, he answered, “Right now, I want everything. I want to give you whatever you want, and then start all over again. I want you naked, coming, and panting for more.”
My breath hitched at the intensity of his voice and his covetous eyes as they roamed over my face. “I won’t say I don’t still want you, Xander. It would be a lie,” I said breathlessly. “But let’s focus on being friends right now.”
The man needed a confidante and somebody to stand beside him. He didn’t need to be entangled in messy romantic drama.
His arm tightened convulsively around my waist. “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly. “But at least now you’ll know what I’m thinking about every time I look at you.”
Naked, coming, and panting for more.
Jesus, how could I forget? My nipples were as hard as diamonds, and my core flooded with heat.
Still, I wanted to stay exactly where I was, drowning in the feel of Xander’s powerful body.
I must be a masochist!
“I’d like to see you the same way,” I answered truthfully, wondering what he’d look like in the throes of a powerful and passionate orgasm.
“Believe me, Sam, you don’t want to see me naked.”
I thought about his words for a moment before I asked, “Why? You have an amazing body.”
“It’s not a pretty sight. I might be fit, but I’m scarred all to hell.”
I frowned at him. “I’d like to judge for myself. You hate your face, but I don’t. Every time I look at you, all I see is a man who has fought his demons and won. I see strength and beauty where you see ugliness.”
“I haven’t exactly won, and I’m marked pretty hard from the battle,” he said flatly.
“Maybe I like my men battle-worn,” I teased.
“You’re so fucking twisted,” he answered with some humor in his tone.
I punched him lightly on the bicep. “Maybe that’s why you like me.”
“It might be one of the reasons,” he agreed with a small grin.
I’m not going to ask him about the other reasons.
I won’t.
If he starts talking dirty to me again, I’m toast.
“Turn on my show,” I demanded, trying to reach over him to snatch the remote.
As I leaned, my arm brushed against his crotch, and I shivered as I felt the raging hard-on against my limb. I froze, then pulled back.
“I warned you,” he said in an evil tone. “It’s always going to be that way for me when I’m with you.”
“I can handle that,” I said weakly, my voice belying my words.
I had all I could do not to liberate his cock and straddle him.
“I wish you would handle it,” he replied jokingly.
He switched on the TV, and the loud beginning of my TV program prevented me from speaking, even if I could figure out what the hell to say.
I gave in and let my body sink into his with a sigh. Being close to him was torture, one big ache of unfulfilled need. But not touching him was even more difficult, so I settled for what I could get, knowing that for now, it would have to be enough.