Chapter 19

Blair

I rattled upstairs with the gift bags – nothing too expensive – and swallowed a mouthful of drool at the divine smells from the kitchen. Chef had made her special pancakes again, god, I could just tell, and I hadn’t eaten in what felt like forever.

Hunger or not, I couldn’t risk running into Mom right now. I wasn’t ready to broach the topic we’d left off last night. And tomorrow was Christmas. It was supposed to be happy.

Tomorrow it’s all over. That’s all that matters. It’ll be done, and I’ll be free to do what I want to do for a change. Pity, all I wanted to do of late was Samson.

I entered our guestroom and dropped the packages beside the dresser. Samson’s bag was zipped up neatly in the corner, next to the entrance and the man himself was nowhere in sight.

I sighed and stripped off my winter gloves, tugging the hood of my coat down. “Home, bitter home,” I said.

What else could I call it? My dorm room certainly wasn’t home, and I didn’t have anywhere else to call by the name.

I dropped my gloves on the top of the dresser, then stripped off my coat and tossed it over the back of the chaise lounge next to the window.

The door to the room creaked open behind me, and my belly jolted. I crossed my chilly fingers. Please don’t be Mom. Please don’t be Mom.

“There you are.” Samson’s voice rumbled in the space.

My shoulders instantly relaxed. “Thank god,” I said and turned to him. My mouth watered all over again. “Oh, damn, you’re an actual angel.”

Samson stood there, wearing a V-necked sweater that clung to his tight form, his chocolatey eyes glinting by the rays streaming through the window panes. It wasn’t him that I drooled for this time, though. It was the two plates in either hand, heaped with pancakes and covered in chocolate syrup.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said and shrugged. “Guess I was right.”

“You’re damn right, you’re right.” I scooted over to him and stole one of the plates and a knife and fork, then hurried back to the bed and sat down on the edge, balancing the plate on my knees. “I can’t subsist on your delicious cum alone, you know.”

Samson grinned and pointed his butter knife at me. “You’re naughty. I like that about you.”

“Oh? Thanks for this, by the way. I was not looking forward to going down there and scavenging for food in front of my mother.”

“I figured as much.” Samson joined me on the bed, and cut into his pancakes. He inserted one slice between his lips and grunted. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

“Good, right?” I shoved some in.

“You eat like you’ve never seen food,” he said and grinned at me.

I swallowed, then stuck out my tongue at him. “You didn’t complain last night.”

“Uh-huh. You won’t catch me complaining about it at all. Just an observation.” Samson scooped up a little of his chocolate syrup and dotted it on my nose.

“Hey!”

“Hold still. Samson Barnes to the rescue,” he said and drew closer, then sucked the tip of my nose. “All better. What would you do without me, Blair?”

“Careful, your ego as showing,” I replied.

He winked. “That’s just my dick. It always gets hard when you’re around.”

“Now who’s naughty?”

The easy banter filled me with joy. A different type of happiness to what I’d experienced with him last night but just as good. Well, almost as good. Nothing beat that crazy orgasm and feeling him between my lips.

Before I knew it, the plate was pretty much bare, and I had to stop myself from licking it clean.

Samson showed me a shit-eating grin – as if he could read my mind – then took the plate from me and walked both of them over to the dresser. He placed them next to my discarded gloves and came back, took a seat, hiking the legs of his jeans up.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.

“Weird,” I replied. “Confused. Satisfied. Just a whole bunch of things all rolled into one, and it’s kind of difficult to discern what’s real and what’s just my anxiety talking.”

“You get anxious a lot?”

“Since I was a kid,” I replied and tapped my chin with my finger. “I don’t know. I’ve always worried about things. Whether I’ve done too much or too little, what I’ve eaten and when. My teachers called in diligent. My mom called it being a worry wart.”

“A wart? You’re a fucking – uh, some other skin thing which isn’t gross.”

“Nipple?”

“That’s it,” Samson said. “Genius. You’re a fucking nipple.”

Weirdest compliment ever but it fits somehow. And it makes me feel good. “I’m not sure how to respond to that.”

“You don’t have to know. Just quit worrying. You’re with me. You can forget all that other crap while my arms are around you.” He slipped them into place at my waist to match his words.

Ain’t that the truth? Samson’s arms were my cure all. I leaned back against his chest and inhaled that unique scent. I closed my eyes and let the worries drift over me but they didn’t disappear. God, I wished they would but it wasn’t possible right now.

“I can’t believe she did that,” I said.

Samson sighed.

“What?” My eyes snapped open and I sat upright, facing him.

He didn’t drop his arms but a flash of irritation passed through his expression – a slight flaring of his nostrils.

“What?” I repeated.

“You can’t believe she did that,” he said, deadpan. “Come on, Blair. You can believe she did that because that’s exactly the type of thing she’d do.”

“Oh, shit, oh, sorry.” I rose from the bed and his arms dropped. “I forgot how you’ve known her and me for more than a weekend.”

“I know enough,” he said. “I’ve seen enough, and you’ve told me about your relationship with her for me to make an educated judgement on the situation.”

“I don’t need your judgement.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he said and stood, too. He towered over me, his tan brow wrinkling now.

Shit, even now, during the heat of my anger, I wanted to smooth fingers over those lines, kiss them, too. This was dangerous. “Then what do you mean, Samson? Clearly, you’ve got something to say. Some opinion to share.”

“I know women, specifically ones like your mother. They don’t let go easily. She’s selfish and she will ride your back into the fucking ground to get her way. She doesn’t give a shit what you want out of life. She wants what she wants from you and that’s it.”

“You think I don’t know that?” With some exceptions. Regina had a loving side. She cared to a certain extent – she had paid for college and given me the opportunity. More like forced it on me.

“If you truly grasped that point, you wouldn’t be fucking around with bat shit plans to get her to accept what you want to do with your life.”

“Bat shit plans?” I trembled, anger ripping through my muscles and ossifying them. “Last I checked, those bat shit plans were going to pay out pretty well for you.”

“Christ, I don’t need your fucking money. I’m not here for your money. I’m here to help you.”

“Riiiiight,” I said and drew the word out. “That makes loads of fucking sense. Look, it’s whatever. I don’t need your opinion about this.”

“You’re going to hear my opinion whether you need to or not.”

“Excuse me?” God, I hated how teenager-like I sounded pronouncing that. Hand me my Ugg boots and a pumpkin spiced, this second.

“You’re never going to convince her that you should leave Harvard, fake fiancé or not. She doesn’t believe in your talent, and she certainly doesn’t want you to be anything but her vicarious trip through the life she missed out on. So, what the fuck are you doing hiding from her? Why do you care? Is it the money?”

“No,” I snapped.

“Then why?”

“She’s my mother.”

“So? She doesn’t act like it. For fuck’s sake, Blair, she’s tried to climb into my pants at least three times since we arrived.”

I colored bright red, and the heat was part embarrassment and part fury. “You don’t understand any of this. It’s not what you think, and you don’t –”

“What are you going to do after this weekend, Blair? Are you going to hire me to be your full-time husband? So, you can trick her into believing that everything’s fine next Christmas? On your birthday? How did you think this weekend would play out?”

I ground my teeth so hard they squeaked. “Trust me, after this weekend, our little agreement is over!” I spun to leave but he caught my wrist and tugged me against his chest.

“Understand this, I’m not going to let you fall into the trap of doing what she wants. You’re better than that,” he grunted. “You’re better than her. And you’re not going to live with this pressure.”

“Who says you have any say in it?” I asked, and my throat burned from the building emotion. “Why do you fucking care?”

“Why do you think?” Samson asked, and his eyes watered, too, glistened.

He was the last person who’d cry or get emotional. He’d kept it sexual the entire weekend. We hadn’t talked feelings.

Escort. He’s an escort. It’s one weekend. It’s one goddamn weekend. And you’re falling in love with him, you idiot.

“Don’t,” I said.

“What? Don’t tell you the truth?” He caught my other wrist and held them both to my chest.

My breathing still hadn’t slowed, and the adrenaline from our fight lifted me higher. My head swam. “I don’t need you to talk, now. I just need –”

Samson pressed his lips to mine, burned them apart, and tasted me. Pancakes and chocolate syrup and pain. So much pain.

Love me. The thought shocked me out of the moment, out of the kiss. I stumbled out of his grasp. “Just wait. I need – I need a moment. I’ll be – back in a couple hours. Just stay here or – I don’t know.”

“Blair.” His voice cracked.

He cared for me. That had to be it. He cared, he did. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. “Later,” I said. “Later.”

I turned and rushed for the door, tugged it open and rushed out into the hall, caught myself on the opposite bannister. Mom and Joseph were down there in the living room, canoodling on the sofa.

Mom looked up and spotted me. I backed up, spun, walking toward the stairs that led to my special place. The only spot that was mine and mine alone in the entire world.