Chapter 7

Blair

Knocks rattled against wood, and I jerked upright in bed, blinking in the dark. I clutched the sheet to my naked chest and squinted but there wasn’t a hint of moonlight.

“Samson,” I whispered.

His shape stirred beside me. “Here,” he said.

The knocks came again.

“Someone’s at the door.” I swallowed. “Hello?” I called out.

“Blair, honey, wake up!” It was Mom. Of course, it was Mom. Who else would it be at this time of the night? Or was it morning?

I’d lost track of everything after Samson had carried me to bed and tucked me under the sheets, yawning and half-asleep.

“Coming,” I yelled.

Samson clicked the bedside lamp’s switch and light flooded the bedroom.

“Gah!” I lifted my arm and shielded my eyes. “You trying to kill me?”

“Blind you,” he replied, in that jaunty tone. His feet hit the floor with a flump, and the rustle of clothes and movement followed. I braved a peek at his tight butt.

“Hurry up!” Regina yowled outside our bedroom, snapping me out of my ‘perv’ moment.

I hopped out of bed. “What the hell is going on?” I whispered.

“Your mother a drinker?” Samson asked and tossed me a robe. He’d already tugged one on himself and tied the ends of the cord.

I pulled mine on, too, and ignored the comment – yeah, she was a drinker but she wasn’t a drunk, and she wouldn’t have woken us up without cause. Especially, since I’d snubbed her last night. Walking out on a dinner, a Christmas dinner, was an unforgiveable offense.

I shuffled to the door, yawned until my jaw creaked, then opened up.

Regina held a silken, fur-lined robe against her chest, her blond hair disheveled, falling around her face. The makeup was off, and her wrinkles plain, and that meant this had to be serious. Mom would die before she let anyone see her without her ‘face’ on.

“Oh, you’re safe. Thank goodness!”

“Mom? What time is it?” I asked, scrubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms.

Samson stepped up behind me and slipped his arms around my waist, spreading his warmth against my back. I leaned into him, reached up and cupped his chin, rough with new beard growth, in my hand.

“It’s 4 a.m.!” Regina yelped. “It’s 4 a.m., and the storm’s coming!”

“Huh?”

“You know, the storm. I left my TV on last night when I went to bed and I woke up to the news that the storm’s going to hit in a couple hours, maybe less. What are we going to do?”

“The storm. Mom, the storm is a blizzard. It’s not going to be anything too crazy, and if it is, I’m sure we’ll be fine. You’ve got storm shutters, remember?” I folded my arms but didn’t separate myself from Samson. His heat and strength gave me everything I needed to face my mother after what she’d said the night before.

“Well,” Regina said, looking down at her fluffy-toed slipper. She scuffed one on the boards. “Well, that’s not exactly true.”

“What do you mean ‘that’s not exactly true?’” I asked.

Mom waggled her head from side to side, her blond locks bobbing. “They were just so ugly.”

“What did you do, Mother?”

“I left the ones on the top floor, because there aren’t that many big windows on the top floor,” she said.

“And the bottom floor?” Samson asked.

“Well, they were just so ugly. I mean, who can see anything with them around? They made the outside of the house look nasty. Blair, you know how I am about aesthetics. I love clean lines and –”

“That’s great, Mom,” I said. “Great. I’m sure clean lines won’t be compromised when the windows shatter from flying debris.”

Mom’s jaw dropped. “Now, don’t take that tone with me. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Samson let go of me and leaned a forearm against the doorjamb of our room. “Mrs. Scott, do you have any supplies? Anything we could use to block the downstairs windows?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Oh, wait! I had the kitchen renovated last month, you know, for Chef so she’d be able to cook the perfect Christmas dinner. The workers who helped me used these wooden board thingies to block the windows when they took the glass out of the frames.”

“Perfect. Where did they put them when they were done?”

“In the garage, I think. I can’t be certain,” Regina said and stroked Samson’s forearm. “Thank you for helping, Samson. I don’t know what I’d do without you kids.”

I ground my teeth so loud they squeaked.

Mom and Samson both looked at me.

“Samson and I will figure this out, Mom. You go back to bed, okay?”

“Are you sure? I could fix you kids some hot cocoa while you work.” Regina still hadn’t removed her hand from my faux fiancé’s arm, and it’d officially gotten on my nerves.

“Yes, sure.” I took Samson’s free hand and gave it a little tug.

He removed himself from Mom’s grip, grinning, probably because he thought my jealousy was ridiculous, and walked to the head of the stairs. “You know where the garage is, right?”

“Yeah, there’s an inside door downstairs. But, uh, you know what? We should probably get dressed first.”

“You kids be careful out there!” Mom called – she’d already made it down the hall to her bedroom, and she hovered there, a vision in fur and silk. “Don’t get hurt. The first sign of that storm and you head back inside. Promise me!”

“We promise, Mrs. Scott,” Samson said.

I didn’t promise anything. It was a miracle Mom hadn’t brought up the painting incident. Then again, she’d always been more passive-aggressive than outright mean. She’d likely treat me to the cold shoulder for a day or two, then let it slide.

“Let’s get changed.” Samson walked me to our bedroom again.

Ten minutes later and we’d outfitted ourselves in thick jackets and boots – Samson hadn’t brought any gloves, so I’d fished out an old pair of mine, pink, fluffy and too small for his massive hands, and forced them on him. We tracked down to the garage and entered. The fluorescents overhead clicked on automatically and filled the concrete space with a low hum that echoed and took up residence in my brain.

“There,” Samson said and grabbed the first of the boards, his pink woolen mitts catching on the edge. “Ah, fuck. I look like a cartoon character in these.”

“Well, I think it’s adorable. Very kawaii.”

“What’s a kawaii?” he asked and lifted the boards. He didn’t strain a bit, just carried them to the garage entrance, frowning at the reference.

“Are you kidding? Kawaii means cute. Like in anime?”

“No idea.”

“Samson, my man, I’m going to teach you how to live,” I said and blew on my own set of pink mitts, then shuffled over.

He swept me into an embrace and pawed my hair back from my face. “Your man?”

“I-it’s a saying, sorry.”

“My woman,” he replied.

I opened my mouth but words wouldn’t come out. My bottom lip quivered.

He bent and caught it between his teeth, nibbled, then sucked. “You teach me about this anime, kawaii stuff, and I’ll teach you how to board windows. Deal?”

I pulled back before he turned my insides into mush and fisted my hips. “Who says I don’t already know how to board up windows?”

Samson’s gaze heated and traveled down my body, lighting on my breasts, my hips, then skipping back up to my face. “I’ll have to teach you how to do other things instead.”

I gulped. “I – uh.”

“Come on, gorgeous. These boards won’t nail themselves.”

Christ, even the way he said that turned me on.

Samson lifted one of the plywood sheets, then nodded for me to open the garage door. I hit the button on the wall, and it lifted outward and allowed a torrent of icy wind in. Snow pelted us, and I shivered, rushing forward and picking up the end of one board to drag it out into the blizzard.

This was only the beginning – the clouds clearing their throats – but we’d have to work fast.

“No,” Samson yelled over his shoulder. “Grab the hammer and nails. I’ll hold them up to the windows; you knock them into place.”

I did as I was told and followed him out, crunching over a layer of snow that thickened fast. My cheeks stung, and snow caught in my eyelashes and frosted the tips of my ears. I shivered beneath the thick coat.

“Here,” Samson said.

We worked fast. He pulled the boards out, held them up, then directed me on where to nail them. The wind plucked at our clothes and skin but we couldn’t stop for breaks. The sooner we finished, the sooner we’d get out of the snow and inside.

“Almost done.” Samson hefted another board into place on the last window, right at the back of the house, and I nailed it into place, working methodically, after doing at least twenty windows prior.

“Done,” I yelled back.

He dragged me under his arm, and we raced around the side of the house and back to the open garage. Already, snow had gathered at the entrance and the layer that’d been thick on the ground before had doubled in size.

We shivered our way into the garage and Samson hit the button to close the door. He took the hammer and the pack of half-empty nails from me, placing them on a pristine work bench.

“There,” he said. “All done.”

My teeth chattered, and I rubbed my arms. “T-th-this is t-t-too much. I think –”

The fluorescents overhead cut out, along with the horrible hum and click from the tubes, and plunged us into absolute darkness. “Oh g-ah-ah –” I couldn’t get it out.

“Oh, gaga?”

“Oh, g-ah-ah – oh, for f-ah-ah-uck’s sake.”

Samson shivered out a laugh and dragged me into his arms again. “You’re too cold to talk. Come on, let’s get warmed up.”

“H-ho-ow?” The heating had gone out with the power.

“The all-natural way,” he said and kissed my forehead, the tip of his nose icy cold. “Cuddles.”