Lia had parked her car around back so that it wouldn’t be visible to Spence and Daff when they dropped Brand off. She had let herself in, using the spare key that Mason and Daisy kept hidden under a loose brick on the porch step, and sat waiting in the dark, cold living room.
She heard the car drive up, and her heart sped up in excitement at the thought of seeing Brand again, of being with him, of touching him and being touched. She was trembling in anticipation.
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at the screen and smiled.
Get your gorgeous butt over here, sunshine. I fucking ache for you.
The front door opened, and she stood up. He didn’t see her—his eyes were on his phone, waiting for her response.
“I ache for you, too.” His head jerked up, and the living room light flashed on. She blinked rapidly as she tried to adjust to the sudden brightness. Before she knew it, she was in his arms and he was groaning and kissing her.
Deeply, passionately, and voraciously eating her mouth.
Neither of them said a word. She wore nothing beneath her coat, and when he pushed it down, he said a worshipful prayer of thanks before kissing and suckling her naked flesh. He was so familiar with what worked for her that he immediately homed in on her erogenous zones, and her knees buckled at the intense responses he was so good at drawing from her.
Before they knew it, they were lying on the thick rug in front of the cold hearth, entangled in each other’s arms. His injured arm was still weak, but he was a more confident and masterful lover with the use of both arms and it gave her a taste of what was to come once he regained full use of the limb. For now, his right hand made up for its previous lack of participation by stroking and touching and playing with her nipples, her sensitive skin, her highly sensitized femininity. It was amazing, and he gifted her with two orgasms before he even got partially naked.
“Sunshine, I love the sounds you make when you come,” he whispered against her lips. “Soft and breathless and desperate.”
“Make me come again,” she begged, her hands drifting down to his straining crotch. “Make me come with this.”
He groaned, the sound low and frantic. He fumbled with his fly, his right hand still clumsy, and she reached out to help him with the task. His hot, hard length spilled into her hands, and she latched onto it, stroking it eagerly. He arched out of her touch.
“Sunshine, you’re killing me. No touching for now, okay?”
She lifted her hands to his head instead and tugged him down for another kiss. And while their lips and tongues entangled, he entered her with one swift, deep stroke. Lia cried out against his mouth and raised her knees to cradle him closer.
“Oh, Brand,” she moaned, and he stopped thrusting, holding himself still inside her. She sobbed and pushed herself up against him, wanting more.
“Sam,” he muttered. “I want to hear it. Call me Sam.” She was too desperate to give the command much thought, her entire being focused on his delicious heat inside her. She needed him to move, to give her what she was so frantic for, and she would do or say anything in this moment for the culmination she craved.
“Sam,” she whispered, and he buried his face in her neck and thrust into her. “Sam.” Another thrust.
“Oh my God, Sam.”
He sobbed and thrust even deeper than before.
“Sam, please . . .” She bit into his shoulder, planted her feet on the floor, and lifted her hips to meet his thrusts. When she finally came, she screamed his name. A long, drawn-out cry. One syllable stretched out into nine.
Not Brand.
But Sam.
Sam couldn’t catch his breath. He held Lia close, cradling her in his arms like she was the most precious thing in his life, and he felt like he was slowly asphyxiating, because he just couldn’t fucking breathe.
He finally moved, leaving her wet warmth and automatically reaching down to discard the condom when he comprehended that there wasn’t one. Which a) explained why the entire encounter had been so fucking amazing and intense and b) was completely unprecedented for him.
“Fuck,” he swore vehemently. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!”
“What’s wrong?” she asked groggily, sitting up and pushing her messy hair out of her face.
“I forgot the condom.” She gasped softly at his revelation.
“I thought things felt a bit . . . damper than usual,” she said tactfully. “Um. I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?”
“What?” He was still a bit dazed, and it took him a moment to register her question. “Jesus. No. Of course not. I’m sorry. I was tested for everything when I was in the hospital. All clear. And you’ve been my only partner since last November.”
“Oh. Well, I’ve never had a partner other than Clayton,” she confessed. “And he always used a condom. I did have tests after our breakup, because I wasn’t sure how much I could trust him.”
“So that only leaves, uh . . . the other thing.” God, this was awkward, especially when she stared at him with those innocent gray eyes.
“Other thing?”
“You know? Pregnancy?” She inhaled sharply, and her hands automatically flew to her tummy in a protective gesture. Oddly, the instinctive movement elicited an unmistakable wrench of possessiveness in Sam.
“Pregnancy?” she mused, her eyes bright. “A baby? Imagine that, a little blond boy or girl. Probably stubborn and charming in equal measure.”
Sam swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in his throat and mouth as he envisioned said child. A little brown-haired girl with gray eyes and a beautiful smile. She would be a sweet little thing, always laughing and . . .
He shook his head violently. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why the hell was he picturing babies?
“Of course, I won’t expect you to be involved or anything. Don’t worry. I can raise him or her myself.”
Over my dead body! He felt himself glowering in response to her claim, pissed off that she would automatically exclude him from his kid’s life. He was about to vehemently tell her that she would do no such thing when she lifted a hand to her mouth and giggled.
“Oh my gosh, the look on your face!” He stared at her, confused. Maybe she was hysterical at the prospect of an unplanned pregnancy. He couldn’t believe he’d been so careless. He never forgot the condom—well, aside from that time in the barn with her, but that had been a fraught encounter and he’d remembered the condom after only a few strokes. This time . . . okay, this time had been fraught as well. But still, this was fucking inexcusable. He found himself considering all possibilities. He would take care of her. Despite her claims that he didn’t have to. If she was pregnant, she and the baby were his responsibility, he would—
“Brand, I’m on the pill.” His thoughts came to a screeching halt at her revelation, and it took a moment for him to process her words.
“What?”
“The pill.” He didn’t know why, but the information startled him.
“You are?”
“Yes, I went on it a week before my wedding date in a futile attempt to stave off a wedding-day period. I found it convenient to stay on the pill after that. It kept my cycle regular.”
“Why didn’t you mention it before now?”
“Well, I figured—considering the nature of our relationship—that it would be best for us to continue using condoms. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you. I just couldn’t resist. You looked terrified. I feel kind of bad now.”
Terrified? Far from it. Stunned by his own carelessness, maybe. Overwhelmed by the notion that a whole new person could result from that carelessness and a steely resolve to be part of said new person’s life if it came to that.
What had terrified him was the inexplicable pang of disappointment he felt when the possibility of that baby had disappeared with just a few words.
He watched Lia gather her coat and push herself up from the floor. She was getting ready to leave.
“Stay,” he whispered, getting up as well. She paused in the act of shrugging into the coat and stared at him for a long moment.
“No.”
“Lia, we have to rethink these guidelines of yours.”
“Agreed. We can discuss them tomorrow and find a list that works for both of us, but this one rule remains sacrosanct. No sleeping over, Brand.”
“I’d prefer it if you called me Sam.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my name.”
“So’s Brand. Mason calls you Brand.”
“You’re not Mason.”
“How am I different from Mason?”
“I’m not sleeping with Mason, for starters.”
“You’re not sleeping with me, either.”
“Fine. Jesus! I’m not fucking Mason. Look, call me Sam, okay? I just . . . I like it more.”
“If it means that much to you, you should tell Daisy and Mason to use Sam. You shouldn’t be called Brand if you dislike it. I’ll tell—”
“Christ, Lia. I don’t give a fuck what name they use. I like it when you call me Sam.” He watched her process the words, chewing the inside of her cheek as she considered what he’d said.
“Okay,” she decided. “Sam.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll be around tomorrow morning to fix your breakfast,” she informed him.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” she said easily. “But I want to.”
She walked toward the door and Sam watched her go, frustrated that she wouldn’t stay.
“Lia, don’t get me wrong . . . I love that we’re back on the coitus carousel, but why did you change your mind about us? Was it because of the shitty dates?” he asked before she reached for the doorknob. She turned to face him, leaning back against the door as she considered his words.
“Not really, it was mostly because I want this. And I was talking myself out of having it because it didn’t suit the image I had of the Dahlia McGregor I should be.”
“And which Dahlia McGregor is that?”
“The same Dahlia who saved herself for the man she was supposed to marry.” She shook her head and laughed self-deprecatingly, the sound ending on that little snort he was growing to like more and more. “And look how that turned out. Not the engagement, but the actual intimate act. Clayton was . . . unsatisfactory, to say the least. A fast fumbler. And then he blamed my lack of enthusiasm on me. If I’d gone through with the wedding, uh . . . sex would have remained a disappointment to me. I would never have known how much better it could be.”
She hesitated and blushed before saying sex. Still so shy about verbalizing certain words when she seemed so comfortable sending naughty texts to him. Not to mention how expressive she was during sex. He found that idiosyncrasy positively adorable.
“It made me think, and I recognized that I don’t want to go back to being that willfully ignorant Dahlia McGregor again. I like what we do together. I understand that it’s temporary, and I intend to enjoy it while it lasts. Without guilt or shame.”
“What about my lie about Lally? You were pretty pissed off about it.”
“I was being a total hypocrite. I told you that personal conversations were off-limits and then I got irritated with you for not divulging the truth about your personal business. I don’t like being lied to, but it was none of my business in the first place. As long as you’re not cheating on someone and making me an accomplice in that act. I wouldn’t stand for that.”
“So we’re flinging again?”
“Until you get sick of me, or I get sick of you, or you leave. Whichever comes first.”
“One day, when you meet the man of your dreams, you won’t regret having a wild, crazy fuckfest with me, will you?”
She winced at the description, and Sam grinned unrepentantly.
“Nope. He should be thankful that I’ve gained useful experience that will contribute toward his pleasure in the bedroom.”
The thought of Lia in bed with someone else had the immediate power to wipe every trace of humor away, and Sam attempted to conceal his overwhelmingly negative reaction from her.
“But like I said,” she continued, “I doubt there’s a man of my dreams out there. I’m pursuing other goals right now.”
“Don’t let a few fucked-up dates put you off, sunshine. If you don’t wind up married with kids down the line, I’d be surprised. Any guy would be lucky to have you, Lia.”
“Thank you for saying that, Sam. But I’ve decided it’s not that important anymore. Like I said, other goals.” She considered her words and knew that they were the absolute truth. Her obsession with finding the right man and living the perfect life was waning with every step she took down this unknown path with Sam. Her self-worth was no longer tied up in being Mrs. Somebody. It was all about Dahlia McGregor and the life she was creating for herself. She pushed herself away from the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”
She was gone before he could get his own good night out.
The following morning, she was already in the kitchen when he came downstairs wearing his running clothes.
“Morning, sunshine,” he greeted, his voice still thick with sleep. He came up behind her and hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her back to his front and dropping a kiss into the cove of her neck. Lia reached up and cupped his jaw, tilting her head to allow him greater access to her neck.
“Morning. Your breakfast will be ready in half an hour.”
“I wanted to take a quick run, think you can push it to forty-five minutes?”
“Yes. Don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t, need to save some of my energy for you.” He gave her an additional hug, stepped away, and spared a little squeeze for one of her breasts before heading out the back door.
Lia sighed and went upstairs to make up his bed and tidy up the place a bit before she started his breakfast. But she looked at the mess for a moment and snorted.
Yeah, right, she so wasn’t his maid. This inclination she had to tidy up after others had to stop. She might as well put that new resolve into practice now. Food was one thing—she wouldn’t want the guy to get malnourished, and she enjoyed cooking. But fixing other people’s messes? That was about to stop right now.
He returned close to an hour later, looking hot and sweaty and so unutterably sexy that Lia could do nothing but stare for a long moment.
“Sorry it took so long, I ran into Mason in town and we got to talking. Did I ruin breakfast?”
“Uh-uh, I haven’t started it yet. You grab a shower and I’ll fix something.”
“Thanks, sunshine.” He grinned. “You’re joining me for breakfast, right?”
“I’ve eaten.”
“I prefer having breakfast with you.”
“I’ll have a cup of coffee while you eat. We need to talk anyway.”
“That never bodes well,” he said with a frown, and she grinned.
“You’re the one who wanted to rethink the guidelines,” she reminded, and his face cleared.
“Definitely. I’ll be down in a jiff.” Lia bit back a grin at the quintessentially English expression.
He was down in less than ten minutes, wearing a pair of jeans and a gray Henley. He smelled amazing—she loved his woodsy aftershave—his hair was damp and his jaw freshly shaved. The hollows in his face were starting to fill out, and he was looking healthier and handsomer every day.
“What’s for breakfast?” he asked, squeezing her butt on his way to the table. He sat down, folded his hands on the tabletop, and watched her expectantly.
“Pancakes,” she said. She put the stack of pancakes in front of him and was gratified by the delighted smile that lit up his face.
“How did you do this?” he asked, his voice filled with boyish wonder. “They look like snowflakes. They’re amazing.”
He couldn’t stop staring at the lacy pancakes she had so painstakingly made for him, and Lia was happy that she’d gone to the effort.
“What other patterns can you make?”
“The options are pretty limited when it comes to design. I can make snowflakes, hearts, these round doily-type ones, flowers. I keep experimenting to see what other designs I can come up with. But they can be pretty disastrous at times.”
“They’re perfectly golden, how do you manage that? I burn the edges even on normal pancakes.”
“Practice. They taste good, too,” she said pointedly, pushing a bowl of freshly cut fruit toward him. “So dig in.”
“It seems a shame to eat them.”
“They were made to be eaten,” she encouraged, taking a sip of coffee and watching him over the rim as he poured syrup on his pancakes and then added the fresh fruit. She held her breath when he scooped the first forkful into his mouth and released it when his eyes closed involuntarily. That was a good sign.
“This is so fucking good,” he said, his mouth full.
“Glad to hear it,” she said and watched him devour the rest in very little time. After a contented sigh, he finally put his fork down and reached for his coffee.
“So . . . guidelines,” he said.
“What were your thoughts?”
“You know I want you to sleep over.”
“Nope. That one’s not negotiable.”
“Well, if I can’t have that, then I want to be able to talk about shit.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“All kinds. Whatever strikes our fancy. Nothing is off-limits.”
“It seems foolish.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Fine. Although I’d like it stated, for the record, that I think this is unwise.”
“Noted. No more dates while we’re together.”
“Ugh, no. I’m off that for a while.”
“And . . . I’d also like to snuggle after sex.”
“No! Why?” she asked, completely horrified at the notion.
“Because you’re cuddly and because it’s relaxing.”
“I didn’t take you for a cuddler.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he pointed out smugly.
There’s a lot I don’t know about me, either, Sam conceded to himself. Such as the fact that he enjoyed a snuggle after sex—where the fuck had that load of bullshit come from? He wasn’t a snuggler. He was a retreat-to-his-own-side-of-the-bed-immediately-after-orgasm kind of guy. Good sex was hot and sticky and disturbingly moist. Not ideal circumstances during which to snuggle up with somebody.
Maybe he just wanted to fuck with her guidelines, and since there was already one he couldn’t touch and the others made sense, this was the only other one he could change.
He watched her shoulders lift as she sighed.
“Fine. But once again, I don’t think it’s a great idea.”
“Stop worrying so much, sunshine, we’ll be fine.” She smiled at his appeasing words, but she didn’t look at all convinced. “Now, what will we do today? A long, lazy Sunday stretching ahead of us endlessly. So many options. We could fuck in the kitchen. Maybe in the living room? Definitely the shower, you owe me a shower shag. Then we could . . .”
“Sorry to throw a wrench in your big plans there, mister,” she interrupted lightly. “But it’s Daisy and Mason’s last day in Riversend, so I’ll be spending the day with my family. Knowing how they feel about you, I’ve no doubt I’ll see you there.”
“Can we at least do the shower thing?” he asked wistfully, and she grinned before cupping his jaw with her hands, leaning over to kiss him.
“Tonight, I promise.”
“Lia, I’m glad we’re doing this again. I’ve missed you.”
“You’ve seen me every day.” She laughed, and he grimaced.
“You know what I mean,” he said gruffly, looking almost embarrassed, and Lia nodded.
“I know. I’ve missed you, too.”
Daisy and Mason left the following morning. The family all gathered at the farm, before work and school, for an early breakfast before the couple hit the road. Lia, Daff, and their mother finalized some plans to meet Daisy in Cape Town in a month’s time for a weekend of bridesmaid and wedding dress shopping. Then, sooner than anyone would have liked, the couple and their dogs were on the road back to Grahamstown again.
“Spence and I have to get to work,” Daff said, her voice curt but husky with unshed tears. “Brand, we’ll drive you back to the cabin.”
“Don’t you have to drop Charlie off at school?” Sam asked, his eyes moving to the young girl, who was already in her school uniform.
“It’ll be tight, but we can do both,” Daff said.
“I’ll drop him off, no need for you guys to rush around like that,” Lia said, and Daff’s eyebrows rose.
“Oh, how accommodating of you, Lia,” Daff said, her voice alive with sarcasm. And Lia’s eyes narrowed.
“I aim to please,” Lia said with a bland smile.
“I’m sure you do,” Daff said smoothly, and Spencer rolled his eyes before taking her elbow.
“Thanks, Lia, ’preciate it,” he muttered. “Let’s go, darling.”
Lia and Sam left soon after Daff and Spencer.
“I’m off to the retirement home later. You joining me?” Lia asked while they were en route to the cabin.
“What time?”
“In about an hour or so,” she said, and he made an approving sound in the back of his throat.
“Want to work off that huge breakfast?” he asked playfully, and she laughed. She had to admit flinging with Sam was surprisingly fun and stress-free. She loved his body and what he could do with it and enjoyed his company. He was a great guy. He was also an expert cuddler—immediately after sex last night he had gathered her into his arms and tucked her close.
Lia had fallen asleep during their first postsex snuggle session. And he hadn’t awoken her. Luckily she had slept only an hour and then, despite his protests that it was too late for her to leave, had gone home. She had to be careful not to do that again.
Her parents had eyed her speculatively this morning, but neither of them questioned her whereabouts. As long as she let them know she was safe. Thankfully, she would be moving into Daisy’s house on the weekend and would no longer have to feel like a teenager creeping upstairs on bare feet.
“Well, you did miss your run this morning,” Lia said in response to Sam’s question. “You’ll need the exercise.”
“I can always count on you to have my best interests at heart,” he quipped.
“Of course, I’m selfless like that,” she retorted with a serene smile, and he chuckled, tugging at her hair.
“Get us to the cabin quickly, sunshine. I don’t want to waste a second more in this car than we have to.”
“You’re a great dancer. I didn’t take you for the sort of guy who could fox-trot,” Lia said after they left the retirement home later that morning, and Sam grinned.
“Considering all the dance classes my mom made me take when I was a kid, it would be a disgrace if I didn’t at least know the fox-trot.”
“Dance classes? How long did you have to take them?” Lia asked, intrigued by that morsel of information. She had to admit, lifting the ban on personal conversations was proving to be fascinating. Especially when he revealed such diverting snippets about himself.
“From nine years old to sixteen. I was pretty proficient by the time I quit. Junior ballroom champion three years in a row. If I’m going to do something, I like to do it right. It helped that the girls were pretty and often wore leotards and tights.”
“Did you?” she asked wickedly.
“Did I what?”
“Wear leotards and tights?”
“Of course I did.” He nodded, then in typically arrogant fashion added, “I fucking rocked those tights. The girls couldn’t get enough of my muscled thighs and manly bulge.”
“Why did you stop?” she asked, ignoring his last comment.
“Well, I didn’t want to be a professional dancer, so I didn’t see the point in continuing. My mother enrolled me in the class because she thought it was a good skill for a young gentleman to have. My mother loves dancing. She’s great at it—she competed at a semiprofessional level for a few years. When she was between partners, she liked me to escort her to some of the high-end parties she often attended. And that meant not embarrassing her on the dance floor.” He grinned before continuing, “She’d inevitably meet her next man at one of those parties.”
Lia still couldn’t get over his easy acceptance of his mother’s constantly changing male companions. But she found it quite charming how much he seemed to adore his mother.
“You and your mother seem close,” she observed.
“Well, due to the transient nature of her relationships, in the end it always boiled down to just the two of us. I won’t say she was the ideal mother, she’s a little too neurotic for that, but she was fun, lovable, and supportive.”
“But how did you cope without a stable home life?”
“My mother was my stability. As long as she and I were together, we were home.” Lia pondered that answer for a moment. It was an incredibly sweet sentiment and completely melted her heart.
“So how are things going with Trevor?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“He’s awesome. He’s been taking treats from me more regularly, and they’re moving his usual walk time today so that I can take him for a stroll. Apparently his on-leash skills are pretty terrible, and because of his temperament and his lack of discipline they’ve had trouble controlling him. Dr. Gunnerson-Smythe wants to see if I’ll have more luck with him.”
“You’ve already done wonders with him, Sam,” Lia said.
“I think he’s going to make someone an amazing pet someday. He just needs some time to learn to trust.”
Lia smiled, fighting to keep the concern from her eyes. Trevor was learning to trust Sam, and she was very worried that once Sam left, the dog would regress. She knew that everybody at the shelter thought that Sam would wind up adopting Trevor, which was why they allowed him so much leeway with the dog. Lia wasn’t sure if she should intervene.
“Do you think maybe he’s becoming too attached to you?” she asked tentatively, and he went quiet.
“He needs help,” he said, his voice cooling significantly. “I’m helping.”
“But—”
“He’s better off now than he was when I first got here. That’s amazing progress in just a month. Way I see it, that’s a good thing.”
“I’m just a bit concerned that he’ll backslide when you leave.”
“He’ll be fine,” Sam insisted.
He was out of the car seconds after she parked at the animal shelter.
“See you later, sunshine,” he promised before rushing off to see Trevor. He barely limped at all anymore, recovering some of the sexy, pantherlike grace that she remembered from their first meeting.
She followed him into the building at a slower pace, her thoughts still in turmoil. For now, she would leave him to work with Trevor. She hoped that he would get the dog to a point where Trevor would start to trust others as well.
The move into Daisy’s quaint little house right on the edge of town was much smoother than Lia had anticipated. It helped that the house was fully furnished and that Lia had little furniture of her own to move. The depressing fact was that she had managed to pack up thirty-two years of her life in just a few boxes. Seeing her scant personal possessions made Lia more determined than ever to remain on this path of positivity and growth.
She enjoyed the sense of purpose her studies gave her and loved her few hours at the preschool during the week. She eagerly soaked in everything Aisha and the other teachers told her and taught her. Because she was trying to balance her time between studying and Sam, she had reduced her time at the library and the homeless shelter. She didn’t want to give up the senior dances and the animal shelter, so she had been forced to choose which projects would get less of her time. She comforted herself with the knowledge that she would pick up the slack again after Sam left.
Her eyes strayed to where he was sharing a pizza with Spencer in the living room of Daisy’s—Lia’s—house. She found herself staring at him all the time. Because of his daily run, he had all but lost the sickbed pallor, his skin taking on the healthy golden tone of before. He was also starting to fill out his clothes better, and over the last week she had felt the difference in his body and in his strength during their lovemaking . . . Her thoughts crashed to an abrupt halt at that word.
Lovemaking?
Don’t you start using words like love in relation to Sam Brand, you idiot, she berated herself harshly.
She tore her eyes away from his handsome, laughing face and went back to unpacking the boxes Spencer and Sam had carried into the house for her earlier. Essentially, aside from her electronics, bedding, and few knickknacks here and there, the boxes contained mostly clothes, books, and framed photos.
“You should have kept your wedding presents,” Daff said as she stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the sad collection of small to medium-size boxes.
“That would have been so tacky,” Lia scoffed.
Daff scrounged through one of the boxes, squealed, and extracted a gigantic green dildo.
“Oh my God, remember this?” she asked, giggling. And Lia went scarlet.
“Put that away! Charlie’s in the backyard!” The girl was playing fetch with Toffee.
“I’ve seen her biology textbook—girl knows what a penis looks like.”
“I remember that thing,” Spencer said, his voice amused. “Someone gave it to you at your hen night. I remember telling Mason that it looks like the Hulk’s cock.”
Lia made a grab for it, but Daff held it above her head and the silicone member jiggled in her grip.
“Why do you still have this, Dahlia McGregor, you bad, bad girl?”
“Why do you still have that?” Sam repeated, before adding, “It’s not like you need it.”
“Oh my gosh, you all are irritating me so much right now,” Lia complained, and Daff chortled in glee.
“Did you keep the other stuff?” Daff pressed.
“What other stuff?” Sam asked, his voice alive with curiosity.
“Fuzzy handcuffs, right, Lia?” Daff prompted. “Crotchless panties, edible condoms, and a crapload of other stuff.”
“I didn’t,” Lia admitted uncomfortably.
“Pity,” Sam said, and she glared at him.
“If you got rid of the rest, why keep this?” Daff pressed, shaking the dildo for emphasis.
“Have you ever tried getting rid of something like that?” Lia finally asked, exasperated. “I couldn’t chuck it out at home—what if Daddy saw it in the trash can? And what if someone spotted me throwing it away in town? You know how the homeless guys always scavenge in the garbage! And they all know me from the shelter. And what trash do I throw it in anyway? Is it recyclable? In the end, it was easier to just keep it.”
“You should really stop overthinking everything, sunshine,” Sam said, his voice gentle.
“Easy for you to say, you don’t care about your reputation.”
“I do,” he corrected quietly. “I have a professional reputation to maintain. An expected image to project for the sake of my business. I care about that.”
“Of course,” Lia said, contrite. “I’m sorry. My comment was uncalled for.”
“Daff, would you mind putting that thing away?” Spencer pleaded, his eyes on the dildo in Daff’s grip. “It’s making me uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” she repeated, her eyes sparking with interest. “In what way?”
Spencer cast an awkward glance at Sam and Lia before shifting his eyes to meet Daff’s again. Whatever she saw in his gaze actually made her blush and she cleared her throat before, with a wicked grin at Spencer, giving the sex toy one last squeeze and dropping it back in the box.
Fortunately, the subject was dropped along with the dildo, and after finishing the pizza, Daff and Spencer were ready to leave. They called Charlie and offered Sam a lift home.
“I think I’ll stay a little longer. I’m sure Lia wouldn’t mind giving me a ride home in exchange for my help.” Daff glanced at Charlie, and Lia knew the girl was the only reason her sister refrained from calling BS on his words. Daff was a straight shooter and liked to call a spade a spade. She settled for rolling her eyes to let him know exactly what she thought of his words.
“I thought they’d never leave,” Sam said, his voice husky with desire, as they waved the car off a short while later. “I think we should christen every room in this house tonight.”
“It’s only three rooms, really, since the kitchen and living room are open plan,” Lia babbled and then yelped when he dropped his hand on her butt and squeezed.
“Living room sofa and kitchen counter. They’re separate rooms to me.”
He positioned himself in front of her, dropping his free hand to her other butt cheek and squeezing and lifting her behind until her crotch was in line with his.
“We have a lot to get done tonight, Lia,” he said sternly. “Let’s not dawdle.”
In the end they managed living room, kitchen, shower, and bed. They now lay sprawled, naked and exhausted on top of the bedcovers, both on their backs and staring up at the ceiling. Lia was on his left, her head tucked into the nook between his shoulder and arm, one hand resting on his flat, ridged abdomen and the other pillowing her cheek on his shoulder. His arm was hooked around her shoulders, and his fingers were idly tracing up and down her side, from the swell of her breast to the dip of her waist and back, and his other arm was draped across his stomach and with his hand over hers.
Aside from explicit instructions from both of them about what felt good where, they hadn’t really spoken since the shower and were both content to just lie in companionable silence for the moment.
“I had an imaginary puppy once,” he admitted, his voice even more gravelly than usual.
“What was his name?” Lia asked softly.
“Rex. I was six, so no points for imagination. I can’t remember much about him—my mother said he was my best friend for nearly a year, and when she divorced husband number four, I cried for days because we’d moved out and I was heartbroken because we’d left Rex behind.”
Lia frowned and stroked his chest, wondering why he was telling her this. Her heart broke for the confused little boy who had lost his only friend but she wasn’t sure how to respond to his words.
“My mother offered to buy me a real puppy after that, but I refused. I was scared that the next time we moved that dog would be left behind, too.”
“I’m very busy with work,” he said, and the non sequitur made her blink in surprise. “Even when I’m not in the field, I spend long hours in the office. I can’t have a dog. I know you think I should adopt Trevor.” It was the first time he’d ever used the dog’s real name. “But I can’t. He’d spend too much time alone. My hope is that he’ll learn to trust others through me and find that special someone who’ll be willing to take him into their heart.”
Now she wondered if he was referring only to the dog, or if his words were a gentle reminder to Lia not to get too attached.
“I’m sure he will,” she said, keeping her voice low and soothing. “You’ve worked wonders with him, Sam.”
“Lia—”
“I should get you home,” she interrupted, not wanting to hear him expand his confessional to include his relationship with her.
“I could stay.”
“No, you can’t, Sam.”
“For fuck’s sake, Lia. We’ll just be sleeping in the same bed, it’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me. Maybe you’re used to spending the night with just any woman, but to me, sleeping with someone is more intimate than just having sex with them. It’s . . . it’s . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she wasn’t quite sure how to express her feelings on the matter. “It means more to sleep with someone. We’re having fun, and I don’t want it to be more than fun. I don’t want it to mean more.”
He sighed, the sound rife with frustration, and levered himself out of bed. His movements were graceful and an indication of just how much better he was. He would be leaving soon, that much was evident. He was healing by leaps and bounds, and she was sure he wouldn’t be staying for the entirety of his three-month convalescence. He’d be gone in a matter of mere weeks, and it was important for her to keep sight of that.
This last week with him had been wonderful. They’d spent as much time together as possible; she never got tired of his body, and he never seemed to grow bored with her, either. Every time they were intimate felt like the first time. She would have expected that desperate edge to wane by now, but instead it seemed to be growing more intense.
Frighteningly, she had to remind herself on a daily basis not to fall in love with him, that this wasn’t real. That it was nothing but casual fun.
He’s not for you.
Don’t get used to this.
He’ll be leaving soon.
Don’t like him too much.
Don’t love him even a little.
A daily mantra, five quick, magical incantations with which to safeguard her heart. But the scariest part of it all was that she didn’t think they were working.