Olivia

“You didn’t answer me,” I say, finally breaking our comfortable silence. Sam’s puzzled. “You never explained why you didn’t text back this week.”

With a ghost of a smile, he says, “I lost my phone. It’s likely somewhere in the Vancouver airport.”

“What?” I shudder at the thought—losing my phone would be like losing my life. “Are you serious?”

“Yup. I was in Vancouver this past week looking at potential restaurant locations. Last time I had my phone, I was in the airport.”

For a fleeting moment, my heart sinks at his news—he might open his restaurant in Vancouver? I loved the idea of his new restaurant being in Toronto. It would be a reason to be in my city. To see me. If he opens on the west coast, this—whatever this is between us—will fizzle out real quick.

“What are you going to do?” My voice is anxious at the idea of both his missing phone and his new venture being across the country. “I mean, I’d be freaking. I texted you four days ago. You’ve been without a phone that long?”

“I’m using Bas’s right now. I was hoping to find it, but now I’m thinking I’ll have to break down and buy a new one.”

“Oh.” I don’t like knowing he did in fact have a phone; it means he could have contacted me, but didn’t. Confusion and sadness set in.

“Hey, let’s get out of here.” Shutting his laptop, he strides over and takes my hand. As we walk out, he adds, as if reading my mind, “I don’t have your number memorized, because it was programmed in my phone. I should’ve made the effort to get your number, but…” He pauses, hesitant.

“But what?” My stomach churns with unease.

“Let’s get to my place and then we’ll talk, I promise,” he reassures.

Not fully calm or comforted, I force myself to not dwell on whatever it is he has to tell me. Whatever it is, even if it’s something I don’t want to hear, I’ll deal.

His place is a few blocks from Mon Petit Chou, a refurbished loft on the waterfront. For me, it’s a design mecca with its wood floors, exposed fieldstone brick, fifteen-plus-foot ceilings, and windows galore. It’s beautifully sparse, the furniture minimal, making the architecture the centerpiece.

“Wow, this is amazing,” I gush, unable to rest my eyes on any one feature.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t you have people over?” My random question stops his movement, his steady gaze now on me. “What I mean is, your bed’s just out in plain view, don’t you…?” I trail off, weak-kneed at the dawning of his sexy smile.

“You worried about who sees my bed, Olivia?” he teases, seeming like the Sam I’m used to.

Blushing, I look away and chuckle. “Hardly.Never mind.”

“Um, let’s talk.”

Okay, the moment is here. Linking his arm in mine, he seats us side by side on the sofa. “I’m sorry about this week. Really. I did want to call you, we need to talk, but what I have to say shouldn’t be said on the phone.”

I’m not liking the sound of this. Maybe it is what I feared it would be—is he ending things? Coming here might have been a bad idea.

What am I thinking? If I’m honest with myself, I don’t want to end this. I’m having fun and I like Sam, a lot, but maybe it’s better this way, better to get out before I get my heart broken.

“I’ve been distracted. My… Bas is sick. He has cancer.” Sucking in a jagged breath, he continues quickly on the exhale like he needs to say it, get it all out. “At first, it was the lungs, but it’s spread and there’s nothing we can do. The treatment is only buying him time.”

His bitter, resigned words slice through me. I selfishly have a fleeting moment of relief that we aren’t over. Despite my concerns, my fears, I’m not ready to walk away, and feeling that after hearing what Sam is dealing with only proves that I care for this man.

I want nothing more than to comfort him, make it all better, but I can only do so much. This—cancer—is so much uglier and bigger than us.

“Sam.” My tone is loving and heartfelt.

Reaching out, I pull him into my arms, holding him tight, and his big, hard body relaxes into my embrace with a sigh. I don’t know what to say, but I want him to know I’m here for him.

“He’s just finishing up his chemo treatment. That’s why I left. He’s being difficult and wanting to do this alone. Alec is having none of it and has been there every step of the way, as have I. He thinks he’s protecting us by trying to limit what we have to see or endure, but instead he’s driving us insane with worry. I’ve been spending a lot of time there.” Pulling back slightly, he rubs his hand down his face and hangs his head low. “You’ve been on my mind. A lot.” Gazing up at me, hurt and worry swim in his eyes.

“Sam, I’m so sorry. I’ve been so caught up in me and wondering why you were being aloof. I had no clue.”

Shaking his head, he sharply but warmly says, “Stop.” He lightly kisses my forehead. “Have I told you how glad I am that you’re here?”

His lips skate along the side of my ear, trailing down my neck then stopping at the juncture of my neck and collarbone where he laves and sucks that tender spot, doing all kinds of gooey things to my insides. To prevent my pleasurable moan from escaping, I bite my bottom lip. His tongue leisurely traces my pulse point, which quickens at his languorous care.

Out of sheer desire and a serious lack of control, I lose the battle. With my hands latched onto his solid, contoured sides, I emit a low, husky moan. His tongue keeps at its seduction with licks and sweeps up the column of my neck. With each sweep, peck, and bite, I’m loud with pleasurable abandon.

“God, Sam, yes.”

Humming in appreciation, his warm lips hurriedly make their way to mine. With a nip to my bottom lip followed by a lick, his mouth covers mine, his insistent tongue teasing the seam of my lips. Our kiss is urgent and voracious, like I’m his last meal. Whoa. Heat flames my insides.

Strong hands cling to my hips, moving me, our connection never lost as he effortlessly places me in his lap. With one leg on either side, I straddle him. Settling into him, his incredibly solid arousal is insistent between my legs. His take-charge demeanor and his obvious desire for me dissolve my restraint as I unabashedly rock back and forth against his hard length. The thin cotton of my leggings feels like nothing against the solid ridge of his erection. With a whiny, breathy whimper, I’m unable to contain myself. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to, and I don’t.

“Olivia.” He releases a low, pained groan into my mouth, his fingers tightening on my bottom. Relishing every second of our contact, I inhale his intoxicating scent, all Sam.

“Sam.” My drawn out, breathless moan slides into his mouth.

Subtly but almost instantly, his kiss morphs into dreamy, soft sweeps and caresses. Less adamant, but no less intense. This is more than a kiss. He’s making love to my mouth.

My hands slip to his waist, moving deftly for his button and fly. I need him. Inside me. Now. Sam swiftly lifts me, palming my ass, our tongues still tangled as he lays us down on the bed.

“Tell me to stop,” he urges, his lips still against mine. “If we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to control myself any longer.”

“Don’t stop.”

I want this. I want him. My encouragement unleashes the animal in him—within seconds, he pulls his shirt over his head then drops his jeans and boxers.

My breath stalls at the beauty of him in his naked glory. He’s beyond gorgeous, his hard, sculpted body definitely worthy of worship. While I peruse his impressive frame, he only has eyes for me. His heated stare only makes me hotter, my skin prickling to be touched, sucked, and bitten.

And his tattoos—God, they are glorious. Dark ink contrasts his bronzed skin, the soft swirls and curls of the script stand out against the hard ridges and contours of his defined body. Both the delicately detailed cabbage on his pec and the black words on his ribs are taunting me.

In one swift move, he has my leggings on the floor and is working to unbutton my blouse. The enormity of what we’re doing seeps through my desire-filled haze, and self-consciousness skitters like an unwanted chill over my bare flesh. The curtains are open, bright daylight streaming into the room.

I shiver. “Ah, Sam.” I clear my throat in attempt to sound more certain. “Can you shut the curtains or…somehow make it darker?”

No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I recognize the absurdity of what I’ve said. I am confident in who I am. I love my body, but I’d be silly to deny my hesitation. In my nakedness, I’m shy and doubtful of my appeal to him, this perfect, younger, sexy man. Yes, he’s made no secret of his interest in me, but things get real, fast, when one is naked.

My body is not perfect. I have stretch marks, areas that should be firmer, and scars—all of which I’m proud of. Sure, if all things were equal, I’d want my younger body in a heartbeat, but my body is my storybook. My hardships, loves, losses, and triumphs have been lived in my bones, my skin. Even with the end of my marriage and the uncertainty that looms ahead, I wouldn’t change a thing. No regrets.

“Olivia.” His low, sexy voice pulls me out of my heavy thoughts, the tender look in his eyes telling me he knows what’s going on. His hand threads through my hair, cupping the back of my head. “I want to see you, all of you. You’re breathtaking. Let me worship you, love every inch of you,” he whispers before his lips brush over mine.

Something inexplicable yet powerful cartwheels inside my chest, strange and new. I’ve never felt this way before. With each sweep of his tongue, like the wind scattering sheets of paper, my want wildly spreads throughout my body, and desire shreds my doubts.