Olivia

Rapt by the sight before me, I stand in the doorway gawking at the two equally striking men, each sporting silver hair and a bold, handsome face. Bas and Alec are in a deep, animated conversation by the stove with hand gestures and all, touching each other in adoring and tender ways. Love radiates from and around them.

I never considered myself one to watch another couple, but shit, as the heat rises to my cheeks, I seriously consider grabbing some popcorn, a glass of wine, and watching these two. I can’t explain it, but they’re beautiful together. Instinctually, it makes you yearn for what they have, but not in a covetous way, more because every person should be looked at and loved like that.

Alec is tall and fit, his hair wavy but neatly in place, and his gray dusting of scruff gives a slight edge to his debonair features and hazel eyes. Bas is ruggedly handsome with a strong jaw lined with trimmed stubble and spiky white hair that’s short but eye-catching and a complement to his deep, bold blue eyes. Each man is different, but no less good-looking.

Scintillating aromas of whatever is simmering on the stove waft through the air. Alec turns to the source as Bas shuffles over to a kitchen chair, draping a blanket over his shoulders. It’s summer, hot and humid outside, yet he’s covered in layers of clothes.

Upon closer inspection, despite the added bulk, Bas looks smaller than I imagined he would. Now, watching him, even without knowing about the cancer, I’d know he wasn’t well. My stomach clenches at what he must be going through, what they’re all going through. We lost my father to cancer, and I sincerely wish I could spare them the pain and heartache that come with the devastating disease.

“Bas, Alec,” Sam says, bringing me fully into the room. Turning toward us, their smiles widen. “This is Olivia.” The tenderness and, dare I say, pride in Sam’s voice is clear.

Both greet me with hugs, the French multiple-kisses thing, and with ease, we settle on the deck outside. I’m nestled beside Sam on a wooden bench, Alec sits to the side in a Muskoka chair, and Bas rests in one beside him, cocooned in his blanket in the middle of sweltering July. Shit. He doesn’t look good.

“Olivia, tell us what you’ve been up to since arriving,” Alec encourages, his accent thick and smooth like chocolate melting in your mouth.

“Not much.” Before I can catch myself, my heated gaze looks up at Sam. Images of us—in the shower, him behind me, in me, on his furniture, in his bed—flash through my mind like a heart-searing slideshow. Heat stirs low in my belly as Sam rakes his hungry eyes over me like he’s reading my mind. Exhaling a burst of air and my sudden yearning, I look away. “We went to dinner with the Thibaults,” I awkwardly offer.

“Daniel and Yasmine?” Bas asks. We nod. “Sam, I told you to walk away. They’re bad news, trust me,” he implores. Sluggishly standing, he walks to the railing overlooking his backyard and huffs. His frail hands curl in on themselves. The Thibaults clearly piss him off. “Fine don’t trust me, but talk to Sal Lyons before you do anything.”

“Sal? Why?” Sam asks, puzzled.

“Daniel invested in his first restaurant, Voltaire. Ask him about it.”

“Voltaire? I’ve never heard of it,” Sam says.

“Exactly,” Bas snaps.

I wish I knew more about why he has a strong dislike for Daniel. I, too, don’t particularly like the Thibaults, but I’m sensing now would not be a good time to ask for further explanation. Alec goes to him, gently squeezing Bas’s shoulder before moving the conversation into more amiable territory.

“Bas, Alec, perhaps you can help me out.” All three pair of eyes land on me as I smirk. “I’d love some dirt on Sam. What was he like as a child? Anything I should know or could use to torture him with?”

Bas chuckles, a slight twinkle in his gray eyes. “Ah, Samson, I like this one. She’ll keep you on your toes. Ma chérie, I could tell you many things,” he cunningly quips.

I love that he calls me his dear, ma chérie, so sweet. His immediate fondness for me warms my heart.

“Hey, let’s stop right there,” Sam interjects.

“Nope, I think Bas and I need to talk.” I attempt to stand, but Sam’s hands firmly grip my waist, pulling me onto his lap.

With his arm holding me still, the warm breath of his sexy, low voice skitters across my neck. “Nice try. You’re not going anywhere.”

His fingers dance along my sides. Damn, I’m ticklish. Unable to keep this tidbit a secret, I squeal and squirm. He chuckles at my reaction, continuing his playful torment.

“Stop, please, stop,” I beg, fruitlessly wriggling, powerless to escape his hold.

Alec nears and then reaches over, tickling Sam’s sides, which immediately provides me relief. Sam yelps and he too squirms and laughs. Ha! We’re both ticklish—good to know. “Arrête,” he calls, raising his hands in surrender.

Our laughter fills the air. Bas clings to the railing, chuckling, deep lines of mirth etching his features, but there’s also a sadness, a sobering shadow in his eyes, in his not quite full smile. My chest tightens. I can only imagine his melancholy thoughts, the idea of not being around to enjoy this, to be with those he loves the most.

“Garde cette femme,” Bas says out of nowhere. I think it means something like keep this woman. Their eyes lock as Sam straightens, seriousness setting into his expression. Nodding once, as in a promise to Bas, his gaze turns to me, soft and open, a small smile creeping along his lips.

“Samson hated his name,” Bas continues, as if he’s having a conversation with himself.

“Pardon?” I ask, looking to him.

“When he was a teenager, Samson hated his name. Insisted on being called Sam. Never answering to his given name. A formidable, noble name, Samson. Alec respected his wishes, but I refused.”

Sam’s smile is rueful, his eyes fixed on Bas, mesmerized by this man who is a father to him.

“What happened?” I want to know more, all about Sam and his life, his loves and passions, dislikes and dreams.

“After about a year of it, I’d had enough. He was sulky and difficult. Stubborn. I sat him down and told him that his name was something to be proud of, to cherish and live up to. It was his grandmother’s maiden name. His dear, poor mother.” Bas pauses. The tone in his voice is reflective and haunting. A slight chill runs through me, and I don’t know why. “She gave him that name, wanted him to have her family name. His name is proof that she adored him. She loved him with all of her heart and wanted him to have a part of her, if not all of her.”

Silence ensues, all of us caught up in his words. I try to interpret his meaning as Alec stares pensively at his husband, seeming to fully understand the magnitude of what Bas just shared.

Bas and Sam stare at each other, gazes locked. Eyes penetrating, boring into each other. Speaking a language we can’t hear or decipher. I wish I could. I wish I had the code to unlock their unspoken words. The moment is poignant.

Bas is the first to break the spell, saying we need to grab food for dinner. With that, we head out and spend the day shopping, selecting fresh produce, meat, and delights from both the Atwater and Jean Talon Markets before returning to their place for a bountiful and delicious meal.

Later that night, we return to Sam’s. His loft is in total darkness except for the thin slant of moonlight casting a silvery hue on the open space. In silence, he interlaces our fingers and leads me to his bed.

On the way, his free hand removes his shirt the way guys do—with one swift pull over his head. He reluctantly releases my hand to allow the fabric to fall from his arm and then immediately claims me again. Next are his pants and boxers, gone.

When he stands gloriously naked before me, my hands instinctively reach for him, needing him. Removing my clothes, he takes time to caress my skin as it is revealed. Long, calloused fingertips glide across my collarbone and chest.

As if that wasn’t enough, his lips worship, gentle and hot, with the slight zing of his stubble grazing my flesh. Each kiss erases all my past lows and insecurities, every single moment of sadness, neglect, and loneliness.

He removes my jeans, then bends, twisting his torso to kiss my lower back. Teasing a path along my hips with his tongue, he returns to kneel in front of me and wraps his arms around my middle. His face nuzzles my stomach, placing hot, wet kisses on my midriff while his tongue dips into my belly button, sending shivers up my spine and curling my toes.

After peeling off my panties, he plants a hard, possessive kiss on my pussy. His tongue then licks from my entrance up to flick my clit, and I moan at his gentle yet passionate dominance. His lips continue a blistering path up my body, only stopping his glorious mapping of me to unclasp my bra.

Both naked, our gazes lock as he lifts me to straddle him on the bed. His adoration is evident and staggering in his heavy-lidded eyes. His hard cock presses snugly against my sex, and I’m unable to stay still as a breathy sigh passes through my slightly open lips and I slide along him.

Riding out my climax against him, his molten stare only serves to spur me on as my core heats, aches for release, my breasts heavy with need. His devotion consumes me and is weakening my resolve to keep us free of labels and expectations.

I scream his name like it’s the meaning of life as my orgasm rips through me. He seals my open mouth with his and our kiss lingers while his hands roam my body, one gripping my breast. With the other, he guides his cock to my entrance. Gradually and eagerly, I lower myself onto him.

The sense of finally being full, cherished, and awakened washes over me. His arms envelop me, one across my back, the other on my bottom as we leisurely move together like yin and yang, inseparable, our foreheads connected, eyes locked, mouths open, sharing the same breath as we climb to our release.

“Sam,” I whisper reverently.

“Livvy,” he groans, thrusting to the hilt as we come together. We’ve never been closer, now moving as one.

That isn’t sex, it’s love, much more than two naked bodies entwined. Our strong connection lives and breathes in every caress, every moan, every embrace. It’s remarkable and intense, and it scares the hell out of me.

It’s amazing what time and distance can do for a girl’s perspective. It’s a week later and my fear has faded. I came home muddled and worried; the weekend with Sam had been out of this world, but I feared it had been unwise.

All our obstacles still exist—our age difference, the distance, not to mention being in two different stages in our lives. I have my family, and he’s just starting out. I have no clue if he wants children or even to marry. I never want to marry again, and even at that, I am getting ahead of myself. Marriage! Who said anything about marriage? Again, my age is showing.

But a week later, my fears are gone. We are back to texting and talking daily and somehow this invisible, protective shield is back in place now that we are separated and in our own domains.

What also helped was my conversation with Yasmine Thibault. Surprisingly, she helped put things in perspective. While I still dislike the woman, what she said did make some sense.

At the restaurant that night, she was quick to speak her mind. It had been very clear that both Daniel and Yasmine wanted each of us alone. Yasmine’s reason became apparent the minute Sam left the table.

“Sam and I were in Vancouver together this week,” she says unprompted. Hiding my shock at this revelation—Sam never mentioned she was there—I nod and deeply inhale. “Olivia, I’m not sure what you think is going on with Sam, but you’re not cut out for his world. You don’t know the first thing about being a chef, and a celebrity chef no less. Sam is wildly successful and needs someone who can support him, who can help him further his goals and dreams. Really, Olivia, you’re not the one.” Her tone is disparaging.

Wow, she really is unattractive, vile even, beneath the blonde hair, blue eyes, and ‘pretty little thing’ façade she has going on. “Yasmine, what’s going on between Sam and me is not your concern.”

She laughs, but there’s no joy in it at all. “Olivia, stop fooling yourself. You’re too old, you live in two different cities, and you don’t understand what Sam needs, what’s good for him. I can give him that. My father and I will give him what he needs—or maybe we won’t,” she taunts.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, taking the bait although I shouldn’t.

“Sam needs at least one investor for his new restaurant. He wants us and we want him, but you see, maybe we won’t want him. Maybe his business venture would look a whole lot more attractive if a certain older mother-of-two would walk away. If you care for him and want his dreams to come true, leave him alone.” We stare at each other, silent barbs flying back and forth between us, neither of us backing down. “I can set you up with a man your own age, if you’re really that hard up,” she sneers.

Shivering and giving my head a shake, I snap out of my thoughts. While Yasmine was nasty and I really didn’t like what she had to say, she did have some valid points. At the very least she reminded me that this is casual. No labels.

The past two weeks have been busy for both of us with only texts and brief phone calls. The interior plans for Mrs. Preston’s hotel are in full swing and Sam is preoccupied with Bas, managing his restaurants, and planning his new one. I want to ask him about the financial backing needed for his new restaurant, but I don’t want to pry. If I could I’d invest, but I don’t have the funds. I know who does, but I’d never ask Pete for the money—gawd, what a disaster that would be.

Sam’s on his way here from the airport. Unfortunately he can only stay the night, but it’s better than nothing. Even with this being casual I can’t deny that I do miss him.

He joins us at Colin and Sin’s where we’re spending the day by their pool as it’s a scorcher today. Her place is packed with neighbors and kids, and Sam fits right in, stripping down to reveal his striking tats and body.

Through the sliding glass doors, outside, every woman around the pool freezes and stares. I bet if I were outside I’d hear a few gasps and moans. Sam really is that incredible, but what makes him even more attractive is how unaffected he is by it all. He doesn’t flaunt his good looks, instead is just comfortable in his own skin.

“Wow,” Sin says from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, she too is transfixed by the work of art known as Sam Beaulieu.

“I know,” I say wistfully, then I drop the bomb. “I’m going on a date next week.”

“What? With Sam?”

Turning to face her, I shake my head no. Gazing into her troubled stare, I avert my eyes, turning away. I don’t need her approval. “I’m going on a date with Mrs. Preston’s cousin. She’s been hounding me, so I caved.”

“Couldn’t you just tell her you have a boyfriend?”

“But I don’t.”

“But you slept with Sam, right?” she asks, and I stupidly and uncontrollably blush. “Okay, I’ll take that as a yes. I know you Liv—you’re not a one-night stand, casual sex kinda girl, so how is this going to work?”

“What do you mean?” I know exactly what she means, and we’re showing our age if we can’t hook up, as the kids call it. Not every sexual encounter has to be serious or lead to marriage.

“If you and Sam are having sex, it’s gotta be more than casual.”

“It’s just a fling,” I rush to respond, feeling queasy at the thought despite knowing it’s the right thing to want.

“Does Sam know that?” Hands on her hips, she’s abandoned dishing out the snacks. All her focus is on me, which I so don’t want.

“Well, we’ve haven’t said it in so many words, but…”

“So, let me ask you this: does he think you’re exclusive or not?”

I don’t want to respond. We haven’t discussed it, although I’m pretty sure I know what Sam would say—which is exactly why I haven’t wanted to discuss it. Why is she looking at me like that, like she’s my mother and I’m completely clueless?

She pushes, “Okay, how about if Sam was to date or sleep with someone else, say one Miss Yasmine Thibault—how would you feel about that?”

A growl slips from my lips and my hands wrap into fists. She smirks, knowing how I feel without me saying a word.

Contrary to my reaction, I respond, “It’s casual. It can’t be anything more.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I’m not starting another relationship. I’m almost two years on my own, and I like it. I’m getting used to it. I want to be on my own. I don’t want some man to define my life. Been there, done that, and no thank you, not going back.”

“And you think Colin defines my life because I’ve been married to him for twenty years?” she asks defensively.

“Oh, God, no. That’s not what I’m saying. I just don’t want to fall into that trap again. I have no regrets about my life with Pete.” Sin stops her task again, and her eyebrows rise as her eyes pin me. “It’s not regret. Sure, I wish things could have been different, but I can’t regret my life with him. He gave me Drew and Paige. I wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

“Aww, honey, of course not.”

“Is it wrong of me to feel like a weakling or a failure if I’ve found another man? With leaving Pete, I’d resigned myself to the fact that I’d never find a man that could give me what I wanted, and I was okay with that. I was happy on my own—truly. I was so alone with Pete that actually being alone is refreshing, exciting, and hopeful. Now, with Sam…shit, he could be everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. He’s not perfect—who is? —but I never had it this way with Pete, ever, even when things were good. I just don’t know if I’m ready. So, we’re keeping this casual.”

Looking back outside, unable to take her all-seeing stare after having bared my soul, I cast my eyes on everyone around the pool. “Besides, isn’t it weird or all kinds of wrong to have your daughter and her friend ogling the guy you’re seeing?”

She joins me at the glass and we watch Sam as he talks with Drew, Colin, and Colin and Sin’s son, Finn. He’s oblivious to Marci ogling him from the pool, along with Sin’s neighbors, Mrs. Sims, and Mrs. Patterson. Paige and Pippa occasionally glance at him but neither stare, although it’s obvious they like what they see. Seriously, what woman wouldn’t?

Sin laughs. “They’re human, and they’re teenage girls—well, not all of them are teenagers, but they’re alive. You’d have to be without a pulse and a heterosexual male to not look at Sam twice or thrice.” Her sly smile matches the twinkle in her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Not long after, we bring out the snacks and beverages and Sam catches my eye as I place the tray on the table. Leaving the guys, his smile grows wider, dimples and all, with each step toward me. Even with my niggling worries about our age difference and what my priorities need to be, I can’t resist him.

I’m fully aware that there are eyes on us; I’m not certain who’s watching as my gaze never strays from Sam, but I’m pretty sure it’s all the women. Like Sin said, I can’t blame them.

“Damn, you in that bikini has me on fire,” he whispers low and throaty into my ear. His hot breath tickles my neck as his forefinger blazes a trail from my collarbone down my arm to my wrist, sending tingles spreading throughout my body. “And that’s saying a hell of a lot since it’s a scorcher today.”

A giggle passes my lips as my knees weaken and I grab onto his biceps to keep myself standing. “Well, you’re pretty hot yourself,” I whisper, teasing my finger slyly along the front waistband of his swim shorts, his hard abs contracting at my touch.

With a devilish grin, Sam grips my waist and again leans in. “Uh-uh, you’re the hottest thing here.”

His tongue quickly licks my skin, then he nibbles on my neck. He’s driving me crazy with desire, my wet heat pooling between my legs. Before I have a chance to either pull back in an attempt to regain my senses or give in to my lust and completely strip down for him, he whispers into my ear.

At first, nothing he says makes sense because I’m flying through the air, screaming. Then his words register: “You’re so hot that I think you need to cool off.” With a splash, I hit the water, his laughter following me to the bottom of the pool.

We end up staying for a barbecue and don’t get home until well after nine. Drew heads for the staircase, looking back at us congregated at the front door as Paige flicks off her flip flops.

“Hey Sam, wanna play some ball in the morning?”

“Ah, I’d love to, but not sure if I can. By the time we play and then I schlep back to shower and check out, I doubt I’ll catch my flight. Don’t think it’ll work out this time.”

“Check out?” Drew asks.

“At the hotel.”

“Mom, why does Sam stay at a hotel every time he comes to visit?” Paige asks.

“Um, I…” I stutter.

Before I’m able to formulate a coherent response, Drew adds, “It’s stupid. He should stay here. It’s a waste of money. And Mom”—Drew looks directly at me— “if your hang-up is us, we’re cool with Sam staying here.”

“Absolutely,” Paige chimes in.

Damn these kids. Sam’s expectant eyes twinkle, but he remains silent as both kids wait for me to say something.

“Sam can stay the night,” I say, looking straight into his eyes. A smile settles in his gaze as he steps in, bag and all, and closes the door behind him.

“D-man, we’re on for ball,” Sam declares, still staring at me like he’s ready to play with me.

The kids disperse, leaving Sam and I transfixed. His sexy shit-eating grin and the dimples are out in full force. I’m done for.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Well, I could deny it, but what’s the point? I love sleepovers.” He winks and slaps my ass as he walks by.

No matter how much I try to keep this in the casual zone, it’s like the universe is conspiring against me.