More to Give (17 page)

“So hire them and get on with it,” he said.

“There’s only one way I can do that,” Callie said, a devious smile spreading across her face. “You’re going to make them like you.”

“The hell I am,” Sam barked. “I told you, I don’t care what these people think of me.”

“Well, I have a job to do,” Callie argued, pointing to the giant diagram on the wall. “And unless you make an effort, it’s going to be the two of us attempting to whip this place into shape in the next six weeks.”

Sam had no intention of doing the heavy lifting on this project, and he would never expect Callie to do so either.

“How do you suggest I make them like me?”

Callie tapped the side of her nose. “I have two words for you: Sam and Cecil.”

CHAPTER 17

C
ontrary to what Sam proclaimed, Callie had not, in fact, lost her mind. If anything, she’d found it. She needed villagers willing to help put this hotel back together, and if Sam was the reason they refused, then it was his responsibility to change their minds.

The man would become a social butterfly, friend to the common man, and supporter of the community if it killed her. And based on the look on his face, it just might.

“I am not doing this,” Sam repeated for the fifth time. “I am not making a fool of myself because some small-minded islanders don’t like me.”

“I highly recommend you not call them that while entertaining their children.”

Sam rolled his eyes while throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. They’d taken the conversation from the inn over to Callie’s cottage, where the other half of the act resided. Callie stood beside Cecil’s cage, while Sam remained obstinate on the other side of the room.

“How would you like to meet some new friends, Cecil?”

“Rather have a cracker,” her pet squawked.

Callie expected this response. “What if these new friends gave you crackers?”

“New best friends,” he chirped enthusiastically. “New best friends.”

“That bird is going to be a solo act,” Sam said, looking ready to bolt.

Callie shot Sam a narrowed look, but it was really an excuse to look at him. The man who always looked pressed and ready for the boardroom cut a striking image in worn denim and a tee that hugged his shoulders like a second skin. Though he’d worn jeans to the dinner party, as Callie had suggested, those must have been his dress jeans.

Today Sam wore his get-dirty jeans, and they were giving Callie plenty of dirty thoughts. Just because they wouldn’t be exploring a more physical relationship didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a little mental fantasy about the man. It wasn’t as if he would know.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Sam barked. She feared he could read her mind until he added, “This circus-act idea is never going to happen.”

“Fine,” Callie said. “Then call Will Parsons and tell her the Sunset Harbor Inn will not be open for business until spring.”

Sam’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stalked across the room like a lion ready to attack. Callie couldn’t help but admire how he moved. Maybe she should make outlandish demands more often.

Stopping on the other side of the cage, he said, “There has to be another way. I’ll donate to the preservation society. Or buy a new scoreboard for the high school football field.”

Throwing money into the community might help his case, but Callie doubted a donation would do enough to garner the immediate reversal they needed. “They don’t want your money, Sam. They need to get to know you as a person, not this hermit-hotelier image they have of you.”

Sam frowned. “Hermit hotelier?”

“That’s what they call you,” Callie said, hoping a poke to his ego would gain his cooperation. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

He looked to be considering the idea. “I’ve been called worse.”

The man had to have a weak spot. Callie grasped onto the stories she’d heard about his uncle. “Did you know Morty well?”

The change of subject seemed to take him off guard. “Of course I did. He was my uncle. I spent every summer here with him when I was a kid. At least, until high school, when my mother felt I needed to do internships with the larger family properties.”

“Wait. You came here as a kid?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Do the natives know that?”

Sam shook his head. “I have no idea. If they were around and remember me, maybe. I don’t walk around talking about it.”

“But that’s a connection,” Callie said. “You weren’t new to this island when you took over the hotels. Do you remember the stories your uncle used to tell the kids in the village?”

“I don’t know.” Sam dropped into Callie’s favorite blue chair and ran his hands over his face. Leaning back, he kicked a leg up on the ottoman. She’d never seen anything sexier. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not the storyteller he was. And I don’t have the patience to deal with children.”

Callie doubted that was true. He may not have much experience with them, but her woman’s intuition told her Sam would be great with kids. Once he stopped treating them like miniature adults.

Unable to help herself, Callie sat down next to Sam’s leg on the ottoman, resting her hand on his knee. “Would it be so bad for people to like you, Sam? To see you not as a buttoned-up hotel owner but as the nice guy you really are?”

Leaning forward until their faces were mere inches apart, Sam stared into Callie’s eyes. “I have my reasons for not reaching out to the people on this island. For not ingratiating myself with this community.”

“Why?” she asked, feeling a bit drunk from the heat of his body so close to hers.

Sliding his knuckles along her jawline, he said, “Because I have other plans.”

The statement made no sense to Callie, but that might have been because she’d lost the ability to think clearly. Or breathe normally. Or concentrate on anything other than Sam’s full lower lip and his eyes, the color of a storm cloud over the sea.

“That’s good,” she mumbled, referring to something that had nothing to do with the current conversation.

Sam leaned closer, saying, “To hell with it.”

And then he kissed her. An onslaught of feelings and emotions, pent-up passion and forbidden longing, crashed into Callie’s system. His lips were hot and demanding, and she gave the same in turn. Her head was swimming, her senses coming alive.

Sam leaned back in the chair, pulling Callie with him until she was draped across his body—his big, powerful body that was hard in all the right places, while his lips were soft and his hands kneaded her bottom, pulling her tighter against his arousal.

Oh, yes. He was definitely hard.

Callie couldn’t get close enough. She slid her knee up and over his hip, grinding against him. Sam drove a hand into her hair and moaned in response. Finding the bottom of his T-shirt, Callie dragged her nails over his abs, feeling the muscles bunch and twitch beneath her touch. She wanted to taste those abs. To run her tongue along his skin until he was begging for more.

“Don’t forget the condom,” Cecil chimed, jerking them both back to reality.

Holding her by the shoulders, Sam panted, and his now-dark-gray eyes stared up at her as if surprised to find her there.

Without a word, he shifted Callie gently to the side, set his feet on the floor, and dropped his head into his hands. After what looked to be a silent argument with himself, Sam bolted off the chair. “This is what I was trying to avoid.”

The adrenaline pumping through Callie’s veins turned to anger. She wanted him and she knew very well he wanted her. She could still feel his hands on her skin. Taste him on her lips. Feel him throbbing between her legs.

“We’re two single, consenting adults, Sam. Stop trying to avoid what you know we both want.”

“You work for me, Callie,” he argued, turning to face her. “I will not take advantage of that.”

“Then I’ll take advantage of you,” she replied, rolling off the chair and closing the distance between them. Sam looked as if he wanted to step back, but she knew his ego wouldn’t let him. “I’m not screwing you to get a job, and you’re not screwing me as part of my job description. There’s no reason we can’t fall into bed together.”

The storm continued to rage in his eyes as Sam fought the messages his body was sending. She knew he was weakening when his hands flexed open then closed. As if he were struggling to keep them off her.

“I have no intention of marrying again,” he growled, as if that would put her off.

“Good,” Callie said. “I don’t want to have your babies, I want to have sex.”

And she meant it. The uterus twitches were annoying and real, but Callie had no intention of letting some instinct as old as time override rational thought. This wasn’t the 1800s, for God’s sake. Sam stared in stunned disbelief, as if she’d suggested they steal a car and drive off a cliff.

“You can’t deny you want me,” she said, exploiting her advantage. “Loosen up, Sam. Have a little fun.”

He didn’t move when Callie slid her hands beneath his shirt. He didn’t so much as flinch when she slid her nails along his rib cage. But when she reached for the button on his jeans, he grabbed her hands.

In a ragged voice, he said, “I’m not sure I remember how to have fun.”

Callie gave him her most seductive smile. “Then let me remind you.”

Sam wanted to argue. To set her away from him and do the right thing. Only in that moment, doing Callie felt like the right thing.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, clinging to the last remnants of sanity he had. “I can’t promise you anything, Callie.”

“You forget,” she said, lifting his shirt and dropping a moist kiss on his abs, “we’ve done this before. I know exactly what you can do for me.” She kissed him again. “And to me.”

Callie wasn’t playing fair. How was he supposed to think with her hands on him? With her mouth tempting him like that? She’d said sex only, and that was all he could give. Callie deserved more. She deserved everything.

Sam didn’t have everything to give.

“You deserve more,” he said, but speaking was growing more difficult as the blood quickly rushed from his head.

“Then we’ll have to do it more than once.” Callie pushed his shirt up his torso. Without thought, Sam lifted his arms and helped her take it off. Her purr of appreciation shot straight to his groin.

Cupping her face in his hands, Sam caught her gaze and held it. “You’re killing me, Callie. I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” she asked, her eyes dropping to his mouth.

“From me,” he said, before giving in and tasting her again.

She was spice and sex, and the combination threatened to fry his brain. His body was already beyond saving. Her fingers were like matches to a flame as she slid her fingertips over his nipples, then replaced them with her tongue.

If she kept this up, he was going to finish long before she got his pants off.

The only way to save himself from embarrassment was to turn the tables. Forcing himself to interrupt Callie’s ministrations, Sam yanked on the bottom of her shirt, then slipped his hands under the cotton and up along her sides. Though he’d meant to remove the shirt with one swift movement, his hands found the undersides of her breasts and his intentions took a detour.

Warm lace danced under his palms as her nipples pebbled behind the delicate material. He filled his hands with her, massaging, until Callie let out a moan, then laid her forehead against his chest.

“Bed,” she mumbled, her breathing unsteady. “We need a bed.”

Taking his hand, she led him out of the living room and down the hall. Another wall of windows brought the ocean into the bedroom space. It was an element Sam had added when he’d had Morty’s cottage redone.

Sam had picked every item in this house. Personally oversaw each minute detail of the renovation. He’d even picked the blue-and-white linens that covered the California king in the center of the room.

Common sense began to creep back in. This was crazy. It was the middle of the day. Sam didn’t even take holidays off. What the hell was he doing taking a Monday afternoon to have sex?

Then Callie turned, smiled, and pulled the gray T-shirt over her head. Right. That’s what he was doing.

As she returned to his arms, all supple and hot and ready, the winged beast in the living room called out his condom reminder once again. Sam didn’t have anything with him.

“Do you have something?” he asked between long, wet, mind-blowing kisses.

“My cousin left a box,” Callie answered, trailing her teeth across Sam’s ribs. She slid lower, and he forgot what they were talking about. “She thought I might need them.”

Who thought she might need what? The top button on his jeans was undone now. Callie lowered the zipper, then pressed the denim over his ass as her tongue lit a fiery trail from his navel down.

One slender finger dipped behind the band of his boxer briefs, scorching his skin and threatening to send Sam to his knees.

“Bed,” he said. “Now.”

Callie followed the order, shuffling backward, never breaking the contact between them. As she lowered onto her back, Sam followed, running on instinct and mindless desire. He pressed a thigh between her legs, and she hiked a knee over his hip. They rolled across the large mattress, playing some kind of sexual-king-of-the-hill contest.

Every time Sam had Callie right where he wanted her, she’d push against his shoulder and take the top position again. When she took the lead for the third time and started working down his body, Sam decided to let her have her way. There would be plenty of time for both of them to have a turn, and giving in seemed smart when she started tugging his jeans off.

The Levi’s hit the floor and Callie straddled his hips, sitting up with a triumphant look on her face. With a smile that promised all sorts of wickedness, she reached behind her and undid the lacy black number that was the only thing between his hands and heaven.

As the lingerie landed somewhere beside the bed, Sam’s mouth went dry as his hands took what she offered. She was perfection. He massaged and tweaked, enjoying every sensation as it danced across her face. The waves of pleasure drove her to move against him, grinding in circles, then leaning forward far enough for him to take one nipple into his mouth.