Heaven and Hell (13 page)

“I’m not sure,” I whispered.

“You not with me?”

“Um… well…”

“You might not be sure but you are
definitely with me,” he stated and made his point by giving me
another squeeze. “So how about you go with that for now? Yeah?”

I stared up at him.

Then I predicted, “You’re going to get bored
of this.”

“Yeah?” he asked on another grin.

“Definitely.”

“We’ll see,” he muttered.

“I’ll bet you a thousand dollars you get
bored of me,” I told him, his head tilted to the side and then he
burst out laughing. “Seriously,” I said through his laughter.

He sobered but, still smiling, he replied,
“I’ll take that bet, Kia. It’ll serve me right to pay up; I’m
stupid enough to get bored of you. And an example of why I know I’d
be stupid to get bored of you is that you’d make me a fuckin’ bet
for one large that I’d get bored of you.”

My heart fluttered and my fingers
spasmodically pressed into his chest.

His smile got bigger.

“I’m back to thinking I need champagne,” I
informed him.

To which he murmured, “I bet you are.”

“I’m serious,” I pressed.

“I bet you’re that too.”

“Sam,” I snapped and he grinned again.

Then he moved back but curled an arm around
me and moved me down the terrace toward the doors we went through
to come out.

“Champagne then I’ll show you Luci’s other
cars,” he declared and I had to admit, after the Lamborghini, which
also didn’t fit her, I was intrigued.

“With a euro-trash rating of first to last,
where does the Lamborghini fit?” I asked.

“Number five,” he answered instantly and my
head jerked around and back to look at him.

“You mean the others are worse?”

“She’s got great taste in clothes, shit
taste in cars. She let me pick which one I wanted and the one I
have is the only one of her rides I’d even consider putting my ass
in.”

“What did Gordo think of this?”

He guided me in and immediately jerked up
his chin to someone, I followed his eyes and saw a white-coated
waiter nod and move away and Sam looked back down to me.

“To forget she goes to bed alone and until
she sorts her shit out, she’ll keep doin’ it, first, she’s up in my
business and next, she buys cars Gordo would lose his mind if he
ever knew she’d even test-driven much less bought them and brought
them home.”

My eyes slid through the room trying to find
her and not succeeding as I muttered, “Interesting.”

“Yeah,” Sam said distractedly. “I can read a
lotta shit, baby, but that I do not get.”

I had no reply and luckily didn’t have to
make one because the waiter came bearing a flute of champagne. I
took it and I sipped.

Then Sam took my hand and moved me through
the people, muttering, “Cars.”

Then we went and inspected Luciana’s
cars.

He was right. The Lamborghini was the least
flashy. Even Vin Diesel and Paul Walker would turn their noses up
at that lot.

And, not able to stop myself from giggling
at beautiful, sultry, sophisticated, sweet Luciana’s very bad taste
in automobiles, Sam did it again.

When I thought I could never relax, when I
thought there was no way I could get over my latest life drama, I
underestimated Sam’s determination to make me do both so, without
even noticing it, I relaxed and got over it.

Smart Enough to Hold On

I woke feeling warm, content, comfy and
something else, something that felt strange, something I knew
didn’t feel strange once upon a time in my life.

It was a feeling I registered and understood
when I was six years old.

It was the feeling I used to have all the
time, every second of every minute of my life but I understood it
when my Dad took my brother Kyle and me to that haunted house.

I’d been terrified, completely, even though,
looking back, it was meant for little kids like me so it was
seriously tame. But I’d never experienced anything like it until
then.

And as I wandered through that haunted house
with Dad and Kyle, monsters popping out, the bloody bride and groom
gruesomely murdered on their blessed day, I got more and more
scared when, suddenly, my father took my hand and that feeling of
fear evaporated completely.

Dad was with me. Dad was close.

I was safe.

Dad wouldn’t allow anything to harm me. Not
monsters. Not zombie brides.

Nothing.

And I felt that upon waking, I felt it again
for the first time in
ages.

I opened my eyes and saw the corded,
dark-skinned column of a man’s throat and I felt my legs tangled
with long, heavy ones, my arm resting around a man’s waist, my
other hand pressed to a hard chest and two strong arms around me,
holding me close to a solid, steady heat.

I tipped my head back and saw Sam’s head
tipped slightly forward, his eyes closed, his handsome face
relaxed, his power at rest and I stared, immobile, such was his
beauty. His eyelashes were black, short and spiky but they were
thick, so many of them, their fan seemed a unit, not individual
lashes and, instantly, I was transfixed.

Then, as they had a tendency to do, memories
washed through my head taking my mind away from feeling warm,
comfy, safe and fascinated by Sam’s eyelashes and forcing it to
last night.

I tipped my head down and, I didn’t know why
but automatically my body sought more contact with his by pressing
forward.

When it did, Sam’s arms convulsed, going
tight and staying that way a moment before they partially released.
My head tipped back again, thinking I woke him but he was still
asleep.

He was still asleep.

This meant Sampson Cooper hugged in his
sleep.

Oh man.

I sighed.

Then I closed my eyes tight and sifted
through my memories of last night.

* * * * *

After I giggled myself silly at Luci’s cars
while Sam watched and smiled, he took me back to the party. Thus
commenced me meeting a variety of Luci’s friends and acquaintances,
very few who Sam knew, almost all of whom knew Sam. I did this
while drinking and, several times, Sam led us to the dining room
where Luciana had indeed put out a spread.

Even though the food looked gorgeous,
luckily Celeste had primed me for this so I nibbled and enjoyed
rather than gorged myself which was probably what I would have done
not having lunch or dinner.

Before my fifth glass of champagne, I
realized a number of things.

One, I was having fun.

Two, Sam did not leave my side.

Three, he did this not in an overbearing way
but in a way that simply said he liked being there.

Four, I liked this, like,
a lot.

Five, Sam was funny in a dry, blunt,
observational way.

Six, because of this, I laughed a lot.

Seven, Sam thought I was funny and I knew
this because he also laughed a lot.

Eight, I liked it when Sam laughed mostly
because it sounded good, he looked beautiful doing it but also
because he was making a habit of touching me when he did, either
sweeping an arm around my waist and pulling me tight to his side or
sweeping an arm around my waist, his other arm joining it, pulling
me tight to his front and holding me close.

Nine, Luci liked it that Sam and I were
laughing and touching a lot and I knew this because, either when
she was with us or she was across the room, any time I noticed her,
she was smiling at us like a happy sister who, after years of
putting up with her brother’s girlfriends who she loathed, she’d
finally met her soul mate who she could shop with, gossip with and
instigate regular margarita nights and get drunk with.

And ten, Luci’s friends and acquaintances
were awesome. I knew this because they were obviously rich,
obviously well-traveled, obviously well-educated but they were also
nice, welcoming, entertaining and easy to talk to. I also knew this
because I caught her friends openly and often glancing her way with
concern on their faces. She wasn’t hiding anything from them either
and they were worried. I liked this too even though I didn’t like
the reason they were feeling it.

But after glass of champagne number five,
Sam handed me glass of champagne number six which, with the bottle
I shared with Celeste, was actually glass of champagne number
nine.

And, I learned last night, that was one
glass too many.

This I learned when, three sips into glass
number nine, Sam led me out to the balcony. There were others out
there but by that time it was dark, the lake was set in moonlight
and for those who wanted privacy (like, clearly, Sam) Luci had not
turned on the outside lights and thus it seemed romantically
secluded.

Sam settled us at the stone balustrade, me
facing front, Sam fitting his body into mine at the back, his arm
stealing around my ribs, the other one around my chest and I felt
his jaw come to rest at the side of my head.

Like his voice, like his laughter and like
the now gazillion times he’d demonstrated his gentlemanly behavior
(for instance, I did not have to ask for a glass of champagne, Sam
always procured them for me, I did not have to walk unguided or
unprotected, Sam always was close with a hand at the small of my
back or arm curled around my waist and I did not have to introduce
myself to anyone and start conversation, Sam did it for me and was
certain to lead any discourse so I never, not once, felt left out
or ill-at-ease), the position he held me in settled in my soul,
deep and warm.

And when he settled us, he didn’t speak, he
just held me and we both took in the view.

I found myself sighing.

And I sighed right before I panicked.

Because in that moment it came to me with
drunken clarity that I wanted this, all of it. This life that led
me to wearing beautiful gowns, meeting interesting, friendly
people, giggling over silly but unbelievably expensive cars, eating
delicious food while drinking dry, crisp champagne and, most
especially, standing outside in the moonlight on the terrace of a
beautiful home on an even more beautiful lake with a man who would
hold me like Sam was holding me after treating me like Sam had been
treating me.

In fact, the bottom line truth of it was, I
really liked all the other stuff but it was Sam holding me like he
was holding me and treating me like he was treating me, if it was
in a fantastic villa in Italy or if it was getting bitten by
mosquitoes and not caring even a little bit on a deck in Indiana,
that was what I really wanted.

I wanted it then. I wanted it the next day.
I wanted it forever.

And I couldn’t have it.

This was Sam’s world, not mine.

But he couldn’t possibly know that, not with
me staying at our swanky hotel and wearing fabulous footwear every
time I saw him.

And, right then, into my sixth sip of glass
of champagne number nine, I completely forgot all of Celeste’s
worldly advice and drunkenly decided he had to know who he held in
his arms.

Full disclosure.

For the sake of my sanity because, if he
found out later I was not a jet-set, high heels wearing socialite
but instead a… well,
not
jet-set, flip-flop wearing
non-socialite, I knew he’d be angry. He’d think I’d duped him.

So he had to find out now so, if he so
chose, which I drunkenly decided he would, he could move on and so
could I (maybe).

“My friend Teri has a life-size, cardboard
cutout of you.”

Yes. That was me. That was what I said into
the moonlight, breaking the comfortable, cozy, romantic silence Sam
had guided us to.

His arms gave me a slight squeeze and he
muttered, “What?”

“My friend, Teri, has a life-size, cardboard
cutout of you,” I repeated.

No arm squeeze and also no reply.

“In her bedroom,” I went on.

Again, no response whatsoever.

“You’re in your Colts gear.”

Nothing.

Hmm. I wasn’t sure if this was working or
not.

I took a sip of champagne.

Sam remained silent.

I drunkenly blathered on.

“At an average of thirty-five percent, we’ve
calculated it, the men she takes in that room can’t go the
distance.”

More nothing.

“As in, they can’t bring it home,” I
clarified, just in case he was not instantly revolted by these
words and setting me aside never to touch me again because he
didn’t get.

Still nothing.

I kept sharing.

“In other words, they can’t bring it home
for her, obviously, but also for them.”

Nothing.

“We think it’s you or, um… the cardboard
cutout of you in your Colts gear. We think they find it
intimidating. Still, although this is disappointing for Teri and,
as I mentioned, an alarmingly frequent occurrence, she hasn’t moved
it.”

That was when I got something.

Sam’s body started shaking so violently, my
body started shaking with it. Then his jaw left my hair because he
shoved his face in my neck and roared, yes,
roared
with
laughter as his arms went super tight.

It felt nice.

Well, that didn’t work.

Onward!

I sipped through my mind drunkenly
attempting to latch onto a new strategy, it found one and I sallied
forth.

“I don’t have a college degree,” I informed
him when his laughter died.

His face went out of my neck and his jaw
went back to my hair and he muttered, “You don’t?”

“Nope.”

His jaw left my hair so his lips could go to
my ear where he murmured, “Hmm.”

That felt nice too.

Like,
really
nice.

Argh!

Onward!

“You graduated from UCLA,” I told him though
he had to know this fact unless he had patches of amnesia and
forgot bits of his life which was highly unlikely because, since I
borderline internet stalked him, I would know about it if he
had.