Heaven and Hell (18 page)

Okay, now,
seriously.

Did the man miss
nothing?

I glared.

Sam waited.

I kept glaring.

“Baby,” he growled.

I threw up my hands and cried, “What do you
want me to say, Sam? Look at her.” I threw an arm out in the
direction where Luci disappeared then swung it out again and went
on, “And this place. And
her cars.
” Then I flicked a hand
out to him. “And you. You’re hot, you’re famous, you’re rich and,
if that wasn’t enough, you kiss really
freaking
well. I
mean, God granted you more talents than just playing football and
being an excellent commando, Sam, trust me. Clearly, He does not
have an even hand. And I’m, well…” I threw up my hands again and
said kind of loudly, “
Me.
So, okay, I got a little weirded
out by you guys looking at my possible new pad because it isn’t
Malibu or Lake Como or whatever. Put yourself in my shoes. How
would
you
feel if you were me?”

I barely finished with the word “me” before
I found myself not standing three feet from Sam but instead
plastered against his body, one of his arms tight around me, the
other hand in my hair cupping the back of my head and his face an
inch from mine.

I had not recovered from this maneuver,
like,
at all,
before Sam asked, using his sexy,
rough-like-velvet voice, “God granted me more talents than playin’
football and bein’ an excellent commando?”

Oh man. I totally needed to learn when to
shut up.

“Sam –” I whispered and he grinned and he
did that in a sexy way too so I (way too late) shut up, my mind
took that opportunity to remind me what his mouth tasted like, and
his skin, and I shivered.

His grin got bigger
and
sexier.

Then his eyes heated, his eyelids lowered a
sexy centimeter and he muttered, “Fuck.”

“What?” I pushed out on a breath.

“You wearin’ anything under this?”

Uh-oh.

“Uh…” I mumbled but that too was
breathy.

Sam was clearly feeling impatient with the
flow of information so his hand went on a voyage of discovery and
trailed light as a whisper over my behind.

Even light, that felt so good, I sucked in
breath, shivered again and my knees got week.

“Fuck,” he repeated on a mutter when his
voyage of discovery gave him confirmation on the intel he’d assumed
and now his voice was heated which meant I heated, like,
all
over.

Oh man.

“How bad you wanna take this boat trip,
honey?” he asked, his voice now low as well as sexy and rough.

“What boat trip?” I asked back, my voice was
still breathy.

Sam grinned again.

I blinked. Then it came back to me.

“Uh, Sam, I’m only here three more days and
I’ve got to fit Celeste and Thomas in there and Luci is going to
take me to buy a robe like this and, uh…”
You!
“Anyway, I
might never get back here so I should pack everything in that I can
so I kind of want to take this boat trip, like,
bad
.”

Something changed in his eyes, flickering
then fading away, taking the heat with them but not the warmth
before he whispered, “Right.” Then his hand still resting light on
my ass glided back up, his arm wrapped tight around my waist and he
continued, “Then go get dressed, the sooner I give you your boat
trip, the sooner I can bring you back, feed you and then have you
all for me.”

Oh
man.

I was rethinking how bad I wanted the boat
trip.

But I whispered, “Okay.”

He gave me a squeeze as his head dropped and
he also gave me a mouth touch.

Then he let me go.

Then I concentrated on walking away without
him cottoning on my legs were still trembling and not holding out
much hope at succeeding.

But when I turned to go into one of the many
double doors that opened onto the terrace, I looked back at Sam and
stopped, most of my body inside the house but my head leaned back
and turned his way.

He was standing but he’d shoved back the
screen of the laptop, his chin was dipped and he was studying it.
Then his hand came up, grabbed the top and shut it with a firm
snap. Then his eyes went to the lake and his profile, I noted,
looked preoccupied.

With what, I didn’t know.

How important it was, I also didn’t know him
enough to know for sure.

But it looked pretty important.

And I didn’t know what to make of that since
before he got that look, he was looking at my possible future
home.

And that freaked me out.

But if I was ever going to get my boat trip,
I couldn’t waste time on freaking out.

I had to get ready.

So I left Sam to his thoughts and did just
that.

The problem was, once I got upstairs, I had
to come right back down because my stuff wasn’t there so I had to
ask Sam where it was.

And Sam, being Sam, meant he didn’t tell
me.

No, he got up from his chair, went to the
overnight case of mine he commandeered to bring my stuff to me and
carried it up for me himself.

After he left, when I tested it by lifting
it, it weighed approximately five pounds. Still, he didn’t let me
carry it up a single flight of steps.

Okay, yes, damn.

Seriously, I liked Sam Cooper.

I knew Sampson Cooper was awesome but Sam
Cooper was turning out to be a whole lot better.

That’s All You’ll Get from Me

I was sitting back, sipping my wine and
thinking I’d never had a better day, not in my life.

Not in my life.

No Christmas. No birthday. No vacation with
my family. And certainly not any times I’d spent with Cooter.

This was saying something. Cooter was an
asshole and tore me down but my family was awesome and even when I
was married to him, holidays and birthdays were great. But before
Cooter, they were the best.

But no day came close to that day with
Sam.

None.

My eyes slid to the side and there he was.
Right there.

He was wearing faded jeans that fit him
better than any jeans I’d ever seen on any man. He also had on a
lightweight, white, button up the front, long-sleeved shirt that
was made of soft linen. He had the sleeves rolled up nearly to his
elbows. It was kind of wrinkly but Sam could make even wrinkly hot
and I knew this because the evidence was sitting right beside me.
Further, that shirt looked amazing against his perfect, brown skin.
He wore all this like his tuxedo, with a casual, masculine grace
that was immensely appealing and even more immensely cool.

What had I been missing all these years not
paying attention to his clothes?

It didn’t bear thinking about.

For my part, I decided to introduce Sam to
the real me, albeit the new, improved, real me since everything I
was wearing I bought in Paris. I had on a pair of black, cuffed,
tailored shorts which were
short,
as in serious leg as in
Sam didn’t tear his eyes away from them for a whole minute when I
walked downstairs at Luci’s ready to take my boat tour which I felt
indicated I’d made another excellent fashion decision. This I wore
with a slim, metallic gray, snakeskin belt and my charcoal gray
suede T-strap flat sandals. I’d also paired it with a
tight-fitting, ribbed, heathered, dark gray tank that had a panel
of kickass lace at the top back.

This last, as with my legs, I caught Sam
staring at too, numerous times that day.

Numerous.

I was thinking he liked me in shorts and
tanks just as much as pretty sundresses, gowns and high heels.

This was a relief.

This was also awesome.

We’d just eaten dinner at a restaurant Luci
had suggested and it was a good suggestion, the location was in the
hub of it all and the food and wine were fabulous. We were seated
outside and when we got there, it was early for dinner in Italy and
it wasn’t very populated, except by American tourists. But now that
we were done, it was filling up and the sidewalks and streets were
getting busier.

The atmosphere seemed alive, you could hear
the hum of conversation, smell the garlic from the kitchen, the
cars and scooters going by; being out in it, I felt great, jazzed,
as alive as our surrounding.

And the best part of this was being with
Sam.

And the best part of that best part was
partially that, even before we ordered, Sam moved his chair right
next to mine so we were close but he found ways to make us closer.
He did this by resting his arm across my thighs, his fingers curled
in or sometimes stroking my skin, his head twisted to look at me
when he spoke or facing forward when he scanned his surroundings
(which was, weirdly, often, like he was expecting something).
Sometimes even when he was eating and definitely when he was
sipping his wine, he kept his arm across my lap. But if his food
took his arm away, he kept his thigh tight to mine, not losing some
form of connection.

I liked this. I liked the closeness,
intimacy, his touch, his warmth and all of what this said about how
he felt about me.

I also liked that it was proprietary.

To me, it said I was touch-worthy, he liked
the feel of me, he wanted closeness, he was being clear he found me
attractive.

But to those outside our little bubble of
intimacy, it was claiming. Don’t look. Don’t even think about it. I
was taken. I was his.

Some women might find this overbearing.

I thought it was beautiful.

And I was glad we didn’t miss our boat tour
and even Sam agreed. Being out on the lake in the sun, the wind in
my hair, the views breathtaking, eating Luci’s delicious packed
lunch on the cream leather covered bench seat at the back of the
glossy boat with Sam while we chatted more about family and
friends, sharing ourselves, it was great, beautiful, the perfect
day.

I couldn’t quite decide which views were
better, from the water or from the shore. What I knew was, I was
glad I had both. And better, sharing it with Sam who, after our
night together, I had no issues talking with, being myself,
exclaiming openly when I saw something cool, pointing it out,
sharing it with him. It helped that he was no less courteous and
attentive than he’d been before, helping me in and out of the boat,
pulling me in his lap when he was seated behind the wheel to keep
me close, folding his arms around me and stuffing his face in my
neck when I made him laugh.

It was sublime.

Freaking
sublime.

The whole day.

Every second.

“
Il conto, per favore,
” I heard Sam
murmur and my eyes went from a mint green Vespa shooting by
wondering how much one of those cost and also wondering if I could
get one in Indiana, to Sam who was also leaning back, wineglass in
his hand, his torso slanted slightly to the side toward me, arm
over my legs but his eyes were on the waiter who was nodding at
him, smiling and moving away.

“I thought you didn’t know any Italian,” I
remarked and Sam turned his head to look at me.

“Asked for the bill, baby, didn’t recite a
poem.”

This was true.

I grinned at him.

He grinned back.

Then his face got serious, he took a sip of
wine and then set his glass on the table.

Then he did something even more
beautiful.

He moved his arm from my lap but twisted his
torso to me and replaced it with his other arm, wrapping it around
my crossed thighs and pulling them even closer, tighter to his so I
was forced to uncross my top leg and hook it around his knee. My
bottom calf slid under my chair, my torso twisting toward his; he
successfully created a private cocoon, a bubble of intimacy seated
at a crowded sidewalk eatery.

“Need to talk to you about something,” he
said softly, his eyes holding mine and, immediately, I leaned to
the side even as I bent closer to him. I put my elbow on the table,
my head in my hand and my eyes stayed locked to his, giving him my
undivided attention and making sure he knew he had it.

Then I rested my other hand on his hard
thigh and whispered, “What, honey?”

He didn’t speak for long moments as his eyes
held mine then moved over my face, my hair, down my torso to my
elbow on the table then back to my eyes before he did something
else beautiful.

He lifted his hand and trailed his fingers
down my hairline, starting at the temple then back to tuck a heavy
fall of hair behind my ear.

Then he said something even
more
beautiful and he did it in his soft, sweet, rough-like-velvet
voice.

“Christ, you’re beautiful.”

Oh God. Oh man.

I liked that and felt those words glide
along my skin, coating it and I knew I could live a week invincible
at the feel of them.

“You would know, you see it in the mirror
every day,” I replied quietly, watched his eyes warm and also
watched his mouth twitch as he shook his head.

Then he settled his hand at my waist and got
to it.

“I know you don’t have a lot of time left
here but you said you were goin’ shoppin’ with Luci.”

I nodded.

“I need you to feel her out.”

“About what?”

“You knew your girl Celeste for three days
and she shared about her daughter. I need you to find out where
Luci is at about Gordo.”

“I know where she’s at,” I told him and his
brows drew together.

“She talked to you about it?”

“With words?” I shook my head slightly then
compounded it by saying, “No. With her eyes, definitely.”

“Come again?”

I leaned closer to him and whispered, “She’s
lost, Sam. Lost and grieving. She’s in pain. You think I’m full of
shit? Everything you see of Luci is completely full of shit. She’s
trying to hide it so people won’t approach her about it but she’s
doing a really bad job. Obviously, I’ve known her a day so I can
have no idea if it’s improved. What I can tell you is, it’s still
bad. As in,” I leaned closer to him, “
really
bad.”