Necessary Restorations (The Walsh Series) (A) (21 page)

He laughed and held out his hand to me, but I didn’t budge. I could let go, I could forgive and forget, but it took me a little longer to get there than most. My sister always said I held grudges, though I didn’t see it that way. My feelings just moved at their own speed, some faster than others.

“I know your name. You’re not one of them. You’re different. I don’t want it to be like it was before . . . before you.”

“Oh . . .” I hadn’t considered that option.

“I’m sorry about everything. I’m a douche waffle,” he said.

I was softening. I could feel it in the way my arms refused to stay rigid across my chest and my mouth wiggled into a smile. “I’m not familiar with douche waffles.”

“That’s a technical term. Riley taught me that. It’s reserved for epically poor decision-making.” He moved closer and ran his fingers down my arm to my hand. “Please? I can’t stand being close but not touching you.”

I felt his breath on my cheek and ducked my head, looking to his well-polished wingtips. “So you weren’t horrified by
me?
”

He bent down and traced my jaw and lips with his thumb, his brow furrowed. “Sometimes I don’t know which direction you’re going. I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he whispered. His hand dropped to my hip, and those blue eyes of his were all demanding and precious. “And I need a minute to catch up.”

He was right. I was all over the place, a non-linear ball of zigzagging shades of gray. I was hyper and hard to follow, and there was barely enough space in my head for the random thoughts living there.

I laced my fingers with his and nodded. “You’re forgiven, but you have to know it’s very rude to reject a girl when she’s getting on her knees. Regardless of your feelings for cheeseburgers.”

“Won’t happen again.” Sam tucked my hair over my ear and pressed his lips to my neck. He was warm and wet, and electricity pulsed through my body, and an all-at-once rush. “Even though I don’t have a clear shot at your tits, you look fucking gorgeous.”

I melted into him, forgoing all the confusion and stinging anger I’d been clutching since I left him last weekend. I used to brush off his comments about my appearance as his version of player charm, but there was a thorniness in his words that cut into my skin and told me he believed it. “You look . . . wow. Who dressed you?”

He shifted to face me. “I dress myself. Since when do I need someone to coordinate a shirt and tie for me?”

“I realize you are exceedingly competent, Samuel,” I said, my hand sliding along the buttons of his vest. “Who are we tonight?”

“We’re the beautiful people who smile and nod while regulation-loving industry pedants tell us what it was like before all the modern trends ruined things for them,” he said. “And I’d like to be the person who kisses you just because you’re next to me.”

“And where does
Pitch Perfect
figure into that plan?”

He squeezed my hip and chuckled. “Get the award, have a drink, then we’re getting the hell out of there.” His finger skimmed the edge of my sleeve, and I was ready to rip the dress off and climb all over him. “Hour, tops. What we do when we get back here . . . well, that’s up to us.”

The event was held at a historic mansion in Winchester, and I’d never seen such an ornate house before. It was filled with antiques and artwork, and I was too terrified that I’d set off a chain reaction of shattered vases and ripped draperies to touch anything. I was truly concerned that, at any moment, I could hiccup and destroy a priceless tapestry.

We stayed a bit longer than an hour, and it gave me an opportunity to see a new side to Sam: the architect. He spoke passionately about preserving old homes, but the enthusiasm he had for sustainability was irresistible. People sought him out to hear his perspectives on green design elements, and though most peppered him with endless questions about technicalities, and others just wanted to argue with him, it didn’t take long for them to share some degree of his excitement.

I didn’t know it was possible to have such an engaging conversation about things like adaptive reuse and conservative disassembly, but he proved me wrong. That level of brilliance was intoxicating, and the longer I watched him being the Sam I knew—not the shallow club rat—the more I wanted to put my hands all over him. Knowing tonight was The Night only amplified my wants, and everything he said back at my apartment was heating, humming, swirling around us now.

There was something in the cadence of Sam’s voice that filled me with sudsy tingles when he introduced me to his colleagues, referring to me as an accomplished violinist and college professor. I tagged the adjunct part on every time, but it didn’t seem to make much difference to these folks.

It was even more surprising that his colleagues regarded me with a measure of respect I hadn’t experienced in years. They weren’t looking at me like I was a bohemian musician, either. I’d always been the nanny, the piano teacher, the band geek, Agapi’s sister. I’d never heard someone speak about me with so much pride. For a moment, I wasn’t out of place, even in this grand mansion and surrounded by these smart people.

I loved it, but it was overwhelming. There were more than a few moments when I thought about telling some dirty jokes or busting out my breakdancing moves to remind everyone that I wasn’t terribly serious or professorial.

Sam collected his award, briefly thanked the audience, and I was acutely aware that the sexiest man in the room had his arm around my waist. I leaned into him, letting that magnetism claim me. “Let’s take a walk,” he said, inclining his head toward the hallway.

Our fingers tangled together, we followed the hallway to a winding staircase and quietly explored the second floor. He stopped to study a design carved into a window frame, his thumb moving over the shapes with fascination.

“Are you getting a major architect boner right now?”

Sam glanced at me, his smile turned all the way up to feral. “You’re welcome to find out.”

“Maybe later.” I waved at the wide hallway, and asked, “So what makes this place special? Why does it turn you on?”

His eyes closed and he shook with a soundless laugh, pulling me back against his chest. “This,” he started, his chin nestled against my shoulder and his arms wrapped around my torso, “is in the Greek Revival and Regency styles. It has brilliant stained glass, and all the proper period features, but what really interests me is restoration detail. See this?”

He led me toward an open doorway, and pointed to the jamb. Thin inlaid brass swirls traversed the narrow space, and I realized I never would have stopped to look at a doorjamb before, but that was exactly what he noticed.

“That’s what makes it special. A local college bought this property about twenty-five years ago when there was lots of free money for historic properties, and they could have gutted the place. It was a wreck, abandoned and falling apart. This property was waiting for a bulldozer to end it all.” He lifted his shoulders. “I like that they saw something worth saving.”

We were talking about this building, but we weren’t. This was Sam, and as I repeated his words in my head, I pivoted and squeezed him in a tight hug. Maybe I was trying to put the pieces back together, or prevent new cracks from forming. I only knew I wasn’t letting that bulldozer anywhere near him.

He kissed my forehead, and stepped into the room. It was dark, and though it seemed intentionally closed off for the event, Sam gripped my hand and pulled me inside. Pointing toward the built-in bookshelves, he said, “I’ve been here before. Meetings. Events. Random bullshit. And I’ve been thinking about this room all week.”

It appeared to be a typical study with dark wood as far as the eye could see, dusty old books, and heavy furniture. “Because it’s nice and manly?”

“No,” he whispered, backing me against the shelves. “Because I wanted you right here.”

He bowed his head toward me, and at first, he was all tentative, tight kisses. His hand slid up my arm and over my shoulder, stopping to cradle my neck while his other hand moved down my back. My fingers shifted to his hair, tugging just a bit. He groaned into my mouth, a mix of acute pain and intense relief, and everything fell into place.

He didn’t roam my body in search of more intriguing parts and he didn’t shift suggestively to get my hands on his intriguing parts. He just kissed me as if it was the most important thing he could do right now. As if
I
was the most important thing.

“How much longer do you think we can do this?” he asked.

“I don’t think anyone else is coming up here, so . . .”

“No.” His lips passed over my cheek and temple, stopping there while his hand slipped under my dress. “How much longer can we pretend this is enough?”

His mouth crashed onto mine, and he took me. He wasn’t waiting on me to call the shots or establish the limits, and I let him take me. Sam hooked his hand under my knee, and brought my leg to his waist. Off balance, I teetered, and reached for the bookshelves.

“No,” he murmured, prying my fingers from the wood and placing them on his shoulders. “I want your hands on me. I want you for me, always.”

His fingertips were light and gentle as they skimmed up my leg and traced the edge of my panties. He teased me with these wispy touches, following the fabric without inching closer to where I was growing wet and impatient.

“I can’t pretend, Tiel,” he sighed. “I can’t pretend that I’m not falling for you.”

I pulled him closer, feeling his erection against my thigh and swallowing his groan with a kiss. “Then don’t,” I said. He growled against my lips, and I bunched my dress around my waist. “Don’t ever pretend.”

Entire lifetimes passed in his eyes, and he stared at me, silent. Fear skittered in my gut, reminding me that he could change his mind any moment.

“You promised,” I whispered, “to tell me what you’re thinking.”

“These panties, these sweet lacy things? I want to rip them off. I want to keep them in my pocket all night, and I’ll be the only one who knows your pussy is bare.” The hand gripping my backside moved down, and he cupped me, the heel of his palm grinding against my clit. “And once those panties are off, I’ll make you come quick and hard, right here. Then, I want to be inside you for hours. Maybe days. Maybe forever.”

“Sam,” I moaned into his shirt. I couldn’t decide whether I was appalled or impressed by how quickly I felt the heat flooding my center. I always required so much to get there—foreplay, lube, wine, toys, more foreplay, more lube, yet more wine—but I was there now.

He kissed my jaw, slow and tender, and whispered, “Is that what you want, my
friend?
”

“We can be very
special
friends,” I said.

Sam laughed against my shoulder. “You say that, and it’s the filthiest thing I’ve ever heard.” He gripped the lace between my legs. “Say it again.”

“Friends,” I sighed, and the tear of fabric seemed to fill the room. I was a mess, flushed and wet, and shocked by my reaction to Sam. The air was cool against my skin, but I barely noticed it over my desperate desire for his touch.

I knew he preferred quick—in and out, hit it and quit it, one and done—and I expected him to unzip and make it happen. Instead, his fingers trailed back and forth over my exposed skin, never dipping inside, never offering more than light pressure to my clit. It was calm and measured, so much more civilized than I expected from him.

And I was going to fucking explode. I was right there, a breath from coming with the gentlest touch, and when I wasn’t lust-drunk, I was going to examine how Sam managed to accomplish that. I didn’t believe I’d ever get off with a guy. Orgasms were rare for me, and always the product of a vibrator.

“Do you want me inside you, Tiel?”

I was soaked and aching, and I’d long since lost control of the sounds I was moaning into Sam’s suit coat. Anyone in my position would have said yes. Anyone with sense would have said yes.

But I shook my head against his head. “No.”

In my heart—and a few other spots—I wanted him. I’d wanted him since that very first moment.

But my head wasn’t ready to get on board, and I hated that. I hated that a fifteen-minute marriage could leave its watermark on every relationship since, and I hated how doubt always outgunned lust.

Or whatever this was.

He tipped his chin up, sucked in a breath, and froze. His hand moved to my outer thigh and he leaned away from me. “Oh, I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

I brought his hand between my legs, rocking hard against his palm while he studied me, confused. I was coming apart the second he touched me, and I bit my cry into his shoulder while the weight of my orgasm moved through my muscles. My hand shifted from his chest down to his belt, and then lower, until I was gliding over his erection. Sam’s eyes closed, and his head fell back on a groan. “Do you have any other friends? The kind you kiss?”

God, I fucking hated thinking about everything before
right this second.
I wanted to redefine it all, own his firsts and seconds and everything after that. But I didn’t want to be a jealous, possessive bitch who needed to be held back every time I remembered that Sam had a life before meeting me.

My fingers curled around him, squeezing, and I startled at his sharp hiss. He grabbed my wrist and held me in place. “I don’t want to kiss anyone else, Tiel.”

His fingers shifted around mine, guiding me. “What about your
friends?
At the clubs? You don’t
kiss
them?”

Sucking in a breath, Sam shook his head. He moved my hand faster, harder, and he whispered, “No more club friends. No club friends in
months.
”

If I hadn’t been rubbing his cock, I would have twirled around in celebration. “You could have mentioned that earlier in the week.”

“I’m an intensely flawed human. Unzip me,” he growled. “
Now.
I just want to feel your skin on me.” I was shocked by the authority in his deep voice, and—ever the gentleman—he must have noticed it on my face when he added, “Please.”

The simple task of unfastening a belt and drawing down a zipper was shockingly complex when an erection was involved. Once I freed him from his boxers, I let my thumb rub his head and stared at him. I thought I knew what a decent cock looked like, but Sam put them all to shame.