Carolina Girl (18 page)

The walls of the entrance glistened like a jeweled cave, rich, muted, glowing. A massive granite table held a small forest of potted orchids, pink and cream. She glimpsed a concierge desk for the hotel to the right, a discreet sign for the formal dining room to their left. The view through the bar extended through a wall of glass to an outdoor terrace overlooking a naturally landscaped garden. Everything was low and soft and welcoming—the lighting, the seating, the voices of the staff, the piano playing one room over.

“Holy crap,” Meg muttered. “This is nice.”

Sam grinned. “You looked like you could use a drink.”

The hostess, young and smiling, asked if they would like to sit on the patio outside or in the lounge.

Meg glanced from the artfully lit trees on the terrace to the cozy private corner inside and then at Sam, trying to read his preference.

“Whatever you want,” he said.

Lights gleamed on the flatware, spotlighting the single scarlet orchid reflected in the polished stone table. “Inside, I think.”

The next ten minutes passed in a blur of choices between something good or something better, all offered with easy smiles and the comforting accents of home. Flat or sparkling water? Wine or a cocktail? The seared red snapper with succotash or the macaroni and cheese with lobster?

Meg was used to high-powered business dinners and high-profile restaurants, but not to pampering on this level. She melted into her chair, sinking into comfort, letting the muted noises of the bar—women’s voices rising over the men’s, the rattle of the bar shaker—wash over her.

She was braced for questions, but they didn’t speak beyond commenting on the menu and the music.

Gradually, she relaxed, cocking her head to listen to the melody from the next room. “‘Piano Man’? Seriously? Isn’t that a little clichéd?”

Sam smiled. “He can’t help himself. It’s in the Lounge Performers’ Contract or something.”

Plates began to arrive, heaped and studded with color like the treasures of Aladdin’s cave glowing in the lamplight, delicate greens and rich, acidic tomatoes, sharp olives and melting cheese, succulent seafood and fragrant bread.

Sometime during the procession of food, Meg looked up and flushed, a little embarrassed by her appetite. “I can’t believe I’m eating so much.”

“It’s your recovery meal.”

“My what?”

“Fueling after an event.” He signaled to their server, gestured toward Meg’s glass.

“You mean, like Josh eating a banana after a game?” Meg asked, amused.

Sam’s smile creased his cheeks. “Something like that.”

“I remember you and Matt coming home after practice. You used to eat standing in front of the refrigerator.”

“Only until your mom made us sit down for dinner.”

Meg chuckled. Whatever else existed between them, she and Sam shared a history, a mine of memories and emotions that went deep to the heart. He
knew
her.

With a sigh of contentment, she eased away from the table. The setting was as sophisticated as any in New York, but the buzz, the pulse, the pace of the city was missing. The pressure was off. A weight she hadn’t acknowledged even to herself rolled from her shoulders. A handful of business travelers congregated at the bar. A couple in their midthirties sat close together on a couch facing the windows, celebrating . . . What? Meg wondered. A birthday? Anniversary? They looked happy, his arm around her shoulders, her hand on his knee.

She felt a wriggle of envy and looked away.

Right into Sam’s eyes. A jolt of sexual awareness tightened her stomach. A trick of the light made his green eyes gleam, cast the planes and angles of his face in sharp relief. He needed a shave, she noticed. She wanted to rub her fingers over his rough cheek, to test the texture with her thumb. Her breath went.

Attraction spun between them, fine and inescapable as a spiderweb, wrapping them in a silken cocoon. She moistened her lips, watched his gaze drop to her mouth.

Their server appeared to whisk away Meg’s empty glass and replace it with another. Meg inhaled, ignoring the little twist of disappointment at the interruption.

Later for us, then.

“Thanks,” she said to the server. She toyed with the fresh flower petals under her glass, a pink martini made with watermelon and rose water. She never ordered girlie drinks when she went out after work. It was too important to look like one of the guys. But with Sam, she could indulge herself.

The thought made something inside her loosen and then pull tight. “Aren’t you having another beer?” she asked him.

He shook his head with a slight smile. “Driving, remember?” He settled back in his chair, at ease in his body. “I wasn’t expecting you until Sunday. How’d things go in New York?”

A question.
The
question, couched in the same easy tone with which he’d made small talk through dinner. Only the utter stillness of Sam’s hands, the sharp focus of his eyes, betrayed that he had anything more than a casual interest in her reply.

I broke up with Derek
, she almost blurted out.

But once she said the words, there was no going back.

She dropped her gaze to her drink, feeling herself unravel, slowly unwinding with gin and fatigue. Was she ready to tell him? Was she ready for Sam?

She’d been so determined not to cheat on Derek, so focused on her boyfriend as the barrier to any possible relationship with Sam, that she hadn’t considered the other reasons why they shouldn’t get involved.

She and Sam were . . . connected, she supposed. He knew her family. He was friends with her brother. That closeness, that familiarity, was part of his appeal. But all those connections could turn into complications if they took things to the next level.
I put everything that mattered at risk
, he’d said,
your parents’ trust, Matt’s friendship.

She bit her lip. Was any relationship between them worth that risk?

“Hey,” Sam said softly. She looked up as he reached across the table and gently brushed his thumb across her lower lip, releasing it from the grip of her teeth. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk now.”

She held his gaze, her heart pounding.

What if there was no later? What if all they had was n
ow?

Greatly daring, she touched her tongue to the pad of his thumb.

He inhaled sharply.

She sank back in her chair, savoring the salt of him on the tip of her tongue, the unfamiliar hum of power.

Sam’s eyes were dark. “We should get going.” He signaled for the check. “Anything else you need? Anything I can get you?”

They weren’t kids any longer, Meg told herself. They could handle complications.

“Yes.” She smiled across the table at him. “Get us a room. Take me upstairs, Sam.”

Fifteen

S
AM WATCHED
M
EG
cross to the windows overlooking the lake, wobbling slightly as her heels sank into the deep plush carpet, cautious as a cat exploring new surroundings.

Any fantasies he’d entertained about fucking her against the wall the minute the suite door closed behind them died a swift, painless death.

Meggie would let herself be taken, but not rushed.

Fine by him. He wanted to prove to her, to both of them, that he could do better than twenty minutes on musty canvas in a cold, deserted boathouse. He wanted . . . to take care of her, he supposed. To impress her, maybe.

She turned from inspecting the bathroom, her cheeks pink, her eyes glowing, more perfect than any fantasy. “This is great.”

He strolled forward, hands in his pockets.
See? Harmless.
“Glad you like it.”

She held her ground. “Thank you for dinner. And for coming to get me. And for . . . everything.”

“Sugar, I’m just getting started.”

“No, really,” she insisted. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

He wondered when the last time was that somebody did something nice for her. When she had let them. Meggie was the take-charge one, self-confident, self-reliant, protective of herself and her family. He liked and admired that about her. But it must occasionally be exhausting. She deserved a change.

She’d discovered the guest bag he’d been given at check-in and was poking inside. “Look at all this,” she exclaimed with delight, pulling out little girlie bottles.

Her pleasure made him feel good inside. “There’s a spa attached to the hotel. That’s their stuff.”

Humor warmed her eyes. She held up a handful of foil packets. “These, too?”

Busted.
But the hotel store was closed. “I asked the concierge for those when I checked us in,” Sam admitted.

“You don’t carry one in your wallet?”

Something in her tone made him lift his eyebrows. Something there, he thought. He came up behind her, running his hands up and down her bare arms. The smell of her hair, citrus and spice, worked its way inside him. “Not usually.”
Not anymore
. He’d cleaned up his act in the last five years. When he took a woman to bed these days, it was something he planned for, not a quick score. “I wasn’t counting on this.”

“This.” A hint of a question.

“Us.” He kissed the join of her neck. “You.”

Her head fell back against his shoulder. His hard-on lodged, heavy, ready, just above the rise of her bottom, below the small of her back.

“You haven’t asked about Derek,” she said.

He skimmed his hands from her upper arms to under her breasts, cupping them. Cradling them. “I don’t need to.”

Her swift inhale raised her breasts. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” She sounded more breathless than annoyed.

He smiled against her neck, letting his fingers trace the taut outline of her nipples against her blouse. “Sure of you.”

She stiffened even as her back arched, pushing her breasts more fully into his hands, her buttocks more firmly against his aching cock.

Sam turned her in his arms, meeting those incredible eyes full on. “Because I know you. If you were still involved with him, you wouldn’t be with me.”

Her lips parted, a round, irresistible O.

“And right now I don’t give a fuck about Derek,” he said and kissed her.

* * *

S
AM’S LIPS WERE
warm and firm, taking hers in sweet, hungry bites. His mouth eased over hers, pursuing, exploring. She closed her eyes and opened to him as he deepened the kiss, as his fingers threaded through her hair, making tiny circles against her scalp. He kissed her until her nerve endings tingled to life, her lips swollen and sensitive, her skin awake and softly clamoring.

I wasn’t counting on this.
He hadn’t taken sex with her for granted. It was a choice.

Her choice, she reminded herself.

Sliding her arms around his waist, she kissed him back, enjoying the feel of him hard and solid against her front. The thick ridge of his erection jutted against her stomach. Even to her more experienced perceptions, he was . . . big. She wriggled, seeking a better fit between their bodies, and he made a sound of encouragement in his throat and widened his stance. His big hands spanned her rib cage. She felt the pop of a button before her waistband eased and her skirt slithered down her legs, leaving her standing in her underwear, blouse, and high heels.

Determined to reciprocate, she tugged at the back of his shirt, pulling it free from his jeans. The skin at his waist was smooth and hot. Sam kissed her again, backing her a step toward the bed, then two. She stumbled out of her shoes, leaving them tangled in her skirt on the floor. She trembled, exposed and off balance. There was something undeniably erotic about Sam undressing her, divesting her of her armor piece by piece while he was still fully clothed. But it wasn’t enough.

She wanted him
with
her. Naked.

She reached for his belt buckle, her fingers clumsy with desire. Sam helped her with one hand while his other slid under her blouse to the back catch of her bra. She was shaking, coming apart as he undid the buttons of her blouse one by one, his knuckles brushing the inner curve of her breasts. She caught her breath.
Touch me.

He slid the blouse from her shoulders, the bra straps from her arms, his face intent. His hand skimmed gently over her, his teasing fingers flirting, sliding, making her hips jerk convulsively toward him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

She was embarrassed, burning up, suffused with blushes and lust. “Well, I’m naked. That’s enough for most guys.”

He smiled, as she intended, but his gaze meeting hers was serious. “You’re always beautiful to me.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “But not always naked.”

The creases deepened in his cheeks. “That is a plus.”

“You have some catching up to do.”

“Eighteen years,” he agreed.

Her heart skipped a beat. “No, I meant . . .” She gestured to his clothes.

His grin flashed. He pulled his shirt off over his head and toed out of his shoes, stroking her constantly, her arm, her hair, her hip, as if he might lose her in the dimly lit room. He stroked beneath the stretchy band of her underwear, easing it over the curve of her butt.

Obeying the urging of his hands, she sat on the edge of the bed. He kissed her, his mouth warm and urgent, and then pressed her back until she was lying across the mattress, her feet not quite touching the floor. She went willingly, opening her arms to him.

But instead of falling on top of her, Sam straightened, standing between her legs, looking down. “Look at you.” His voice was thick with satisfaction. “All spread out like some virgin sacrifice.”

Her stomach quivered low inside. Her nipples were tight, puckered with anticipation. She could feel herself falling, succumbing to the seduction of his hands and voice, sinking into the temptation to lie back and let him do . . .

Anything he wanted. Anything at all.

The realization terrified her. She wasn’t used to being vulnerable, in or out of bed.

She moistened her lips, working to inject a dry note in her voice. Ridiculous, when she was already wet for him, her skin damp and blooming. “Hardly a virgin,” she pointed out. “Or a sacrifice, either.”

This time.

She didn’t say the words out loud. She wasn’t expecting even to think them. But the past was suddenly in the room with them, smothering and inescapable.

Sam’s lashes lifted. His eyes met hers. “I have a lot to make up to you for.”

She resisted the urge to squirm. “Don’t be silly. I take responsibility for my choices. For my actions.”

He continued to hold her gaze, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t have to be responsible all the time. How about we agree that for tonight I’m in charge?”

She almost lost her breath.

Sex was another area where she and Derek had kept careful score, neither of them yielding control, both of them stinting what they would give and what they would allow.
You do this for me, and I’ll do this for you.
With Derek, she was always conscious of her boundaries. And his. She was comfortable with that.

Her heart pounded. And now Sam was suggesting . . . Sam was proposing . . .

No responsibility.
The temptation was staggering.

“Designated driver, Meggie,” he whispered wickedly. “I’ll get you where you need to go.”

She was sure he could. But did she want him to? Did she trust him that much?

She started to speak, but whatever she’d been about to say was lost in a wordless rush, buried in fascination as Sam reached for the front of his pants. He shucked his jeans and underwear, freeing himself to her gaze. Her insides clenched involuntarily. He was undeniably naked. And alarmingly large.

“You’re thinking again,” he observed. “Don’t.”

He went to the bag to retrieve a condom before kneeling on the floor between her legs. Running his hands from her knees to her hips, he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. She hitched helplessly toward him.

Meg cleared her throat. “Maybe we should have a, I don’t know, like, a safe word?” she suggested.

Sam raised his head. His smile gleamed. “You won’t remember it,” he said. “When I’m done with you, you won’t remember your name.”

Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth to her in a warm, searching kiss, his tongue stroking straight to her center. Her mind blanked. Her moan shook them both. She grabbed fistfuls of the cover as he harrowed her with teeth and lips, his breath searing against her wet flesh. Her eyes closed. Her head moved restlessly back and forth as he ate at her softly, probing for her response. Sensation shot to her brain. He penetrated her with one finger, then two, driving her higher, taking her deeper, making her pant and groan.

“God. Sam. I can’t . . .”

“You will,” he promised.

He kept at her, his tongue silky, insinuating, insistent, his hands demanding. The tension twisted inside her, tighter and tighter. He did something else with his mouth and with his hands, and her ravaged system exploded. She saw stars. He licked into her again, making her quiver, before he crawled over her. His chest brushed hers as he reached for the nightstand. She heard the crinkle of the condom wrapper and then he was there at her entrance, blunt and seeking, heavy and warm.

She struggled to lift her arms. “Sam.”

“That’s right,” he said, his voice raw. He thrust inside her. Hard. Deep.

She convulsed with pleasure. It was too much. He was too much. She wasn’t in control. The tremors started again, quickening low in her womb. He held her wrists and pinned them to the mattress as he plunged into her again and again. Her muscles contracted helplessly around him as she yielded to brutal delight. Until her spasms caught his and he groaned and jerked and came inside her.

She lay stunned under him, her breathing ragged.

“Meggie.” He kissed her, his lips cruising over the arch of her brow, the hot curve of her cheek.

A corner of her mouth twitched. “Who’s Meggie?” she slurred, and was rewarded when he laughed.

Sealed together with sweat and sex, they slept.