Carolina Girl (19 page)

Sixteen

C
OFFEE.

The scent sank into Meg’s consciousness, sliding through layers of sleep, and gave a little tug. She stretched and sighed between the sheets, floating on a wave of well-being. Every cell in her body felt pampered, replete. Every inch of her skin still hummed with pleasure. Because of Sam.

Warmth rippled through her. Warmth and unease. She opened her eyes, already aroused and wanting him.

No Sam.

Sunlight edged the heavy amber drapes. The large room glowed like a jewel box in shades of topaz, citrine, and gold. Oh, God, it must be late.

She sat up, her head beginning to throb.

“Good morning.” Sam stood in the doorway wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else, holding a steaming cup of coffee, looking like every woman’s perfect rebound fantasy.

Her system jangled with craving. Warning. Fantasies didn’t last. And neither did rebounds. She sat up cautiously, pulling the sheets up over her naked breasts. Breasts Sam had kissed and licked and sucked and . . . A blush spread over her chest. “What time is it?”

He strolled forward, easy in his skin, looking rumpled and morning delicious, wearing a smile and a hint of stubble. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. Her fingers itched to push it back.

He offered her a mug. “Just nine.”

“Nine?” Another uncomfortable little jolt. “I never sleep that late.” She never did all kinds of things she’d done last night.

Sam’s smile warmed his eyes.

Her heart performed a complicated maneuver in her chest.
Oh, no.

“Thanks.” She took the coffee, holding it in front of her like a shield. “What time is checkout?”

He sat on the edge of the bed, threatening her grasp on the sheet and her composure. “Relax. I told the desk we wanted a late checkout. Or . . .” His green eyes watched her face, gauging her reaction. “We could keep the room for another night.”

A spurt of panic accelerated her heartbeat.
Fight or flight?

“I can’t
stay
,” she said.

“I don’t see why not,” Sam said. He stood. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

“What?”

“I didn’t know if you’d be hungry when you woke up, so I ordered a fruit plate and some pastry things from room service. But if you want something hot . . .” He trailed off suggestively.

She flushed.

He grinned. “They do great omelets here. Or waffles.”

He sauntered out. Meg stared after him, distracted by all those long, smooth, golden muscles, that lovely indentation along his spine, the red, parallel scratches down his back . . . Her jaw sagged. Dear God, sometime during the night, she’d scratched him. She didn’t know whether to feel appalled or smug.

“Fruit is fine.” She frowned. Fruit was perfect.

And that, she admitted to herself, was part of the problem. Sam’s constant anticipation of her needs, his attention to her preferences, made her nervy and unsettled. She was used to taking care of herself.

She wasn’t sure of her moves anymore.

Or of his.

Jumping out of bed, she stuffed her arms into the hotel-provided robe before following him out of the bedroom. “Listen, Sam . . .”

He looked up at her entrance, the devil dancing in his smile. “More coffee?”

She narrowed her eyes. He was laughing at her. Or he was managing her. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

She grabbed her dignity with both hands, belting herself firmly into the thick, plush robe. Not the best armor, but at least she wasn’t naked anymore. “Thanks.” She glanced at the breakfast tray. “This looks wonderful. Last night . . .”

“Was wonderful,” Sam said quietly. She met his gaze, all laughter stilled.

And her irritation melted away.

Maybe she was a little out of sorts this morning, overwhelmed by the Grady charm, uncomfortable with her lack of control—over herself, over Sam, over the situation. But she couldn’t fault Sam for her feelings. He’d done everything he could last night and this morning to take care of her, to make her feel better. She admired his attention to detail. She appreciated his genuine kindness. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

She didn’t want to hurt him.

The realization shivered through her. She wasn’t used to considering that sexy, teasing, impervious Sam could be hurt. That he had that depth of feeling, that she had that degree of influence. And she
would
hurt him eventually if she made this out to be anything more than what it was, a temporary escape from the rest of their lives.

“It was wonderful,” she said. “But we have to get back.” Back to Dare Island. Back to reality.

Sam pulled the cloche off the fruit plate, mangos, strawberries, kiwi, pineapple, glowing like a stained glass window. Almost without thinking, Meg sat.

“I’m in no hurry,” Sam said. “And your family’s not expecting you until tomorrow.”

Something Meg was trying not to think about. Why on earth had she called Sam last night and not her brother? “I need to let them know where I am.”

“You’re thirty-five.”

“Thirty-four.” She grabbed a sweet roll, annoyed with herself for that quick, defensive retort.

Sam smiled. “A consenting adult. Tell them you’re with me.”

“That will thrill my mother. Dad, on the other hand . . .”

“Let’s leave your parents out of this for a minute,” Sam suggested. Under the charm and good humor, she heard steel. “Tell me what’s going on. What did I do to screw up?”

“You didn’t.” She swallowed. “It was perfect.”

“Past tense? That sounds like a brush-off.”

“It isn’t meant to.”

He raised his brows.

She sighed. He knew her too well, saw through her too easily. “Look, Sam, I really appreciate you coming to my rescue yesterday. I was upset and you were . . . Well, you gave me exactly what I needed. A real night off. But I don’t know what we’re doing here.”

“Based on last night, I’d say we’re recovering from a night of great sex,” Sam drawled.

She was crushing her napkin. She relaxed her grip, smoothing the linen square over her lap. “I should say, I don’t know what I’m doing.” Looking up, she met his gaze. “I just left a long-term relationship. Two, actually. Six years with Derek, and—
poof!
—we’re through. Twelve years with the company and—
boom!
—I’m gone. I’m facing a huge learning curve with a new client, and . . .”

“You got the job?”

“I got the contract.” Despite her current worries, she couldn’t keep the satisfaction from her voice. “A book promotion.”

“Congratulations.” He sounded warm. Sincere.

“Thanks.” Under the pleasure, nerves vibrated. She set down her coffee. “I’m pumped about working on something besides quarterly earnings reports and bullshit class action suits. But I’ve never done anything like this before. This is the author’s first book. It could be big. Really big. There’s a lot of media interest in her story already. But I have to figure out how to spin it so she’s not a one-book wonder.”

“What’s her name?”

This was not the conversation she intended to have this morning. But she appreciated Sam’s interest. Derek had never asked. Not that it mattered anymore, Meg told herself. “Lauren Patterson.”

“The hostage girl,” Sam said. “I saw the story on the news. Bank robbery, right? She negotiated to get everybody else out.”

Meg nodded. Every time she thought she had Sam figured out, he shifted. Surprised her. “The challenge is that Hostage Girl doesn’t want to be known forever as Hostage Girl. She’s so much more than that—she’s got a master’s in psychology. She has a great message that goes beyond the headlines. It’s my job to help her get it out to a wider audience.”

“Well, you’re good at finding out what people are interested in. What they’re passionate about.” Sam squeezed her leg where the terrycloth robe had parted. “You’ll do great.”

His palm was warm and sure on her knee. Meg gnawed the inside of her lip, letting her uncertainty show. “Do you really think so?”

“Sure.” His smile spread warmth through her midsection. “Look at the way you hooked me into the Dare Plantation project. You got me working with my father again. Convincing people to buy a book should be a piece of cake.”

He’d done it again, she realized, dismayed. Fed her, focused on her, making her relax. Making her open up to him. She took a breath, shoring up her defenses. “My point is I’m dealing with a lot of changes. I don’t think we should rush into things.”

“I wouldn’t call eighteen years of foreplay rushing.”

She squelched a quick bubble of laughter, a flash of heat. “You know what I mean. You’re launching a major island development that could tie you there for years. I don’t even know where I’m going to be three months from now. Neither one of us has the time or energy to devote to a serious relationship right now.”

Their gazes held, his expression inscrutable.

“Who says we’re serious?” Sam asked evenly.

* * *

M
EG’S MOUTH DROPPED OPEN.

Sam swallowed a grin. Her reaction went a little way toward easing the slap to his ego, the sting to his heart.

Damn it, they were already
in
a relationship. Had been for years. They were bound with ties of affection, a thousand threads of memory and feeling. Hell, he was so tangled up in her he couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to even think about her going back to New York. But he knew Meggie. Pushing her for a commitment now would only spook her into full, panicked retreat.

He shoved down his own frustration and spoke mildly. “You’re overthinking this. Last night was good, right?”

“Are you looking for a grade?”

He laughed and shook his head. “I’ll leave that to you. You were the straight-A student. I’m just saying I had a good time.”

“Me, too,” she admitted. Her blue eyes were soft.

He breathed in relief. “So why not let things be what they are? We can see each other without pinning a label on it.”

That double pleat appeared between her brows. “You mean, like an open relationship?”

Hell, no.
The very idea revolted him. He watched her carefully. “Is that what you want?”

“No.” She pressed her lips together. “Apparently that’s what I had before. With Derek. I just didn’t know it.”

“Son of a bitch.” Even though the bastard’s actions had sent Meg flying home and into Sam’s arms, Sam still wanted to beat the shit out of him.

“Thank you.” She curled her hands around her coffee cup as if to warm them.

“The guy’s a fucking idiot to dump you.”

“Oh, he didn’t dump me.” Her tone was bitter, her smile wry. “He said the whole thing was a misunderstanding. He said that in any long-term relationship both parties are bound to fail from time to time. He expected me to take him back.”

What an asshole.
“I hope you told him to go to hell.”

“I threw a glass of wine in his face.”

“You should have tossed him out a window, but okay.”

Her smile flashed. Faded. “You know what really gets me? It’s not that Derek deceived me. Okay, actually that really bothers me. But I deceived myself.”

“Sorry, sugar, you don’t get the blame on this one. He’s the one who cheated. He’s a dick.”

“But I didn’t see that, didn’t let myself see that. I was so focused on my personal checklist that I ignored my own feelings. My values. I let him diminish me. I diminished myself to be with him. And that was a bigger betrayal than anything he did.”

“Well, see, that’s one problem we won’t have. You already know me. You know my faults. And I know you. I want you. We don’t have to pretend with each other.”

She studied him, still with that furrow between her brows. “And that’s enough for you.”

It would have to be.
Sam grinned. “It was last night.”

“What about tomorrow? Or next week?”

“We both have some experience of living with other people’s expectations,” Sam said. “Or not living up to them. Why don’t we take this thing one day at a time and see where it goes. You in?”

“No promises, no pretending,” she murmured.

“No pressure,” he said. “But I’ll promise you this: I’m here for you, Meggie. I’ll try to make you happy. And as long as we’re together, there’s nobody else for me.”

“Okay.” She met his gaze, direct as ever. “I’m in. I’m here for you. I’ll be honest with you and faithful to you.”

“And . . .” he prompted.

She blinked at him.

“And you’ll bake me cookies,” he said.

Her laugh bubbled up. “I will—occasionally—bake you cookies. And if you cheat on me, I’ll throw you out the window.”

“Shit, sugar, you won’t have to. Your daddy will.” He waited a beat, gauging her reaction. “And then Matt will run over me with his truck.”

Her smile blinded him. She looked like a girl again, swallowed by that too-big robe, her hair mussed, her face free of makeup, warmth and humor in her eyes.