For the Longest Time (16 page)

“I'm starting from square one. I worked in a really upscale gallery in New York. Gallerie Mona. She seemed
interested in my work at first, but she ended up indifferent, then actively hostile. It wasn't all bad. I mean, I worked my ass off, learned that side of the business, made contacts. I had a good eye for what would sell, and to who. Clients liked me, enough that quite a few of them started to ask for me. When you work for a complete narcissist, that tends to be a problem.” She tucked the back of her hand beneath her chin and played with her fork.

“This year, I finally saw the writing on the wall. I'd been selling work independently, and that was okay. You saw my Web site. I did have buyers, and the extra money was nice to have, even if I couldn't have lived on it. A big show was something Mona had been dangling in front of me since she'd hired me, and she's influential enough that I didn't want to piss her off by trying to get a look from other galleries. When she fired my friend Zack, though, I knew I was next in line. He was the one ally I had left in that place, and even better at his job than I was. So, I did what I should have from the beginning. And it worked. I was offered a show at another gallery, smaller, but well thought of and known for really increasing the visibility of the emerging artists they showcase.” She shook her head, remembering how naive she'd been in her excitement. “I thought . . . I was finally going to catch a break. When I wasn't at work, I was painting. And not like I'd completely lost my enthusiasm for it, but I had my heart in it again.”

“What happened?” Jake asked. She'd been so focused on telling the story that she hadn't realized, until right then, just how engrossed Jake seemed. She wasn't used to having anyone hanging on her every word. She straightened in her chair, tucking some of the strands of her hair back behind her ears.

“Mona Richard happened,” Sam said, keeping her tone matter-of-fact. Pity, especially Jake's pity, wasn't something she wanted. “She was in her glory. I think she'd been waiting a long time for me to screw up so she could really let me have it. My looking elsewhere for exposure was taken as a personal affront. I was ungrateful, worthless. I should have been working my ass off to impress
her
, not sneaking around trying to, you know, be an artist. My work was amateurish. I wasn't up to contemporary standards. The only reason anyone would show my work was because I was taking advantage of the connections she'd helped me make, and those people felt sorry for me. Also, I was a backstabbing bitch.” She considered. “I may have missed a few things, but that was the gist. It wasn't a great conversation. I think people in the next building overheard it.”

Jake didn't look like he pitied her, at least, so that was something. Instead he looked awed. “Jesus. She sounds like a psycho.”

Sam gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Yeah, a psycho with a stupid amount of money who knows everyone. My show was canceled, no reason given. I got a flurry of rejections from other places I'd submitted work. Oh, and after enough time had passed that Mona could enjoy my misery firsthand, I got fired. That was almost three weeks ago. And so . . . here I am.”

“Here you are.” Jake's eyes were huge. “Wow.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam replied. “Oh, and this was right about the time my roommate decided to bail on the lease, since one of her clients was putting her up in a penthouse somewhere.”

“Client . . .”

Sam shrugged. “You know, client, john, whatever.”

“Your roommate was a
hooker
?”

“High-priced escort,” Sam corrected him. “It was kind of a newer venture for her. Apparently it pays better than being a barista.”

“Wow,” he said again.

“Yeah, pretty much.” She felt drained after throwing all that out there in one go. Apart from her mother, Jake was the only person she'd dumped this on. He couldn't say he hadn't asked for it, though.

“You did say you wanted to know,” Sam said. “So there it is. I waved the white flag, threw all my stuff in the car, and came running home. Epic fail. The end.” When he said nothing, she finally looked at his face. His expression was impossible to read. Maybe he thought she hadn't tried hard enough. Maybe he thought she was nuts. Both of those were questions she grappled with often enough. But Jake surprised her by reaching across the table and covering her hand with his, stroking his thumb over her skin so lightly that she was surprised into a shiver.

“That wasn't completely terrible, was it?” he asked with a half smile. The question surprised her enough that she returned the smile.

“Living it? Yes. Telling you?” She gave a little shrug. “No. It wasn't.” In fact, she felt like a little of the weight she'd been dragging around had vanished. It hadn't disappeared, but neither had Jake. And that counted for something.

“Okay,” he said. Just a single simple word.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I'm glad you told me. I'm sorry all that happened. I really want to know how you ended up with a hooker for a roommate.” Another light caress of the
thumb, one that rippled all the way to her core. “And I'm really glad you're home. I don't think that's a fail. Actually, that's the best part of the story so far.”

“Oh.” She tried not to feel all warm and melty inside, but it was impossible. So she gave in and enjoyed it instead. “Thanks.”

After a moment, she pulled her hand away, though it tingled where it had touched his. Her heart kicked into an uneven rhythm, and she was suddenly very much aware of how alone they were. Sam picked up her plate. She felt ridiculously awkward with those steady, dark golden eyes on her.

“I'm just going to, ah, clean this off.” She stood, silently praying to every deity she could think of that she didn't stumble and land on her face. Somehow, she made it to the sink.

“No, here, let me do it.”

She heard the warm rumble of Jake's voice behind her, but she already had the plate beneath the warm stream of water. She could actually feel him standing there, so close that if she took a step back she'd be plastered against him. Just as she felt his hesitation, Sam knew she wouldn't even need to use words to ask for what she wanted. It was just a single step. But some part of her refused to give any more than she already had. She'd come this far. . . . He could close the distance.

When Jake's hands slid over her hips, Sam let out a shaking breath she wasn't even aware she'd been holding. He stepped against her, chest to back, and pressed his face into her hair. His movements were smooth, deliberate, but she could feel the pounding of his heart against her back. When he breathed in, inhaling the scent of her hair, Sam's own breaths grew shallow.

This connection had always been there, crackling beneath the surface. She'd never forgotten it, and never felt it the same way with anyone else. That had always been the problem. How did you stay away from something—someone—you were drawn to like this?

She forced herself to set the dish in the sink, shut off the water. Then she put her hands on his, spreading her fingers. She leaned against his chest, warm and solid. His fingers began to lightly knead at her hips, rhythmic pressure that focused all of her thoughts entirely below the waistline. Her muscles tensed, and her breasts felt heavy and full as the nipples tightened to buds beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Heat coiled pleasurably between her legs, radiating outward to warm her body, making the core of her slick and tight. She could barely breathe.

Oddly, that no longer seemed like a pressing concern.

“I thought about this all week,” he murmured against her hair. “God, you feel good.”

Her thoughts felt shrouded in haze. “So do you.” It wasn't much, but at least it was coherent.

His hands slid upward to her waist, pulling a little of her dress up with it. She had a brief vision, a hot flicker of a thought involving being bent over the sink, Jake pumping into her from behind. The muscles between her legs pulsed and jumped, and she drank in a soft little gasp of air. It didn't seem to have escaped Jake, who moved his head to speak directly into her ear, mouth brushing the sensitive lobe.

“This counts as helping with the dishes, right?”

She smiled, then sighed as he began to kiss her ear, gentle presses of his lips interspersed with the gentle scrape of his teeth. She tilted her head to allow him better access, arching a little as she tried to maneuver him
closer. Jake moved from her ear to the sensitive skin below it, then to the side of her neck.

Sam closed her fingers around the edges of his hands and pulled them upward, over breasts that were now so sensitized that the friction made her moan. Jake gave a harsh gasp against her neck, and he squeezed lightly at the same time his hips moved against her. He was rock hard, the clothing between them a thin barrier that did nothing to disguise it.

This, she thought, is definitely one of the perks of growing up and starting over. At sixteen, she'd wanted him without fully understanding what the benefits of catching him might be. Now she had both the knowledge and the boldness she'd once lacked.

She turned in his arms, catching a flash of Jake's eyes before his mouth was on hers. Their last kiss had started sweet, but this one was explosive from the start. His mouth was hard on hers, demanding, urging her to keep up as they wound together in a hot tangle of lips and tongues and teeth. He pressed her back against the edge of the counter, the length of him rigid against her lower belly. Sam let her hands roam over him, over the hard planes of his chest, the jut of his hips, then back up over broad shoulders and into the soft brush of his hair.

This is happening
, she thought, though she couldn't quite convince herself. She'd wanted him for so long that this seemed like it could be just another fevered fantasy . . . though it left all other fantasies in the dust.

She felt a light tug at the back of her head, heard the soft clatter of metal in the sink, and then her hair came down, tumbling over her shoulders as Jake filled his hands with it. Sam laughed breathlessly against his mouth, impressed.

“You're a little too good at that.”

“You like to wear it up. I've been thinking about how to get it down all week. I had a strategy.” His breath was warm as he punctuated his words with hungry little kisses that Sam met eagerly.

“You're scary,” she informed him, even as she slipped her hands up beneath his thin cotton shirt to explore the expanse of smooth, wiry muscle. Jake's laugh ended on a groan.

“You have no idea.”

She loved the feel of him, fingers cruising over flesh that jumped and tensed at her touch. It was good to know that she wasn't the only one who needed this. Every ragged breath Jake took stoked her own need, until she found herself clinging to him, nails digging into his hips, one leg hooked around his to take advantage of the delicious friction as he kept her pinned against the sink.

“Come upstairs with me,” he breathed against her lips.

“Upstairs . . .”

“Or the couch. Or the floor. The edge of the counter's going to leave a mark. . . . I mean, unless you like that sort of thing. Totally not judging.”

That he could make her laugh even when she was about to burst into flames was one of the things that made him almost impossible to resist. And she didn't want to resist this. Not really. Still, some tiny sliver of cold rationality managed to find a path through her deepening sexual haze.

If you do this, there's no going—

“Bed,” Sam said, ruthlessly shutting down the internal debate. She was sick to death of rationality. For once, she just wanted to have what she wanted when she wanted
it. She'd spent so much time worrying what might happen. Just for tonight, she was going to concentrate on what was actually happening.

And considering that Jake having his hands all over her was happening, it didn't seem right that she should divert her attention elsewhere.

He didn't say another word, only grabbed her hand with his and headed out of the kitchen, down the hall and toward the stairs. Sam tried to catch her breath, but her heart was threatening to burst out of her chest and go skittering off across the room somewhere. Jake moved quickly, and the thin flannel pants he wore made it pretty clear why. Sam couldn't help the self-satisfied smile from curving the corners of her mouth.

Tucker, who had apparently gotten disgusted with the scene in the kitchen and left, looked at them from where he'd flopped and thumped his tail a couple of times before sighing and closing his eyes again.

Sam followed quickly up the stairs, surprised at how easy it was to keep the doubt from creeping in. Maybe it was because there wasn't any. Or maybe it was just that impending sex with Jake canceled everything else out. Whatever it was, she'd take it, because all she felt was a wild kind of excitement that reverberated all the way down to her toes.

The light was on in his bedroom, and she was glad to see that Jake did not, in fact, sleep on a mattress on the floor. There was a real bed, and furniture. In fact, she decided as she looked around, it was probably the most inviting room in the house. The walls were painted the color of milk chocolate. There were even curtains.

“Is this the only room you live in?” she asked.

“I like to sleep,” Jake replied. “And I read in here.”

That would explain the glasses on the nightstand, she thought. Sam then tried to picture Jake in his glasses, reading in bed. Shirtless. As though he could read her mind, Jake pulled his shirt over his head.

Her thoughts scattered to the four winds.

However good the man looked in clothes, he looked even better out of them. Sam let her eyes roam over his bare chest, which was lightly muscled without being bulky. His broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, below which a dusting of dark hair vanished beneath the waistband of his pants.