We Will Always Have the Closet (14 page)

Tall he may be, but he was also fast, and without warning he sprinted to her side and grabbed hold of her shoulders. “Enough,” he demanded, his face almost touching hers. “You can drive a saint insane.” He reached for the handle on the door next to them and swept Petra inside with him, closing it behind. It was a closet, he realized, almost as small as the one where they’d met in Linden’s house.

With Petra nestled in his arms, pressed against his body, he relished in the heat they shared. “A closet again, Sam?” she whispered over his lips. “You sure know how to treat a woman.” Their lips melded together in a slow, heated kiss. Sam had been holding back, but now he couldn’t do it anymore. His hands took on a life of their own and crept under her shirt to flatten themselves on her bare back. The feel of her silky warm skin sent the blood in his veins on a sprint, pumping hard and leaving him breathless.

***

Petra

Petra had lost all sense of the here and now, enveloped in Sam’s strong arms, trembling under his touch. Suddenly, clothes seemed superfluous, even encumbering. Her hands pulled Sam’s shirt out of his pants and clumsily began undoing all the buttons. Her skin craved his, and when she finally made contact with his naked torso, a sigh of release escaped her lips. In their sweet struggle, Petra slammed her head against the shelf unit on one side of the closet. “Ouch,” she whimpered, rubbing her head.

Sam, shirtless and having a hard time breathing, touched her head, searching for an injury but finding none. “You’re okay,” he whispered in her ear, making her shudder in pleasure. “I want you so bad it hurts.”

Her shirt flew over her head and his hands cupped her small breasts in an intoxicating caress. Petra was just about to address the vexing matter of his tight jeans when they both froze, hearing voices. Sam covered her mouth with his hand to quiet her. “Shush,” he whispered, and they both listened, still shaking with desire in each other’s arms.

“Have you seen her lately?” a male voice asked from outside the closet. It was Liam’s voice. But he was not alone. “I miss her. I still can’t believe you left her.”

“She left me,” the other man said. Petra’s heart jumped in her throat. That was Jonas’ voice. “Not the other way around.”

“Sure, after you cheated on her like a million times,” Liam replied. Mortified, she realized they were talking about her. She didn’t want Sam to hear how she had been betrayed so many times she had lost count. Still, she kept on fighting for a love that had never really been there. She didn’t want Sam to know how weak she really was, how pathetic, staying with a man for years even after knowing he would never be the husband she had hoped for. Tears ran down her cheeks and she silently gave thanks that the closet was drowned in obscurity. “You did her wrong, Jonas. I am your friend, but I was her friend first.”

“Stop acting like you’re a saint, Liam,” Linden exclaimed, angry. “You always had your eye on her. Given the chance, you would have stolen her away from me. Some friend you are.”

“I would have never done that and you know it,” the Brit answered. “God knows, I had the chance. Compared to you, I seemed like a gift from heaven. I would have been faithful to her. I would have loved her like she deserved. But water under the bridge, right?”

Petra felt Sam stiffen under her touch. His hands dropped along his side and he stepped away from her. Holding onto him as if her life depended on it, Petra wanted to protest what they were witnessing, but couldn’t without revealing their presence. She had never had feelings for Liam, no matter how gorgeous or how insistent he had been back then.

“Romantic artists,” they heard Jonas spout with disdain. “I am a business man, I don’t have time for flights of fancy.”

Tempted to jump out of the closet and lunge at her ex-husband, Petra bit her tongue so hard she drew blood. “Son-of-a-bitch,” she muttered, licking a drop of blood with her tongue. The metallic taste calmed her down, but her legs felt weak. On her back there was a soft mound of hanging clothes; probably Liam’s painting frocks and costumes he kept to dress up his models. It was the perfect background for her to lean on silently and slide herself all the way to the ground. There was no place to spread even her short legs, but the overheard conversation had taken all her strength away. Sam slid right next to her to make sure she was okay, but she could tell he was trying, as much as the small space allowed it, not to touch her. A wound opened up in her heart anew and much to her dismay, she felt new tears welling up in her eyes.

“Well, Mr. Business,” Liam started, now in a more jovial tone. “I’m still waiting for those bills of sale you promised me. What’s the delay?”

Sam perked up beside her. Delays in coming up with bills of sale? That didn’t bode well. Good news for Sam, she guessed. Petra didn’t react, though. She had stopped listening. A stream of tears rolled down her face as she hugged her folded legs against her chest.

“They’re coming, they’re coming,” Linden replied, a little chafed by the implication. “There’s been a few problems with the delivery, but they will be here very soon.”

“All right, you know I like to keep this clean and simple,” the British artist stated. “No bill of sale and it looks like you’re up to something.”

Body rigid with tension and totally focused on the men’s conversation, Sam leaned forward in the direction of the door. A despondent Petra curled up into herself even more, thinking he was putting more space between them as a result of what he had heard.

“What are you insinuating, Liam?” Linden sounded outraged, maybe a little too much for an innocent person, Petra thought.

“Relax, dude,” the artist cautioned, lowering his voice to a calming level, as if trying to bring his friend’s temper down. “I’m not insinuating anything. I am saying that other people may have…ideas, however wrong, if you don’t produce those bills of sale. I am looking out for you, that’s all.”

“Yeah, like when you were after my wife.” The tone had suddenly changed into a friendly teasing. Liam had effectively dispelled Jonas’ surliness.

Laughter exploded in the room and Petra wished she had never had the terrible idea to come to the studio. She felt small and used, emptied of value or interest, like an old rag that no one wanted or needed anymore. Wishing Jonas and Liam gone, Petra rubbed her eyes dry of tears and swallowed hard.

“How would you like a cup of a very old cognac?” they heard Linden ask, the voice fading a bit as they moved away from the closet. “My uncle in France sent me this bottle that some would kill for…” his voice trailed and then totally vanished as the front door slammed shut.

***

Sam

Sam and Petra were alone in the studio again. Sighing in relief, Sam cracked the door open to let in some air and light. Suddenly fully aware that he had no shirt, Sam searched around for it. It was lying in a small pile just a few inches away from him, right next to Petra’s small feet. Her shirt seemed to be missing as well. His eyes locked on her small breasts covered by the pretty black lace brassiere. He felt his stomach tightening. Petra didn’t seem to notice as she put on and buttoned up her shirt, her eyes on the floor, her expression demure and distant.

Fully dressed now and ready to leave the studio as quickly as possible, they looked at each other briefly, both unsure of the other’s state of mind. “Coffee?” Sam suggested. After all, that’s what they had originally set out to get. Petra shook her head in dismissal.

“I just want to go home,” she said very quietly. She turned to leave, but was stopped by Sam’s hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern dripping from his voice. “Is something hurting?”

Her hand went to her heart
.
“Just tired,” she said instead. “Let’s go home.”

The sun was peeking brightly through the clouds as they drove back home. The world seemed more silent than usual, mirroring their moods. Sam kept going over Liam’s words. What did they mean, exactly? Was it just an oversight or was there more to it? Was that a good sign that Jonas wasn’t the innocent man Petra wanted to believe he was? There were so many questions in his head, and he was so mad at himself for allowing Petra to get involved in such a precarious situation for the sake of the investigation. Speaking of which, why was she so quiet? Had he been too forward with her, moving in too quickly? Was she upset about their little tryst in the closet? Stealing a quick look toward her, Sam noticed with a jolt the tracks of tears carved through her face makeup. She had been crying.

“Idiot,” he yelled out, smacking the driving wheel in anger. Petra jumped, surprised by the reaction. “You’re upset, and here I am thinking about Jonas and his harebrained criminal ventures. I’m sorry, Petra, I should have been paying more attention to you.” He stopped the car on the curb and leaned toward her, his hand along the back of her seat. “Did I say something wrong?”

The look of concern in his face was her undoing. The sobs just came unbidden and unwanted in a flooding wave. Startled by the surge of emotion, Sam pulled her to him and cradled her gently against his chest. “Hush, sweetie,” he cooed, rubbing her arm. “You’re okay, we’re all right.”

Tears flowed freely for a while, and amid this, Sam was distantly aware she was soaking his shirt, the same shirt which she had so eagerly stripped from him earlier. The same memory seemed to bring back all the embarrassment and heartache Petra must have felt while in the closet, listening to Liam’s comments. “Why did you pull away from me in the closet?” she asked in between sobs.

Stunned by her question, he stared at the top of her head, the only part of her face visible to him at that moment. “What?” he exclaimed. “I didn’t pull away from you. Those two came in and we had to, you know, stop what we were doing.” Remembering how she had felt against his bare skin, his heart missed a beat. He laughed, “God, girl. I didn’t want to pull away. The very opposite, in fact. I wanted to tear all of your clothes off and just lose all control. What made you think I pulled away?”

A whimper escaped her lips, but she was quickly regaining control. “Liam was saying all those things about how he felt about me and I thought…” Her voice came out a bit hoarse.

“That?” Her face was burrowed in his shoulder. “I can’t fault Liam for his feelings for you, as much as I may want to punch the living daylights out of him, but…at least he felt a perfectly genuine fondness and wanted to do right by you.”
Unlike your ex-husband.
“I confess, I was a little jealous, but I didn’t pull away because of that, I promise you.”

Her face, a bit blotched and stained by her running mascara was now turned to his, dark amber eyes shining like gems, lips curved in a hopeful smile. “So, you don’t think I had a thing with Liam?” she asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly. Those eyes would be his final undoing. He caressed her face with his thumb and smiled, shaking his head. True, he still felt more than a little threatened by the artistic Adonis, but he had no real reason to think that Petra had ever had an affair with him. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile. All was well with the world.

Resuming the drive home, Sam felt light and complete with a beautiful, sweet woman fast asleep in the passenger seat. The sun started its magnificent descent into the horizon, the forest of giant evergreens flanking them on all sides like beautiful guardians tenderly watching over them. By the time they arrived at Petra’s house, the stress of the day had finally caught up to him and he felt as if he could sleep for a year. Petra was light as a feather in his arms and never once stirred from her heavy sleep. Sam laid her down on her bed, carefully took off her shoes, covered her with the blanket, and after a second thought, stretched himself beside her and fell blissfully asleep. Yes, everything was indeed well with the world.

Chapter Six

MODELS, LOVE, AND JEALOUSY

Sam

The same dream kept coming back to haunt him. Every time, some new details were added to torment him even more. In the past few days, Liam had become a semi-permanent character in his dream, one that absurdly caused him more anxiety than any of the other things factoring into it. The “plot” changed but one thing always remained the same; Liam, the British god, always came and somehow managed to convince Petra he was better fitted for her than Sam. Waking up in sweats, Sam spent hours analyzing the dream and always came out flat. Maybe the fact that even though they had had “couple moments,” but they were not really a couple yet bothered him more than he cared to admit. In his insecurity, Sam had not brought himself up to the task of actually asking her out. They seemed stuck in this by-the-moment mood, catching each other when one was falling but never committing to anything. Funny thing was, Sam had never been the insecure kind. He was always so sure of himself, so certain of his wants and needs, never having the time or the patience for anxieties, especially of the female kind. Now, as his fortieth birthday quickly approached, he was reduced to a wreck of a man who agonized over every word, every facial expression, and every action of hers.

Somehow, he felt as happy as he had ever been in spite of all these insecurities. The sight of Petra’s pretty face in the morning when they shared a cup of coffee, her hair a confusion of tangles, her makeup often still smudged around her eyes, all of it a sight for his sore eyes. A smile of pure happiness crept to his lips every time and his life felt less flat, as if for the first time he was seeing and experiencing it in 3-D.

“I’m going to work today.” In high heels and a very sexy blue skirt suit, Petra clicked her way into the kitchen where Sam was buried in an article on his tablet. His head snapped up and he almost fell off the tall stool. She looked amazing in her knee-length pencil skirt that hugged her thin hips and a skin-tight short jacket that enhanced her breasts and robbed Sam of his breath. “Close your mouth,” she said, fiddling with her purse. “It’s a very unattractive look.”

Sam cleared his throat and caught his breath. “Damn, you look hot,” he exclaimed. “You go to work dressed like that?”

With a less-than-saintly smile, she replied, “If you got it, flaunt it.” He crossed the space between them in a wink and his arms enveloped her waist, pulling her closer. “Hey, watch it! Don’t wrinkle my suit.”

Nuzzling her neck, he sighed loudly. “I want to do a lot more than wrinkle it,” he whispered into her ear and a lovely tremor made her shake in his arms. “Don’t go,” he begged in a hoarse voice. “We could maybe…” She pushed him away playfully and grabbed her purse again.

“I have an appointment in town,” she announced. “Maybe we can meet for lunch?” Sam watched from underneath half closed lids, molten with yearning. He chided himself in his mind. He needed to go to work as well. He had not been focusing enough on his job, and the calls were coming in more frequently. His employers were becoming impatient. It would be wise to indulge in something other than Petra for a change. He agreed to meet her in town and she left, leaving an empty space inside of him. Man, was he in trouble.

His meetings in town took him longer than he expected and he was thirty minutes late, meeting Petra at the small French bistro they had agreed on. Cursing the difficulty of finding a parking place in downtown Seattle, Sam walked in the restaurant flustered and frustrated. His agitation only grew at the sight of Petra sitting across from Liam at a couples table, hanging onto every word the artist threw her way. On the way to the table, he almost tripped over one of the waiters, and by the time he sat down, he was raving mad and feeling murderous.

“What a surprise to see you here, Liam,” he said, trying to sound sincere. He failed miserably.

The Brit didn’t seem to notice. Pushing the chair behind him, Liam stood and offered his hand in greeting. “Good to see you, chap,” he said, shaking Sam’s hand vigorously. “Sit. We were going over the details of a small deal Petra and I struck today.”

The words sent a red alert to Sam’s brain. “A deal?” he exclaimed, trying to disguise his distrust as genuine interest. “What do you mean?” Leaning over the table, he stared intently at Petra, trying to read her mind. She looked suspiciously innocent, which only confirmed she was up to no good again.

“Petra has finally agreed to model for me,” Liam said, making Sam almost choke on his own breath. What was she thinking? Did she get some kind of kicks out of torturing him? “At a price, of course,” Liam added with a chuckle. “You know Petra, nothing risked, nothing gained.”

Yes, he knew Petra, the crazy woman sitting across from him looking like a young, naïve little girl while knowing all too well she was tearing his heart apart, one painful inch at a time. “What’s the price?” He was afraid of asking. God knew what crazy ruse she was planning now.

“She made me promise I wouldn’t say,” the other man said, throwing a wry look at her. “And I, for one, try very hard not to piss my muse off.” While Sam knew he had no such reluctance, a million nasty thoughts raced through his mind. “Well, I’ll leave you to your lunch,” Liam said, suddenly standing up. His hand grabbed Petra’s and brought it to his lips. “Tomorrow?”

“You bet,” Petra said, avoiding Sam’s eyes. Liam left them wrapped in an uncomfortable silence. This was going to take some delicate maneuvering. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, lost for words, anger burning bright red in his chest. “You have actually accepted his proposal?”

“You make it sound like I just agreed to marry him,” she protested, blushing crimson. “I have only agreed to model for him. There’s no crime involved.”

Sam was beside himself. He couldn’t think straight, not even to come up with words to express his anger and disbelief at her actions. Couldn’t she tell he was crazy about her? That the thought of another man looking at her in that way made him cringe and want to punch a brick wall? There was no point in arguing if she couldn’t see that. Pushing the chair back harder than necessary, Sam threw his napkin on the plate and left. He would go back to his place and stay there. Hopefully, he would eventually be able to ignore the magnetic pull Petra had on him and go on with his life without the added complication of a romantic relationship. He was done!

***

Petra

Left behind and attracting more than one curious stare from the other restaurant patrons, Petra sat quietly for a while playing with the leftover appetizer on her plate and trying very hard not to give in to emotion again. What had she done that was so wrong? She had only agreed to model for Liam so she could fish for information about Jonas. It wasn’t like she was going to be in the nude or anything like that. He wanted her to model dressed in the lovely ball gown she had worn all those years ago for the gala, the culmination of the month-long art workshop where she and Liam had met for the first time. Yes, she was aware that he had feelings for her, but she didn’t reciprocate them. Even if she did, what was the big deal? She and Sam were not a couple. There was chemistry for sure, a lot of it, but he had never said anything about wanting a relationship. As for her, she was not one-hundred percent certain she was ready to trust a man again; not with her heart, anyway. So why did she feel like her soul had just left with him and that a deep chasm of nothingness was growing inside of her at the thought of losing him?

That night, alone in her bed, Petra couldn’t sleep. Outside, the typical northwestern weather could be heard. The sound of the falling rain was normally relaxing, but tonight it kept her awake. She had gotten used to Sam’s tall, comforting figure fussing over and protecting her—whether she needed it or not. He had left an empty space in her life that she longed to see filled again. Punching the pillows with her hands and yelling into them in muffled angry outbursts, she almost missed the knock at the door. Who could that be? She rarely had visitors, much less this late at night.

Barefoot and forgetting to put on a robe, Petra ran to the door in her long cotton nightgown, dreading the worst. Standing at the door, soaked from the rain, was Sam. He did not come in at first. Silent and handsome, a small puddle of water forming by his feet, Sam stared at her with longing in his eyes. “I tried to stay away,” he said, breathing hard. “But I couldn’t. You’re under my skin and I don’t know how to live without you anymore.” Two steps forward and he was inside, holding her tight in his arms, drenching her with his clothes and his body. “I just want to love you, Petra.” Unable to contain himself any longer, Sam crushed his lips on hers in a kiss she had craved all day, maybe her whole life. A kiss that spoke of quiet mornings together and evenings by the fire, a kiss that spoke of a common future together.

He kicked the door shut behind him as his arms pressed her against him, almost frantic, as if wanting to merge both their bodies into one. In his desperation to leave no space between them, Sam thrust them into the wall. “Sorry,” he whispered, out of breath.

Petra hadn’t noticed how her back had slammed into the wall rather roughly. Her focus was on him and how his body felt against hers, his mouth exploring her face and neck, his hands making their track along her back. She tingled all over, as if someone was afflicting her with tiny electric shocks, a cruel but wonderful torment. For a crazy moment she wondered if she was glowing. Sam’s hands were now pulling her nightgown up, revealing her thighs and then her chest, and finally flying over his head in a graceful fluid arch. The heat of his palms rested on her breasts and she moaned a little. She wanted to feel more of his skin so she pulled on his shirt, which, in its wetness, seemed resolutely stuck to his body. Sam let go of her just long enough to get rid of it, pulling it off his head without attempting to unbutton it. Her thoughts went back to that first time in the closet when her hands had involuntarily gone to his chest and how she so admired it even then. Once again, her hands, accustomed to touching works of art, traveled there, reveling at the feeling beneath her hungry fingers—wet, taut, and warm, thrilling beyond words.

Somehow they had traveled into the bedroom and found themselves falling into the bed, piled high with sheets and blankets. The weight of his long body should have bruised her, but instead it soothed her as he enveloped her in his protective cocoon. She reached for the belt on his pants, but her fingers had become useless with the thrill of it all. More than happy to oblige, Sam undid his wet jeans and removed them slowly while Petra watched. He was perfect. Ordinary men were shaped by their parents’ genes. Sam had been carved by Michelangelo’s hand, painted by Lair, and magicked into life from a classical Greek statue. Strong chest and shoulders, narrow hips, long muscular legs…a shiver of pleasure ran through her.

Leaning on the bed, he reached for her panties and began to slowly strip them. The movement was seductively unhurried and deliberate, her skin raw with pleasure. Her soul was singing and her body was burning with desire. “Can’t stand it anymore, Sam,” she said with a groan. As the delicate lacy item joined the other clothes on the floor, Sam descended on her, sliding his strong body along hers, wet skin against wet skin, creating their own electricity and driving her to the edge of madness. This feeling was so foreign to her, she wondered if she wasn’t indeed going mad. Even in the throes of passion with Jonas she had never felt like this, as if her body couldn’t take in any more pleasure, as if it could actually explode.

While he studied her body with his hands and his mouth, learning about every delicious curve, every valley, Petra thought about the first time she had met him. Was love at first sight—or first touch, for that matter—a real thing? When she had thrown herself into his arms in that tiny closet, it should have felt awkward, bizarre even, however exciting it might have been. Instead, it felt…right. It felt true, as if their bodies, their souls, belonged together. As if destiny had somehow thrown them into each other’s arms because it was the way it should be. Moist lips kissed a sensual trail along the sensitive skin of her stomach, and Sam quavered at her whimpering of pleasure, her body gently trembling beneath his touch. Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist and desire burned between them like a flame. “I need…” He hesitated, unable to finish his sentence.

“Yes, Sam, yes,” she said, pulling him even closer to her. The need to feel him inside of her had erupted to a new level of urgency and she silently and fervently guided him, wanting to soak up the heat he radiated, needing to be joined with him, bonded in body and soul. It overwhelmed her senses and blurred her thoughts. “Love me, please,” she heard herself say. His body’s reaction to her was a powerful aphrodisiac and she couldn’t help herself; her hips gyrated against his heat as his tongue flickered across her chest in a maddening dance.

Sam propped himself up on one arm while his other hand slid teasingly down between her breasts, across her stomach, all the way down to the soft folds between her thighs. Her deep moan emboldened him and he followed his hand with his lips, bringing her—and himself—spiraling up to the edge of climax.

Petra, her fingers entwined in his hair, arched against his mouth. “I want you,” she said, her voice hoarse with desire. “Take me now, please. I will go mad.” He took her then, gently and passionately all at the same time in a crescendo of rhythmic strokes, rocking both toward ecstasy. Tidal waves of pleasure ran through their bodies, taking them to the top and holding them there until their bodies folded onto each other, sated and breathless.