We Will Always Have the Closet (6 page)

Goblet in her hand, Petra sat on one of the counter stools and watched him. He had removed his coat and bulky sweater and was now wearing only a thin black t-shirt that did not do a great job at concealing his muscular chest. Shivering a bit, she took a good sip of wine. The black jeans he had on were skin-tight across his derriere and tight hips. She took another sip. If she kept going at this rate, she would be deliriously drunk by the time her quarter-full glass was empty.

“And voilà!” he exclaimed, taking the square ceramic pan from the oven with a great flourish and placing it on the counter in front of Petra. “And to think my mom said I would never be able to cook.” He cocked a half smile at her and handed her a big serving spoon. “Will you do the honors?”

The reheated food was delicious and the wine was smooth and soothing. They felt so comfortable together, it was like they had known each other for a very long time. “Where are your parents?” Petra asked, emboldened by the intimacy of the moment.

“They passed away a few years ago,” he replied, wiping his lips with the corner of his napkin.

“I’m sorry,” she exclaimed, mortified for having brought up what was undoubtedly a painful subject.

“No, it’s fine,” he assured her, taking another bite of the melt-in-your-mouth steak. “They died of natural causes. They were elderly.”

Petra glanced at him incredulously. “Elderly? Really?”

“I came very late into their lives,” Sam explained. “My mom was already in her late forties when she had me.”

“How was it growing up with older parents?” she asked, her fork playing with the mashed potatoes in her plate.

“Compared to what?” he asked, smiling at her. “I have nothing to compare it with. They were my parents, and they were old-ish pretty much forever…I never thought much about it, I guess.”

“No siblings?” she asked.

“Not a lot of family period,” he said, his hand around his goblet of wine. “My parents were both from foster homes. In fact, that’s how they met. So, I had no blood cousins or uncles to worry about.”

“That must have been terrible,” she said, trying to look very serious and failing miserably. “You never experienced the crazy aunt that everybody avoids at weddings and funerals. That’s tragic.”

“We had plenty of those, trust me,” he protested, taking another stab at the steak. “My parents’ foster families were large and strangely involved with their foster kids. That’s why I told you I think I may have a far removed relative from Alaska.” You couldn’t get any further “removed” than that.

Petra felt suddenly relaxed and truly satisfied. When they moved to the couch in front of the lit fireplace she felt drowsy, lulled by the dance of the flames, the warmth of Sam’s body sitting next to her, and the feeling of belonging. Her head descended on his shoulder and her eyes closed.

***

Sam

Sam stole a glance in her direction and realized she had fallen asleep. His hand came up gently to caress her face. Sam didn’t move; he enjoyed feeling the softness of her face on his shoulder and arm, her small body slightly slumped toward his. He hadn’t felt this satisfied with life in a very long time, maybe never. It scared him a little, considering he had never felt the need for anyone’s company. He had always been content with casual relationships and passing friendships. Now, it felt like his life was lacking something. Someone.

He allowed himself the illusion they were a couple and felt a surging sense of comfort, of familiarity, taking over all his senses. Her small body belonged there next to his, where he could nurture and protect her. He chuckled softly at the thought. Petra would have his head if he ever voiced his need to be her
protector
. She was strong enough and perfectly capable of taking care of herself. He knew that. He loved her for that. However, was it wrong to feel this overwhelming need to be her proverbial knight-in-shining-armor? Was it really that terrible to feel so protective?

Sam’s heavy eyelids began to close, his arms curling tighter around her shoulders, his own head slumping toward hers. Trying to stay awake, his eyes roved over Petra’s beautiful face and body. Her small breasts moved up and down with her breath and a thin strip of skin was showing where her shirt had separated from her waistband. He felt himself responding to her.
Hell, not right now.

All thoughts of sleep erased from his mind, Sam struggled to get himself under control, but it was easier said than done. His imagination had stripped her of all her clothes and was taking him places he so wanted to be, but knew he shouldn’t. Not so soon, not with Petra.

What is wrong with me?
When had he become this sensitive guy that felt a need for romance and subtlety? Not that he had ever been a ladies’ man, but whenever he had been interested in a woman, romance—other than a nice dinner and maybe some flowers—had never been a selling point. Now, he desperately wanted to sweep this tiny woman off her feet, make her swoon with his words and actions.
I’m going nuts. That has to be it.

Annoyed with himself, Sam slid further down on the couch, painfully aware of Petra’s body heat, and let out a deep sigh. If this was hell, then he had just decided he wanted to live there.

A slight movement snapped him out of his reveries; Petra was waking up. “Hello there, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, tilting his head to look at her. Her brown eyes stared at him, unfocused and confused. “Did you sleep well?”

***

Petra

Suddenly realizing she was leaning on Sam’s shoulder, Petra straightened herself up with a jerk. “Sorry,” she slurred. “Did I sleep for long?”

Sam laughed softly, the movement of his full, sexy lips creating crinkles around his eyes. Petra bit her lip, unable to look away. “About an hour,” he said. “You looked so comfortable, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Well, you make a great pillow,” a mortified Petra heard herself say. Bright red flushed across her cheeks. “I better get going.” His hand shot out as she moved to stand up and held her arm. Her skin tingled where his hand touched it and her belly was suddenly crowded with butterflies. “It’s late,” she said almost pleadingly. She didn’t trust herself around him. There was a panicky feeling in her chest that urged her to put as much distance between her and Sam as possible.

His hand didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her gently to him, and in spite of her fluttering heart, she went along with it. The speckles of yellow in his bright green eyes mesmerized her as his face came closer to hers. Her eyes escaped to his inviting lips and she swallowed hard. It had become very hard to breathe, and she could hear and feel the thumping of her heart in her ears.
Did I drink too much?
She felt intoxicated by his proximity and his scent, a heady mixture of light cologne and something she could not identify but undeniably loved.

“I really should go,” she whispered half-heartedly, not trying to move away from him. Sam made a little sound with his throat—was it even a word?—and moved his face even closer, veering slightly to the right to come and hover just above her ear. His warm breath played havoc with her senses, and her heart skipped a beat. His lips landed on her ear lobe with such gentleness, she wouldn’t even have noticed if it wasn’t for the tingling it sent down her spine. Scooting his big body closer, Sam was now leaning over her, not quite touching her, but close enough they could feel each other’s heat.
Get out, get out while you can.
Her eyes closed in rapture. It was too late. He had her under some sort of hypnotic trance she didn’t seem able to break. She had promised herself not to fall again, not to hand over her heart for sacrifice one more time, and yet here she was so ready to allow Sam to reach into her heart and yank it out. Her mind yelled danger, but her heart and body yearned for the safety of his arms.

One of his hands had slipped around her waist, sneaked under her shirt, and come to rest on the center of her back, pulling her body closer to his. She could feel the tautness of his muscles, the hardness of his chest, and the softness of his skin. Drunk with desire, Petra pulled on his shirt until she could trace his waist and the muscles of his back with her fingers. His skin was warm and surprisingly silky, and the contact threw her into a spin. Her breath came out as a whimper.

Her moan of pleasure seemed to spark Sam’s fire. “I want you so bad,” he whispered. “Did you put a spell on me? What are you doing to me? I can’t get enough of you.”

The phone rang. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam exclaimed, his mouth buried in the crook of her neck. The ringing continued, relentless in its urgency, ironically mirroring their desire for each other at that moment. With a giant sigh of frustration, Sam stood up and went to pick up the phone he had left in the kitchen. Petra felt oddly bereft. With Sam’s body no longer pressing upon hers, his lips traveling along her neck and face, there was a hole where earlier there was fullness. It took her a few seconds to recover as she remained motionless, reclined on his couch, unconsciously willing him back to her. The spell broke.

She pulled herself together and sat up, smoothing her clothes back into place, breathing a little easier. Sam had moved to the bedroom with the phone. She could hear parts of the conversation, a word here and there. She thought she heard her ex-husband’s name, but she could have imagined it since her ears were still ringing from Sam’s sweet ministrations.

A few minutes later, Sam returned to the living room, hair disheveled—had she done that?—shirt half hanging out of his pants—she did do that—running his long fingers through his thick hair. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Work.”

So gorgeous.
She shivered. It would be so easy for her to lose control again. As it was, she saw her opportunity to run from a very dangerous situation. Leaping off the couch, she grabbed her purse lying on the coffee table nearby and scanned the room for her coat.

“You aren’t leaving, are you?” He looked disappointed.

“I have to go,” she said in a throaty voice, finding her coat in a nearby chair. “I have to get up early tomorrow morning.” Remembering she had no ride home, her heart leapt in panic again. Sam would have to drive her home. Another twenty minutes in a closed space alone with him. Was the universe plotting against her? “Could you take me home, please?”

As by mutual agreement, they did not talk about what had just happened in Sam’s living room. If it was not brought up, maybe it would go away, they both thought for different reasons—Sam not used to needing someone that bad, Petra not ready to trust her heart again. The drive to the outskirts of Seattle was a silent one, only broken by the strings of a violin playing on the radio. The music, ardent and poignant, seemed to reflect what she was feeling at that moment. There was a war raging within her. Her heart was so full, she was afraid it was going to spill over, but her mind was fighting it with all its might.

The drive to her house seemed a lot longer than usual, and once the car pulled into the long driveway, they both sat in silence, the car idling, the music still playing. Sam’s hands were tight around the steering wheel as if he was afraid to let go; if he reached for her, if he touched her, Petra was not one-hundred percent sure she would be able to keep herself under control. Petra kept her eyes securely on her lap, afraid she would jump into Sam’s arms again if their eyes locked.

Sam made the first move. “Sorry, Petra, for having lost control back there,” he said, hands still firmly on the wheel. He inhaled deeply and then slowly released his breath, his head shaking slightly. “No, that’s not true,” he blurted out, half turning to her. “I’m not sorry at all. I wanted to do it and I still do. You can’t deny that there’s something here, something that pulls us together…” There was a question in his voice.

“Sam, I just can’t…” she replied feebly. How do you explain to a virtual stranger that if your heart had been broken like hers had, it wasn’t easy to just let someone new in? “I’m not good with this.”

“What is
this
?” he asked, confused. “Kissing, dating, what?”

“Affairs of the heart, I guess,” she explained, feeling stupid for saying it out loud. “I haven’t had much luck with men in the past, so I have decided not to get involved.”

“So, you’re telling me that one asshole breaks your heart and you just assume all men are dirt?” His voice showed anger, but she knew he was mostly frustrated by the whole thing. They were obviously good together, at least in a physical sense. But was that enough to at least start? He was a decent guy; she didn’t think he would use her and then stomp on her heart for kicks. But then again, she had thought the same about her ex-husband.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” he said in a gentler voice. “I just feel a connection, that’s all, and I haven’t felt this in a long time. Or ever.”

“I just need time.”
To stop the bleeding
. “Thank you, Sam. It was a very pleasant evening and I’m sorry if I ruined it for you.” She finally gathered up the courage to look him in the eye. To her surprise, he didn’t look mad or even annoyed. There was something wonderful about his expression that she couldn’t quite describe, as if the sight of her pleased him so much he couldn’t hide it. His hand came to rest on her cheek and she automatically leaned against it.

“You didn’t ruin anything, spitfire,” he said with a smile. “Go home before I kiss you again.” With that warning, Petra opened the car door and headed to her front door. In spite of everything, the awkwardness, the panic, the crippling fear, she felt wonderful and she floated, rather than walked those few yards to her door.