Crossing Lines (10 page)

The sex toy talk, which sparked a plethora of interesting images and scenarios, had been the proverbial bullet in the chamber. Her boob-swinging, ass-swaying, burlesque-style undressing spun the cylinder. Her nearly naked body plastered against his was like squeezing the trigger in this sexual game of Russian roulette.

The only difference… the consequences of this high-risk game were on a delay, and the survival of his integrity had yet to be determined.

The eventual endgame had already been decided: They would have sex; it would be fantastic. Waiting two weeks to start their physical relationship sounded good in theory. In practice, with an attraction this intense, the only way to make that happen would be to avoid each other, completely.

As he stepped into the cool water and descended the steps, he wondered if Lizbeth was even a factor. For all practical purposes, they were over and done—

You weren’t too done last night.

Jesus, how many times would he have to deal with the regret and fallout of the previous night? While sitting in the chair until sunup, watching her sleep and hating himself for being so weak, his conscience beat him bloody. How much more did he need to repent?

He decided to tackle the situation from a different angle.
Would Lizbeth even care?

If he thought ending their relationship prior to the wedding would be too painful, it was probably a safe bet she’d have a problem with him sleeping with someone else.

Would it matter to Samantha?

He glanced at the woman in his arms… the one studying his jawline and lips with hungry curiosity. He didn’t know her well, but he suspected she’d never knowingly get involved with a man already involved with someone else. Even if the other relationship were in its final countdown.

Goddamn him, anyway. Erik was right. He was too nice. Had he ended things with Lizbeth months ago, when the “Dead End” signs first appeared, he wouldn’t be in this predicament.

His other option was to throw a few speed bumps at Samantha to slow her down. Several times he’d caught her chewing her lip and tilting her head, as if looking at him from the corner of her eye, checking his reaction. He didn’t understand why a strong, beautiful woman would be insecure, but she seemed to be worried about rejection and he didn’t want to add to her concern. For that reason, he kept his mouth shut and let her believe he was unattached.

He blew out a breath and wrestled with his conscience. In his heart, he was one hundred percent available—free as a penny lying on the ground, waiting to be picked up. The reality was slightly different, but if he twisted it around…

She tugged the hair at the nape of his neck. “Your ugly facial expression isn’t reassuring me I won’t get tossed on my ass like Spencer.”

“Sorry.” He flipped on an it’s-all-good smile. “I’m the poster child for ADD. My mind wanders like a curious pup.”

He laid her on the float and went back for her beer. Handing it over, he said, “Okay, m’lady. Anything else you need from your cabana boy?”

“That,” she said with a grin as she dipped her chin and flipped her gaze to his, “is a loaded question.”

He groaned, gritted his teeth, and tried not to focus on the word “load” or think about the one he’d blow if she kept this up. He only had so much willpower, and what little remained was seeping out by buckets.

Her actions seemed innocent enough as she swirled her fingers in the water, then gathered a handful and splashed her neck. But as the rivulets slid across her soft, creamy skin, his breath turned choppy and erratic and his thoughts were far from innocent. One streak ran down the side of her neck and puddled in the hollow above her collarbone, like a pool of water, tempting a man dying of thirst. Another stream slipped over the crest, peaked at the swell of her breast, then streaked down the valley of her deep cleavage.

“Tu non sei un folletta; ma un angelo del sole.”

“What language is that?” Michaela asked, doggy paddling over.

He dragged his gaze away from her beautiful mother and smiled. “Italian.”

Michaela, reaching shallow enough water to stand, dropped to her feet. Bobbing on tiptoes, she moved her hands back and forth to maintain balance and asked, “What did you say?”

Spencer, also fluent in Italian, would’ve been able to translate, but he was in the midst of launching a sneak attack on Michaela and hadn’t been listening. Kevin glanced at Samantha, who wore an equally curious expression, and scrubbed a hand down his face.

Hell’s bells.
The temptation to lie was strong, since they’d never know the difference. But that went against his nature, so he took a deep breath and told the truth.

“You’re not a pixie; you’re a sun angel.”

“What?” Sam frowned.

“I wanna be a angel.” Michaela paused and her little brow dipped as she thought it over. Turning to her mom, she asked, “What’s a pixie?”

Samantha ran her fingers over the top of her ears, as if checking for points, and scrunched up her nose. “Nothing good.”

“It’s not bad,” he said, defensively. Shit, he should’ve lied. “When you were all up in my grill the other day, so feisty and…” He held his hands out toward her. “Well, you’re tiny. With your blond hair and spunky attitude, you reminded me of a pixie. I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

Her eyes narrowed, unconvinced. “Uh-huh, right.” She shrugged. “I’m okay with sun angel, though.” She brightened and smiled mischievously. “Better yet”—she threw her head back like an obnoxious starlet and shook her ponytail—“a sun goddess.”

She bent a knee, dipped her hand in the water, and tossed a handful over her chest. Her nipples tightened as the cold water splashed over them; his cock tightened in response.

Desperate for an escape from the temptation to run his tongue along the water trails and suck the tight buds into his mouth, he let his knees go weak and submersed himself in the cool, refreshing water. He opened his eyes and watched Michaela and Spencer’s tiny legs kick back and forth as they doggy paddled and fought over the noodle.

When he ran out of breath and wasn’t able to hide any longer, he pushed off the bottom and rose from the water, arms held high, like Poseidon emerging from the sea, and descended upon on them with a mighty roar. One kid squealed—God, he hoped the shrill sound came from Michaela and not his nephew—the other screamed—not much of an improvement over the squeal—and they swam away toward the safety of the deep end.

Go figure.

* * *

After a few more attacks on the kids, Kevin left them to entertain themselves and turned his attention to Sam. He pressed his back to the wall and stretched out his arms, hanging on the side of the pool like a barnacle.

Paddling her sun goddess throne over to him, Sam smiled. “Thanks for inviting us over. I still feel bad I ruined your time at the beach, but this is amazing.”

“Yeah…” He couldn’t agree more, but he let the sentence die, avoiding deeper trouble. “We can do it again tomorrow. Minus the sprain.”

Dammit, he needed to get a replacement switch for his mouth’s faulty filter. What happened to not getting in deeper?

She laughed and peered down her leg. “Yeah, I don’t
ever
want to do this again.”

He watched her peel the label off her bottle and said, “You never told me about your boots.” Heavy emphasis on the
t
. “I’m also curious about this lifetime habit of cussing.” He laughed as she winced. “I’m guessing you grew up around construction. Am I right?”

Her head fell back against the cushioned headrest and she sighed. A small, sad smile played at her lips, and she nodded. “Yeah. My dad owned a construction company. I spent as much time as I could following him around, learning the business.” She laughed. “Both the good and the not-so-great parts… like cussing.”

He laughed, remembering all too well the good and the bad habits he’d learned while tagging after his dad. He was seven the first time his mamma washed his mouth out with soap for cursing; by twelve, she’d given up.

“My dad wouldn’t let me go with him until I was big enough to climb into the cab of his truck by myself. The climbing in part wasn’t the problem. Reaching the handle, then having enough strength to push the button and open the door was something else entirely.”

He glanced at the mini-Sam attempting to reach the diving board so she could hang from it while Spencer jumped off. He had no problem picturing Sam as a kid.

“How old were you when you finally got the door open?”

“Almost five.” She smiled broadly, obviously still taking pride in pulling off such a big feat for a little girl. “I wasn’t allowed to cheat and stand on anything, other than my tippy-toes. I tried every single day, and the day I finally got that da… danged door open was better than any Christmas morning.”

She stared into the distance and laughed. “I can still see the shock on Daddy’s face when he climbed into the cab with his thermos and lunch bucket and found me sitting on the seat. I was covered in dirt and grease from head to toe, because after I got the door open, I had to crawl into the floorboard and then up onto the seat.”

“Did he take you with him?”

“Oh yeah. A deal was a deal. He went back into the house to tell Mama she had the day free and came back with an extra sandwich and a bottle of juice for my lunch.”

The pleasure rippling off her seeped into his chest.

“Do you have siblings?”

The change in her was drastic as the smile fell from her face and her shoulders sagged. “Yeah. Three older brothers.”

He waited for her to say more, to give insight into why his question leached the pleasure out of her, but none came. “Were they as anxious to go to work with your dad?”

“Hel-heck no.” She shook her head emphatically. “They could’ve cared less. My oldest brother didn’t like to get dirty. My middle brother was too interested in sports. My younger brother was, and still is, a bum.”

She took a long pull on the beer. “They didn’t give a rat’s ass about the business.” Along with the increasing tension in her body, her voice shook with a biting edge.

Kevin debated dropping the inquisition, but he wanted to know more about her. Settling on middle ground, he switched back to a topic he hoped made her smile again.

“What was your dad’s specialty?”

“Builder, like you. We were out of Columbia. I don’t think our paths ever crossed, but I heard the Mazze name a lot. Especially as I got older and started taking on more responsibilities. Daddy handled all the estimating.” She gave a half-smirk. “When you outbid us, I definitely heard your name, usually combined with colorful adjectives.”

She worked in the same field as him and their paths never before crossed? “What was the name of your company?”

“Seymore Builders.”

The inside of his ears twitched, like an animal’s hearing a familiar sound. “Chas was your dad?” His arms went slack and he almost fell off the side of the pool as a million mental puzzle pieces got dumped on the floor all at once.

She nodded and gulped. “Yeah.”

He scrambled, trying to fit the right piece in the right slot, sorting through the rumors and what he believed to be fact. Chas was a great guy. Everyone had been stunned and felt the loss when he’d dropped dead of a heart attack on his way to work one morning.

“I’m sorry, Samantha. I thought a lot of your dad. He was well respected by everyone.”

Her smile returned, only not as sharp and crisp. “Thanks. That’s nice to hear. And, please, call me Sam. I despise Samantha.”

He grinned. Why was that not a surprise?

“Why didn’t you continue the business after his passing? I remember hearing speculation you would.” He paused and took in her crumpled expression and hollow eyes. “Everyone believed you more than capable of carrying on in his footsteps.”

“Not everyone.” She took a long drink of her beer, which had to be warm and nasty, but she didn’t seem to care. “My dad messed up.”

He cocked his head to the side, sure he misunderstood. “What?”

“He didn’t have a proper will in place, so when he died, everything went to my mother. My brothers convinced her I wouldn’t be able to run the business, at least not profitably. So, they helped her”—she made quotations marks with her fingers—“liquidate everything, and my oldest brother, who is an accountant, handled the financial end of things. My mom gets a monthly stipend, and after she passes, whatever is left will get divided between us kids”—she huffed and her shoulder twitched—“or at least them.”

He pulled his jaw back into place and blinked a couple of times. “They sold the business out from under you, without giving you an opportunity to prove yourself?”

“Yep.” She twisted her mouth around and chomped down on her upper lip. “My ex didn’t help matters. Michaela was little, and he thought it would be best if I stayed home with her. They all joined forces and… as they say… the rest is history.”

Kevin was shocked into silence. He knew Chas’s company dissolved after his death, but he hadn’t gotten any details. He’d heard rumors, and sadly enough, it seemed some were pretty damned close to the truth. He couldn’t believe she’d been dumped on the street.

“I’m struck stupid, Sam. I don’t even know what to say. I can’t imagine if my sister and mother did something like that to me.” Of course, they wouldn’t, since his sister was the office manager and both of his parents had complete faith in him.

That had to be what hurt Sam the most. Siblings shitting on you was one thing, but to have her own spouse and mother betray her? Christ, that must have made a deep and long-lasting mark.

Without conscious thought to his actions, or to the consequences, he drew her raft to him and stroked his hand down her leg. He wished he’d known her then so he could’ve offered comfort and support and helped ease her pain.

Keep his hands to himself for two weeks? Hell, he hadn’t made it two hours. But he didn’t care. He saw vulnerability in her for the first time, and he wanted her to know he had her back.

Though barely five feet tall, she projected an image of being twice that height and bulletproof. Even while rolling around on the ground in agony, she’d been prepared to kick ass and take names, rock-solid and ready to battle the world if necessary.