Heaven and Hell (10 page)

His hand shot out, caught me around the back
of my neck and pulled me across the short expanse of the car to
within an inch of his face and when he had me in position and I was
concentrating on breathing, he rocked my world.

“There are very few,
very
fuckin’ few
people, Kia, who get what’s precious in this world. They work their
asses off for pure shit and think they’d fight and die to keep it.
You don’t fight and die for shit. You fight and die for things that
matter. You are the first woman I’ve met outside a life that leads
you to understand that shit who gets that. And straight up, baby,
you gotta know, I like that a fuckuva lot.”

Oh… wow.

“Sam –”

He shook his head, his eyes dropped to my
mouth, I kept consciously breathing in air and letting it out then
his eyes came back to mine and he brought me half an inch closer so
I stopped breathing completely.

Then he whispered probingly, his eyes
staring deep into mine, “Unless life led you to that.”

At that moment, that close, with his hand on
me, his eyes looking deep into mine, I wanted to hand him another
secret.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

He could never know.

Because I understood right then that I
was
an imposter. Sampson Cooper thought I was someone I
wasn’t.

Celeste had been wrong. I didn’t need to
find a man who proved his worth before I shared my secrets.

Sam needed to find a woman who proved hers
before he shared his.

And I decided, staring in his eyes, I would
live that night with Sam, live it to its fullest.

I’d need it because it would have to last a
lifetime.

And that was why I answered, “Can we go in,
Sam? I need champagne.”

Sam said not a word. He also didn’t let me
go. And lastly, he didn’t release my eyes.

Finally, he spoke and when he did, he did it
with a quiet warning that made my heart hurt.

“I see it, Kia, and I get this is gonna take
effort. But what I’m sensin’ is, you don’t notice I’m makin’ that
effort. Don’t fuck up, baby, and, out of habit, reinforce your
shields to hold back a threat that doesn’t exist. You get me?”

Okay, it was safe to say he was kind of
freaking me out with how much he knew when I thought I was doing a
bang up job keeping it guarded.

Without a single clue as to how to reply, I
licked my lips to buy time. His eyes dropped to them, I watched
them heat, their heat made heat rise in certain areas of my body
and his fingers tensed at my neck.

Right, mental note, when Sam Cooper was an
inch away, don’t lick your lips to buy time.

His eyes came back to mine and, when they
did, immediately I nodded.

He let me pull away two inches and he did
this with his mouth twitching.

Then he said, “Fuck me, how a woman can be
so transparent and so full of shit at the same time is beyond me,
but, baby, you got it down to an art.”

Well! I was so sure.

“I’m not full of shit,” I informed him.

“Your eyes run through every play you can
make before you even twitch. Don’t know what I do or what shuts off
in you when you forget that bullshit and be real but, I promise
you, Kia, I’m gonna find out.”

Uh-oh.

That didn’t sound good.

I had no idea how to respond so I decided to
go with annoyed bravado.

“Sam, I keep telling you, I’m not playing at
anything.”

“Then, baby, you are totally clueless but
still an idiot savant with this shit because I’ve had my fair share
of experience and you’re a master.”

Seriously?

I mean,
seriously?

“All right, Sam,” I retorted acidly. “I’ll
tell you what’s
not
a good play. What’s
not
a good
play is telling your date
on your first date
that you’ve had
your fair share of experience.”

He burst out laughing and jerked me forward
the two inches I gained and, let me tell you, watching him laughing
that close was
hot.

Shit!

He was still smiling when he stopped
laughing and asked, “Honest to God, you think you can convince me
you didn’t already know?”

“Didn’t already know what?” I snapped.

“I played football then I joined the Army,
these are not the occupations of a man who does not like to get
himself some and often. You know both. You also know I played pro
ball so you know I had choices and there is no way you can convince
me you think I’m a man who wouldn’t avail myself of that every
chance I got.”

Was he for real?

Suddenly, I was rethinking Sam needing a
good, loving, decent woman working hard to prove she was worthy of
his secrets. Suddenly, I was thinking Sam needed a woman, any
woman, to kick him in the shin.

“You aren’t making things better, Sam,” I
warned, pulling at his hand.

This was a mistake. That hand tightened. I
got the message. Do not pull away.

I stopped pulling.

His hand told me one thing but his face was
smiling huge and in a way that did crazy things to my system, crazy
things that felt really good at the same time they scared the shit
out of me.

Then his hand pulled me closer but his head
veered to the side and, at my ear, he whispered, “You cannot
bullshit me, you know what kind of man I am. What you don’t know
is, I like to get me some but everything you do, everything you
wear, everything you say, every signal you give tells me I’m gonna
really
like gettin’ some of you.”

Oh.

My.

God.

Ohmigod!

Oh. My.
God!

Before I could get my stalled systems
(heart, lungs, brain) functioning again, he released me and he did
it in a way I’d never forget, in a way no woman would ever forget,
in fact, I figured I should find some way to tell the world so his
smooth move could hit history books.

And this was, his mouth left my ear and his
lips trailed down my jaw at the same time his hand left the back of
my neck but his fingers also trailed down the other side of my jaw.
Both touches were light, a tease, a dare, making me want more and
telling me I’d have to go for it to get it.

And when his presence was gone because he
was exiting the car and the valet opened the door at my side, I was
left frozen, turned toward the empty driver’s seat, probably
looking like a lovestruck idiot but thinking about nothing, not one
thing, except how damn badly I wanted to go for it.

Fearless

It was unfortunate I had not recovered from
the crazily veering emotions I’d experienced on the ride there,
particularly the last five minutes in the Lamborghini, by the time
Sam, holding my hand again, walked me into the villa because,
although there were a large number of people there, Luciana
appeared out of nowhere and she did this shouting Italian.

Sam stopped us and I blinked because I was
not the kind of girl who bought glossy fashion magazines (not that
my husband would let me) but still, I recognized her and if she was
beautiful from the back, she was exquisite in a lush, smack you
back, wish you were her with all your heart, Sofia Loren kind of
way from the front.

She was also affectionate.

I knew this right off (though it was
impossible to miss) because she threw herself in Sam’s arms like
she hadn’t had dinner with him yesterday evening but instead hadn’t
seen him in two decades and she didn’t do the cheek touch, switch,
cheek touch business. Instead she kissed his cheeks back and forth
and back and forth and back again, alternately babbling at him in
Italian.

“Luci, girl, you know I do not understand
one fuckin’ word you’re sayin’,” Sam informed her, his arms having
gone from a close hug to his hands at her waist and he set her
firmly away with a practiced hand that gave me a strong indication
this was a familiar dance.

She grinned up at him and admonished, “I’m
always telling you, Sam, you need to learn Italian.”

“Why?” he replied. “This is the second time
in my life I’ve been here.”

Sam had only been in Italy twice?

Hmm. Interesting.

“Because,” she returned.

“That’s a reason?” Sam asked when she said
no more.

She rolled her eyes, wisely gave up before
she lost to Sam, and I had a feeling not many people won with Sam,
including stunning ex-models.

Then she turned to me and cried,
“
Kia!
” very,
very
loudly and threw herself in my arms
so forcefully, I went back on one of my delicate gold heels and my
arms automatically folded around her, mostly so I wouldn’t tumble
backwards.

Then she kissed my cheeks back and forth and
back again while babbling Italian and I let her because she was my
hostess so I figured pushing her off would be rude and also she was
Sam’s friend so pushing her off would definitely be rude.

She finally stopped, pulled back but grasped
my upper arms and shook me gently while her eyes went from
top-to-toe to toe-to-top and back again and she cried,
“
Bella!
” Then, not letting me go, her head jerked to Sam and
she noted in her sexy, throaty, Italian accented English, “Oh Sam,
so
much better than the last one.”

I blinked once again.

Sam’s head tipped back and he scanned the
ceiling.

Luci turned to look at me.

“
Cara,
” she said low, “I did
not
like the last one.” She leaned into me and whispered,
“She wore Burberry…” she paused then said with deep meaning,
“obviously and
profusely.
”

“I don’t own any Burberry,” I assured her
with the God’s honest truth.

“Oh Burberry is delightful,” she declared,
letting me go but sliding an arm around my waist and propelling me
into a huge room with beautifully tiled floors and lush, plush but
comfortable looking furniture scattered around that practically
begged you to collapse on it and have a nap and huge, arched,
opened doors that led out to a flower bedecked terrace with a view
to the lake. “But
obvious
is bad any way you can be obvious
and profuse is
definitely
bad no matter how you’re profuse,
no?
”

Clearly, Luciana went to the same How to Be
a Sophisticated and Chic Woman Class as Celeste but missed the day
where they taught you not to accost people even in a friendly way
and also the day where they taught you not to blab about your
friend’s exes or, at the very least, former dates within seconds of
meeting his current one.

“Well,” I started, “profuse being bad as in,
you’re faced with a box of chocolates you really like, then eating
so much of them it makes you sick so you never do something that
idiotic again then, no. Profuse as in, using a heavy hand while
spritzing perfume, then, yes.”

Luciana threw her dark mane back and laughed
a throaty laugh and I noted around fifteen men turned their heads
to watch. Then I turned my head and looked over my shoulder to see
Sam talking to a white-coated waiter.

I hoped that meant champagne, I was thinking
I was going to need it.

She stopped us in a pocket of privacy and
turned to me, dropping her arm and asking, “So,
Lago di
Como,
how are you liking my home?”

“It’s beautiful,” I told her and meant
it.

“
Sì, bella,
” she murmured, her eyes
moving over my face and I got the impression she was complimenting
me but I didn’t have the opportunity to react to a stunningly
beautiful woman implying I was the same.

No.

Instead, for the first time I had the
opportunity to take her in fully and she was stunningly beautiful
but the rest was a complete and total farce.

She was kidding herself if she thought she
was hiding the pain in her eyes.

And I was learning a good deal about kidding
yourself since I’d been doing it for years.

And for some reason I didn’t know and even
later, thinking back, I didn’t get, before I could think better of
it, my hand shot out and caught hers. When it did, I gave it a
firm, warm squeeze and, just as quickly as I did it, I let her
go.

I realized my mistake and wished I could
take back my gesture when the sorrow so close to the surface
suffused her face, I watched her swallow then she turned her head,
buried it shallowly below the surface again, clapped and cried,
“
Bravo!
Champagne,” at an approaching Sam who was carrying
two flutes filled with champagne.

I made a mental note to tread more
cautiously with the effusive but clearly fragile Luci as Sam made
it to us. He gave me mine, gave one to Luci and then slid in beside
me, his long arm curving at a slant down my back starting high at
my side and ending with his fingers curled in at my hip. I felt
funny standing there like that and I had three choices, pull away
(which would be rude), put my arm around Sam (which, uh, no way in
hell
I was ready for that) or lean into him.

I chose door number three and when I did,
Sam’s arm curled tighter and the pads of his fingers dug in at my
hipbone.

My knees went weak.

Luci spoke.

“Why don’t you have a glass?” she asked
Sam.

“Because I’m driving,” Sam answered.

She waved a hand in front of her face even
as she took a sip of champagne then she dropped her glass and
stated, “Drink, enjoy, I’ve plenty of bedrooms. You get tipsy; you
and Kia can spend the night in one.”

Unfortunately, at this announcement, I too
was sipping champagne therefore, hearing her words, I choked on
it.

Sam chuckled.

I tipped my head slightly to the side on a
turn, giving him a look out of the corner of my eye.

Sam chuckled deeper and longer.

Whatever.

I looked to Luci and declared, “This
Cinderella has a curfew.”