It's in His Kiss (16 page)

“For yourself?”

“Yeah,” he said, and because a slight frown had formed between her brows, he reached out and stroked a finger there to ease the tension. “You should try it sometime,” he suggested. “Doing something for yourself.”

“I moved across the country for myself.”

“That’s not why you moved,” he said.

Something flashed in her eyes and was gone. “You think you know why I moved?” she asked.

“You needed to get away from something,” he said.

She made a noncommittal kind of noise, not giving a thing away. Then she paused. “So what do you think I should do for myself then?”

“Whatever feels right.”

She stared at him for the longest beat, and then she surprised him. She stepped close, so close they were toe-to-toe and everything in between, and his only thought was Oh, Christ,
this
feels right. He let his hands go to her hips.

“Something for myself,” she murmured.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Her hands rested on his chest, her fingers gripping the material of his shirt over his pecs. He wasn’t sure if she was holding on for courage or because she wanted to touch him.

“I haven’t been able to think of something to do for myself for a long time,” she said.

“And now?”

She stared at her hands on him. “I still might need help in that area.”

He tipped her face up to his and looked into her eyes, and he saw that she had courage in spades. “Several things come to mind,” he said.

“Are these things . . . good for me?” she asked.

“Not a single one.”

She both laughed and trembled against him, and damn but that shouldn’t send lust rocketing through his veins, and yet it totally did.

“Good’s overrated anyway,” she whispered.

He couldn’t believe how much he wanted her. Wanted to press her up against the boat. Or bend her over it. Both ways, he decided. All ways. “We said we weren’t doing this anymore,” he said, more than a little shocked at how gruff his own voice was and at the need coursing through him. “Not while you work for me.” And he’d meant it. He fucking one hundred percent had.

“No,
you
said that,” she reminded him. “
I
didn’t sign on for the not-doing-it program. And besides—” She made a big show of looking at the time on her phone. “I’m off the clock.” She smiled at him guilelessly. “Lunch break. And last I checked, it wasn’t an employer’s business what his or her employee does on their lunch break.”

Closing his eyes, Sam let out a long, admittedly shaky breath. He was in trouble here. Big trouble. “Becca—”

“Shh,” she said. “Or the boss’ll fire me. We have to be really quiet. Really,
really
quiet.” And then she rocked her hips into him.

And rocked his world. Because just like that, he was a dead man. He tightened his grip and groaned at the feel of her, and she murmured “Shh” again, softly, sexily.

Using the hand he had tangled in her hair, he drew her in closer. Meeting him halfway, she went up on her tiptoes and snagged an arm around his neck. He already knew she kissed like she appeared to do everything else: with her entire heart and soul.

In other words, amazing.

He was halfway to heaven, his tongue buried in her mouth, his hands full of warm, soft, curvy Becca, when a throat clearing had her jerking away from him.

Sam was much slower to lift his head, to let go of her sweet, hot body and register that Amelia stood there, smile in place, brows arched in that way mothers the planet over had nailed down.

“I brought you cookies,” she said, “but you look like you’re already having your dessert.”

Sam bit back his sigh. “Amelia—”

Amelia arched her brow further.

Years ago, maybe the second or third time he’d landed in her house, she’d tried bossing him into a curfew. He’d been a smart-ass and had called her Mom. He’d been joking, but she’d liked it, preferred it, and to this day she made him call her that. “
Mom
,” he corrected.

“Better. Now, don’t mind me,” she said, coming into his shop the way no one else ever did.

Well, except the woman who’d been in his arms only a few seconds ago, the woman now staring at Amelia, gaze confused, probably wondering at the “Mom” thing.

Amelia smiled a warm welcome at Becca as if she was the hostess at a tea party. “And you are. . .?”

“Becca.”

“Ah,” Amelia said, offering a hand. “The new hire.” She sent Sam a long, hard glare that wasn’t all that hard
to interpret. It said:
Why are you tangling tonsils with the new girl?

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face and took the container of cookies from Amelia. “Becca, Amelia is Cole’s mom and—”

“Just Cole’s mom?” Amelia interrupted, eyes flashing.

Well, shit, here we go, Sam thought. “And okay,” he said. “Also a sort-of mom to me.”

Amelia snatched the container of cookies back, making Sam grimace.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

“No,” she said. “You’d best clarify. Immediately, if you want these cookies. And let me just tell you right now, they’re your favorite—double fudge with chocolate chips—and they’re my best batch yet. And also, keep in mind that what I just saw going on in here is blackmail material, so make it good, sweetheart.
Real
good.
Sort-of
mom?”

There were few people who’d ever gone out on a limb for Sam, and he didn’t even need the fingers of one hand to count them. Amelia was one. “How about you were the only mom I ever had?” he asked.

“Oh.” Her beautiful blue eyes filled, and she sniffed as she stepped toward him, her arms outstretched. “Oh, Sam, you’re so sweet.”

Sam endured her hug and a kiss to each of his cheeks, and then she was gone. “Sorry about that,” he said to Becca, who was nibbling her lower lip, her thoughts seemingly far away. “You okay?”

“She was like a mama bear with you,” she said, sounding a little bit awed. “She’d probably fight to the end for you.”

“Would, and has.”

When she just looked at him, he let out a breath. “My mom died when I was five. My dad was never real great at being a dad. I landed in foster care. A lot.”

Her eyes softened. “Oh, Sam.”

“Amelia used to take in the occasional foster kid, and the minute I ended up at her place, she . . . claimed me.” He gave a small smile. “She’s protective.”

“That’s where you met Cole.”

“Yeah.”

“He claimed you, too,” she said.

“The apple didn’t fall far from the tree there,” he agreed. “But we claimed each other.”

“That’s incredibly sweet.” Her eyes were suspiciously shiny, but before he could get a good look, she turned to the door. “I gotta get back to work.”

And then she was gone, too, leaving him to wonder at the sadness he’d seen in her gaze. Had no one ever been willing to fight for
her
?

Becca tossed and turned, one odd and uncomfortable dream chasing another. Her parents were there, only they weren’t her parents. They were her employers, asking her to take care of Jase.

“I already do,” she said.

“You left him. You walked away,” they accused.

And then Jase was standing there with him. “You did,” he said. “You left me.”

“No, I—” But she broke off when Jase turned into Sam.

She reached for Sam but he took a step back and was flanked on either side by Cole and Amelia.

“We’ve got him,” they said.

She stared at them, seeing the bond, and turned back to her family.

Her parents and Jase had vanished.

She was alone. Feeling an odd sensation in her chest, she looked down and saw her heart crack in half. With a gasp, she sat straight up in bed.

She looked down at her heart. Still in her chest. That was good. As to whether or not it was cracked in half, that was another question entirely.

It was four thirty. Since there would be no more sleep, she checked email and saw that she had one from the ad agency.

Her Diaxsis jingle had been accepted, and she’d been sent her next assignment. Eagerly, she’d loaded the doc and read.

The assignment was for a line of personal hygiene products.

She flopped on her back and stared at the ceiling, allowing a few moments of self-pity. When she was over herself, she sat up and stared at the email for another moment. Then she hit
REPLY
, responding with what she thought was calm grace, explaining that she realized she had to earn her way back into good graces after her year-long slow spell, but that she felt she’d come through twice in a row now and wanted a better product to write about.

Like, say, something, anything, that wasn’t mortifying to put on her résumé.

It was hours later before she got a reply.

She took it.

The day was a hot one. Sam went for a predawn run with Ben and then found himself trapped in his warehouse office hunched over the books for hours, sweat running down his back.

Or maybe he was hot because he’d headed to the hut
earlier to check on Becca and had found her running his world with an ease and charm he’d never managed, wearing a snug white tee and bubblegum-pink shorts, looking heart-stoppingly amazing.

At the memory, he reached into his fridge to grab a badly needed soda and discovered it empty. Tanner, of course. The guy would walk all the way over here to steal Sam’s last soda rather than hit the store.

Sam rose to go himself, when someone knocked on the open doorjamb.

His dad.

And behind him, Becca.

“Hey, son.” Mark said this tentatively, and he had good reason. He rarely made an in-person visit, preferring the telephone to suck Sam dry.

“Dad,” Sam said. “What’re you doing here?”

Mark set a lopsided-looking snowman on Sam’s desk.

“Found this in your mom’s storage,” Mark said. “You made it for me, remember?”

Sam remembered. He’d been seven and looking forward to a promised fishing trip. Sam had made the clay snowman with the lady who babysat him while waiting for his dad.

And waiting.

Mark had never shown.

“I know you don’t like company in here,” Mark said, “but your cutie-pie admin here told me where to find you. She said it’d be okay.”

Sam gave his “cutie-pie” admin a long look.

Becca met his gaze, her eyes filled with sympathy.

Which, for the record, Sam hated.

“He wanted to see you,” she said apologetically. “I
know you don’t like unannounced company in the Man Cave, but it’s your dad, right? So I locked the hut and put up a sign saying I’d be right back.”

Mark beamed at her. “You’re great. Isn’t she great, son?”

Sam thought about bashing his head against his desk. “Yeah. Great. What’s up, Dad?”

Mark shrugged. “Nothing. Just came to see you.”

“You never come to see me,” Sam said.

Instead of responding, Mark turned his head and looked out into the open area of the warehouse, eyeing the boat Sam was building. “Impressive.”

“I already put money into your account,” Sam said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah.” Mark didn’t meet Sam’s eyes, but kept them on the boat. “Thanks.”

“Christ,” Sam said. “It wasn’t enough.”

“No, it was enough,” Mark said. “It was great. It’s just that. . .” He trailed off.

“What?” Sam said. “It’s just that what?”

“She kicked me out. Changed the locks and everything.”

Sam stared at him. “Let me guess. She also wiped out your account.”

Mark lifted a shoulder.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam asked.

No longer smiling, Becca stirred. “Sam—”

“
Again?
” Sam asked Mark. “Seriously?”

Mark sighed with clear misery.

Sam wasn’t moved. At all. They’d done this dance too many times. Hell, all Sam’s life. His dad never learned. Nor, apparently, did Sam. “Why can’t you do what you did last time and grovel?” he asked. “Or whatever it is you do that reels them in.”

“Sam, he’s got nowhere to go,” Becca said softly. “And—”

“Already told her your sob story, I take it,” Sam said over her head to his dad.

Mark looked guilty as hell and Sam shook his head, working on not grinding his back teeth into powder.

“I thought maybe I could stay here,” Mark said. “I’ll stay out of your way.”

Sam’s gut tightened. Having his dad here would kill him. Or drive him to kill his dad.

One or the other.

“Mark,” Becca said softly. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Sure, darlin’,” Mark said, and with one last look at Sam he stepped out of the office.

“He said he’s had some problems,” Becca said quietly.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Lots of them. He gambles, he drinks, he lies. Pick one. You shouldn’t have brought him here, Becca.”

“Not her fault,” Mark said firmly, back in the doorway. “She tried to tell me that no one comes in here without permission, so don’t you blame her.”

“And yet you came anyway,” Sam said. “You took advantage of her sweetness and pushed your way through with one of your bullshit emergencies.”

“It
is
an emergency,” Mark said.

“Sam,” Becca said with soft reproach. “He’s—”