It's in His Kiss (21 page)

“Never be sorry for wanting to be safe,” Cole told her. He glanced at the hand she’d allowed Sam to set on her and gave her a small but warm smile. “Anytime. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He nodded. “You’re safe with Sam. You know that, right?”

She met Sam’s gaze and gave her own small but warm smile, if a bit wobbly. “I do know it.”

Cole nodded once more and left. Two minutes later, he called Sam. “There’s a UPS package on her neighbor’s doorstep. That’s probably what she heard.”

Sam hung up and told Becca.

Becca grimaced. “Way to overreact, right?”

“No worries,” he said.

She nodded. “Thanks for coming, but you don’t have to stay—”

“You’re shaking.” He pulled off his sweatshirt and tugged it over her head.

“I’m cold.”

“I’m thinking shock,” he said. “This, tonight, was a flashback for you, wasn’t it?”

She busied herself getting wrapped up in his sweatshirt and didn’t speak.

“Come home with me tonight, Becca.”

She stared at him for a long beat. “You don’t like people in your space.”

“I don’t,” he said. “But you’re not people.”

For the first time since he’d arrived, her eyes lost their guard, and she laughed softly. “I’m fine here.”

“Yeah. And you’ll be even more fine at my house.”

“I’m not sleeping at your house, I’m sleeping here.”

“Who says there’ll be sleeping?” he asked, attempting to lighten her mood.

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t mean it,” she said so glumly that he laughed. “You’re just being suggestive because you want me to get over being freaked out.”

He rose and scooped her up out of the chair, smiling when she squeaked and threw her arms around his neck to catch her balance. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to kiss you.”

“But—”

He stopped her protests with his mouth and then selfishly kept kissing her because the taste of her was like a drug. When he finally pulled back, he set his forehead to hers.

She took a long, unsteady breath. “Thanks for being here for me,” she whispered.

He started to answer flippantly, but stopped when he realized how much it meant to him as well, that he could be there for her. “Anytime, babe.”

And for the first time in his life, he actually meant it.

Becca strained to get a look at Sam’s neighborhood as he drove. She knew enough about Lucky Harbor to know this was a very nice part of town, with big houses on bigger lots, overlooking the bluffs where a hundred feet below the Pacific Ocean churned against the rocky shore.

Sam’s house was a beautiful older Craftsman style, white with blue trim, and too many windows to count.

Every light was blazing.

Sam swore beneath his breath as he opened his front door to a blast of Marvin Gaye wailing “Let’s Get It On.” “I’m going to have to kill him,” he said.

Becca had wondered what Sam’s place would look like, whether it’d be neat or messy, filled with guy crap or empty and sterile.

It was none of the above. The living room was large and airy and had windows facing the bluffs. There were big, comfy couches in the living room and an even bigger TV, in front of which were a few stacks of CDs and
DVDs. There were various things strewn about, athletic shoes, a sweatshirt, a kayak leaning against a wall. No personal pictures, though, and nothing that said
hot single guy
, either. Definitely lived in, but not necessarily claimed.

Sam moved to the coffee table, grabbed a remote, and hit a button.

The music stopped.

Then he strode out of the room. Not ready to be left alone, Becca followed. The kitchen was gorgeous. Granite countertops, wood floors, high beamed ceilings. It was also a mess. The island was littered with the remains of what looked to have been a pizza-and-beer dinner. Clothing was haphazardly dropped across every surface; a man’s pair of jeans, a woman’s bra. A red lace thong . . .

“Definitely going to kill him,” Sam muttered. The double French doors were cracked and led to a deck.

There was a hot tub there, from which came the whoosh of the jets and the unmistakable sounds of a man’s voice and a woman giggling.

Sam stepped out the French doors, and again Becca followed, figuring that by the steam coming out his ears, father and son might need a referee.

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me,” Sam said.

Mark was indeed in the hot tub with a woman, and as the undies had indicated, they were buck naked.

Becca immediately whirled back to the doors, but unfortunately she’d let them shut behind her when she’d come out, and naturally they’d locked. “Crap,” she said, rattling the doors for good measure.

Behind her, Mark and the woman were making noises over the sound of the jet bubbles that were going to haunt
her for the rest of her life. Sam, too, if the growl from deep in his throat meant anything. “
Dad
,” he clipped out, sounding like he was forcing the word past cut glass.

There was the sound of water sloshing, and she imagined the couple breaking apart. “Oh, hey,” Mark called, and against her better judgment, Becca took a peek.

Thankfully, both the nudists were now in the water up to their necks.

“Didn’t expect you so early, son,” Mark said. “Next time I’ll hang a tie on the door or something for notice, yeah?”

Sam shoved his hand into his pocket and came up with his keys, which he handed to Becca so she could unlock the doors and get inside, but, working on sheer nerves now, she promptly dropped them.

“Hi, Sam!” the female called cheerfully, her hands over her ample breasts. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She grinned. “I’d shake your hand, but. . .”

Sam let out an inarticulate sound, and she peeked at him as he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands to them.

“Sorry, son,” Mark said. “After the stroller fight, I asked Sheila for a paternity test like you’ve been suggesting. She came clean—I’m not the daddy.” He smiled at the naked woman. “So then I went out to celebrate, and met Brandy here at that bar out on Highway Forty-two.”

Brandy giggled and waved, like there could be any guessing about which one of them was Brandy.

“You’re not supposed to be drinking,” Sam said. “And pizza’s out, too. I took you to the dietitian, and she gave you the recommended list.”

“I don’t like salad or fish.”

Sam’s mouth tightened grimly. “Do you like living?”

“I was liking it a whole hell of a lot more about four minutes ago,” Mark said.

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy,” Sam said tightly.

“Oh, he was,” Brandy piped up. “I was doing all the work.”

Mark beamed at her. “And you’re good at it, honey.”

Sam let out a breath. “Gonna have to empty the tub and bleach it.”

Becca had picked up the keys and was trying to find the right one.

“You two want to join us?” Mark asked. “The water’s great.”

“Fuck it,” Sam muttered. “I’m gonna sell it. The whole house.” He snatched the keys from Becca’s hands and unlocked the door. He gave her a little shove inside, followed her in, and slammed the door behind them hard enough that the glass rattled.

“Sam—”

He leveled her with a dark look that for some inexplicable reason didn’t scare her anymore. He evoked a lot of feelings within her, but fear wasn’t one of them. “He’s trying to be something to you,” she said.

“Well, he succeeded. He’s a pain in my ass.” He hustled her out the front door and back to his truck, where he whipped away from the curb with a squeal of tires. Not all four. Just two.

Becca grabbed the dash. “If you’d just give him some of your attention, your time—”

“We’re over this conversation,” he said firmly.

She waited until they were on the highway. “Listen,” she said gently. “I know he screwed up a lot while you were growing up, but I think he genuinely regrets—”

“
Over it
, Becca.”

“Really?” she asked, feeling her own temper rise. Whenever
she
was over a conversation, he still pushed.

He must have heard the annoyance in her tone because he slid her a look that had male bafflement all over it, like she’d just asked him if she looked fat in these jeans or what he liked about her.

Somehow that was worse, that he truly didn’t get it, the clueless man. “Why do you get to push me to talk, and I can’t push you?”

“That’s different,” he said immediately.

“How?” she asked. “How’s it different?”

He downshifted into a turn and said nothing.

“Yeah,” she said, crossing her arms. “Thought so.”

“Get off your soapbox, Becca,” he said, apparently just as annoyed with her as he was with his dad. “It’s not like you’ve ever really told me shit about you.”

Okay, that was possibly true.

Five tense minutes later, he slid into a parking spot outside of the Love Shack and turned to her.

She made a point of looking out the passenger window.

Sam sighed, the sound filled with frustration and regret. “Look,” he said, “he drives me crazy, okay? And I’m a total ass. I’m sorry.”

So foreign was the notion of a guy apologizing to her for something that she jerked around to stare at him.

“You look confused,” he said.

“One of us is supposed to be pissed off,” she said softly. “Maybe both of us. But you’re not mad at me. And
I don’t feel mad at you.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do with that. Or you, for that matter.”

He slid his fingers along her jaw and into her hair, then pulled her close enough to press his mouth to hers. “If you weren’t my employee, I’d show you what to do with me.” He kissed her again and then whispered against her lips, suggestions on exactly what she might do with him, each hotter than the last.

She felt herself quiver and then get wet, and she stared at his mouth, having some trouble with her thought process.

“We straight?” he asked.

“Um. . .”

His eyes were heated, but they lit with a little humor now as he ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re straight.” He pulled back. “I could use a drink. You?”

“
Yes
.”

He pulled her from the truck and into him, giving her a really tight, really hard, really great hug. “You’re so damn sweet,” he said into her hair.

She tipped her face up. “Because I interfere?”

He smiled. “Because you care enough to interfere.”

“Yeah? You have your sweet moments, too, you know,” she said. “Not a lot, mind you, but a few here and there.”

He tossed his head back and laughed.

“What?”

“That’s the first time anyone’s ever said I was sweet,” he said, still grinning.

“You apologized to me. And that was sweet.”

“I apologized because I was an ass. That’s what you do when you’ve been an ass.”

“Not everyone who acts like an ass apologizes,” she said.

His smile faded, and he hooked an arm around her neck, drawing her into him again, pressing his mouth to her temple. “They should,” he said against her skin.

Cole and Tanner were at a table inside, and Sam and Becca joined them.

Cole smiled at Becca. “How you doing?”

“Better,” she said. “Thanks again. I’m so sorry—”

“No apologies for that,” Cole said. “Ever.” He gestured to Jax behind the bar, who brought two more longnecks, one each for Sam and Becca.

Cole lifted his in a toast. “To Gil.”

“To Gil,” they all said, and Becca was moved by their low, serious voices that rang out together. They ordered sliders and fries and another round.

Sam made the next toast. “To my dad’s health,” he said.

This surprised and pleased Becca. “See?” she said to him. “
Sweet
. But your dad looked fine to me.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “but I plan to kill him later, so—”

“Sam,” she said on a surprised laugh. “You’re not.”

“Okay, maybe not kill him,” he said. “Not all the way.”

“What’d he do now?” Cole wanted to know.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tanner said. “You’re not going to kill him because I’m not using our boat fund to bail you out again, not when we’re getting so close to another boat.”

“Again?” Becca asked Sam.

Sam gave Tanner a long look.

Tanner took a long pull on his beer and didn’t look concerned. “Did we forget to tell you that you work for an international felon?” he asked Becca.

Her mouth fell open, and she stared at Sam, who flipped Tanner the bird.

Tanner flashed a grin.

“Yeah, it’s true,” Cole told her. “The last time we had to bail him out, I almost had to try and sell Tanner here for a night just to have enough.”

“You
did
try and sell me for a night,” Tanner said.

Becca choked out a laugh, and Sam rolled his eyes. “Why does that story change the more you drink?” he asked Tanner.

Tanner pointed his beer at Sam. “
You
weren’t there. You were cooling off in a Mexican prison. We could’ve just left you there, you know. But did we? No.”

“Instead you got yourself arrested as well,” Sam reminded him.

“Hey, that was Cole’s fault,” Tanner said. “He told me to kiss the wrong woman.”