It's in His Kiss (23 page)

She couldn’t imagine Sam doing that to someone in his life, ever.

They both jumped at the knock on the door.

“That’s not my door,” Olivia said. “It’s yours.” She got up and looked out her peephole. “Well, well, speaking of the devil.”

“Oh, my God,” Becca whispered. “Back away from the door!”

Olivia kept her eye glued to the peephole. “You know, he’s got a really fantastic ass. And I’m only looking at the profile—”

“Shhh! He’ll hear you.”

Olivia turned to her in surprise. “You’re not going out there?”

Earlier, that’d been all she’d wanted. A late-night visit from her sexy surfer. Now . . . now she didn’t know what the hell she thought
that
would accomplish.

“It’ll accomplish plenty,” Olivia said, making Becca
realize she’d spoken out loud. “You’d probably get boinked, for one. And nothing personal, but you’re wound pretty tight. You could use it.”

Becca came up on her knees, waving wildly for Olivia to shut up. “The walls,” she whispered. “Thin. You can hear me breathing. I can hear you swearing. Which means
he can hear you
.”

“No, he can’t.”

“Yes, I can,” Sam said.

Becca and Olivia went stock-still at the sound of his voice, right on the other side of her front door now.

Shit! “Don’t let him in!” Becca hissed.

“I have a tin of ranch-flavored popcorn,” Sam said through the wood.

“From the pier?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“Yep.” The sound of the tin being shaken came through the door. “And it’s good,” he said, mouth sounding full.

“Hey,” she called out, straightening up. “Are you eating my popcorn?”

“You bet your sweet ass. Lance warned me it was damn good, but I had no idea. You’d best hurry before I eat it all.”

He’d bought her popcorn. Oh, God. She was a dead woman.

“He’s funny, hot,
and
he likes you enough to buy you popcorn,” Olivia whispered.

“Don’t let him in!” she whispered back.

“Don’t listen to her, Olivia, let me in.”

Just his voice, calm but steely, made Becca’s nipples hard. Damn it. And Olivia was looking at her like Santa Claus had just shown up. Knowing she was too weak to be trusted, Becca leapt to her feet and looked for somewhere
to hide. Unfortunately she tripped over the coffee table and went down with a thud.

That’s when she realized she was maybe more than half-baked. She might be fully baked. Disoriented, she stayed there on her hands and knees a moment—until suddenly two hands slid beneath her armpits and lifted her to her feet.

“You gave my dad your car?” Sam asked.

She blinked. “Um.”

“You gave my dad your car.”

“A little bit, yeah.” When Sam shook his head, she hurried on, “He’s bringing it back tomorrow.”

“Do you give anyone anything they ask for?” he asked.

“Not anymore,” she said. “I’m on a break from doing that. Your dad just really needed the ride, and I’m not driving tonight anyway, so—” She hiccuped and covered her mouth. “Excuse me.”

Still holding on to her, Sam peered down at her, a very small smile on his lips now. “You’re shit-faced.”

“Nope.” Although there did seem to be two of him. . .Which was nice since both of him were smiling all sexy-like. “I’m not shit-faced. I don’t get shit-faced. I don’t drink.”

Olivia lifted the two bottles of wine they’d decimated. Both empty.

“Who drank those?” Becca asked her.

“That would be us,” Olivia said, and laughed. “Sexy Surfer’s right, babe. We’re shit-faced. We’ve gotta hit the sack, we both have to work early tomorrow.”

“Huh,” Becca said. She went to jab a finger at one of the two Sams in front of her, but missed. “Huh,” she said again.

Sam was still grinning. “Need help getting home and to bed?”

“No!” she said at the exact same time that Olivia said “Yes!”

Becca whirled on Olivia to give her a very dirty look, but her world began to spin, and didn’t stop. “Uh-oh,” she whispered, and would’ve slithered to the floor again except that Sam hooked an arm around her waist. It was a really great forearm, too, all tanned and corded with strength. But it was the big, warm hand that landed just beneath her breast that really grabbed her attention.

“Here’s her key,” she heard Olivia say, and then her world was upside down because Sam had hoisted her up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, his arm wrapped around the backs of her thighs.

“Hey,” she said to his ass. His very fine ass.

“Hay’s for horses,” Olivia said cheerfully, whacked Becca’s ass, and opened the front door.

“
Hey
,” Becca said again.

But she was talking to no one. Well, other than Sam’s ass, of course.

“So romantic,” Olivia said on a sigh.

Still upside down, Becca tried to imagine Sam being romantic. But she couldn’t picture him giving a woman roses. “Do you?” she asked.

“Do I what?”

“Do you ever bring your women roses?”

“I’m not exactly a flowers type,” he said. “But I do have the popcorn.” He rattled the tin with his free hand.

The truth was, Becca would rather have popcorn any day of the week over roses. She might even have said so, but her world was spinning even more now, so she
squeaked, slammed her eyes shut, and held on for dear life. And what she held on to was his butt—with both hands—earning her a chuckle from the guy who owned the butt. He balanced her and the popcorn with ease while unlocking her front door. Kicking the door closed, he strode across the open space, bypassing her bathroom, and dumped her on the bed.

She sat up, blew the hair out of her eyes, and focused on him standing there, hands on hips, looking sexy as all hell. “Come here,” she said.

“You feeling sick?”

“No.” She tugged him down over the top of her and pressed her face into that male throat she loved so much and inhaled him deep.

“Becca, I need a shower.”

“Oh, boy,” she said. “I’ve heard this story before.”

He snorted, then rolled off the bed. She blinked as he leaned over her and pulled off her sandals. “Whatcha doing?”

“Putting you to bed,” he said.

“But I thought you were going to shower and then do me.”

He went still a moment, then tipped back his head and laughed. The sight was so beautiful she just stared at him for a long moment. “Wow,” she breathed. “You’re so damn pretty. Does Lucille know? She should pin pics of you in your board shorts, the blue ones that have the white stripe down the side, the ones that show off your butt, all over her Pinterest.”

“If you suggest that to her, I’ll. . .” He paused.

“What?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t
leave you scarred for life.” He reached for the hem on her sweatshirt. “Lift up.”

“Please,” she said. “You mean lift up
please
.”

He gave her an alpha look and she lifted up, and then the sweatshirt vanished, leaving her in a cami top and a gauzy skirt.

He stared down at her, scrubbed a hand over his jaw, muttering something to himself about “being a fucking saint,” and then he tugged down the blankets. “Get in,” he said.

“Okay.” She scrambled in, then waited for him to climb in as well. He didn’t. “Hey,” she said when he tugged the blankets up to her chin. “What are you doing?”

“Putting you to bed,” he repeated, not quite as patiently now.

In fact, he was sounding downright strained.

“Without you?” she asked, confused.

“Without me. Becca, you’re not paying attention to me.”

Yes, she was. That was always the problem. She looked down at herself. “I’m still dressed.”

“Yeah,” he said, and again ran a hand over his rough jaw, which made a very male sound that turned her on even more. “I don’t trust myself with you undressed.”

“I do,” she said.

At that, his eyes softened and he placed a hand on either side of her hips. Leaning in, he kissed her softly. “So fucking sweet,” he murmured against her lips. “So damn sweet.”

“But you still aren’t doing me, are you?”

He actually lowered his head, closed his eyes, and groaned from deep in his throat. “I’m trying to be a good guy here, Becca.”

“I don’t want you to be good. Well, I do. The
good
kind of good, you know?”

He kissed her again. “Go to sleep.”

“But I do trust you.”

“Not all the way, you don’t,” he said. “Not yet.” Then he kissed her again, and this time he gave her what she wanted, which was heat and lots of tongue. Then he tore himself away, breathing unsteadily. “Stop me,” he said.

“No.”

Sam groaned. “If I have to be the strong one here, we’re in trouble.”

“So don’t be the strong one.” She paused, and remembered. “When!” she yelled. “When, when,
when
!”

“You,” he said, backing away, “are a menace to my self-control.”

“Why the self-control at all? Forget the self-control! I just said
When
. That was our code word.”

He looked pained. And strained. “You’re under the influence. It doesn’t count.”

“Why?” she asked.

“You know why.”

She gave him her I’m-not-impressed-with-that-excuse look, and he let out a laugh. “Look, we both know that intimacy between us is . . . inappropriate,” he said.

“Hey, we crossed the intimacy barrier a long time ago.”

“Yeah. Shit,” he muttered, his voice a low, incredibly sexy growl that wasn’t helping the situation one little bit.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “Is it because you’re no longer attracted to me?”

“No. Christ, no.” He dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling for a beat, then came back to her. He let
his weight cover her and rocked his hips, proving that he wasn’t lying. He was absolutely attracted to her, in a big way if the erection he was sporting was any indication.

“I don’t get it,” she said, clinging to him. “I’m not asking for a marriage proposal. I mean, I’m not exactly relationship material, either.”

He went still, then lifted his head. “You don’t think I’m relationship material?”

She stared up into his beautiful green eyes, surprised by the fact he seemed insulted by this. “Are you?” she asked.

He didn’t take his gaze from her. “Well, no.”

“Are you a commitment-phobe?”

“No, definitely not,” he said.

She slid her fingers into his silky hair. “So why are you complicating things by holding back?”

“It doesn’t matter why,” he said. “I said no. And as your boss, whatever I say goes.”

She shivered at that, and laughed as she nudged her good spot to his. “Maybe I like that, you being all bossy.”

He tightened his grasp on her hips to hold her still, but his eyes were so heated she was near melting point. “You need to stop playing with me.”

She stared up at him. “Just tell me this—are you holding back because of me?”

“What?”

“Olivia said maybe it wasn’t just the job, that maybe it was me, you were holding back for me.” She was worried about this. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve got some misguided notion that I’m not ready for the likes of you, or something equally macho and alpha and stupid.”

The truth was in his eyes.

He
was
holding back for her. Damn it. She hated that. “I hate that, Sam.”

He kissed her again. Becca tried to remain unmoved but he was such a good kisser, and in two seconds she was kissing him back. Just when things started to get deliciously out of hand, he pulled back. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered against her lips.

And then he was gone.

“Ditto,” she said into the silent room.

The next morning, Becca staggered out of bed. Moving slowly so her throbbing head didn’t fall off, she showered, dressed, and made her way to work.

The hut was open, lights on, coffee made, computer booted up. On her counter sat a mug of steaming coffee, three aspirin, and a whole tin of ranch-flavored popcorn.

Damn, he
was
romantic after all.

Sam stayed in his warehouse most of the day, figuring that both he and Becca could use a little space.

At least he could.

So why he found himself watching the big, open doorway of his warehouse as if that was his job, he had no idea. But he was still watching when his dad pulled up in the alley with Becca’s car. Mark got out and walked toward the beach hut, undoubtedly to return her keys.

Sam rolled his eyes, thinking Becca should consider herself lucky his dad hadn’t sold the thing and pocketed the money.

A few minutes later, Mark was back in the alley, and when he caught sight of Sam, he waved. “Son, hey.”

“Hey.”

Mark came to the doorway. “So . . . what’s your policy on letting houseguests drive your spare car?”

Sam’s spare car had been Gil’s and was a ’68 Camaro. “My policy is fuck no.”

Mark sighed. “Yeah. I get it. It’s not like I deserve to borrow shit, especially since you’ve been letting me stay with you and eat your food and everything I should have done for you all those years ago, right?”

It was Sam’s turn to sigh as he fished out his truck keys.

Mark grinned. “Thanks. Love ya.”