It's in His Kiss (35 page)

“Becca.”

When she looked at him again, he was no longer smiling, but his eyes were gentle. Warm.

Fierce.

“I know how much this means to you,” he said. “And that you’ve had a lot of shit dumped on you—”

“I’m fine,” she said, not enjoying the reminder of her shitty week. “This is my problem. I’ll take care of it.”
Somehow
.

He slid his hands to her hips. “I want to ask something of you.”

“What?”

“I want you to trust me to help,” he said. “Trust me to fix the bash for you. And then after, I fix us,” he said, voice low. Determined.

Still fierce.

Her heart caught. “Sam—”

He slanted his head and gave her one quick, hot kiss, and then he was gone.

She stood there a moment, then realized the beach was filling quickly. The air was hot, salty, and ringing with the
laughter and sounds of people fully enjoying themselves. It seemed that all of Lucky Harbor had come.

She let out a breath and went back to supervising the setup. An hour later, everything was going amazingly well. The food was plentiful; the drinks were flowing. The younger kids were playing games near the water, supervised by the teens from the rec center whom Becca had hired to do exactly that.

A little later, the pyrotechnic team arrived and set up for the night’s show. The crowd thickened some more. There was face painting and a hula-hoop contest. Older kids were bodyboarding, or flirting with each other. Adults were eating, drinking, relaxing in the late-afternoon sun.

There was music after all. It came from Sam’s quick-thinking setup with his iPod, a speaker, and a long extension cord from the hut. As night began to fall, Becca walked through the crowds for the umpteenth time. She was hot and tired and exhausted, but exhilarated as well.

She’d pulled it off.

Well, everything except the live music. That was still needling her. It was the only thing lacking. But then she saw movement in the area that she’d originally blocked off for the band. Sam was there, directing the high school boys she’d hired to help set up. They were dragging chairs onto the makeshift stage, and . . .

“Oh, my God,” she whispered to herself.

Instruments.

From her classroom.

The instruments Sam had bought. And more than that, there was her keyboard as well. She started walking over
there, ended up running, and skidded to a halt behind him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Not supposed to swear in front of the kids,” he said, waving them in.

“But—” She broke off as the kids sat with their instruments.

Sam smiled at them.

They beamed back.

“Sam,” Becca said, her heart rate accelerating to near-stroke levels. “What’s going on?”

Sam moved closer to her, pulling her into him.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?”

She pushed free. “I can’t think when you touch me.”

He just looked at her, like she was still cute but also a colossal pain in his ass. “Or look at me,” she added.

So what did he do? He tightened his grip, stepped into her, and cupped her face up to his. “Couple of things we have to get straight,” he said.

“Now isn’t exactly the time—”

“You were right before,” he said over her. “I never intended to say the words to you.”

She went still, absorbed it, decided she hated it, and tried to back away.

He tightened his grip. “I never was going to say them,” he went on, “because they’d never meant anything to me, never gave me anything but a headache. They’ve always cost me one way or another. I thought this, with you, was different, that somehow my actions would be enough.”

At that, she stopped fighting him and stared up at him. “Oh, Sam.”

“I’ve had the words all my life and they meant nothing.
I thought love was in the showing.” He let out a low laugh and shook his head. “But then you came out of nowhere. I didn’t expect you, Becca.”

“I know, I—”

He put a finger to her lips. “I’m still getting past the surprise that I was willing to go there with you at all.”

“There,” she said, needing a translation.

“
Here
. You’ve become a part of me,” he said. “As important and basic as breathing. I feel things for you that I can’t even name.” His lips twitched. “And a few that I can.”

She sucked in a breath and looked around to see if anyone was listening. When the kids had gathered on stage, the crowds had shifted in and were settling around the stage. Her keyboard sat up there, mocking her, and a new pit of panic gripped her, but Sam took her hands in his.

“You can do this,” he said softly.

“Do what?”

But he let her go and moved to the edge of the stage, facing the crowd. “Welcome to the first annual Lucky Harbor Charters Summer Bash!” he called out.

The crowd cheered.

He grinned at them, and Becca could hear the collective hearts of every woman in the place sigh.

“Here at Lucky Harbor Charters,” he said, “we’ve appreciated your business all year. We appreciate your
future
business as well. And today is mine, Tanner’s, and Cole’s thanks to you. But first, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you to help me thank Becca Thorpe for. . .” He met her gaze. “Well, everything.”

Everyone whooped and hollered for her, and Becca
found herself staring at them all, cheeks hot as she gave a little wave.

Sam nodded to the pyrotechnic guys waiting for their cue. “We hope you enjoy the show—”

“Sam!” Becca whispered.

Sam held up a finger to the crowd, grinned at them again, effectively paralyzed them with the gorgeousness of his good humor, and then stepped close to Becca, as if they were alone instead of with every single person in town.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Getting ready to start the fireworks display.”

“Why are all my kids sitting in those chairs holding their instruments?” she asked, already knowing the answer as the blood began to roar in her ears.

“You can do this,” he said again, so damn sure. Of course he was sure; it wasn’t
his
ass on the line here.

“
What do you mean?
Why do you keep talking in some language that I don’t understand! I can’t—” She broke off and put a hand to her chest, which was pounding, pounding, pounding. “Oh, my God. I’m going to have a stroke; I’m not kidding. I can’t do this. Sam, you know that I can’t play in front of strangers.”

He ran his hands up and down her arms. “They’re not strangers, babe. They’re your friends.”

She looked out at the crowd. She saw Cole and Tanner. Mark. Jack, and Ben. Jax. Lucille. Amelia. Lance. Mark. Olivia . . .

Sam was right. These were her friends. They cared about her. And she cared about them. “But. . .” She swallowed. The lump in her throat—the one the size of a regulation football—didn’t go anywhere. “We haven’t practiced anything for this.”

“Yes we have, Ms. Teacher!” Pink called out, bouncing in her seat so hard her little-girl legs swung with each word. “We’ve been practicing for weeks, remember?”

“‘God Bless America,’” Becca whispered.

Sam nodded. “‘God Bless America.’” He nudged her to her keyboard.

“You sneaked into my apartment for the keyboard?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said. “I used a key.”

“You don’t have a key.”

He smiled.

He had a key. He had a key to everything, including her heart. Damn it. “Sam—”

“Just try it, Becca, I promise you’ll do great. And afterward, I’ve got ranch-flavored popcorn waiting.”

She paused. “You bought me more ranch-flavored popcorn?”

“A brand-new tin,” he promised, and then lowered his voice. “And more condoms. None of them blue.” He gave her another nudge, gestured to the pyrotechnic guys, and a hush came over the crowd. “We welcome our own Lucky Harbor band,” he called out. “Give them a hand as we start the show!”

The crowd hooted and hollered, and Becca gave one last panicked look in Sam’s direction.

Tanner was standing with him now, beaming. “I can’t believe you bribe your woman with popcorn,” he said to Sam.

“And sex,” Sam said, his voice low and serious. “Don’t forget the sex.”

Becca stifled a half-hysterical laugh and turned to her kids. They were all grinning widely, excited, and she
could only hope to God they actually remembered the song this time. “One, two, three,” she prompted, and waited for them to jump in.

Silence. As if suddenly overcome by shyness as one, the kids had gone suddenly still as stone, staring out at the audience like a pack of deer caught in the headlights.

“One, two, three,” she repeated.

Nothing.

Oh, God
.

The crowded shifted but remained quiet. These people were mothers, fathers, friends . . . they
wanted
these kids to achieve their dreams. Which meant that there was no sense of impatience or irritation that the ticket price was too high for the value of the show or that she was disappointing anyone. Lucky Harbor wanted this, them,
her
, to succeed. Becca drew a breath and spoke softly. “Hey,” she called to her precious class. “Guys, look at me.”

The anxious faces turned her way. God. God, she knew just how they felt. The panic was clawing its way up from her own gut to her throat, choking her until it was all but impossible to breathe. But they were looking at her, eyes wide. Counting on her. She walked to the keyboard.

You can do this
, Sam had told her. And Sam was always right. She ran her gaze over the kids, taking in each and every one of them, and smiled. “Just me,” she said softly, for their ears only. “Just me and a few friends and family. That’s all. Everyone knows this song. If we start, they’ll join us, okay?”

Like bobbleheads, the kids nodded in unison.

And she smiled at them again, feeling her heart warm and fill with love and pride. “One, two, three,” she
prompted, and this time she began to play first, an intro, not taking her gaze off the kids.

Just her and the kids . . .

As she played, she settled. Her heart still threatened to burst out of her chest, but the fear receded a little bit, replaced by a familiar tingle that was so old she hardly recognized it.

Excitement.

She ran the intro again and held her breath, but the kids joined in this time—though not exactly smoothly. Several of them were half a beat behind, and Pink and Kendra were at least half a beat ahead.

Just like in real life.

The fireworks began as they entered the chorus. The town indeed joined in, and by the end of “God Bless America,” everyone was in sync, and Becca could hardly keep in time herself because the lump in her throat was back.

I thought my actions would be enough
.

The entire song, Sam’s words floated in her head, and in her heart. He’d never said he didn’t love her, only that he’d hoped his actions would be enough. And his actions did speak pretty loudly. He’d given her a job. He’d supported her, encouraged her to follow her heart, whether that be music or whatever floated her boat. He’d helped her get over the past. He’d backed her up with her family. He’d come running when she’d gotten scared. He’d been there for her, through whatever she needed, at the drop of a hat.

His actions
had
spoken for him—loud and clear. He’d
shown
her he loved her, with every look, every touch, every move he made.

The song ended, the fireworks ended, and everyone burst into a roar of applause. The kids bowed. Becca started to bow, too, but was pulled into a brick wall.

Sam’s chest. “So proud of you,” he murmured in her ear.

She was shaking. Adrenaline, she knew. But Sam had her, his arms locked tight around her. “Look at me,” he said, voice low and serious.

She tilted her face to his.

“I hold people at a distance, I know it. I do it because I also know that anyone or anything can be ripped away from you at any time. But you, Becca. . .” He shook his head. “I can’t—you’re in, babe. You’re past my walls, past my defenses. If I have to deal with that, so do you.”

The crowd was still cheering as she stared up at him. “What are you saying?”

He got serious. Very serious, very intent, his eyes focused on hers. “It means I’m in love with you.” He slid his thumb over her jaw in a gesture so sweetly powerful that she had to close her eyes at the sensation. “It means I love you so fucking much I ache with it. All the time. It means I want you to stay here in Lucky Harbor and be with me for as long as you’ll have me, which I’m hoping is a damn long time because I’ve carved out a damn fine life for myself and I want you in it. All the way in it.”

She stared up at him. “You . . . you said the words.”

“I did,” he agreed.

“You said the words,” she whispered again, marveling. “Right?”

From the front, Lucille leaned in. “Honey, yes,” she called up to her. “He said he loves you. You might want to see Dr. Scott on Monday about that hearing problem.”

Becca wasn’t about to be distracted from Sam. “You didn’t want to say them, but you did. For me.”

“Always for you,” Sam said, and, ignoring their avid audience, he bent her over his arm and kissed her, a long, slow, deep one that meant business. It was there in his kiss how much he loved her, and it had been all along.

When he was done, he lifted his mouth from hers and slid his thumb over her wet lower lip. “We good?” he asked.

Lucille cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted to Becca, “Honey, he wants to know if you’re good!”

Becca gave her a thumbs-up before turning to Sam. “Considering all I want is you, we’re perfect.”