Necessary Restorations (The Walsh Series) (A) (29 page)

“Oh, fuck, Sam,” I cried, my shoulders digging into the mattress for more leverage.

“You want to come for me, sweetheart?” he asked, as if I’d been holding out on him. I made some hysterical, mewling sound and he smiled, nodding. His jaw locked, his strokes deepening, slamming into me as I arched my back.

I knew the minute he came because his face always took on the same expression of serene suffering, and he’d groan my name, low and gravelly, like a secret prayer. I let myself believe that moment belonged to me, that his body couldn’t possibly react that way to anyone else.

Just as I was pulled under by that warm, soothing orgasm, he ground his palm against me, and that wave morphed into a fucking tsunami. Every muscle twitched and sighed, the spasms rolling through me as if they’d never stop, and tears streamed down my face.

I’d never cried during sex before, and I wasn’t sure why I was crying now. Sam folded me into his arms, and his fingers tangled in my hair while my quiet tears fell. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. He held me, inviting me to be vulnerable and raw without judgment. And that was when I knew, when I heard it.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I wanted to say it, scream it, sigh it into his skin. I wanted him to know he was
ruining
me for other men, and that when I stripped away everything, I couldn’t imagine any other men in my life. And it wasn’t even about the sex; it was him.

But . . . we were nowhere near those types of declarations. We were still floating in ambiguous oblivion; we might be having sex and meeting the family, but we had assigned no name or structure to this.

“How did you know,” I started, clearing the lump in my throat. “How did you know I needed that?”

He thumbed the trail of moisture from my face and smiled, shrugging. “I wish I could explain.” He laughed and pressed a kiss to my lips. “I just know what to do when I touch you.”

Ruined. I was so fucking
ruined.

Patting his chest, I nodded toward his glucose monitor. That activity was longer than I realized, and he hadn’t eaten anything for hours. “You should get a snack.”

He kissed my forehead. “Are you going to be all right for a few minutes?” I nodded while he reconnected his pump. He gave it a foul expression as it registered his levels. “Okay. You get under the covers and decide what we’re watching tonight.”

Sam returned quickly, one hand loaded with Turkish apricots, the other gripping a bottle of mango juice, and a jar of pistachios in the crook of his elbow. I snuggled up to him while he ate, knowing he needed to focus on himself right now. After ten minutes, he blew out a breath, and I asked, “Better?” He murmured in agreement. “Side note. Why do they call you ‘the runt’?”

“Is it not obvious?” he laughed.

“No,” I said. “In fact, from where I’m sitting . . .” I hooked a finger around the band of his boxers and peeked below. “I’d say quite the opposite.”

He pressed his hands to his eyes, rubbing. “You’re such a perv,” he laughed. “Since you didn’t notice, I’m four or five inches shorter than my brothers, and they have a good twenty, maybe thirty pounds on me. Did you see Riley? Hell, most days I wonder whether I should be getting that kid tested for steroids. He’s huge.”

“Yeah,” I said, burrowing farther into his chest and dragging my nails over his stomach. “I don’t think I’d want you any other way.”

“KNOCK, KNOCK.” GLANCING up, I found Shannon leaning against my office door. “Have a minute to spare?”

Beyond Monday morning’s meeting and some quick public relations conversations, I hadn’t spoken to Shannon all week. She spared us the details of her spa weekend, and since she did look rejuvenated, I didn’t press the issue of her whereabouts.

“Sure,” I said, setting aside the notes I’d received from Matt on the Turlan property’s structural updates.

“I was going to place a lunch order,” she said, her voice intentionally casual. “Did you want anything?”

“I’m good,” I said. I gestured toward the lidded container of Waldorf salad. “What’s up?”

“Just a few things. Your dry cleaning was dropped off this morning, and it’s in the back seat of your car. I checked in with your endocrinologist’s office, and your next appointment is next Monday afternoon. They’ll have you do some blood work too, so I blocked that time on your calendar. I sorted out your expenses from last month, and assigned costs to clients as best as I could determine. I’ll need you to look it over, but that will be quick. And I had Tom arrange your travel to that conference in January, the one in Arizona.” Shannon sat down and crossed her legs, focusing on the dozen or so thin bracelets on her wrist. “I was really bummed that I didn’t get to meet Tiel. Everyone said she was . . . intriguing.”

She laced her fingers together and gave me a quick look, and she knew what she was doing. She thought she could hide that landmine in the middle of her spiel and then act surprised when I flew off the fucking handle.

I’d never seen Tiel be so aggressive and hostile before—I didn’t think she had it in her—though I’d also forced her into that situation. I knew about her family and all the shit back home, and I should have known it wasn’t going to work out the way I anticipated. It fucking killed me to know that Tiel only had herself to lean on, and I harbored this quiet hope that she’d meet my family and never want to leave.

“Tiel
is
intriguing,” I said. “I’ve never met anyone with so many accomplishments, and I have to practically beat them out of her. It’s refreshing to meet people who don’t view themselves as gifts to this planet.”

“And some people are attorneys, Sam.” Shannon looked away and I noticed her struggling to repress a furious scowl.

“So it wasn’t rose petals and rainbows,” I said, exasperated. “I seem to remember you going all corporate commando the first time Matt brought Lauren here.”

“That was because Riley was being a juvenile delinquent.” She rolled her eyes and dismissed my comment with a wave. “Look. I’ve heard several times that dinner was tense, and your guest was a hard pill to swallow. I’d just like to hear about it from you.” She lifted her shoulder and brushed some lint from her lilac skirt. “Are you trying to prove a point, or going through some kind of angry girl phase?”

Okay, so I was ready to fly off that handle now. “Has it occurred to you that
we
are a bit intense, and not everyone handles this tribe the same way?”

“No, not really.” She scooted the chair closer and folded her arms on my desk. “It has occurred to me that you might be having some difficulties coping with stress. We’ve been talking about the estate and the work at Wellesley a lot, and I know those are triggers for you. I don’t think adding a toxic relationship with this girl is going to help you, and maybe it’s time to get an appointment with Dr. Robertsen.”

My fucking psychiatrist. The guy who convinced me I didn’t need to wash my hands forty-nine times a day and kept my medicine cabinet stocked with the best psychotropic drugs he could prescribe.

“Shannon, I’m going to say this once.” I pressed my palms flat on my desk and counted to twenty-six before standing. “Get the fuck out of my office.”

When I pointed to the door, I noticed Riley standing there. “Hey. We’re walking properties this afternoon, right?” He consulted his notebook—I was shocked he hadn’t yet left it in a contractor’s toolbox or on the subway—and said, “Yeah, you wanted to check out the Turlan basement now that the power washing is finished. We also have five others to see.”

I gathered my things and glanced to Shannon. She hadn’t moved, and I was certain this was only bolstering her belief that I needed some shock therapy. I stormed through the office and down to the basement garage, and Riley rambled on about last night’s football game while I fumed. The afternoon traffic didn’t help my mood, and I was tempted to turn back around and finish that conversation with Shannon.

She was entitled to an opinion. She was even entitled to voice her opinion. But she had no right to decide my relationship with Tiel was toxic when it was probably the healthiest thing I’d ever done.

“I get that you’re busy being pissed right now,” Riley said. “But it would be good to know what you’re looking for this afternoon, otherwise I don’t know what to show you.”

“She’s just happier when I’m a fucked-up mess, isn’t she?” I said. We were parked outside the Bay Village remodel I’d handed off to Riley, but I wasn’t ready to get out yet. “She doesn’t actually want to fix problems, she just wants to make herself feel important.”

“I’m going out on a limb and saying that’s an exaggeration.”

I glared at him. “Do you think I have a toxic relationship and require psychiatric intervention?”

He rolled his eyes and tucked his notebook back into his bag. “There’s nothing wrong with getting help. It’s not a sign of weakness, you testy little bitch.” He shook his head, his fingers running through his hair. It was getting long, but he managed a decent man-bun. “Tiel’s a cool cat. It’ll all blow over.” He jerked his thumb to the house. “Can we go inside now?”

“Why are you in such a fucking hurry?” I asked as I grabbed my coat and materials.

“I’ve been working on intercepting your dear friend Magnolia, and we’re going to the Bruins game tonight,” he said, bouncing on the sidewalk. “Did you know she’s a triplet?”

I didn’t have the patience for this conversation. Digging my phone from my pocket, my annoyance skyrocketed when I saw a text from Shannon.

15:45 Shannon:
Please consider it. I’m worried about you.

“Yeah,” I said, glaring at my screen. “Two brothers.”

“I know,” he groaned. “It would have been interesting if they were chicks, but at least she has some season tickets to exploit.”

“You do that,” I murmured, typing out a response.

15:51 Sam:
take your own advice.

15:52 Sam:
and by the way—thanks for all your unconditional support.

WHEN TIEL OPENED the door, the internal debate started.

“You’re wearing that to piss me off,” I growled. That 1950s-style cocktail dress put those tits on display and I couldn’t decide whether I could handle anyone else’s appreciative eyes on her. I knew it was immature and territorial, but those reactions were instinctual, and I struggled to manage them.