The Courtship Maneuver, Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire Club BBW Romance) (12 page)

I
was
quiet on the way home, still reeling from everything Sam had said. I’d been so sure I’d understood what he meant when he was talking to Daniel, and then he’d been so weird that morning when I’d asked him about it. But he couldn’t have been any clearer in the safe room. He loved me. It was my wildest dream come true. I couldn’t quite get my head around it. I’d gotten used to loving Sam, but I’d never expected him to love me back.

He held my hand in his as he drove, every so often looking over at me as if to make sure I was all right. When we were almost to his house he said,

“I hope it’s okay, but Dylan and Leigha are coming over for dinner. I asked him a while ago, and I would’ve canceled, but I thought you needed a distraction. They won’t stay late. We need to get some sleep tonight.”

“It’s fine,” I said, not sure if it was fine at all. I knew Dylan. He was a nice guy. But I didn’t know his new girlfriend at all. I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend the evening with one of the glamour girls these guys usually dated. I was feeling a little too beat up from the events of the last few days and I didn’t think my self-esteem could take the hit.

Sam squeezed my hand and looked over at me as we turned through the gates to his house. “Trust me, honey. You’ll have fun and we’ll make it a short night.”

I was doubtful, but I didn’t want to get into an argument about it. Sam was thinking of me, trying to be nice. I’d get through the evening one way or another. Though I had to admit the thought of crawling in bed and sleeping for twelve hours or so was very appealing.

I’d been running on adrenaline for most of the day, and the nap in Axel’s safe room hadn’t refreshed me so much as it had reminded me how tired I was.

Dylan and Leigha arrived only a few minutes after we did. They entered with their arms loaded with white, loop handled shopping bags, trailing delicious scents behind them.

Dylan nodded at me and called out a hello as he headed straight for the kitchen and began unloading containers into the warming oven. Leigha came behind him, trying to balance several bags and a box.

“I’m Chloe,” I said, taking the box out of her hands so she could rescue the slipping bags. She smiled at me, a dazzling smile that lit her gray eyes from within.

“I’m Leigha,” she said. “And I’m soooo glad to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you from the boys.”

It would be an understatement to say I was surprised to meet her. She was the exact opposite of what I was expecting. Taller than me, but not model tall, she had long dark shining hair, beautiful eyes, and was all curves - full figured and dressed to show it off. She wore a knee length scoop neck suit dress with an A-line skirt and low heels that suggested she might have come straight from work. Though, when she shrugged out of the matching jacket, the dress looked a little more cocktail and a little less office. In a pale shade somewhere between violet and pink, the color was the perfect foil for her gray eyes and dark hair.

Sam and Dylan were conferring over the food, then Sam left saying something about wine. Leigha turned to me and said, “I’m starving. I missed lunch when a client had an emergency and I never got a chance to get a snack. Which would’ve been fine if I hadn’t skipped breakfast too.”

Dylan pulled her close with an arm around her waist and kissed her temple, saying, “I keep telling you not to skip breakfast.” Looking at me he said, “On weekends I take her out, or we eat in,” this with a sneaking look at Leigha that made her blush, “But on weekdays she always oversleeps and then rushes out without eating. Anyway, who has an accounting emergency?”

“A very old client who has a problem keeping her receipts in order. It was more complicated than that, but I don’t want to talk about it. I spent all day untangling the mess and I want wine.”

“Sam’s getting the wine,” Dylan said. “I just have to take out the appetizers.”

He unloaded one of the bags on the kitchen island and began to take the covers off the plastic containers. I grabbed a few serving plates from the cabinet and together the three of us laid out the food.

“What is all this?” I asked, my mouthwatering at the spread of treats.

“Lump crab cakes. The rustic platter with pâté, prosciutto, salami, cheeses, and grilled bread.” He pointed at each in turn, then went on, “Calamari. And a caprese salad.”

“This looks amazing,” I said.

“He got a bunch of different things for dinner, too,” Leigha said. “The linguine pescatore is for me, but I think there’s lasagna, a linguine alla carbonara, something with chicken in it, and then another pasta dish with scallops, I can’t remember what it’s called. And chocolate decadence cake for dessert.”

I hummed under my breath at the thought of dessert. I loved chocolate, especially chocolate cake. Who didn’t love chocolate cake? But after a day like this, it sounded like heaven. Sam came back in the room carrying four bottles of wine, two white and two red.

We grabbed the plates and brought them into the great room, setting them on the long coffee table in the center of the seating area. Before I could sit, Sam took my hand and tugged me onto the love seat beside him.

“White or red?” He asked.

“Red,” I said. A minute later he was pressing a wine glass into my hand. He sat back and curled his arm around me. I took a sip of the wine, letting the smooth, complex flavor roll over my tongue. I wasn’t a wine connoisseur, but I knew that this was much better than the wine I normally bought at the grocery store.

Sam reached over and snagged a small plate on which Leigha had arranged a selection of the appetizers. Grabbing my feet, he pulled them up on his lap and set the plate on my legs. It was a far more casual position than I would normally be in, considering we had guests, one of whom I’d just met. When I would have moved my legs to sit back up, Sam caught me with a look and said,

“Relax.” He fed me a bite of one of the crab cakes and my protest was drowned out by the flavor of mustard, spice, and shellfish. The food was so good, I forgot to argue.

Inwardly, I shrugged. It wasn’t like this was a business dinner. Dylan was one of Sam’s oldest friends. And Leigha didn’t seem like she’d be judging me if I wasn’t the perfect hostess. Proving me right, she caught my eye and said in a low voice so not to interfere with Sam and Dylan’s conversation,

“Don’t feel like you have to entertain us. Dylan told me about your brother and everything. I know what it’s like to be stressed out and have way too much going on. We’ll have plenty of chances to hang out.”

“Thanks. I don’t mean to be so out of it, it’s just-”

She waved a hand at me, dismissing my concerns. “Seriously, I get it. I’m just glad Sam’s finally with a cool chick so I have someone to hang with when we all go out. Now we just have to find Axel a woman and we’ll be set.” Dylan’s head swiveled at that. Clearly he hadn’t missed our conversation. Giving a light smack to Leigha’s hip, he said,

“Do not try to hook Axel up with anyone. Bad idea.” Leigha laughed, a bright, clear, happy sound. Her eyes sparkling, she grinned back at Dylan.

“Oh believe me, I wouldn’t dare. I can’t even imagine the woman who could put up with him. Even though I know he likes me, he still scares me half the time.”

Without thinking I said, “He can be very sweet.” Leigha gave me a doubtful look. “He can,” I insisted, “in his own Axel way.” Sam squeezed his hand on my shoulder getting my attention.

“When was Axel sweet to you? Do I have to go challenge him? Because I can hold my own, but Axel knows things. I’m pretty sure he can kick my ass blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back.”

“Axel didn’t do anything,” I said, smiling at the idea of Axel blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back. Unlike me, I doubted he’d be helpless in that position. But after having had him secure my hands and put a hood over my head, I liked to imagine how he’d feel in the same place. “He talked to me in the van this afternoon. And he was sweet.”

I looked up to see Dylan and Leigha looking at me curiously. I shook my head, not ready to explain. Sam leaned over and kissed my temple. “I owe him one,” he said.

“Yes, you do,” I answered, taking a sip of wine.

I didn’t contribute much to the conversation after that, mostly sampled the appetizers and drank my wine. By the time we were ready for dinner, I was on my second glass and getting a little tipsy. I chose the linguine alla carbonara for dinner. Between the wine and the full plate of pasta, my eyes were drooping even before we got to dessert. Dylan and Leigha took their chocolate cake to go, not having to be told that I was about to fall asleep at the table. Leigha gave me a quick hug before she went, promising to get my number from Dylan and call soon.

Sam led me away from the table and back to the love seat in the great room where he pulled me onto his lap, positioning me so I could lean back against the arm of the couch, giving me a perfect view of the skyline of Vegas and the moonlit desert beyond. Leaning forward for a second, he grabbed one of the pieces of cake and a fork from the coffee table.

“Open up,” he said, and when I did, he slipped a forkful of chocolate cake between my lips. Rich and sweet, it melted over my tongue. I gave a little moan at how delicious it was. Have I mentioned I love chocolate? We shared the cake, trading bites, not talking.

When it was gone, Sam put the plate on the table and snuggled my head into his shoulder, stroking my hair with his fingertips. I was asleep in minutes.

I didn’t wake up when he brought me to bed, or when he undressed me. I vaguely remember turning into him in the night, wrapping my arm over his chest and using his shoulder as a pillow. I slept hard, dreamless and deep, and woke in the morning feeling refreshed.

I was alone in the bed, though I heard Sam in another room, maybe in his office, talking to someone. A glance at the clock told me it wasn’t Daniel, he would already be gone. I was just sitting up, pulling the sheet with me, when Sam came in, his face grave, phone in his hand.

“What?” I asked. He tossed the phone on the bed and stared at me, his blue eyes pained.

“Sergey Tesepov just called me,” he said. “He wants a meeting. Now. With you.”

I
stared at Sam
, my jaw dropped, unable to think past the terrifying insanity of Sergey Tsepov calling a meeting with me.

“How did he get your number?” I asked. It wasn’t the most important question, but it was the one that popped into my head first. Sam shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Where are we meeting him? And when?” I asked, getting out of the bed. I wrapped my arms around my waist, suddenly self-conscious about being naked in front of Sam in the bright morning light. His eyes lingering on my curves said that I had nothing to be self-conscious about. Then he gave a light shake of his head as if to push away the distraction of my naked body, and said,

“At a restaurant downtown. Another one of his fronts. He invited us for brunch, just the three of us. Actually, he invited you. I invited myself.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I hoped Sam knew there was no way I would’ve gone without him. I’d been reckless the past few days, that was true, but nowhere near reckless enough to go meet Sergey Tsepov by myself. Not that Sam would have let me anyway.

“Let me jump in the shower,” I said. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Sam gave me a short nod and said, “I’d join you, but we need to leave as soon as we can, and if I get in that shower with you, there’s no way we’ll be fast.”

A rush of heat blasted through me at the look in his eyes, and I felt my cheeks turn pink. A little embarrassed and not sure how to handle it, I bolted for the bathroom. For the second time in two days I jumped under the water before it had a chance to warm up.

There wasn’t time to wash my hair. I twisted it out of the way with a clip and took the fastest shower I could manage. Sam came in while I was shaving my legs and bent over the sink to brush his teeth. The casual intimacy of getting ready together felt oddly comfortable and familiar, steadying my nerves. He left the bathroom to get dressed before I was done, and by the time I entered the closet to pick my clothes Sam was already dressed, standing in front of the mirror, tying his tie.

He’d chosen a dark charcoal suit, with a crisp white shirt, and a patterned blue tie that I’d bought him for his birthday the year before. It had tiny yellow dump trucks printed on it in a cross-hatch pattern. The trucks were indistinguishable from yellow dots unless you were standing right in front of him. Across the board room, or a desk, it looked like any other conservatively fashionable tie. The blue exactly matched Sam’s eyes. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw it.

Taking my cue from Sam, I dressed for the office. Depending on how things went with Tsepov, we’d most likely be heading there later. I didn’t want to give the wrong signals. Especially not to a man as dangerous as Sergey Tsepov. I chose one of the more formal suits in Lola’s wardrobe, a lightweight brown and grey heathered tweed with a fitted jacket and trim skirt that fell just below my knees. I paired it with a chocolate silk blouse and matching spiked heel knee-high boots.

The clothes were stylish, and like all of Lola’s selections, looked fantastic on me. What they were not was provocative. I’d chosen light makeup and pinned my hair up in a tight bun. By the time we got to brunch, tendrils would have escaped to soften the effect, but it was as business-like a hairstyle as I could manage.

Sam studied my suit and my hair before crossing the room to kiss me, his hand on my cheek, tilting my head up to his.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “In anything you wear, you’re beautiful. But I like your hair better down. Except for this. Right now, I’m glad you’re wearing it up. I don’t want him to see any more of you than he has to.”

Taking my hand, he led me out of the bedroom and down the hall. In the kitchen, we grabbed both of our briefcases, as well as my purse, then headed to the garage, our moods grim.

When we were fastening our seat belts I said, “Did he explain why he wants to meet with us?”

“No. Not really. Only that he’s been hearing a lot about you, and with the situation concerning Nolan so uncertain, he felt it was in your best interest to meet with him.”

“That doesn’t tell us anything,” I said.

“No, it doesn’t. We have backup. While you were in the shower, I called Axel and we’ve got two guys on us. They’ll be watching the building, but we can’t take them inside. Still, it’s better than nothing.”

I didn’t answer. I was too busy trying to take deep breaths and calm the panic growing in my chest. I did not want to meet with Sergey Tsepov. I wanted my brother to come home and everything to go back to normal. Not Sam and me. I didn’t want to change a thing about our new relationship. But I wanted the rest of this mess to just go away. It was a child’s dream, the hope that life could rewind itself and somehow match my vision of happiness.

Even at its best, life never painted the pictures in our heads. Sometimes the surprises were good. My most hopeful imaginings wouldn’t have dreamed up the words Sam had said to me in the safe room the day before. And my most desperate wishes couldn’t make Nolan the man I wanted him to be. I was going to have to learn to live with that. Still, I dreaded hearing what Tsepov would have to say.

From the outside, Tsepov’s place looked like any other sophisticated restaurant. Through the front windows I caught sight of white linen tablecloths and dark polished wood. Sam was lifting his hand to knock on the front door when it swung open and a waiter in a tuxedo waved us in with a flourish. Sam kept his hand on my arm, angling his body between mine and the open dining room. The space was mostly empty, the tables in various states of readiness for the afternoon lunch service.

The waiter who opened the door led us through the dining room in silence. I caught the sound of voices coming through the swinging door to the kitchen and the clank of silverware as it was rolled in napkins. We went down a hall, past the coat room, and turned into a private dining room. It would’ve been perfectly at home in an English country house, with creamy walls and heavy, dark wainscoting below the chair rail. Oil paintings of hunting parties hung around the room and over the gas fireplace, lit with a cheerful flame. At the head of the long, rectangular table sat a man who could only be Sergey Tsepov.