Chapter Twelve

Sam sat on the couch, staring at his door. He alternated between praying a knock sounded and fearing what would happen if it did. The moment on the balcony had been everything he’d hoped for and dreaded the past week. In all honesty, he and Whitney had been building to this point practically since she’d stomped all over his knight-in-shining-armor cape at Monsoon’s that fateful evening.

Was that a sound?

He shook his head. Getting up, he paced the suite and even went back out on the balcony and looked toward Whitney’s room. It was dark. He could see no movement. He glanced over his shoulder at his door.

Nothing.

Their chemistry had evolved and built, and now was the time. They were either going to take this next step together and deal with wherever it put them, or it was done. Shut down, and they would have to continue working side by side.

Could he do that? Work with her constantly, wondering why she hadn’t come over? Why she hadn’t wanted to give them a chance?

A knock sounded, and he nearly dropped to his knees.

He opened the door and Whitney launched herself at him, wrapping her hand around his neck and plastering her body against him as her lips crashed against his. He managed to turn them and slam the door shut with his foot, bringing them back against the wood.

Her lips were everywhere, his neck, his face, the dip in his collarbone, and his hands were mapping her body equally frantically. Long limbs and curves. Heat engulfing him from head to toe.

She nipped his lip and he growled, scooping her up and carrying her to the bedroom. Her hands kept working, rubbing his head, down his cheek, and she pushed up to capture his lips again.

Sam laid her down and followed beside her.

“Whitney, wait.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want it all. Now.”

He kissed her, sucking on her tongue and kneading her back, bringing her perfectly rounded chest flush against his.

“I want it, too. All of it. But…”

“Sam,” she kissed him briefly. “There are no buts. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow there will be. Maybe next week, or when this stupid bet brings hell down on our heads. But tonight—I want you and you want me. The people we are, not the people others think we are. You and me.”

He rolled, bringing her on top of him. “No buts.”

She smiled and her hand moved to her T-shirt. Inch by inch she revealed smooth tan skin and breasts encased in purple lace. His mouth watered and his hands rose, skimming her rib cage and stopping below the edge of her bra.

She wiggled out of her shirt and tossed it behind her.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He ran his thumbs underneath the wire of her bra, and she hissed and arched. He slid around to the clasp and undid it in expert fashion. She let her bra slide down her arms, and he stared at the gorgeousness revealed.

“Your turn.”

She went to work on the buttons of his shorts but his eyes remained glued to the mounds tantalizing him with jiggles and rosiness.

“Forget about my shorts,” he growled and flipped her over and feasted.

“Sam,” she whispered, and he was lost.

…

Whitney lay cocooned in Sam’s arms and listened to his even breathing. His warmth, safety, and concern evident even now while he caught up on much-needed sleep.

She should be sleeping too, except the evening, their moments together, the aftermath, all rolled into a cinema-worthy performance in her mind. He’d been respectful, kind, ensuring everything he did was okay and making sure her needs were met above all else. Of course, she made sure to leave him just as satisfied. But now? In the morning glow she forced herself to evaluate.

There was no regret. She’d gone in wide-eyed and fully aware of what repercussions might exist.

She lived in the moment and had been rewarded with memories to last, should this turn south.

Yet she didn’t want it to. She wanted more nights, more mornings, more truths and dares and laughter and fun. She wanted it all.

But she didn’t know what Sam wanted. Sam held the cards. At least some of them, and that was the detail she kept forgetting over and over. Micah had been right in some ways, even if his reason for pointing it out had been wrong. She was relying again.

Still it didn’t matter. Not now.

“Morning.”

Sam’s voice rumbled through her chest and settled, bringing a smile to her face.

“Morning,” she said to his chest and kissed the area around his heart.

He hugged her closer. “What time is it?”

“Not sure but, since neither of our alarms went off, I’m going to say not quite six.”

He kissed her forehead and slid out from under her. She reminded herself not to cling. Not to expect anything or try to guess what he was thinking.

Instead her gaze followed his trek around the bed and to the bathroom. He was a glory in the early morning light—all long lean lines and muscles.

Lord, she was one lucky woman.

He came out a few minutes later, sadly covered from the bottom up and settled onto the sofa across the room. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest.

“Don’t hide your beauty on my account.” He winked, and a little of the anxiety faded.

“I guess I should get to my room.”

“Yeah, probably. We have a crazy day ahead.”

His head was already immersed in the laptop in front of him, and the anxiety began to swell again. How could he turn it off? Turn off their night and lingering morning feelings and act as if…well, as if she wasn’t sitting naked in his bed that smelled of their lovemaking.

She clenched her jaw and breathed. If he could do it, then so could she.

“Could you toss me my shirt?”

He looked up and around and found the green T-shirt behind him and threw it. She caught it, turning her back to him and sliding her arms through it. Spying her leggings on the floor she leaned over and snagged them, expertly pulling them on with nary a peek of her skin.

Feeling a little more armored, she swiped up her undergarments and grabbed her phone.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” She could be all business, all calm and unaffected. She would make his “all business” seem like an amateur production.

“Whitney?”

Damn. She turned and with what she hoped was a nonchalant expression on her face asked, “Yes?”

“You’re amazing.”

Dammit. His eyes had gone soft and welcoming. His gaze had left fire where it had all too briefly traveled the length of her body.

To hell with being business. “You’re pretty damn fine yourself.”

And then she turned and left, before any more confusion could swirl around Samuel Ellis’s hotel room.

Only the confusion didn’t stay put. It followed her around the rest of the morning. The doubts crept in with every stilted and businesslike response she received from Sam, and by lunchtime she was a bundle of nerves, jumping at every little interaction they had with each other.

He came up behind her at the buffet line—a sampling of all the food being sold that year in the park. She had ensured that the history of each offering was present beside the chafing dishes as well as fun anecdotes she had gleaned from some of the more famous people who had visited and partaken of the goodies.

“This was inspiring,” Sam said, his breath entirely too close, the heat of his body doing wonderful things to her back while her heart twisted and turned like the damn roller coaster they were about to launch.

“Thank you.” She took a step forward and he followed.

“Later, I would love to discuss how inspiring.”

She met his gaze and saw the same look from this morning. She swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. The morning had grated on her nerves, like fine little flicks of a razor brushing her skin. And now?

Now he acted as if they’d been on the same page. As if the distance was nothing. As if he could turn it on and off.

She couldn’t. She had tried and she couldn’t.

“Whitney?”

“Mr. Ellis. If you have a moment.”

Whitney shifted her gaze to the older black gentleman standing behind Sam.

“Ahh, Stan, good to see you.” Sam shook hands and smiled, but Stan didn’t seem as enthused.

“I hadn’t heard anything back about my email and call about the timing issue,” Stan said.

The email she’d been bcc’d on. She figured Sam had already taken care of it.

“Oh yes. How about we discuss it in a few minutes. I’m finishing up with my partner in crime this weekend. Have you met Whitney Carroll?”

Whitney shook hands with Stan, who offered her a friendly smile, though the worry lingered in his eyes.

“Sure, Sam. I’ll catch up with you in a few.” Stan nodded at her and left.

Whitney followed the head engineer’s movements but was brought back to Sam by a gentle squeeze of her hand. He’d interlocked their fingers, hidden from view in the folds of her dress.

“You didn’t answer me,” Sam said, drawing circles on top of her hand.

“Yes.” It was all she could manage while balancing the plate of food and unsuccessfully ignoring the flames being stoked with each brush of his thumb on her hand. Those thumbs that had brushed another part of her over and over last night until she’d cried out in pleasure.

“Good.” And just like that Sam had melted back into the gathering. Sadly, not in the direction of his head engineer. Instead heading toward two senior board members who had hailed him.

She glanced at Stan, who watched from across the room and then back at Sam who now had been cornered by a bevy of reporters. Another glance toward Stan but the engineer was gone. She put her plate of food down and worked through the crowd, unable to find him.

A good PR person anticipated crisis, and this one felt like it could be a biggie. Whitney came up beside Sam, intent on forcing the engineer issue, but before she knew it, she had been passed off to the reporters and Sam had been pulled to the side by the CFO.

Expertly dealing with the press, she fought down the nausea building in her stomach. She didn’t think Sam was intentionally ignoring Stan. He was doing what he always did, being everything to everyone at once. And that included his engineer. No, she needed to have faith he would catch up with Stan in the next few hours. Sam was laser-focused. She had seen that about him. He had a running to-do list in his head at all times. She was worrying about nothing.

Sam had everything under control.