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“You’re right,” Sam said as he swallowed a hefty bite of his lobster roll. “This is delicious.”
He sat across the table from her, his jacket off, his gun locked in the glove compartment of his car. She appreciated that he hadn’t brought it into the Lobster Shack with him. Without his shoulder holster, she had an unimpeded view of his torso, clad in a snug sweater the same smoky brown as his eyes. His cheeks and jaw were shadowed by a day’s growth of beard, and his hair—it really wasn’t that short, she decided. Compared to the unshorn locks of the men at the farm, yes, it was short. But it was longer than a lot of men’s hair. Longer, certainly, than Rick’s buzz cut, or the hair styles of some of Sam’s fellow cops at the police station. It was long enough that a woman could twine her fingers through it.
She shouldn’t tempt herself with thoughts of touching his hair, or any other part of him. Lowering her gaze to her plate, she concentrated on using her fork to gather the chunks of lobster that had leaked out of the roll.
Why was she so drawn to him? Other than the obvious reason that he was absurdly handsome... She allowed herself a private smile and devoured the forkful of lobster meat. It was sweet and briny and just the right amount chewy, and she tried to focus on how delicious it was. But gazing at Sam satisfied a different appetite.
Was she attracted to him because he was the opposite of everyone she’d grown up with? Because he represented a rebellion against her upbringing? Or because he approved of her ambitions, her goals, and her modest professional success, in a way her mother never had and never would?
Or because he was going to rescue her from the creep who was harassing her?
She had no doubt he would. He’d driven all the way to Akin and back. He’d installed that chain lock on her door. She told herself he was just doing his job, but... It felt personal to her.
She plucked a French fry from her plate and munched on it, savoring its sinfully salty greasiness. When she glanced up, she found Sam staring at her. “What? Do I have mayonnaise on my nose?”
“Just thinking,” he said. “Your sister is computer-savvy, right?”
“I guess.” Cali shrugged. “More than my parents, for sure. But no, she wouldn’t have sent me those emails.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“First of all, you said they came from a server in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.”
“They could have been rerouted.”
“And second of all, Shasta doesn’t hate me. We aren’t exactly close, but—I mean, we’re sisters. We love each other.”
“It’s possible that the emails weren’t sent from someone who hated you. They could have been sent by someone who wanted to scare you.”
“If that was their goal, they failed,” Cali declared.
Sam’s smile told her he could see right through her bravado. “It was a thought I had while we were at the commune. Maybe your loved ones want to scare you enough that you renounce your worldly ways and return to the farm to live in a cabin and milk cows.”
“My loved ones know me well enough to know that’s not going to happen.” She munched on another fry. “I’m grateful that you spent today trekking all the way to Akin and back—in a snow storm, no less. I hope you don’t think it was a waste of time.”
“It wasn’t.” He grinned. “Nice change of scenery. And I’d rather drive through a snow storm than navigate the Cross-Bronx Expressway.” She must have looked bewildered, because he added, “Think Route One heading into Boston at rush hour.”
“Do you always store your gun in your car when you aren’t using it?”
Her question caught Sam in the middle of a drink of beer. He lowered his glass. “I’ve got a gun safe at home,” he said. “If circumstances warrant, I have a safe place to store it at work.”
“Why didn’t you lock it in your car while we were at the farm?”
“I was on duty then.”
“And now you’re off-duty?” she lowered her gaze to his shoulder, where the thick leather strap of his holster would have been. “What if a robber came in right now and tried to hold the place up? Wouldn’t you wish you had your gun, even though you were off-duty?”
“If I encountered a criminal while I was off-duty, I would disarm the guy without resorting to my own weapon. I’ve had some martial arts training. I could take him down.”
“Maybe you should be taking Rick’s taekwondo class instead of my yoga class. I still think you need yoga, though. Taekwondo may make you tougher, but it doesn’t open your mind and your heart.”
“Yeah, but his class might open my fists.” He studied Cali thoughtfully. “I need to run the records of Rick’s students. And those ballet students”
“Alfreda’s students are mostly young and female. I don’t mean to be sexist, but I can’t imagine a woman writing those emails, let alone a little girl.”
“It’s not sexist.” He devoured a French fry, his gaze remaining on her. “It’s called profiling. We do it all the time. What’s Rick’s last name?”
“Hennessy. You met him the morning you sat in on my class.”
“I remember.” His mouth softened into a smile. Seeing it made Cali aware of how rarely he smiled. He should smile more. His smile creased his cheeks with dimples and lit up his eyes. “I didn’t ‘sit in’ on your class. You made me get down on the mat and do all that stuff.”
“It’s not ‘stuff,’” she said, feigning offense. “Each of those positions works your core muscles, stretches your limbs, loosens your joints, and improves your balance.”
“Believe me, I’m aware of just what those positions did. I was sore for hours afterward.”
“You should do it more often, then. A little yoga every day will really tone you up. Not that you need toning,” she added, so he wouldn’t think she was criticizing him.
His expression changed again, his smile shifting, his eyes darkening. She shouldn’t’ have mentioned how well toned he was. She shouldn’t have implied that she was paying that much attention to his physique.
She was, though. And now he knew she was.
“I should take you home,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”
Usually, she could read people pretty well, a skill she’d honed growing up on the farm. For all their idealistic philosophy, she’d learned, people were people. They lived on a commune and called themselves one big, happy family, but they were human, with resentments and conflicts. She had learned how to sense trouble brewing and to disappear so she wouldn’t be dragged into it.
She sensed...not trouble brewing with Sam, but something. Something risky. Something he wanted to avoid.
He was a smart guy. She would let him avoid whatever that was. She would let him take her home.
***
Walking her to her door was the polite thing to do. The driveway was dark and glazed with snow, and he took her arm to keep her from slipping, even though she was probably less likely to slip than he was. She was the one who had great balance from doing yoga.
He, on the other hand, felt as if he was teetering on the edge of an icy precipice. No balance at all. One wrong move and he would plunge over the edge.
The foolish truth was, he wanted to plunge. He wanted to fall. He wanted the rush of air around him as he dropped through the atmosphere, his destination a dark mystery. He wanted to plummet until he landed, exhausted and smiling and out of breath, on a cushion of pleasure.
He wanted Cali.
He’d wanted her all day. He’d wanted her the evening she’d made him stand on his head. He’d wanted her the morning he’d struggled through those limb-stretching, joint-loosening, core-strengthening exercises on a mat in the Body Shop.
He’d wanted her the moment he’d seen her dancing by herself to “Rescue Me.” He’d wanted to rescue her, and he’d wanted so much more.
But tonight he escorted her up the driveway to her door only because his mother had raised him to be a gentleman. He would see her inside, remind her to lock up behind herself, and then drive back to his apartment, where he would lie sleepless in his bed, listening to the silence and wishing he was with Cali.
She unlocked the door, pushed it open, and then turned to him. “Would you like to come up for coffee?”
“Sure,” he said, feeling himself slip-slide along that precarious edge.
They crossed the threshold. He watched her clip the chain lock he’d installed. “See? I’m such a good girl,” she said, giving him a smile that bolted through his body like lightning.
Screw the coffee. Screw being a gentleman. Screw professional ethics. As soon as she turned from the door, he cupped his hand beneath her chin, his fingers molding to her cheek. Her skin was so soft, so smooth.
Tell me not to do this, he silently implored her. Tell me to stop and I will. Teach me balance.
She tilted her head to his. Slid her hand up his chest to his shoulder. Through the thick leather of his jacket, his sweater, and the T-shirt he had on underneath, his skin burned.
He lowered his mouth to hers as she raised her mouth to his.
Sensation flooded his body. He’d just devoured an oversized lobster roll, but hunger drummed through him, wanting, demanding. He slid his tongue between her lips and she opened to him, lifting her other arm to his other shoulder, pulling him to her.
They stood at the foot of the stairs, kissing like hormone-crazed adolescents, like sex-starved maniacs, like long-time lovers. They kissed as if they were drowning and kissing was oxygen. They kissed as if kissing could rescue them from every bad thing in the world.
Somehow, they forced themselves to stop kissing long enough to climb the stairs. Cali unlocked the upper door—the one tiny corner of his brain still functioning in a professional capacity registered approval that she was taking precautions, keeping both the downstairs and upstairs doors bolted—and then they were inside.
Kissing.
Her bag fell to the floor with a thud. She tugged at his jacket. He tugged at hers, their mouths still locked, their tongues still searching, tasting, mating. Once she’d unzipped his jacket, he shrugged his shoulders free of it and let it join her bag on the floor. Less than a minute later, her jacket joined it.
He remembered where her bedroom was. Would they have to stop kissing to walk down that short hall?
No. Sam lifted Cali, gripping her hips, and she ringed her legs around his waist. She was lighter than he’d expected, or else he was stronger, his body flooded with adrenaline. Or else...balance. Just as he’d learned in his martial-arts classes to use momentum to amplify his strength, she’d probably learned via yoga how to use balance to distribute her weight perfectly.
And having her long, graceful legs wrapped around him? God, it felt wonderful.
As he’d hoped, they continued to kiss as he carried her to her bedroom. He didn’t release her until they reached the edge of her bed. Every muscle in his body clenched as her legs slid the length of his, until her feet touched the floor.
He recalled the room from the last time he’d been in her apartment: the laptop, the coat tree decorated with scarves. The bed.
A glimmer of sanity forced its way through the steam swirling in his brain. “Are you okay with this?” he asked. Not the most lucid question, not the clearest, but it was the best he could do.
She laughed. “You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
Her voice was breathy, but he heard certainty in it. Confidence. Self-knowledge. Her worry about those emails notwithstanding, this was a woman who could fend for herself.
He kissed the tip of her nose, her forehead, her silky hair. And then he yanked off his sweater.
They undressed themselves. It was the most efficient way to get naked, and at that moment he lacked the patience for a playful seduction. Someday, he’d love to watch her strip slowly, teasingly. Someday he’d love to strip her himself. But right now, all he wanted was all of her at once.
All of her was magnificent. She was long-limbed and slender, but with strong, solid muscles. Her breasts were small and firm, her waist narrow, her bellybutton so tantalizing he had to sit on the bed and draw her to him so he could reach it with a kiss. Her skin was like peaches dipped in honey, pink and gold and so, so sweet. He pulled her onto the bed with him, and she came willingly, draping her body over his. Her flesh was smooth and cool against his. He felt like a furnace, burning up inside.
“I don’t have anything with me,” he whispered.
Once again, she understood his vague statement. “It’s okay,” she said, reaching over him to open the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled out a box, tossed it onto the bed, and then lowered herself back into his arms.
Her hair rained onto his face. She explored his chin, his throat, his chest with her lips. He ran his hands up and down her back, tracing the gently jutting edges of her shoulder blades, the delicate chain of her spine, the soft curves of her ass. He reached between her legs and found her wet. Her hips flexed against his fingers and she moaned.
He moaned, too. He was so hard he hurt. When she flicked her tongue against one of his nipples, the exquisite pain of his arousal made him lurch.
He lifted her off him and rolled over, pressing her down to the mattress beneath him. Groping blindly, he found the box of condoms, plucked one out, sheathed himself with trembling fingers. And surged into her.
He’d been afraid he would come too soon, but feeling her heat around him, peering down into her beautiful face and sensing the whisper-soft dance of her fingers across his back had a calming effect on him. He slowed his thrusts, savoring each one, reaching further into her, into himself. She undulated beneath him, her breasts pillowing his chest, her hips rocking his. In her arms, in her body, he found a genuine balance for the first time in his life.
He could do this forever. He could last until eternity. He knew the release would be wonderful, but he could wait. His mind stilled. His body took over. Every sensation was good, right, true.
Her hands grew more restless. Her eyes closed. Her throat arched. “Sam,” she murmured, tensing beneath him. Nothing could have turned him on more than hearing her speak his name. “Sam...” And then a gasp as she clung to him, pulsed around him, let go.
He let go then, too, sensation blazing through him, releasing him. Good and right and true. Yes. This was balance.
They lay quietly, their bodies locked together until he finally went slack. He eased off her, trying desperately to hang onto that balance, trying to block all thoughts of his job, her emails, and the snowy world outside the apartment. Cali and Sam were all that existed. Two people who’d craved each other and satisfied that craving. Nothing more.
And then she stirred, shifting onto her side and gazing at him. “Who’s Maggie?” she asked.
