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“All right. I’m not sure what saying this out loud will do to my already suffering masculinity, but that was the most fun I’ve had in ages.” Sam turned the ignition in his truck, and they sat, shivering in the blast of cold, stale air while they waited for the engine to warm. Charlotte rubbed her hands together as she blew into them.
“Serving wine and snacks was pure brilliance. Definitely the best time I’ve had in a classroom.” She glanced at Sam out of the corner of her eye and added, “Or on a Valentine’s Day.”
In the dim light from the streetlights, Charlotte could just make out the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. Shadows lay across his cheeks, giving him a streaked appearance as if she’d painted him entirely in frosting. “It did beat medical exams.”
After a moment, he said, “I’ve never gone out on Valentine’s Day. I always work so the others could go out.” He turned his head, catching her staring, and Charlotte’s heart jolted, then sped with excitement. Fear. Sam could still hold her with a look and employed the skill now.
“What?” The word came out breathy and faint.
Sam smiled and leaned toward her, and Charlotte froze. She wanted this. That was clear in the bogged-down seconds while she awaited his touch. Her lips parted by their volition.
“You’ve got frosting on your face.” His breath was warm on her cheek, his fingers icy. She gasped when they stroked across the flushed plane of her cheek.
“Oh.” Charlotte swallowed, struggling to battle her racing heart into submission. “It’s part of my process,” she said. “Childish abandon in the kitchen spurs the creative genius, didn’t you know?” Her cheek tingled where he’d touched it and refused to stop.
“I did not.” Sam still watched her. It was impossible to read him with the shadows obscuring his face with their shifting bars. His chin tipped as he cocked his head, one sky-blue eye catching the light. “Are you all right?” His hand hovered in the air between them.
“I’m great.” Charlotte’s voice was overly bright. “A tad buzzed, full, fat, and happy, just the way I like to be.” She winked at him, but he didn’t laugh.
“Do you think you’d like to do something like this again?” he asked. “With me?
Charlotte hesitated, but only for a moment. “Yes. I would. On two conditions.”
Sam nodded. “Let’s hear them.”
“You ask me straight up next time. Don’t enlist your poor, sick sister-in-law to help with your mind games. Two, next time we do something you want to do. Deal?”
“Deal.” Sam frowned. “Carmen is sick? She was all right when I spoke with her.”
“She didn’t admit it until we were here. At first, I thought it was all part of the ruse you two had concocted, but she didn’t look great. Well, she did because she’s Carmen and got every good gene in the pool. But you know what I mean.”
Sam chewed on his lips, his brow furrowing as he studied her. “I know you’re too critical of yourself.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Charlotte said, holding up a hand. How had they gone from Carmen to her? “What does that mean?”
“I notice the little digs you make about your appearance, or whatever, and it makes me sad.”
Charlotte made a rude noise. “Hi, Pot, I’m Kettle.”
Sam wrinkled his nose at her, ignoring her sarcasm. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, Chuck. Recognize how amazing you are.”
Charlotte’s vision blurred. She turned in her seat to stare out the slowly defrosting windshield. “It’s funny, Stevenson. I’ve thought the same thing regarding you.”
Sam winced. “Touché.” He drew his hand back, but Charlotte caught it, lacing her fingers through his. Sam stared down at them for the space of a few heartbeats, then squeezed back. “Chuck?”
“Yeah?”
The crooked, boyish curve of his lips was back. Charlotte’s heart skipped accordingly.
“I really, really want to hold your hand, but the truck is a standard.”
***
Sam guided the truck to a stop in front of Charlotte’s apartment and cut the engine. By the time Charlotte undid her seat belt and gathered her things, Sam had come around and pulled open her door. She looked up in surprise as he held out a hand, helping her step down from the vehicle.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m not sure a guy has ever done that for me before.”
“Then you’ve never dated a gentleman.”
She tipped her head to look up at him. “Is that what we are doing, Sam?” she asked. “Dating?”
He glanced down at his feet, then looked at her through his lowered lashes. “It’s what I’m angling for. If you want to, of course.”
Nerves and excitement clutched in her chest. There were so many things Sam still needed to know about her.
He paused, chewing at his lip, “Chuck—”
“Damn it, Stevenson! Just kiss me.” She stomped her foot, splattering muddy slush on their legs.
Sam threw back his head, and his laugh echoed through the snow-muted night. “Bossy wench.” He pulled her close with a jerk, staring down at her face until the mirth in his eyes faded. With his free hand, he reached behind her, freeing her hair from its knot and arranging it around her shoulders with gentle hands. Charlotte let her eyes drift closed. When the curve of his knuckle came to rest under her chin, she tipped her head up. Anticipation coursed through her, making her blood fizz.
“I only want to apologize,” he whispered. “For the way I treated you.”
“Mmm.” She nodded slightly without opening her eyes. He smelled of red wine and cinnamon frosting. The press of his hard, lean body against hers sent an electric charge through her.
“I was tired and angry, but I should never have lashed out at you the way I did. Can you forgive me for that?”
Charlotte stretched upward and closed the distance between their lips in answer.
Sam’s arms tightened around her in surprise, then relaxed. Warm hands traced up along the length of her spine and tangled in her hair. Using a fist full of curls, Sam tilted her head back, opening her up to his kisses. Taking control. At the hot slick of his tongue against hers, Charlotte whimpered.
“Come upstairs.” She breathed against his mouth. “Come to bed with me.”
Sam groaned, dropping plucking kisses along her jaw. “Christ, I want to.” She could feel the truth of that statement pressing against her lower belly, but also the hesitation in him.
“I sense a but.” Charlotte reached her gloved hands between them, cupping his face.
“But... I can’t.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut, the muscles in his jaw jumping. “Not yet.”
“All right,” she whispered. Her stomach twisted with sharp disappointment.
“Believe me when I say I want nothing more, Chuck.” He pressed her tighter against him, one hand on her lower back. “I’m dying with wanting you, but I’m obeying doctor’s orders. I’m sorry.” Sam wrapped her up in his arms again, tight against the weather. Against the world. His lips pressed against her temple, and she leaned into him with a sigh.
“Doctors, do they really know so much?” she asked against the soft flannel of his jacket.
Sam laughed, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “I think I should listen, as much as I’d rather not. I don’t want to re-injure myself, so we have to wait even longer.”
“I could make some really decent ‘using your head’ jokes right now,” Charlotte muttered.
His muted laugh ruffled the hair where his cheek rested. “I admire and appreciate your restraint,” he said. “However, it does still hurt to laugh. Please cease being funny immediately.”
Charlotte tightened her arms around him. The padding wrapped around his ribs made him thicker. How had she forgotten about his injury? She hadn’t even asked him how he was feeling.
“Thank you.” He leaned back enough to look into her face.
“For what?” she asked.
“Being the person who can make me laugh, even when it hurts.”
Charlotte shrugged. “I’m not actually that funny. Your sense of humor is just skewed.”
“Probably.” His mouth was closer to hers now, hovering, and the warmth of his breath painted her lips in a rainbow of sensations.
“Just because you can’t come in doesn’t mean we can’t make out more, does it?” She asked.
“Definitely not.” Sam’s gaze darkened, dropping to her lips. He tipped his head and melded his mouth over hers, blotting out everything else.