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“What did you want to talk to me about?” Sam asked, peeking into the bag of food Charlotte had brought from work. Stretching to grab plates from the cupboard, she started to answer over her shoulder when Sam’s phone rang.
“I should grab that.”
Charlotte plated the food, smiling at the domestic peace of the simple actions. She could almost forget the nervousness that had knotted her stomach since she left Carmen’s. Sam’s voice, so rich and sure as he answered the call, flattened as he talked. Quietly, Charlotte gathered their dinner and went into the living room. Sam had sunk onto the edge of the couch, his forehead in his hand.
“Thanks for letting me know, D.” He disconnected and let the phone drop onto the coffee table with a thunk. His shoulders folded forward as he shoved his hands through his hair.
“What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked.
At her voice, he straightened, struggling to pull a regular expression onto his face. After setting the plates down, Charlotte settled on the cushions, cross-legged, facing him.
“That was Deena, my friend at the hospital. She called to tell me Mr. Edwards passed away an hour ago.”
Hot, instant tears filled Charlotte’s eyes. She reached out and locked her fingers in Sam’s. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded, his Adam’s apple traversing up and down his throat. A curl of blond hair fell across his brow. She reached to push it back and let her fingers trace the arch of his cheek and along with his jaw.
“Obviously, I knew it was coming, but—” His voice cracked and broke.
“You didn’t expect it so soon,” she finished for him.
Sam nodded again. “We were just there,” he whispered.
Charlotte blinked hard. One moment an old man was overjoyed to see his dog, and a few days later he existed only in memory.
“I think getting to say goodbye to Rocky was the closure he needed to let go.” She ran her hands over Sam’s cheek again, for the comfort his skin against hers gave them both. “You gave him his last wish, Sam. You gave him happiness, closure so he could find his peace.”
Sam’s breathing hitched, and he leaned sideways until his face hid in her neck. She felt the heat of a few tears burn a trail along her skin. Charlotte clutched Sam against her and let her tears fall against his hair, wondering if the saline proof of their shared grief would merge somewhere upon her skin. Bond them in some way, more profound than was visible to the eyes.
She held him fiercely and marveled at his capacity for love. Charlotte made no move to soothe or calm him. Content to let him spill his pain, knowing it would pass. Sam couldn’t do what he did and hold on to every loss, individual though this one was to him, could he? He would shatter. He must compartmentalize it all, somehow.
Why tell him it was all right when, at this moment, right now, it was not? Sometimes emotions—joy and grief—needed releasing. It was clear Mr. Edwards had been one of the special ones for Sam. Charlotte knew that feeling, unexplainable as it was, that connection that sparked with some people but not others.
They stayed that way for a few moments. Until Sam’s breathing smoothed, and he seemed to register the closeness of their bodies. Maybe he heard the pounding of Charlotte’s heart because he stilled against her. The shift in the energy between them was so subtle Charlotte didn’t sense it right away. Then Sam’s lips brushed the underside of her jaw, soft as a whispered question. Charlotte turned her head, answering him with a press of her mouth. Drove the point home with her tongue and frantic hands that clung to the muscles of his shoulders.
Sam flared with matching desperation, bringing Charlotte beneath him in one fluid motion, the weight of his body pressing her into the embrace of the sofa. Heat surged like wildfire through her veins, and she whimpered, letting her knees fall open. Sam settled his hips between them. He still wore his scrubs, and the soft cotton pants did nothing to hide his need. Nothing to disguise how Sam wanted her, and Charlotte’s mouth went dry at the knowledge. He pressed down, and her entire body bucked upward to meet him.
“Oh, God.” Sam gasped. Pulling his mouth away, he stared down at her for the space of a heartbeat, then kissed her again.
“Your ribs,” she got out between kisses. “What about—”
“Fuck my ribs.” He arched his hips, a pantomime only. Still, a high-pitched whimper ripped from Charlotte’s throat.
Why had it all seemed to matter so much? All the notions they’d had, all the stupid reasons it would be wrong. Why had they meant so much?
All the time they had wasted. Charlotte’s throat closed. She consoled herself with the here and now. Kissing Sam harder, she ran her tongue along the underside of his top lip, shivering when he gasped against her mouth. When her hands slid into the elastic waist of his scrubs, Sam flinched, pulling back, his eyes near cobalt with desire. He squeezed his gold lashes shut, then opened them. “Are you positive?” he rasped. “I’m not sure I can handle—”
Charlotte interrupted him mid-sentence, her answer wordless. She slipped her hand further down, pushing the material of his pants down over his hips. Sam let out a sound that could have been mistaken for pain.
“Not here.” He caught her roaming fingers, kissing her slow and long until she squirmed beneath him, then he stood. “I haven’t waited this long just to make love to you on a couch.”
Charlotte blinked at the sudden loss of his weight, then scrambled to her knees, standing up on the couch and bringing them face to face. “Take me to bed, then.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Now, Stevenson,” she whispered, running her lips over his neck. Flinching, Sam kissed her hard.
“I have this romantic image of carrying you up there,” he said against her mouth, “But—” He gestured at his torso, and Charlotte winced, scrambling to her feet. Seizing his hand, she pulled him toward the stairs.
When they made it to Sam’s bedroom, Charlotte pushed him back against the door frame, relishing the heat of him as she pressed herself tightly against him.
“Bed,” Sam growled, pushing her back into the room. When the backs of her knees bumped up against the bed, Sam took a step away. “Let me look at you,” he commanded. His hungry gaze roamed over her, and Charlotte felt every glance like a physical touch.
Suddenly nervous, her hands fluttered up, propelled by the urge to cover herself.
“Don’t.” Sam’s voice held a note of command she’d never heard before. She froze. Sam reached out and twisted a single curl around his pointer finger. “Don’t,” he said again, softer this time. “Never think you have to hide. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world to me, Chuck.”
Tears rose, obscuring her vision and stealing the sight of him. She blinked furiously and seized the hem of her t-shirt, easing it over her head. Sam’s eyes darkened, drinking every inch of skin she exposed for him. She didn’t take her eyes from his as she reached behind her and unclasped her bra.
Sam sucked a breath that shuddered and exited as quickly as he’d drawn it. Then, so slowly Charlotte longed to scream, he reached out and ran his fingers across the tops of her breasts, running them around in torturous circles. His hands were a pale gold against the caramel of her skin. Her nipples tightened, aching with the need to be touched and suckled. She was thrumming, urgent with want, and yet Sam took his time, tracing the swell of her hips and the curve of her stomach. She whimpered, struggling to remain still. When he slipped his exploring hand between her thighs and grazed the aching center of her, Charlotte covered his hand with hers, pressing him deeper.
“It’s my turn.” She ground out, yanking the bottom of his shirt so hard the seams creaked. Sam obliged by ripping the garment over his head and flinging it across the bedroom in one swift motion.
A knot held the ties of his scrub bottoms, and she tugged, the elastic waist catching on his hips. She yanked again until desperate. Chuckling deep in his chest, Sam stepped back and kicked out of them himself.
He grasped at her hands, attempting to slow them, but Charlotte was past patience. She curved her fingers around the length of him. Sam’s head went back, exposing the vulnerable length of his throat. With a growl, his self-control imploded at last. Both his hands plunged into her hair, and he seized her mouth with bruising force. Charlotte’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and she fell back with a grunt. Sam followed her down, his naked skin burning against her inch for delicious inch.
“Now.” Charlotte wrapped her legs around his hips, forcing him between her knees. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
With a growl, Sam rose, holding her by the waist. His eyes searched hers for a moment. “Please,” Charlotte whimpered, raising her hips, searching.
“You’ve no idea how often I’ve dreamt of you begging me,” Sam said. Fumbling in the nightstand he grabbed a foil square and held it in front of Charlotte’s face. “Tada.”
Charlotte made an exasperated sound low in her throat and Sam grinned. She watched as he sat back, tearing the package and rolling it on. When he hesitated, staring down at her, Charlotte wrapped her arms around his neck and yanked him into a deep kiss. Lowering his weight, Sam positioned himself against her body. The hard promise of him made her squirm. “Damn it!” she hissed through her teeth. She seized a handful of his ass, pulling him, and at last, with a moan, Sam sank deep, filling her in one silken thrust.
***
Rain drummed against the skylight and ran in twisting pale ribbons over the glass. Clinging to sleep, Charlotte blinked and squeezed her eyes shut again. She was so content she would have been happy never to move again. Sam curled around her back, his long body protecting hers like a shell. The scent of their night together clung to blankets and skin. Charlotte shifted, and her body twinged in pleasantly abused exhaustion. Sam moaned, and the arm around her waist tightened.
She wanted to turn and look at him, touch the rumpled fall of his hair. Run her hand along his cheek. That red-gold stubble would tickle her sensitive palm by this time. But Charlotte lay still, allowing the thoughts of the night to seep in and take hold and become memories. She took out her newfound feelings and all the accompanying emotions and studied them in the grey light of morning. Was she in love with Sam? The answer came blazing to life on the heels of the question. Yes.
The knowledge was bittersweet. As amazing as tonight had been, Charlotte had not accomplished her goal of speaking to Sam about children. She’d sworn she would do so before they went a step further, and it would make it easier if he didn’t want to proceed in light of how she felt about a family.
“Sam,” she whispered.
He made a sleepy noise and snuffled his face into her neck, causing a smile to break free at the same time as tears burned in her eyes.
“Sweetheart?” she said, slightly louder, twisting in his arms until they lay nose to nose. Sam blinked at her, his blue eyes taking a second to focus on her in the dim light. Charlotte didn’t miss the confused joy in them at seeing her there.
“What is it?” he murmured.
“I need to talk to you.”
Sam nodded. Extracting a hand from the blankets, he pushed the mess of hair off her face. “You wanted to talk to me tonight at dinner. I’m sorry that we got distracted.”
“Well, I’m not sorry,” Charlotte said, planting a soft kiss on the end of his nose.
Sam grinned. “Good, neither am I.”
Charlotte drew a deep breath. “This isn’t easy for me,” she said, her voice already shaking.
Sam’s forehead creased in concern. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s something about me you should know if we are going to do this,” she said. “It may even make you not want to... to do this with me.”
Sam shook his head. “Nothing could make me not want this, Chuck. I’ve waited half my life for this night.”
Charlotte placed her palm against his cheek, drinking in the sight of him through a blur of tears. Then she told him about her mother, and Sam wrapped his arms around her as she cried in a way she hadn’t, not over her mother, in years.
“I don’t want to have children,” she blurted when it became clear the sobs would not stop anytime soon. “I just can’t take the risk that I’ll be as bad as she was, that I might do something so terrible. That I might leave my baby motherless.”
“Charlotte,” Sam breathed, seized her face in his hands, and turned her face up. She fought him, not wanting him to see her pain or the snotty mess that she was. “Baby, stop. We don’t have to talk about this right now.”
“Bu—but you want kids,” she choked out. “You’ve always wanted kids, Sam.”
“I do,” he said, voice hesitant. “But I’ve also only ever imagined myself having a family with you. No other woman has come close to that for me.” He gave her a rueful smile, then kissed her softly. “I don’t care if that makes me sound like a creep or not. But it is something I want to do with you, Charlotte. You’ve always been the one I wanted, and if we have to adjust that life to make us both happy, then that’s something we will do.”
“Oh, Sam. Are you sure, though? How can you know?”
“The same way I knew I wanted to be a nurse, I suppose. I feel it in my gut. I know it’s the right path. Our path.” Sam ran the backs of his fingers over her cheek, then turned her face up, kissing her again, convincing her through touch and taste that he was telling her the truth. “Besides,” he said, drawing away. “There’s more than one way to have a family. Look at you and my family. Having children doesn’t have to be biological.”
Charlotte blinked at him. “I never thought of that. There are lots of ways to have a family, aren’t there? Lots of kids that need help.”
At that, Sam beamed at her. Seizing her hips, he rolled her on top of him, hugging her against his chest.