Page 29 of The Spirit of Love
“You should try now,” he says, pulling millimeters away and draping his chain with the adder stone over my neck and resting his forehead against mine. He’s still wearing my viewfinder. “Maybe we trade for a while.”
I sit back, rolling the stone between my palms. “Okay, I’ll play.”
“Establish the world,” he says. “Don’t forget that part.”
“Never,” I say. “So here in front of me sits Sam.”
“Hot name. What’s he like?”
“The first thing you need to know about Sam is that he saved my life.”
“No,” he gasps.
“Indeed,” I say. “Almost died trying. There was lightning and a rockslide, and we lost a car and a camcorder.” I sigh. “It was all a little touch-and-go for a minute. But then…” A smile creeps in. “We warmed up to each other. A lot. His cabin smells good, and he makes me laugh. I usually reserve laughing with people who have known me for at least four seasons.”
“Really?” he asks. “Why hold back? You’ve got a great laugh. You should be sharing it with the world.”
“Because…” I start to say. I find that my body isn’t close enough to him, so without thinking, without even time to second-guess my boldness, I crawl into his lap.
And get instantly rewarded by strong, warm arms around me and legs that make just the right shape for me to sit within.
“That’s better,” Sam murmurs, and his breath tickles my neck.
“I agree.”
“Now, back to why you don’t laugh enough.”
“Laughter feels vulnerable. It comes easy when I feel safe,” I say, looking down at the stone in my hand. “It comes easy with Sam.”
“Are you saying he makes you feel safe?”
“I think so.” I nod. “I like his stew. I like his fireplace and his highballs. I really like his eyebrows, and what happens to this muscle”—I run my finger down the skin just below his shoulder blade—“when he does a one-armed pull-up on the porch.”
“Thank God. I was hoping you saw that.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “Fenny?”
“Uh-huh.” We’re staring deep into each other’s eyes, and I’m not sure I’ll ever move.
“You forgot to mention how fucking great Sam is in bed.”
I gulp. I’m tingling with desire for this man, and I feel like he can smell it, because there’s this new look in his eyes that is primal and focused and hungry.
I slowly pull off my sweatshirt and feel his intake of breath. My T-shirt comes off next. I grab for his shirt, practically tearing the thin fabric. Our chests meet, and I can feel his heartbeat, racing like mine.
“I never do this.” My voice comes out in breathy pants.
“So you’ve said,” Sam whispers, kissing a trail down my neck.
“Oh, God,” I breathe. “I bring it up only because it’s…important…that you know…”
“Know what?” He cups my breasts, squeezing them exactly as hard as I like it.
“That this is…different. That I don’t…at other times…with other guys…that I am capable of…restraint.”
“Okay,” he says, putting his mouth to my nipple now and making me moan. His eyes and his hands run over my bare skin. Everything about this is too much to take in, and he’s still wearing his pants.
He pauses, looks up. A beat passes.
“What happened?” I ask.
