Changing Teams (13 page)

“Great. Even my mom’s seen them.” I glanced at him. “Has yours?”

“She hasn’t mentioned it, so I’m going with no,” he replied. He hit the elevator call button, and we stood there waiting for the ancient machine while at least a dozen sets of eyes bored into the back of our skulls.

“It’s like they’re waiting for us to do a trick or something,” I muttered.

Sam rubbed his thumb across my knuckles. “Want to?”

That and his lopsided smile were all I needed. I tilted my face up toward Sam’s, but he had more than a quick peck in mind. In the spirit of our kiss at the gallery, Sam grabbed me under my thighs and lifted me against him while I wrapped my legs around his waist. When the elevator arrived he walked us inside, never breaking the kiss. I peeked around Sam’s head at his coworkers; to call then slack-jawed would have been an understatement.

“Satisfied?” Sam called over his shoulder. The elevator door wobbled shut as we burst into laughter.

“They looked like they were having a collective stroke,” I wheezed.

“It was pretty awesome,” he said. “Want to grab dinner?”

“Can I drop my bag off first?” I asked. “With me dragging this around it looks like we’re having a booty call.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at my phrasing, then he hefted my bag onto his shoulder. “Good lord, woman, did you pack your entire apartment?”

“Just a few essentials,” I said. “Change of clothes, some shoes, hair straightener, hot rollers, makeup, art supplies—”

“Art supplies?” he repeated. “Are you going to paint the bride’s portrait?”

“No,” I mumbled, suddenly shy. The elevator door creaked open, and I plunged out of the building and into the late afternoon light. “I thought maybe you’d let me draw you.”

Sam touched my chin, raising my face toward his. “You’d like to draw me?”

“Yeah.” I met those blue eyes of his. “I would.”

“I’d be honored,” Sam said, then he touched his mouth to mine in one of those butterfly-light kisses of his that somehow got me more worked up than when I had his tongue halfway down my throat. Just like with his photography, in real life Sam did sensual exceptionally well.

“So, are we going out or ordering in tonight?” Sam asked.

“Depends. Are you ordering Thai?”

He smiled ruefully. “You really didn’t like the Thai food, did you?”

“I really did not.” He opened his mouth, and I just knew he was going to make another comment about how I’d eaten all that seafood, except that creepy octopus, and his stupid roast duck, but turned my nose up at all those weird spices. “I also don’t care for beets or coconut, just so you know.”

“Very well, then no piña coladas or rustic salads tonight,” Sam said with a smile. “What would my Britannica Lynn like for dinner?”

I thought for a moment. “What about pizza?”

“Pizza?”

“It’s got all the food groups,” I explained. “Cheese, bread, and beer.”

“I did not know you could put beer on pizza,” Sam said. “And aren’t you watching your weight? That was your original excuse for not eating the Thai food.”

“You can’t have pizza without beer,” I said, ignoring his comment about watching my weight. I’d been blessed with a high metabolism that let me indulge in bread and cheese whenever I wanted, but I wasn’t telling him that. I did
not
need to give Sam reasons to spring more weird food on me. “And I thought I might start running with you. If that’s okay,” I added in a rush.

“I’d like that,” Sam said as he draped an arm around my shoulders. We picked up some beer along the way to his apartment, and Sam ordered two pizzas—one with extra cheese, and one with everything—from his favorite local delivery place. The pizzas were delivered a few minutes after we got to the apartment, and we spent our Friday night sitting on the leather couch, stuffing our faces and watching bad horror movies. It was the best date I’d had in longer than I cared to think about.

“Well, that one was terrible,” I said after the third movie. “Could killer bees even invade a sewer system?”

“I have no idea, darlin’, but I sure hope not.” He gathered up our empty beer bottles and brought them into the kitchen. “Up for one more?” he called.

“Sure,” I replied. Sam appeared a moment later with fresh beers. We clinked bottles, and I asked, “Want to watch another movie?”

“Honestly, I don’t know if I can handle another of those,” Sam said as he turned off the television. “We should probably go to bed soon. Don’t want to be late to your favorite cousin’s wedding.”

I snorted. “Melody isn’t anyone’s favorite anything.”

“Not even to her soon-to-be-husband?”

I snorted again. Beer definitely brought out the lady in me. “Let me tell you about…” I searched my memory for his name. “Darryl. Let me tell you about Darryl. He’s a junior member of my stepfather’s firm, and he’s almost ten years older than Melody. She’s marrying him for his money, nothing else.”

“Been happening for years,” Sam said, tipping back his bottle. “Money’s important. A body needs to feel secure, that the roof over its head won’t be going anywhere.”

“Then she should get a job,” I declared. “Marrying someone for nothing but their paycheck is just wrong.”

Sam leaned over and stroked my cheek with his knuckles. “Why do you think people should get married?”

“Love, what other reason is there?” I paused to drink more beer, then added, “I wouldn’t even consider marrying someone unless I was head over heels in love with him.”

Sam moved closer, his knuckles gliding down the side of my neck. “Ever feel that way about anyone?”

“I think so, once.” I glanced at him, and asked, “You?”

“Like you, once.”

“How did it work out with her? Him?”

“It’s still working out.” Sam took the beer from my hand and set it on the coffee table. “Come on, darlin’, it’s past time for you to be in bed.”

“But I’m not tired,” I whined.

“Yeah, but you are a bit inebriated, aren’t you?” I giggled, thus proving him correct. When my giggling became rampant laughter, Sam hoisted me in his arms.

“I like it when you carry me to bed,” I said, kissing his neck. “You have a nice neck. And you smell good. I don’t think the average neck smells this good.”

“Why, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my neck,” Sam said, then he set me on his bed. “Want help with your skirt?”

I batted my eyelashes. “Undress me, cowboy.”

“Fresh,” he admonished. He fumbled at my waist, so I reached back and unzipped my skirt. Once Sam had it off me, he folded it and placed it on the top of his dresser.

“Do your bra out the sleeve thing,” he said.

“My what?”

“You know,” he said, gesturing toward my chest. “It’s a known fact that all girls can take their bra off while keeping their shirt on.”

“Thought you liked me better with my shirt off,” I said as I removed the undergarment in question.

“You’re keeping yourself covered tonight,” Sam said, dropping my bra on top of my skirt before he pulled off his tee shirt—today’s was yellow, in case you were wondering—and jeans. “How did you get so drunk off four beers?”

“Just lucky?”

Sam smiled at that, then he turned off the light and got into bed beside me. He tried spooning me, but I wasn’t having any of that. I rolled over and put my cheek just where I wanted it, right in the middle of his chest.

“I can hear your heart,” I said against his skin.

“Glad to know it’s still working.”

“And you call me fresh.” Suddenly sober, I propped myself up on an elbow and looked down at Sam. “If you have the nightmare, I want you to wake me up.”

“I will, angel,” he said, smoothing back my hair, “I promise you I will.”

Chapter Fourteen

Britt

I woke up with a pounding headache and the feeling that I’d said some profoundly embarrassing things the night before. I debated sticking my head under the pillow and hiding, but the scent of coffee drew me out of bed and into the kitchen.

“Morning, darlin’,” Sam greeted, shoving a cup of coffee under my nose.

“Morning,” I croaked, then I took a sip of coffee and scowled. “I never taught you the coffee trick, did I?”

“You did not.” He pulled out a chair for me, and I wondered if it was the one I’d posed with a few nights ago. “What would you like for breakfast? I make a mean bowl of cereal.”

“I’ll cook,” I said. Even though the coffee was mediocre at best, it was working overtime to restore my wits. “What have you got?”

Sam listed the contents of his fridge and cabinets, and in less than fifteen minutes we were eating grilled bagels topped with eggs and cheese, with some sliced melon on the side. Sadly, Sam hadn’t replenished his bacon supply after the other morning, and the melon was a poor substitute for the porky goodness. After we’d finished breakfast, I looked at Sam across the table.

“Do we really have to go?” I whined.

“I believe we do, darlin’,” Sam replied. “If I aid and abet you missing this wedding, how will I ever make a good impression on your mother?”

“She’s very forgiving,” I grumbled.

“Of that, I have no doubt. Now, let’s get showered.”

We only spent the bare minimum of time messing around in the shower; we were on a schedule, after all, and my hair was so long it took forever to blow-dry. Once my hair had finally gone from dripping to hardly damp, I wound it up in hot rollers, slipped on Sam’s bathrobe, went into the kitchen, and made more coffee. Thanks to the many models Sam had worked with over the years he didn’t bat an eye at my alien headgear.

“You didn’t wake me last night,” I said, watching the coffee drip into the pot.

“Was I supposed to?” Sam asked.

“You promised you’d wake me when you had a nightmare.”

I heard Sam’s chair move, then he was standing behind me. “I didn’t have one last night,” he said, his hands on my shoulders.

I turned around, and looked up into his bright blue eyes. “I thought you had them every night.”

“I didn’t last night, or that first night in your apartment, and I didn’t that time we slept on the couch after your four a.m. breakfast,” he replied. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re an angel, keeping the bad things at bay.”

“You really didn’t have one?”

“I really did not have one.”

I slid my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek against his chest. “I wonder what it would be like to have wings.”

“Probably get a lot of backaches.” He rubbed my back, then he tilted up my chin and bestowed one of those butterfly kisses on my lips. “Best get those rollers out, darlin’. We need to leave in an hour or so.”

I smiled at him, then I poured myself a cup of coffee and returned to the bathroom. I was still removing rollers when Sam appeared in the doorway behind me.

“Darlin’, I need to know how you make coffee this good,” he said.

“Then you should have been paying better attention while I was making it.”

Sam moved closer and helped me with the rollers. “Come on, tell me.”

“I’m telling that secret to the man I marry, no one else.”

I’d meant it as a glib comment, but Sam’s blue eyes looked pained. “This man you marry, he’ll be the one you’re head over heels in love with?”

“That’s my one criteria for marriage,” I said softly. “Unconditional love.”

“You and your criteria, Britannica Lynn.” Sam withdrew the last roller from my hair and finger combed my curls. “You really don’t need to do anything else, maybe just clip it back. Your hair is beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Sam stepped out of the bathroom, and I went to work on my makeup. I swept on some eye shadow and mascara, but stashed my lip gloss in my purse so I could apply it once we arrived. Despite Sam’s assurances that my hair was fine the way it was, I wound it into a low chignon, leaving a few tendrils free to curl around my cheekbones, and secured the knot at the back of my head with a jeweled barrette. Since I was done from the neck up, I left the bathroom in search of my dress.

“Time to get some clothes on,” I called as I stepped into Sam’s bedroom, only to find him fully dressed and reclining on the rumpled bed. He was wearing black trousers and a pale gray button down shirt that was open at the collar. A navy blue tie, currently untied, was draped around his neck, and instead of his usual Doc Martins Sam was wearing shiny black cowboy boots. He looked so good it took every ounce of my willpower not to jump him right then and there.

“Did Jorge make your clothes too?” I blurted out.

Sam chuckled. “No, he did not. I’ve owned this suit for a while. Told you I clean up well.”

“I guess you do.” My gaze flicked to the garment bag hanging on the closet door. “Is that my dress?”

“The one and only,” Sam said. He got off the bed and unzipped the bag. “Ready?”

I shook out my hands, inordinately nervous about seeing a stitched up piece of fabric for the first time. “I am.”

Sam unzipped the bag and I gasped. The dress was floor length, with a simple halter back and plunging neckline, nipped in at the waist with a slight A-line to the skirt. The base fabric of the dress was navy blue silk, and Jorge had overlaid it with yards of that tulle that shifted from blue to gold, a technique that added depth but not bulk to the garment. An antique-looking gold and rhinestone brooch was pinned to the lowest point of the neckline.

“It’s gorgeous,” I breathed. “How did he manage this in just a few days?”

“That’s Jorge,” Sam said, taking the dress down from its hanger. “Give him a bolt of fabric and he can save the world.”

Sam looked at me expectantly; right, time to take off the robe. I suddenly went all bashful, which was absurd. I mean, I’d slept with Sam, showered with Sam…was there anything left for him to learn about me?

I tamped down my embarrassment and took off the robe, and heard Sam suck in his breath at the sight of me in nothing but a tiny black thong. I smiled, my confidence boosted, and stepped into the dress. Sam moved those loose tendrils over my shoulder, then he fastened the single button at the back of my neck. He stroked his fingers down my spine before zipping me up.

“Sit,” he ordered. “I’ll help you with the shoes.”

The shoes turned out to be strappy gold sandals, so delicate they were like more like jewelry than footwear. “I’m perfectly capable of putting on my shoes,” I said as Sam buckled on the first.

“Just let me have my fun,” he said. Once the shoes were on Sam pulled me upright and turned me toward the mirror over his dresser. “You’re beautiful, Britt. And,” he added, “the dress has nothing to do with it.”

I smiled at his reflection, then I reached up to his cheek and stroked his beard; he’d let it grow in, just like I’d suggested. “We look good together,” I said, because it was true. My light brown hair and eyes were a perfect complement to Sam’s dark hair and beard, not to mention those pale blue eyes of his.

“Nash said that too,” Sam said. He stroked his hands up and down my arms, then he said, “Almost forgot. I have something for you.”

“You do?” I couldn’t imagine what was left, what with the dress, shoes, and the fact that he’d agreed to be my date to what was sure to be a wedding filled with Sullivan hijinks. I watched Sam rummage in a box atop his dresser, eventually retrieving a gold bracelet.

“I thought this would look nice with your dress,” Sam said, as he slid the bracelet onto my left wrist. Once it was on I saw that it was a rose gold Art Deco style cuff.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Where did you get it?”

“I inherited it,” he replied. “I was my gran’s favorite, and she left me nearly everything, including her jewelry.”

“Oh, Sam, I couldn’t.” I tried removing it, but he closed his hand over mine.

“You can,” he said. “Later, I’ll tell you what she told me when she gave me that bracelet.”

“Later? Why not now?”

“Because right now we have a wedding to get to.”

I smiled and ducked my head, then I gathered my shawl and clutch while Sam retrieved his suit jacket. When he turned around I spied his open collar.

“Your tie,” I said, setting my clutch down on the dresser. “Let me.” I buttoned up his shirt, then I grabbed the ends of the navy silk and knotted them together.

“You’ve done this before,” Sam observed.

“Only on myself,” I replied. “I went through a brief tie-wearing phase during my teens.”

“Did you,” Sam said, then he placed a hand on each side of my face and kissed me hard. It wasn’t one of his butterfly touches; no, that kiss was so hot it seared my soul.

“What was that for?” I asked when we parted.

“I’ll tell you later, right around when I tell you about the bracelet,” he said. “For now, let’s get to the least anticipated social gathering of the year.”

I grabbed my clutch and gave my reflection a once over. “All right,” I said, “let’s get this over with.”