More to Give (19 page)

His selfish, stubborn determination had come back to bite him in the ass, and Sam grew even angrier knowing all of this could have been avoided.

Short of taking out an ad in the island newsletter to explain his motivations to the natives, which he wasn’t willing to do, Sam was short on ideas.

“How do I change their perception of me?” he asked Randy, glancing at his watch to make sure he was still on time to arrive at Callie’s by six. “I don’t have to tell you how important it is that we have the inn finished and ready for business by Christmas. If we don’t get more workers, that’s not going to happen.”

Randy looked to be taking the problem more seriously once Sam pointed out what the lack of island help would mean for his fiancée. “Most of my guys went south to pick up work during the off-season. I can lend my own services.”

“You may be the size of three men,” Sam said, “but I don’t think you alone are going to cut it.” At that moment, Tom Dempsey, the owner of the bar, approached with a large paper bag.

“Two orders of fish and chips, ready to go.”

“How much do I owe you?” Sam asked.

“Twenty-one twenty-five.”

Sam pulled twenty-five dollars from his wallet and slid it across the bar. “Thanks, Tom.” The action gave him an idea. Turning to Randy as Tom walked away, he asked, “What if I donate money to an island charity?” He already gave a sizable annual contribution to the preservation society—another stipulation set forth in Morty’s will—though Sam would have given the money regardless. “Or maybe the school.”

Randy looked dubious. “Throwing your money at them isn’t going to make them like you. If anything, it’ll make them
dis
like you even more.” The big guy rubbed his chin. “You need to get involved somehow. Give your time. Get in the mix with them.”

That was what Sam was afraid of. “Callie wants me to do some kind of storytelling session with the kids during the festival this weekend.”

“Like Morty used to do.” Randy nodded, and his wide smile returned. “That’s not a bad idea. Though you don’t strike me as the entertaining-children type.”

“I’m not.” So much for finding another way. “But I guess I will be this weekend.”

Callie checked her reflection for the third time in the last fifteen minutes, then kicked off the strappy heels for the second. It wasn’t as if she was leaving the house. And the slinky dress did enough to show off her curves without having to highlight them with the shoes. She tucked her hair behind her ear, then changed her mind, running her hands through it to achieve what she hoped was a tossed, sexy look.

Happy with the results, Callie sent up a prayer of thanks that the little black dress still fit. She hadn’t worn this particular number in more than six years. The midsection felt tighter than she remembered, but it zipped, and that was all that mattered. However, cutting back on the peanut butter cups was definitely in order.

Spinning to check out the back—again—Callie asked herself the age-old question of whether her ass looked fat in the dress. But then the doorbell rang and she conceded her ass was as big as it was and there was no doing anything about it now.

A quick glance at the clock as Callie struggled not to sprint through the living room indicated the time was 5:50. Ten minutes early. She could only hope that meant Sam was as anxious as she was to resume their afternoon activities.

Reaching for the doorknob, she struck a pose, hoping the effect was more sex kitten than desperate goober.

“Well, hello,” she said, pulling the door open with a smile. And then the smile disappeared. “Henri? What the hell are you doing here?”

“You sent me a melodramatic email that said, and I quote, ‘Things aren’t going well. If you don’t hear from me in a week, assume I took a long walk off a short pier. Promise you’ll take care of Cecil for me.’ ” Charging into the house, Henri set her duffel bag on the floor, then propped both hands on her hips. “That was eight days ago. You haven’t answered any of my messages from the last two days, so here I am.” With an exaggerated head nod, she added, “You’re lucky I didn’t tell your mother. If I’d have gotten here to find you
had
actually turned yourself into fish food, she would have kicked my ass for keeping the secret.”

This was not good. Sam would arrive any second. Henri was
not
going to ruin this night for her. Did she have any idea how long it had been since Callie had sex?

Too long!

“I’m sorry,” Callie appeased. “I’m fine.” Grabbing the duffel from the floor, she pushed Henri toward the exit, which was still open and sending cold wind up Callie’s dress. “Now you can go.”

“I’m not leaving,” Henri said, pulling out of Callie’s grasp. “I just got here. That’s a nine-fucking-hour drive. Are you crazy?”

Callie had to get rid of her. She stuck her head out the door, relieved not to see headlights coming down the lane. “Get a room at the Anchor Inn,” she said, tossing the duffel onto the porch. “I’ll pay for it. Order room service. Get a steak. You love steak. I’ll pay for that, too.”

“Did you really just throw my bag out the door?” Henri glared in disbelief. Then her eyes went wide. “Oh my God. You’re wearing the fuck-me dress. Why are you wearing the fuck-me dress?” She shot a look out the door. “Is he coming over right now? Please tell me it’s Sam. If you’re fucking some gap-toothed, balding dude who smells like fish, I will never forgive you.”

Callie waved her hands in front of her face. “Of course it’s Sam, you crazy woman. Do you really think I’m
that
hard up?”

Henri shrugged. “It’s been a long time. You never know.”

“I know,” Callie said. “Now you have to go. He’ll be here any second.”

“Well, shit. Where is the Anchor Inn?” Henri asked, grabbing her bag off the porch. “I don’t remember.”

“Follow this road back to the main strip and make a left. The Anchor is past the marina on your left. You can’t miss it.” Callie all but pushed her cousin down the steps, then remembered her bare feet. “Holy moly, I don’t have shoes on.” Rubbing her arms for warmth, she hopped back inside the house. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You’d better!” Henri yelled back, tossing her bag into the back of her truck as she ran around to the driver’s side. Climbing up into the cab, she waved. “Have fun boinking your boss!” And then she disappeared.

Callie rolled her eyes and continued to shiver. As Henri backed out of the drive, another pair of headlights rounded the corner. Ducking back inside, Callie slammed the door shut and scooted over to the window to make sure it was Sam. She didn’t need any more surprises this evening.

Sam’s burgundy Murano pulled into the drive, and Callie exhaled in relief. The sex was saved.

CHAPTER 19

S
am would have sworn he’d passed Callie’s cousin’s truck. But that was impossible. Maybe the floor guys had worked late. Had there been a truck like that parked at the inn today?

He couldn’t remember. Callie would likely know who it was, but as soon as she opened the door, all thought of asking about old, run-down trucks drifted out of Sam’s mind.

Standing in her bare feet, toes of one foot curled under and a tight black dress riding high on her milky-white thighs, Callie was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“Hi,” she said, nervous anticipation clear in the shy smile. “You’re right on time.”

“Hi,” Sam said, unable to say anything more.

With a shiver, she asked, “Are you going to come in?”

He instantly felt bad for making her stand in the cold. “Of course,” he said, stepping into the cottage. Callie closed the door, brushing her breast across his arm in the process. He felt it like a kick to the head.

All he could do was stand there and stare down at her. The choppy blonde hair, usually tucked behind her ears, looked messy, as if she’d just crawled out of bed. The gray makeup smudged around her lashes made her eyes look brighter than usual, and the deep red she’d applied to her full lips carried a glossy sheen. When she bit down on her bottom lip, Sam’s brain went fuzzy.

“Is that our dinner?” she asked, her voice sultry as she stared up at him through thick lashes.

“Yeah,” he murmured, unable to look away. His clothes felt tighter. Restrictive.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head and drawing Sam’s eye to the expanse of bare shoulder exposed above the low line of the dress, “are you hungry?”

The brown bag hit the floor. “Very.” Giving in to temptation, Sam laid his hands on Callie’s bare shoulders, testing the black bands around the top of her arms that served as sleeves. They slid with little effort, and he knew he could have the dress around her ankles in no more than a breath.

Slipping her hands beneath his sport jacket, Callie slithered against him. “Maybe we should start with an appetizer.”

“Yes,” Sam said, pushing his hands into her hair, then tilting her head back. “We should.”

She tasted of heat and white wine, and Sam was lost instantly. He was hard within seconds and unable to pull Callie close enough to appease the carnal need racing through his system. He needed to be on her. In her.

“We need to find a better location,” she muttered, between nips to his bottom lip. “And you’re wearing too many clothes.”

“So are you.” Unwilling to break contact, Sam picked her up and Callie wrapped her legs around his waist. “Tell me the condoms are near the bed.”

“On the nightstand,” she said, before returning her attention to sucking on his earlobe.

When they reached the bed, Sam settled Callie on her back, following her down and catching himself on his elbows so as not to crush her. The black dress rode up to her hips, and as he slid his fingers along the soft skin of her thigh and higher, what was missing had Sam smiling against her lips.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he said, tracing a hand over her bare hip.

“I didn’t see the need to put them on when they were going to come right back off.”

Sam didn’t know practicality could be hot, but her words had him ready to melt in her hand. Which reminded him, they were both still wearing too many clothes.

Rising off the bed, Sam kicked off his shoes while pulling the jacket off his shoulders and flinging it through the air. As he unbuttoned his shirt, Callie leaned up on her elbows. “Dinner
and
a show. Excellent idea.”

Her eyes, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the wall of windows, shone like ice as she watched him, appreciation and raw lust in her gaze. Sam took his time with the buttons, something that required considerable restraint on his part, as Callie’s dress had slipped higher, revealing a hint of blonde hair between her thighs.

She dropped one knee to the side, and Sam feared permanent damage if he didn’t get his pants off in the next few seconds. Letting his dress shirt fall to the floor, he removed his belt and made quick work of his khakis.

“My God, you’re gorgeous,” Callie whispered with awe in her voice. Sam’s temperature spiked as he stood there, allowing her to look her fill. Then he crooked a finger for her to join him. Though he considered letting Callie return the favor and provide her own show, he preferred to remove the dress himself.

Without argument, she went onto her knees and crawled to the end of the bed, never taking her eyes off his. “You beckoned,” she said, returning to her feet before him.

Sam didn’t speak. Instead, he reached for the zipper at the back of the dress. The front gaped loose, and he withdrew far enough to watch the swath of black fall to the floor in a wisp. His breath caught.

“So beautiful,” he said, reverence in his touch as he trailed one finger down the side of a breast, then over her belly. Callie flinched as if he’d touched a flame to her skin, but stood her ground.

As he knew she always would. Her strength made him want her even more.

A smile that was both sexy and shy crossed her lips as Callie pulled him silently to the bed. When they reached the edge, she sat down and ran her hands along the outside of his thighs, stopping him in place. Her hands explored further as she blew a gentle breath across his tip.

His body jerked in response.

When she replaced her breath with her tongue, Sam had to lock his knees to keep from dropping. Without further hesitation, Callie took him deep at the same moment she cupped his balls, and every nerve ending in his body came alive.

She really was trying to kill him.

Enduring the torture for as long as he could, Sam growled when he felt his breaking point creeping closer. Stabbing his hands into her hair, he pushed the words through his lungs.

“Callie. I can’t . . .” Then he shot over the edge, the ripples of the climax echoing through his limbs. If this was how he went, Sam thought, at least he would die a happy man.

Callie waited for Sam to stop shaking before she slid her hands around the backs of his thighs and nudged him onto the bed. “How was that for an appetizer?” she asked, relishing the look of hunger and ecstasy in eyes that had turned charcoal gray.

“Amazing,” he said, his voice low and heavy and sending quivers to her core. “But now it’s your turn.” Sam followed words with action, sliding two fingers inside her at the same moment he took her mouth with his.

She nearly came off the mattress, spreading her legs wider as she clung to his shoulders to keep herself grounded. Not that Sam wasn’t anchor enough. He stroked his fingers in and out while making circles against her clit with his thumb. The storm built to a crescendo in her body faster than anything Callie had ever experienced.

“Come for me, Callie,” he said against her ear.

His finger curled against something inside her, and she screamed his name as her nails dug into his forearms. Panting and out of breath, she rode the waves that came one after another with every flick of that magical finger. She thought she might drown in the pleasure, until he eased out of her, leaving her bereft and wanting more.

But then he was there, his tip pressing against her core.

“Get a condom,” he said, his teeth clenched, as he pressed close again but didn’t enter.

By some miracle, Callie was close enough to the nightstand to reach the box without having to shift her position. She removed a packet and opened it with her teeth before sliding it over his rock-hard erection. Letting the box fall to the floor, she guided him home, lifting off the bed to show him what she wanted.

With a moan that seemed to emanate from deep in his chest, Sam drove into her, sinking to the hilt and stretching her to accommodate him. Callie moaned in turn, hitching on a breath when he started to move. The fire built again, spinning through her and setting her alight from the inside out.

They found a rhythm, each thrust going deeper than the one before. Callie slid her nails along Sam’s rib cage, then around to the powerful muscles bunching and flexing beneath his hot, slick skin. Dipping lower, she clenched his firm ass, pulling him tighter as if there were some way they could get closer.

With his forehead against hers, Sam gave one final thrust before his body went rigid and a growl escaped his lips. Callie lifted, holding on tight as they shattered together.

Nothing could have prepared Callie for this experience. She would be sore for a week, but if spending the rest of the night enjoying Sam’s body would put her in traction, she’d accept the prognosis with a smile on her face.

Though at the moment she was moaning for a completely different reason.

“This is the best fish and chips I’ve had since the last time I was in England.” Callie caught an errant flake of breading trying to escape from her fork. “I think they put the food equivalent of crack in the batter, whatever that might be.” She tried to steal a bite from Sam’s plate, but he was too fast.

“I don’t think so,” he said, pulling the plate out of her reach. “You already ate half of my fries.”

“You made me work up an appetite,” she said, enjoying the flash of heat the words ignited in his eyes. “Don’t you want me to keep my energy up? It would be a shame if I fell asleep when we have the whole night ahead of us.”

Leaning close, with a sexy grin curling one side of his mouth higher than the other, Sam said, “I’m perfectly capable of keeping you awake all night long without having to sacrifice my dinner.”

The cocktail of charm, confidence, and practicality gave Callie more of a buzz than the wine Sam had poured. They’d opted to eat at the table, with Callie on the end and Sam to her left. Since she’d commandeered his shirt as dinner attire, Sam was left with nothing but his khakis. The sight of his bare, broad chest was giving her all sorts of ideas for dessert.

“I had a talk with Randy Navarro while I was at Dempsey’s, picking up the food,” Sam said, keeping his eyes on his plate. Maybe she wasn’t as fetching in the button-up as she’d hoped.

“About what?” she asked, popping a fry into her mouth.

“How the islanders feel about me.”

Callie tried not to bristle at the idea Sam had sought confirmation elsewhere about something she’d already told him. “And what did he say?”

Sam dropped his fork and sat back with his glass of wine. “That you’re right. They don’t like me. Except your reason is off.”

Of course. She had to be wrong about something. “Then why don’t they like you?”

After taking a sip, Sam set the glass back on the table. “Because I don’t
mix
with them, Randy says. They believe I think I’m better than they are.”

How, exactly, that made her wrong, Callie wasn’t sure. “Which is why I suggested you
mix
with them during the festival this weekend. At what point does this prove me wrong?”

“You said it was because I brought in outside workers.”

Callie took a deep breath, waiting to see if he was joking. Sam’s face remained serious. Her appetite waned. For several things.

“And you don’t think that has anything to do with their dislike?”

The smugness receded, but only marginally. “I guess there’s no way to know for sure.” She raised her brows, shooting a challenging look across the short distance between them. “I admit,” he said, “the choice could be a contributing factor.” She stared harder until he added, “Fine. It didn’t help.”

“So now you’re willing to team up with Cecil, as I suggested?”

“Yes.”

“But only because Randy said it was a good idea.” She made sure her words came out as a statement, not a question. Did he have any idea how insulting it was that he required someone else’s input over hers?

“I did tell him that you thought my taking part in the festival was a good idea.”

“It isn’t a good idea. It’s the perfect idea.”

“Regardless,” he said, “it’s our only idea at the moment, and we don’t have time to wait for alternative inspiration.”

“You’re right,” she said, wadding up the napkin in her lap and dropping it onto her plate. “I’m feeling less inspired by the second.”

Ever an astute man, Sam leaned his elbows on the table. “I’ve pissed you off.”