NEXT TO ME (A Love Happens Novel Book 1) (16 page)

“I’m a total professional, Mendoza. You’re looking at a real people person, here.” Grady pointed to himself and glanced at Ali, “Right, honey?”

She smiled and nodded, watching as the two men shared a few more friendly jabs.

“Wait,” Sam’s voice wasn’t loud, but it commanded attention. “I pawned it off on you?” Why did he feel like he was the only one missing the joke, here? It was his goddamn company and apparently he had no idea what the hell was going on in it.

“Yeah,” Mike said cautiously, accurately reading Sam’s mood. “You gave me her phone messages and told me to take care of it.” He looked toward Ali, then back to him. “She asked for you specifically and you talked to her, but sent her back to me, so...” he shrugged, unsure why Sam was irritated. “I took care of it.”

Sam looked at her accusingly and she slowly nodded, her voice quiet. “Donna was my realtor. She told me to talk to you.”

He slowly lifted his chin in acknowledgment, even though it was now official. He truly had no fucking idea what was going on. It was another piece of information that didn’t add up and his eyes narrowed on her. She knew his sister. And pretty well, too, considering Donna had managed to sell her a house that cost more than some people made in a lifetime. And Ali hadn’t said a damn word to him about it, not even when he asked her to meet Donna. Instead she’d blown off the idea entirely, as if the next logical step in their relationship was too much, too soon. When Ali had known her all along.

Clearly uncomfortable, she opened her mouth to say more, but closed it and glanced at their audience, all of whom were staring at the two of them with rapt attention. Her eyes were pleading and Sam knew what she was asking. Now wasn’t the time.

Sensing the tension in the air, Beckett broke the awkward silence by filling Grady in on the outcome of the fights, once again pleading his case on why the triangle choke hold would’ve been a better submission tactic in the final match, changing the outcome completely for the up and coming Irish newbie. Ali listened but didn’t speak, staring at the men as she downed her beer quicker than he’d ever seen her drink one, not once looking at him even though his eyes bored into her. Sam wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation. Thinking back, he vaguely remembered the voice mails left by a woman asking for her security system to be updated, which was unusual because Caroline was a master at screening his calls. Not too many people got through without her permission, especially if it was a request for basic services which were always handled by his staff rather than him directly. But Caroline had been on leave during that time and Sissy—or Kitty or Mindy or whatever the fuck her name was—had been ineptly trying to handle the phones. Shit, had Ali told him her name during that brief conversation? Had he even asked her for it? Probably not, but he did remember being irritated that Mendoza hadn’t followed up right away, leading to a second voice mail. Why, though, would Ali see him day after day and not mention it?

It didn’t make any sense, unless she was hiding something and it was becoming glaringly obvious that she was.

The sun was fully set now, and the sensored lanterns placed around the patio flickered in the shadowed darkness, shining a flattering light on her tanned legs and hiding the tired smudges under her eyes. She shivered, refusing to make eye contact with him, a telltale sign of guilt. He stood and walked inside without a word, coming back out a minute later and handing her an old, worn out gray sweatshirt that was about as big as she was. Whispering her thanks, she pulled it on, covering her bare arms and hardened nipples, which had been visible through the white cotton of her thin shirt. Sam hoped to God he was the only one who’d noticed.

Popping the top off another beer, he eased back down in his chair, wondering how rude it would be if he told them all to get the fuck out of his house. Because beyond all the jealousy and anger riding him, he felt an ache for her in the vicinity of his chest. She looked so damn fragile and he had the craziest urge to wrap her in his arms and never let her go, unanswered questions be damned.

But Sam wasn’t a man who operated that way. There would be answers tonight. Even if it meant he had to get out a shovel and a drill.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ali managed to leave Sam’s house before the shit hit the fan. Like the coward she was, she’d skedaddled her butt out of there after drinking only one beer, Grady’s jeers for her to stay and get drunk with them following her back to her own porch. Quietly declining, Ali had sought the privacy of her own house, although she fully intended to get drunk. Anything to wipe away the look of confusion, of accusation, on Sam’s handsome face. She had a reprieve, but it was a temporary stay. His body language had gone from open interest when he’d first spotted her, to irritation bordering on hostility after Grady had made his appearance. Ali had been shocked clear down to her cherry red painted toenails to see him walk out of Sam’s house and if she could have slunk away then, without being seen, she would have. But instead, Grady’s presence, and larger than life personality, had ruined what Ali was hoping to be a sexy and scorching reunion between her and Sam.

Sam.
Laying eyes on him for the first time in days was like a balm to Ali’s bruised and battered soul. God, she had missed him. Actually ached with it. It was downright scary how strong her attachment to him had become in the few, short weeks she’d known him. An invisible tether tied them together and she wanted nothing more than to walk into his strong arms and let him shelter her, love her. And she wanted to do the same for him. The fact that he had house guests threw a real wrench in her plans, though, because Ali was prepared to lay it all on the line for him. The truth and nothing but.

Ravishing his hard body, confessing her many sins, and then begging for forgiveness had been at the top of her
To Do
list. And in that exact order. Declaring her love and devotion rounded off the list, but after what had just gone down next door, she was pretty sure that mending a broken heart was now firmly in the number one position.

Opening a bottle of white wine, Ali filled her fluted glass nearly to the rim and took a large sip, letting the chilled liquid calm her frayed nerves. She’d quickly showered, wanting to wash away both the sand from the beach and the stain of her lies, and was now sitting on her sofa in complete darkness, counting the minutes as she waited for him. Wearing the same worn out sweatshirt he’d handed her when the trade winds had chilled her bare arms, Ali dipped her chin into the fabric and inhaled his musky scent still clinging to it. She knew he would come, demanding answers and rightfully so. The silent accusation in his gray eyes had promised as much. Blinking away the image, she lit the fat, vanilla scented candles sitting on the reclaimed wood coffee table, their dancing flames the only light in the room. Her mom’s words of wisdom replayed in her mind as she relaxed back against the plump sofa cushions, propping her bare feet against the low table and absently rubbing her finger along the zippered front of his sweatshirt.

Even though she’d stayed in Oklahoma only a few days, the long years of Ali’s absence had vanished, and it was as if the two of them had never lost contact. Mama never said another word about Danny, only nodding when Ali vaguely explained why her marriage had ended, leaving out the more sullied details. She knew there were things Ali wasn’t telling her, but was intuitive enough not to ask. They spent the long, sweltering days in the garden, weeding and tilling the dirt by hand, planting seed packets until Ali’s nose was sunburned and her manicure was ruined. They spent the mosquito infested evenings drinking iced tea laced with rum and talking late into the night. About her childhood, about her daddy, and about life. How it had a way of kicking you when you were down and offering you a hand up when you didn’t really need it. Mama didn’t lecture her on the choices of her past, nor did she give advice on how Ali should live in the future. She did, however, have some wise words the morning Ali left.

“It’s time for me to go, Mama, but I’ll call you. And I’ll visit again soon, I promise,” Ali said, wanting Sam with her next time. Mama didn’t know about him, of course. She wasn’t ready to share that special part of her new life yet. Not until they had a future.

Mama nodded firmly. “And I need to get my squash out of the ground. Nobody wants to eat a zucchini the size of a baseball bat.”

They laughed but it was bittersweet, neither one sure how to say goodbye.

Motioning toward the sky, dark with ominous storm clouds, Mama finally said, “You best be on your way now, Ali Ann. The rain’s coming before too long and my old bones tell me it’s gonna be a heavy, cleansin’ one, too. Strange how the good Lord just seems to know. He withholds nourishment until we almost break, then gives it when we need it worse than anybody else. When we’re most thankful to receive it.”

Slipping on her gardening gloves, a new pair the color of a robin’s egg, she lifted Ali’s chin with a gentle finger. “Wonderful thing about rain. It washes away the dirt and debris that’s been collectin’ over time. Cleans the ground and feeds the earth, givin’ it a fightin’ chance. The choking oppression that was there before is no more. It’s gone. Things begin to grow again.”

With her heart in her throat and those words fresh in her mind, Ali had made the drive back home to southern California in record time.

Home
.
If someone had asked her a month ago where her home was, Ali would’ve been hard pressed to name a place. It sure hadn’t ever been with Danny in Connecticut, even though they had a massive house filled with beautiful and expensive things. In those days, whenever anyone mentioned home to her, her mind had always wandered to the old, white farm house in Oklahoma. Ali didn’t dare say it out loud, though. The one time she had absently mentioned to Danny that she wanted to go home—meaning visit her parents—he made sure she regretted it. Ranting at her for hours, he’d yanked every piece of her clothing from velvet hangers and lavender scented drawers, tossing it all outside in the snow, along with anything else of hers he could get his hands on. If she thought this wasn’t her home, he’d roared, then she could pack the belongings he’d paid for, remove herself from his house and take her white trash ass back to Okieville. Ali had wanted nothing more, but he’d hidden her car keys along with her handbag that night, something he’d taken to doing during his more lengthy tirades. Not that there was any money or credits cards stashed in there. No, Danny kept close tabs on his money and according to him, that meant she didn’t get any unless he handed her the cash himself, carefully counted out to the last dollar. Ali had kept her composure that night and he’d eventually wound down, locking himself in his study while she spent hours trekking back and forth between the house and the front yard, carrying armfuls of clothes, shoes and make-up in balmy, twenty degree weather. The next morning it was as if nothing had happened because in Danny’s world, a new day meant the slate was wiped clean.

The word
home
had never left Ali’s lips again, but she now knew that this place, her cozy beach house in La Jolla that sat right next to Sam Gleeson’s, was truly home. And while it rarely rained in southern California, it was time for Ali to wash things clean and give her and Sam a fighting chance.

The sharp tap on the glass startled her. Not waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a decisive slam.

“Am I interrupting something?” Sam growled, his eyes narrowing as he scanned her living room. He was not a happy man. “Grady’s not in here, is he? Or anyone else?”

“Yes, I’m entertaining a man.” Ali said, rolling her eyes dramatically and reaching for the nearly empty bottle of wine. Did he really think she had another man in here? Or Grady, for crying out loud? Holding up the wine bottle, she sarcastically added, “Sam Gleeson, meet Kendall Jackson.”

“You share a common trait.” He smirked and crossed his arms, not a hint of friendliness in his body language. “He’s not much of a talker, either.”

Swallowing the last bit of chardonnay in her glass, she poured what little was left in the bottle, tapping it against the rim to get every delicious, courage giving drop. “Nope. But he doesn’t cheat on me.”

He tilted his head in question and Ali cursed her fourth glass of wine. Thankfully, he left the telling comment alone. “You have my sweatshirt.”

Yeah? Well, you have my heart and probably my soul, so guess what? You win.

Holy shit, she didn’t say that out loud, did she? Christ, she had never been able to hold her liquor. And now his panty melting, five o’clock shadow wasn’t helping matters, either. He was so big and so sinfully handsome and... and
so
Sam.
Looking him over from the top of his dark, tousled hair to his sexy bare feet, Ali sighed in appreciation. His muscled chest was covered in a faded black t-shirt and his jeans were worn out and thin, especially in that yummy place where she wanted first her hands and then her mouth to be. She felt a shot of liquid heat roll through her and settle between her thighs, and it had nothing to do with the wine.

“Do you know the biggest obstacle with enhanced interrogation techniques, Ali?” he asked, his voice hard, laced with menace. “It’s that while applying pain can make a detainee talk, it cannot make him tell the truth. It increases the amount of information, but does not guarantee the accuracy. You and I aren’t gonna have that problem, though, are we? Because I’m willing to use whatever means necessary to make you crack, and just so you know, several of my tactics are unpleasant at best, counterproductive and illegal at worst, but effective none the less.”

Wow. She actually tingled. “You obviously have no idea how hot it is when you go all bad ass soldier boy. It makes me want to use my mouth in ways that don’t involve talking.” She stood, brushing past him, her hand lightly grazing the front of his jeans as she headed for the refrigerator, not the slightest bit intimidated by his speech.

But Ali gasped when he suddenly reached out, banding an arm hard around her waist and pulling her tightly against his body, propelling them both the few steps toward the kitchen counter. The granite was cold against her palms as she braced herself, his big body enveloping her from behind. If the impressive erection pushing against her backside was any indication, he was fully aware of her mouth and what it could do for him. Roughly brushing her hair aside, he clamped down on the sensitive skin of her neck and she whimpered, the love bite hard, possessive. He licked the spot quickly, soothing the sting as he moved closer to her ear, placing biting little nips along the way. She shivered, knowing he left behind teeth marks.