Pas de Deux: Part Two (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 2) (6 page)

SAMMI:
No, you won't. And don't eat dinner. Talk to you soon!

Cillian looked up from his desk when he heard knuckles rapping on the door and smiled at Sammi, standing in the doorway.

He rose from his chair to step around his desk and reached for her just as she set a large brown paper bag down. He perched on the edge of his desk and took her hand, pulling her to stand in between his legs, then wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his face into the side of her neck, reaching up to stroke her back lightly.

“Did you miss me or are you just starving?” she teased.

He smirked, pretending to consider the question. “Missed you, of course.”

She laughed a little breathlessly as he kissed her neck and released her. “Keep it up. That's how you treat a girl.”

“Anything for a beautiful woman who feeds me.” He glanced at the delicious-smelling sack as his stomach rumbled hungrily; he hadn't had time to eat since lunch, and he'd run a few miles, then sparred with Baz for an hour. “What'd you get?”

“A giant chicken and avocado wrap on a multigrain tortilla, with lettuce and sprouts and some sort of low-calorie dressing.”

“Now, that's how you treat a man.” He winked at her.

She grinned. “I suppose it's the least I can do, after the supreme treatment I got last night.”

His mind immediately flew to her couch.
Why do I get the feeling she's not just talking about the ballet?

She met his eyes boldly, her cheeks flushed pink. A surge of heat flashed through him, his hunger pangs momentarily forgotten.
Definitely not talking about the ballet.

Sammi dropped her gaze, biting her lip, and reached for the sack. As she leaned past him, he caught her chin with his fingers and brought her face toward his to kiss her. Her lips were soft and tasted faintly of cinnamon.

“I have a confession to make,” she whispered as he pulled away slightly, her eyes were still closed.

He traced his thumb over her bottom lip. “What's that?”

She flushed even deeper. “I've been thinking about that all day.”

“That right?”

He leaned in, cupping her jaw in his hand gently and kissing her deeply again. She grabbed at the front of his hoodie and enthusiastically returned the kiss, and instantly Cillian forgot about his meal, his office, the fact that they were at the gym. The only thing that mattered right now was that she was in his arms and he was finally tasting the mouth he'd been thinking about all day, too.

Suddenly, his office door flew open. Sammi tore her lips from his, starting in alarm. Cillian remained where he was, only lifting his eyes to glare at Baz.

“Oh, jeez, sorry.” Basanta grinned at them.

“Next time you come in here without knockin' first, you get demoted to human punching bag,” Cillian said. “What do you want?”

Basanta still had a little shit-eating grin on his face when he handed Cillian a flat cardboard envelope. “Here. Came in the mail.” He fixed Sammi with a wider grin. “How you doin', Car-neh-val-ay?”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm great, Baz.”

“That's good to hear.” He looked between her and Cillian. “You two have a nice night.” He saluted and backed out of the office, thoughtfully shutting the door as he went.

Cillian shook his head and glanced over at Sammi, who smiled sheepishly.

“Forgot where we were for a minute,” she said.

He smirked. “Me, too.” He tore off the envelope's perforated strip, tossing it onto his desk. Inside he found a few sheets of paper and pulled them out.

Sammi folded her arms and shifted her weight as she watched him flip through documents, scanning each page. He could practically feel impatience radiating off her and lifted his eyes to her.

“Doin' all right over there?”

“What's all that?”

“None of your business,” he teased.

She narrowed her eyes playfully then shrugged. “You're probably right. I'm nosy.”

“Just teasin', beautiful.” Cillian held up the sheets. “This is my fight contract and my schedule for the weekend.”

“So, you're all set, then.”

“Sorta. Just wondering if I'll have some company or not.” He lifted a brow at her and smiled.

Sammi rolled her eyes. “About that. Um. Well, I do want to go with you. But my father insists on speaking to you first.” She waved her hand as if to ward off his unspoken protests. “I know, I know. I'm twenty-six. But you don't understand. My dad's Sicilian. He's extremely overprotective. I don't think that'll ever change, no matter how old I am. He—”

Cillian lifted a hand. “Sammi, it's cool. I absolutely intend to speak to your father.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I know your family is protective of you and just wants to make sure you'll be okay. If I had a daughter, I'd insist on the same thing.” He shrugged, then chuckled. “Hell, I probably wouldn't let her go at all.”

The corner of her mouth curved up. “I don't think he's that bad.”

“Other than that, what're your thoughts about it?”

“I'm a little nervous.” She perched on the desk next to him. “I haven't been anywhere near the state of New York since I left—obviously, bad memories there. And, what you said this morning is sort of true. Big crowds, amped up people tend to make me uncomfortable.”

Cillian rose from the desk and turned toward her, taking her hands in his. “If you don't believe anything else I say, believe me when I tell you that you're safe with me.”

“I am?” She smiled, her eyes soft, hopeful.

He used his index finger to gently tilt her chin up. “I will
not
allow anything bad to happen to you as long as I'm around. Okay?”

“Roger that,” she said quietly, and he smiled, leaning in to kiss her dimple.

“Now, will you let me eat in peace?” he joked, reaching for the bag. She closed her hand around the top of it before he could grab it.

“Not so fast. You take me to my mug, and you get to eat.”

“Your mug's at my place. I told you this.”

“Then I guess you'd better take me home.” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes.

He sucked in a breath, feeling another flash of heat.
Whoa. What sandwich?

She glanced around at his neat-as-a-pin desk. “I think your work here is done, anyway. Don't you?”

“It's never done. But I don't have any evening appointments, and my training is done for today.” He shook his head, smirking. “You're bad for my work ethic, beautiful.”

Sammi shrugged and let go of the sack. “Okay. I'll get outta your hair, then.”

She started to stride past him for the door, but he laughed and grabbed her arm as she passed. He pulled her against his body and brought his face to hers.

“No, you won't. Not until I say so.”

“It's cute when you think you're in charge.” Sammi grinned and tilted her head, her lips an invitation. Just as he leaned in, she turned her face away. “Mug first.”

“To hell with that mug,” he muttered, leaning toward her again. She shook her head and he sighed, releasing her. “All right. Fine. Let's go.”

Sammi grinned and snatched the sack from his desk. She followed him out of the office as he locked up. Cillian casually slid an arm around her waist, pulling her in close.

“You out, boss?” Baz asked when they passed.

“Yeah. And, hey—thanks for opening up early for me today. I owe you.”

“No problem. I'll just take a big, fat bonus at the end of the month.”

“Late this morning, were we?” Sammi exclaimed as they stepped outside. “And you call yourself a manager.”

Cillian smirked, reaching out to open the truck door for her. “Wasn't my fault. This crazy girl wouldn't let me outta her apartment last night. Made me late for work. I had to drop her off at her job and everything.”

“She sounds much too good for you.” Sammi grinned as she fastened her seatbelt.

“She is.” He leaned in for a quick kiss before jogging around to get behind the wheel.

A short time later, Cillian pulled up in front of his building, and as they hurried to the door, light rain began falling. He led her up the stairs to his place. Sammi glanced around after he flicked on a light.

“It's so clean in here.”

“Always been a little bit of a neat-freak. Army habit.”

She strolled through the living room, stopping in front of the shelf with the pictures and the votive.

“Candle's burning.”

He crossed the room to stand next to her. “Yeah. I leave it lit.” He pointed at the picture. “Meyer. Me, obviously. Matthews. And that's—”

“Lee.”

Cillian nodded, his jaw tensing. “Yeah.” He stared at the picture, the old pressure returning to his chest as the noises and heat of Afghanistan crowded in on the edges of his sanity.
Do not freak out in front of this girl.
“This was taken—um, that day that I told you about. Right before things—got bad. It's the last one I have of him, of all of us together, where he looks happy.”

Sammi stared at the picture. “He's smiling, but, I dunno. His eyes look sad.”

“Maybe. The signs were there for so long—none of us knew—”

Sammi turned to him, reaching up to touch his face. “Cillian. Don't.”

He nodded, tried to smile as he cleared his throat. “Um. Sit down. Take a load off. You want somethin' to drink?”

“Water, please.”

She took a seat on the sofa, stretching her legs in front of her. Cillian went to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and a bottle of Gatorade, noticing her mug sitting next to the sink where he'd left it that morning. He washed and dried it then filled it with ice and poured in the water. Pleased with himself, he brought it over to her and she chuckled.

“Two birds and all that.” Cillian sat down next to her and guzzled a swallow of Gatorade.

“I really don't care about the mug. It was all a ploy to see where you live.”

“Good thing I hid all the bodies, then. That woulda been awkward.” He grinned. “So, now you got your mug back. I think you have somethin' for me?”

Sammi grabbed the sack, pulling out his foil-covered wrap and turning to hand it to him. Instead of taking it, he slipped a hand around the back of her neck, his thumb stroking her jaw, and pulled her closer. His lips stroked hers softly, smiling at the little sound of contentment she made.

“That's actually what I meant,” he murmured, brushing his lips against hers. Then he snatched the wrap from her hand. “But this works, too.”

She scoffed and pushed his shoulder. “Charming.”

“Aren't you eatin'? I don't really wanna share, but I will.”

“No, I ate earlier. All yours.”

Cillian nodded and handed her the TV remote before immersing himself in his meal. Sammi flipped through the channels rapidly, searching for something to watch. She finally settled on a cable presentation of “The Godfather” and snuggled into his side once he finished eating.

“Thanks for the food.” He wrapped his arm around her. “I was starving.”

“You're welcome.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.

After a moment of watching the movie, Cillian pointed at the screen. “Your dad kinda looks like Sonny.”

Sammi squinted at the screen and laughed. “He does. Don't tell him that, though. He'll go around shouting 'Bada-bing!' at everything and everyone.”

“And your Uncle Gino reminds me of Don Corleone,” Cillian added. “The way he sits there all quiet. Just takin' everything in. Plottin' on how to whack you.”

“Whack
you
, maybe.” Sammi poked his side. “Me, I'm his favorite. Don't tell Niq or Toni that.”

“Oh, I'm tellin'. Next time I see 'em.”

“No, you won't.” Sammi slipped an arm across his waist and snuggled into his chest as he squeezed her gently. He felt so at peace, so contented that he let out a sigh.

“Everything okay?”

“Never better.”

Cillian kissed the top of her head and started running his fingers up and down her back. Her body relaxed, and soon she dozed off.

This feels—right. Good.

He indulged himself in a fantasy of every Friday night being spent this way—curled up together on the couch, in front of the TV. Thinking of them together on his couch made him think of last night on hers.

His hand slipped under her sweater, his fingertips lightly tracing her bare skin. She roused herself and shivered when his fingers traced lightly up her side, across her shoulder blades, and down her spine. He'd never get tired of touching her smooth skin.

“You're sleepin' through your movie,” he said quietly. “If you're tired, we can go lay down.”

“Okay.”

Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but that one word contained a world of promise. Heat flushed over his skin as he imagined her in his bed, his sheets and pillows smelling just like her, just like them—together.

She ducked into the bathroom and shut the door, the sound of running water following a moment later. He stood next to the bed, stretching, then pulled the covers back, staring down at it and imagining she was already there.

His lower body jumped to attention.
Shit. Down, boy.

Cillian yanked off his shirt as the bathroom door opened, and turned around. Sammi stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. The look on her face sent another tingle of heat racing through his veins.