Deception (Southern Comfort) (29 page)

He was out of there.  He had eight years of longing to make up for tonight.

SAM
scrubbed the brownie remnants from the corners of the baking dish, doing her best to keep her mind off her conversation with Josh.  She’d deposited half the batch with Karen’s parents when they’d come to pick up Snickers, and while looking over some of the never-ending insurance paperwork, managed to polish off most of the rest herself. 

Just what her hips needed.

But with all her old vices off limits, she’d seen no alternative but to anesthetize herself with chocolate.

It wasn’t every day a woman opened the closet door and told the man she loved to come out.

And poor Josh had been so shocked. 

But when she’d come in and seen him with his arm around Chris, and Chris hotfooting it out of there on her account, she’d figured it was time to address the issue.  If she was going to be living here for any length of time, it couldn’t be ignored.

But lord.  That had been both awkward and undeniably painful.

She dried the dish, bent to stow it away just as the beeping alarm signaled that Josh was home.  Glancing at the clock, she noted with surprise that it was still early.

The dull thud of dress shoes sounded against the floor, and Sam turned from the sink to greet him. 

He wa
s beautiful, she thought, as she always did.  It was like her mind simply couldn’t get used to all that sheer physical perfection and had to recalibrate each and every time. 

“Hey.” She smiled warmly to cover a sudden rush of nerves.  “I wasn’t expecting you home so early.”

“You ran.”

Thinking that he was still upset about her car’s breakdown, she crossed her arms as he strode toward her.  “No, I walked, actually.”  He inched closer, and she backed up, rear end hitting the counter.  He dropped his coat, literally tossing it on the floor, and she worried about his coherence.  “Are you okay?  Because that jacket’s not a rental.”  She motioned to the crumpled garment, which lay like a fallen soldier on the field.

He kicked it to the side.  “Eight years ago.” The tie hit the floor next, and Sam eyed its fluttering descent.  “You ran away from Savannah.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up as the first cufflink fell, skittering under the cabinets with a metallic clang.  “You ran away from me.”  Off flew cufflink number two, another kamikaze victim of the conflict.  Josh was either mad or maybe… hot.  Sometimes tuxedos could be uncomfortable. Although it wasn’t that warm in the room. 

Then her brain registered what he’d just said.

“I…”  Sam watched the other little monogrammed circle roll off to join its comrade.  What the hell had they been serving at that reception?  “I ran from you?” 

A sock went flying over her shoulder.

Well, she guessed she had.  But what did that have to do with anything?  Unless he was feeling guilty because he realized she’d been in love with him at the time.  Was still in love with him now.  Maybe he was upset about their current situation.  Maybe he thought that she should leave.  Although how that translated into him taking off his clothes she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Oh, God, Josh.”  This wasn’t the conversation she’d meant to have with him.  She’d simply wanted to let him know that she was okay with his lifestyle, but it looked like she’d opened a different can of worms.  “Look,” she lifted a hand to her temple, “what happened back then is totally irrelevant.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, his beautifully tapered fingers working the buttons on his shirt.  “What happened in the past is completely relevant.  It laid the foundation for what’s going to happen tonight.”  An increasing swath of skin was revealed by his busily marching fingers. Sam tried not to get distracted by The Chest.

“What?”  She peeled her eyes away, confused.

And the fact that he was now half naked wasn’t helping matters. 

“Um, Josh, I’m not sure if you, uh, maybe, swam in the champagne fountain or something, but maybe we might want to have this conversation tomorrow.  After you’ve sobered up.”

A feral look came into those sparkling baby blues and Sam grasped the sink behind her.  Because his hands were now attacking his pants.  She was happy he was comfortable enough to disrobe in front of her, but it sort of drained the blood from her head. 

Was this some kind of test? 

Could she resist jumping her hot, naked homosexual friend amidst the rubble of formalwear blitzkrieg currently littering his kitchen?

Truthfully?  Probably not.  Although she’d pull a Geronimo and give it a good effort.

But then Josh blasted through whatever fortifications she’d erected by dropping a lethal, unexpected bomb.

“I’m not drunk,” he said, releasing his zipper. Pushing his pants down his muscled thighs.  “And I’m not gay.”

No.  He certainly wasn’t.  The state of his silk boxers gave credence to that. 

Sam’s eyes boggled as she confronted the hard evidence, while her rioting hormones shouted
thank you, God
. 

But all these years… how was it possible that she’d been wrong?

She raised her gaze to his in amazement.

He met it with a triumphant smile.

And then he was on her, the very naked skin of his chest pressed solidly against her T-shirt. She could feel his heat through the threadbare cotton and her nipples puckered in response. Then his lips took hers in a hungry caress that was more ruthless than she would have expected.

Not that she’d been expecting any caressing at all. 

His hands slid down her hips, taking their measure as they passed, to grip her rump in a possessive squeeze that left no doubt as to his intentions.  Lights exploded inside her head, tiny white starbursts of disbelief.  And when he lifted her a few inches to press his erection firmly against her, liquid heat pooled between her legs. 

Her body was at once alive with sensation and yet paralyzed by shock.

JOSH’S
entire body trembled with passion barely suppressed, but he couldn’t help noticing that Sam wasn’t responding.  She wasn’t protesting either. She wasn’t doing anything at all – just sort of… dangling there like a limp fish on a string.

Shit.  Maybe he’d misjudged the situation.  Maybe he’d pushed too hard, or scared her with his aggression or… hell, maybe she wasn’t interested in him at all.  He’d been so hell-bent on showing her, proving to her that he wanted her that he hadn’t really considered that she might not want him.

“Sam,” he murmured against her lips, painfully aware of the fact that he was all but buck naked and undeniably erect, absolutely on fire for this woman, that he’d just performed his first ever striptease and now the proverbial crickets could be heard chirping.  “Did I just make an ass of myself?”  He wasn’t sure his ego could take this.

She dangled there for a second – the longest of his life – and he contemplated all the ways he could kill himself.  But then her hands slid one, then slowly joined by the other until they were tentatively cupping his rear.

“Oh, God,” he breathed because he couldn’t help himself.

“It’s a great ass,” she said shakily, angling her head so the words caressed his ear.  “I just… wasn’t expecting to see it.  Ever.”  She gently bit his lobe, shooting a line of napalm straight into his brain.  “But definitely not tonight.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him and the years between them just melted away.  All the questions and misconceptions and heartaches they’d accidentally caused each other faded into utter insignificance. 

It was like… coming home and at the same time setting out on a new adventure.  The perfect mix of past and present. 

He’d been enamored of the girl she was then but he was blown away by the woman before him.

SEEING
the truth of his feelings in his eyes, Sam’s entire body went liquid.  She flowed into him, her lips effortlessly meeting his, a soft kiss brimming with promise.  Her hormones quieted, her heart calmed, her blood slowed and thickened in her veins.  There was no more sense of battle.  For one perfect, shining moment what was between them was simply… right. 

But the kiss quickly came to a boil, their eager bodies reaching flashpoint. Hormones and need and lust and love all combined in a sort of frenzy.

Sam went after him with her tongue.

A
low growl erupting from his throat, Josh maneuvered Sam onto the granite counter.  Plenty more where that came from, he thought. And a whole night in which to do it.  A whole lifetime in which to do it, if things continued to go his way.  He shifted the angle of the kiss, pressed more firmly between her thighs.   It was all he could do not to mount her right there on the counter. 

“You’re wearing my shirt again,” he murmured when they were forced to come up for air.  He brushed a hand around the lower curve of her breast, and Sam gasped and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she exhaled.  “I think I took it with me because a part of me couldn’t bear to let you go.”

His
hand stilled, and Sam opened her eyes.

“I like that,” he told her thickly.  “But it’s time to take it off.”

With a gratifying lack of protest Sam lifted her arms over her head.  Josh slid the shirt up and off, tossing it toward the heap of his own clothing.  “You’re beautiful,” he told her, eyes never leaving her face.  One finger traced the curve of her cheek.  When she started to protest he pressed that finger to her lips.  “To me, you’ve always been beautiful.” 

And then he lowered his head to put his lips against her flesh.

HE
slid his tongue along the lace edging her bra and Sam watched him with disbelieving wonder.  Not gay, her hormones cheered again.  Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.  Then he took her peaked nipple between his teeth through the sheer fabric covering and she cried out at the rush of pleasure.  Josh’s teeth.  Those were Josh’s teeth nibbling her breast.

She slid her fingers into the silk of his hair, gathering him to her. The sensation was so sharp it was almost painful, and he murmured something soothing against her skin.  That clever mouth found its way into the curve of her neck, and her hands drifted to his well-defined shoulders.  She explored the taut muscles while he nuzzled her ear, stopping suddenly when she encountered his scar.  It was roundish and puckered, both front and back, where the bullet that could have killed him had torn through him. Sobering instantly, Sam drew back.

“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears.  “I… I feel like I should have been here.”

He smiled softly, hands cupping her cheeks, and brushed at the wetness with his thumbs.  “You’re here now,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose with infinite tenderness, “and I just thank God that I’m still here to be with you.”

The tenderness with the passion was so foreign to her that Sam had to close her eyes.  “Me, too,” she whispered, simply holding him.

But their physical desire couldn’t be ignored for more than a moment.

“I want you,” he told her, pulling back.  “I want to be inside you so badly it hurts.  But not here,” he inclined his head toward the countertop.  “At least not this time.”

Wordlessly, Sam hopped off the counter, stood submissively while he bent to relieve her of her pants.  He could dress her, undress her, have her wherever and whenever he wanted.

Because he was the only man she’d ever loved.

“Come with me.” He extended his hand and she accepted, padding nearly naked across the floor.  The ebony hardwood was littered with the remnants of his tuxedo, and Sam maneuvered around it. 

He’d stepped on it, she realized in disbelief.  He’d trodden on the jacket without giving it a thought. 

He wasn’t telling her not to chew on his shoes.

“What?” he asked, pausing at the bottom of the stairs when she laughed.

“Delirium,” she told him with another laugh.  “A byproduct of the shock.”

Squeezing her fingers, Josh led her to his bedroom, a space she’d tried not to look at too closely before.  But now she drank it in.  She was greedy to absorb every detail of this unbelievable night.  And if she was dreaming, at least she’d have a vivid picture painted in her head, one she could pull out often and cherish.

There were skylights over the bed.  The harvest moon cast the creamy sheets and black iron headboard into a mass of shadows and tempting pools of luminescence.   

The walls were beige painted brick punctuated with several framed paintings and one pencil sketch, larger than the rest.  It hadn’t been there, she was sure, the last time she’d been up here. 

She moved toward it. 

Then turned to look at Josh with her heart in her throat. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.  He looked at his own work with pride and love.  “I told you so.”

It was her, a sketch from the class for which she’d modeled.  But instead of an exploration of various parts of her anatomy, he’d chosen to render her face.  She was looking over her shoulder – there was a curve of waist and a hint of breast.  A butterfly fluttered on her hip.  But they were background.  It was her expression that demanded attention.  Her hair, longer then, was piled on top of her head, loosely depicted but not defined.  Her eyes were shuttered, almost coy, but there was a hint of vulnerability captured in their depths.  So much detail.  So much truth.