3. Sam
CHAPTER THREE
sam
“What the hell was that kiss?” Sam snaps before she thinks better of it. She’s been playing the good girl all day and she’s over it.
Cooper, for his part, looks shocked as he stumbles backward. It doesn’t last long. One blink and he’s in control again as he leans casually against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. And dammit if that doesn’t pull his suit jacket taut in all the right places, highlighting the rock-hard muscles practically bulging out of the fabric…rock-hard muscles she had her hands all over earlier that day…rock-hard muscles that held her as if she weighed nothing at all…rock-hard muscles that—
So not the point.
Sam cocks a brow. “Well?”
He smirks as if to say, Challenge accepted , and raises his own brow. “What the hell was that yes ?”
Temporary insanity from hotness overload, not that she’ll admit it to him. She shrugs. “An accident.”
“So was the kiss.”
She scoffs. “So you accidentally pulled me into your lap and your lips accidentally landed on my mouth and you accidentally didn’t let me go for five minutes?”
“Yup,” he states, letting the p really pop. She narrows her eyes. He grins. “Just like you accidentally kissed me back.”
Okay, that was an accident. She doesn’t know how it happened. One moment she was reaching up to push him away, and the next her fingers were twisting in his jacket and she’d yanked him closer.
It was his fault.
Did he have to look so delicious? Even now, when she wants to wring his neck, she can’t help but admire how the black suit brings out the brilliant emerald of his eyes and how the curve of his cowboy hat highlights the cut edge of his jaw. She wants to rip it right off his head…for more reasons than one.
Gah!
“You knew the plan!” she retorts, launching this fiery ball of blame right back into his court. “You could have given me a minute to course correct before launching yourself at me like some sort of heathen.”
“Aren’t you the one who, quite literally, threw herself into my arms?”
Again with the technical details. She rolls her eyes. “I fainted.”
He barks out a laugh. “Sure, you did.”
“That’s neither here nor there. We’re talking about you, and—”
“And why are we talking about me?” His gaze cuts into her like a knife, making her freeze. “I’m pretty sure we should be talking about you. Samantha.”
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Logically, yes, she knew she’d have to confess the truth eventually. But not now. Not when she’s fighting tooth and nail for the upper hand in an argument she knows she has no right to win. To even wage. Obviously, this whole messed-up day is entirely her fault. If she had just said no like he and Emily planned, none of this would be happening. But she didn’t. And she’s determined to share the blame if it kills her. Because it’s his fault, too. His fault for being so goddamn attractive she lost her ever-loving mind right when she needed it most. Screw genetics. He knew exactly what he was doing with that smolder.
If being a woman in a man’s corporate world has taught her anything, it’s don’t admit defeat. Don’t show weakness. And always, always stay on the offensive.
So instead of doing the normal thing—the ( yes, okay ) right thing—and apologizing, she lifts her chin in an arrogant tilt. “How’d you know it was me?”
“You might look exactly like your sister, but there’s one thing you’ve got that Emily doesn’t.” He pauses to rake his gaze over every inch of her body. The slow perusal starts at her toes, then glides higher with deliberate intention, the path of his focus burning like a warm caress. By the time he finds her eyes, her lungs blaze from lack of oxygen, and it takes all her effort just to breathe. “Claws.”
She grins, trying her best to cut the tension currently causing her cheeks to flame. “I take that as a compliment.”
The wicked edge of his answering smile has her thighs clenching. “You should.”
Don’t think about sex.
Don’t think about sex.
No matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop from picturing her legs wrapped around him as her nails dig into his thick shoulders, like, well, claws. She can’t help it. When she sees something she wants, she takes it. Always has, always will —except now. Now, she has to tell her inner sex kitten to take a back seat because he’s her sister’s ex. He’s a freaking cowboy. He’s her— I can’t believe I’m even saying this right now!— fiancé. He’s too attractive for his own good. And most importantly, she will not let him win whatever this power struggle is between them.
No fucking way.
She’d rather spend the next five nights masturbating any thought of him away than let this cocky asswipe get the best of her.
Except…
The image of his hands gripping her thighs and her fingers scratching down his back invades again.
That goddamn smolder.
His smile deepens, as if he knows exactly what’s going on in the back of her mind, and then he shrugs. “Besides, you don’t kiss like your sister.”
“Eww,” Sam whines. The passionate embrace she’d been imagining is wiped away in an instant as nausea curls in her gut. “Eww. Eww. Eww. We’ve never kissed the same guy before. This is…incestuous. I feel dirty.”
As if taking glee in her disgust, he keeps talking. “Emily kisses like a gentle summer rain, soft and warm and comforting. You, on the other hand, kiss like a fucking tornado. You’re out to destroy.”
She doesn’t know what to make of that, but she definitely knows she doesn’t want to hear more. So Sam sticks her fingers in her ears and sings, “La la la la. I’m not listening. La la la.”
After a moment, he gently encircles her wrists and pulls. “Relax, Cujo.”
“Cujo?”
“You know, the dog who gets rabies and goes on a killing spree in that movie?”
“The St. Bernard?” She wrinkles her nose. “They drool.”
“ That’s what you’re taking offense to?”
“Oh, I’m fine being an attack dog, but a St. Bernard? Really?”
“You’d rather be a rabid…?”
“Spaniel?”
“Too friendly.” He shakes his head and grabs his chin between his fingers as he sizes her up. Then he snaps. “Got it. Doberman pinscher.”
Sam thinks for a moment before nodding. “I accept.”
“What am I?” He grins. “No, wait. I’ve got it. A golden retriever.”
“No.” She frowns and folds her arms across her chest, studying his open expression until it hits her. “Husky.”
He rears back. “A husky?”
“Yeah, they’re cute and they know it and they use that power to be mischievous motherfuckers.”
“So,” he practically purrs and tilts his head to the side. Beneath the rim of that cowboy hat, his expression can be described as pure sin. “You think I’m cute.”
“And a mischievous motherfucker.”
His lip quirks just enough to bring out a dimple in his left cheek. “Guilty.”
“Which brings us back to that kiss,” she says, jamming her finger into the center of his very broad chest. “And the fact that you knew exactly what you were doing.”
“If you say so, Cuj.”
Then he shrugs.
Shrugs!
The gall…
Why is this turning me on?
She hates arrogant men. Hates them. Every one except this one, apparently, because he seems as though he just might have the goods to back it up if that kiss was anything to go by.
I need to stop thinking about it.
Easier said than done. It was a good kiss. The best she’s had in months. Years. The best ever?
You’re still thinking about it.
Yes, she is…thinking about his mouth practically devouring her, and his sturdy arms wrapped around her, and his tongue just barely delving between her parted lips.
Is it hot in here?
Sam gulps.
For once, he doesn’t seem to notice his effect. Instead, he lets out a frustrated breath. Then he lifts his hat and runs his hand through his luscious red hair before settling the hat back in place. A nervous habit, she assumes.
“Instead of focusing on what happened, why don’t we figure out what to do about it?” He sharpens his focus on her. “You have a plan. I know you do.”
“Obviously, I have a plan.”
A beat of silence passes.
“Which is…”
Sam sighs. The plan sounded a lot better back on the beach, when it was sunny out and they were in the open air and he wasn’t so close. Here in the shadows of a rapidly shrinking private bungalow, with her finger still on his chest, she isn’t so sure.
Wait—why is my finger still on his chest?
She tries to order her arm to drop, but instead her rebellious palm flattens against him, feeling the defined curve of his pec. She swallows. He arches a brow. She yanks her arm away as if burned.
Focus, dammit.
“My plan,” she starts, but has to pause to wet her annoyingly dry throat. She crosses her arms and stuffs her treacherous fingers under her armpits to keep them in place, then proudly straightens her spine to get back a semblance of the upper hand. “My plan is to pretend we’re engaged for the next five days while we’re stuck on this island and in this resort with the crew. I’ll fill Em in on everything when I get home, and the two of you can then announce your breakup at the live finale. The distance was too much. Outside of the show you realized how different your lives are. She didn’t want to move to your ranch and you couldn’t leave. Yada yada. All understandable reasons for a split. She’ll walk away with her business and reputation untainted. And if you inform Nina of the split with some time to prepare, I have no doubt the showrunners will offer you the lead next season. They definitely aren’t going to offer it to that tool I sent home yesterday. It’s a win-win, exactly like you both wanted, just a few weeks later than planned.”
He purses his lips as he thinks over what she said. But it’s a good plan—the only fix, and they both know it. Still, he cocks his head to the side.
“There’s only one problem as I see it,” he murmurs, tone serious. “We have to spend five days together. Five days sharing this bungalow. Five days playing engaged…” He trails off with a deep exhale. Just as a concerned line forms between her brows, he breaks the tension with a sudden twist of his lips. “Think you can keep your hands off me for that long?”
His gaze drops to where her wayward palm has landed back on his chest and he snickers.
What the hell?
When did that happen?
She snaps her hand back— This is getting ridiculous —and sneers. “You know, my sister told me you were the nice one. A complete and total gentleman , I believe were her exact words. But I see you, Cooper Kelley. I. See. You.”
“And what exactly do you see, darlin’?” he murmurs, laying his accent on thick and leaning closer.
Sam doesn’t shy away. She’s no shrinking violet. Instead, she follows suit, not stopping until their noses are a hair’s breadth from touching. “A wolf in sheep’s clothing, but don’t worry, buddy. It takes one to know one, and my teeth are bared.”
“Aww. That’s cute. But I’m not a wolf, Cuj,” he whispers. The touch of his warm breath sends a ripple down her spine. Her every nerve stands alert, buzzing underneath the surface of her skin. A sudden gleam enters his eyes, laced with promise, with innuendo, with challenge. The dimple in his cheek deepens. “I’m a cowboy. Think you can handle it?”
“Oh, I can handle it,” she promises as she slides her hand up his chest, deliberately this time, letting her fingers drift over hard muscles and hot skin, all the way up to the back of his neck. Desire flashes in his eyes. She smirks and snatches that hat off his head, before taking a step back. Then she plops it right down on hers, holding his gaze as she says, “The real question is, can you?”
Not giving him time to answer, Sam spins on her heels and marches toward the bedroom door. Halfway there, fully aware of his eyes still on her, she reaches back to unzip her dress.
You want to play, cowboy?
Let’s play.
The sequins have been scratching her all day, and it’s nothing but a relief as she wriggles the straps from her shoulders. The material drops straight to the floor without even a hitch in her step. Cool air brushes over her exposed skin, sending a wave of goose bumps across her flesh. She’s in nothing but a thong, high heels, and his hat.
Cooper sucks in a sharp breath.
Sam grins.
“I’m taking the bedroom,” she calls over her shoulder, not bothering to glance back as she slams the door in his face.