11. Sam
CHAPTER ELEVEN
sam
She should be used to it by now, but waking up to the sight of Cooper’s gorgeous, wet body gleaming in the soft morning sun isn’t the sort of thing one simply gets used to . It’s the sort of thing that causes mild heart attacks. The sort of thing that leaves her grumbling under her breath as she scrounges around for the tiniest sports bra she can find among her sister’s clothes. The sort of thing that prompts one desire and one desire alone—the need to punch something.
Okay, well, two desires.
But the second one can go to hell. She is NOT having sexual relations with that man—not even imagined ones. Well, not anymore.
New day.
New Sam.
And yes, she could work out inside. But this is her deck too, dammit. She deserves the fresh air. She deserves the view. She deserves to have that cowboy salivating at the sight of her heaving bosom.
I have got to stop reading those historical romances Winnie keeps giving me.
Sam holds her fists in the air and ignores the man treading water twenty feet away. A punching bag would be ideal right about now, but alas, she’ll have to make do. Instead, she draws up the image of Cooper’s smiling face, complete with those drawn-by-the-Devil dimples, and starts swinging. It doesn’t take long to lose herself in the familiar movements.
Jab. Cross. Body shot. Head shot. Rear elbow strike. Front kick. Back kick. Uppercut. Double strike roundhouse. Jump kick. Heel click. Switch.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Everything falls away. This is her favorite thing about cardio kickboxing—the ability to lose herself in the movements. Brain focused. Muscles burning. Wayward thoughts gone. It’s just her and her target. Her and her body. Her and her fists and her feet smashing into every inch of that gorgeous, sculpted man she’s dying to touch…but can’t.
“Whoa! Watch it, killer!”
Sam snaps back to the world as his hand closes around her fist, stopping it two inches shy of his sternum. She’s heaving and out of breath. Sweat drips over her arms as the sun beats down. The appreciative gleam in Cooper’s eye tells her he’s been watching, but there’s no way to know for how long. She should feel victorious that it was his turn to ogle her. Instead, she can’t help but notice how close they’re standing, how broad his shoulders are, how much he towers over her, and yet how utterly safe she feels being held at his mercy.
It’s terrifying.
Sam yanks her hand free. He lets go right away with an easy smile, that little pucker in his cheek practically winking at her.
“Picturing anyone specific with those punches, Cuj?”
“Yeah. You.” He barks out a laugh at her unexpected honesty. She raises her arms overhead and starts stretching, feigning a nonchalance she doesn’t quite feel. “I need to get my aggression out somehow.”
“Aggression, huh? Is that what you’re calling it?”
“Don’t make me drop-kick you.”
“I’d love to see you try.”
“Careful what you wish for, cowboy,” she warns while lifting her heels to stretch her quads. “My father is a police chief and he made sure I knew self-defense before I moved to New York. I could end you.”
“Now that you mention it, I do remember one of the guys saying Em accidentally knocked him out.”
She glances up while reaching for her toes. “Really?”
“Yeah. He pretended to grab her from behind and she flipped him.”
Sam smirks. “Go, sis.”
“The Peters girls are not to be messed with. Noted.” His eyes twinkle. “But my offer still stands. I can think of a more fun way to get out your…aggression.”
Just like that, the heat notches up. She remembers what he said last night. Just because something’s fleeting doesn’t mean it can’t be fun. Flings are usually her modus operandi. Keep it light. Keep it exciting. Keep it quick. But something in her gut screams it would be different with him, and things are complicated enough as it is.
“Not today, Satan.”
Cooper snorts. “I like it better when you call me cowboy.”
She walks backward toward the door while keeping her eyes on him as if at any moment he might pounce. If he makes a move, like really makes a move, she’s not sure she’ll be able to resist.
“I have work to do.”
“You’re running.”
Hell yes, she’s running. Has he seen himself?
Her back hits the door. “Bye, Coop.”
She turns the knob and bolts inside before he has time to respond. Those eyes track her all the way to her room, burning into her skin like lasers, even through the window. A shot of espresso and a cold shower later, she can still feel them.
Sam tries to sink into work, but it’s too tedious. Crunching numbers. Transferring notes. Blah. Blah. Blah. She’s an analyst. She knows it’s the job. She gets the brainless grunt work while all the interesting stuff goes to her bosses—corporate hierarchy and whatnot. She gets it. This is the hazing she needs to survive in order to gain entrance to the club. But her skin still buzzes. Her heart still pounds. If she wants to oust that freaking cowboy from her brain once and for all, she needs more. So even though she has a million other things to do that she actually gets paid for, she flips over to her favorite little folder labeled Emily Ann Designs instead.
When her sister left for filming, she asked Sam to keep an eye on her jewelry business. So, naturally, Sam took it upon herself to completely revamp Emily’s website, move her off Etsy, and launch her own shop. Her sister’s social media accounts had been going bananas ever since she’d been cast as the lead, and it seemed like a waste not to set up an independent online store to keep more of the profits. Over the past few weeks, orders had been coming in like hot cakes. Not dozens. Not hundreds. Thousands. Emily had a mild panic attack about being able to fulfill them all when she heard the update, but Sam knew she’d figure it out. This was the dream, after all, the whole reason her sister had done the show in the first place—to build her business.
I wonder what Em thinks now.
She should be back in Georgia. The first thing she probably did when she got home, knowing Emily, was open her computer, sift through the accounts, then promptly close it again to give herself a day to freak out.
Sam’s desperate to call her.
It goes against everything within her to know her sister is struggling and to not lend an ear or a hand. But if they talk, Emily will know something’s up. She’ll have questions Sam doesn’t want to answer and opinions she doesn’t want to face.
In less than forty-eight hours I’ll be on my flight home, Cooper will officially be in the rear view, and this whole thing will be done.
Two days.
She can wait until then.
So instead, Sam opens Excel and starts crunching numbers—net income, projected profits, the cost of goods sold at different wholesale values, some ideas for increased markup percentages, tax estimates, various salaries Emily could take and their impact, potential salaries she could pay the employees she’ll undoubtedly need, an assets-and-liabilities breakdown in case she wants to look for investors. It’s nothing new, the mere basics of a startup business, the sort of thing Sam reviews for work all the time. And yet, it feels new. It feels thrilling. It feels exhilarating in a way her job never has.
She’s polishing up the finishing touches on an email to Em when a knock sounds at the door.
“Come in,” she calls absently.
“Are you—” The door swings open and Cooper pauses, an intrigued look flitting over his features. “What’s got you so happy, Cuj?”
“Happy?” She lifts her fingers to her face, surprised by her own smile. For some reason, it leaves her feeling vulnerable, as if she’s been caught in the act—what act exactly, she’s not sure, but nonetheless, exposed. Her defenses rise. “Don’t look so shocked. I’m a delight.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Is it time for parasailing already?”
He nods. “I’ll wait by the door while you get ready.”
She throws on her bathing suit, cutoffs, and a loose T-shirt, then hastily twirls her auburn hair into a relatively clean topknot before sliding on her sunglasses. It’ll have to do. There’s no time for makeup, and it’s not as if she’s trying to impress Cooper anyway. She’s trying to repel him.
That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.
He must be partial to grunge, though, because he gives her an appreciative once-over as she approaches. It does not cause butterflies to swarm across her chest, deep into her belly, and down every one of her limbs until her entire body tingles. No it does not.
When they step out together, Cooper slides an arm around her shoulders. She settles naturally against him. They walk in sync, the adjustment innate. There’s no awkward pause, no hop and skip to keep up, no taking a beat to figure out his rhythm. Her body just…knows.
“So, why were you so happy back there?”
Sam groans internally. She should have known he wouldn’t drop it. “Nothing. Just work. A good project.”
“Yeah…” He squints down at her. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t believe me?” She pointedly raises her brow.
“Nah. Not buying it. You weren’t working.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’ve seen the way you look when you’re working. Bored. Blank. Empty. How I imagine that guy from Greek mythology must’ve looked pushing that boulder up a hill for all eternity, just waiting for it to end.”
She snorts. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Pot, meet Kettle.”
She rolls her eyes.
“When I opened the door, you seemed focused, but in a good way. And when you looked up at me, your eyes were pure fire. I liked it, is all I’m saying. You don’t have to tell me what you were doing, but whatever it was, you should keep doing it.”
The words burn into her skin.
She rubs her chest at the sudden pang.
“I was just, um, doing something for Em.” Her voice is uncharacteristically soft, the volume low. She doesn’t know why it’s hard to explain, but it is. “Helping her with her business. She’s always been super creative, but money management isn’t her strong suit, so I was just running a few projections for her. Nothing fancy.”
“It sounds pretty fancy.”
“It really wasn’t.”
“Either way, it’s sexy.”
She snorts. “You got a math-nerd kink I don’t know about, cowboy?”
“I’m starting to think I might.” He looks down at her and winks. She swallows, fighting the sudden feeling of her heart lurching out of her chest. “I’d call it more of an impressive-woman kink. And you are, Sam. You’re impressive as hell.”
“It was just a couple of spreadsheets, Cooper.”
“I’m not talking about the spreadsheets, though I’m sure they were far more complex than you’re letting on. What you do for work? Sure, it’s impressive. But I’m talking about what you’re doing for Emily. Helping her with her business in the little bit of free time you seem to have? Dropping your entire life to switch places with her? Going through with this plan to help launch her dreams? Not everyone would do all that and expect nothing in return.”
Sam shrugs. “She’s my sister.”
“I’m an only child so maybe I just don’t get it, but I’ve seen a lot of sibling relationships and what you’re doing still seems pretty amazing to me.”
“Em would do it for me, too,” Sam answers softly, sensing his unspoken question. She already has.
But now isn’t the time to revisit the past.
“I think that’s our boat, cowboy.”
She points down the dock to where a speedboat bobs, the back half a large flat launching platform. Two employees wave them over and set them up in harnesses before helping them on board. After about ten minutes of cruising, the boat pauses and the crew hooks them up to the massive sail.
As the last clip is secured, Sam takes Cooper’s hand in a white-knuckled grip. “I should probably warn you I’m a little afraid of heights.”
He turns to study her as the boat lurches into motion. His brows furrow.
One blink, and they’re fifty feet in the air.
Another, and it’s two hundred.
Another and she forces her eyes closed, scrunches up her entire face, and starts screaming bloody murder.
“Jesus Christ, Cuj.” He has the audacity to laugh—laugh! “You’re going to blow my eardrums.”
The shriek she absolutely cannot contain continues piercing the air at increasingly higher decibels. It’s verging on inhuman. Dog whistles would be jealous. If she could bottle this up and sell it, she would. Halloween sales would be through the roof.
“For fuck’s sake, woman.”
She’s not even sorry.
“Sam.”
He squeezes her hand.
“Sam.”
He wraps his arm around her waist, digs his fingers into her hip protectively—possessively—and draws her up against him.
“ Samantha. ”
It’s a whisper against her skin, barely audible over the wind, more felt than heard as goose bumps spiral down the side of her neck. His rich, deep baritone penetrates the panic.
“Take a deep breath,” he continues, lips brushing the outer shell of her ear. Dread and desire battle beneath her skin. “We’re absolutely fine. I’ve got you. You’re safe. And you’re going to kick yourself if you miss out on this view because you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He snorts.
“I’m terrified.”
“One second is all I’m asking. Open your eyes for one second, and if it’s too much, close them right back up and keep screaming. I’m here for you either way.”
“No shit. We’re four hundred feet in the air, strapped to a fucking kite. Where the hell else can you go?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Hmph.”
“Come on. One second.”
“No.”
“One second.”
“ No. ”
“I dare you.”
“Do you really think that will work?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not five.”
“I double-dog dare you.”
Fucking shit balls—
She opens her eyes. The whole world is blue—vast, impenetrable, never-ending blue. Perfect, clear sapphire above, and sparkling, simmering turquoise below, marred only by the distant white speck of their boat.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” She groans.
He squeezes her abs. “Like hell you are.”
Sam pulls her gaze from the speeding hull far, far below and looks at Cooper. His face is close, too close. A wide grin splits his lips. A wild look fills his eyes.
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
Except the sparkle in his eyes says something different. It says he knows her secret—that she doesn’t hate him at all.
Sam swallows, suddenly unsure which fear has her heart pounding—tumbling out of the sky or tumbling right into his arms.
As if sensing it’s too much, Cooper lifts his face and screams, an unafraid, untamed, thrilled, excited thing, a sound she imagines he usually makes galloping at full speed on the back of his horse, full of joy and daring. He’s never seemed more a cowboy than he does in that moment, staring fear in the face and hollering with reckless abandon.
“Come on, Cuj,” he cajoles. “Let it out.”
She shrieks. It’s an absolutely pathetic attempt at copying his carefree sound. If she weren’t so terrified, she’d be embarrassed.
He tosses her a look and hollers again.
She tries, and fails, to copy him.
They repeat this two more times before the knot in her chest finally loosens and a laugh breaks free. The view really is stunning. Endless sky. Endless sea. Lush tropical islands. Hints of coral beneath crystal waters and splashing wildlife. She takes it all in while squeezing Cooper’s hand so tightly she’s sure she’s cutting off circulation but he doesn’t complain. He points to one side and she points to another.
Look at this. Look at that. What’s over there?
Before she remembers to be afraid, they’re already lowering back to the boat, reeled in like fish on a line. As the sun sinks lower, the crew lays out a picnic dinner on the platform. She and Cooper sit facing pink-and-orange clouds. Her knee bumps against his thigh as they sip wine and dig into the meal.
“So…heights, huh?”
Sam gives him a sidelong glance. “Take it to your grave, cowboy.”
“How does that work exactly? Seeing as you most likely work in a skyscraper—and hell, probably live in one, too?”
“I keep away from the windows.”
“No one knows?”
“Nope.” She shrugs. “I’ve always excelled at appearing much tougher than I am.”
“Interesting.”
“What does that mean?”
He keeps studying her.
She glares.
“What was it you said last night?” Mischief dances in his eyes. “ You do know you just handed me the key to your undoing? ”
She arches a brow. You sure you want to do this?
His smile deepens, puckering the dimple in his cheek. Always.
“That doesn’t impress me all that much,” Sam casually murmurs.
“No?”
“You have the looks, Coop. But what about the touch?”
“I know what you’re doing.”
Sam launches into the full version of Shania’s immortal hit “That Don’t Impress Me Much” and he reaches out to smash his hand over her mouth. Utilizing the traditional counterattack, she licks his palm. Cooper snatches it back with disbelief. They make eye contact for two long, challenge-fueled seconds, before they both break down.
“Truce?”
“Truce.”
She’s still smiling when they get back to the dock. Returned to a service area, her phone buzzes. Work, no doubt. She absentmindedly scans the message while they walk. And that quickly, all the joy from the day is sucked away like water down a drain. It’s her boss.
Need you to set up an interview next week. Potential new hire. Spencer Winthrop. Make it a priority.
There’s an unwritten implication at the end.
I know his father.
But that’s not what makes her freeze. It’s the name. The one she’s tried to forget. The one she’s tried to scrub out. The one that brings her right back to the darkest night and the darkest place in her life.
“Oh look, there’s Nina,” Cooper comments, oblivious to how she’s gone wooden by his side. He lifts his hand as if to wave and Sam grabs it.
She can’t deal with Nina right now.
She can’t deal with him.
With this.
With any of it.
Her breath catches in her lungs as she clutches the cowboy’s hand for dear life, fighting the wave of emotions threatening to pull her under.
“Sam?” he asks, suddenly noticing her panic.
“I can’t,” she starts, voice breaking before she swallows and starts again. “I can’t pretend right now. Please, Cooper. I need a minute. I can’t talk to her right now. I can’t—”
In one fluid motion she’s sure she’ll look back on with marvel, he wraps an arm around her waist and spins them until her back hits a nearby wall. Her arms go around his shoulders instinctively as he leans in and drops his face to the nook of her neck. His broad chest hides her, keeps her safe, gives her a moment to breathe. One of his hands goes to the wall beside her head and the other clutches her hip, grounding her. And then he repeats the same words he said while they dangled four hundred feet in the sky, his presence a lifeline.
“I’ve got you.”