Chapter 13
13
H ope thought about Lily Desantro’s words for the rest of the day. Why had Lily seemed so certain Hope and Sam belonged together? How could she know when there’d been no indication? Lily had to be wrong. Hope didn’t want to fall for anyone, especially not a man who’d been hurt and might never share his heart again…even if that man were easy to talk to, made her laugh, and caused her pulse to speed up when he was near.
She headed to her room after dinner, determined to avoid Sam Harrington until she analyzed her feelings and cross-referenced them with Lily’s comments. If she spent enough time on it, she’d figure out why she and Sam were getting along so well, why she looked forward to seeing him, and why he seemed to want to share his day with her. Once she did that, she’d find a label and categorize it. Life would settle in again and references of meant-to-be would evaporate.
But having a plan didn’t always mean a person would succeed with its execution and that’s exactly what Hope learned an hour later when Sam knocked on her door.
“Hey, are you feeling okay?” he asked when she opened the door.
She ignored the skittering pulse and rush of heat swirling through her and pushed out an answer. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.” Just very confused and trying to get my head straight.
“Too much fresh air and walking yesterday?” A smile slipped across his face, made her wish he weren’t so attractive…his voice so compelling…
“I guess.”
“Hey, what’s going on?”
She didn’t miss the concern on his face seconds before she looked away. Why did Lily Desantro have to go on and on about couples and meant-to-bes and why did she have to target Sam and Hope as the next couple? Just because she said it didn’t make it so. But Lily’s words would not go away. Remember what I said. Once you stop being afraid, you can open your heart and let the magic happen. You and Sam Harrington are Magdalena’s next meant-to-be.
“Hope?” He placed a hand on her shoulder, said in a soft voice, “Look at me.”
No, she did not want to do that…did not want to look into those eyes…settle her gaze on his lips…did not want to…
“Did I do something to upset you?”
More concern in that voice, more feeling… She sucked in a breath, lifted her gaze to meet his. “It’s not you.”
Sam’s offered the gentlest smile. “Good. Is it about the project? Did your boss not like what you sent him?”
A shake of her head. “No, not that. I’m just at an impasse right now and trying to figure out what to do next.” I’m trying to figure out what to do with these unwanted emotions Lily Desantro has stirred up and identified. That’s what has me in a mood.
“I know you’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you.” I have to…these feelings are not okay and Lily ‘s dead wrong…even if she says she always knows…
His gaze slid to her neck, settled on a lock of hair that had slipped from her bun. “Looks like your fancy hairstyle is coming undone. I’ve wondered about your hair...” He reached a hand behind her and pulled out a pin. “What would it feel like?” He released another pin from her bun, then another until her hair lay about her shoulders.
Hope remained very still, caught between the desire to push him away and the equal desire to pull him closer. This was not helping her sort out the crazy emotions running through her, and when he looked at her like she was a chocolate truffle? Ugh, she couldn’t think! “It can be a tangled mess if I don’t pull it back.”
Sam shook his head, laughed. “It’s beautiful.” He sifted a lock through his fingers, let it fall to her shoulders. “You should wear it long.”
“It’s too cumbersome and I prefer a chignon or bun.” Why not tell him the rest? “It’s more professional looking.” And in a world filled with men, she did not want to be singled out for her hair or tagged as too feminine. It was the same reason she wore suits that didn’t hug her body or show cleavage. Business, that’s what she wanted everyone to think about when she was in the room. The problem was she’d never been able to transition from work to home life and adopt a more relaxed attitude and a more casual wardrobe, including her hairstyle.
Another laugh. “Maybe, but we’re not in a professional setting now, are we? No reason to keep it all tied up and yet you do. Why not just hack it off?” When she didn’t answer, he provided his own response. “Because you like it long, like the feel of it against your shoulders…” He stepped back, brows furrowed, brackets around his mouth deep. “The first time we met, you reminded me of the people I left behind in Chicago: wealthy, entitled, self-absorbed, with an attitude that said they were better than everyone else. They were all so damn convincing with their airs and designer lifestyles that I thought they were better. I got so caught up in it that I became one of them and lost who I really was… It’s easy to do when you follow someone else’s dream instead of your own.” He tilted his head to the side, rubbed his jaw, those whiskey-colored eyes burning through her. “My brain says stay away, you’re just like my ex-wife—maybe worse. But there’s another part of me that sees something different, that sees another layer when I look at you, and that’s what has me so intrigued…what pulls me in and makes me wonder who the real Hope Newland is. What’s she like and how do I find her ?”
From the moment she met him, she’d sensed he knew there was something about her that didn’t add up, something she didn’t want anyone to see. Could she tell him the truth? I’ve spent years imitating other people, adapting their airs and style, but I’m not one of them. I’ll never be one of them… I’ll always be the poor girl who lived in a bed-and-breakfast, wore hand-me-downs, and learned to cook and clean so we had a place to call home. No, that would be too much to admit so she settled for a bland response. “People see what they want to see whether it’s real or not.”
“Really? Is that what you’re telling yourself while you’re hiding behind the buttoned-up outfits and fancy hairstyles? The speech patterns are a nice touch—precise and calculated. Wonder what they’d sound like if you dropped in a swear word or two?” His voice dipped. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” He didn’t wait for her response, before he answered. “A woman in hiding. But if I look deeper, I also see a real person, one with faults and screw ups who wasn’t always like this but has practiced so hard to be someone else she’s afraid to be who she really is.” He reached for another lock of hair, sifted it through his fingers. “I think I’d really like to meet that person.”
Hope stepped back, away from him and his in-depth assessments. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He studied her a second too long. “Okay then, my mistake. I think I’ll turn in.” One more look before he said, “I really thought there was another ‘Hope’ and I’m sorry there isn’t.”
Seconds later, the door clicked behind him as Sam left the room. Hope listened as he entered his own room, pictured him removing his T-shirt, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his jeans…
There was no sense denying the desire or the sizzle that burst through her when he was near. Maybe in some way it had been present the first time she met him, though she’d attributed the uneasiness she felt to the man’s comments and cool attitude. What if it hadn’t been that at all? What if it had been so much deeper, so much more ? What if Lily Desantro had been right? But Hope didn’t want a relationship… Didn’t want to need anyone or feel a closeness that stole her breath…didn’t want… him?
That last would be a lie. Sam wanted to know the real her? Could she do that ? She’d been guarding herself for so long, did she even know who she was? And if she let him see her faults, what then? It wasn’t as though he wanted a long-term relationship, so did it matter if he saw how imperfect she was? For someone who planned her entire life and anticipated each step, Hope hadn’t planned and couldn’t anticipate what was happening with Sam Harrington. This time she was acting based on emotion, something she hadn’t done in a very long time. Hope moved toward the door, hesitated.
What if he’d changed his mind?
What if he wanted more?
What if he rejected her?
What if…
What if he said “yes”?
That last possibility propelled her forward, one step, two, until she stood outside his door. She lifted a hand, knocked. What if he’d changed his mind? What if he wanted more? What if he… The door opened and he stood before her, no smile, no sign he wanted her to stay, no… “I don’t want a relationship,” she blurted out.
“Good. Neither do I.”
She licked her lips, swallowed. “This is only about ‘for now’.”
A nod, a narrowed gaze. “For now. No relationship. Got it.”
It was her turn to nod. “Okay then.”
His gaze locked with hers as he stepped back and she entered his room. Sam reached behind her, closed the door, pressed her against it, his face inches from hers as he murmured, “Just for now.” He framed her face with his hands, bent his head and devoured her mouth with such passion and need it stole her breath…made he dizzy… made her want more.
Hope flung her hands around his neck, pulled him to her…close…closer…pressing her body against his…that strong, perfect body molding to hers. The kiss turned deeper, more desperate, as he trailed a hand to her shoulder, settled on the button of her blouse…. “I want you,” he murmured against her lips. He unbuttoned the first button, then the second, dipped his finger beneath the fabric. “I knew you’d feel like this.” Sam trailed kisses along her collarbone, eased her blouse open. “I’ve imagined this too many times… Wondered what you’d taste like.” More kisses, more confessions. “But nothing comes close to this.”
Hope pulled the T-shirt from his jeans, slid her hands along his back. “I want…” Her words landed in a sigh when his tongue made tiny circles along her collarbone. Oh, but that tongue… “Sam…I…” I want you…
“Yeah. Me too.”
There was no talking after that, as he held out a hand and led her to the bed. Every touch, every kiss, every single sensation made her sizzle with desire and need. She’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted this and she didn’t want to wait one second longer. It would have been intoxicating to draw out the moment—removing a shirt, jeans, his boxers, her bra and panties… But there was no time as they tore off each other’s clothes, desperate to feel more skin, get closer… Sam eased her onto the bed, pulled her on top of him, his gaze burning with need. Oh, but she did not need any encouragement as she straddled him, and let the magic begin.
After, she tried to convince herself he’d been the aggressor…she’d only been the welcome participant, but that was so not the truth. They’d both been desperate to touch, share, pleasure, and it was ridiculous to deny it or the white-hot sizzle his touch created. Their lovemaking had left her exhausted and exhilarated. Once was definitely not enough. The second time they made love, they’d taken it slower, but the passion had been just as intense, the climax just as explosive. They fell asleep with Hope on top of Sam, his arm slung low on her waist, his breathing even, content…
Hope woke hours later snuggled against his side, his arm still holding her close.
“Are you awake?”
Sleep had made his voice lower, more intimate. “Yes.” It was one thing to share herself in Sam’s bed where no worries, thoughts, or explanations were required. But what about now? Would he expect to talk about what happened between them? Get her to admit how incredible it had been?
What then? This was only “for now”. Was that why it had been so exhilarating?
He ran his free hand through her hair, let out a long sigh. “Your hair is beautiful. Silky. Perfect. You don’t need the pearls either, unless you’re attending a dinner party, and even then…” He trailed a hand down her back, settled it on her hip. “People aren’t going to be looking at your jewelry when you enter a room. Trust me on that one.”
Her mother had always told her appearances were more important than substance, and substance must be evaluated and re-evaluated depending on the desired outcome. What she’d meant was let your goals sway you instead of your beliefs. Don’t let anyone see you scared or uncertain, or incapable of making a difficult choice. And don’t care too much, that will only hurt you. Do not do it. Stand tall, attend to those who can propel you forward and discard people who will hold you back from that goal. And don’t forget the pearls…never forget them, even if you’re doing laundry… Remember, they help define who you’ve become…
“Hope? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about how clothes and jewelry can let you be anyone.” Her mother had helped her create a persona she believed would grant Hope massive success, and while it did that in the business world, her personal life had suffered. She’d used this “persona” as protection from showing anyone who she really was… can’t get hurt if you don’t let anyone in… Stay safe…and don’t reveal too much… The real you might not be good enough… But Sam didn’t seem interested in the person she’d manufactured. He wanted to get to know the real Hope Newland. Could she let him?
His voice pulled her in. “I tried letting material things define me when I lived in Chicago. The cars, the condo, the clothes, and trips. It didn’t work out so well because all it really does is beat you up and make you question yourself, your values, what you want and don’t want. When you realize you’ve given up a big piece of yourself?” He blew out a long sigh. “Not a good place to be.”
“If I ditch the pearls and chignon, can I keep the designer outfits?” They were touching on very serious territory and she wasn’t sure what to do about that. “I do love the feel of cashmere and there’s nothing like silk… And real leather? So smooth. I am not going back to polyester.”
His laughter made her smile. “Well, now, I guess you really are attached to your designers.” Another laugh, a husky, “I’m not saying get rid of the cashmere or the silk, but refusing to step outside without them? I’d like to see that Hope Newland…the one who doesn’t care if rain or humidity destroys her hair and is as comfortable in cotton as she is in silk. Somebody who doesn’t shy away from a sweatshirt. And those boots you borrowed from Mimi?” The full-on laugh rumbled through him. “Those are for serious walks…trudging through mud, tall grass… You should get two pairs, along with a hat and matching gloves. The warm kind, minus the designer label.”
Mimi’s lined boots were more comfortable than the ones she usually wore. Hope’s boot selection had always focused on look and design over function and practicality. “I could add those to my boot selection, but I’d have to change my habits since my current lifestyle doesn’t involve long hikes or trekking through fields.”
His hand stilled, and when he spoke, the humor had evaporated, replaced with a quiet “Maybe it should.”