Samantha
SAMANTHA
“ W hat the hell was that?” I ask.
“What?” He asks innocently as if it isn’t obvious what he did.
“That? My partner? Since when do you introduce me as your partner?”
“Isn’t that what we are?“ He calls the bartender over, ordering two shots.
“Well," I scoff. “Yes, but why did you choose this moment to use that title.”
“Maybe I was very impressed by how you handled everything at the meeting.”
“Or maybe you’re jealous.”
He doesn’t answer because two shots are placed in front of him. He offers one to me, and I shoot him a glare.
“You really expect me to drink with you after that?”
“We’re celebrating!” I do deserve a drink after today. I take the shot from him and shoot it back and down my throat, cringing as it burns.
“What are you drinking? ”
“Tequila sunrise," I say, and look to where Hudson returned to sit with his friends. “Do you think it would be weird if I try to talk to him again?”
I don't even know if I want to talk to him again. He seemed a little young, a little too inexperienced, but it was nice to try and sway all of this sexual energy toward a man other than Chandler.
“Yes, that would be very weird, and it would come off as completely desperate.”
“Would it?”
“Yes, Sam.”
All of this sexual energy and Chandler is all I can think of, yet again. He looks good in a dark button-up shirt and jeans with dark shoes. Simple, but not too casual. He orders himself a tequila sunrise and another shot.
“I really am proud of you for today, you know.”
“Thank you," I say, ignoring the flutter in my stomach at his words because he just ruined my chance at breaking my streak. “Now, want to tell me why you ruined me getting laid after a 7-month dry spell?” I haven’t admitted this to him yet; the alcohol must be kicking in because I don’t think I’d actually ever admit that to him.
He raises an eyebrow. “That long, huh? And he could be a serial killer.”
“Well, now I’ll never know, will I?”
“You’re welcome for saving you, by the way. Trust me, you would have regretted it.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
“Okay, Chandler," I say and sip the last of my drink before getting up and heading to the elevator. I’m horny, buzzed, and frustrated. Never a good combination. I press the button to take me back to my floor and cross my arms to pout when the doors start to close, but Chandler presses it open anyway and steps inside.
“You’re seriously mad at me?”
“Yes," I say, not looking at him.
“Well, I’m sorry I ruined your chances at getting it on with Mr. Frat Boy.”
“I think you were jealous.”
“I’m not jealous. Just don’t want you doing something you’ll regret," he says. I glance at him; his jaw is clenched, his demeanor is tense. Tense and a little sexy. I kind of hate that he looks so good but is such an ass.
“Obviously you were," I say. “You were pretty much eye fucking me in the elevator this morning.”
“I was eye fucking you? Please, Sam, you’ve been eye fucking me since you started this job. Don’t blame me because you can’t control yourself," he says, and my cheeks flare.
“I have not," I argue.
“Yes, you have. And now we’re stuck in North Carolina for a week. Think you can control yourself?”
“Can you?” I turn toward him.
“What is that supposed to mean?” He turns to me.
“I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’ve been staring at my tits since you walked in the bar?”
His cheeks tinge red, and his eyes trail over me from head to toe before he says, "Hardly.”
“Yeah, you can hardly keep your eyes off of them.”
“It’s a nice dress," he compliments.
“Well, now I’m gonna have to wear it again tomorrow to a different bar since you made me lose my chance at getting laid tonight," I say, frustrated. He takes a step toward me, and he’s so close that I can feel his breath on my lips. Tastes like tequila Sunrise and mint. He smells good, too, like his cologne and soap. Clean and earthy. His eyes are full and dark, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I’m not sure if I’m turned on or terrified. My heart picks up speed, and I can feel the butterflies swimming in my stomach and a familiar tingling between my legs.
“What a shame," he whispers, and his breath hits my lips with every word.
His eyes are clouded over, almost primal. My heart jitters, and my limbs feel weak at the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m something to be devoured. It’s as if he’s hypnotized me, and my heart flutters even more when his eyes flick to my lips. I lick them and place my hand on his chest. My stomach flips when his hand slides to my hip. We’re both silent for a moment as if saying anything will break whatever trance we’re in.
His lips take mine, rough and eager. I react on instinct; my hands go to his hair to pull him closer.
His other hand finds my other hip to lift me ever so slightly. I close my eyes, getting lost in the feeling of him. His grip on my hips tightens as he presses me into the wall of the elevator, and my senses are on overdrive. My knees go weak when he bites my bottom lip, and I let out a whimper. His tongue moves along mine, and I melt into him. He rolls his hips into me, and I gasp against his lips when I feel his hardness between my legs, my dress rising around my hips. The chilly air mixes with the warmth of his hard body pressing into mine. I hear a noise, like the swishing sound of elevator doors, and we break apart. My feet are placed on the ground, and he takes a step back out of the elevator. I follow him. My lips are still tingling from the sensation. We stare at each other, wide-eyed. The only sound is our heavy breathing as we both take in what just happened. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of arousal, desire, and confusion making my head swarm. We break the silence in unison.
"What the fuck! ”
Chandler's eyes are wide when he says, "Jesus Christ, Sam!”
“Me!? You’re the one who kissed me!”
“I didn’t see you complaining a second ago," he says.
“Kind of hard to do that with your tongue down my throat!”
“Kind of hard to think of anything when you’re dry-humping my dick!”
“Okay, okay," I say, taking a deep breath in. “Let’s just pretend it never happened.”
He seems a bit offended when he says, "What a great idea! Let’s pretend we weren't just groping each other in the elevator.”
“I wonder how you got this far in life with your level of maturity," I say, and he rolls his eyes.
“Let’s just go back to our rooms, and we’ll go and work in the cafe tomorrow as normal. This never happened," I repeat, more for myself than for him.
“Right," he grumbles.
I glare at him. “It was a mistake.”
“Apparently," he says, and I can hear the sarcasm dripping from his tone, with a hint of offense, but I ignore it. I rush down the hallway to my hotel room, and I can hear Chandler following behind me. When I finally get to my room, I take a breath to calm my nerves and take out my key card to unlock the door. Chandler clears his throat, I grimace, turning to him to see that stupid, smug smile on his face.
“So," he says. “7 months?”
The blood rushes to my cheeks immediately, and I can’t stop the involuntary embarrassed smile when I say, "Good night, Chandler.” I go into my hotel room, grateful for the distance between us. But I still feel the wetness between my thighs when I remember the way he crashed his lips on mine and what may have happened if the elevator doors stayed shut. No matter how curious I might be, or how hot he is, or how horny and semi-desperate I may be, I cannot sleep with Chandler Randall.