Before We Kiss

Sam held up both hands. “Hey, I grew up with it. Don’t talk to me about what’s normal and what isn’t. I’m right there with you. Every day of my life I wanted my family to be like everyone else’s. A little repression is a good thing.”

She glanced at him from under her lashes. “So Simone really misses you, huh?”

“We’re not having that conversation.”

“Why not? It’ll be fun.”

“Not for me.” He put his arm around her and turned her toward her car. “And as my parents will happily tell you, all pleasure should be mutual.”

“Oh, sure. Use their training against me.”

She liked the feel of him so close to her. While the conversation at dinner had been uncomfortable, all that talk of orgasms and body parts had reminded her of her night with Sam. And that information about her G-spot had been interesting. Sam probably knew all about it. Not that they had that kind of a relationship, but it was something she should remember for the next time she was with a man.

When they reached her car, she turned to face him.

The sun had already disappeared behind the mountains. The trees were dark silhouettes against the inky sky and Sam’s face was in shadow. She wanted to know what he was thinking and wondered if any part of the conversation had been interesting to him. Or if he’d spent the whole time wishing he was somewhere else.

There was no way to find out without asking and they’d agreed they were going to have a “business only” relationship. A smart move, she told herself. Sensible. But wow, she sure wouldn’t mind if Sam pulled her in his arms, kissed her senseless, then showed her exactly what could happen when a man knew his way around a G-spot.

As that wasn’t going to happen, she needed to get home and finalize the dinner for Friday night.

“What time are you coming over?” she asked as she got her keys out of her bag.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re staying at my place, aren’t you? I said I’d meet your parents, and if I agreed with you, you were welcome to sleep on my futon.” She smiled. “You know the room, Sam. The one where Fayrene keeps her running list of how to get Ryan to propose.”

“Very funny.” His gaze sharpened. “You’re sure? You don’t mind?”

“No. It’s fine.” She’d had friends stay over before. And while Sam was more interesting, in a hunky male kind of way, she knew it would be dangerous to think of him as any more than a friend.

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“I can’t even imagine,” she admitted. “It’s not that they’ll say something, although that’s a problem. It’s that you’d have to be terrified of walking in on them doing it in who knows what position.”

He sighed. “Thanks for the visual. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“I’ll get out fresh sheets.”

“Thanks, Dellina.”

“You’re welcome.” She unlocked her car.

He touched her arm. “Want to talk about ground rules?”

She looked at him and thought that yes, she did. As long as those rules included him having quality time with her G-spot.

What she said instead was, “No, Sam. Ground rules aren’t required. If there is one person on the planet I can trust to respect my privacy, it’s you.”

* * *

THE FLAW IN the plan, Sam realized at about two in the morning, wasn’t that the futon was uncomfortable. It was, but he’d slept on worse. No, the issue was being in Dellina’s house, only a few feet from her bedroom.

He couldn’t hear her, but he knew she was there. In her bed.

He wanted to get up and join her. He wanted to kiss her into wakefulness, then touch her everywhere. He wanted them both na**d and then he wanted to pleasure her until she was boneless and gasping.

Not an image designed to help him rest easy, he thought as he sat up.

He ignored his erection and walked to the window in the spare room. After parting the curtains, he stared into the night. Not that there was anything to see. They were in a residential area of Fool’s Gold. Everyone was asleep. Nothing bad ever happened here.

He opened the window and breathed in the cool air. It felt good on his bare chest, but seemed to tease his groin more than assuage his hunger. Maybe that was simply a function of wanting Dellina. Little could take away that ache except the woman herself.

A voice in his head that was suspiciously close to his mother’s whispered that there was another way. But Sam ignored the suggestion. He wasn’t a fourteen-year-old anymore. He would deal and eventually his arousal would subside.

To facilitate the process, he left the bedroom, thinking pacing would help. He would walk the length of the living room until he was tired and able to sleep. But on the way, he passed Dellina’s office. Her computer sat on her desk. Maybe going online and playing games would help.

He walked into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He moved to the desk and switched on the light there, then booted up her computer. After sitting down, he shifted a few papers to give him access to her keyboard.

One of the pages fluttered to the ground. He picked it up and recognized the name of one of the vendors. When he saw the amount she’d been billed, he frowned.

As they’d agreed, all billing ran through her. She got an estimate, told him the amount, then placed the order and paid the vendor. He, in turn, paid her. With all they’d been purchasing and the speed with which everything had to be pulled together, he’d given her a retainer so she had the cash to make the purchases.

Per their contract, she billed out her time on an hourly basis. She also added a small percentage to each item purchased. So if the goodie bag contained thousand-dollar watches, she added a 5 percent bump when she billed him. Only the amount on the invoice didn’t match what he’d been billed.

Sam turned back to the computer and clicked on the browser button. He went to the Score website where he logged on. Once in the secure section he was able to access his information, including invoicing. Sure enough, there was a discrepancy. Dellina had billed him the amount of the estimate, plus her 5 percent. The problem was the estimate was about three hundred dollars less than the actual amount billed. She was absorbing the difference.

He swore under his breath as he looked at the stacks of invoices on her desk and in-boxes in her office. The part of him that guarded his privacy said that he couldn’t explore without her permission. The businessman in him said Dellina was getting screwed and that had never been his intention. He didn’t work that way. He believed in getting the best deal possible, but not at anyone’s expense.

He didn’t understand what she’d been thinking. Why wouldn’t she bill him the amount she was billed? Was it some twisted sense of pride or a lack of business training? Either way, the problem had to be fixed.

Sam rose and walked toward the box of invoices on the floor. He hesitated for a second, before picking it up and dumping it on a nearby table. Then he started going through the pages one by one.

* * *

DELLINA TIGHTENED HER robe around her before leaving the bathroom. She would dress and finish with her hair before making an appearance in the main part of her house.

She knew Sam was up—she could smell coffee. Anticipation fluttered in her stomach. They’d spent the night together. Albeit in different rooms, but still. It was the closest she’d come to any action since their ill-fated night on Valentine’s Day.

She’d thought she might toss and turn, but she’d been out the second her head hit the pillow. Now she poured herself a cup of coffee and went looking for the man in question.

She found him stepping out of the bathroom. He hadn’t showered yet, or dressed. As an interesting factoid, he wore pajama bottoms but not the top, which meant he was bare chested and his face was stubbly.

It was a potent combination, she thought as she came to a stop and looked at him. Over the next five seconds, her burning goal was to keep her mouth from falling open. If she could do that, then she could probably get through the rest of the day.

His shoulders were broad, as was his chest. He was muscled, but not too much, and perfectly defined. The hair on his chest narrowed at his waist, arrowing toward what she remembered as a very large—

“Good morning,” she managed.

“We have to talk.”

His tone was determined, almost harsh. She blinked. “Okay. About what?”

“Your invoicing.” He pointed to her office.

She led the way, then nearly dropped her mug when she walked inside and saw that her entire office had been attacked by some neat freak. Instead of open boxes overflowing with papers, there were neat stacks of full file folders. What looked like a comprehensive report sat next to her keyboard. Her computer was on and humming happily, but that seemed to be the least of her worries.

“What did you do?” she asked, her voice breathless.

“I apologize.” His voice was gruff. “I shouldn’t have pried into your personal business. I couldn’t sleep and I came in here to play computer games. One of the invoices fell. I picked it up and saw the amount you’d been billed. It was different from what you billed us.”

Her head came up as she glared at him. “Wait a minute. We have a contract that allows me to bill you five percent over the cost of goods.”

His dark gaze softened. “I know. But you’re not. You’re sticking to the estimate, even when the actual cost goes up. Dellina, you’re losing money on this job and that was never my intention. You’re providing an excellent service. You should be paid for that. As for the estimates, that’s what they are. An educated guess. You can’t bill off an estimate. If there’s a difference in price, that’s out of my pocket, not yours.”

Relief eased her tension. “Oh. Okay. I get what you’re saying, but I always feel guilty and maybe a little irresponsible when there’s a change in cost. I worry that if the estimate is different from the actual price, clients will get upset. So I don’t always pass it on.”

“So you’re constantly eating a significant percentage of the costs of food and entertainment?”

When he said it like that, it sounded less than intelligent. “Not all the time,” she murmured.

“How much of the time?”

She cleared her throat. “You’re saying I shouldn’t do that.”

“Not if you expect your business to succeed.” He ran his hand through his mussed hair. “Look, we’re both busy right now. My parents are in town, the party’s in a couple of days. Let’s talk about this after. I want to go over all the billing and make sure you were paid what you were owed.”

“I’d like that, too,” she told him.

“Good. I’m going to take a shower and get dressed. I’ll see you later?”

She nodded but what she was really thinking was that while her shower was small, it was plenty big enough for two. And if it was a tight squeeze...all the better.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I DON’T HAVE TIME,” Dellina said as she opened the big box that had just been delivered to her place. It was the last of the items for the goodie bags. She had to say that Sam had good taste. The clients would be thrilled, but jeez, putting them together was going to be a lot of work.

“You have to come,” Taryn told her. “We’re all having lunch with Lark and you won’t want to miss it.”

“I don’t but look at this.”

Her dining table was covered with forty empty large gift bags. Dark blue for the men and a metallic-red for the women. Twelve bright yellow bags lined the kitchen counters.

“I have to fill everything and it’s not as easy as it sounds. The children’s bags are all different, based on their gender and ages. I have to do the name tags and put in the tissue, then stuff them all. There are also some last-minute phone calls and a meeting with the hotel manager.”

Taryn tilted her head. “All I’m hearing is a buzzing sound. You have to eat. Come have lunch with Lark.”

Dellina tucked her hands behind her back. “She scares me,” she admitted in a low voice.

Taryn grinned. “A believer now, I see.”

“Yes. She’s very sweet and funny, but the stuff she talks about. It’s not right.”

“I agree,” Taryn said. “Poor guy. I don’t know how he survived his family.”

Having his ex then write about him in a tell-all disguised as a self-help book hadn’t been good, either, she thought.

“Just say yes,” Taryn said. “You know you want to be there. I’ll help with the bags later.”

“Seriously?”

“No, but I can send someone over.”

Dellina laughed. “That’s more like you.” She hesitated. “What time?”

“Twelve-thirty. Margaritaville. When you spend a lot of time with Lark, you need access to tequila.”

“I’ll be there,” Dellina said. “Now leave me to my work.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Two hours later Dellina hurried into the restaurant. She was only a few minutes late, but she didn’t like not being on time. The good news was she’d finished all her calls and was nearly ready for the weekend party. With Sam helping her with her billing, she was going to be in good shape financially. Which made this project a win for her. Not that she would celebrate until it was over. She wasn’t one to tempt fate.

“May I help you?” the hostess asked.

Before Dellina could ask about her party, there was a burst of female laughter in the back of the restaurant.