Then he stated, “So now we’re playin’ a game.”
My shoulders got straighter and my torso turned more fully to him and I snapped, “I’m not playing a game.”
“Breakfast, totally f**kin’ transparent, f**k me, seriously refreshing and now it’s cat and mouse.” His hands squeezed mine. “Which one am I, Kia?”
Oh my God?
Did he just ask me that?
Seriously?
I yanked my hand from his and turned fully to him, declaring, “Neither, Sam, you were with another woman and I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“You came by to say hi, I could have introduced you to Luciana, who’s the widow of a buddy of mine.”
My stomach clutched.
Oh man.
Sam kept talking. “She’s beautiful, she’s sweet but she’s also not my type and even if she was, she’s my buddy’s widow so I’d never f**kin’ go there.”
Oh man!
“Sam –” I started.
“So I can decide what I’m gonna do now, I gotta know, you want me to be the cat or the mouse?”
“Neither,” I whispered.
“We done with this bullshit?” he asked practically before I finished my one word reply.
“I… well, uh…” I stammered then told him truthfully but hesitantly since he seemed kind of pissed off and definitely impatient and he was a very big guy so I didn’t want to make him more of either, “we hadn’t really started with the bullshit.”
“Right,” he muttered, still leaned forward, elbows to his knees, eyes on me.
“Right,” I whispered.
He held my eyes.
Then he said, “Good, then I’ll call Luciana in the morning, tell her I’m bringin’ someone to her thing tomorrow night. I’ll come to your room, eight o’clock. Don’t eat, she’s gonna put on a spread. It’s formal. Can you do that?”
I blinked.
Then I whispered, “What?”
“Tomorrow, Luciana’s party, formal, I’ll be at your room at eight o’clock. Can you do formal at short notice or should I call her and tell her I can’t come and we’ll go out to dinner?”
Oh my God.
Was he asking me out?
“Are you asking me out?”
The slightly pissed off and impatient look swept clean from his face, his lips twitched and he answered, “Yeah.”
“On a date?”
The last two words rose higher and higher and I was pretty certain my eyes were huge.
He grinned, scooted forward in his chair and said quietly, “Yeah, Kia, on a date but you gotta tell me where we’re goin’. Luciana doesn’t f**k around when it comes to her parties or her clothes. You can’t swing that, let me know and we’ll do something else.”
“I can swing that,” I said instantly and damnably enthusiastically.
That was when he smiled, full on, the white flash of his teeth nearly blinding in the semi-dark and it was better than any smile I’d seen him smile before, in person or not. It was so much better, my entire body got warm again.
Then he murmured, “Transparent.”
“Sorry?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Not surprised you can swing that.”
I didn’t know exactly why he thought that but I didn’t get the chance to ask because he was speaking again.
“I got shit to do early so I gotta hit it. I leave, you gonna be okay?”
At his open concern, I pressed my lips together and felt that all over body warmth start seeping into my soul.
“Yeah, Sam, I’ll be okay.”
His eyes moved over my face.
Then he whispered, “Okay.”
Then, before I could twitch, he was up, squatting over his chair and his mouth was touching mine.
That’s right, Sampson Cooper’s mouth touched mine.
And it felt sweet. Unbelievably sweet.
My head got light and I blinked repeatedly when his head moved back and he was so close, all I could see were his eyes.
“Sleep well and have good dreams, baby,” he said softly.
Then he was gone.
Chapter Three
Unless Life Led You to That
I stood in front of the full-length oval mirror in my hotel room but I didn’t see anything because I was blinded by anxiety.
Freaking out.
Totally wound up.
At nine o’clock sharp that morning, the morning after Sampson Cooper asked me out on a date, I’d called Celeste. I’d been awake for three hours by that time, waiting (not patiently) until a time it would not be rude to call.
When she answered, I didn’t even say hello. I just launched into mile-a-minute speak about the night before, the Amaretto, Sam, what he said, the fact he asked me out and I also went into embarrassing detail about who he was, how much and how long I’d admired him. At some point during my demented monologue I even cried somewhat hysterically, “He’s seen all my good shoes!”
When it finally occurred to me how much I was talking and exactly how much I was exposing, I shut up.
When I shut up, Celeste had been silent for long, agonizing moments and I feared I’d given it all away and she was rethinking her newfound friendship with a random American tourist.
Then she shocked the crap out of me when she told me, “I’ll be there in an hour, ma chérie. Be ready.”
And she was, as was I.
Off we went to seven shoe shops, our mission, to find a pair that went with my gown. This took a lot less time than you would think visiting seven shoe shops and trying on a plethora of hair-raisingly expensive shoes would take because Celeste did not mess around.
While I tried on shoes Celeste pointed out and asked the shop assistants to get me in my size, she was on the phone speaking Italian, to whom and saying what, I didn’t know or ask because firstly, it wasn’t my business so that would be rude and secondly, I was freaking out and consumed with finding the perfect shoes like my life depended on this mission being successful.
We finally found the shoes that Celeste decreed would be perfect with my gown and it was good that I agreed with her (wholeheartedly). Rounding out what was coming to be known (by me) as my “metal collection” they were gold, they were strappy, the heel was thinner, more elegant and way sexier even than my bronze sandals and the awesomest of the awesome was the ankle slap was unbelievably thin and it wrapped around and around and around my ankle and tied at the back.
They were not perfect. They were perfect. So perfect, they could be displayed in a shoe museum that was how perfect they were.