Oh shit.
I was.
With ex-model Luciana who had a villa, a Lamborghini, four other cars and a boat and Sampson Freaking Cooper who I noticed belatedly was holding me front-to-front in one arm.
Shit!
I looked up at him, he was staring down at me with that intent look and, I knew, listening to every word.
“Yes,” I answered Paula, my eyes sliding away. “I’m at a party.”
“Right, well, okay then, don’t hate me but I’m gonna take this shot.”
Oh man.
Sneak attack!
Before I could intervene, she kept talking.
“I’m gonna get your house sorted for you and then me, Teri and Missy are gonna get you sorted, babe. No,” she said the last word swiftly like she thought I’d refuse which, totally, I would, that was I would if I didn’t have an audience. “When he was alive, we get it, he was a threat. You don’t see your girl with bruises on her face too often to count for seven years and not get that, babe. And also not get that that shit dished out regularly would put the fear of God in anybody. But he’s gone and we’re gonna sort out the shit he left behind and, Kia, we all dig that you think you can just put it behind you, get rid of all that was him and move on but that shit isn’t gonna fly and, deep down, I know you know it, girl.”
“Paula, please, now is really not the time,” I whispered and when I did, Sam’s other arm slid around me.
Damn it!
“I know, I’m just saying, when you get home, we’re making it the time.”
And I was just thinking that maybe I’d find a place on Crete and never go home.
“Kia? Babe?” she called.
“Fine,” I whispered because at that moment I had no choice.
“Okay,” she whispered back.
“I’ll find a computer to pull up the pictures you send me but it’s late here so it won’t be until morning.”
“Right.”
“Okay.”
“Well then, have fun at your party.”
Impossible.
“I will,” I lied.
“Ciao, babe,” she said and I could hear her smile in her voice but could only guess it was relieved.
“Ciao, you big dork,” I replied and I could then hear her laughter which I knew was relieved. My words said I wasn’t pissed at her and I’d given in on the talk.
Then she was gone and I knew at that moment, in Heartmeadow, Indiana, my friend Paula was dialing Missy or Teri or, if she was at a phone that had the option, she was conferencing.
Shit.
I pulled in a soft breath as I flipped my phone shut, tucking it into my bag when Luci unsurprisingly immediately offered, “Tomorrow, when you wake up, you can use my computer.”
God, seriously, it would be a lot better if she was a haughty uber-bitch like all supermodels were supposed to be and not hyper-friendly.
I looked at her and noticed that Sam’s arms hadn’t moved, nor had his body, which was right in my space.
Still, even so, I ignored both.
“Thanks,” I said softly.
“Prego,” she said softly back.
“Luci, give us a minute, yeah?” Sam said, not softly but firmly and there was only one answer to his “yeah?” which Luci gave him after throwing him a radiant, happy, certain she was going to have quasi nieces and nephews imminently as supplied by Sam and me smile before she melted away.
My mind was stuck on giving Luci nieces and nephews as supplied on me by Sam when Sam called me.
“Baby.”
Reluctantly, I tipped my head back to look up at him.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“If I say yes, will you ask me repeatedly until I tell you the truth?” I asked back and he grinned.
Then he answered, “Yeah.”
“Then, no.”
“Talk to me,” he ordered gently.
I shook my head, put my hands to his biceps and pushed back as I started, “Sam, I –”
His arms got tight and it was proved positive I was totally clueless because he was not a small man, he was a tall man, he was definitely a muscular man and thus I should have cottoned onto the fact that he was a very strong man and I knew this in that instant because his arms separated, one going low at my waist, one going up to rest under my shoulder blades. They got tight in a way I knew there was no escape even without trying and suddenly I found myself chest to chest, h*ps to h*ps and thighs to thighs, pressed deep to Sam Cooper.
Then his neck bent and his face was an inch from mine.
My stomach pitched, my knees wobbled and my mouth clamped shut.
When he had my undivided attention, he said in a firm, unrelenting but still somehow gentle voice, “That was not a request.”
“I need some space, Sam,” I whispered and it was breathy mostly because I was breathing so hard I was close to panting.
“You’re not going to get it.”
Say what?
“Sam!” I snapped.
“Talk,” he returned.
“I get to decide when I want to talk, not you,” I retorted and that was when it happened.
Right then.
Right there (nearly).
Within maybe ten minutes of showing up at his dead, best friend’s wealthy, gorgeous, famous wife’s fabulous villa on Lago di Como, it happened.
Sam released me with one arm but only to twist, taking me with him and putting the champagne flute on a table within his reach and he repeated this maneuver when he divested me of my bag. Then he shuffled me backwards out the door. Once there, he turned me to his side, his arm clamped around my waist and he pulled me to the very end corner of the terrace balustrade, alone, no one close. There, he twisted me into the corner and caged me in.
And through this, I lost it. Completely. I forgot who he was but I didn’t forget who I was. I didn’t forget what I learned at the hands of my husband. It had been months but I remembered it in excruciating detail.
And Sam’s actions brought back Cooter’s lessons and fear gripped me, extreme and paralyzing.
So when his hands came to either side of my neck, his thumbs at my jaws forced my head back to look at him and I did, his head jerked with his flinch so violently, it was like I struck him and I knew it was written all over my face.
“Baby,” he whispered and his voice was not rough-as-velvet. It was just rough.
“Step back,” I whispered and there was no way to miss the plea.
“Kia.”
“Step back.”
“Kia.”
“Step back.”
There it was.
A whimper.
Weak. Exposed.