Page 90 of Love Everlasting

She spied the osprey soaring overhead once again and a soft smile lighted on her lips. The bird’s whistling call reminded her of a teakettle on the boil, and her thoughts suddenly leapfrogged to Sam. On the boil, indeed—her feelings for him steeped strong and too hot to handle. Her smile took a slide to the left. Which was exactly why she needed this time alone. She couldn’t think clearly when Sam was around, because one word, one moment, one kiss had a way of bubbling her emotions, causing good intentions to float away in a fog as quickly as the steam whistling from the teapot.

And the truth was—this decision was too important to allow Sam to sway her in any way. She loved him with everything in her, and although the last month of dating had helped to assuage her fears about his prior “player” tendencies, she couldn’t help but wonder if one month was enough to know for sure? To base a future on? True, he no longer flirted with other women in her presence or even glanced their way, focusing only on her in a manner that made her blossom and bloom into the woman she’d always hoped to be.

Cherished forever by the man that she loved.

But forever was a very long time. Especially if a man didn’t accept you for who you were and belittled you for the things that you did.

Or loved his “trappings” far more than his wife?

Shannon absently nibbled her lip, worry lines crimping her brow.

Or resorted to alcohol whenever things didn’t quite go his way?

Rising from the chair, Shannon sighed, the wispy sound more in tune with the mournful call of the loon than the cheerful chatter of the osprey that soared high in the dusk. Her eyes scanned the heavens as she sought her answer, seeking the guidance of the only One she could truly trust. “So, what do you say, God?” she said out loud. “Is Sam the one for me? Will You give me a sign?”

Silence reigned for several moments while Shannon closed her eyes, waiting for an answer. But the only thing she heard was the rising trill of tree frogs and the hoot of a faraway owl, obviously tuning up for the night. That and the husky clear of a throat.

“Uh, if He doesn’t get back to you right away, can I take a shot?”

She spun around so fast, she almost tipped over. And might have, if not for Sam’s firm hands, which steadied her waist, but did absolutely nothing for her heart. It shot straight to her throat while her pulse took off in a sprint. “Sam!” she rasped, barely able to catch her breath as she splayed a trembling hand to her chest, “I didn’t hear you …”

“I know,” he said quietly, his sheepish smile fading a lot more quickly than the prickles of heat searing her skin. “In fact, you haven’t ‘heard’ me at all, Shan—not my calls, not my texts, not my tokens of apology for a solid two weeks.” He offered a slight shrug, along with a repentant half-smile. “So I decided to plead my case in person.”

She took a step back, arms crossed and cordoned to her waist like a barrier in an effort to maintain some calm and control. Please, Lord, lots and lots of control …

As if sensing her withdrawal, he backed up as well, hands buried in his pockets while he stared at his feet. He peered up with a half-lidded smile. “Jack said you’re going to be published—is that the book you were ghostwriting?”

She nodded, still unable to believe her name would be on the novel she’d just written. She had poured her heart into it—just like she had in her friendship with Sam—baring her soul in a story that so mirrored her own. Her heart skipped a beat. Only Princess Olivia and her former playboy had a fairytale ending …

Shannon sighed, the joy of publication dimmed by her situation with Sam. “It seems both the author and her editor loved the book so much, they insisted my name be listed as co-author.” Her lips lifted in a tremulous smile. “Along with a contract for a book of my own.”

His face lit up as he stepped forward, arms raised like he wanted to give her a hug. “Wow, Shan, that’s wonderful,” he said, quickly dropping them back to his sides when she withdrew a few more inches. “Sounds like a happy ending for both Olivia and you.” He slid his hands back into his pockets as if he didn’t know what else to do with them before his gaze gentled with hope. “I’d like to give you a happy ending, too, Shan,” he said quietly, “if you’ll let me.”

“I will, Sam, I promise,” she whispered, gaze tender. “But right now I need more time.”

“And right now I need you, Shannon,” he said firmly, closing the distance with a pained look of regret. His eyes locked on hers while he gently skimmed his palms down her arms. “I ‘need’ you to forgive me for hurting you the way that I did because I can’t live with myself if you don’t.”

“I’ve forgiven you, Sam …” She eased from his hold once again, his touch waging war with her resolve as she fought the seduction of those eyes. She’d always preferred to think of herself as more spiritual than physical, but Sam Cunningham had a way of blowing that assessment right out of the water, unleashing desire in her like no man ever had. Chewing on her lip, she tried to resist to no avail, peeking up at the man who possessed the power to disarm her, body and soul.

“But not forgotten,” he said quietly.

“No.” Her response was almost inaudible, barely wisping past her lips.

Exhaling loudly, he plunged his hands in the pockets of his prized Armani trousers, the matching charcoal jacket perfectly tailored to showcase his broad shoulders and narrow hips. It was complemented as always by one of his crisply starched Armani dress shirts, complete with silver stud cufflinks, and his favorite “new” Ralph Lauren tie. Her lips twitched in a near smile. One that was vomit-free, apparently.

As always, he looked like a GQ ad with a hint of scruff on his hard-sculpted jaw and dark curls groomed to perfection, just begging to be mussed. Those potent eyes refused to let her go, disarming her as they penetrated into her very soul. “Why didn’t you tell me, Shan?” he whispered, the hurt in his face damaging her far more than it did him.

Looking away, she swallowed hard, knowing full well he deserved an answer, deserved an apology as forthcoming as his, and one unhindered by fear. “I wanted to, Sam,” she whispered, the heat of her shame creeping into her cheeks, “but after we became good friends, I … was afraid. Afraid it would ruin your opinion of me, and all those seeds of faith I was trying so hard to sow.” She bit hard on her lip, scarcely aware of the taste of blood as tears burned beneath her lids. “And then when we began to” —a lump bobbed in her throat— “have stronger feelings for each other, I tried a number of times, but something always seemed to get in the way.” Sorrow welled in her eyes as they connected with his once again. “Until I was in so deep, I was petrified you’d turn me away.”

He hung his head. “Fears well-founded, apparently,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with remorse. Expelling a weighty sigh, he looked up, a glint of promise in his gaze. “I’ll never hurt you like that again, Shannon. I swear.”

“I hope not.” Her features turned tender. “But saying it doesn’t make it so, Sam,” she said softly. “It needs the test of time.”

He nodded, head bowed once again. “Does that mean time together? Or time apart?”

Her sigh floated on the same breeze that ruffled the dark curls on his head. “Time apart for a little bit longer, I think, just to make sure it’s what God wants me to do, then ample time together if He tells me you’re the one.”

He looked up beneath those nearly illegal lashes, mouth tipping up on one side. “So it’s Him I need to be talking to, not you?”