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Fuck.
He didn’t say anything, waiting for her to confess the money was gone, but when she stepped into the room, she favored him with a small smile. Although it was obviously forced, it somehow managed to buoy his spirits, momentarily convincing him things weren’t as bad as he feared.
Except the mascara stains were still there.
When she was close enough to touch, he reached out, holding her wrist in one hand so she couldn’t back away, and brushing his thumb under her eye.
“What happened?” he asked, dreading her answer.
“Oh.” She lifted a finger and turned to go back to the door, but he still held her wrist, anchoring her in place. “I can’t get it if you don’t let me go.”
He released her but was scared she might make a break for it at any moment.
She went and got the clutch, then withdrew a white letter envelope from inside, only the envelope was so fat he couldn’t imagine how she’d stuffed it in such a small bag.
“Here,” she said, returning to him and holding out the envelope.
“What’s this?” He couldn’t reconcile her tears with the package he was now holding. If she’d been crying, she had to have lost the money. Yet here was a fat envelope in his hands that could only contain one thing.
“It’s ten thousand dollars,” she replied, giving him a confused look. “I’m pretty sure that’s what you sent me to get, wasn’t it?”
“You won this?”
“I sure as hell didn’t earn it.”
Ethan peeked into the envelope, and a hundred bills in varying degrees of use greeted him in a green fan.
Ten thousand dollars.
“You won this?” he asked again, scarcely believing his idiotic plan had worked. He had the money. He could pay Julian. Ethan was a free man.
“I think the words you’re looking for are thank you, Sam.”
A simple thank you wasn’t going to cut it.
How on earth could he express his gratitude to the woman who had literally handed him the money to save his life?
Ethan threw the envelope on the coffee table and scooped Sam up in his arms. She went willingly with a surprise eep noise when he swept her off the floor and moved them towards the bed. He tossed her onto the plush duvet, and her short skirt rode up, showing him a flash of lilac-colored panties. Some sense of modesty made her try to pull the dress back down, but he whispered, “Don’t.” His voice was raw, husky from both lust and emotion. He hadn’t expected to be so moved by what she’d done, but now he couldn’t think of enough ways to thank her.
But he knew a good place to start.
Her hand went still on the hem of her dress when he spoke, and she watched him with wide-eyed wonderment as he uttered the command. He climbed onto the bed beside her and braced himself on one elbow, using his free hand to smooth her mussed auburn hair from her face. In the dim bedroom lighting, the reddish-brown streaks were lit up like copper, and he ran his fingers through them as he gazed down at her.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asked.
She swallowed hard, an audible gulp filling the otherwise perfect silence of the room. “No.”
“You are. So goddamn beautiful.” He scooted closer, placing a palm to her cheek and tracing his fingers over her soft, warm skin. Her mouth opened with a sigh, and he rubbed his thumb along the sensitive tissue of her lower lip, opening her up to him so when he dipped his head to hers, he was able to kiss her with all the intensity he wanted.
Her body arched into his, meeting his need with her own, her tongue matching pace with his, her hands finding the hem of his shirt and skating up his bare back, clawing at his shoulders to pull him closer.
He deepened the kiss as he rolled on top of her, feeding off her surprising vigor. She kissed him with the graceless passion of a teenager in the backseat of a car, all tongue and teeth and growling urgency. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed him like their mouths were consummating something as filthy and intimate as sex itself. The kiss held the taste of stolen moments and a rawness that was better than most blowjobs he got in any given week.
What Sam was giving him wasn’t stilted or forced. She needed him, and that desire rode through her like a living thing, filling him up and making him want to give back twice as good as he was getting.
He was so hard the press of the zipper on his jeans hurt, but all his other pain was an afterthought. He needed release and wanted to get it from Sam, but he didn’t want to scare her.
She jerked his shirt up, snagging it on his head in her haste to remove it. She stopped suddenly once the garment was off, her trembling hand tracing the pattern of bruises darkening his skin.
