His eyes were such a light shade of blue that they had a sort of chronic piercing
effect, made even sexier because they were framed by a set of some seriously
killer lashes. And his hair was that ideal shade of golden blond with just enough
wave to be, well … sexy as hell.
And the body … oh, the body.
Sam had the lean, muscled build of a man who was used to using his body. Which
she supposed made sense. He’d gone straight from the football field to a freaking
triathlon on a dare from Riley’s brother. And she didn’t really have a clue what he
did to keep in shape these days, but he did something, because his biceps were
definitely straining the fabric of those tight T-shirts he wore everywhere, and the
jeans revealed nothing but sheer man-butt perfection.
“You checkin’ me out, Ri?”
“You know, I was? Just trying to figure out who caused those wrinkles around
your eyes.”
“Well, you know what they say about aging. Men get distinguished and women
just get old.”
She snatched the lime out of his hand even though she didn’t know how she was
going to carry the ones she’d already gathered. “You’d better invest in some eye
cream. Nurse Angela’s not going to like you going all old-man on her.”
“Nurse Angela didn’t go paying much attention to my eyes, if you know what I
mean.”
“No, Compton. I have no idea what you mean by that blatant sexual reference,”
she snapped, sliding out of the truck with the limes cradled against her chest.
One fell to the ground, but since picking it up would mean dropping the rest of
them, she left it.
“Hey, I figured you like it blunt,” he called after her, grabbing the rest of the
ingredients and coming around the truck. “You’re the one who makes a living off
of selling sex.”
Riley’s head snapped back in surprise. “What did you just say?”
He looked a little startled by her expression. “I just meant—”
Riley turned to face him, eyes furious. “I don’t sell sex. I write about it. There’s a
big difference.”
“You know what I meant, Ri.”
“Obviously not,” she said, taking a step forward.
His eyes went wary, and he took a tiny step backward. Smart man.
She hadn’t felt the need to defend her job in years. She figured the people who
couldn’t handle it were either prudes or recently blue-balled.
Somehow she didn’t think Sam was either one of those.
“You know, you’re right, Sam. Maybe I should stop selling sex. Maybe I should
go stir grain liquor around in a garage, and then refuse to share it with anyone,
much less sell it. Maybe live in a perpetual state of it’s not ready?”
His gaze darkened, as their conversation quickly went from casual sparring to
heated anger. It inevitably did with them. They’d scratch back and forth, inflicting
light surface wounds, until someone swiped too hard and drew blood. Then the
other bit back, and, well …
“You don’t know anything about it, Riley.”
“Nobody does,” she muttered, turning back to the house.
When Sam had announced that he was starting his own distillery a few years
prior, the McKenna family had done nothing but support him. Unlike his own
mother, who’d done nothing but tear him down.
But what had the McKennas gotten for their support and hope for him to succeed?
Stonewalled. That’s what. Other than Liam, and save for one surprise “door-
opening” celebration, none of the other McKennas had ever been invited out to
the distillery, and not for a lack of fishing for an invitation.
Sam kept saying he was just tweaking it to get it right for tasting, but Riley knew
better. The man was scared to death of failing. She knew it because she knew
him. Years of covertly stalking a man had its benefits.
“What were you and your mom talking about?” he said, following her toward the
front door. “Looked like I walked in on something awkward.”
“Nice subject change,” she said, using her toe to open the front door she’d left
cracked. “And it was awkward. My mom wanted to know if my most recent BDSM
article was based on personal experience.”
Sam whistled. “Whew. Go Erin.”
“Speaking of mothers, how’s yours?”
His easy smile vanished. “Fine.”
Riley tilted her head and gave him a look. “Don’t fine me. I know you.”
He rolled his shoulders. “Okay. She’s nasty and mean and still hates my guts.
Good enough?”
“Sam—” She set a hand on his arm, but he jerked back.
“Drop it, Ri.”