Sometimes, you made the wrong choices.
And sometimes, you made the right ones.
#
When Shauna arrived home at ten, she’d found a dozen white roses in a vintage glass vase on her doorstep. She didn’t have to read the card to know they were from Austin. He’d sent her a dozen white roses before each of their dates. The first time, she found the gesture sweet and romantic, after, the flowers themselves seemed to demand more of her than she could give.
She brought them inside and put them on the table in front of the bay window. She sighed and looked at the card.
Dearest Shauna,
Thank you for being my escort tomorrow at the charity ball. You will certainly be the most beautiful woman present. No strings.
Love, Austin
Shauna was hot and miserable. She went upstairs and took a cool shower, then put on an over-sized, threadbare T-shirt that must have been her brother Brian’s because it said USMC on the front, but she couldn’t remember when she’d obtained it.
She sat down in the dining room with the too-loud air conditioner and ate chocolate ice cream out of a large bowl. She was feeling lonely and guilty, and considered calling her brother Mike, who’d be getting off his shift at midnight. She doubted she’d sleep much.
She wished she’d been more emphatic with Austin about the damn dress. She dreaded what he’d pick out for her—not because it wouldn’t be gorgeous, but because it would be outrageously expensive and she knew now where his money came from. And she’d never wear it again. She’d probably want to burn it.
Her doorbell rang. It was original to the house, a beautiful chime her father had fixed when she first moved in.
It was late and she almost didn’t answer it, fearing it would be Austin. She didn’t know if she could fake it anymore, the twenty minutes they’d spent together in the bar had drained her. But it was obvious she was home—her car was in the driveway and her lights were on.
She dragged herself to the door and looked out the small, inset glass.
Sam.
Her heart raced even though she didn’t want to see Sam, either. But she opened the door.
He stood there on her welcome mat, his handsome face long, with a bunch of poppies in his hand—poppies with the roots and dirt still attached.
“Shauna, I’m sorry. I was wrong. Forgive me.”
She blinked and her mouth opened, but no words came out. She had nothing to say. No sarcastic comment. No smug victorious smirk.
Sam stepped inside and saw the roses. “Davis?” he asked.
She nodded.
He took the roses out of the vase and plopped the wilting poppies in the water. “Okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
He closed and bolted her door, then pulled her against his chest and kissed her.
Her knees buckled, but he grabbed her ass and held her close, his mouth firmly, expertly claiming hers. She only hesitated for a second before lust replaced shock. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight.
His hands moved up her shirt, kneading her skin, rough and urgent. His mouth was locked on hers, taking her breath away, and when she pulled back for air, he moved greedily down her jaw to her neck, his tongue leaving wet kisses all the way to her ear. He bit her lobe, hard enough to feel the imprint of his teeth, just below the threshold of pain. She gasped as his hands moved under her bikinis and held her butt cheeks firmly, his fingers deeply massaging her, inching closer to her center. Then he lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on as he carried her to the couch in the dining room.
“My. Bedroom. Up.” She could hardly breathe, let alone talk.
“Here. Now.” He dropped her to the couch. Her panties fell around one of her ankles and Sam pulled off his T-shirt and unbuttoned his jeans. She took the brief moment of reprieve to try to slow her racing heart, but when she saw his broad, toned chest slick with sweat, she smiled, pulled off the USMC shirt, and knelt on the couch. She splayed her hands across his chest. His heart pounded beneath his rib cage, a powerful rhythm she hoped to mimic in bed. Or on the couch. Or on the floor. Or all three.
She kissed him, the salty taste reminding her of hot nights on the beach and dreams of a night just like tonight, with this man.
She should be scared. The feelings she’d had for Sam Garcia for so long should terrify her. But they didn’t. Sex had never felt this right. She’d never wanted to make love this badly. She’d never felt like she needed a man like she needed—craved—Sam Garcia.
Sam wasn’t going to last long, not this time, not since he’d been in a perpetual state of semi-arousal since their groping kiss the night before that left him with hot promises. He grabbed Shauna’s wrists when her hands started moving south, and he kissed her again. She met him with the same urgency he felt inside, and her passion drove him. He pushed her back down onto the couch, everything about their relationship as volatile and exciting as this full body, fully naked kiss. He wanted to tell Shauna she was the most gorgeous creature on the planet, but when he said her name, she scraped her fingernails down his back hard enough to send a jolt of lust to his already hard dick. She then grabbed his ass like he’d grabbed hers before and squeezed, her fingers getting too close to the sensitive skin at the base of his penis. He adjusted his body so she couldn’t reach him and moved his kisses down to her perfect breasts. He licked one, then the other, going back and forth, sucking harder each time he changed sides, nibbling her nipples until she cried out. He smiled, feeling like the cat that ate the canary at how hot and responsive she was to him—until she rolled him over and he fell on the floor.