Carla remembered how the cold had overtaken her at the cruel tone in his voice. In the moonlight, she could see the change come over his face, his mouth pulling into a sneer, a look of pure meanness on his face that she'd never seen on him before. Still, like a moron, she couldn't stop pushing forward. “Not your stalker,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Your girlfriend.”
“Who ever said you were my girlfriend?”
Any response she might have made stuck in her throat as his words hit her like a punch to the chest. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She could only sit there mutely as he went in for the kill.
“I don't know what you think we've got going here, Carla, but I'm just hooking up.”
She wanted to point out all the time they'd spent talking, the way they spent every free moment together even if they weren't fooling around, but she couldn't make her mouth form the words.
“Don't get me wrong, it's been fun. You're hot, and you have a killer rack, but I'm only twenty-one. No way am I going to tie myself down to one girl now.” He made a scoffing sound that made her stomach clench so hard she thought she was going to throw up. “Especially not an uptight virgin who gives a lousy blowjob.”
She remembered going cold and hot, the roaring in her ears so loud it was like a freight train going through her head. To this day she didn't remember getting up, scrambling down the hill, and sprinting back to her room. At some point she must have fallen, because when she became aware of herself and her surroundings both knees were bloody and her palms were scraped.
She'd spent that night, curled up on her bed, too stunned to even cry, trying to tell herself that this was all a horrible nightmare. That she was going to wake up, and Sam would be there, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, his teeth showing white against his tan skin as he smiled down at her in a way that made her feel beautiful, special, like there was no one else in the world for him and never would be.
But the next morning she'd woken up in her bed, her hands and knees stinging as she pulled on her uniform and went to serve the breakfast shift. On her way to the dining room she'd seen him on his way down to the marina. The smile that automatically pulled at her lips got stuck as he looked past her as though she didn't exist.
She'd died a thousand deaths in the next three days before he left. It was torture, watching him go on like nothing had happened. To see him smile and flirt with the leggy blond from ASU. She'd walked around feeling like an anvil was crushing her chest, and even though it felt like he'd torn out her heart and crushed it under his heel, she knew if he gave her one smile, one word of apology, she'd fall right back into his arms.
The day he left, she'd climbed up onto the butte where they'd laid out their blanket so many nights. From there she watched his car pull away from the resort and disappear into the desert. She'd sobbed for hours, and when she finally stopped she vowed to herself that was the last time she'd cry over Sam O'Connell.
As much as she'd hated Sam for what he did, she'd hated herself more. She'd known who Sam was and what he was like well before he kissed her that first time. She was supposed to be so smart, the top of her class, but like Frank O'Connell said, even the smartest women could be made into fools when it came to the wrong man.
Eleven years later, Carla felt the pain of her broken heart, the sting of humiliation, as keenly as she'd felt it then. It chased away the lingering arousal from her dream, reminding her that even if her body remembered the pleasure of his touch, she'd never be stupid enough to give in to temptation again.
Chapter 5
In case Carla was at all inclined to ignore all the reasons why she shouldn't take a walk down memory lane with Sam, she was presented with an object lesson less than three hours into Sam's first day on the job.
“Where is Sam?” she snapped impatiently at Bryce, her second in command who managed sales, catering, and events. Looking at her watch, she saw Sam was almost ten minutes late for their meeting to discuss the security strategy for an upcoming wedding. The bride, a daughter of a former president, employed her own security detachment, and they were eager to be briefed on how Sam planned to address the need for heightened security during the event.
“I ran into him at the gym early this morning,” Bryce said, “but not since. Did you know,” he said, a dreamy look on his face, “that he can do twenty-five pull ups in a row?”
Carla rolled her eyes and paged Sam on the walkie talkie all staff members carried. The sound of static muffling a feminine giggle made a pit form in her stomach.
Frowning, she pushed her chair back from her desk. “Focus please. Right now we need to worry about whether or not Sam can do what we need, not how many pull ups he can crank out.”