Private Paradise(46)

Her stomach went tight as she thought about the rest of the resort. How bad was it? Sam had said there was some flooding in the fitness center and roof damage to the main buildings. How much damage had the second half of the storm done?

She didn't hear Sam walk up beside her, but even in the rain she could feel his warmth, smell the rich masculine scent of him over the salt of the sea. “I hope we don't have to close for long,” Carla said, her brain already kicking into gear, running the numbers, calculating the losses if they had to close for more than a few weeks.

“No use worrying until we know how bad it is,” Sam said, and Carla was oddly gratified that he didn't try to placate her with meaningless assurances. “Let's go back inside. You're getting soaked out here.”

Carla didn't move, her eyes locked on the beach. “Maybe we should take a walk, assess the damage,” she said.

Sam moved behind her and put his big hands on her shoulders and kneaded at the tension already forming there. “There's plenty of time for that. It's still raining and getting close to sunset,” he said. “After twenty minutes, half an hour tops, we won't be able to see anything.”

There was no hint of sun through the thick cloud cover, but a glance at her watch told Carla he was right. Though her mind was spinning with anxiety she knew wouldn't be allayed until she knew exactly what they were facing, she felt a guilty tremor of relief as she let Sam guide her back inside.

Because she knew that as soon as they got back to business, this thing with Sam had to end. But until that time came, she was free and clear to indulge in every sensual pleasure his body offered. Free to pretend that he meant everything he said in the heat of the moment as he fucked her deep and hard.

To even let herself go so far as to imagine what might have been had Sam not pulled out at the last minute. To imagine that maybe it wouldn't have been such a catastrophe after all.

She could do all of this because this situation was so ridiculous, so impossible, it could hardly be counted as real. As long as they were stuck in this villa, it was like they were in their own world, a time out of time, a place that couldn't exist in her normal universe.

With that in mind, Carla sat back on the couch and accepted the glass of wine Sam had poured, shoved away all thoughts of the harsh reality awaiting her, and determined to enjoy the hell out of every last second of their not so forced proximity.

Momentarily sated, Sam pulled her to his side as he sipped his wine. Carla was relieved that he seemed content not to delve too deeply into their past or try to convince her that she shouldn't judge him by the person he used to be.

Though some of the changes were obvious―his work in the army and success after retiring were testament to that. But that aside, it was impossible to believe Sam had changed that much on the inside, that the insatiable player suddenly strove to be an upstanding family man with two point five kids and a house in the suburbs.

Impossible to believe that he'd spent one single second pining after her, lamenting Carla as the girl that got away.

But if Sam wanted to play it that way, she thought, practically purring as his fingers combed softly through her hair, Carla would indulge in the fantasy for just a little longer.

And she would also pointedly ignore the tiny, hidden corner of her heart that desperately wished to believe him.

For the rest of the evening, Sam stayed clear of touchy subjects, instead asking her about her brother and mother back in Vegas. He then regaled her with stories of some of his wilder exploits in the army. Carla found herself alternately in hysterics at some of the pranks he and his buddies had pulled on each other, and horrified at the level of danger he'd been in.

“It's part of the job,” Sam said, echoing his earlier sentiments when Carla expressed her shocked sympathy as Sam relayed how one of his best friends had been blown up in front of him.

Carla shook her head. “That's what I say when my chef complains about having to cater to every single whacked out diet plan under the sun. When the vegan raw foodist acidentally gets a smear of butter on her plate, there's just a lot of screaming. Nobody gets blown up.”

Sam's eyebrows pulled together as he looked down at her. “Vegan raw whatist? What the hell does that even mean?”

A laugh bubbled out of her throat at his obvious confusion. “It's someone who not only consumes only plant based foods, nothing can be cooked above one hundred four degrees because it kills all the living enzymes and nutrients in the foods.”

“You deal with a lot of whack jobs around here.”

She snuggled closer to him, sleepy from the wine, and suddenly acutely aware that he was totally naked under his towel. “Yeah, well you better get used to it if you plan on sticking around here.”