He leaned down, letting her kiss him, his eyes closed.
Her touch was sweet, kind, without the passion he hoped might be building inside her. He curled his arms around her, pulling her closer . . .
And then . . .
Yes. He could feel it, a shift in her touch, a little ardor, unfamiliar but, finally, yes.
She was moving in, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, deepening her kiss.
He sank into her touch, needing her comfort more than he wanted to admit. She tasted salty, like popcorn, and in his arms, she seemed taller, as if she hadn’t changed out of her heels tonight into her Converse tennis shoes.
And then he realized he’d been running his fingers through her hair.
Her long hair.
He jerked his head up, stared down into her eyes.
Not Sierra’s hazel-green, but . . .
Oh. No.
“I’m sorry! You were just so sad, and then—I thought you needed something more than a hug and—”
Willow stopped talking and started backing away.
Sam couldn’t breathe.
Willow. His girlfriend’s flower-child-turned-youth-worker sister. Willow, with the easy laugh, pretty smile, long chestnut brown hair, hazel-blue eyes. Willow, who was about six years younger than him.
Willow, his girlfriend’s kid sister.
“Oh . . .” Sam swallowed, unable to move.
She held up her hands, bumping into the table as she backed away. “Listen, I tried to say something—”
“You tried to say something? When? I mean, I realize there wasn’t a lot of time in between me blubbering about my dad and the part where you kissed me—but certainly you might have said something. Anything. Willow! You kissed me.”
And how. For a split second, the kiss rushed back to him, and so did the feel of her in his arms, the stir inside him at her touch.
No, no . . .
She was pressing her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide in a sort of horror, even in the soft padding of darkness. “I know. I know!” Her voice wavered. “Let’s just—oh, please, can we forget this? Just—I’m leaving. I am . . . so . . . sorry.”
She turned then, knocked a chair over.
“Willow, calm down. Let’s talk about this.”
“Please don’t tell Sierra.” She hit the door, turned, and sounded like she might be crying. “I promise I’ll never talk to you again if you don’t tell Sierra.”
Him? “Oh, don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”
Except they still tingled with her kiss. His entire body was on fire.
She slipped out the door and shut it behind her.
And he let out a long, shaky breath.
Oh no.
Willow had completely lost her mind.
Simply experienced an out-of-body event, controlled by some apparently deep, dark fantasy.
Okay, maybe not that deep and dark. But nothing Willow had seriously entertained.
She rounded the corner, spotted the PEAK gang at the desk, ignored them, and beelined straight for the ladies’ room.
Where she locked herself in a stall.
That seemed the safest place to let out a silent scream, press her hands over her mouth.
She rewound, trying to pinpoint just when everything derailed. Freeze-framed on the moment she stepped up to Sam, put her arms around his lean, muscled body, and held him as he trembled with adrenaline and emotion.
A precious, sacred moment.
And it hadn’t mattered that she wasn’t Sierra. He needed someone.
No, he needed Sierra.
She had been about to correct him, really. Truly.
Oh.
Willow leaned her head against the cool frame of the stall and was about to let out a groan when the door to the bathroom opened.
“Willow?”
She winced. Found her voice. “Yeah?”
“I thought that was you.”
Jess. Her current roomie and landlord. Friend of her sister.
Everyone, apparently, belonged to her sister.
“I saw you come in. Were you looking for Sierra?”
Um, no. “The prayer chain called. I thought I’d come to the hospital and see if anyone needed anything.”
As in food, or prayer, or sympathy, even a little comfort. Only not in the way she’d delivered it. Oh, for crying out loud, she’d practically attacked him.
Willow felt a little ill. Maybe she should just stay here, hovering near the commode. “How is Bella?”
“She’s okay. I’m more worried about Quinn,” Jess said.
Willow pasted on a smile, then flushed the toilet, just because, and opened the stall. “Quinn Starr?”
She glanced at herself in the mirror as she came out.
She definitely looked freshly kissed. Her hair mussed, her eyes wide, lips still tingling with Sam’s touch. She nearly reached up to press them.
Jess was leaning against the row of sinks, her arms folded, looking capable and pretty. Not the kind of woman to throw herself into some taken man’s arms.