I grab my phone and stare at it. This is why Sam left the reception, isn’t it? To meet Tink24?
Part of me—the sane, rational, sensible part—needs assurance that I’m not off base here. I need to know I’m about to meet a man I can trust. Instead of using the chat client to message Riverrat69, I text Sam.
Liz: Tell me you’re the one waiting inside that cabin.
I stare at it a minute before sending, contemplating. I don’t have to do this. I could go back to my room at the inn and tell River I couldn’t go through with it. But I don’t want to. I want to go inside this cabin, look Sam in the eye, and strip away all the anonymity from the last two months. It’s time.
You make me believe there could be more. You make me want something more.
Would he have said that if he knew I was the one of the other side of the conversation?
I wait, staring at my phone, willing Sam to text me back. Nothing.
The digital clock on my dashboard clicks past one minute, then two. My stomach sinks.
Then the front door opens, and a dark silhouette shadows the porch. When the porch light comes on, I gasp, shocked to see the very thing I’ve been promising myself is true.
It’s Sam.
Chapter Ten
Liz
I’m moving toward the front porch before I even realize I’ve gotten out of the car, and he’s walking down the steps to meet me. It’s as if our bodies are magnetized, pulled together without our consent by irresistible attraction.
We meet at the bottom of the steps leading to the cabin’s wraparound porch. He’s still staring at me. Still not touching me. I don’t know how to do this. Do I tell him I hoped it would be him? Do I want to know if he is surprised to see me here? What if he wishes I were someone else? I don’t want to risk knowing that I might be a disappointment to him. I don’t think I could handle knowing that. Do we spend the night talking, or do we—
His mouth on mine cuts off my thoughts. The kiss is hard, heavy, hot, and I don’t want to talk at all.
I kiss him back, take his face in my hands and slide my tongue between his lips. He tastes like a man. I don’t know how else to explain it, but there is something distinctly masculine about Sam’s taste. It’s clean and crisp without being sweet. Earthy. Real.
He moves his way down my neck, his hands tangled in my hair. He tugs, pulling my hair and drawing my face up to look at the stars to give him better access to my neck. My moan echoes off the trees and his attention turns from sweet to rough. His mouth opens and he nips at the tender skin with his teeth, sucks and tastes. I’ll have marks tomorrow, but if the price of this sweet torture is a couple of weeks of turtlenecks, I’ll gladly pay.
It’s too dark out here for me to see what’s in his eyes, but when he pulls away, he’s breathing hard—not at all like a man disappointed in the identity of his anonymous lover. Is it just lust there or something more?
Stop thinking.
“Come inside,” he whispers. Then he takes my hand and leads me into the cabin, where he surveys me in the low light of the foyer. He’s still in his tux pants and dress shirt, but his jacket is gone and his tie hangs loose around his neck. “You look amazing in this dress. I’ve been pretending all night that there’s something I want to do more than get you out of it.”
“What would you do with me if you got so lucky?”
“I’d keep you up all night, for starters.” He slides a hand into my hair and traces the side of my neck with his thumb. His groan rumbles through me. “Tell me what you came here for.”
I thought that was pretty clear. “I’m wearing extremely slutty underwear. What do you think?”
His nostrils flare and his breathing goes thready. “I think I’m going to have to up my game, because now I want to see it.”
I have to bite back a smile. “Good,” I say. My heart thumps out a beat, probably Morse code for please and thank you.
“How slutty is this underwear of yours?”
I lick my lips. “Oh, it’s damn near whorish.”
“Let me see it, Liz.”
I lift my chin and prop my hands on my hips. “Seriously? That’s all the seduction I get? Let me see it?”
He steps closer until I have to crane my neck to look at him, and holy hell he smells good. “What game are we playing here, Rowdy?” he murmurs against my ear. “Is this the one where we pretend we don’t want each other and sleep alone . . .” His fingers skim down my shoulder and my eyes float closed. “Or is it the one where I make you come so hard you scream my name and tomorrow you act like you want nothing to do with me?”