Staying On Top(41)

“You’re different than Sam’s usual girl. He’s easygoing and he attracts the same. Easy in, easy out. No muss, no fuss.” She cocked her head. “You’re definitely fuss, Blair. But if you muss him, you’ll have to deal with me. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it smells bad. He’s a good guy—a little too much so, probably.”

“I’m not Sam’s girl, so I guess you don’t have to worry.”

“Hmm. We’ll see.”

She wandered off, leaving me a ball of tension. I finished dumping in soap and set the dial to the shortest wash possible. When I made my way back to the living room, I found her at the foot of the stairs, two piles of clothes in her hands.

“Here. One for you, one for him. There will be breakfast in the kitchen in a few minutes.”

“Thanks.” It was hard enough for me to get out that one word, so I didn’t try for any more.

Marija wasn’t unique—others along the way had sensed something off about me or my story, or my dad, and we’d had to bail on that con and find another. Some people were gifted with greater intuition than others, for sure, the same way some people sensed ghosts or whatever. Like an extra sense, or at least a super-honed bullshit meter.

We would be gone soon, but it wouldn’t stop her from warning Sam.

I tossed the clothes on the bed in my room, wishing I could hide under that too-soft pile of bedding until this entire situation melted away. The sound of running water snuck under the bathroom door, signaling Sam indulging in a second shower, which hadn’t been part of the plan. I walked over and tapped on the door, then tried the knob when he didn’t respond, cracking the door just far enough to make sure I wasn’t going to see anything I didn’t . . . well, not that I didn’t want to, but that I shouldn’t assume I could.

“Sam?” Despite my best efforts, my eye wandered to the half-steamed mirror, my breath catching at the sight of his naked body though the all-glass shower.

“Yeah?” he shouted back, not pausing in his soaping pattern.

“I’m leaving clean clothes on the counter for you, and Marija says there’s breakfast.”

“Okay, I’ll be down in a few minutes.” He paused, then glanced over his shoulder at the mirror and caught me staring. “Unless you want to join me.”

I backed up and shut the door without answering. My mouth had dried and my gut twisted at the mere thought of touching him; I had to get farther away. Marija’s clothes fit me pretty well, if they were hers and not just extras—rich people always seemed to have some laying around—but the yoga pants were a little bit long.

The socks warmed my toes, though, and the hooded sweater eased the chill bumps on my arms. By the time I slid into a chair in the empty kitchen and grabbed a croissant and a slice of bacon, my nerves had settled. When Sam appeared a few minutes later, hair damp and smelling freshly washed, my heart gave a couple of quick thuds before easing back into a steady beat.

There. I could be in the same room with him and not jump his bones. Mind over matter. In fact, I thought as he poured a cup of coffee and sat across from me, we should get to the business at hand.

“We might as well run over to my dad’s Belgrade house while the clothes are washing. Then we can get out of here as soon as we’re done.”

He eyed me over a piece of toast. “If your dad’s not there, you mean.”

“Of course,” I covered smoothly, sipping my own coffee. “Maybe today will be the end of the journey. You never know.”

“I think I’d be sad if it was.”

I looked up to find a strange expression in his eyes—a little bit of sorrow, some of the thrumming lust that had become familiar, and something else harder to pin down.

“Why? You don’t want your money back?”

He sighed and sat back, the chair popping under his weight. “No, I want my money back. You ready?”

Going out in public in yoga pants wasn’t something I did off campus, but what the hell. I didn’t know anyone in Belgrade, and it was early. Hopefully the Serbian people weren’t judgy as far as fashion went. “Sure.”

“Let me get my shoes on and see which car Marija wants us to take.”

Of course she had more than one spare. Why wouldn’t she?

I waited in the living room, pretending not to care that Sam and Marija talked too softly in the next room for me to overhear. When they emerged, he had a frown on his face that reinfected me with worry, and she had a fire in her eyes that made me tired.

“Well?”

“You two can take the black Mercedes. My parents are in Monaco for the month, and I typically take the Jag when I need to drive myself.”