Authors: Christi Barth
Outnumbered, Sam gave Mira’s hand a final squeeze and went back to the bakery. His mother carefully closed both halves of the door behind him. Mira’s blood pressure shot straight back up. Why would she do that? What on earth did she need to say that Sam couldn’t hear? Would she flat-out call Mira a...um...hussy? Because the whole kissing thing two minutes ago, well, the blame rested squarely with Sam. He started it. If Mira had known his mom might pop in at any second, she would have kept her lips to herself.
“Mira, it’s lovely to finally meet you. I’m sorry it took me so long. I get to the bakery at three in the morning to start the bread rising, so my day is almost over when yours begins.”
“You sure drew the short straw with that shift,” Mira said cautiously. Should she apologize back? Frankly, she’d been too overwhelmed to meet Mrs. Lyons at first, and then too scared to meet her once she and Sam cranked up the heat. Avoiding her had turned into a complicated, secret-agent-worthy task since they’d begun leaving the connecting door open yesterday.
“I’m used to it now. For years my husband did the early baking. I’d make fun of him banging around in the dark from the warm nest of our bed. But once it fell on my shoulders, I discovered how peaceful that time of day can be.” Her eyes, a paler version of her son’s, twinkled. “I can catch up on all my soap operas without Sam muttering about how stupid they are. I’ve even started streaming old shows on the computer while I bake.
Murder
,
She
Wrote
inspires me. That poor woman lived in a town the size of a sneeze and had to deal with a different murderer every week. Makes the Chicago crime stats look much more reasonable.”
Ready to pounce into damage-control mode the moment Mrs. Lyons let her get a word in edgewise, Mira smiled. She refused to let the taint of a bad first impression stick. “I’ve heard so much about you. Every time we run together, Gib mentions your scones. He says the memory of their deliciousness and the urge to eat a hundred more is all the motivation he needs to pound the pavement.”
“He’s a sweet boy. A liar, but sweet. Gibson could eat ten in an hour and not gain an ounce, what with the amount of calories that man burns chasing women.”
Shaky ground here. Did Mrs. L disapprove of his womanizing ways? Or was it a test, to see if Mira would stick up for her new friend? When in doubt, steer around an obstacle. “I’ve become quite a fan of your cookies. The smell alone makes me want to burst through that door at least a dozen times a day.”
Kathleen cocked her head to the side. “Is it truly the magical aroma of my banana oatmeal cookies that lures you? I thought for sure it was the obvious attraction between you and my son. From what I just witnessed, it certainly looks as though you can’t keep your hands—and various other body parts—off each other.”
Oh. So the pleasantries were over, just that fast. Mira flung out one last, desperate compliment as a shield. “Sam’s a wonderful man.”
“There we agree. You might not be aware that you’re the first woman he’s been serious about since he got back from Europe.” She waved her hand as though erasing a chalkboard. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s no monk. I’ve seen more than one woman tiptoeing down the stairs as I’m rolling the cinnamon buns at dawn. But none of them stuck. None of them erased the clouds from his eyes. You did that, Mira, and I’m very grateful.”
The compliment was as unexpected as the brisk hug that followed. “Thank you.”
“Of course, I never expected my son to fall for a woman who runs a sex store.” The stern, periwinkle glare held only for a second before softening. A surprisingly high-pitched giggle accompanied the laugh crinkles around her eyes.
Mira couldn’t resist joining in. After all the hard work she and Ivy had put in selecting high-quality merchandise, the thought that someone actually expected dildos and vibrators on the shelves dissolved her into guffaws. Kathleen put a supporting arm around her shoulder. The two stood there, hunched over and laughing for almost a minute. It felt great. Talk about a great way to break the ice. When Mira finally straightened, she crossed to the refrigerator, pulled out two bottles of water and offered one to Kathleen.
“Thank you. I needed to laugh about this whole mess. And I don’t think Ivy will be in a laughing mood when I tell her the story.” She snuck a glance at her watch. The fact the front door was locked, barring potential customers, still prickled at the back of her neck. But Mira knew she needed to take this time to get to know Kathleen. An extra five minutes wouldn’t hurt anything but her overdeveloped drive to sell.
Kathleen took a sip. “I’m actually a bit disappointed. It would’ve been nice to pick up a cute set of trick handcuffs, maybe lined in red fake fur. They’d make my John’s eyes pop right out of his skull at dinner tonight.”
Wait. Hold everything. Put aside the creepy factor of her boyfriend’s mother talking about sex toys. Poor, traumatized, widowed, depressed, frail, helpless Kathleen was dating? Mira couldn’t believe it. After everything Gib, Ben and Sam had told her, this didn’t add up. “John? A friend of yours?”
“Oh my, yes. A very good friend.”
No way could Mira let that comment slide. Normally, she wouldn’t press someone she’d just met to share the dirt on their sex life. Especially not someone almost twice her age. But this was potentially huge. It could turn so much of what she knew about Sam and his motivations inside out. Mira threw all restraint to the wind and forged ahead. “Is John a friend who appreciates gag gifts, or a friend who would actually appreciate sharing the gift with you?”
“Do you really expect me to kiss and tell?”
Mira goggled at Kathleen. That sealed it. “You’re dating? You’re in a relationship with a man?”
“Yes. So are you,” she said blandly.
“Yes, but I’m not...I wasn’t...”
“Married?” Kathleen shook her head. “I loved Patrick with all my heart, but the marriage contract ended when he died. It’s been two years, so dating’s not illegal, you know.”
“No. I mean, I’m thrilled you’re dating. If you’re truly ready, this is a normal, healthy thing. It isn’t good for people to go through life alone.”
“Exactly. Now, if I bribed you with muffins every day for the rest of your life, would you be willing to tell Sam that for me?”
“He doesn’t know?” But as the words came out of her mouth, the answer was obvious. Of course he didn’t know. Mira drained her water bottle in a slow and steady gulp. It didn’t buy her the time she needed to figure out what to say next. If she mulled and strategized for a week, she still probably wouldn’t be able to come up with a good response. So instead, she spoke straight from her heart. “He’s going to go ballistic when he finds out.”
Kathleen wrinkled her nose and scrunched her eyes together. “Probably. Which is why I haven’t told him.” She switched off the pained look and smiled. “John and I have been seeing each other for almost three months. At our age, you start measuring relationships in dog years. We’re ready to move in together.”
“Wow. Sam’s definitely not going to like to hear that you’re dating. But he’s going to epically lose it when you take this step. The emotional equivalent of a thermonuclear blast. At best.”
“Tough.”
Mira laughed, caught off guard.
“Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate everything Sam’s done for me over the past few years. There were times the only thing holding me together was his willpower. He gave me all the support and all the time I needed to heal, and figure out how to live this new version of my life. You know, they say when you break a bone, it heals twice as strong.”
Huh. Gib had said the same thing. Maybe it was something the grief counselors had drummed into Sam, and he’d passed on to his friends. Mira could imagine him coaching them on how to handle his mother at her most fragile. He wouldn’t have left anything to chance when taking care of her.
“I shattered into a million pieces when Patrick died. But now I’m two million times stronger. Sam doesn’t see that. He’s still too busy protecting me. He can’t see past the memory of me huddled on the couch, not moving, barely stringing two breaths together. I’m ready to move on. I already have, in most respects. But I still need Sam to let go.”
Mira agreed. However, it wasn’t that simple. “Worrying about you, watching over you—that’s been his whole life for quite some time. You’re asking him to go cold turkey.”
Kathleen moved her hands restlessly on the counter. “I’ve been giving him hints, trying to spread my wings. He ignores them. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake him. Do you think I wanted him to run me around to six different bingo games? I don’t even like bingo. That’s just an excuse I made up to cover up when John and I go out on a date.”
“That is very cute.” And now Mira very much wanted to meet this man who was willing to sneak around to spare Sam’s feelings. John sounded like a keeper.
“This isn’t all about me. Sam needs to get back to living his life for himself, on his own terms. I thought, I hoped, that by letting you in he was doing just that. Finally putting his own needs ahead of mine.” Kathleen grabbed her hands, her grip strong from years of pummeling dough. “You’ve got your toe in the door, Mira. Won’t you help me shove it open all the way?”
Mira wanted to help this friendly, sweet woman. Her motives were more than sound. But her trying to help in this situation would be as foolhardy as asking a toddler to mix the volatile ingredients for nitroglycerin. “I can’t. I want to. I agree with everything you are saying. But I have an absolutely horrible relationship with my parents. The closeness you and Sam share is an absolute gift. One that I can’t risk wrecking. I’m afraid someone else stirring the pot would only lead to heartache. The most I can do is try and drop a few hints. Give him a very subtle nudge or two.”
Kathleen patted her hands, then let go. “Nudges are good. Almost useless with my son, as his head’s as thick as a brick, but every bit helps.”
“And I’ll see what I can do about getting you a set of those handcuffs. As a neighborly gesture.”
“I should hope so. I know what you’re giving my son on a daily basis. Fuzzy handcuffs are the least you can do for me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sam stared at the inside of Mira’s refrigerator. With every second he held open the door, he wished more and more he’d thought to pull on pants before trekking out to the kitchen. All the cool air lowered his chance of a repeat performance of transforming Mira into a screaming pleasure puddle anytime soon. Bracing himself, he opened the freezer to rummage for bread.
A high, shrill scream rent the air. Sam spun around and palmed a knife off the counter in one movement. Unfortunately it was a paring knife, with a blade no longer than his thumb, but it was better than nothing. And being completely naked, he had a whole lot of nothing.
The lights came on. Daphne stood against the wall in clingy white pajamas covered with big red roses. She had one hand on the switch, the other covering her mouth, and a horrified expression on her face. Sam dropped the knife. As fast as humanly possible, he lunged for an oven mitt and held it in front of him. For all the infinitesimal coverage it provided. Still better than flashing his bits and pieces to one of his closest friends.
“Hey, Daph. Didn’t hear you come in.”
The eyebrows that had parked high on her forehead with shock drew together into annoyance. “With all the noise you two were making, you wouldn’t have heard if a spaceship crashed into the living room and five-legged aliens hopped out to invade the world.”
Sam tried to play it cool, have a normal conversation with her, as if the situation wasn’t as uncomfortable as his first prostate exam. “Really? All the movies you watch, the best you can come up with is a five-legged alien? No tentacles or razor-tipped claws?”
“We are not going to stand here and discuss alien anatomy.”
Better than discussing all of his own exposed anatomy. “I’m just saying, if they want to invade Earth, they should be ferocious in some way. Maybe fangs on their elbows?”
Daphne stomped her foot, shod in a fuzzy slipper shaped like the head of the lobster from
The
Little
Mermaid
. “Why are you naked in my kitchen?”
“Well, if you truly were listening to our ‘noises,’” Sam made air quotes with one hand, “then you can probably figure out why I’m naked. And I’m in the kitchen because Mira’s hungry. Thought I’d throw together a
croque
monsieur
for her.”
“Stop showing off, chef boy. Call it a grilled cheese sandwich like the rest of the world.”
“That’s like comparing a plain roast beef sandwich to the glories of a cheesesteak. Tell you what. Stop being so pissy and I’ll make you one, too.”
“Sam Lyons, you are bare-ass naked. I don’t want you so much as breathing on a single one of my pans.” She tossed him the purple afghan from the back of the couch. “For the love of all that is good and holy, cover yourself up.”
Mira padded into the room, tightening the sash of her long, red robe. “I heard a scream.”
Daph whipped around so fast her long ponytail smacked her in the face. “Yes, you did. I scream when I’m surprised by unexpected, naked men in my house.”
“Sorry, Daphne.” But Mira didn’t look sorry. With her tousled hair, flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, she looked like a satisfied, sexed-up woman. The primal caveman in Sam stood up and roared with pride at pleasing her. “We didn’t think you’d be home so soon. Weren’t you and Gib and Milo headed out to grab drinks at that new place on Southport?”
“Yes.”
Sam peered over his shoulder at the clock. Still early enough that Daphne’s story didn’t add up. “You’re not a one-drink girl. When you post up at a bar, you’re there for the duration.”
“Anything worth doing is worth doing right.”
“So what happened?” Mira asked, walking her over to perch on the stools lined up at the gray granite breakfast bar.
“Milo caught the sniffles. You know how he carries on like he’s got tuberculosis after a single sneeze. He stayed home to take enough supplements to choke a wildebeest.”
“What about Gib? You guys hang out all the time.”
Her cheeks filled with the same color as the roses on her pajamas. “Sure. I know. But tell that to one of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors. Women were crawling all over him from the moment we sat down at the bar. He’s got his hands full. In fact,” the corner of her mouth skewed down, “he probably hasn’t yet noticed that I left.”
“He’s letting this magazine feature go to his head.” Mira crossed her arms and shook her head. “You were there with him. Ergo, he shouldn’t have even noticed the random, bed-hopping candidates throwing themselves at him.”
“It wasn’t a date. He can look all he wants. Hell, he can do way more than just window shop. Because he’s certainly not coming home with me.”
“Doesn’t matter. Being in a bar with a friend is like being in the army. You never leave a man behind.” Sam edged out from behind the counter. The afghan was a loose knit, but he thought he’d bunched it up enough to keep him decent. From the front, anyway. “Want me to get him back, on your behalf? Short-sheet his bed, or put hair-removal cream in his shampoo?”
Daphne rolled her eyes high enough her pupils completely disappeared. “No. You know why? Because you’re not twelve and at sleepaway camp for the first time.”
Geez. Didn’t he at least get points for trying? “Sorry. My options are limited. We’re good friends. It’s not like I can deck the guy for wanting to score. But I will tell him that he acted like a royal douche. How’s that?”
“Satisfactory.” Daphne shuffled over to peck Sam on the cheek. “You’re a good guy, Sam. No wonder Mira’s all hot and bothered for you.” Then she curved her fingers into a claw and ruffled the hair across the top of his chest. “Of course, the way you look without a shirt might have something to do with it, too.”
He swatted away her hand. Like it wasn’t eight hundred degrees of weird already having a conversation with her half naked. Daphne was like a...well, not a sister. More of little brother, actually. They watched Bears games together and told dirty jokes. On his birthday they’d had a contest to see who could eat more hot wings in a row before caving and reaching for beer. She’d come within one wing of beating him. For the most part, except for nights like the party Gib threw for Ivy and Ben, he even managed not to notice her fairly perky breasts. So to have her touching him was wrong and creepy and almost incestuous. “Cut it out,” he ordered. “How would you like it if I ran my hand across your chest?”
She giggled, unfazed. “Probably not as much as Mira does?”
“That’s enough, Daph.” Mira hip-checked her away. Then she slid in and wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist. “See, if you’d stayed at the bar you could’ve hunted up your own man instead of pawing at mine. Didn’t you see any contenders?”
Daphne pursed her lips and scrunched up her nose. “Nope. Well, none who were available.” She rummaged in a drawer by the sink and came up clutching a giant Toblerone bar. Waving it triumphantly overhead, she said, “This shall be the only thing sharing my bed tonight. And I know I am guaranteed satisfaction.”
“That makes two of us.” Mira grinned and dipped her hand beneath the afghan in the back.
“Seriously, make tall, dark and hairy next to you throw on some clothes before he touches anything in my kitchen. And try to keep your shouts of ecstasy under wraps, okay? This chocolate will only go so far in blunting my envy.” She waved good-night and headed back down the hall.
Sam waited impatiently until her door closed. Then he let the afghan fall to the ground. He picked Mira up and set her on the counter, moving to stand between her legs. The way her robe gaped open gave him all sorts of ideas. He followed through on idea number one by palming her petal-soft breast. Immediately her nipple rose to a point, which he rolled between his thumb and first finger. “I thought she’d never leave.”
Mira grabbed his hand and lowered it to her thigh. “She didn’t. She could come back at any moment. Which means we can’t do this.”
“We can. It’d be easy. You’re at a really good height to line everything up.” To prove it, he cupped his hands around her ass and scooted her forward until they touched. “See?”
Huh. She didn’t immediately wrap her legs around his waist, so he assumed she wasn’t sold on the idea. Clearly he needed to sweeten the pot. Sam nibbled her ear, then caught the lobe between his teeth and gently bit down. Sure enough, she shivered from head to toe.
He’d already spent a considerable amount of time and energy learning what Mira liked in bed. What made her toes curl, what caused her soft and sweet sigh, and what made her clench around his finger, all hot and slick and wet. Just thinking about it pumped blood from all of his extremities straight to his dick. Good thing he had a strong grip on Mira to keep him steady.
“Sam, I can’t piss off Daphne. She’s a terrific roommate. Plus, I think your friendship would be irrevocably scarred if she caught you having sex in her kitchen. She seems rather proprietary about it.”
He moved down, licking alive a trail of nerve endings in her neck. Not wanting to rush things, he paused at the hollow of her collarbone, right where her pulse fluttered blue just beneath the surface. A little light suction there and she squirmed against him. Smooth legs moved restlessly against his thighs. Exactly like she did in the middle of sex. God, he had to have her now. Right now.
No matter how much he tried to stay in control, keep his passion checked to see to Mira’s needs first, she was his undoing. The mewling, sexy noises she made, her unbelievably soft skin, the way she moved against him, fueled his lust to levels he’d never before sustained for so long. Mira was both gasoline in his bloodstream and the match that set it aflame.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she whispered.
“Good.”
Grabbing hold of his shoulders, she pushed him away to arm’s length. “Just hold that thought until Daphne falls asleep, okay?”
“See? This is why we should’ve stayed at my place,” he grumbled. “No scheduling sex around roommates.” Sam wanted Mira on a twenty-four-seven basis. The need for her was like a low-grade fever, heating his blood no matter where he went or what he did.
“Yes, but no bathtub, either. Remember, that’s why we came here tonight. I promised you a bubble bath for two. The tub even has Jacuzzi jets.”
“Bribe accepted.” He picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom. Just inside the door, he stubbed his toe on something and ended up dropping her on the bed. “Son of a bitch, that hurts.” Sitting down, he gave a vicious kick with his other foot to the offending bag.
“Stupid thing. What do you have in here—concrete?”
“Ooh, pull it up. I need to sort through the mail I brought home from the store.”
Sam propped himself against the mound of pink pillows, one arm draped across a raised knee. “You’ve got all this to keep your attention, and you want to read the mail?”
“No, in my list of prioritized tasks right now, mail does not supersede screwing you cross-eyed.”
“Good to know.”
“But I told you, we can’t do anything until Daphne falls asleep.” She dragged the bag onto the bed and pulled out a big stack of envelopes. Spreading them across the white comforter, she began pushing them into piles. A colorful postcard of a field of lavender caught his eye. There’d been a memorable weekend in Provence a few years ago with a picnic basket, a blanket and this blonde...who he totally wouldn’t think about now that he was lying next to Mira. Sam picked up the card and flipped it over. Then he swore in a low, steady stream of invectives while he shoved his way up the bed to lean against the headboard.
“What’s wrong?”
“The mailman mixed in some of my mail with yours.”
“And that’s really a reason to curse a blue streak at him? Don’t get mad at the postman, Sam. They’ve got that whole workplace rage thing going on—you don’t want to rile them up.”
“I’m not mad at our mail carrier. I’m mad at my fucking selfish ingrate of a sister.” Sam read the short card again. It didn’t get any better the second time. The shiny, sun-dappled scene slipped from his fingers.
He felt like a giant mixing bowl, full of disparate emotions and reactions. Should he punch the pillow until it exploded in a flurry of feathers? Scream his frustration loud enough to piss off Daphne? Give in to the crushing despair, cover his head and curl up in a ball? For now, he pulled his legs up, crossed his arms over his knees and dropped his head. Then he took a few deep breaths. Tried to steady himself, so as not to scare Mira.
“Bad news from your sister?”
“Yeah. Bad news for me, anyway,” he mumbled.
A heavy silence occupied the room for a few minutes, as present as a third being. He felt Mira pick up the postcard from where it perched on his feet.
“Diana finished her pastry training—”
“Six months ago,” he barked, cutting her off.
“Ultimately, that’s good, right? It means she’s qualified to do whatever you need in the bakery.”
Sure. The kid always had a light touch with all kinds of dough. She could keep up with him pretty well before haring off to Europe. “Keep reading.”
“Sounds as if she’s fairly enamored of this Italian count. Do they still have counts in Italy? I thought they got rid of the nobility after World War Two.”
“Doesn’t matter. Everyone uses titles over there, even if they’re several generations dead. You can even buy one, with enough money.”
“It does matter.” Mira’s eyes widened. “What if she’s being scammed?”
“For what? The grand Lyons family fortune?” The words tasted as bitter as rancid milk. “All we have is the bakery, and I guarantee they know how to make their own damn biscotti over in Italy.”
“Your sister is flitting around Europe with some strange man, and you don’t care?”
“My sister is fucking flitting around Europe!” he shouted, raising his head to glare at her. “She’s got no job, no responsibilities, and is living in the back pocket of some rich guy. No, I’m not worried about her. Let’s flip that coin. Aren’t you going to ask if she cares about me?”
“What do you mean?”
Sam nipped the card out of her hand and waved it in the air. “Did you see anything in here about when she planned to return? When she plans to stop living the high life? When she’ll stop playing, come home and finally set me free?” He ripped it in half, and then kept ripping, taking out his anger until it was nothing but a colorful pile of confetti on the bed.