It's in His Kiss

  She’d never been good at either.

  But now she could at least passably assist on any excursion if needed, and that ability, along with all the other new skills she’d picked up this summer, made her feel good.

  Really good.

  Setting the keyboard aside, she rose and made her way to the door. “Who’s there?”

  No one answered.

  Going up on tiptoe, she peeked through the peephole.

  No one. Odd. She backed away and sat back on her bed, but didn’t reach for the keyboard. She glanced out the windows. Night had fallen, and she hadn’t pulled the sheets over them. Which meant she was basically sitting in a fishbowl.

  She heard a sound from the hallway.

  Her stomach clenched as fear slid into it. She’d read somewhere that a brain recognized fear in less than one second and prepared itself by flooding the body with adrenaline. Turned out that was absolutely true.

  You left the fear behind, she reminded herself. Long behind. Gone were the days of jumping at every noise outside her New Orleans apartment.

  Besides, she was in Lucky Harbor. Nothing to be afraid of here. But she reached out and turned off her lamp. This made her slightly less visible, but it also put her in the dark. She moved to the windows and yanked the sheets across them. Halfway back to the lamp, she heard another sound from the hallway.

  Fear stole her breath, and she backed up until she ran herself into the countertop of the kitchen. She could hear her own breathing, harsh and panicked, and it brought her back to last year. Angry at herself, she grabbed her purse and rifled through it for her phone. She stared at the dark screen. She didn’t have a lot of options here. Calling her first choice was going to make her look weak and vulnerable, and oh, she hated both with a passion.

  She called anyway.

  Sam had closed up the warehouse and was halfway home when his cell vibrated from an incoming call. Not his dad telling him yet again why his crook of a girlfriend thought she needed a five-hundred-dollar stroller, though the name that flashed on his screen didn’t ease his tension any.

  Becca.

  There was only one reason for a woman to call this late at night. And though he’d never been adverse to a booty call, he hesitated. A booty call was light. Casual.

  But nothing was ever casual with Becca. They’d gone there once, and he now knew that she had the potential of getting to him, really getting to him, in a very big way.

  The biggest.

  And still, he answered. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice was a soft whisper. A scared soft whisper. “You’re not by any chance outside my door, are you?”

  “No, but I can be.” In the middle of the deserted highway, he whipped a U-turn.

  In his ear, Becca let out a breath. “No. It’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. Never mind.” And she disconnected.

  Sam pounded out her number again and waited through three tense rings before she picked up.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m being ridiculous. Ignore me.”

  “Not gonna happen, babe. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I heard a sound.” She was still whispering and still sounding terrified, which just about killed him. “Thought I heard footsteps outside my door, and then a knock. But no one was there.”

  “Cole’s still on the boat,” he said. “I’m going to hang up and call him. Keep your phone in your hand. Ten seconds, Becca. I’ll call you right back—”

  “I don’t want to bother—”

  “Ten seconds.” He disconnected and called Cole, waiting with impatience for him to answer, hating that Becca was scared and alone.

  Cole finally answered with a “Yo, Grandma.”

  “You on the boat?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, I’m calibrating the—”

  “Run over to Becca’s. She heard someone outside her door and is terrified.”

  “On it,” Cole said, good humor gone.

  Sam disconnected and called Becca back.

  “Are you here?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Not yet, but Cole is,” he said. “Any second now. I’m going to stay on the phone with you until he’s got you.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I’m staying on the phone,” he said firmly, grinding his teeth when he got caught at the train tracks just outside of town and had to wait for a train. “Is Olivia home?”

  “No, she’s working late,” Becca said.

  “You expecting anyone?”

  “No.” She blew out a breath. “God, it sounds so dumb now. I shouldn’t have watched Criminal Minds earlier. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

  Hearing it twice, knowing she was trying to make it true, almost had him smiling as he downshifted for a light. “You locked in?”

  “Yes, but seriously, I’m sure it’s nothing. Someone was lost, probably. . .”

  “Make sure you’re back from the windows so you’re not highlighted to anyone outside,” he said. “Sit tight, I’ll be there in five.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Becca. I’m already almost there. And Cole should be there any second.”

  Even as he said it, through the line he could hear three short knocks on the door, and then Cole’s voice. “Becca. Honey, it’s me.”

  “He’s here,” Becca said to Sam, her voice filled with relief.

  “Peek first, Becca.”

  “I see him.”

  “Okay, babe. I’ll be right there.”

  It took him three more very long moments to get back to the harbor. He ran up to Becca’s door, and Cole answered.

  “She’s spooked,” he said in a low-pitched voice. “But she won’t let me get close enough to touch her. I don’t know what’s up. I don’t think it’s good, bro.”

  Sam’s gaze searched out the loft and found Becca in the club chair by her bed. She had her arms wrapped around her legs, her forehead to her knees, looking like a ball of misery. He strode directly to her and crouched beside the chair. “Hey,” he said softly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to her knees. “I totally overreacted. I’m fine, really.”

  Anyone could see plain as day she was just about as far from fine as she could get. He set a hand on her bare foot, and she nearly leapt out of her skin. “Just me,” he said softly, keeping his hand on her.

  Her skin was icy, but she curled her foot trustingly into his big hand.

  Sam glanced back at Cole, who gave him a small shake of his head as he filled a glass of water and brought it over.

  Sam took it from Cole and handed it to Becca. “Drink this.”

  While she did, Cole quietly said, “I ran the exterior to get here. Didn’t see anyone. The door to the building was closed but not locked. Her door was locked. No cars in the lot but mine.” Cole squatted beside Sam and looked into Becca’s pale face. “How you doing, honey?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I really appreciate—”

  “Never be sorry for wanting to be safe,” Cole told her. He glanced at the hand she’d allowed Sam to set on her and gave her a small but warm smile. “Anytime. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  He nodded. “You’re safe with Sam. You know that, right?”

  She met Sam’s gaze and gave her own small but warm smile, if a bit wobbly. “I do know it.”

  Cole nodded once more and left. Two minutes later, he called Sam. “There’s a UPS package on her neighbor’s doorstep. That’s probably what she heard.”

  Sam hung up and told Becca.

  Becca grimaced. “Way to overreact, right?”

  “No worries,” he said.

  She nodded. “Thanks for coming, but you don’t have to stay—”

  “You’re shaking.” He pulled off his sweatshirt and tugged it over her head.

  “I’m cold.”

  “I’m thinking shock,” he said. “This, tonight, was a flashback for you, wasn’t it?”

  She busied herself
getting wrapped up in his sweatshirt and didn’t speak.

  “Come home with me tonight, Becca.”

  She stared at him for a long beat. “You don’t like people in your space.”

  “I don’t,” he said. “But you’re not people.”

  For the first time since he’d arrived, her eyes lost their guard, and she laughed softly. “I’m fine here.”

  “Yeah. And you’ll be even more fine at my house.”

  “I’m not sleeping at your house, I’m sleeping here.”

  “Who says there’ll be sleeping?” he asked, attempting to lighten her mood.

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t mean it,” she said so glumly that he laughed. “You’re just being suggestive because you want me to get over being freaked out.”

  He rose and scooped her up out of the chair, smiling when she squeaked and threw her arms around his neck to catch her balance. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to kiss you.”

  “But—”

  He stopped her protests with his mouth and then selfishly kept kissing her because the taste of her was like a drug. When he finally pulled back, he set his forehead to hers.

  She took a long, unsteady breath. “Thanks for being here for me,” she whispered.

  He started to answer flippantly, but stopped when he realized how much it meant to him as well, that he could be there for her. “Anytime, babe.”

  And for the first time in his life, he actually meant it.

  Chapter 17

  Becca strained to get a look at Sam’s neighborhood as he drove. She knew enough about Lucky Harbor to know this was a very nice part of town, with big houses on bigger lots, overlooking the bluffs where a hundred feet below the Pacific Ocean churned against the rocky shore.

  Sam’s house was a beautiful older Craftsman style, white with blue trim, and too many windows to count.

  Every light was blazing.

  Sam swore beneath his breath as he opened his front door to a blast of Marvin Gaye wailing “Let’s Get It On.” “I’m going to have to kill him,” he said.

  Becca had wondered what Sam’s place would look like, whether it’d be neat or messy, filled with guy crap or empty and sterile.

  It was none of the above. The living room was large and airy and had windows facing the bluffs. There were big, comfy couches in the living room and an even bigger TV, in front of which were a few stacks of CDs and DVDs. There were various things strewn about, athletic shoes, a sweatshirt, a kayak leaning against a wall. No personal pictures, though, and nothing that said hot single guy, either. Definitely lived in, but not necessarily claimed.

  Sam moved to the coffee table, grabbed a remote, and hit a button.

  The music stopped.

  Then he strode out of the room. Not ready to be left alone, Becca followed. The kitchen was gorgeous. Granite countertops, wood floors, high beamed ceilings. It was also a mess. The island was littered with the remains of what looked to have been a pizza-and-beer dinner. Clothing was haphazardly dropped across every surface; a man’s pair of jeans, a woman’s bra. A red lace thong . . .

  “Definitely going to kill him,” Sam muttered. The double French doors were cracked and led to a deck.

  There was a hot tub there, from which came the whoosh of the jets and the unmistakable sounds of a man’s voice and a woman giggling.

  Sam stepped out the French doors, and again Becca followed, figuring that by the steam coming out his ears, father and son might need a referee.

  “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me,” Sam said.

  Mark was indeed in the hot tub with a woman, and as the undies had indicated, they were buck naked.

  Becca immediately whirled back to the doors, but unfortunately she’d let them shut behind her when she’d come out, and naturally they’d locked. “Crap,” she said, rattling the doors for good measure.

  Behind her, Mark and the woman were making noises over the sound of the jet bubbles that were going to haunt her for the rest of her life. Sam, too, if the growl from deep in his throat meant anything. “Dad,” he clipped out, sounding like he was forcing the word past cut glass.

  There was the sound of water sloshing, and she imagined the couple breaking apart. “Oh, hey,” Mark called, and against her better judgment, Becca took a peek.

  Thankfully, both the nudists were now in the water up to their necks.

  “Didn’t expect you so early, son,” Mark said. “Next time I’ll hang a tie on the door or something for notice, yeah?”

  Sam shoved his hand into his pocket and came up with his keys, which he handed to Becca so she could unlock the doors and get inside, but, working on sheer nerves now, she promptly dropped them.

  “Hi, Sam!” the female called cheerfully, her hands over her ample breasts. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She grinned. “I’d shake your hand, but. . .”

  Sam let out an inarticulate sound, and she peeked at him as he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands to them.

  “Sorry, son,” Mark said. “After the stroller fight, I asked Sheila for a paternity test like you’ve been suggesting. She came clean—I’m not the daddy.” He smiled at the naked woman. “So then I went out to celebrate, and met Brandy here at that bar out on Highway Forty-two.”

  Brandy giggled and waved, like there could be any guessing about which one of them was Brandy.

  “You’re not supposed to be drinking,” Sam said. “And pizza’s out, too. I took you to the dietitian, and she gave you the recommended list.”

  “I don’t like salad or fish.”

  Sam’s mouth tightened grimly. “Do you like living?”

  “I was liking it a whole hell of a lot more about four minutes ago,” Mark said.

  “You’re supposed to be taking it easy,” Sam said tightly.

  “Oh, he was,” Brandy piped up. “I was doing all the work.”

  Mark beamed at her. “And you’re good at it, honey.”

  Sam let out a breath. “Gonna have to empty the tub and bleach it.”

  Becca had picked up the keys and was trying to find the right one.

  “You two want to join us?” Mark asked. “The water’s great.”

  “Fuck it,” Sam muttered. “I’m gonna sell it. The whole house.” He snatched the keys from Becca’s hands and unlocked the door. He gave her a little shove inside, followed her in, and slammed the door behind them hard enough that the glass rattled.

  “Sam—”

  He leveled her with a dark look that for some inexplicable reason didn’t scare her anymore. He evoked a lot of feelings within her, but fear wasn’t one of them. “He’s trying to be something to you,” she said.

  “Well, he succeeded. He’s a pain in my ass.” He hustled her out the front door and back to his truck, where he whipped away from