Stranger

  He gave me a look. “See how I’m abused?”

  I laughed and poked him. “Poor boy.”

  Together we set the dining-room table. As he had in my house, Sam seemed to have made himself at home, searching through drawers or hollering for directions on where to find a tablecloth, napkins and silverware. I wasn’t sure Dan and Elle had meant to serve dinner on such finery, but I couldn’t stop laughing as Sam pulled out the ugliest pair of silver candelabra I’d ever seen and settled them with a flourish in the table’s center.

  “Voilà.” He kissed his fingertips. “She is complete.”

  “What the—” Dan stopped in the doorway with a full platter of steaming pasta in his hands. “Jesus, Sammy. Where the hell did you find those?”

  Elle peeked over Dan’s shoulder and started laughing. “Oh, God. My mother gave me those as a wedding gift. Sam, put them away.”

  Sam shook his head. “What? They’re…chic.”

  Dan put down the platter. “Dude.”

  “Dude!” Sam said, hands spread.

  Elle shouldered her way between them and plunked a set of fat white candles into the holders and lit them. “Sit down and eat. Grace, ignore them.”

  None of them seemed to have given a second thought to my being here, or to making me a part of what was clearly, despite the beatings, a close family. I wondered what Sam had told them about me. I wasn’t getting a vibe about being surreptitiously checked out or approved of.

  Or not.

  Dinner was nice, too, with good food and increasingly rowdy conversation. Sam and Dan circled each other with words, taking jabs whenever possible, and though I detected an undercurrent of tension between them it was good-natured for the most part. Elle was quiet, but with the sort of dry humor I always admired and never quite managed, myself, but she kept the pair of them in line with her subtly snarky comments when all I could do was laugh at Sam’s put-upon expressions and Dan’s grandiose hand gestures. Nobody treated me like Sam’s girlfriend, which led me to believe that was what he’d told them I was.

  Seated across from me, Sam wasn’t close enough to touch me. Not with his hands, anyway. His gaze, however, managed to caress me with no problem, and I felt that touch all over my body.

  “So, Sammy’s got another few gigs lined up around here.” Dan held up his glass for Elle to refill. “Have you heard him play, Grace?”

  “Yes, I have.” I waved away the offer of a refill for me. Even though I’d finally let Jared take first call, I didn’t want to get drunk. Plus, I’d been watching Sam put away beers with barely a pause between them.

  “Bastard’s not half-bad, huh?” Dan grinned as Sam flipped him off with both hands.

  Elle got up to clear the table and I rose, too, and she waved away Dan when he tried to get up, too. “Play with your brother.”

  In the kitchen, she opened the dishwasher. “The last time we had dinner together, they ended up having a sponge battle in the kitchen. I’d rather clean up, myself, than have to spend the whole night mopping.”

  “I don’t blame you.” From the dining room came a flurry of insults. When I looked back at her, she was smiling.

  “I don’t think they’re going to punch each other. Not tonight, anyway.” Together we cleared the table and tidied the kitchen while Dan and Sam watched some shoot-emup movie on the big-screen TV in the den.

  I was definitely the girlfriend.

  Elle pulled out a thick chocolate cake from the fridge and put it on the table. “The fudge icing on this is thick enough to make me gain ten pounds just from looking at it. Let’s eat it before they get a chance at it. If I know Sam, it’ll be gone before we get more than a nibble.”

  “He’s got a sweet tooth.” I laughed as she put out clean plates and forks. The first bite of cake was good enough to make me groan.

  “Yeah.” Elle sighed and licked the tines of her fork as she leaned against the counter.

  “Heaven, huh? Coffee’ll be ready in a minute. We’ll call them in when it’s done.”

  She wasn’t much of a talker and didn’t fill the silence between us with lots of happy chatter the way many women would’ve, but with the cake to occupy my mouth I was glad not have to come up with small talk.

  “So,” she did say after a minute filled with the clank of our forks on the plates and our chocolate-sated sighs. “Sam.”

  I looked at her and wiped my mouth carefully with a napkin. “Is this where I get some speech about not hurting him?”

  Elle looked surprised. “No. Did you expect that?”

  I put my plate in the dishwasher so I wouldn’t be tempted to have another slice. “I didn’t know what to expect, actually. My relationship with Sam is—”

  “Complicated?”

  “That’s a good way to put it.”

  Elle helped herself to another forkful of cake and sighed happily. “Good cake. Well, Grace, I’m not Sam’s mother, so it’s not really my place to protect him, is it?”

  I laughed. “I don’t think you need to protect him from me, anyway.”

  Elle brought down cups and saucers, then sugar and cream from the fridge. The coffeepot hissed and the good, strong scent of caffeine filled the air. “Sam’s a good guy. I don’t know him that well. I mean, I’ve only really had the chance to spend time with him since Morty died. Not the best time to make a judgment on someone, would you say?”

  “No.” I helped her put out spoons, but didn’t shy away from meeting her frank gaze.

  “Listen, did Sam tell you something about me?”

  “No. But I think he told Dan some things. They had a fight about it. Dan seems to think Sam’s got his head up his ass a lot of the time.” She smiled and looked toward the den, where a shout had arisen over something on television. “Dan’s had a hard time with his dad’s death. And I think he’s upset that it hasn’t been harder for Sammy.”

  I’d never have guessed Dan had a problem with Sam dating me by his treatment of me, and I told her so.

  “It’s not you,” she said as she poured coffee. “It’s about Sam and Dan. I stay out of it. But I did want to tell you something, Grace. Something I do know that I think neither one of them do…or would admit to, maybe.”

  I waited.

  “Sam’s having a harder time about his dad dying than he’s letting on. Harder than Dan, I think. Dan had issues with his dad, but he got to work out a lot of them before Morty passed away. Sam didn’t. And as much as Dan wants to share his misery with his brother, and as much as he won’t admit he’s jealous that his baby brother seems to be getting away scot free yet again, I think he’s glad to be the only one suffering. Gives him a reason to be angry at Sammy for a lot of things but blame it all on that one. You know?”

  She said all of this calmly and slowly. She sounded as if she’d spent a good deal of time thinking about this situation. Elle impressed me as the sort of woman who thought a lot about a lot of things.

  “I know. Death affects everyone differently.” I stirred sugar and cream into my coffee.

  She nodded and might have said more, but the room was suddenly a lot smaller with the addition of the two men. Sam slapped the back of Dan’s head as they came through the doorway, and Dan turned without a pause and punched Sam in the arm hard enough to make a loud noise.

  It was like watching a tumbling pair of puppies scrambling for the alpha spot.

  I looked at Elle, who stared at her husband as though she’d never seen him before. “That’s my Dan,” she murmured with a slight roll of her eyes.

  Dan straightened, brushing back the hair Sam had tousled, went to her and dipped her down for a kiss. She didn’t protest too heartily. Sam, apparently thinking this was a good idea, went for me with a warm, beery kiss. He kept me dipped a few seconds too long for comfort and nearly stumbled when pulling me up.

  “Get some coffee in him,” Dan suggested, rubbing his hands in glee at the sight of the cake. “Sober him up.”

  I eyed Sam as he poured himself coffee and cut a h
uge slab of cake. He’d had a few beers, but I hadn’t thought he was drunk. He looked up to see me watching and shot me a grin.

  “Don’t pay attention to my brother. He can’t hold his liquor.” Sam forked a huge bite of cake between his lips.

  Dan and Elle exchanged looks I couldn’t interpret. Sam didn’t notice or ignored them, but I did and it left me feeling awkward enough to say, “Sam, it’s getting late.”

  He didn’t even look at the clock, just nodded and put his plate in the sink. He kissed Elle’s cheek loudly and punched his brother’s arm, then turned to me. “I’m ready.”

  I thanked them for dinner and offered to help clean up the rest, but Dan waved me away.

  “No. You’re right, it is late. Get going. Nice meeting you, Grace. Again.”

  I echoed the sentiment, but we were out the door and down the sidewalk in minutes. I stopped Sam at the car, though. “I’ll drive.”

  He stopped, keys in hand, at unlocking my door. He straightened. “Don’t let what my brother said worry you.”

  “I had one glass of wine. You had a few beers. There’s no point in taking chances. Cops hang out up here, Sam. You don’t want to get pulled over.”

  I watched a series of emotions flit across his face. He wasn’t a stranger anymore, but I couldn’t read him. He handed me the keys without further protest, though, and I was glad. Some men got belligerent.

  Sam didn’t. Sam sang all the way home, loudly and in tune. Sam opened the window and stuck his face into the breeze. Sam told dirty jokes that made me laugh even as I cried, “Ew!”

  When I pulled into the parking lot behind the funeral home, easing Sam’s car into the space next to Betty, he’d toned himself down a little. The wind had rumpled his hair, but that was a good look on him.

  “Are you going to invite me up?”

  I pulled the keys from the ignition and handed them to him. “What do you think?”

  “I think yes.” A small smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

  I’d expected a grin. Honestly, after the months of pursuit, I’d sort of expected not to make it into the house at all. And suddenly, I was as nervous as Sam looked.

  No longer singing and telling jokes, he followed me inside and up the stairs. I fumbled with my keys in the lock, and he waited patiently until at last I got the door open. Inside, he stood, hands in his pockets, while I hung up my coat and purse and tossed my keys into the dish by the door.

  I’d imagined hands groping, mouths meeting, bodies slamming up against walls. Yet neither of us moved toward the other. I asked him if he wanted something to drink, and he asked for water. I poured us both glasses and we sat at opposite sides of my small table and stared at each other.

  “Dinner was nice,” I said.

  “My brother’s an okay cook. You can’t do much to ruin pasta.”

  “Yeah.”

  Silence. We stared at the floor, the table, our glasses. Anywhere but at each other.

  “Sam?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think…do you think that if we do it, we’ll still be friends?”

  Sam smiled. “Grace, we already did it.”

  “I know. But that was before.” I pushed my glass back and forth along the tabletop.

  “It didn’t make a difference then. Why would it now?” Sam leaned back in his chair and beneath the table his leg pressed mine.

  “I’d just hate if it did, that’s all.” I pressed back.

  “Nothing’s going to change except where you let me kiss you.” Sam hooked his foot on the back of my calf and moved it up and down.

  I rolled my eyes even as an image of Sam’s dark head between my thighs filled my head.

  “Promises, promises.”

  Sam leaned across the table to kiss me. “I meant, in the kitchen or the car or in front of other people. You’ve got a dirty mind, Grace.”

  “Maybe I’m just optimistic,” I whispered against his mouth.

  “Maybe just realistic,” Sam whispered in reply. “Grace. Can I make love to you now? I’ve been waiting an awfully long time.”

  My answer slid out on top of a sigh. “Yes, Sam. Please.”

  Chapter 16

  I took him by the hand and led him to my bedroom where he tried undressing me and I fumbled with his belt before I took his hands away from my buttons and held them still.

  “Wait.”

  “I don’t think I can,” Sam said in a hoarse voice.

  “Sit down. You’re too tall.” My earlier nervousness had retreated. I knew what I was doing. I pushed Sam to sit on the edge of the bed. With his face at my chest level, I didn’t have to crane my neck to kiss him, but we both had easy access to the other’s clothes.

  His hands shook a little when he eased open the fabric of my blouse. Sam leaned back to study my breasts, now revealed, and the black lace bra containing them. It was one of my favorites, and it plumped my size Bs into a pretty good imitation of Cs. The lace dipped low, just above the slightly darker pink of the flesh around my nipples. Sam teased the satin rosebud in the center with a fingertip, then ran his finger down my belly to the hem of my skirt. He looked up at me, his eyes bright.

  “Take this off.”

  I reached behind me to unhook it and let the fabric slide down my arms. Sam replaced the soft lace with his palms. Each of his hands was big enough to cover a breast, and I shivered, my nipples tightening against the calluses on his fingers.

  I’d managed to get his shirt mostly open, and I reached to slide my fingers along the collar, opening it. “Take this off.”

  “Then I’d have to let go of you.” Sam shifted his hands to run his thumbs over the sensitive flesh of my nipples.

  “Hmm. Tough decision. How about if I promised you I have other places you can touch?”

  Sam laughed and leaned to kiss the soft curves of my cleavage before he sat back and shrugged out of his shirt. At first it seemed funny to see a chest and arms undecorated with hardware or ink, and I blinked with a small laugh.

  “What?” Sam looked at himself, then flexed. “Not as buff as you recall?”

  “That’s not it.” I traced the line of his collarbone with my finger, then found the sweet circle of his nipple and rolled it between my fingers. His small jump satisfied me, and I leaned in to kiss his jaw and throat as his hands came up to hold my waist.

  I straddled him on the bed, a leg on each side of his hips. He pushed up my skirt as we kissed, but Sam took his mouth from mine when he reached the lacy straps of my garters and the tops of my stockings.

  “Fuck,” he breathed. “The first time I ever jerked off was to a picture in a catalog of something like this.”

  The image of a teenage Sam, prick in his fist, gave me tingles. “Garters?”

  “Uh-huh.” He slid an experimental hand along the bare skin of my thigh, and the back of it brushed the edge of my panties.

  I put a hand on his shoulder to keep myself straight as he pushed my skirt around my hips.

  “You like these?”

  “Yes.” Sam put a finger underneath one and plucked it like a guitar string. “Did you wear them just for me?”

  “I did.”

  His hand moved higher, brushing my panties again, before he reached around to unzip the back of my skirt. We spent the next few minutes wrestling our way out of our clothes and figuring out how to untangle ourselves without actually letting go of each other. True to my promise, Sam found several places he could touch, and he was touching one or more of them at all times until at last we were both naked.

  There’s always a moment of insecurity about undressing in front of someone, even someone you’ve known for a while. Maybe more when it’s someone you’ve known for a while, when going skin on skin can change it all. Naked, Sam looked younger. Longer. I’d forgotten how he’d looked to me that first time, when I saw only a stranger. I looked at him with new eyes now, noting the places on his hands where the guitar strings had built calluses and the white lines of old scars on fun
ny places like his knees and the inside of an elbow. At the way the line of hair on his belly thickened around his cock, already hard, and how much longer his penis seemed with my hand upon it.

  “Did you think about me all day long?”

  I nodded as I stroked him and he arched into my touch. “Yes, Sam. I did.”

  “That’s good.”

  I couldn’t tell if he meant my stroking or my thoughts. His eyes closed and his tongue swiped out across his mouth. His hands moved over my body. He remembered, even months later, the way I liked to be touched. Maybe he was just that good. Either way, his caresses sent shivers through me.

  Heat swelled between my legs. Sam touched me there with gentle fingers, using just the tip of one finger to find my clit and make small circles on it. He stroked my folds, opening me so he could slide a finger inside and draw it back to smooth his strokes. I still straddled him, his erection in my hand, and I reached up with the other to tug the barrette I’d been using to hold back my chin-length bangs.

  There’s something so incredibly sexy about my hair falling forward over my face. The strands tickle my lips and cheeks and cover my eyes. The only time I wear it down that way is when I’m sleeping or fucking. I like the way it moves when I move, and how I can use it to shield my expression when I don’t want my lover to see my eyes.

  Sam wasn’t having any of that, though. He reached to push my hair back from my face, then cupped the back of my neck and pulled me down for a kiss. It went on for a long time like that, us kissing and stroking each other, until at last he started thrusting into the circle of my fingers. He closed his fingers over mine to stop me from moving. He took his hand from between my legs.

  “Condoms are in the bedside stand.” Everything about me seemed hot and wet, and still I had to swallow hard before I could speak. Sam could reach from where we were, and I admired the lean lines of his body as he stretched. “How tall are you, anyway?”