“I must have. There’s no other explanation. You didn’t like it.”

  He scowled. “I did like it.”

  “Nope. Couldn’t be.”

  “Tezza . . . ” he growled. “It’s not just about chemistry, is it?”

  “You’re trying to spare my feelings. I’ll save you the trouble. After almost three years of celibacy, I’m sure I’m a terrible kisser and a lousy lay and—”

  He slapped her backside lightly with the spatula, and her mouth dropped open.

  “You hit me!”

  “You were being ridiculous.” He showed not an ounce of remorse.

  She advanced toward him until they were toe-to-toe. “You hit me.”

  “You goaded me,” he said, crossing his arms again. “You were putting words in my mouth. I didn’t hurt you.” It was true, he hadn’t. But she was incensed on principle.

  “Samuel Simonson, didn’t your mother teach you to use your words?”

  He laughed. “You were blatantly ignoring my words.”

  “Only because they didn’t match your actions. Men who’ve liked my kisses in the past usually wanted more.”

  He finally looked into her eyes, and she could see him holding back. “How do you know I don’t want more?”

  “Because we’re still talking instead of making out on my couch.”

  “Maybe I’m just waiting for your sandwich to finish cooking.”

  She cocked her head. “Are you?”

  He smirked as he flipped her sandwich and put down the spatula, moving his hands to her hips, and her heart picked up speed. “Yes. And then I’m going to wait for you to finish eating . . .” He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “And then I’m not going to wait anymore.”

  Excellent. Before she could capture any part of him, he moved away, grabbing a plate and depositing her sandwich onto it before he handed it to her.

  “But before we do that, we should talk.”

  “About what?” she asked through her first bite.

  “About me. About . . . closeness.”

  She shuffled to the breakfast bar attached to the kitchen and sat down on a stool, and he followed her.

  “Okay.”

  “It would be different for you and me than it was for you and Rocco. It may take some . . . adjustment.”

  “Because you’re a virgin? I don’t care about that.” No sense in being coy.

  “N-no,” he stammered. “Not that. Because of my neurodiversity.” He swallowed hard when she licked the butter off her thumb, and she snickered inwardly. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, my perception of sensations is different sometimes. I tried to date in high school. It went badly.” He leaned forward. “Things that probably seem very natural to you feel uncomfortable to me.”

  “Like what?”

  “That’s the thing; I never know what’s going to set me off. It depends on what else happened that day, how frayed my nerves already are. Some days, I may not be able to let you touch me at all.”

  Tezza thought about this as she ate. For such a good-hearted, generous, handsome man, it didn’t seem like that much to give up. She’d never backed down from a challenge.

  “I don’t mind being creative.” She took another large bite. “I can be very determined.”

  Anxiety and anticipation were fighting over his face, and she chuckled.

  “Relax, Sam. It’s supposed to be fun.”

  “Are you done eating?”

  She nodded slowly, wiping her greasy hands on a napkin. He held out his hand, and she took it, following him over to the couch. He pulled her onto his lap sideways, and she ran a hand lightly over his biceps. Woz, I love his arms . . . It feels good to touch him without guilt.

  He flinched. “That’s no good.” He captured her hand and squeezed, threading their fingers together, then curled them into a stationary position on his chest. She kept the kisses light, teasing, despite his eagerness.

  “Can we turn off the kitchen light? The fluorescent is giving me a headache.” She wiggled her hand free and flicked a finger toward the kitchen light. She missed. They both grunted. She got it the second time, and she reached to take his face in her hands, but he leaned away from her. “Don’t, it’s too much. No face touching.”

  She sat back and sighed through her nose. “You’re not even trying.”

  “I am trying,” he said, glaring at her. “You’re not kissing me hard enough, your shampoo smells terrible, and you keep doing that light touch that makes my skin crawl.”

  “Am I doing anything right?”

  “Your weight on my lap feels good.”

  She crossed her arms. “That’s got nothing to do with technique, petunia. That’s just gravity.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe you’ve lost your touch after all.”

  Annoyed, she shoved his chest, and his eyes sparked with interest. “You want it rough, petunia?”

  He nodded, pulling her into a hard kiss, squeezing the back of her neck. She let her hands rest on his shoulders and lost herself in the kiss. When he opened his mouth to deeply stroke her tongue with his, her long-neglected sex drive came roaring in, doing donuts, revving its engine. The feeling was heady; she’d forgotten how intoxicating intimacy could be. So intoxicating, in fact, she momentarily forgot who she was with and what he’d told her he needed. Tezza slid her hands to his chest, scratching her fingernails gently over his pecs, and he broke the kiss to push her hands away.

  “Tezza!” he yelled. “Seriously, stop!”

  Her chest heaving, Tezza shouted back, “Excuse me for enjoying myself! This isn’t just about you, you know!”

  In the split second before he broke their eye contact, Tezza saw his bitter resignation. He lifted her off his lap and set her gently on the couch.

  “You’re right. This isn’t fair to you.”

  “Sam, wait.” He was already putting on his coat. “Just stop. Let’s talk about this.”

  He snatched up his bag as he opened the front door. “Now you can go pursue those multiple relationships you’ve been wanting, anyway.” He slammed it behind him, and she scrambled across the room to whip it open again.

  “There’s nobody else, Woz-condemn-it, I was just messing with you. Get back here! Sam!”

  Hands jammed deep into his pockets, head down, he was already halfway down the block.

  Chapter Eleven

  SAM

  AROUND 0500, AS HE was brushing his teeth for bed, Sam got a text.

  Macias: Mandatory training session today before work. 1600 hours.

  Simonson: I can’t be there.

  Macias: Yes, you will. That’s what mandatory means, petunia.

  Simonson: Stop calling me that.

  Simonson: Handbook says you’re supposed to give 24 hours’ notice.

  Macias: Fine. After work. That’s 24.

  Simonson: Fine.

  Macias: In case you’re wondering, the handbook doesn’t say anything about fraternization.

  Macias: I checked.

  Simonson: Good. I think Dean’s single. You should ask him out.

  Simonson: Or just kiss him in the middle of a conversation about house sitting.

  Simonson: I’m sure it’d work better on him than it did with me.

  Macias: If you drown in that self-pity, I’m not coming in after you.

  Simonson: You don’t think Dean’s handsome? I think Terry just broke it off with that dental hygienist. He’s got high cheekbones.

  Simonson: Have you noticed Terry’s cheekbones?

  Macias: I’m not engaging in this with you.

  Macias: Sleep well.

  Simonson: You too.

  Sam arrived for work grumpy. After their text exchange, he’d flopped down onto his bed, more than ready for sleep, when he remembered his quilt was still at Tezza’s since he’d stormed out. He’d tried to replicate its weight with extra blankets as he’d done at the front during the Brothers’ War, but he didn’t have enough. He was slamming around the locker room, drawing stares; he didn’t care. Simonson trudged upstairs to relieve Dean; Tezza was already there when he arrived outside the family dining room. Since it was a Sunday, the Browards were all eating together. Based on the roar of laughter inside, Simon was cracking everyone up again.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she replied, not looking at him.

  Fine. Whatever.

  “Forgot your radio,” Dean said. Sam cursed, drawing raised eyebrows from both his coworkers.

  “I’ll be right back,” Sam sighed. “Apologies, sir.”

  “Nah, I’ll get it for you,” Dean said. “I go by here on my way out.”

  “Thanks. Oh—and there’s some ibuprofen packets in the break room, can you grab me a few?”

  “Sure.”

  Tezza waited until Dean was out of earshot. “Got a headache?”

  “Yes.”

  “Couldn’t sleep without your quilt?”

  He scowled. “You make it sound like I’m a toddler who lost my blankie. I’m an adult.”

  “But that’s why, isn’t it?”

  He ignored her question. If they weren’t going to be together, he didn’t owe her those kinds of details. They stood in silence until Dean came back with the radio, the medicine, and a glass of water. He watched Sam carefully as he downed two packets.

  “You all right, Simonson? I’ve got alternates if you need to go home.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You look on edge.”

  “I’m fine, sir.”

  “Make sure you get some rest tomorrow. Maybe cut out early tonight if you can.”

  “I’ve got a mandatory training session at 0500. But I’ll go home after that.”

  Dean cocked his head. “Mandatory training session? I’ve heard nothing about that.” He glanced at Macias, who cleared her throat.

  “I’ve noticed a few deficiencies in Simonson’s hand-to-hand approach. I’m going to spend some one-on-one time with him. As one of the security instructors, I can call training when I see fit.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dean grinned. “Well, you two have fun . . . one-on-one.”

  When Dean was out of earshot again, Sam muttered, “These better be work-related deficiencies, T.”

  “They are.”

  “Otherwise, you can just cancel it right now. I don’t want to talk about us, because there is no us.”

  “We’ll see about that.” A ghost of a smile crossed her face, and he’d just opened his mouth to respond when Abbie and Edward appeared in the doorway. Edward had been drinking and he wagged his eyebrows at them as Abbie put an arm around his waist to stabilize him.

  Lightweight.

  “Abs, look! It’s our friends! Hello, friends. Did you have a nice reunion last night?”

  “No,” Sam replied, just as Tezza said, “Yes.”

  Edward stopped, swaying a little. “Uh-oh. Why not?”

  “You don’t have to answer that,” Abbie assured Sam, as she pulled on Edward’s sleeve to get him moving toward the residence again. “You’re being invasive, hon.”

  “I am not! I care. I care about them. Their love story is just like ours . . .”

  Abbie cracked up. “Parker, their story literally could not be more different from ours. Why on earth would you say that?”

  “Because he’s black like me, and they’re falling in love. It’s just like us,” he said, kissing her cheek, waving his hand, as if shooing away the inconvenient truths getting in the way of his slightly drunk perception. “I’m invested in their getting together and their up-and-down relationship ride . . .”

  “Uh-huh,” Abbie said, clearly unconvinced. “Let’s get you into bed,” she cajoled, pulling him down the hall. Edward’s eyes twinkled, and he slid a hand over her backside and squeezed.

  “Yeah, that’s not quite what I meant, but dare to dream, husband.” Over her shoulder, she said to the security personnel, “Remember the last time this happened? What is it with him when he’s tipsy? Please make a note of this for future events—cut His Majesty off at two drinks lest we expose the grand duchess’s backside to public groping.”

  “But it’s such a nice backside, darling. I can’t help it.”

  “You resisted when we were dating.”

  “You’ve no idea how narrow the margin was, wife. Razor-thin, it was . . .”

  They stumbled into the residence, and before long, he could hear Abbie laughing. Apparently, they didn’t even make it to the bed; he could hear their heavy breathing and giggling through the door. It’s not fair. It’s so jacking easy for them. I’d give anything to be able to be with a woman and enjoy being close. But that’s never going to happen for me. It would always be a fight, a struggle. She deserves better; she’d have figured that out sooner or later. I’m protecting her. I’m protecting her from disappointment.

  Terry’s voice came over the radio. “Kingsguard One, are the royals in for the night?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “I’ve got a book that the king asked for yesterday; the reference librarian just brought it over. Can I bring it up to you in case he goes back to work tonight?”

  “I’ll come get it,” Sam said quickly.

  “Why?” Tezza muttered. “He’s buzzed and about to get laid. He’s not going back to work tonight.”

  “You sure?” Terry asked through the radio, not having heard Tezza’s comment. “I can run it up.”

  “No, don’t do that. I’ll come get it, I haven’t made my inspection of this wing tonight yet anyway. They just got home.” Without a word to Tezza, he hurried off, relieved that he wouldn’t have to listen to any more of his friends’ envy-inducing noises.

  THE REST OF THE NIGHT passed slowly but uneventfully. At 0500, having seen no sign of Edward, he passed off the book to Dean and headed down to the gym to meet Tezza.

  “So what are these so-called deficiencies?” Sam called, entering the low-lit gym, dropping his stuff by the door. “Tezza?”

  Before he knew what was happening, Sam felt his legs swept out from under him. Tezza pinned him to the ground on his stomach and whispered, “Lesson one: improve your situational awareness.” He felt his wrists go tight together under her muttered incantation.

  “Very funny. Now let me up.”

  She didn’t move, and he rocked his hips to the side to throw her off, but without his arms free, he didn’t have the leverage. She leaned closer to him, and he waited for the heavy scent of her shampoo to wash over him . . . but it didn’t come. Come to think of it, I didn’t smell it all night either.

  “You’ve never been in love before,” she said, her voice husky. “So I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but love isn’t a feeling; it’s a choice. And if you think I’m going to give up over a few bumps in the intimacy road, you’re mistaken.”

  “We’re incompatible. Conversation over.”

  “Compatibility is an achievement, not a prerequisite. And I’m not letting you go until we talk about this.”

  “Fine. I can lie here all day. The firm pressure you’re putting on my back actually feels great. The floor could be a bit softer, but . . .” His voice faltered as Tezza’s lips met his neck. “Cheating. That’s cheating, T.”

  “I know,” she cooed. She began to suck on his neck, and he bit back a whimper.

  “You need to stop,” he said firmly. “We’re at work. Someone’s going to come in here and see us.”

  “Then I guess we’d better finish our conversation . . .”

  “It is finished,” he said through gritted teeth as she massaged the stiff muscles in his upper back.

  Woz, that feels good . . .

  “I’m sorry for how I acted last night,” Tezza said quietly. “It’s been a long time since anyone kissed me like that, and I let myself get carried away.” She leaned over and bit his earlobe. “But I can do better. I just need practice.”

  “You shouldn’t have to,” he said, still fighting to get free.

  “Give me another chance.”

  “No. We’ll just be friends. Friendship is good.”

  “Oh, but petunia,” she whispered, “‘more than friends’ is so much better. Take it from someone who was very happily married once. It’s a state I’m eager to get back to as quickly as possible, and you’re my only prospect.”

  “Broaden your horizons, woman.”

  Someone cleared his throat from the doorway, and Sam craned his neck to see who it was.

  “I apologize,” Edward chuckled. “Dean said you were in here. I was going to see if you wanted to go for a run, but I see you’re otherwise occupied.”

  “This is not what it looks like,” Sam insisted, but Tezza slapped a hand over his mouth.

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but Lieutenant Simonson is doing some hand-to-hand combat training right now.”

  “That’s why his hands are restrained, is it?”

  “Yes, sir. He’ll be available tomorrow.”

  Smirking, Edward nudged the gym door shut before continuing down the hall.

  “Come over for breakfast tonight,” she said, removing her hand from his mouth. “Let’s talk.”

  “Fine. I will come for breakfast. To talk. As a friend.” With a flick of her wrist, she released his hands, and he rolled his wrists to stretch them out as he dumped her off his back. “Now can we get to work? I want to go home.”

  As it turned out, he actually did need work on his hand-to-hand skills, and she spent about thirty minutes instructing him and running him through some drills. He was sweaty and spent by the time he got back to the changing room. When he opened his locker, he found his quilt neatly folded on the shelf.

  Chapter Twelve

  TEZZA

  “WHERE’S YOUR COMPUTER?” It was an odd question to ask while standing at someone’s front door, so Tezza let him inside before she answered.

  “Next to the couch, I think. Why?”

  “I did something for you . . .” He fired it up. “Password?”

  “I don’t bother. I can always get magical revenge on anyone who steals my identity.”

  “Fair point. You’ll need one for your profile, though.”

  “My what?”

  He grinned at her. “Your dating profile. I signed you up on Another Kind of Magic. It’s a site for non-tech magic users to find dates. Isn’t that great?”

 

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