Finding you, p.5
Finding You, page 5
Pessimists viewed these setbacks as obstacles. Optimists viewed them as challenges. Sammy was an odd mixture of both. If she could work around whatever popped up, they were challenges, and if she couldn’t, they became obstacles. But either way, migraines followed when things didn’t play out according to Fate’s design.
The sounds of Michael making his own dinner carried to her. He wasn’t the neatest of cooks. For that reason, she primarily prepared their meals. While not as OCD as her sister Annie, Sammy preferred a spotless kitchen. That meant not letting Michael within ten feet of the stove.
She sighed, pushed off of the bed, and went to find him. When she saw he intended to cook spaghetti, she grabbed the pot from his hand and slammed it on the stove. Oh, hell no! Marinara sauce was a bitch to clean up.
“I thought we were going out to dinner,” she said.
“I’m not taking you anywhere, cranky pants.”
* * *
Michael reached into the cabinet for the sauce. He would be damned if she was going to make him feel guilty over doing his job. When Sammy’s signature stubborn look appeared, Michael placed his hand on an open box of pasta. At that exact moment, she latched onto it. Both refused to release their hold. Their tug of war ended with an explosion of dry spaghetti all over the stove and floor.
The humor of the situation struck Michael.
Sammy, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate his hilarity. Because he was laughing so hard, she shot him the stink eye. In a fit of pique, Sammy threw the remaining spaghetti at his head. “Asshole!”
To prevent her from stalking away, Michael wrapped his arms around her. He tucked her into his chest, still rumbling with laughter. “Darlin’, you have to admit that was funny. Each one of us racing for the ingredients. You should’ve seen your face.”
All the while, Sammy struggled to dislodge his embrace. Futile. He was too strong, and she knew it. All humor faded away when she knocked him in the shin with her heel.
“I’m not letting you go until you talk to me,” he said, dead serious.
She just clamped her lips tighter and stuck up her chin. The struggle to keep his humor in check was real. What a stubborn little wretch she could be. He had ways of melting her resistance, and he employed them now. Trailing his lips ever so softly along her ear, he played with the lobe, pulling it between his teeth to tug. When she shivered, he fought another smile and shifted to nuzzle her throat. At the same time, he glided his palms under her shirt and cradled the fullness of her breasts.
Her soft moan brought him satisfaction. If Michael had to use sex to soften her up and to open the lines of communication, then that’s exactly what he intended to do. She stopped resisting his advances. What was the point? She adored his lovemaking, and they both knew it. According to her, Michael thrilled her in ways no one ever had or could again. After being a couple for so long, he found that level of intensity incredible. What they had together was powerful. Although she refused to show his seduction was working, her body had a mind of its own. Pebbled nipples and the wetness at the junction between her thighs gave her away. Aroused, she turned to him and captured his mouth in a kiss that nearly melted his brain matter.
Again, he teased, nipping at her bottom lip. Holding back enough to make her burn for him. Toying with her most intimate parts, never quite giving what she wanted. He wouldn’t carry through lovemaking if she was still angry. It went against his personal code of right and wrong. He took her face between his hands and kissed her ever so gently on the mouth.
“Please don’t be mad, my Sammy. I can’t stand to see you unhappy,” he whispered, his voice husky with passion and something more emotional. He touched one fingertip to the dampness on her cheek. He leaned in to feather a kiss on each closed eyelid. “The time away can only make us appreciate what we have even more, right?”
He wanted to hold her forever. To prevent any type of sorrow from ever touching her. An impossibility, he knew. All the same, the desire was strong.
Sammy’s shoulders dropped as if she was giving up the fight, and she wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. Emotion clogged his throat, blocking the words he longed to say. He knew she needed to express her fears, just as he needed to ease them. He didn’t need her to impress upon him those fears were valid.
She cradled his face within her hands. “I just love you so damn much.”
“Ditto,” he whispered back.
He, too, felt the sting of tears. Her mood must be rubbing off.
Dinner forgotten, he swept her up in his arms and made his way to their bedroom. On the staircase, he paused every few steps to taste her lips. She was his greatest addiction. Reaching his destination, Michael carefully laid her on the bed, treating her like the finest porcelain. He took his time and unbuttoned her blouse. With each button he unfastened, he rained kisses down upon her exposed flesh and skimmed his tongue along her smooth skin, tasting every available inch.
After he had her undressed, he stood to remove his own clothing. Sammy knelt on the bed and replaced his hands with hers. She had none of his finesse as she tore at the offending material blocking her access to his body. After depositing his shirt onto the heap of clothes piling up on the floor, she wasted no time pressing her chest to his. He luxuriated in the contrast of hard against soft. She was always so silky smooth to the touch.
Neither rushed their lovemaking. They knew the pleasure involved in going slow. In savoring each skim of their fingers. Michael used his mouth and hands to worship her body. Her whimpers filled the room as he took first one breast into his mouth and then devoted equal time to the other. With his tongue, he teased the tight buds of her nipples. Pausing to admire the perfection of her chest, he blew on the tip then dove back in to suck harder. He caressed her body everywhere. Up one side and down the other. Created heat with every stroke. His fingers, long and lean, resembled those of a musician. And just like a musician, he strummed her body like a finely tuned instrument.
She begged for him to enter her. Her breath came in little pants.
Ignoring her demands, he explored her most private area. Using his thumb, he made little circles. He inserted first one finger then a second into her drenched core, stretching her to prepare for his entry. She arched up to meet his palm. Wanting. Needing. He could feel it build within her, fueled as his lips joined in the slow torture. His tongue teasing. Tantalizing. How well he knew her body. It was as if she’d been made especially for him.
Michael brought Sammy to the point of ecstasy, only to stop and start a different lovemaking technique. One designed to torment her longer. In her annoyance, she struck out, kicking him lightly. His deep chuckle filled the air even as his very touch marked her as his. This time, there was no stopping the scream that welled up in her throat, bursting forth.
“Oh, God! Oh, God! I love you… Oh… God!”
Bucking in the throes of her orgasm, she tried to throw off his hands. He laughed and touched her again.
“Stop! I’ll die. Are you crazy?” She tried to squirm out of his reach.
Her words turned into another groan as he shifted their positions and thrust inside her. He gripped her hips and filled her, driving forward as she thrust back. Their joining was a primal, erotic dance. Moaning and thrusting. Emotions swirled around them and engulfed them. She climaxed, the walls of her vagina tightening around him, and he followed her over the edge, her body milking him dry.
After he collapsed on the bed, Michael wrapped her in his embrace and spooned her body. He stroked her silky hair and feathered light kisses across the smooth, satiny skin of her shoulder and neck.
Both were spent.
* * *
“I feel like a giant marshmallow,” Sammy panted.
His chuckle came out a bit broken through his own pants. He’d once said she always did the cutest things after sex.
“Where did you learn to do that thing with your tongue, babe? That’s new.”
“Mmmmm. Yeah, I read it in a magazine recently. You like?”
“Oh, hell yes, I like! You have my permission to do that any time.”
She could feel the vibration of his laughter against her back. She smiled. “Your turn to get the washcloth.”
“Your turn,” Michael murmured, half asleep.
“Nope, I got the last one.” Listless, she shifted to her stomach.
“I’m almost sure I got the last one.” He gently stroked, then smack her ass.
“Ouch!” Sammy grumbled from underneath the pillow. “If my legs weren’t jelly right now, I’d make you pay for that.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Are you trying to pick a fight?”
Michael snorted. “No, I’m just saying the day you could beat me or make me pay for anything will be the day I eat my socks.”
Never one to resist a challenge, her head poked out from its hiding spot.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said, incorporating his best Jersey accent.
She utilized her toughest gangster voice. “You talkin’ to me?”
“You’d better believe I’m talkin’ to you,” he retorted as he got into their game.
“I know you’re not freakin’ talkin’ to me, because if you was freakin’ talkin’ to me, dat would mean I’d have to get Guido to break your freakin’ legs!”
“Oh yeah, tough guy, where’s your freakin’ Guido now, huh?” He pounced and tickled her neck before going for her sides.
She tried to act tough, to prevent her giggles. Of course, her resistance made him tickle her harder. Soon, she was hysterical. “Stop, stop! I’ll get the stupid rag.”
“And be quick about it, wench.”
Sammy rolled out of bed, removed a washcloth from the linen closet, and turned on the water. After she warmed up the water and washed herself, she turned the tap from hot to cold. Barely controlling the wicked laughter bubbling up, she strolled in with the frigid cloth. Michael held out his hand to take the rag, but she pulled back.
“Let me,” she purred.
He lay back like an indulgent King to grant her access. Smiling and batting her eyelashes, she placed the freezing cloth on his groin and held it.
“You little brat!”
He lunged for her, but she danced away. The hilarity she fought so hard to contain burst forth.
“I think I’ll go get those socks for you to eat. Want some ketchup to make them more palatable?”
Chapter 6
Four days later, Sammy and Michael were snuggled in their bed under the down comforter. He was scheduled to fly to Dallas that morning, but each was loath to start the day.
“I wish I could go with you.” Her head rested above his heart, and she allowed the steady rhythm to soothe her. Absently, she wove an aimless pattern on his right pec.
Michael was hesitant to say the same. Instead, he said that knowing her, she’d be on the next plane out if she thought she could get away with it. He tried not to encourage her impulsiveness in any way, shape, or form. While Sammy loved him for being the one constant voice of reason, she also felt he could stand to bend the rules on occasion.
“It’s only three days. What’s with you, Sammy? Are you crying again?” He contorted to see her face, a frown forming to indicate his confusion. They both knew it wasn’t like her to be so weepy. He dropped a kiss on her temple before lying back down. “You’ll see, you won’t even miss me. As a matter of fact, you’ll probably like it so much you’ll want to get rid of me.”
“I know,” she choked out. “I’m concerned, is all. Knowing Pete and his shit scheduling, you’ll get stuck in Dallas until January.” She half sat up and stared down at him. “I couldn’t handle that, Michael. I really couldn’t. I would die or go nuts with you gone all the time.”
“Sammy, you know I won’t allow Pete to abuse my position. So don’t worry about it,” Michael stated firmly. “As a matter of fact, I tried to get out of this trip, but it was too late.”
She lifted her head to better check his expression. “You did? You actually asked them not to send you?” She gave him a quick kiss and lay back down. Her favorite spot was any position in which he was holding her close. “Thank you, babe.” She took a deep breath. “I just feel... I don’t know the right words. How can I explain I sense some great, impending disaster and I can’t do a freaking thing to prevent it? It all sounds so stupid and melodramatic.”
She paused for the space of eight heartbeats before she confessed, “Bad dreams started up again last week. I went so long without having any, and now, well...” She trailed off. The words once again refused to come. Explaining her dilemma was pointless. Sammy didn’t want to be that needy girlfriend. Michael deserved the freedom to come and go as he so chose. But together, well, together they were safer somehow. This was a belief she held close to her heart.
“I know you feel your dreams mean something, and I’m not doubting them. Or you. But what could possibly happen? I don’t think your fears are based on anything substantial this time around.”
He tried to appear nonchalant for her sake, but he couldn’t fully hide his own apprehension. Tension was in every line of his body this morning. He’d witnessed enough of her premonitions and couldn’t be blasé about them. However, once he’d volunteered for this job, there was no turning back as far as his boss was concerned, or so Michael had told her.
“Sammy Darlin’, you are going to be late for work if you don’t get going, and I’m going to miss my flight.”
“I really do love you, Michael,” she told him, tracing one deep crevice in his cheek. “I wrote you a letter, and I want you to read it every night. It’s to remind you how much you’re going to miss me.”
His beloved dimples flashed in response, and he tightened his arms around her for a brief hug. “Your procrastination is at an end!” He patted her ass, and rolled off the bed, dragging her with him.
“When I get back, there’s something we need to discuss.”
“What?”
He flashed a mischievous smile and lightly pushed her in the direction of the bathroom. “You’ll see.”
Concentrating on her work was a chore in the days following his departure. When his call came that particular evening, Sammy felt terrible for Michael. The low rasp in his voice indicated weariness, and it very nearly broke her heart. She sensed more bad news on the horizon.
“Honey, there is a problem. I’m afraid our stay is going to be longer than we anticipated.”
Of course there was a problem. It was inevitable with his stupid-ass company. If it continued this way, she doubted he would be home in time for Thanksgiving next week.
“How long is the expected delay? A day or two?” Sammy held her breath against the anxiety gripping her heart. With each passing minute, the feeling of impending disaster grew, nearly suffocating her in its intensity. If he were home, he would be safe. Or at least that’s what the irrational side of her believed. If he planned to be gone any longer, she’d have to hit Margie up for her stash of Xanax.
“There’s a problem with one of the other machines we sold them last year. It’s still under warranty, and I need to fix it. Unfortunately, this particular place closes down on Saturday and Sunday. Roger wants to try to get permission for us to work the weekend. The thing is, if we don’t repair this now, it affects their production and puts us in a bad light. We really need that new machine deal.”
“Will you be home for Thanksgiving?”
“Yes, unless Roger doesn’t get the go-ahead. But even then, we may have to come home and go back. It’s four days’ work at best. I can’t see them granting permission on a holiday weekend if they don’t for a standard non-holiday one though.”
“When will you find out?”
“Probably not until tomorrow. They have to get approval from Corporate.” His deep sigh sounded through the receiver. “Sammy, I honestly believed everything would run smoothly this time.” This was his way of apologizing.
“I realize that.” This was her concession.
“I have to go. Roger and Bruce are waiting on me.”
“Bruce?”
“He’s the GM of the shop. He intends to take us to dinner.”
“Call me when you get in, okay?”
“We may be late.”
“Why?”
“It’s guys blowing off steam and drinking beer, darlin’. But if you want, I’ll call you when I get in from the bar, okay?”
Michael’s call came in the wee hours of the morning, waking her from a restless sleep.
“Hi!”
“Hi, yourself. Are you guys just now coming in?” she asked, groggy.
“Yep!”
“Babe, do you realize what time it is?” Sammy glanced at the clock.
“Yep.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“Uh huh.”
“Michael, are you okay? You sound strange.”
“Fine. I’m reading your letter.”
“Could you do that when I’m not on the phone, trying to have a conversation with you? After all, it’s only three in the morning here. Not like I have to get up in a few hours or anything,” she complained good-naturedly. “Why were you out so late if you have to work another twelve tomorrow?”
“Just eight tomorrow. We may be coming home, remember? I love you, too.”
“What? Oh, the letter. Michael, I think you should go to sleep now. Call me tomorrow before you leave for the airport, okay?”
“No, want to talk now. Got a s’prise for you. Early Chrissmsss present. Never wait. Not with you,” he slurred.
Sammy really couldn’t be mad. He rarely got drunk, but he was so stinking cute and affectionate during the times he was. She only had herself to blame. Who was the idiot who wanted him to call when he got in? She shook her head and smiled. “What’s your surprise?”
