Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own It Had To Be You.
It was two in the morning before Mercedes got Sam's kitchen back together.
She was heading to do the den next, when she got her usual daily check-in text from Heather.
Made good tips tonight! Next time you come home, dinner's on me.
Mercedes managed a smile.
Exhausted, dusty, and a little sweaty, she swiped her forehead and texted her sister back.
Sounds good. How's mom?
The money you put in her account made her day. You okay? You don't sound okay.
You got not okay from sounds good?
It's in the tone…
Mercedes rolled her eyes.
I'm fine…'night. Sweet dreams.
Don't let the bed bugs bite!
It was an old mantra, and it made Mercedes smile again, as she went back to cleaning up.
'My crazy sister.'
Two hours later, Mercedes had worked her way to the living room, and it was a disaster.
Besides Sam's things, her own pottery was still unwrapped and scattered on the floor.
After the bar brawl, Sam had once again told her to ignore the mess, that he'd get to it in the morning.
"Get some sleep," he'd said, and had vanished into the basement, to presumably follow his own advice.
But Mercedes couldn't sleep, and she couldn't ignore the house anymore.
When she'd first seen it, she'd felt sick to the bone. The place was a mess, mirroring her own life. But it was her life and not Sam's.
She'd brought this disaster to his home. And since she had, it was important that she clean it up.
She'd already straightened the bedroom she'd been using and had packed up her stuff while she was at it.
She'd tortured Sam enough with her presence.
When she was done here, she would go to the nearby B&B, and then to the first apartment that was ready, and hope to God her Visa could handle the weight.
It would be okay.
She'd always been spectacularly good at denial, at not looking back, at keeping one foot in front of the other.
Nothing about that had changed.
She'd landed on her feet before, and she would do it again.
Knowing it, she took her first real deep breath since…
Since too long to remember.
At a whisper of sound behind her, Mercedes whirled around to find a heavy-lidded, tousled-looking Sam in the doorway, his hands braced over his head on the jamb.
"What, no umbrella this time?" he asked.
She relaxed her hold on a ceramic pot.
"You nearly got this upside your head."
A ghost of a smile crossed his face.
He'd clearly come straight from his bed, because, he was wearing only a pair of black basketball shorts, disturbingly low on his hips, which put all his hard muscles directly in her line of sight.
If she touched his abs, she'd find them rock hard. She knew this, because, during their kiss in his truck, she'd copped a feel.
And that right there...that was what her mind had kept going back to, all these past hours while she straightened up.
Their kiss.
How he'd tasted.
How his mouth had slanted over her own, his tongue gliding along hers…
She didn't have to think about the heat they'd generated...she was sweating just remembering it.
"Sorry if I woke you," she said, surrounded by the disaster she'd brought to his door.
Averting her face, she concentrated on righting the books.
Sam didn't say anything, so she turned back and found him still looking at her, his own gaze hooded.
Sleepy and something else...something that made her throat burn.
'Dammit!'
"I thought I told you I'd get to this in the morning," he said.
"It is morning."
Padding barefoot into the living room, he headed to the coffee table. Its big drawer had been dumped onto the floor.
Crouching, he began tossing the things back inside.
"Sam, stop!"
He didn't stop.
"This was my doing." She caught his arm. "I've got this."
His eyes held hers, not at all sleepy anymore. And his skin felt warm, his muscles beneath her fingers corded.
Then, he went back to work.
He finished the drawer and looked around, frowning, when he saw the box of her pottery still scattered.
He reached for the first piece, a miniature lion that she'd created last year, when she'd first come to this town.
It represented courage.
Her courage.
Sam stared down at the lion for a long moment, then very gently ran the pad of his finger over the mane.
"This is amazing. It looks so real."
"Thanks."
"You sculpted this?" he asked.
Mercedes nodded.
"Then painted it?"
She nodded again.
He looked at her collection of animals sprawled out carelessly, toppled over like carnage.
"These must have taken you a long time."
"Years." She shrugged at his questioning gaze. "My mom used to work a lot of nights. And after my sister would go to bed, sometimes I'd stay up."
'Waiting for my mom to come home.'
"It was something to do."
"Each piece means something to you," he said.
"Yes."
"What does this lion mean?"
"I made him when I first moved here." She paused. "He's my…roar."
A small smile crossed Sam's lips.
"You already have courage in spades, Mercedes"
He grabbed a piece of the packing paper, then very carefully rolled up the lion, as if it was the most precious thing in the world.
And Mercedes opened her mouth, but then, unable to speak, closed it again.
Without another word or glance her way, as if he knew how painful this was for her, Sam reached for another piece of her pottery.
An owl.
He held it up to her.
"To remind me to try to be wise," she said softly. "No stupid decisions."
"Like sex."
Okay, that hadn't been exactly what she'd meant, but it didn't matter. Her body was reacting to the way he'd said 'sex' and a shocking heat of arousal washed through her.
She swallowed hard, but nodded.
He gave another smile.
Then, he rolled up the owl and set it carefully in the box with the lion.
Over and over again with each piece, the whole time showing a respect for her things in a way the police hadn't.
Mercedes never really expected much from the men in her life. That way, it wasn't a surprise when they didn't come through.
But Sam kept surprising her, and it was unexpected to say the least.
He was unexpected.
An hour later, dawn broke.
And shortly after that, the sun slanted in the huge picture windows, casting them in gold.
"Done," Sam declared, tossing aside the broom in his hands.
They'd been quiet so long, that Mercedes jumped.
"The garage..."
"Was already a mess," he said. "Leave it. Go to bed, Mercedes, and get some rest."
She looked at the boxes and bags lined up in the hall.
Her things.
And his gaze followed hers.
"You packed," he said flatly.
"Yes."
"Where are you going?"
"The B and B," she said. "Just until something pans out."
He stepped closer.
"Why?" he asked.
She took in the high angle of his cheekbones, his strong jaw, the column of his throat, and how his broad shoulders were stiff with tension.
He was holding back, and it was costing him.
"Why Mercedes?"
"Because..."
His hands went to her hips.
God, he was beautifully made, all tough, sinewy lines and smooth skin, which she knew would be heated to the touch.
And oh, how she suddenly needed to touch.
She lifted her hands to his chest.
"Because…"
His eyes pinned her, his sheer force of personality making her go weak in the knees.
And that wasn't all.
He wanted her.
There was no doubt about it. The proof of it was pressing into her belly.
And at that realization, she got weak in a lot more places than just her knees.
But she didn't go weak for a man anymore, no matter how much she wanted to learn her way around his body and satisfy them both.
Indulging herself, just for a minute, she let her hands roam.
'Mmm yeah, warm to the touch. Hot to the touch, really...muscles smooth and hard.'
She could feel his heart beating beneath her hand, steady as a rock, flowing through her fingertips, to mingle with her own pulse.
Sam held himself very still, his big body just barely brushing Mercedes' own.
He didn't want to take advantage, she knew that.
And it was sweet.
Except he wasn't sweet.
And she wasn't feeling so sweet either.
She was feeling dangerous, as she kissed one corner of his delicious mouth.
And then the other.
'Just a taste,' she promised herself.
"I'm going," she said, "Because of this."
And then she kissed him again. And it wasn't just a taste.
Beneath her fingers, Sam's muscles jerked, but he didn't make a move.
That's okay, she had her own moves.
She skimmed her hands up, around his neck, into his silky hair, and then fisted it, pulling his head closer to hers.
With a rough groan, his hands tightened on her, thumbs splaying across her stomach, rubbing her own heated skin.
Pulling back a fraction of an inch, he looked down at her, his gaze dark and full of desire.
It was irresistible and so was the way he watched her, his body seeming to shudder, when she pressed more closely against him.
And then he kissed her, his tongue tracing the curve of her lips, until she allowed him entry.
He hooked his fingers in the hem of her tank top, slowly drawing it up, exposing her inch by inch.
Dipping his head, he looked his fill.
Drawing a long, serrated breath, he slowly traced her sides with his fingertips before cupping the curves of her breasts.
And Mercedes loved the way he seemed to tremble when he touched her.
Or maybe, that was her doing the trembling, from the feel of his palms searing her skin.
He had a way of driving every thought from her head.
Everything, except for need.
And right then, in that moment, the only thing she needed was him.
"Sam..."
Lowering his head, he put his mouth on her breast, taking the peak between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue before tugging gently.
Then, he tightened his grip on her hair, and she cried out before she could stop herself.
"Stop me, Mercedes."
Was he kidding?
Her nails raked across his back for more, making him inhale sharply.
"You're not ready for this," he said against her skin. "For me."
If she were any more ready, she'd be in flames.
"Not your call, Sam."
With another groan, he pressed his forehead to her shoulder.
"Then I'm not ready for you," he said. "I can't give you what you want, Mercedes."
"I don't want anything."
But the magic spell was broken, and she stepped back, pulling her tank down, and entangling her hands together to ensure she kept them off of him.
"I'm going to go."
He blew out a breath, and then shook his head.
"The B and B is in high season. They're charging tourist prices."
She knew the owner Grace. She came into the shop weekly to buy flowers for the inn, and she thought she would give her a good deal, but Sam was right...it was still going to be out of her price range.
"Fine," she said, "I'll go stay with my mom and commute from there."
"Have you seen gas prices?" he asked. "That's a stupid idea. And you're not stupid."
"Stop it, Sam."
"Stop what?" he asked.
"I'm not staying here, just because you suddenly feel sorry for me."
"Okay, then stay so we can have wild, up-against-the-wall sex," he said.
Mercedes' breath caught.
She wasn't even sure what wild-up-against-the-wall sex would feel like, but she had a feeling she'd like it. A lot.
And yet, she knew that he was merely trying to rile her up, so she wouldn't do something awful, like cry.
"I'm not a pity case."
"I don't have the capacity for pity," he said. "Hell, Mercedes, stay here...because…I need you."
Stunned, Mercedes stared up into his face, which was cast in granite.
Apparently, she'd met her match in stubbornness.
"You need me," she repeated doubtfully.
As if on cue, the phone rang, shattering the early morning quiet. And he pointed to the phone and then to her.
See? Need you.
And then he vanished down the hall without another word.
The phone rang again.
And Mercedes looked at it, weighing the price of the B&B, along with the danger to her bank account...against the price of staying here and endangering something even more fragile...her heart.
There was no contest on which decision would cost her the most.
And yet, she headed to the phone and used her apparently pent-up frustration, in getting rid of yet another reporter looking for Sam.
Stay safe!
