This is mostly Samcedes and a bit of Camcedes. Thank you so much for the reviews and love. Enjoy! And Blue thanks for complimenting my growth as a writer.
SAM
I've never really found it hard to stay away from a chick before. Hell, I've never had reason to try. But this time I do. There's something different about Mercedes. I want her in my bed. Like, now. But she's… I don't know. I get the feeling she requires a gentler, more careful touch. She's a challenge. And damn, if I don't love a challenge! I watch her as she pours a drink with Taryn looking over her shoulder. I could pull Taryn to the side and demand that she ease up on Mercedes, but I won't. Not only do I think it's good for Mercedes— it brings out that feisty side of her— but I think she'd rather handle it herself. And I admire that. A lot. The more I'm around her, the more obvious it becomes that there's a lot more to her than a shy smile and a pretty face. And, of course, a body that I can't wait to get inside. And I will. And she'll enjoy every second of it. I'll make sure of it.
MERCEDES
It seems like every time I look up, I see Sam. Sometimes he's talking to customers, doing his owner-slash-manager thing. But other times, often it seems, he's watching me. It makes me nervous, but not in a performance-anxiety kind of way. I'm confident in my ability to make a good drink, even with a drill sergeant squawking in my ear. What I'm not confident in is my ability to resist what Sam isn't even trying to hide. He's interested in me. And not just as an employee. Every time my eyes meet his, I feel like he's undressing me. And, God help me, I love it. Those sexy, eyes are like a touch. I can almost feel them, like hands on my body and lips on my mouth. Admittedly, I have a thing for bad boys, but Sam is… I don't know. He's different. I daresay he's even more dangerous than my usual disastrous finds.
I look up and my eyes collide with his again. He winks at me and my stomach flips over.
"That's not how we make margaritas here," Taryn snaps in my ear. "Who uses orange juice?"
I exhale so loudly it sounds like a growl. I could explain how a splash of orange juice adds a little something extra to the flavor of the tequila, but I don't. I've had enough of Taryn's bitchiness.
"Fine," I say, setting down the tequila bottle a little more forcefully than I intended. "Then show me how you make margaritas here." I stand back and cross my arms over my chest. The look Taryn throws me is both angry and satisfied. Obviously, she wanted me to crack. Well, she's about to get more than she bargained for. "Well, get on it. Show me. People are waiting," I say in my calmest voice, tipping my head to indicate the cluster of people surrounding us on the other side of the bar. Her pale blue eyes flash with anger and her ruby red lips tighten. She's ready for a fight. And so am I.
"You'd better leave that attitude at the door , honey, or tonight's likely to be your last." I hear the hushed voices go up all around us—oooh s and aaahs and whispers of a catfight. I ignore them and focus on Taryn.
"Is that right? You think you've got the pull to get rid of me just because you're a compulsive control freak with an obsessive need for attention?"
Taryn's laugh is bitter, but she doesn't bother to deny it. I think she knows I'm right. It hadn't taken me long to peg her for what she is— an insecure girl with daddy issues. After my body-shot audition, she had gone above and beyond to draw every eye away from me and down the bar to her.
She'd changed the music to an upbeat song by Jessie James and proceeded to dance along the bar, lip-synching "Wanted" to every male within viewing distance. And, of course, they loved it. I mean, she's gorgeous, even with long blond dreads, and she's sexy in a very feline kind of way. What guy with a functioning penis wouldn't love a girl like that up on display, teasing him mercilessly? But I knew it was more for my benefit than anything else. As she was climbing down off the bar, she gave me a smug little smile. She was showing me up, showing me that she could show me up. What she doesn't understand is that I don't want all the attention. She's welcome to it. Thinking of it this way cools my temper considerably. I decide to give her what she wants— the love of all the men.
"What do you say to a little contest? Loser has to do a bar dance."
I'm a little surprised at her hesitation, but then when I see her eyes flicker to my right, I understand what her problem is. Sam is mingling with a group of gushing girls not far from where we are. Then I get it. I really get it. Holy shit! She's got a thing for Sam! My first thought is that I don't blame her. I think everything with estrogen likes Sam. My second thought is wonderment that they haven't already slept together. That's not very bad-boy-like of him. Unless they have and she's just not over it. That would be much more bad-boy-like. For some reason, jealousy gnaws at my insides.
"You're on," she says with a nod.
"Best margarita wins. Both are on me," I say, then turn to the handful of guys watching and listening to us. "Who wants to judge?" Of course, they all start clamoring to be chosen. But it's not an issue when Sam steps in.
"I'll be the judge," he offers, his eyes daring me in the low light of the bar. "I think it's only fair."
"Of course," I say, feeling a bit breathless when he's so close and I'm in his sights. I look to Taryn. Her look has gone from hostile to downright murderous. It occurs to me that what began as a solid plan could very well backfire. "That okay with you?"
"Fine by me," she says, turning a brilliant smile on Sam. "I know what he likes."
The guys around the bar start hollering and whistling at that, nudging and teasing Sam. Sam just smiles at Taryn. And it bugs me. I can't tell whether there's something between them or not. Or if it's just a tolerant employer -type smile. I hope if there ever was anything between them that it's over. It chaps my butt to think of him flirting like he does with me, watching me, teasing me, all the while sleeping with Taryn. It shouldn't matter. He's a playboy and that's what playboys do. But it does matter.
"Come on, boys. Let's give 'em a little help," Sam says.
The people around him start cheering enthusiastically. Sam smiles at them and then turns to face me, leaning forward a little on the bar. His eyes meet mine and one brow rises in that holy mother of hell sexy way, then he mutters,
"You've got one chance to make my mouth water." I suck in a breath. And chills break out down my arms. Damn, he's good! I'm so glad for the room full of people. Otherwise, I might embarrass myself by stripping off all my clothes and climbing across the bar to wind all my body parts around him. Caution is nowhere in my head when I taunt him in return.
"Oh, I can do better than that." His lips curve into a nerve-racking smile.
"I don't doubt that one bit."
Dragging my eyes and my attention away from him, I put all my concentration into making a good drink. It's much more difficult than it should be. My eyes keep trying to stray to Sam. As I'm rubbing the rim of the glass in salt, I forget and look up. Sam is singing along to a song about whistling and when the part comes for him to whistle, he puckers up his perfect mouth and does it right along with the beat. I can't help but stare. And, as if he doesn't already have me flustered enough, when he stops whistling, my eyes climb back to his and he winks at me. It's the exact moment I know I'm in trouble. Big, big trouble. Taryn pushes me to the side to slide a glass across the bar in front of Sam. It pulls me from my thrall. I pour my margarita, garnish it with a wedge of lime and a wedge of orange, and offer it up as well. He sips first Taryn's drink then mine and then each one again, smacking his lips and savoring the flavors. I wonder if he'll really pick the best drink, or if he'll simply pick the one opposite the girl he'd rather see dance on the bar. I realize there isn't an outcome I'll be happy with. If he chooses my drink as the best, I'll wonder if it's because he wants to see Taryn dance. Not that it should matter to me what he wants to see Taryn do. But it does. But then, if he chooses her drink, not only will her drink be supposedly better, but I'll have to dance on the bar, which I really don't want to do. He nods and picks up my drink to finish it off.
"We have a winner!" he says, pointing to me. I feel relieved and victorious, but also strangely conflicted. Rather than look him in the eye, I remove the empty glass when Sam sets it down on the bar. My eyes move past Taryn, who is smiling coyly at someone, I assume Sam.
"Good news, boys," she yells happily. "I'm still gonna be making margaritas my way, and you'll be getting some entertainment tonight. I call that a win-win."
With a whoop, Taryn reaches back to flip on different music, choosing a very suggestive song that I have no doubt she'll make good use of. When I see her climb up on the bar, I move to the opposite end to get drinks for the handful of people who aren't watching her and cheering her on. I do everything I can not to watch her or Sam. I don't want to see his reaction. But when the cheers get louder, my eyes are drawn down the bar despite my resolve. Taryn apparently jumped off the bar into Sam's arms. He's cradling her and she has her arms wrapped around his neck, very tightly, it appears. She's smiling like the cat who ate the canary— or maybe the cat who wants to eat the canary— and Sam is laughing. Just as I'm looking back to the draft I'm pouring, I see Taryn pull Sam's head down to hers and kiss him. And it's not just a little peck. She looks like she's trying to swallow his face. And he's not resisting. Cold liquid gushing over my fingers pulls me back to the task at hand. The pilsner is overflowing and beer is running down my wrist and into the spill tray. I jerk back and set the glass down, angrily flinging beer from my fingertips. I'm inordinately mad at myself for letting Taryn and Sam rile me up, and even more so for letting it affect me so blatantly. I'm making furious swipes over the wet counter, cleaning up my mess, when Sam leans across the bar and speaks to me.
"I need you to stay after for just a few minutes tonight . Got some paperwork for you to fill out. Shouldn't take long." I look up and meet his eyes. I want to scratch them out. And then spit in his face. And then curse him for being exactly what I thought he was.
A bad boy.
A playboy.
A heartbreaker.
But I also want to kiss him. And let him carry me up to the private room above us and put an end to the dull ache of desire that's been plaguing me since the first night we met when I pulled his shirt over his head. He smiles as he leans back.
"Great drink, by the way."
He slaps the bar twice, like a pat on the back, and walks off toward the mysterious door at the back of the room. That's officially the point where my night takes a nosedive. Strangely, what I'd thought would help Taryn's disposition seems only to have made her more hostile. Unfortunately for her, my mood has plummeted, taking my patience and tolerance with it. So for the rest of the night, I give just as good as I get. Even though I dread having to talk to Sam, I'm really relieved when the night is over. Taryn and I had graduated from thinly veiled remarks to her shoulder-bumping me as she passed, to me purposely backing into her while she was pouring a round of lemon drop shooters. From there, it escalated to her pushing a drink into the floor and splashing Bailey's all up my legs. It made a horrendous sticky mess that took me far too long to clean up. At that point, I figured the only logical progression would be hair pulling and vicious clawing as we roll around in the floor, growling at each other. And, call me crazy, but I'm thinking that kind of thing might be frowned upon in all places of business that do not include a Jell-O pit. That's when I stopped antagonizing her. Now, I'm just ready to go home.
As I'm closing up my end of the bar, I'm thankful I remember most of what Marco showed me. The things I'm a little fuzzy on I'm able to improvise by sneaking peeks down at what Taryn's doing on her end. She's just faster at it than I am. Obviously. When she's finished cleaning up her area, she practically runs around the bar and makes for the door at the back of the room. She doesn't even glance in my direction, much less say anything to me. And I couldn't care less, really. Her attitude isn't the reason my stomach is in knots. My stomach is in knots because I think I have a very good idea of who's doing whom tonight. For that reason, I take my sweet time cleaning up . I'd rather die than interrupt them. In fact, I really wish he'd just forget about my paperwork and let me go home. I'm berating myself for giving a guy like Sam a second thought.
When Taryn comes out of the room, I look up. At first glance, she seems… bothered. But when she sees me looking at her, she turns on her brightest smile, grabs her purse from behind the bar, and walks merrily out the front door. I want to paper-cut her. On every square inch of her body. And then roll her in saltwater. Just the thought of that has me snickering to myself, which is what I'm doing when Sam comes out. He's not adjusting his clothes or anything that obvious, but I know what he's been up to. And I'm furious.
"You about done?" he asks casually. I snort.
"Are you?" I could kick myself for letting my upset show, but it sort of slips out before I can stop it. Sam's brow wrinkles for just a second.
"I'm ready whenever you are. I know you need to get home."
How convenient that you remember that now! You're probably ready for bed. A real bed. Gritting my teeth, I toss my rag into the bleach and snatch my purse from beneath the bar. I refuse to rush just because he's finally ready. Yes, I'll be the one paying for it when I'm exhausted tomorrow, but tonight passive-aggressive is all I've got.
He leads the way back to the carefully concealed door at the back of the bar. As I suspected, it's an office. And a nicely decorated office, too. Especially considering that it's located in a bar. The color palette is both soothing and masculine with its rich creams and calming taupes. There are black accents found throughout the room in the throw pillows on the sofa and the lamps on the end tables. They tie in to the huge black desk and expertly carved cabinetry behind it. There's a partially open door on the back wall. It looks as though it leads into an apartment. A very nice and spacious one, from what I can see. With a sinking sensation, I realize he and Taryn were probably back there. In a real bed. I feel sick.
Sam motions me to a plush black-and-taupe striped chair in front of the desk as he takes the black leather chair behind it. He clicks a few buttons on the computer and prints off some forms, sliding them across the desk to me. I take a pen from the cup of pens sitting to my left. Silently, I fill out the necessary tax forms and employee forms as Sam makes what I assume is an employee file. When I'm finished and there are no more papers to sign, I lay down my pen and wait. He finally looks up at me and smiles.
"So, how are you liking it? Besides Taryn, of course." I force my lips into a smile.
"Fine, thank you." I see a frown flicker across his forehead again.
"Is there anything you need to talk about? Anything I can do to make your job easier?"
Other than stay the hell away from me? I bite my tongue and hold my smile in place, shaking my head negatively. He nods, watching me closely.
"All right; well, I guess I'd better let you get on home, then."
With a curt nod, I stand and leave as quickly as I can without being obvious. After I've passed through the exit and am making my way to the brightly lit parking lot, I give in to the urge to scream in angry frustration. Just a little. It's more like a growl, actually. I stomp to my car, throwing my purse onto the hood to search inside for the keys. That's when I hear footsteps. I whirl, startled, as Sam comes to a stop beside me.
"Are you all right?" His frown is still in place, but his eyes are wide. He's obviously concerned. He probably heard my scream-growl, since he was coming outside. Great!
"I'm fine," I hiss. "Go back inside. I'm just leaving."
"I forgot to give you your copy of the release of liability," he explains, handing me a folded sheet of paper. I snatch it from his fingers and stuff it into my purse.
"Thank you. Good night," I say dismissively, returning my attention to the hunt for my keys. Sam grabs my shoulders and turns me toward him.
"What is your deal?" And I snap.
"Get your hands off me," I demand, wrenching away from him. He looks stricken, which only makes me madder. "You don't get to touch me. I'm not Taryn."
"What?" He looks genuinely confused. Then he rolls his eyes. And I see red. "Is this about that kiss?" I ball my hands into fists. It's all I can do not to physically lash out at him.
"No, it's not just about the kiss. It's about kisses and body shots and late-night booty calls in your office and an assortment of things that shouldn't be going on here!"
I'm getting loud and I know it. I've also taken a step forward that puts me right up next to Sam's chest, which is where my index finger is currently buried. I look at it as if I have no idea how it got there, mainly because I don't. I look up at Sam, but he's looking at my finger, too. Slowly, deliberately, he wraps his long fingers around my hand, then straightens his arm, pulling it out to his side. He tugs sharply, nearly causing me to fall into him.
"Is that what this is about? You think I'm sleeping with Taryn?"
"Of course I do! I'm sure it's no secret."
"Why do you say that?" He's so calm. Curious almost. It's disconcerting.
"Well, first of all, she's gorgeous and—"
"You're gorgeous," he says softly. My stomach flips over, but I continue.
"And she flirts very openly with you."
"I wish you would flirt very openly with me." His eyes flicker to my lips, and they throb like he's touching them.
"Stop doing that. Don't act like there's nothing going on."
"I'm not acting. Taryn and I have a history, but that was before she started working for me. I have few rules, but one is that I don't get social with my employees. And now she works for me. That's it. Nothing more."
"But you kissed her. I saw you."
"No, you saw her kiss me. You saw me not cause a scene in the middle of the club."
"Well, you didn't look like you hated it."
"But I did. The whole time, all I could think about was kissing you instead." He starts to bend his head toward mine. Blood is roaring in my ears.
"But you don't get social with your employees," I remind him quietly. "I'd make an exception for you." His face is getting close and closer. Slowly. A centimeter at a time.
"But it's your rule."
"I'll break it for you," he whispers.
"No, don't do that," I say breathlessly.
"Fine, then you're fired," he says just as his lips meet mine.
They are warm and the pressure is light. At first. As much as I want to resist, my resolve goes out the window when I feel his tongue run along the crease of my lips. Without thinking, I part them. And that's all it takes. The taste of Sam is like a perfectly aged Scotch— rich and delicious. His tongue slides along mine, stroking it, teasing it, as he uses his grip on my hand to pull me tighter to him. I do the only thing I can. I melt into him. The fingers of his free hand work their way into my hair and tilt my head to the side as he deepens the kiss. He gets more aggressive, like he wants to gobble me up. And I want him to. God, I want him to. He releases my hand and I feel his palm at the base of my spine. He splays his fingers and presses me into him. He's hard. And he's huge. I can feel him against my belly. Warmth gushes through me, pooling between my legs. It's been so long and I know instinctively that any sexual time spent with Sam would be an earth-shattering, soul-screaming, body-rocking time. Time that I'd probably live to regret when I got too close and he got too bored. The reality of what I'm doing slaps me in the face and I pull back. My hands are in his hair, my body is glued to his, and I ache for him from head to toe. But still, I pull back.
"What's the matter?" he asks, his eyes dark with passion and peppered with confusion.
"We can't do this."
"I was just kidding about firing you."
"That's not what I mean."
"Then what do you mean?"
He steps back to give me room, but he grabs my hands to keep me from completely retreating. I don't know why I let him hold them. Probably because I really don't want him to let go. I just know that I should.
"Sam, all my life I've picked the wrong guy. The bad boy, the wild child, the rebel without a cause. I bet you didn't even graduate high school, did you?" Sam doesn't correct me, doesn't deny it. "See? That's the kind of guy I'm attracted to. You're the kind of guy I'm attracted to. I won't even pretend I'm not. But you're the worst thing in the world for me. I've had my heart broken one too many times, and I'm done. I'm done trying to tame the guys like you." He watches me closely, nodding slowly.
"I understand that. I really do. But you want me and I want you. Can't we just have that?" My mouth drops open a little.
"You're kidding, right?"
"No."
"You're seriously asking to have meaningless sex with me?"
"Oh, it won't be meaningless," he declares with a grin. "It will be everything you want it to be, with the understanding that, in the end, we'll go our separate ways."
"That's the problem. Who picks when the end will be? You?"
"No, you can decide that. Or we can decide that together. Up front. We can stop when you're ready to stop. Or before it becomes something you don't want it to become." I know I should be offended, not intrigued.
"But that's just… just…"
"It's just like the majority of other relationships without all the lies and expectations. That's all it is. It's practical and it's smart."
"A practical, smart sexual relationship?" I know my look is dubious. It has to be.
"Yes, but also a fiery, exciting, intensely pleasurable one," he says, his voice dropping into a slower, deeper cadence. He steps toward me again. "I promise you won't regret it. I promise to make you feel things and enjoy things you never even thought of before. I'll make every night the best night of your life until you say it's over. And then I'll walk away. No hard feelings. Only sweet, sweet memories," he purrs as he rubs our joined hands up and down the outsides of his thighs.
I know I should be slapping him or laughing in his face or at least pretending to be deeply insulted, which I should be. Yet I'm not. Instead, I'm actually considering what he's saying. Sam is smart enough to know when to pull back and let things ride. So he does.
"Give it some thought. We can talk more this weekend. In the meantime," he whispers as he bends near my ear, "think about how it will feel to have my tongue inside you." He nips my lobe with his teeth, and I feel it all the way in the pit of my stomach. I bite my lip to keep from moaning. "And I'll be thinking about what you taste like." And then, damn him, he turns around and walks off, leaving me standing in a puddle near the hood of my car.
CAM
I've stayed away from Marissa on purpose, just so I don't run into Mercedes. Not only could she screw up my plans in a big way, she doesn't deserve all the trouble I come with. She didn't seem too concerned when I told her about Dad, but that's just the tip of the iceberg. Well, maybe not the tip, but it's still just a small portion of the mess in my life. But, as usual, Marissa started getting pouty and demanding, so here I am, soothing ruffled feathers over coffee. I glance at my watch. I'm really hoping to miss Mercedes altogether. I think I remember Marissa saying she has her early classes on Mondays and Wednesdays. I need to be gone before she gets up. Seeing her will only make it harder to stay away from her. A man can only be pushed so far before he gives in, regardless of the consequences.
"If it weren't important, I'm sure he wouldn't be asking me to go," Marissa is saying. I'm sure it's something I should be paying attention to, not ignoring while I think about her cousin.
"I'm sorry, go where?" She sticks out her lip.
"What's wrong with you? I wanted you to come over so I could spend some time with you before I left, not talk to you while you stare into your coffee." I sigh.
"I'm sorry, babe. I just keep thinking about that case Carl has me working on." I set my mug down and reach for her hands. Her ice-cold hands. Damn, that's fitting. "Tell me again. I'm all yours," I declare with a smile.
"Daddy wants me to go with two of the senior staff to Grand Cayman to look over those accounts. I'm hoping that means he's gonna let me in on the whole project." I understand her excitement. I'm envious of the opportunity. She's three years older than me, so she's already graduated and practicing law, while I'm still stuck in internship for another few months.
"That's great! I'm so proud of you. I'll miss you, of course, but when do you leave?"
"Tomorrow." She's still pouting.
"And how long will you be gone?"
"At least two weeks. Could be longer."
"Well, that just gives us good reason to celebrate when you get back, because I'll have missed you and you'll have good news. I'm sure of it."
I pull her to me and she plops down on my lap. She winds her thin arms around my neck and kisses me. I know all I'd have to do is pick her up and carry her into the bedroom and I could have an early-morning quickie, but I don't. I'm not that heartless and inconsiderate, because even as she's in my lap, wiggling around and kissing me, I'm thinking of bright doe eyes, jet-black hair, and the luscious body sleeping just a couple rooms away . And that's not cool. Marissa leans back and frowns down at me.
"You still seem distracted."
"I'm fine. Really. I just need to get going. I was supposed to be getting some paperwork ready over an hour ago." She smiles.
"So you're saying you're blowing off work to spend the morning with me?"
"Yep. That's what I'm saying."
She gets that look in her eyes and she presses her upper body into mine and rubs back and forth. Obligingly, I cup her small breasts and stroke her hard nipples with my thumbs . Her lids close a little and I know where this is going. And then a throat clears. Both Marissa and I look up to see Mercedes standing in the doorway, looking sleepy yet horrified.
"What?" Marissa snaps. "Get your coffee and go. We're a little busy." She turns back to me to pick up where we left off, but I stop her .
"I really need to go."
Without giving her a chance to say much else, I scoot her off my lap and stand. From the corner of my eye, I can see Mercedes looking at me. I avoid eye contact at all costs. I can feel her shooting daggers at my heart, though. And at my dick. I'm sure she's just about ready to spew venom and hatred all over the kitchen floor. What she doesn't know, though, is that I hate myself ten times more than she could ever hate me for what I did, for what almost happened.
"But wait. I wanted to ask you if you'd pick up my car from the shop on Monday. I'll leave my keys for you."
"Fine," I say hurriedly, grabbing her hand and towing her out of the kitchen.
If Mercedes wanted me to feel guilty, mission accomplished!
"I'll call you later, " I say, pecking her on the lips. "Maybe we can have dinner tonight." In my head, I'm thinking I'll say anything to get out of here.
"I can't! I'm going to spend the night with Mom and then we're riding to the airport together with Daddy in the morning. Hang on. Let me get you my keys. I can call for the limo later."
She rushes off, leaving me standing by the door waiting, hoping Mercedes stays put. But she doesn't. Of course. I see her come to stand in the doorway. Although it's against my better judgment, I turn to look at her. In her eyes is embarrassment and disappointment and shame, yes, but there's also the spark of whatever is between us. There's just no denying that we're attracted to each other. Very, very attracted to each other. I hear Marissa's voice. She's on the phone with someone, so I move toward Mercedes. I don't really know what to say, so I just stand there, staring down at her. She really is breathtaking, even first thing in the morning. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I rub my fingertips down her smooth cheek. Her eyelids flutter shut, making me want to kiss them.
"Sorry about that,"
I hear Marissa say as she comes down the hall. I step back and walk to the door, stopping where she left me. I glance quickly back at Mercedes. There's a mixture of emotions on her face, emotions I can't easily identify. Unless it's the same thing I'm feeling, too.