I loved Paula and Rudy and they had a kickass guest room but they were semi-newlyweds that acted like newly-newlyweds. It was cute, in small doses. Being a bedroom over, probably not so much.
And I loved my Mom and Dad but if I was under my mother’s roof, she would insist on feeding me. I’d been a married woman with my own house for seven years and I had not once provided Thanksgiving or Christmas dinners for my family. This was Mom’s domain. She taught me how to cook but she was not only a taskmaster and drill sergeant, she usually ended up shoving you out of the way and taking over, especially if you did something she thought was crazy, like, say, drain the grease from browned hamburger before dumping in the spaghetti sauce. She went ballistic when I did that, shouting, “That’s where all the flavor is!” I had a hot guy who was way into my body the way it was, I didn’t need to gain seventy-five pounds and lose him.
Obviously, I didn’t tell Paula this.
Instead I said, “Thanks, sweetie. Sleep well and we’ll talk later.”
“Gotcha,” Paula replied then, “Can’t wait for you to be home, babe. Hear all your stories. Look at your pictures. And just have you home.”
I totally loved my girl Paula.
And she was totally going to freak when she heard my stories and saw my pictures because, the last few days on Crete, more than once I’d asked a passerby to take one of Sam and me. I had at least a dozen.
And all of them were awesome.
We said our good-byes and rung off, I looked at the time on the display of my cell and calculated it.
Sam was either taking a shower or going to arrive back at the room imminently to do so. Therefore, instead of talking to him about something as important as my future home while kids were squealing doing cannonballs in the pool or bunches of people were squealing while doing water sports in the Mediterranean, the cool, quiet confines of our room was a better place to have the conversation.
I got up, tied my sarong around my bikini bottoms, gathered my stuff then hoofed it up to our room.
The hotel was built into the side of a steep hill. It was also exclusive. This was partly because it wasn’t so much rooms as pretty, white-walled, terracotta tile-roofed, little bungalows dotting the hill with meandering paths between. There were some which had two rooms in the unit. But Sam and mine didn’t. When we checked in, he upgraded my reservation so our room wasn’t a room with bathroom and balcony attached to someone else’s room with bathroom and balcony. It was a room with a lounge, bedroom, bathroom and veranda that was all ours.
It was also awesome.
But it was close to the top, private and a heck of a climb.
Sam ran it on the days he ran.
I did not. Ever.
I made it to the top, pleased with myself that I was only breathing kind of heavy rather than wheezing (like the first time I took the trek). In the cool, shadowed, covered entryway, I shoved my sunglasses back on my head and was putting my key in the lock when the door was flung open.
My body jolted in surprise then it went solid when, before I could get my wits about me, Sam’s long fingers curled on my upper arm and he yanked me into our room.
Not gently.
Not rough in an “I’m gonna pick you up, throw you on the bed and ravish you” way.
No.
He just yanked me into the room.
Then he slammed the door, pulled my kickass, wood handled, straw beach bag out of my hand and tossed it on the couch.
I blinked at the couch then automatically started backing up when Sam’s big body was suddenly in my space and advancing.
My head jerked to him and I saw he had his phone to his ear. He was sweaty, in workout clothes and he had a face like thunder.
I stopped breathing.
With his furious eyes locked to mine, Sam stopped advancing but I didn’t stop retreating. I went back five more steps until I ran into a chair.
That was when I stopped.
But, even moving, I didn’t… no, couldn’t tear my eyes from the fury in his.
And vaguely I realized that he’d not only yanked me roughly into the room, he’d also made it so he was between me and the door, a big, powerfully built obstacle I had no prayer of breaching.
My heart stopped beating.
What was happening?
“Yeah,” he bit off into his phone. “No comment. I don’t comment on that shit. You know I don’t ever comment on that shit.” Pause then his eyes went from sweltering to scorching, “I’ll talk to her.”
Oh God.
What was happening?
“Right. Later.” He clipped then flipped his phone shut.
My body involuntarily jumped when he flipped his phone shut but Sam didn’t speak, move or take his burning eyes from me.
With difficulty, I pulled in breath and forced out, “Sam –”
He cut me off with a harsh, “You forget to share somethin’ with me?”
I stared at him, my mind reeling, trying to catch a thought.
The answer was, yes. We’d known each other a week and a half. There were probably a lot of things I had not yet shared with him. I just didn’t know which one he was referring to or how, or for that matter why, some mysterious person on the phone was sharing unknown things about me.