Page 53 of Maid of Dishonor

Carter

Look,Vance is a good guy and all, but he needs to avert his eyes. Like, now.

Yes, Sam looks like a freakinggoddessin a swimsuit. And I can appreciate the effect she’s undoubtedly having on him, because she’s having the same effect on me. But Vance isn’t the right guy for her, and I’d love it if he stopped checking her out whenever he thinks no one is looking.

If Sam asked Vance about vampires brushing their teeth, he’d think she was weird. He wouldn’t know how to comfort her when she was crying over a fictional character. And would he even know which kind of chocolate chips to get her when she’s on her period? Sam only likes milk chocolate chocolate chips. She says the semisweet kind are a betrayal to cookies everywhere.

See? Vance doesn’t know this stuff. He’s cool, but he could never be right for Sam.

Not that I have any room to talk. Not after what I said.

I scrub my hand over my face, feeling that same kick of guilt that I’ve been living with this past week. I shouldn’t have said that about her, and definitely not in front of everyone. I’d just been talking to Sam, and then out of nowhere we were flirting, and then somehow I was seconds from kissing her, and then Vance mentioned marriage, and my brain went haywire. That little voice, the one that always wants me to run, was back in full force, yelling at me to get out of there before Sam somehow had enough of my heart to leave me broken.

I’m not proud of what I said. And I’ve never felt like a bigger piece of crap than I did when I realizedI’dput that look on Sam’s face. That hurt, broken, tear-filled look—Level One tears, but they may have escalated. I did that to her, and I hate myself for it. Hate myself so much, in fact, that a few days ago I not only tracked down her peach shampoo, but unbeknownst to Sam, I also bought some. I figured at the time that she might never speak to me again—especially since I had called several times and hadn’t gotten an answer—and if that were the case, I wanted to have her scent with me.

Which is creepy, right? Is that weird? Is it creepy? She just always smells so…delicious. And I missed her like crazy. I wasn’t exaggerating earlier; this week really was sucky, and the only thing different about it was that Sam was keeping her distance.

Glad we’ve moved past that now. I certainly learned my lesson—don’t piss off the most important person in my life. She is worth any amount of holding my tongue when my brain comes up with stupid things to say.

She seems all right now, though. We finish our food quickly before eyeing the options in front of us.

“Pool or hot tub?” I say to Sam, looking over at her.

“Hmm.” She bites her lip, and I have to look away. “Pool.”

“Agreed.” I grin at her, gathering my errant thoughts and putting them in a little box in the back of my mind.

She stands before reaching up to her hair and pulling it back. I watch as she leans back a little, her back arching, so she can get the bun further on top of her head. And then I glance away and swear internally, because I amfartoo attracted to her. The errant thoughts I just shoved into the box in the back of my mind are escaping already, bringing to mind her flawless curves, her full lips, her gorgeous laugh that scatters sunshine wherever it falls.

Sam blinks up at me, and that’s when I realize that I’m still staring at her; her hair is already gathered on top of her head, and we’re just standing here, looking at each other.

So I do the only thing I can think of to ease the tension that suddenly hangs between us: I bend over, scoop her up, and drop her in the pool. Then I take a deep breath and dive in after her.

The water is the perfect temperature—cool and refreshing but not cold. When my head breaks the surface, Sam is already there, spluttering and gasping and wiping water away from her face. As soon as her eyes land on me, she lunges.

“What was that for?” she says, laughing and splashing as much water at me as she can. “All I do is treat you with kindness and respect—”

“Yeah, right,” I say with a yelp of laughter. I splash water back at her, and we fight for a moment, our laughter ringing around us until I reach out and grasp her hands in my own.

“Truce,” I say, out of breath. I’m still laughing as our fingers tangle together.

“Never,” she says with a grin.

I act without thinking. I tug on her hands and pull her close, the space between us vanishing as my arms encircle her waist, holding her firmly in place.

“Truce,” I say again, but this time my voice sounds deeper, more hoarse. The breath flies from my lungs as I look at her; I can see droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes, laugh lines crinkling around her eyes. She’s warm and soft pressed against me, and for a second she just looks up at me, surprised.

Until her eyes grow hooded and her gaze falls…to my lips.

My pulse jumps; my insides lurch. I swallow hard, my arms tightening around her without my consent, pulling her soft curves even closer. And suddenly Sam is a force field, a magnetic pull I’m helpless against. Everything I’ve tried to avoid is pointless, because here, in this moment, I’m going to kiss her. I have to kiss her. It’s not a choice—it’s fate, our decreed destiny, to come together right here and now—

“Cannonball!”

It’s the only warning we have before someone—not sure who, but Iwillstrangle him—launches over our heads and then collides with the water, sending a shock of waves toward us.

We lurch apart at the same time, our gazes darting away from each other, and the moment is gone.

Something odd happens in my chest—a sort of dual movement, part flying, part sinking—as I consider the way Sam was looking at me, like she wanted to kiss me. I push the flying part away with the firm reminder that it doesn’t matter if she wants to kiss me; it can’t happen. But the sinking feeling is undeniable.

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