Page 43 of A Spot of Trouble
The incendiary device was, indeed, still clutched tight in Violet’s grip as she chased after him across the crowded lobby-turned-bingo-parlor and dragged him into the activity director’s empty office by his elbow. So much for getting the last word. Was such a thing even possible with Violet March?
She slammed the door behind them, trapping them inside and out of view of the general bingo-playing public. The office was minuscule, with barely enough space for Barbara Nichols’s empty chair and a desk stacked with art supplies, board games, tambourines, and red-and-green-striped maracas. With the sudden addition of two Dalmatians and their overly competitive owners, there was scarcely room to breathe.
“You’re calling me a liar? Ha!” Violet tipped her head back and laughed, but somehow didn’t sound even a smidge amused. “I couldn’t be less interested in your social life.”
Or lack thereof.
Sam didn’t have a social life, but that was none of Violet’s business. Besides, she was kind of cute when she was pretending not to care who he played bingo with—bingobeing a euphemism, obviously.
Sam knew a jealous woman when he saw one. He bit back a smile.
“Stop that,” she said, waving one of her delicate hands in the general direction of his face. Wafts of lemon and marshmallow fluff tickled his nose.
He arched a brow. “Stop what?”
Sprinkles chose that most inopportune moment to spring into a running fit, romping in frantic circles around them. Cinder gave chase and suddenly Sam and Violet were thrust against each other, stuck in the whirling eye of a Dalmatian storm.
Sam’s body came to immediate attention. He tried his best not to think about Violet’s tumbling mermaid hair and sea-glass eyes and tempting scent—the perfect blend of tart and sweet. But as usual, she was impossible to ignore.
“Stop what?” he said again, swallowing hard.
She peered up at him through her thick fringe of eyelashes.
“Stop looking at me like…” Her gaze flitted to his mouth for a telltale second, and her cheeks flared as pink as the giant spinning cupcake that sat atop her food truck. “…like you think I want you to…to…”
Sam couldn’t breathe. He didn’t dare move, not even to try and stop the Dalmatian excitation going on around them. He had no idea why Cinder seemed to think it was okay to embark on a game of chase when she was on duty. Perhaps Sam’s thus-far-unsuccessful attempts at getting her to stop making his bed and turning on the coffee maker had loosened his dog’s inhibitions. He couldn’t focus on that right now—he couldn’t focus on much ofanything, because every thought in his head was wrapped around the unspoken ending to Violet’s sentence.
Like I think you want me to kiss you?
He couldn’t say it. Both of them might be thinking it, but saying it aloud would make the nonsensical feelings swirling between them impossible to ignore. The smart thing to do—thesafething—would be to politely excuse himself and return to the harmless world of senior citizens and sponge-tipped bingo daubers.
But for once in his life, Sam didn’t feel like being safe.
“Like I think you want me to kiss you?”
There. He’d said it. And he wasn’t sorry—on the contrary, the moment the words left his mouth, a surge of satisfaction swelled inside his chest, so potent, so damn delicious that he found himself lowering his mouth…closer…closer…and closer toward Violet’s.
Just a taste.Only one, to get it out of our systems.
Violet’s lips parted, an invitation.
What’s the worst that could happen?Sam thought, only vaguely aware that Cinder and Sprinkles had stopped running in circles to cock their heads and watch the insanity that was about to transpire. It didn’t matter. Nothing did. When Violet rose up on tiptoe and brushed her soft lips against his, Sam’s eyes drifted closed, but something inside of him seemed to crack wide open. And then he was consumed with warmth, because kissing Violet was like trying to hold concentrated sunlight in his hands—an elusive bundle of joy and heat, as beautiful as it was potentially destructive.
In certain conditions, such energy could smolder and burn, but the old Sam hadn’t been afraid of fire. Once upon a time, he’d run toward it while others fled.
Maybe that part of him wasn’t so lost after all, because wild Dalmatians couldn’t have dragged him away from kissing Violet March.
***
Violet had hauled Sam into the nearest enclosed space she could find to give him a piece of her mind and emphatically deny the accusation that she could be jealous, so she wasn’t quite sure how she’d ended up kissing him instead. But to be honest, she wasn’t complaining.
What was it about him that she found so horribly offensive, again? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. From the second the Dalmatians had begun running circles around them, effectively tossing her straight into Sam’s broad chest, Violet’s brain had turned to mush. She’d forgotten all about convincing him that she didn’t care who he played bingo with, probably because shedidcare. Very much.
And then he’d let his gaze linger on her mouth just long enough for her entire body to clench in anticipation. The waiting was the most exquisite form of torture she’d ever experienced. Every cell in her body seemed to hold its breath, her head spun, and all she could think about was how good it would feel to finally let her guard down around this man whom she’d tried oh-so-hard to resist. Honestly, she deserved a medal for holding out as long as she had.
Maybe the Charlie’s Angels were right. Maybe Sam wasn’t so bad after all—her growing pile of fire code citations notwithstanding. His Dalmatian clearly adored him, so he couldn’t beallbad.
Violet would just have to see for herself. Just this once. Surely no harm could come from one tiny moment of weakness. She and Sam could go back to hating one another tomorrow…or the next day…Saturday at the absolute latest, since that’s when the next softball game was scheduled to take place.
