Page 30 of Fall Surprises
"I need you to be sure." I faced her again, let her see the want and the restraint warring in my expression. "All in, no hesitation. Because once we cross that line, Sam, I'm not going back. And I need to know you won't either."
She slid off the counter, adjusted her sweatshirt with shaking hands. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen, and it took everything in me not to reach for her again.
"You're right," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"
"Don't apologize for wanting me." I softened my voice. "Just figure out what you really want. What you're willing to risk for it."
She nodded, not meeting my gaze. Turned toward the door.
"Sam."
She paused, turned back.
"For what it's worth?" I held her stare. "I'm already sure. Have been since that first night when you moaned over my soup. I just need you to catch up."
A small smile curved her lips. "Goodnight, Gus."
"Goodnight."
I studied her until she disappeared up the stairs, then turned back to the wedding cake. My hands were still shaking. My body was still hard, aching with unfulfilled desire.
But I'd made the right call.
When—if—Sam came to me—I needed her to be all in. No hesitation. No doubts.
I finished decorating the cake as dawn crept through the windows, placing each black rose with meticulous care. The final tier was a cascade of dark blooms edged in gold, dramatic and gothic and perfect for Raven's Halloween wedding vision.
Tomorrow, she and Blaze would cut into this cake, feeding each other for the cameras while their relationships crumbled around them. Tomorrow, Sam would orchestrate the perfect wedding for live TV.
And tomorrow night, after the guests left and the wedding party settled, if I was lucky, she'd come to me without hesitation.
I could wait one more day.
Even if it killed me.
Chapter Seven
Sam
Istared at the ceiling for the second hour straight, replaying the frosting moment for the hundredth time. The clock read 1:30 AM. The way Gus's eyes had darkened when he'd brought my finger to his lips. The rough edge in his voice when he'd told me to go. The way his hands had shaken as he'd gripped the counter, holding himself back.
Sleep was impossible. My body hummed with unfinished business, every nerve ending aware that Gus was just one floor below, probably lying awake too. The memory of his mouth on my finger sent heat pooling low in my belly.
I pushed off the covers and padded to the beverage station. Empty—I'd finished my chamomile stash this morning before the rehearsal disaster. The kitchen would have tea. Just grab some bags and retreat to my room. Simple.
Except nothing with Gus was simple anymore.
The inn was dead silent as I crept downstairs, the old stairs creaking under my bare feet despite my attempts at stealth. Soft light spilled from the kitchen doorway.
Gus stood at the sink, clearly having given up on sleep too, shoulders rigid as he attacked the already-spotless counter with unnecessary force. He wore black joggers and a faded thermal long-sleeve that clung to his torso, highlighting the tension in his muscles.
"Can't sleep either?"
He spun around, his defensive posture relaxing when he saw me. His gaze swept over me, lingering a moment before returning to my face.
"Kitchen needed more cleaning."
"At one-thirty in the morning?"
