Page 30 of Wishing Hearts

Sam’s fingers continue to draw lazy, intentional circuits on my leg. “What do I gotta do to get a date with you, Harrison? To get you into bed?”

“You had me in bed,” I say weakly.

Sam’s lips spread into a smile. No, not a smile. A smirk. “Y’know what I mean.”

My body flushes hot. Not only at the memory of Sam’s arms around me in Plum Valley when all we did was cuddle. But at the recollection of what he felt like against my body—inside my body—in that dusty, old shed.

What would Sam be capable of in a bed where he could really let loose?

“Cake,” I blurt.

Sam’s fingers still, and his smile goes a little crooked. “Cake?”

“Yeah,” I say, swallowing. “Dinner at my house. Six o’clock. And bring cake.”

Sam’s grin is blinding. “I can do that.”

“Okay,” I manage.

“Okay.”

We’re silent for a beat, and my heart pounds like a drum.

“I, uh…need to grab some lunch,” I tell Sam, realizing my break time is running out.

He nods, fingers drawing over my leg once more before he pulls his hand away and stands. I do, too.

“I should get back to work,” Sam says. “But, uh, Harrison? Can I get your number this time?”

I huff, nodding, and Sam pulls his phone from his pocket. I give him my digits, and he enters them into his phone. A moment later, my own buzzes.

“Now you’ve got mine, too,” he says with a wink. “You’ll send me your address?”

“Yeah,” I reply, wondering what the hell I’m doing. This is bound to crash and burn.

Sam nods, looking around for a moment before he gives my arm a little tug. I follow, unsure why he’s pulling me toward the edge of the building. But the next second, he wordlessly answers that question, backing me up against the wall where we’re out of sight. He boxes me in, chest to chest, eye to eye, hands in my hair.

And then he’s kissing me.

I moan long and low, broadcasting my pleasure plain as day as Sam’s tongue greets my own. I flash back in an instant to the inside of that shed. To the way Sam simply took. He took everything I was so willing to give, and he gave back in equal measure.

I want more. More of that. More Sam.

Except—Christ. We’re at my workplace, where anyone could come outside and stumble upon us. And that reminder is what has me gently pushing the man back.

Sam doesn’t protest. He never has, I realize. Any time I pump the brakes, he’s quick to back off, same as now. He stops kissing me the moment I give him a little shove, and he eases away, lips shiny, eyes bright.

My gaze roams over those shiny, puffed-up lips, and I nearly forget my resolve. “Shit, Sam,” I groan. “Is this how you always say goodbye? Because if so, we might have a problem.”

Sam smirks a little, eyes drifting down my body and landing on my crotch, where said problem resides. He raises a brow. “I’m good at solvin’ problems.”

I groan again, giving him another little shove. “Don’t you dare tease me right now.”

“Who says I’m teasin’?” he replies. “Say the word and I’ll drop to my knees right this instant.”

I close my eyes tight, pulling in a few centering breaths. My God. When I blink my eyes open, Sam is watching me with an unrepentant gaze. I’m not even convinced that was a joke.

I clear my throat pointedly. “I’m thirty-eight years old, Sam. I’m much too young to have a heart attack.”

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