“Live a little, Clara. It will be good for you.”
She couldn’t believe him. “I live perfectly.”
He sat up and stared at her intently. Clara’s stomach fluttered under his perusal. Was he trying to compromise her? As if he could read her mind, he chuckled. “I promise my presence will not end in your ruination.”
He stood and stretched. Goodness he was a large man, Clara thought. He took a step back and his foot hit a tree root. His arms flailed and for a moment he seemed to hang in the air. Clara jumped up to grab him but missed, and he fell backwards landing flat on his back.
Clara, even with all of her etiquette training instilled in her, did the most surprising thing. She tilted her head back and laughed. She laughed so much her stomach started to ache.
~
Sam stared up at Clara as she threw her head back with abandon, laughing at him. He should be annoyed, but he was too busy drinking in the sight of her happiness. Her pale blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight and her chest heaved up and down with every laugh. She was beautiful, but she had always been beautiful. What made him stare was her uncontrolled laughter and the happiness radiating from her. Of course, Sam smiled wryly, she was smiling like that because he fell on his ass.
She brought her slender fingers to her mouth trying to compose herself but as Sam stood, brushing off dirt and leaves, she laughed again. He sat down next to her smiling. “Laugh it up, Princess. I deserve it.”
She laughed louder, causing Sam to chuckle along with her. Sam repositioned himself on the stone bench, so he was looking at her, captivated by the delight on her face. Finally, she composed herself but was still smiling and her eyes still sparkled with mirth. “I am so sorry. That was incredibly inappropriate of me.”
He took another swig of his flask and offered it to her again. She hesitated briefly but took it delicately and raised it to her lips. His eyes lingered on her mouth before he jerked his gaze away. What was he thinking? Still, he was happy she smiled. She coughed a little. Sam leaned over and thumped her on the back.
They sat quietly for a minute and then Clara asked, “Why are you befriending me?”
Sam didn’t know why. There was something he liked about Clara, not in a romantic way. She was much too proper for his taste, but he wanted to see her laugh and to let loose a little.
“Maybe I think you need a friend,” he said.
She took another swig of the flask, grimacing before handing it back. “I have plenty of acquaintances.”
“Ahh...but how many of them do you swig brandy with?”
She frowned at him. “None, of course.”
Yes, Clara very badly needed a friend like him. Someone to shake up that proper exterior. “I like you, Clara. Don’t worry, not in an I-want-to-court-you way but in a we-are-mates type of way.”
“Mates?”
“Yes, isn’t that what you English call friends?”
She rolled her eyes. “Perhaps but not ladies.”
“Well, I would like us to be mates,” he pronounced, doing his best to put her in a companion category that made sense to him. Yes, mates was perfect because anything else was preposterous.
Sam's eyes traveled down the length of her as she sat quietly contemplating what he said. She was dressed in a purple day dress that Sam assumed cost a fortune. She was slender with a small bosom. Definitely not his type. He studied the bridge of her nose and for the first time noticed a smattering of freckles. Sam’s body stirred, and he frowned at his reaction to the proper Ice Princess. Sam pushed the feelings away; it must be the brandy. He much preferred loud, boisterous ladies with lush, curvy figures.
“Why would you want to be my friend? What does that even mean?” she asked, clearly dubious of his intentions.
He swigged the brandy, happy with his conclusion about his response to her. No, all he wanted from Clara was to see her smile more. Why? He wasn’t sure. For some reason he liked her. It was as simple as that.
“I just think we should be friends. Not the romantic type to be clear but the kind that shares a joke or teases each other from time to time. Friends that can be open with each other without fear of gossip spreading.”
She lifted a skeptical brow. “You mean to tell me that you won’t reveal anything I tell you.”
He handed her the flask again, and she took a swig this time without even a grimace. He smiled, impressed.
“I haven’t told anyone I saw you wandering the halls in your night clothes.”
She turned a shade of cherry that drifted down her throat before spreading across the small mounds peeking out of her dress. Sam swallowed hard and jerked his gaze away.
He looked back at her face, and she was glaring at him.
