“I know your name. You’re not one of them. You’re different. I don’t want it to be like it was before . . . before you.”
“Oh . . .” I hadn’t considered that option.
“I’m sorry about everything. I’m a douche waffle,” he said.
I was softening. I could feel it in the way my arms refused to stay rigid across my chest and my mouth wiggled into a smile. “I’m not familiar with douche waffles.”
“That’s a technical term. Riley taught me that. It’s reserved for epically poor decision-making.” He moved closer and ran his fingers down my arm to my hand. “Please? I can’t stand being close but not touching you.”
I felt his breath on my cheek and ducked my head, looking to his well-polished wingtips. “So you weren’t horrified byme?”
He bent down and traced my jaw and lips with his thumb, his brow furrowed. “Sometimes I don’t know which direction you’re going. I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he whispered. His hand dropped to my hip, and those blue eyes of his were all demanding and precious. “And I need a minute to catch up.”
He was right. I was all over the place, a non-linear ball of zigzagging shades of gray. I was hyper and hard to follow, and there was barely enough space in my head for the random thoughts living there.
I laced my fingers with his and nodded. “You’re forgiven, but you have to know it’s very rude to reject a girl when she’s getting on her knees. Regardless of your feelings for cheeseburgers.”
“Won’t happen again.” Sam tucked my hair over my ear and pressed his lips to my neck. He was warm and wet, and electricity pulsed through my body, and an all-at-once rush. “Even though I don’t have a clear shot at your tits, you look fucking gorgeous.”
I melted into him, forgoing all the confusion and stinging anger I’d been clutching since I left him last weekend. I used to brush off his comments about my appearance as his version of player charm, but there was a thorniness in his words that cut into my skin and told me he believed it. “You look . . . wow. Who dressed you?”
He shifted to face me. “I dress myself. Since when do I need someone to coordinate a shirt and tie for me?”
“I realize you are exceedingly competent, Samuel,” I said, my hand sliding along the buttons of his vest. “Who are we tonight?”
“We’re the beautiful people who smile and nod while regulation-loving industry pedants tell us what it was like before all the modern trends ruined things for them,” he said. “And I’d like to be the person who kisses you just because you’re next to me.”
“And where doesPitch Perfectfigure into that plan?”
He squeezed my hip and chuckled. “Get the award, have a drink, then we’re getting the hell out of there.” His finger skimmed the edge of my sleeve, and I was ready to rip the dress off and climb all over him. “Hour, tops. What we do when we get back here . . . well, that’s up to us.”
The event was held at a historic mansion in Winchester, and I’d never seen such an ornate house before. It was filled with antiques and artwork, and I was too terrified that I’d set off a chain reaction of shattered vases and ripped draperies to touch anything. I was truly concerned that, at any moment, I could hiccup and destroy a priceless tapestry.
We stayed a bit longer than an hour, and it gave me an opportunity to see a new side to Sam: the architect. He spoke passionately about preserving old homes, but the enthusiasm he had for sustainability was irresistible. People sought him out to hear his perspectives on green design elements, and though most peppered him with endless questions about technicalities, and others just wanted to argue with him, it didn’t take long for them to share some degree of his excitement.
I didn’t know it was possible to have such an engaging conversation about things like adaptive reuse and conservative disassembly, but he proved me wrong. That level of brilliance was intoxicating, and the longer I watched him being the Sam I knew—not the shallow club rat—the more I wanted to put my hands all over him. Knowing tonight was The Night only amplified my wants, and everything he said back at my apartment was heating, humming, swirling around us now.
There was something in the cadence of Sam’s voice that filled me with sudsy tingles when he introduced me to his colleagues, referring to me as an accomplished violinist and college professor. I tagged the adjunct part on every time, but it didn’t seem to make much difference to these folks.
It was even more surprising that his colleagues regarded me with a measure of respect I hadn’t experienced in years. They weren’t looking at me like I was a bohemian musician, either. I’d always been the nanny, the piano teacher, the band geek, Agapi’s sister. I’d never heard someone speak about me with so much pride. For a moment, I wasn’t out of place, even in this grand mansion and surrounded by these smart people.
I loved it, but it was overwhelming. There were more than a few moments when I thought about telling some dirty jokes or busting out my breakdancing moves to remind everyone that I wasn’t terribly serious or professorial.
Sam collected his award, briefly thanked the audience, and I was acutely aware that the sexiest man in the room had his arm around my waist. I leaned into him, letting that magnetism claim me. “Let’s take a walk,” he said, inclining his head toward the hallway.
Our fingers tangled together, we followed the hallway to a winding staircase and quietly explored the second floor. He stopped to study a design carved into a window frame, his thumb moving over the shapes with fascination.
“Are you getting a major architect boner right now?”
Sam glanced at me, his smile turned all the way up to feral. “You’re welcome to find out.”
“Maybe later.” I waved at the wide hallway, and asked, “So what makes this place special? Why does it turn you on?”
His eyes closed and he shook with a soundless laugh, pulling me back against his chest. “This,” he started, his chin nestled against my shoulder and his arms wrapped around my torso, “is in the Greek Revival and Regency styles. It has brilliant stained glass, and all the proper period features, but what really interests me is restoration detail. See this?”
He led me toward an open doorway, and pointed to the jamb. Thin inlaid brass swirls traversed the narrow space, and I realized I never would have stopped to look at a doorjamb before, but that was exactly what he noticed.
“That’s what makes it special. A local college bought this property about twenty-five years ago when there was lots of free money for historic properties, and they could have gutted the place. It was a wreck, abandoned and falling apart. This property was waiting for a bulldozer to end it all.” He lifted his shoulders. “I like that they saw something worth saving.”
