He arches a brow, smile falling, and Erin mirrors his expression before breezing past him. Sin follows, grinning.
“Sin.” Sam’s smile is warm as he dips his chin.
“Sin?” I watch as she pauses in the doorway. The guilt on her face says it all. “It was you.”
“Me? What?”
“I thought Erin gave Sam our room number yesterday, but it was you, wasn’t it? And you told him when we were leaving.”Her blush is answer enough. “What happened to chicks before dicks?”
Sam coughs, startled by my bluntness. Sin just grins and winks. “Exactly.”
And she leaves. He steps inside our suite and closes the door behind him.
“Hey.” His voice is low and heavy.
I fidget with a stray lock of hair, trying to tuck it into my messy bun. He catches my hand, stilling it, then twines the strand around his finger.
“So soft.” The words wash over me as his gaze drifts from my hair to my face, intent, unhurried. “I told you last night… We’re not finished,non?” His voice is silk and smoke, sliding right under my skin.
“Sam, this was two people sharing a few great meals, that’s all. It’s time for me to go home.”
One corner of his mouth lifts, a quiet challenge. “You think that’s all this is?” His tone dips, playful and low.
“Besides, you’re too young.” It’s a weak deflection.
Sam doesn’t strike me as twelve years my junior. My stomach dips at the gap. But it’s true—he’s more mature, honest and open than most men my age.
He exhales, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Olivia, it’s just a number.Ça ne compte pas.” His fingers tighten gently.
“It matters to me.”
“Why?” His gaze searches mine, steady and unflinching.
And damn him, I don’t have an answer. Truth be told, it might have been about his age when the idea of him was just that. Anidea. But I quickly got over that once we started talking.
This isn’t about a number. It’s about my fear…of being invisible again, of not being chosen, or worst of all, of choosing wrong. Again.
The ghosts of a loveless marriage still whisper I was never enough. I hate that they still have a voice.
And Sam—he’s young, beautiful, magnetic. He could have anyone. Losing him feels inevitable, and I’m not sure I could survive another goodbye. Or more specifically,thisgoodbye.
“I’m not ready for a relationship.” It’s true, even if it sounds like a lie.
After twenty years of marriage, I’m single again and terrified of starting over. That has to be normal, right?
Yet standing in front of Sam, this man who likes me, it seems like the obvious, easy excuse. Flimsy and silly. I’d be a fool to walk away from our potential.
“Okay.” His hands slide from my shoulders up my neck, and his thumbs graze my jaw. His nose brushes mine, breath warm and slow.
“What if we just take it one day at a time? No rules, no labels. We see where it goes… We enjoy what’s right here.” His forehead rests against mine, his lips a whisper from my own.
A small whimper passes my lips, and my eyes flutter closed. I’m a fool.
“Olivia.” My name is soft, intimate. “I like you. I want to know you. Age, distance…none of that means a damn thing to me. I don’t want to walk away.Pas encore.Not when it feels like this.”
Each word threads through the cracks I didn’t know were still open. The irony isn’t lost on me. I spent years with a man who couldn’t show affection, who made me feel unseen. And now here’s Sam—open, steady, real—and I’m the one hesitating.
I swallow hard as his scent fills my lungs. “Okay.” My lips find his, a whisper of a kiss. “No labels. Nice and slow.”
