Page 12 of Naughty Secrets

Chapter Eight

NATALIE

Dancing with Sam. Talking with Sam. Holding, kissing, and hugging Sam.

My mind can barely process the events of the last half hour. One minute I am fighting the temptation of flirting with a sexy dentist. The next my Sam—the Sam I thought I lost—is in the bar, throwing back scotch like there’s no tomorrow, claiming me with possessive gestures and heated kisses, humming to the songs he once loved, and holding me so tenderly on the dance floor I am sure it must all be dream. When I left the house this morning to run my errands, I never imagined my evening would turn out like this.

But then he has to go and ruin it by reminding me that the farm comes first. After just one taste of the old Sam, one tiny peek behind the closed doors, one little reminder of how it feels to be held and wanted, I can’t go back.

Confusion flickers across Sam’s face, and for a moment he looks so lost, I can’t bring myself to walk away like I was about to do. Instead, I lean in, rest my cheek against his chest. He smells clean and soapy, his T-shirt still damp, but the deep rich scent of earth and the sweet scent of grain still cling to his skin.

He lets out a ragged breath, and his arms wrap around me, holding me so tight I can barely breathe.

“I want . . . ” He hesitates. “You to be happy.”

“I wasn’t happy today.” I press closer to him, soaking up his warmth. It feels so good to touch him again, to be in his arms, to feel like a woman and not a pal. Even if we don’t come back for years—and it will be years because the farm is demanding and relentless and every day there is some emergency that demands Sam’s attention—I will have this memory, fresher and more real than the memories of the past.

“You should have told me.”

“I thought you knew. I’m always sad on Ethan’s birthday.” The irony of the statement isn’t lost on me. Didn’t he just say the same thing only moments ago?

“So you decided to go drinking with your dentist?” His voice tightens, catches, and I see that possessive set to his jaw all over again.

“Aiden was so kind when I mentioned it at the office. He lost a child too, so he understood, and he was able to talk about it in a way no one else can. I couldn’t bear the thought of going home and sitting at the table, saying nothing like it was any other day. I wanted to talk about Ethan and let the pain out, and then I wanted not to think about it anymore. I wanted music and noise and dancing and drinking, and people having fun. That’s not what we have anymore.”

His arms fall away. “What are you saying?”

“I think I need some time away.” I feel the truth of the words as I say them. I don’t want our lonely house so far away from town, the discordant sounds of jazz, the buckets of vegetables just waiting to be canned. I don’t want another day of endless work alone in the garden, and another dinner talking about the weather before we go to our separate beds. I don’t want the memories of Ethan or the room I locked up the day he died. I want love and life and laughter.

“Why?” His body shakes as if an earthquake rumbled beneath his feet. I give up the pretence of dancing and looked up into his stormy, gray eyes.

“I’m suffocating. I didn’t realize it until today. For a few hours, I could breathe again. Aiden opened a door for me. I felt—”

“What?” His hands ball into fists. “What did you feel?”

“Happy,” I whisper, looking away as bile rises in my throat.

“He made you happy?” Sam staggers back as if I slapped him, breaking our connection.

“Yes.” I hesitate when his eyes narrow. “No. I mean, only I can make me happy, but he just—”

Before I can finish my thought, Sam is shoving his way through the crowd toward the table where Alexis and Aiden are talking with Chris, a carpenter in town. Without breaking his stride, he grabs Aiden by the collar and yanks him out of his seat.

Breathless from chasing after him, I grab Sam’s arm. “Sam! Stop. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Whoa. Hey, buddy.” Chris pushes his way between them, breaking Sam’s hold. He’s a big guy, taller than Sam, but nowhere near as strong. “What’s going on?”

“It’s okay.” Aiden steps out from behind Chris. “I was hitting on his wife.”

With a roar, Sam throws himself forward, carrying Aiden to the ground. It is Rex Morgan all over again, except Aiden never kissed me.

Alexis jumps up from her seat only seconds before the two men crash into the table, spilling their drinks on the floor. A quick-thinking bystander catches the bottle of scotch and disappears into the crowd.

“Stop it.” I take a step toward the growling, punching, seething mass of testosterone on the floor. “Sam. Leave him alone.”

If he hears me, he pays no attention. His entire focus is on Aiden, who clearly is no lightweight when it comes to brawling in a bar. Sam already has a cut on his temple, and his cheek is badly bruised, although Aiden looks worse with one eye swollen shut and his bottom lip split and bleeding.

I was hitting on his wife.

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