Page 73 of And Then Came You

Who says romance is dead?

Damian leans in, capturing my mouth in a kiss and trapping me between the door and his frame.

Sam’s kiss was slow and intoxicating. This kiss is anything but—it’s demanding and boorish. I wince at his grip on my arms, which borders on painful.

Pushing back, I lick my lips and pat his chest. “While that sounds wonderful, I have an early morning call with my editor. Tight deadline.”

I figure that will be enough to back him off, considering I spent the last few hours listening to a debate about modern art.

Wrong again.

“Can’t you change it?” Something ominous flickers in Damian’s eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual warmth.

I don’t feel the warmth, but I feel the warning. Time for me to get inside. “Unfortunately not. You know how work is, especially when you own your own business. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better not keep me waiting too long. I’m an impatient man.” His words hang between us before he smiles, letting out a chuckle. “I’m joking. Whenever you’re ready. Until then, have a good evening.”

A wave of unease rolls over me as I let myself into the house. I’m not entirely sure what to think of my latest boyfriend.

Ugh. I don’t even like referring to him in such a manner. It’s not that Damian has done anything wrong, per se, but he’s a bit of a braggart. A bit too demanding.

Oh hell, he’s not Sam.

Walking into the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of wine. Time for a bubble bath, as I try desperatelynotto replay how it felt to be kissed by Sam.

Damn that man for delivering the most incredible kisses of my life, only to break my heart in the immediate aftermath.

Sinking into the warm, sudsy water, I lean back, letting the soothing scent of lilac wash over me. I needed this far more than any date with Damian.

Might as well up the ante and put on a mood appropriate song. Something sad and yearning, much like my heart.

I’m not sure how to get Sam from the forefront of my mind. He seemed so desperate to see me, willing to hop a flight and fly across an ocean to be by my side.

But he did that once before, and look how that evening ended—with me, alone in my room, crying far more tears than I care to admit over Samuel Bernard.

Best to leave fairytales for royalty.

Then there’s his statement from the night before, which I keep revisiting in my head. What notes is he talking about? I never got any notes, not from Sam, anyway.

My phone buzzes. Speak of the devil. My heart leaps just seeing Sam’s name appear on the screen, and I wonder when I’ll ever be able to look at him as truly only a friend.

My guess is on never.

“What are you doing home on a Friday night?” I force my voice to sound bright. What a crock.

“Who said I’m home?”

Wow, way to twist the knife. “What are you doing then? Something fabulous, I’m sure, although it is quite late there.”

Sam huffs out a breath, and I brace myself for an argument. Over what, I can’t be sure. “How was your date?”

“I’m home before ten.”

“Is he with you?”

“Sam, if Damian was with me, would I be answering the phone?” When he fails to respond, I know I’m poking an already agitated bear. Not my smartest move. “He’s not here.”

“Good. I have a question.”

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