Page 35 of A Bloody Merry Christmas
“How?” I asked in a small voice, raising my eyes to him. “Lucy said something about me being invited over there on Christmas Day? If Mom knew I was there, which would be the case, she’d blame me.”
He winked.
Not if we leave a message on his voicemail saying that you couldn’t make it.
I frowned thoughtfully. “Okay, but if I’m there, how would that work?”
He held up a finger and began to write. Fuck. The sooner I learned sign language, the better. It’d only been one day and my head was full of hand gestures Lucy promised me would be worth something in the future, but I couldn’t see how right now.
He showed me the notepad.
We prerecord a message and choose a time, an hour or so before you kill him, to leave it. Bee or Lucy could do it. You distract him from his phone and turn it off so that when it rings, it goes to messages.
It made sense. “So that’s my alibi? I didn’t show up because of something else.”
He nodded.
You were at the farm with me, Dalton, Lucy, and Bee. We’re your witnesses. It’ll be helpful, especially because Bee is a detective.
I gritted my teeth and sat up to look at him. “But that would put you and your family on the radar.”
He shrugged and smiled, and I hated that he seemed okay with this. I hadn’t been with him for long, but I’d watched Sam carefully. He was precise and tidy.
He had no more than three drinking glasses and four mugs in his cupboards and they all went to the same place every time he was done washing them. Everything in his house had its spot and when it wasn’t where it should be, he’d get an irritated line creasing his forehead as he moved it back. He liked schedules and plans, and every morning, he’d wake up at the same time—6:00 a.m.—shower for ten minutes, and then make coffee. He was organized and careful.
Putting himself in the line of fire wasn’t in his character, and if Bee was seriously worried about him....
No. I couldn’t let him take the risk.
I shook my head. “Forget I said anything. I don’t want him dead.”
He grabbed my hand and smoothed a thumb over the back, frowning. His gaze said he knew what I was doing, though, and it was easy to melt under his passionate stare.
He released my hand to write.
You do. We will do it. I’ve done this before and you said you wanted to help, right?
“Yes, but I don’t want you in trouble. Ican’thave the cops looking at you for anything.” The desperation in my tone would’ve embarrassed me any other time, but I didn’t care. I had no reason to be ashamed of my fear when it came to the man who’d saved my life and given me something to look forward to.
They won’t. I’ve been doing this for a long time.
“There’s always room for mistakes.” I laid my hand on his shoulder and stroked my fingers down his arm. His dress shirtwas tight across his muscles. I couldn’t remember the last time I liked touching a person in this way. I’d kissed Jamie Hotchkins when I was sixteen and we’d done other things, too. I really enjoyed it, but what we did was nothing compared to being here with Sam, caressing his broad arm or cuddling in against his side. We hadn’t even had penetrative sex yet, and I was a fucking goner for him.
He shook his head.
Sam was the first person I’d opened up to since I’d left home. No one on the streets knew my circumstances, and they didn’t know how much I’d struggled with myself. How I thought about the boy I used to be, smart and happy and looking forward to my future. Then, Gary happened. His fists had stolen away my innocence. Instead, I saw how ugly people were because of him. And Mom let him. She didn’t stop him.
“Maybe. Do you think we could make Mom the main suspect?” I asked, uncertain if my shaky words made sense.
He stared at me for a long moment, and I inhaled sharply, expecting him to brush me off, but finally his mouth pulled to one side in a smirk and he gave me one simple nod.Yes.
Pleasure and excitement coursed through my veins and heated me like a warm blanket on a cold night. I could see myself quickly becoming addicted to the feeling.
I stared at him longingly and tilted my head. “Thank you.”
I shifted forward, and he did, too. Our mouths clashed against each other. The flavor of the day was cinnamon—maybe candy?—and I licked his tongue, swallowing him as though I was starving and he was a chef ready to give me everything I hungered for. In a lot of ways, that’s what he’d been since I’d met him. He drew me into the safety of his arms and protected me, gave me my heart’s biggest desire of revenge, and I couldn’t get enough of him.
I cupped his face and deepened the kiss, tendrils of pleasure stroking every nerve in my body. I rocked my hips, and he grabbed me around the waist, dragging me onto his lap with my knees bracketing his thighs. The notepad and pen went flying, but we didn’t need words for this because our bodies would do the talking.
