in the shower.
He pressed the remote that controlled the many, many jets in the shower proper, but he didn’t explore their permutations, because he was too busy checking out all the creams and lotions. Sam hadn’t skimped on anything. The body creams alone were worth several grand in total. La Mer, La Prairie, Guerlain. There were also sea-salt scrubs, high-end body washes and ridiculously expensive shaving gel. The Wilkinson Hotels were known for their luxurious accommodations, but even their finest suites didn’t boast the cornucopia of indulgence that Sam had supplied. She’d even stocked his particular favorites. Had to be pure coincidence since there was no way she could’ve known.
Her paying guests were never going to want to leave after staying here. He hoped she realized she’d be asked to customize the homes of private individuals. If he ever built a home, he was calling Sam first.
Thinking of Sam while his body was being massaged by water from neck to toe, he couldn’t help imagining how much fun it would be to experiment on her. He’d use the La Mer, of course, and the Creed body wash. But that Acqua di Parma Magnolia Nobile shower gel was too sweet for him—perfect for her. Especially if he got to be the one to slather it on.
Oh, shit.
He wasn’t allowed to masturbate to thoughts of Sam. Nohow, noway. He focused on other images. Like Sam in running— No. Even his tried-and-true go-to for nights when all he really wanted was to go to sleep wasn’t cutting it. At last, after he turned the temperature on the jets way down, his libido calmed down, and he finished showering as quickly as he could.
By the time he got his towel, he was cold and angry that he didn’t have better control over his thoughts. This was Sam. Jesus.
The only thing that might explain his traitorous brain was the contrast between the teenage Sam he’d known and the Sam he’d met today.
Regardless, he had to get a grip on his impulses. He shaved at the sink and tried out the Armani aftershave. After putting on his running gear, he had time to search Yelp for takeout by the Fens, in case she didn’t want to come back to the apartment. They could just eat at Bravo if they finished running by seven thirty, but that didn’t sound likely. Or they could grab a pizza or some burgers at one of the nearby take-out joints. Whatever was the quickest. He didn’t want her forced to work half the night in order to squeeze in a meal with him. But it was just so damn good to see her that he’d selfishly snatch whatever time she’d make for him.
A quick look at his watch told him he had a half hour to kill before he left. So he called and ordered a taxi, then watched her awesome smart TV, where some nice person had left a recorded Manchester United game from earlier in the year. Another thing his travels had addicted him to: football. The soccer kind.
When his phone alarm went off, he flicked off the TV with a voice command, checked his wallet and key, got a bottle of water from the store that was Sam’s kitchen, and went outside to wait for his cab. His heart was beating a little too quickly for a man his age. He should probably look into that.
ON THE BEAUTIFUL autumn evening, the Fens had a completely different vibe than the last time he’d been there. Plenty of runners were already in motion. Matt had arrived right on time, but Sam wasn’t there yet. At least, not that he could spot. The thought of her made him smile. He remembered the feel of her hand on his chest, his arm around her trim waist. He’d been about to kiss her, but her soft gasp and shocked look had snapped him out of it.
His own shock had come later. He’d almost kissed Sam. Sammy. What the hell? He was her friend. Not even her close friend after all these years.
Didn’t matter. He couldn’t keep thinking of her as anything but a pal. He’d have to be careful, though. Reading the moods and needs of the girl had been relatively simple, but reading the woman? The thing was, he believed a lot of that girl was still in her. Far more than his college-age self was in him.
Marriage had helped change that, along with his career. Being the heir apparent made everyone think he didn’t have to work hard, when it was just the opposite. The last thing he wanted was to get into a leadership role via nepotism. The idea was abhorrent.
The London job would go a long way toward his proving his worth, assuming he made a success of it. He would.
He would.
The UK office had been sliding for over a year, and while Fairchild, the current manager, had been given a second chance, he hadn’t brought it up to expectations.
Matt had been thinking about the changes he would’ve made for a while now. Not because he’d hoped the guy would fail. Matt simply had a clear vision of how he’d use the office to tap into the Scandinavian markets where Wilkinson Holdings had yet to find a stronghold.
He wondered if he’d ever convince Sam to visit London. It was one of his favorite cities and he could show her so many things. And if she’d come for a stay, he’d take her to Scotland and Ireland, too. It would be terrific.
That was if she’d leave her work for even a week. Which he couldn’t see her doing. She seemed conjoined to her computer. Any real time away and she got antsy, just like back in school. Logan had mentioned he’d hardly seen Sam during his stay in Boston. Hell, Matt didn’t even have the job yet, so there was no use thinking that far ahead.
Where was she, anyway? She was the one who’d set the time and place. Then again, the only time Sam cared about being punctual was when it was work related, and sometimes not even then. She’d once missed a deadline on her final paper in computer science, but after she turned it in, it had been so great the professor had given her an A regardless. When it concerned someone like Sam, rules became obstacles, and obstacles could be breached. He’d used that philosophy many times since his studies at MIT and Harvard.
Not that he could be much of a rule breaker. He was a Wilkinson, after all. He had a responsibility to uphold the family name. A shrink would probably tell him that was the reason for the reckless hobby he’d picked up back in school. His parents would’ve both had heart attacks had they known about the illegal street/mixed-martial-arts fights Matt had become involved in. Logan had been the one who’d figured out that Matt hadn’t got buff by being on the rowing team.
Matt shook his head. Logan hadn’t exactly been the voice of reason back then, and even he’d thought Matt had lost his mind. Matt did a bit of jumping and a few stretches while he kept an eye on the crowd, the street, hell, the sky, in case she dropped in by helicopter.
Finally, seven minutes after their meet-up time, Sam arrived, breathless and wearing shorts. Tight Lycra shorts that hugged her hips and butt, made extra visible by the short snug top she wore. He tried to look up from that inch of pale flesh that peeked out between her clothes, but it took a minute. “It’s about time,” he said.
“I’m sorry, but it’s your fault.”
“Mine?”
“Come on—let’s start,” she said, leading him onto the running path. Starting at a jog, warming up. He ran beside her for the most part. Except when someone else wanted to share the path, and he had to do the gentlemanly thing and fall back behind Sam.
It was pure luck he didn’t trip and fall flat on his face when he got a view of her from behind. She was every bit as gorgeous as from the front. God bless the weather. It usually didn’t get cold until Halloween, which was still two weeks away.
Once the path was clear again, he moved up beside her. “So why was it my fault you were late?”
“I had to rearrange my schedule for the next month.”
“What? For a run?”
“Not exactly, but because I’m going to be late with the current project—which is really cool nano work, by the way—it set off a chain reaction. Let me tell you, Clark was not happy.”
“I imagine he wasn’t. But thank you.”