He knew she wasn’t talking about ice cream. “Oh, yeah,” he said, nearly groaning as she stroked him through the fabric of his pants. “I think this is the best course so far.”
“Me, too.” Sam leaned over and kissed him.
Brody dropped his spoon and turned toward her to cup her face in his hands. He really enjoyed kissing Sam. There was something about it that made him want to indulge in kissing her for hours. He didn’t know if it was the softness of her lips, the sweet taste of her mouth or the soft cries of desire against his skin, but he couldn’t get enough of her.
His hand went to her waist, stroking and clutching at the shimmery fabric of her dress and the skin beneath it. He could think of a few other places he would prefer to touch, but since making love to Sam in this tiny room was not a viable option, he needed to leave the naughty antics to her.
His tongue glided along hers and Sam mimicked the stroke with her hand. Despite the layers of clothing between them, she had him balancing on the edge. He groaned aloud this time, unable to suppress it. Brody was certain someone in the kitchen had heard.
Sam pulled away from him with a smug expression. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you going to finish your dessert?”
Brody shook his head and grasped Sam’s roaming hand with his own. He pulled her away, as much as he hated to do it. “I think I’d like my dessert to go.”
Eight
Sam didn’t regret a moment of her weekend, but at the same time, she dreaded this first day back at the office. Would things be weird between them because they had had sex? Would he act differently around her? Or worse yet, would he find a reason to replace her now that he had got what he wanted?
The thoughts haunted her on her Monday morning commute. Her strategy today was to keep quiet, lie low, make Brody come to her and see how he acted around her. She was probably worried over nothing. Things on Sunday morning had been fine. Their dinner was wonderful and dessert was amazing. It wasn’t awkward at all. But that didn’t mean something else couldn’t happen to ruin it.
Sam quietly crept into the office when she arrived. The lights were on, which meant Brody was already in, but his office door was closed. She wasn’t quite sure why she was bothering to sneak around. If Brody wanted to know if she was in, he would watch the cameras for her.
She made her way to her desk and found another fresh pink rose in the silver bud vase. Despite her anxiety, the single rose made her smile. It was romantic and sweet, and knowing now that Brody grew the rose himself made it all the more special. After getting to know Brody better this weekend, it was just the kind of thing she would expect from him.
Sam slid the rose to the corner of her desk and busied herself settling in and catching up, but after an hour with no word from Brody in person or via email, she began to worry again.
Somehow, she thought he’d come out to greet her. Or at least ask her for something. He usually buzzed her phone or sent her an instant message once an hour or so. And he’d made a point to always tell her good morning. But today, silence.
The rose was the only thing keeping her from going crazy with anxiety. She opted to focus on her work and try not to worry. He might be busy. His calendar looked open, but he might need to deal with personal matters. Sam had been to his home and taken his virginity, but she really knew very little about Brody’s past or his family. He didn’t talk about it aside from a few vague comments during dinner Saturday night. He wouldn’t have even brought up his family on Sunday morning if Sam hadn’t asked him about the picture. And even then, he immediately clammed up about it.
Even as secretive as Brody was, that struck her as odd. He obviously had family. They helped shape who you are as an adult. It was something that came up in conversation. But not once had she heard him mention something funny a brother had done or tell an interesting story about his family. His mother was a bad cook and his father would get angry about it. That small tidbit was enough to make Sam worry that he didn’t have the happiest of childhoods, even without his accident.
He hadn’t spoken about that, either. The expression on his face as she slipped off his shirt nearly broke her heart. It was so hard for him to expose himself to her like that. It seemed almost painful. And when she saw how far his scars extended across his chest and back, she was surprised and concerned. It was as though a rain of fire had poured down his body.
In addition to that, there were other scars of different types sprinkled across his chest and arms. Small circles, long gashes, deep welts. She hadn’t allowed herself to react to the sight of them because he was so self-conscious, but she was still concerned about the scars. What could’ve caused all these injuries? She couldn’t imagine an accident that could do all of this at once. To her, it looked like the results of years of painful abuse.