Slow Heat

“Ah. That’s no fun.”

“Trying to be responsible here.”

“Really? That’s what your dad’s doing. Trying to be responsible. It’s what he said. Sam drove him.”

“Sam drove him where?”

“Promises.”

Wade rubbed his temples. “I know. You promised not to tell, but he’s my dad, Tag. It’s okay to tell me.”

“No, he’s at a place called Promises. Sam took him.”

Wade made the hour drive south over Highway 1 to Promises, an upscale rehab center in Malibu. But by the time he got there, Sam had already left, and he wasn’t allowed to see or talk to his father, who’d been admitted.

The drive back felt twice as long. The sports news was all over his crappy game, saying he looked tired coming off all the road trips, not fresh, not sharp.

And that he’d been dumped.

Well, they had that right. And yeah, he had lost his edge, he felt it in his gut. It wasn’t a flu, nothing so easy to get over, though he did feel sick to the depths of his soul.

Back at his place, he plopped down by his pool as the moon rose, staring moodily at the shimmering water.

Somehow he’d managed to rise up from the gutter that had been his childhood. For a long time now he’d had it all, whatever he’d wanted at his fingertips. Four shining years in college. Four years playing for Colorado, then nearly four of the best years of his life in Santa Barbara.

Until he’d gotten one little stalker and the press had taken notice of his hard partying ways and had turned on him.

He’d felt restless. Unsettled. Unsure.

And then had come the weekend with Sam at the wedding. That had changed him. She had changed him. Suddenly the things he’d thought he’d wanted-mostly the freedom to do as he pleased-had changed.

It had taken him some time to realize it.

Too much time.

Because now that he finally had it all figured out, the things he’d somehow managed almost by accident to surround himself with, things like the love of a good woman, the love of a kid, the love of a parent, things he now knew he wanted, needed, he’d blown them all apart.

But he wasn’t ready to admit defeat. Not on the season, not on his dad, and not on his life.

And especially not on Sam.

The next day Sam worked her ass off for ten straight hours to get the charity dinner and auction set up. Finally, half an hour before the start, she ran up to one of the hotel rooms to change. Her dress for the evening was a black spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress, clingy in the front, dipping low in the back. She looked in the mirror, knowing she’d picked out the dress for Wade and that it wouldn’t matter.

With five minutes to spare, she raced back downstairs. She purposely stopped to look at the beautiful view of the ocean against the cliff, the moon rising high as she took a deep, calming breath. Security was tight tonight. With tickets costing a grand a pop, they were expecting Santa Barbara’s rich and famous.

Ahead of her, Henry and Joe were checking in, their dates on their arms. Sam was used to seeing the guys in their uniforms, in sweats, in jeans, or even the suits they wore for traveling. Hell, she was even used to seeing half of them nude, given how much she was in the clubhouse during the season, but she’d never get used to the sight of them, big and bad and gorgeous, in tuxes.

Their dates looked beautiful and excited about the evening ahead. Sam wished she could say the same, but as she was dateless, she could summon little excitement. She handed over her ticket to the hotel greeter at the doors, waiting while the woman consulted her clipboard as instructed by Sam herself and frowned. “Says here you’re a party of two,” the woman said. “Where’s your date?”

Ah. Well, wasn’t that perfect? She was going to have to say it aloud. Her heart pinged once, hard, and she opened her mouth to say she was flying solo tonight, and that the way she was feeling, she’d be flying solo until the cows came home, when a warm hand settled on the small of her back. She didn’t have to look to see whose hand, or whose hard chest, was brushing her spine, because both brought a heat that pooled low in her belly.

“Her date’s right here,” Wade said.

The woman took in the sight of Wade in a tux and her mouth fell open.

Sam couldn’t blame her. She was nearly drooling herself. And shaking a little bit. “W-Wade.” Her tongue tripped all over itself because she honestly hadn’t figured on him doing this. She was embarrassed that he thought he had to, and also suddenly incredibly nervous that she was going to do something stupid, like throw herself at him. “I didn’t expect-”

“Excuse us a minute,” Wade said to the woman, and took Sam’s hand, pulling her away from the doors, off to the side.

She looked up into his face, which was tight with strain, and she immediately clutched his arms. “What is it? Your dad? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. They still won’t let me talk to him, but they swear he’s great. And I got a text from him today.”

Her eyes searched his, waiting.

“He wanted me to know that sometimes the apple does fall far from the tree.” He let out a small smile. “That I rolled all the way down the hill and then showed him the way.”

She felt her throat tighten, and she slowly smiled. “That’s sweet.”

“I texted him back, told him to get the thirty days under his belt, then come back to my house to finish his rehab.”

It took her a moment to be able to speak. “You’re a good man, Wade O’Riley. A really good man.” Her heart was having a rough time. It’d skipped a few beats and couldn’t seem to get back on track. And she was still trembling, shaking from the strain to keep it light, to keep smiling.

“Sam.” His voice was low, husky. “Look at me.”

God. Okay. She slowly met his gaze. She’d promised him no awkwardness, but she was dying at the sight of him, tall and gorgeous and far too close. She gestured to the photographers who were taking so many pictures of them the flashes were making her dizzy. “They’re having a field day with this, the whole are-we-or-aren’t-we thing. Making for good press, I guess.”

“I don’t care about the press.” He pulled her closer. “What I care about is what you said to me on my front steps, about how you feel.”

“Yeah.” She cringed at the memory. “Listen, I’m really bad at telling people how I feel. Please don’t make me explain it again.”

“We’re both really bad at telling people how we feel,” he said softly. “In fact, I never told you at all. That makes me worse at it than you.”

Again she tried to pull free. “I really need to get in there-”

“I know. This first. You’ve been there for me, Sam, and tonight I’m here for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She smiled and nodded, but though she could pretend with the best of them, she thought this one last night might do her in. She walked into the ballroom, and though her throat and eyes were burning, she did her best to handle it. She grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. Though she was tempted to guzzle it, she sipped slowly as she took in the ballroom. It was full and getting fuller, the dance floor beginning to fill up as well.

“Sam.”

God. What now?

Wade took the glass from her fingers and set it on a table, then held out a hand.

Her first thought was no. No slow dancing. No possible way could she handle the forced intimacy. But that thought was fleeting because she understood something that she’d possibly always known-she couldn’t tell him no. And in any case, he didn’t give her a choice. He pulled her into his arms and then she was up against that body that knew hers inside and out. In spite of herself, she melted into him. He was warm and smelled like heaven, and she