Twice Tempted (Bad Boys Erotic Tales) Read online

  A cold numbness overtook her body. She knew she had to get up, get moving. Her mind somersaulted, unable or unwilling to digest her mother’s condition.

  Standing, she wobbled, and reached for the wall. Every inch of her skin shrunk, binding her in a storm of ache and confusion. This was all too much. Powerless to help her mom, or understand what had happened with Rob, she struggled to dissolve the bitterness that boiled inside her. And now more than ever, threatened to erupt.

  Standing in her room, her whole body went icy hot. She wanted to scream to the top of her lungs and release a lifetime of frustration. If only she could throw something. Anything.

  Her gaze fell on the scattering of trinkets atop her bureau. She picked up a hand-painted ceramic box adorned with tiny flowers. One she’d brought back from St. Kitts after graduation.

  To hear it crash against the wall might bring a spark of relief.

  If she started heaving her possessions, she doubted she would have the power to stop. With a serrated breath and trembling fingers, she put the souvenir back.

  Sam pressed her temples. “I can do this.” She repeated it several more times until she was in control. She had to get to the airport and a meltdown wasn’t part of her plans.

  Walking into her closet with all the strength she could muster, she reached for a blue skirt and blouse. And then promptly put them back. No longer did she feel compelled to dress the part of an up-and-coming VP exec on the fast track. No, it was time to get off.

  After washing her face, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. Standing in front of the mirror, puffy red eyes stared back. She sighed, taking in her unruly hair and began tucking and twisting the waves, unable to deal with the preening required to brush out all the tangles. Out of habit, she formed a plain chignon, and pinned it in place.

  She slipped on loafers, grabbed her bag, and took the private elevator to the parking lot.

  When she drove away from the condo the sky was laced with fuchsia ribbons. She surveyed the brilliant display, and for a fleeting second wondered if Rob was contemplating this same sky.

  * * *

  Rob drove out of the parking garage and followed the road back toward the beach property where they’d spent the afternoon. A couple miles away from her condo, he slammed his hands against the steering wheel. Over and over, flashes of Sam’s hurt expression continued to shoot holes in his belief that he was making the right decision.

  He pulled over, and parked along the boardwalk yards from the shore. Rob banged his head against the neck rest. His chest felt like it was comprised of setting cement; each breath required more and more effort. Opening his door, the rush of balmy sea air reminded him of Sam’s warm caresses.

  In only a few hours, she’d reached inside him and taken hold. He stood, needing to clear his head, and absently trudged over the sand. He dropped down, and sat staring at the water. With each rolling wave, a feeling of having made the wrong choice pounded into his head.

  This act was the epitome of running scared, when all he wanted to do was feel Sam’s body against him. Her moans filled his head, only to be overshadowed by the memory of the way she moved under him.

  So the-fuck-what if her father owned half the world. Cainwright didn’t own him. This was bullshit to allow his life to be dictated by a fear of finances or his screwed up past.

  If World Travel didn’t use him again, he’d find work. Always had and always would. Rob pushed off the sand, and hiked back to his car. Pulling away from the curb, he did a U-turn and headed back toward the woman he intended on making scream his name over and over.

  “Sam,” he groaned, gazing up at the sunset.

  He pulled into the parking spot in front of the Sam’s building. Next to his car, he stood brushing sand off his shirt and pants. He looked up just in time to see her accelerating out of the parking garage. Her hair was done up in some fancy hairdo, and she stared ahead with a look of determination.

  Well, well. Apparently, she was headed out find her crazy Friday night. This was a magnificent end to this day. Had he been too late or arrived just in time? He got back inside his car and pulled away. This time there’d be no turning around, no coming back.

  One quick pit stop to take the edge off seemed more than appropriate. Hell yeah, he’d even raise a glass to World Travel’s newest vice president and her sultry eyes. Tying one on ranked high on his list of best ideas for the evening. Gripping his steering wheel, Rob dodged a truck, swerving into the parking lot of the first neon bar sign he came across.

  Hours later, he sat in his car in front of his duplex. At least his neighbor’s lights were off and he’d not be forced to stop and chat. He picked up the six-pack from the trunk, and pulled off a lukewarm beer. Shelby mewed a greeting, swishing her tail back and forth on the porch.

  “Hungry? Okay, okay.” Old faithful. She meowed louder as he mounted the steps. Even with her feline scolding, he smiled down at her.

  Without the porch light on, he had to feel his way around the door lock. It was nearly midnight, he suspected. Christ, maybe later. Finally, his aim worked and his key slid inside the lock.

  He’d stopped by the local bar for a couple of rounds that turned out to be a couple more, plus tequila shots, and several games of pool. At least tonight he clearly remembered driving home, and every moment preceding. The onslaught of alcohol hadn’t dulled the ache for more of Sam’s mouth. No amount of self-talk convinced him that one afternoon spent in her bed was more than enough. No, not for one second did he feel better when all he wanted to do was feel her wrapped around him.

  Without turning on the living room lights, he walked into his kitchen. Semi-darkness surrounded him as he opened a can of cat food and set it on the counter. Shelby jumped up and daintily licked her food, closing her eyes and purring loudly. If only all women were so easily pleased.

  Rob felt wide awake as he turned on the television and sank down onto the sofa. The ‘tssst’ of his beer being opened was all he wanted to hear. He poured the beer down his throat, not stopping until he’d chugged half the can. Not some bitter dark brew from England. Red, white and Budweiser was more than good. Maybe not an expensive champagne, but king in his book.

  Even drunk, he couldn’t put aside thinking of Sam. He swore at his weakness. One afternoon, not even, and she filled him. Well, he’d better toast his good fortune to have gotten in and out in one piece.

  He raised his can to Cynthia “Sam” Cainwright and wished her the hell well.

  Rob rested his head on the back of the sofa. He closed his eyes and focused on the sound of the ocean and eyes the color of dappled forest leaves. He focused upon wet pink lips whispering his name, and pale arms inviting him to come closer. Shelby curled up in his lap, and he took a deep breath, mumbling her name before falling asleep.

  Chapter 7

  Sam arrived at the hospital to find her mother awake and weak. She’d had a stroke, and lay in a private room attached to monitors. Out in the hallway, the doctor shared his grim prognosis with Sam along with her father and her aunt. The doctor relayed he didn’t believe her mother would return home that evening or the next day. He suspected her heart valves were failing.

  Sam nodded, unable to take it all in, and excused herself. Tears welled in her eyes and this time, she didn’t stop them from coming.

  Her aunt hugged her, murmuring words of encouragement. Sam listened as the doctor and nurses conversed with her father a few feet away. She understood that her mother was in critical condition.

  Inside the hospital room, she drew close to her mother’s bedside. Her mom lay so still, her breathing shallow, her expression serene. Sam sighed, studying the monitors above the headboard.

  Her mother opened her eyes and smiled weakly. “Mija,” she whispered.

  “Mami, I’m here. What can I do? Can I get you anything?”

  “Nada. Estoy cansada.”

  Yes, her mother’s face held the look of being very tired. Sam’s heart pinched. “Mami, you’re here to r
est.” She kissed her mother’s cool forehead.

  For a long second, she closed her eyes, fighting for control. Hesitantly, she stood meeting her mother’s gaze. Sam swallowed, refusing to be resigned to anything other than that her mother would recuperate, and in a few days she’d come home. Her composure in check, she smiled back at her mom.

  “Tell me about your day,” her mother whispered.

  Sam lowered into the chair by the bed, taking hold of her frail mother’s hand. “Mami, it was different from the other days at the office.”

  Her mother’s lips curved slightly. The events swirled around Sam, in streams of varied hues of color and emotion. She glanced down in an effort to piece together the parts she was prepared share.

  Lifting her eyes, she continued. “I went up to the condo. The weather was beautiful. I’ve never seen such a sunset. I had photographs taken for the interview coming up. I think today was the first time I understand how sheltered I’ve been. It was a doorway. Sort of.”

  “I’m so glad you got out. Mija, your days of enlightenment won’t come from behind a desk,” her mother said with a hoarse, low voice.

  Sam refused to leave her mother’s side, even when her father went down to get coffee. Tia Sonya also remained seated in the room. Every once in a while, she came over and hugged them both. Otherwise, her aunt remained in the corner twisting and fingering a well-worn rosary or doing one of her crossword puzzles.

  Suddenly, her mother’s eyes brightened. A comforting sign Sam held onto, believing her mom would pull out of this.

  “Cynthia, come closer. Aquí.” Her mother patted the bedside.

  Sam worked at lowering the bedrails, pressing levers and buttons. “Tricky,” Sam said, shaking her head. “Ah, I think I’ve got it now.”

  “Mija.” The special way her mom softly called to her echoed within her, and reminded Sam all at once of a precious lifetime of such moments they’d shared.

  Her mother never called her Sam—only Cynthia or mija. It was her father who had started to call her Sam when she was a child. When she’d asked him, he’d told her Sam was her favorite character from a picture book she’d carried around. A book he that he’d read to her over and over before bedtime. A nice sentiment, something she’d shared with her father, but sometimes it felt as though he liked calling her Sam as a means to substitute an approximation of the son she wasn’t. She inhaled ruefully, acknowledging those thoughts were best put aside for now.

  She sat next to her mom. “I’m right here.” Sam arranged her mother’s covers and brushed back her hair. “How about some juice or tea?”

  “Cynthia, I want you to promise me something.” Her mother’s expression made her stop and focus. Again, her mom’s eyes brightly shone as though filled with rapt determination.

  “Yes. Anything.” Her mother’s fingers closed weakly around her hand. “Promise me you’ll live your own life, not the choosing of anyone but yourself.”

  Sam tried to smile but her lips trembled. The tremors shook harder when she pressed her lips together. If there was a time to buck up, it was right then. Her mother needed her to be brave, and she refused to give into fear.

  She sat up taller. “I promise. I will, Mom. I will.”

  “Don’t just say the words…feel them. Make this promise to yourself as much as to me.” Her mother squeezed her fingers. This act took a great deal of strength from her mom to do so. “You always try to please those around you. That’s not how life works. If you find happiness inside then you’ll find joy in the world around you. No need to substitute objects for love and security.’

  “I will do as you say. I promise.”

  A series of painful coughs over took her mother. And yet, when the coughs settled it was with a serene expression that her mother gazed back at Sam. “You’ll be a rock that can’t be shaken. I’m so proud of you.” Another painful cough overtook her mother.

  Sam quickly poured a glass of water and put a straw into the cup. She held the water up to her mother’s mouth. Her mother shook her head.

  “Please Mami. A few sips.” Sam glanced over to her aunt who nodded in return.

  Her mother was pale, her fingers cold, and her eyelids fluttered. She pressed her hand to Sam’s. “Don’t let your dreams die. Promise me. Promise me with all your heart that you’ll follow your dreams. I know you want to be a writer.”

  Sam choked back the sorrow welling in her throat. She didn’t want to admit she was scared to go it alone. Her mother didn’t need to hear that at this moment. When her mom got better, then she’d ask her mother’s opinion about leaving World Travel.

  She rubbed her mother’s hand, gently squeezing. “I’m almost finished with my first manuscript. When you come home, I’ll read to you. Would you like that?”

  Her mother smiled softly, and they held each other’s gaze. “Yes. Hearing your story will be a treat,” she murmured.

  Sam peered at her aunt. Tia Sonya dabbed at the corner of her dark eyes with a handkerchief. Sam kept a light hold on her mother’s hand, and remained seated next to her on the bed when her father returned.

  They all remained inside the room. No one spoke to allow her mother to rest. Sam’s legs grew numb, but she refused to shift position, afraid she’d disturb her mom’s sleep.

  Sometime after three in the morning an alarm rang, breaking her incipient recollection of the evening she’d spent. For hours, she’d revisited the one afternoon she’d spent with Rob.

  Blaring filled the room. Startled, Sam flinched.

  Her mother’s complexion was now ashen. Buzzers and more alarms rang out inside the room. Two monitors flashed red lights, and Sam sat up quickly, staring at the lines moving across the screens.

  “What’s going on?” Sam held onto her mother’s cold hand.

  Her father stood by shaking his head, his brow heavily creased. His confused expression frightened her. He said, “I don’t know. The doctor will explain.”

  Nurses rushed into the room. “Please, Miss Cainwright. You’ll have to move.”

  “Come over here.” Her father took her by the elbow, leading Sam from the room.

  Her mother had stopped breathing. For several minutes, there was a rush of activity and loud voices. The nurses and doctor had resuscitated her mom. Out in the hall, Sam learned that her mother had fallen into a coma. She stared into the room from the doorway, watching the nurses work.

  The doctor had given the order to place her on life support, long enough to determine that her mother had suffered a massive brain hemorrhage.

  * * *

  On the following Friday, Cynthia Cainwright stood at her mother’s gravesite. Dressed in a dusty-rose dress, her mother’s favorite color, she tossed a handful of soil on the coffin. She stared down at the shiny exterior and reminded herself of the promise she’d made to her mother. Cynthia… The sound of her mother’s voice, their last words, and her own vow blanketed her with courage.

  She waited while each of the bereaved stepped up and released a handful of dirt. More and more handfuls splattered against the rosewood coffin. The ornately carved surface, featuring a filigree heart and her mother’s name, Isabella Maria Trujillo Cainwright, was slowly—handful by mournful handful—covered with dry, brown earth.

  A week after meeting Rob Graham, she stood there with her heart torn out. Grief gave her something to hold to when all she felt was hollow. Attending to the funeral and open house plans, she didn’t have a moment to cope with the pain of her mother’s death coupled with having fallen for a man who was so out of her league in life experience. Time passed in blur and she was tumbling, tumbling down into an abyss.

  More than likely, that afternoon had been nothing more than forgettable for him. Well, not for her. She blocked a shudder and fought being impaled by the memory of his eyes, a brilliant blue that were the color of the water beyond the shoreline outside her apartment, or the twin dimples that played havoc with her heartbeat.

  During the downtime, in between phone calls and mee
tings, when she felt as though her chest would crack open, she often found herself remembering Rob’s strong embrace, him kissing her deeply, and the vivid recollection left her breathless each and every time. Oh, what she would do for a moment within his arms as her world unraveled. She feared she’d never be able to catch a full breath or think a clear thought, if this line of thinking continued. One afternoon, and how was it possible she could be this far gone? This had to be some defense mechanism. She nibbled her bottom lip. Wasn’t it?

  She had no other relationships to compare the depth of her feelings. She’d spent only a few hours with him, yet she knew it was real, and it hurt like hell. It was ridiculous to entertain any thoughts of him. Other men had looked at her, but no one had ever made her feel desirable. Or left her feeling so miserable.

  Her eyes blurred, her chest convulsed, and she recognized the familiar sting that returned each time she thought of Rob.

  The only good that could come of two painful events would be that the emotional torment forced her to make a choice of what to do with her life. She had to find a way to stop feeling so blue. She’d made a list; so far, her top priority was to give her father notice of her resignation.

  He was grieving, but waiting longer would only make it worse. He was grooming her to take over the company. To keep up the pretense of training, only to make her father repeat the process, would be cruel and cowardly. She mentally gave herself two weeks to tell him. Two weeks to become Cynthia, the woman her mother believed existed.

  * * *

  It was the first Monday of July, six a.m. and she shut off her alarm. Today was the day. Sam rolled over and a wave of nausea took hold of her stomach. Chills spread up and over her body. Oh God! She was going to be sick.

  She shuddered, covering her mouth, and made it to the bathroom just in time to vomit into the toilet. Nerves, the flu, or whatever it was didn’t matter. She had a meeting scheduled with her father. No excuses.

  Carefully, she moved to the sink and splashed cool water over her face. Staring at her reflection, she held on to its marble edge. Another wave of nausea hit, and she rushed back to the toilet. She retched again, then again. She stood, rinsed her mouth, and wiped the moisture from her lips.