Charitable Contributions

21: Accidents Happen

Heaviness pulled down my legs, making each step harder. I gripped the railing and took a slow breath. All week, I cursed my feelings. I should have been riddled with guilt for cheating on Nate, but I didn't. That constant mindfuck forced me into bed hibernation.

A tall, leggy blonde bombshell in a fire engine red cocktail dress smiled at me from the top of the steps. Full of scrutiny, her brown eyes dragged over me. Whatever test she administered, I must have passed because she smiled. "Amelia?"

What was she doing on this floor? My eyes flitted down the hallway, which showed no Sam. Petty satisfaction filled me when I climbed the last step and she was six inches shorter. A pink flush spread over her face, her mascara was smudged at the corners, her red lipstick was absolutely perfect, and her pupils were round enough to eat the brown out of her irises.

"Ashley." Her arms choked me into a tight, breasts meet breasts, hug. Mine were bigger. "I'm so relieved Sam's shoulder is healed."

"Right," I rasped out under her gorilla grip.

"Sorry, I'm a hugger." She released me and squeezed my arms. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person. And this is my husband, Rick."

My eyes followed her gaze, to a hallway bathroom that a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out of and smoothed his hands over his black hair. He tucked his blue polo shirt into his gray pants and approached with the same red cheeks. Once near us, he roped an arm around Ashley's waist.

Oh. They've been... Good for them? This was why I was antisocial. "Hey." I whooshed out an exhale at Sam's publicist. His married publicist. "Where's Sam?"

"Bathroom, I think." She leaned closer and murmured in my ear, "He'll be happy to see you."

"Right. Let me go say hi then." I pulled a tight smile and made my way down the hall. I struck out in two guest bedrooms, both of which had a view of the back yard. Soft lights were strung around the covered porch and his pool lights illuminated the soft water ripples. Each room was dark and empty.

I gasped at Sam's bedroom. A warm mix of spice and faint stink of sweaty gym clothes was all Sam. I smiled at a picture of him and his parents on his dark wood dresser and paused at his massive four-poster bed. If I wasn't wearing makeup, then I would faceplant into his puffy, white comforter. "Sam?"

"In here," his voice called out of the cracked open bathroom door, followed by the sound of running sink water. I dragged my lead feet across the floor. The closer I approached his bathroom door, my heart became heavier than my steps and my stomach twisted around itself. I pushed the door handle, to a sight that dropped my jaw.

Sam stood at the sink, drying his hands with a white towel. Compared to his casual workout clothes, Sam's formal wear was a visual feast. The bitch between my legs ached for her piece. He was hotter in person than the blurred phone screen I clicked through like an obsessed fangirl. The black pants painted on his tree stump thighs sent hot throbs through me. His black dress shirt hugged that muscular frame that drilled me into oblivion, outlining his broad chest, rounded shoulders, and narrow waist.

With his beard trimmed to a clean jawline, he was devilishly handsome. But his eyes pinned me in place. The warm browns brightened, chased by a heat that swayed me against the door.

"I'm sorry." Sam's blurted out words dissolved any uncertainty I had following Michael's mandate that I come tonight. Sincerity slipped through the crack in his tone, as rich in tone as it was in relief.

I blinked. He wasn't mad?

My moment of boldness ended when I closed his bathroom door behind me. Both legs locked up and my ankle rolled. I wobbled worse than a newborn deer and accepted Sam's help. His palm cupped my elbow, his fingers sending goosebumps up the back of my arm. The other hand's fingers lifted through my hair and cupped the nape of my neck. His touch burned my skin in a hold that was both supportive and invoking.