I ended this diatribe with deep sarcasm and, chest rising and falling rapidly, I ended it glaring at him.
Sam held my eyes and kept his jaw clenched. He did this a long time.
Too long.
Long enough for me to think of a couple of other things I wanted to say.
So I said them.
“And just an FYI, sweetheart, you mentioned when we fight it’s about learning what buttons you shouldn’t push and which places to avoid. So, like you say, straight up, I don’t like it that you call me ‘sweetheart’ only when you’re pissed at me and I do not like to be referred to as ‘the woman you’re banging’. If those are deal breakers for you then I’ll move to a different room and maybe I’ll luck out and run into another commando who’ll take me to bed and keep me safe while Ozzie searches for the man who’s out there maybe or maybe not planning to off me.”
The minute I stopped speaking, Sam growled, “You lost it.”
“I have not lost it,” I snapped.
“No, baby, I mean, you had the high ground and you lost it by not shuttin’ your trap and instead throwin’ out there that you’d find another commando to f**k. That was low and it was not cool.”
“Ah,” I threw my hands up, “I see. So you can mouth off and say things I don’t like but I can’t?”
“No, not shit like that.”
“Right.” I crossed my arms on my chest. “I get it, Sam. Stuff you say bothers me, it isn’t as important as stuff I say that might bother you. Do I have that right?”
“You’ve had two lovers, him and me. He gave you nothin’ for as long as you had him in your bed. You do not get nothin’ from me. I get to show you that, I get to give you that and not even my first when I was sixteen was my first to give that to. It means somethin’ to me that when my mouth or my c**k or my fingers are between your legs and I know what your face looks like, I know what you’re feelin’, I know I’m the only man who ever gave that to you and that’s all for me, that means somethin’ to me, Kia. And you throwin’ out you’d spread your legs for someone else and take that from me, that isn’t just ‘stuff that bothers me’. It’s a f**kuva lot more.”
It was my turn for my jaw to clench and it did this because I was grinding my teeth together and I was doing that because I realized, belatedly, I’d stepped over the line.
“We fight, we fight but we do not fight dirty,” Sam tossed at me.
I held his eyes and kept my mouth shut, now because I was clenching my teeth, trying hard not to cry.
Sam crossed his arms on his chest but said quietly, “Come here.”
“No.”
Yep. That’s what I said.
No.
His brows went up.
I explained.
“I need space. I need some time alone to come to the terms with the fact that my life is in danger. I need to figure out what my next move is. And I need some time to deal with this scene.”
“What you need is to let go of that emotion you’re holdin’ back and what I need is for you to give it to me.”
God! I hated it when he figured me out.
I shook my head and said, “No, Sam.”
He studied me.
Then, I watched the tension flow from his body and, his voice back to velvet, he ordered gently, “Honey, come here.”
I held his eyes.
Then I twisted my neck to look out the window to our veranda and beyond, to the startling blue of the Mediterranean Sea. My body followed my neck, I turned my back to Sam and rested my forehead against the cool glass, staring at one of many extraordinary visions Cooter and Vanessa’s evil plans gave to me but I couldn’t think, whatever. Not anymore.
It wasn’t over.
They actually hired a hit man to murder me.
And Ozzie knew.
And he thought I was too fragile so he didn’t tell me.
God.
On the things in life that sucked scale, this was seriously at the top of the list and would be for anybody.
Not surprisingly, on that thought, Sam was done with giving me space and I felt him fit the front of his body to the back of mine as his arms closed around me.
“They actually put a hit on me,” I whispered when he did.
“No beach, no pool and we’re not hittin’ that island today,” Sam said quietly. “I gotta shower then make some calls then we’ll talk about what’s next.”
I stared at the view. Then I sighed.
Then I said, “Whatever.”
“Room service. You don’t open the door and, in about two seconds, I want you away from this window.”
I sighed again.
Vacation over. Fun on the Mediterranean abruptly terminated.
Cooter, dead and still a major pain in my ass, was finding new ways to haunt me.
Shit.
Sam moved me away from the window to the couch and I sat on it, knees to chest, soles to seat, arms around my calves as he moved to the windows and drew all the curtains.
Then he came back and crouched in front of me.
“I have friends,” he said softly.
I bet he did.
So much for Luci not wanting him to take another job. Another job sat down to breakfast with him eleven days ago.
Of course, that “job” was paternally manhandled to his table by an overly romantic, matchmaking Italian maitre d’ but still.
“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled.
“Barney Oswald just got himself a shitload of help.”
I sighed again.
He straightened, bent into me and wrapped a hand around the back of my neck as his face got in mine.
“I won’t let anything harm you,” he whispered and I knew by the timbre in his voice he was very, very serious but even if the timbre in his voice didn’t say it, the hard, glittering look in his eyes did.
“Can you do me a favor?” I asked quietly.
“Anything.”
“I know it’s you and I know you’re allowed to have a genuine reaction to whatever happens, including getting pissed off but until I’m used to it, can you at least try not to scare the shit out of me when you get angry?” I watched remorse score across his features, I hated to see it and I uncurled an arm from my legs, wrapped my fingers around his forearm and squeezed as I whispered, “Seven years, Sam, I’ll do my best to get over it but I had it for seven years. And you’re bigger, you’re stronger and when you get pissed, that’s all I can see. If he could hurt me, you could break me. I know you’ve promised me you won’t and you’ve given me no indication you ever will. I know this is all about me and I have to work on it. I’m just asking you to help.”