A Seal's Desire

“Oh, there’s nothing like an heirloom,” Amy gushed, giving Sammi’s shoulder a friendly rub.

“Oh, I have something for all of you,” Sammi exclaimed as if she’d just remembered. She hurried over to the glossy writing desk where she’d left the envelopes. She’d actually planned to give them each the hand-painted cards as they were leaving. But hey, why pass up a good distraction?

“Oh, Sammi Jo,” Mia breathed as she opened hers.

Still, Sammi bit her lip as they all sighed and murmured their delight, each woman, including Blythe, showing the others her card and exclaiming over theirs.

“I’m so glad you like them.”

“Like? Oh, no, love.” Amy traced her finger over the delicate watercolor roses twining around the elaborately lettered Thank You before giving Sammi a beaming smile. “You are so talented. You could make a living painting cards, Sammi Jo.”

“You did for a little while, didn’t you?” Mia asked, holding her card, with its long, leggy irises, close to her chest. “Or was that only in college?”

She’d had quite a small business going in college, painting cards, wall hangings and the occasional stationary set to supplement what she made waiting tables. Most semesters her art had not only covered the cost of books, it’d given her enough to actually fit in with her friends instead of standing out like a country bumpkin. But once she’d come home and started working at the inn, she’d been too busy for painting, except the occasional gift.

“I dabbled,” Sammi said, shrugging as if she hadn’t hated to give up that dream.

“You could still dabble,” Blythe pointed out, carefully tucking her sunflower-covered Thank You back in its envelope.

“Maybe after you’re married,” Clara said. “I’ll bet Sterling would love it if you spent more time on your art.”

Sammi didn’t think Sterling was even aware that she painted. Thankfully, Mrs. Ross chose that moment to barrel into the room, saving Sammi from having to comment. As she began leading the women through their fitting, the talk bounced more naturally now, the women sharing their latest gossip while Sammi curled up on the bed, her robe draped around her feet as she enjoyed the vicarious fun.

“Sammi, has Sterling finalized your honeymoon plans yet?” Amy asked as she preened at her reflection in the mirror.

So much for fun.

“Honeymoon?” Sammi bit her lip. She didn’t want to tell them that Sterling had decided to put off the honeymoon for a couple of months until they were both less busy. So she went with, “Oh, no. He’s keeping it a surprise.”

“I so admire your patience, Sammi Jo.” Mia stood with her arms wide as Mrs. Ross pinned and tucked her sapphire dress to a perfect fit. “I was all over Conner about the arrangements months before the wedding.”

“You’re always all over Conner,” her sister muttered, earning a snicker from Blythe.

“How do you know what to shop for if you don’t know where you’re going?”

“Not everyone is a shopaholic, you know.” Holding up one lipstick and then another to the mirror to check the color against her dress and her complexion, Clara paused to roll her eyes at Amy. “Some people actually wear the clothes they already have instead of shopping for an entire wardrobe.”

“Says the woman with fifty lipsticks in her bag,” Mia responded laughing.

“Amy is right, though,” Clara declared as she tried on a pale pink lipstick, then wiped it right off. “Even if you dress from your wardrobe for the honeymoon, you’ll need something extra sexy for your wedding night.”

“Extra sexy?” Sammi repeated, frowning down at her robe-covered body. Under her practical cotton was more practical cotton. Why would she bother with anything else?

As if hearing her thoughts, the other women dove into a discussion on the merits of various lingerie styles when it came to the art of seduction. When the talk turned to sex play, Sammi had to force herself not to run, screaming, from the room. She pressed her hands against her churning stomach.

Just bridal nerves, she assured herself. It was natural to be nervous. Totally normal to freak out. She knew lots of women who’d been nauseous before their wedding day. Granted, they were pregnant. She didn’t think she could lay her nausea on that without the blessing of divine intervention.

After all, she and Sterling had never had sex.

Which wasn’t a big deal.

She’d seen enough evidence in her life that sex was better left off the table. People either put too much meaning on it, so that it became an obsession that screwed up their lives. Or the only value they put on it was the mileage they got out of bragging about it after the deed was done.

The only lingerie that suited her attitude toward sex was a flannel nightie or, maybe, a chastity belt.

Not that she’d say that aloud. They were all friends—good friends—but she just couldn’t talk about that sort of thing.

Except with Blythe. Sammi’s gaze cut over to the bubbly blonde being tucked and pinned into her dress. Blythe was like a sister to her. They told each other everything. But she hadn’t found a way to tell her best friend since first grade that she hadn’t slept with the man she was about to marry.

She’d thought about pointing out that there was nothing wrong with saving yourself for marriage.

But Blythe knew perfectly well that Sammi had had sex before. So she was going to want specifics on why Sammi hadn’t had it with the man she was about to commit the rest of her life to.

But Sammi couldn’t explain that it just didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t marrying Sterling for sex. Nor, as so many whispered, was she marrying him for his money or his family connections. She and Sterling didn’t need sex to make a good marriage. They had family ties, respect and common interests. They had a friendship, and that was way more important than sex.

The sound of her name amid naughty giggles pulled her from her reverie.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked the group of wicked-eyed women staring at her. A group, she noted, that now included Blythe. Was there something about getting undressed together that made women best buddies?

“I asked if you prefer panties or thongs,” Amy said with a naughty smile. “Then Mia asked if you had a preference when it came to fabric. You know, heavy silk or see-through lace.”

How about cotton briefs and in the dark, with the lights off. Her face heating, Sammi cast a quick look around. Where the hell had Mrs. Ross gone? Why was the woman always around when she didn’t want her and never here when she needed her?

But apparently sometime during Sammi’s mental side trip through her nonexistent love life, the wedding coordinator had brought in a tray of delicate desserts and champagne.

And all of them, except Blythe, who’d tugged on her scrubs again, were sitting around in their undies, sipping champagne and nibbling bonbons.

“We’re trying to figure out your lingerie style,” Clara explained, actually pulling a leather-bound notebook from her messenger bag. “And are you going to want to branch out a little? Is Sterling into the kink?”

Sammi’s mouth dropped.

But no words came out.

It wasn’t their expectant looks that shocked her, so much as how perfectly normal they all seemed to feel asking such intimate questions. Not even in college had her underwear choices come into conversation. But now that she was marrying, everybody thought it was their business?

“Speaking of kink... Guess who’s back in town?” Taking pity on Sammi’s horrified expression, Blythe addressed the question to everyone—and in a friendly tone, too. “This guy is amazing. Think orgasms by the dozen. The man every other man envies. Sergeant Satisfaction, Captain Climax, General G-Spot.”

That’s all it took to bring an image to Sammi’s mind of a wicked smile, warm hazel eyes and toffee-colored hair with just a hint of curl. Even as a teen, the man had exuded sex appeal, so much that people rarely looked past it to see what a sweet guy he was.

To Sammi, he’d been a hero. He’d protected her from bullies when she was seven, then when he’d learned that they were harassing her because she couldn’t read yet, he’d taught her in secret himself. He’d made Sammi feel as if she could do anything. His unquestioning belief in her had been a turning point in Sammi’s life. Years later, he’d even helped Sammi get her job here at the inn. Talk about a hero.

“Laramie’s back?” Sammi said a second before Amy did. Everyone giggled except Sammi, who was wondering why Amy would know Jerrick’s bad boy. She’d grown up in Abilene, not Jerrick.

Blythe continued talking before Sammi could ask, and before she could analyze the tight feeling in her stomach over how Amy—or any woman under the age of thirty-five if the rumors were to be believed—would know Laramie.

“Long and lean, sexy as sin and hotter than Hades.” Blythe made a show of fanning her hand in front of her face. “He’s fueled the fantasies of every woman in town from the age of fifteen to fifty.”

“He’s fueled fantasies in a lot of towns, from what I hear,” Mia chimed in. “Laramie is a legend in West Texas.”

“I heard rumors about him when I was at college in San Antonio,” Clara mused, looking modest in her simple silk teddy. “Didn’t he go off to become a secret agent or something?”

“I heard he was a drug lord, although some people say he’s really DEA and that’s a cover.”

“No, no,” Amy interrupted. “He’s a cowboy. He’s riding broncs in the PRCA, you know, the rodeos. He was in Las Vegas last year for National Finals.”

Actually, he’d left Texas to join the Navy twelve years ago. By now, he’d probably achieved his dream of being a SEAL. But Sammi kept that to herself.

“Guys like that are bad news,” Clara declared, dabbing her lips with a napkin before she rose to dress. “Nothing more than man-whores.”

“Laramie isn’t bad news,” Sammi defended, not able to let that comment go by. “He’s really a sweet guy.”

“Ooooh,” echoed every voice in the room.

“Not like that.” Sammi rolled her eyes. “I knew him when we were kids. He even got me the job here at the inn.”

Actually, he’d found Sammi trying to hitch a ride to the bus station with grand plans to run away. He’d convinced her that running wasn’t the answer over an ice cream sundae, then brought her to the inn where he’d convinced Mrs. Reed the housekeeper to hire her.

“That’s right,” Blythe remembered. “His mom worked here before she died.”

“I’ll second the sweet-guy vote. And it’s unfair to call him a man-whore,” Amy said. “I’ve never heard of Laramie costing women anything more than a little heartache.”

“A little heartache is a fair price for the kind of memories he’s credited for. I’ve heard he can go all night, rocking it like a jackhammer. And that smile.” Blythe popped a grape into the air, caught it between her teeth, then bit into it with a snap and a grin. “Panty melting.”

“Just what every woman wants. Melted panties.” Sammi frowned, wondering why everyone seemed to think sex was so damned important. Sex was messy and awkward, usually made up of mythical expectations and ridiculous requirements.

“You’ll see,” Mia said, giggling as she slipped into her Alexander Wang dress. “A few months of honeymoon sex, and I’ll bet you melt every pair you own.”

Since she didn’t figure sex—not even sex with a legend such as Laramie—could be worth a single pair, Sammi could only laugh.

“Not to worry. You’ll have enough panties to get you through a year of hot sex,” Clara assured her with a comforting pat on the shoulder. “The lingerie shower will ensure that.”

“A lingerie shower?” Sammi paused in the act of pulling on her jeans to frown. Her eyes shifted from one woman to the other. But they looked as surprised that she’d asked as she was to hear about it.

“You know, a shower for lingerie,” Amy said, her expression two shades away from condescending. “Next Friday afternoon.”

“I know what a lingerie shower is,” Sammi said, trying not to clench her teeth. “I thought we were having a couple’s bridal shower.”

“I’m throwing the couple’s shower,” Clara said, looking up from repacking her cache of lipstick. “We’re each giving you one. Amy, Mia and I.”

“Three bridal showers?” Three? Her mind echoed faintly. But why?

She shot Blythe a desperate look, but her friend was nodding along as if having three separate showers was completely reasonable. That or she’d bonded with the other women over sex talk.

“I’ve got your bachelorette party covered,” the traitor said, tucking her feet back into her high-tops. “And don’t worry. I’ll make sure it’s a party hot enough to melt your unmarried panties right off.”

It was all Sammi could do not to cover her butt with her hands and tell them all to leave her panties alone.

3

“SAMMI JO, DID YOU hear who is back in town?” Fiona Green set down the last of the boxes of vegetables she was delivering to wave a hand in front of her face. “Hoo, baby, it’s gonna be a hot couple of weeks.”

“Because Laramie’s back?” Sammi asked absently, paying more attention to the order she was checking than to the tenth announcement today of Laramie’s return. All around her the kitchen hustled and bustled through breakfast service, the cacophony of voices, dishes and cooking soothing after a night of lousy sleep.

“Laramie. The man is drool worthy. He’s the kind of guy who just looks at a woman and, poof,” Fiona blew on her fingertips, “her clothes disappear.”

“Uh-huh.” Sammi Jo grinned as she signed off on the delivery. “Good luck staying dressed.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“You do?” Sammi’s smile dimmed. Fiona had been a couple of grades behind her in school. How young did Laramie like them?

“No, but I know women who have. And they’ve told me.”

“Ahh.” Relieved, and late, Sammi said her goodbyes and scurried around two waiters, the line chef and a busboy, double-timing it to the dining room.

What was it with everyone’s obsession with sex?

She tried to wrap her mind around it all.

First the bridesmaids—and in the stuff of nightmares, Mrs. Ross. Then her newest guests had asked to change rooms three times, all in search of a bed that gave the best bounce. If that wasn’t enough, her favorite sitcom had launched a new storyline about—yes, of course—sex.

Added to that, all the staff could talk about was the fact that Laramie was back in town. Two of the maids appeared to be wearing lingerie—while another had asked for the day off to go to the spa for a body buff and glow. Last night, even the kitchen staff had debated what foods were best to seduce the man.

Sammi Jo felt as if she should warn poor Laramie. Or she would if she wasn’t so irritated with everyone putting all of the sex thoughts in her head—and a little afraid that with this theme, she’d see her mother sashaying through at any time in Daisy Dukes and pink pumps.

And then there were the cheating rumors. Those she’d rather ignore, but the sidelong glances and pitying looks she’d garnered over the past few days warned her that the issue couldn’t be avoided.

Which meant she had to talk to Sterling.

Sammi glanced at the clock on the wall, winced and hurried through the staff entrance to the inn’s dining room. The morning sun already shone bright through the wide, arched windows. It was gratifyingly full for a Thursday morning. The dining room boasted twenty tables clothed in white with matching china and pretty carafe centerpieces. The window’s arch was echoed in the entry, where Sammi Jo had switched out the hostess stand for a mahogany piecrust table. The overall effect was elegantly cheerful, she thought as she moved through the tables, pausing to check with the head waiter to make sure nobody needed her help.

“Good morning,” she greeted when she reached the table next to the window. “I’m sorry I’m late. We’re a little short staffed in the kitchen.”

“I was afraid I was going to have to eat alone,” Sterling said with a wink as he set aside his iPad.

Sammi slid into her seat, smiling at her fiancé. Dark eyes contrasted with his wheat-blond hair, and while maybe his lips were a little thin and his chin a smidge weak, he had a clever personality and a Yale polish that made quite a package.

She was glad that he was so much more than a walking, talking erection with roaming hands and a one-track mind. Then her smiled dimmed. Maybe it was only with her that his mind never hit that track? They were to be married in three weeks. She knew he was interested in sex; there were too many rumors to pretend otherwise. But if she asked, what if she found out something she didn’t want to know. Like, what if he was a closet deviant? What if, after they married, he’d want to wear her new underwear and have her spank him with chilled vegetables? Was that worse than him not wanting her at all?

In reality, she didn’t want him. Not in that way, she admitted, twisting her fingers together in her lap.

“Sammi Jo? Is everything okay?”

No, she wanted to scream. She had no interest in sex, she didn’t like sex and she thought life was much tidier without sex. Yet, the only thing she could think about now was sex.

Her lips trembled, but Sammi managed to hold back the crazed rush of babbling nerves.

“I’m sorry. I’m just distracted by work. Don has us short staffed again, and we’re having some tech issues at the front desk. Add in the wedding hoopla, and I’m a little frazzled.” She swirled her hand in the air to emphasize her words, hoping he’d put her odd tone down to being overwhelmed. “I wish we could have something a little more low-key.”

Something that didn’t require Mrs. Ross, for instance.

“I know, I know.” Sterling set his coffee down, dabbed his napkin to the corners of his mouth, then gave her the smile that made him such a good salesman. Earnest and charming, with just a hint of persuasive guile. “But Sammi, this wedding is about more than us. It’s about the image we present to the community. Look at it as a networking opportunity. The guest list is impressive, the gifts will likely be cash and the entire event will make good press. That’s good for our businesses.”

Seriously? She was working double time to prepare the inn for its debut as a wedding destination, hearing honeymoon advice from the gardener and being nagged to death by Mrs. Ross over stupid details she didn’t care about while being overridden on the ones she did. And all for the good of their businesses?

Stomach tight, Sammi wanted to lean across the table and tell him that she’d had enough. Sterling wasn’t the one dealing with the wedding planner from hell. If he wanted to improve his damned business, he could take out an ad.

“You’re right,” she agreed, absently rubbing the knot in her shoulder. “I’m a little overwhelmed. Added to all of that are the new software changes your father wants implemented and the insane things my bridesmaids are saying. I suppose it’s just been a rough couple of days.”

Sterling reached out to lay his hand on hers again, this time giving it a quick squeeze.

“You worry too much, Sammi Jo. Let the wedding coordinator do her job and don’t let your bridesmaids drive you crazy,” he suggested, his smile a little less easy now. “As for the computer, I actually need to use it and your office this morning.”

“I’m scheduled to do office work until noon. Your father expects me to have the new computer software installed and all the files transferred before the first of the month,” she said before taking a sip of her sweet tea.

Sterling’s smile slid away to be replaced with a dark scowl. Sammi sighed. All it took was the mention of Robert Barclay to put that look on Sterling’s face. Oh, she knew Mr. Barclay could be difficult, but she was sure in time father and son would overcome their differences. It’d been her attempts to build that bridge when Sterling had moved back home last year that had brought her and Sterling together.

Someday, Sterling would appreciate his father for the great man that he was. As far as Sammi was concerned, Mr. Barclay had saved her life. It was thanks to Mr. Barclay that she’d gotten out of the trailer park and had made something of herself.

She owed him a lot.

The least she could do was try to help smooth things out between him and his only child.

But sometimes, the smoothing was a lesson in frustration.

“If you don’t want me using your computer, just say so.”

His words were stiff as he turned to greet the perky brunette waitress as she set a basket of minimuffins and pastries on the table. Darla refilled his coffee, asked Sammi if she wanted more tea and took their order before sashaying away again.

Sammi waited until she was out of earshot.

“I don’t have a problem with you using the computer,” she said quietly. “I can finish up my work this evening after my shift.”

Sterling took a moment, but finally gave a brief nod.

“So what silly ideas are the ladies coming up with?” His tone was somewhere between placating and cheerful, but the expression on his face made it clear he wasn’t happy. “Are they fussing about the dress choices?”

Sammi started to tell him about their silliness over Laramie, but found herself leaning closer instead and saying, “There are rumors that you’re having an affair.”

Again. The unspoken word hung in the air for a moment as Sterling blinked, then gave a deep sigh. He looked around as if to ensure nobody was listening, then reached over to pat her hand.

“First off, we’re not married yet. Whatever we do between now and the wedding is our own business, isn’t it? Besides, we’ve talked about this, Sammi. We’re perfectly compatible in so many other ways. Just not that one. Why is this an issue?”

How did he know they weren’t compatible sexually if they’d never had sex? Sammi pressed her lips together to keep from asking. Because he was right. Theirs wasn’t a love match. They were friends—good friends—with respect and affection for each other. They’d agreed that their marriage was going to be more of a partnership than anything else.

Still...

“We’ve also talked about how essential respect and consideration for each other is, and why it’s important to both of us to do our best to keep up appearances. We’d agreed that for all intents and purposes, we would give the impression of a love match.” Despite the nerves clenching tight in her belly, Sammi managed to keep her words steady. “Rumors that you’re sleeping with a cocktail waitress three weeks before the wedding are at odds with that impression, don’t you think?”

Sammi held her breath, carefully watching his expression. Because those rumors would be nothing compared to the ones that’d explode if Sterling called off the wedding. She could just see the pitying looks and knowing nods. Those were the kind of rumors that could ruin a woman’s life.

After a long moment, Sterling’s remote expression shifted into a rueful smile.

“You’re right. Totally right. That was my bad.” He shrugged. “I promise, you won’t hear any more gossip like that.”

Sammi could only stare, and wonder. Did he mean he was done fooling around and that once they were married he’d only have sex with her? Or did he simply mean he’d be more careful about the gossip?

Before she could ask, they were greeted by a booming voice.

“Sterling, you old dog. And Sammi Jo. Aren’t you a pretty thing.” As big as his voice, Ben Martin grabbed a chair from an empty table and, without asking, joined them. “Gotta talk business, my friends. I hear you’re looking for a discount on some long-term ads in the newspaper.”

Sterling slid an apologetic look toward Sammi, then, of course, started talking business. She frowned at the irritation spiking through her system. It wasn’t the first time one of their meals had been interrupted. Actually, it was rare that one wasn’t. And it wasn’t as if she could call Sterling out on his comment here in public.

She’d simply wait until after breakfast and go with Sterling to her office. They would talk in private. They’d hash it out and settle the issue like two reasonable adults. Because that’s what they were. That’s why they were marrying each other.