The Sex Diet Page 17

  The tears she’d been trying to hold in check finally spilled past her lashes and she gave an ironic laugh. “You want to know why? Fine. I’ll tell you why—you.”

  He blinked, seemingly thunderstruck. “Me?”

  “I never expected the diet to work on you, Hank. Never dreamed that it would. And I’ve wanted you to want me for so long,” she told him, her voice breaking with an anguished sob. “For years.” She shrugged, forced a wobbly smile. Another tear fell unheeded down her cheek. “And then you did. A-and you made me an offer that I couldn’t refuse, because it was everything—everything—I’d ever wanted. So I ate more seafood and doubled up on the antihistamines, thinking that if I just kept it up, I could make you want me through the rest of the week. U-until I had to go home.”

  “Yeah, well…there’s just one flaw with your reasoning.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It wasn’t your sex diet, or your pheromones or your new appearance that made me want you—it was you. Just you. I told you that. I bared my soul to you, Sam.”

  Sam shook her head sadly. “I’m truly sorry. But you won’t think that after I’m gone.”

  “You’re not going anywhere. Do you know what my surprise was for you, Sam?”

  She swallowed. “No.”

  Hank withdrew a small velvet box and opened the lid. “I’m in love you, dammit. I want you to marry me.”

  Absolutely stunned, a choked sob broke from her chest. She couldn’t believe it—it was simply too much. Not only did he think that he loved her, but he thought that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, too. This was the perfect penalty for her recklessness, Sam thought. The Almighty couldn’t have devised anything more crushing, more diabolical. Hank was once again offering her a deal that was too good to be true—everything she wanted.

  But this time she had to refuse.

  He didn’t love her, and he might want to marry her now, but he wouldn’t later. He’d see that when the pheromones wore off, then he’d be glad that she’d made this easier for him.

  Sam shook her head once more, drew in a bolstering breath and dashed the tears from her face. “You don’t love me and you don’t want to marry me,” she said flatly. “It’s just the diet that—”

  “It’s not the damned diet! I told you that I’ve wanted you for years. Since you were eighteen. It’s not the damned diet.”

  “If that’s the case, then why didn’t you ever tell me? If you wanted me that badly, why didn’t you say anything?”

  Hank opened his mouth, but seemed unable to frame a reply.

  Sam forced a sad smile. She’d make it easy for him. “Forget about it, Hank. It was the diet, don’t you see? You might have been attracted to me, might have wanted me, but it wasn’t enough…not until I went on this diet.”

  “That’s bullshit, Sam.”

  She shook her head, wishing that she could believe it.

  Hank snorted, shoved a hand through his hair. “So that’s it? You’re not moving back? You’re going back to Aspen?”

  She nodded, ignoring the first part of his question. She would move back, just not right now. “The minute I leave here,” she improvised.

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  “I’ve made a lot of them,” Sam said wearily.

  SHE’D LEFT.

  He still didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that she honestly thought that he’d offered her his heart—his name—because of some stupid diet. It was ludicrous. He blew out a breath.

  Hank sat on the front porch swing, dropped his head in his hands and sighed. Furthermore, how had his plan gone so far awry? And why had he ever thought this would be easy? Nothing worth having ever was, right? Sam, he should have known, wouldn’t be any different.

  “So she left?” Jamie plopped down on the swing beside him. Hank had given him the abbreviated version of events.

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  “Any chance she’ll come back?”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Maybe,” Hank sighed. “But not soon enough. I’ll have to go get her.”

  “That’s what I figured. When?”

  If it was up to him, he’d go get her right now, but that would never work. She wasn’t going to believe his feelings were genuine until she’d had time for that infernal sex diet to wear off. Until her pheromone level dropped. Honestly, he’d never heard of anything more ridiculous in his life. Hank had no idea how long that would take, but figured a couple of weeks should suffice. He shared his theory with Jamie and he agreed.

  “It’s going to take something over-the-top to convince her.”

  Hank grinned. He wasn’t the least bit worried about that. He knew exactly what to do to convince her.

  SAM SHOVED ANOTHER HANDFUL of popcorn into her mouth and absently channel surfed. Sports—no. News—no. Murder mystery—no. Romantic comedy—yes. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, one of her favorite onscreen couples. The first few days she’d been home, Sam had shied away from anything that remotely resembled romance, but then she realized that this was undoubtedly the only form of love she’d ever be able to enjoy and had decided to embrace her misery. It was inevitable, after all.

  She’d filled her fridge and cabinets with comfort food, had rebelled against makeup and hair gel and, though it was killing her, hadn’t shaved her legs. She looked awful, but she told herself that she didn’t care. If she absently reached for her antifrizz hair serum, she made herself stop. If she longed to apply a little lipstick, she admonished herself and tossed it aside. This was the true her. The natural her. She wasn’t conforming anymore.

  Besides, between work and wallowing in self-pity, she really didn’t have the time or the energy to keep her appearance.

  As predicted, Hank hadn’t called, hadn’t e-mailed her, hadn’t tried to contact her in any way. She’d really hoped that he’d prove her wrong on that score, had hoped that their friendship would survive, but she supposed when all was said and done, he was simply too humiliated to contact her. She’d duped him royally with her diet, and she honestly couldn’t blame him. Still, it hurt, knowing that the bond of friendship was forever broken. Knowing that he hadn’t truly loved her after all, that he hadn’t really wanted to marry her.

  Sam felt the too-familiar burn of tears and muttered a curse. Enough, Samantha. You were an idiot. When you’re dumb, you’ve got to be tough. Suck it up.

  She reached for another handful of popcorn and discovered the bowl was empty. Again. No matter. She’d stockpiled it as well. She got up and had made it halfway across the living room floor when a knock sounded at the door.

  She drew up short, frowned. Who on earth? She never got visitors. Probably another lost pizza boy, Sam decided with a beleaguered sigh. Hmm. Pizza sounded good. She was debating the merit of pretending like the driver wasn’t lost and snitching the pizza from some hapless soul when she opened the door and found Hank on the other side.

  Her immediate reaction was a sharp bolt of joy, which was quickly followed by, Oh, hell—my hair!

  “Hank?” she asked questioningly. Disbelief and humiliation twisted inside her.

  Hank didn’t say a word, simply looked her up and down. She was painfully aware of her frumpy appearance. No makeup, no hair gel, old sweats. She looked like shit warmed over. Like her old self. “What are you—”

  He hauled her against him and kissed her, effectively ending the rest of that query. He nudged her inside, then kicked the door shut with his foot, all the while never breaking the kiss. He just kept feeding at her mouth, tunneled his fingers into her frizzy hair and molded her so tightly to him that she felt a hard bulge at the front of his jeans.

  Another bolt of joy shook her and a flash fire of heat swept her from head to toe. Her womb quickened, warmth seeped into her panties. Her nipples pearled and tingled. Want and need coalesced into a desire so fierce it made her tremble from the inside out.

  Hank dragged her shirt over her head and fastened his mouth onto her breast, impatiently shov
ed her sweats down and out of the way. Oh, God, how she wanted this. She stripped him as well and ten seconds later she was on the floor. She opened for him, desperate for him to fill her, even more desperate to believe what he was showing her—that he loved her, that whether or not she was beautiful to anyone else—to herself even—she was beautiful to him. That it hadn’t been that damned diet. That he had always wanted her, but more important, would always want her.

  Hank nudged her channel, then stopped and pinned her with a determined stare. Some tender emotion still lurked there, softening the fierce look. “Have you gone off the diet?”

  She nodded.

  “So there are no funky pheromones at work here?”

  She nodded again.

  “And, aside from the fact that I love you, that I’ve always wanted you, you realize what this means?” He pushed a little deeper into her for emphasis.

  A slow smile rolled around her lips. “I think so.”

  His eyes widened. “You think, you don’t know?” A bead of sweat broke out on his upper lip and his arms were rigid from holding back. She knew it was testing the length of his control and yet some devil made her want to provoke him.

  Sam rocked suggestively beneath him. “I’m getting the general idea…but I need a little more convincing.”

  A sharp burst of laughter erupted from his throat and those sea-blue eyes twinkled with humorous determination. He slid a little farther into her—but, irritatingly, not far enough. “Convincing?”

  She nodded.

  “Will you come back to Orange Beach with me?”

  She nodded and he edge forward a little more…but still not enough.

  Hank stilled. “Don’t nod—say yes.”

  Her eyes misted and a short laugh broke from her throat at the reminder. “Yes.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  Impossibly, her entire body warmed even more with delight. She bit her lip. “Yes.”

  “Thank God,” Hank groaned desperately as he thrust fully into her, filling her to the hilt. “Did you miss me?”

  Sam’s eyes all but rolled back in her head again as another climax rocketed through her. Her toes curled. She arched her neck and let out a long howl of ecstatic approval. “Oh God, yes!”

  Epilogue

  “I’D BE HAPPY TO MAKE THAT reservation for you, Mrs. Allen. When will you be arriving?”

  Phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, Hank watched Sam efficiently handle a new reservation and a slow smile rolled around his lips. As he’d imagined, everything about his life—both personal and professional—had improved since he and Sam had finally gotten together. It had taken a lot longer than it should have considering they’d essentially been in love with each other for years, but he didn’t dwell on any time wasted and instead liked to think about all the time stretched out before them. They’d married here at the B&B a little over a year ago and there’d been a lot of changes during that time.

  He’d remodeled his bathroom, installed those his and her vanities, as well as that old claw foot tub and Jamie’s firm was handling the addition for him. He’d promised to stay true to the house, and was using period appropriate pieces when he could find them. Hank winced. He couldn’t wait for Jamie to finish up. They could really use the space.

  Sam had taken over Tina’s job, thank God, and—his gaze slid to the front porch swing, where Tina and his daughter currently sat—Tina had been put to work doing something more suited to her strengths—baby-sitting their Belle. Belle Elizabeth Masterson had been a surprise, but one that had been anticipated and welcomed with whoops of laughter and tears of joy. Hank’s chest tightened, staring at her. Big blue eyes and strawberry curls, that slobbery toothless grin. She was absolutely adorable, and quite frankly, though he assumed every proud papa felt this way, he couldn’t imagine that a more perfect child had ever graced the planet.

  Contentment pushed a sigh from his lips as he felt his wife’s arms slide around his waist. She followed his gaze and grinned. “You can quit standing guard. Tina’s excellent with her. You know that,” she chided.

  “I’m not standing guard,” Hank argued. Not this time, at least, though admittedly Sam had caught him many times leaning over the crib in the middle of the night just to make sure that his baby was okay. “I’m admiring. There’s a difference.” He blew out a beleaguered breath. “But, I guess that’s a subtlety that’s lost on you.”

  Sam chuckled. “Touché. How about this for subtlety? Belle is occupied, every guest is out at the moment and—” she lowered her voice, pressed her breast against his arm “—and I distinctly recall a certain promise regarding all the orgasms that I could handle.” She leaned up and licked a path down the side of his neck, forcing a hiss of pleasure from between his teeth. “I want one now,” she said meaningfully. Her eyes twinkled. “Say yes.”

  A stuttered laugh rumbled from his chest and Hank turned and slanted his lips over hers. Yeah, yep, uh-huh, sure, okay…yes. Definitely, unequivocally, always yes.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-7062-0

  THE SEX DIET

  Copyright © 2004 by Rhonda Nelson.

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