Jo Leigh - Shiver / Private Sessions

Yeah, she definitely wanted to see how Sam looked when he rolled out of bed.

“We have a terrific masseur who comes up to the hotel. His name is Michael, and he’s studied touch therapy for years. He runs a well-known studio and school in Crider. Even if you don’t win, you should try and make time for one of his massages.”

“Oh,” she said, as she looked at the great pile of pumpkins.

“What’s wrong? You sound disappointed.”

With her heart beating fast, her courage at maximum, she turned to look him straight in the eyes. “I was hoping, if I won, that you’d give me my massage.”

His pupils dilated. She’d wager he was blushing as hard as she was, but she didn’t move her gaze an inch.

“I think that could be arranged.”

“What if I don’t win?” she asked.

He smiled. She could tell by the lines at his eyes. By his eyebrows. “It could still be arranged.”

She let out her held breath, then turned back to pumpkin picking. It wasn’t that she was playing it cool. On the contrary. If she’d kept staring at him like that, and if he’d kept looking back at her with the blatant hunger in his hazel eyes, she’d have kissed him. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass him or herself, not so early in the evening, at least. Besides, now there was this between them. Much stronger than before, when it wasn’t a sure thing. Now, it was all tension and subtext and potential. So delicious she shivered with it.

“People,” he said, just above a whisper.

“What about them?”

“They’re coming. I should … do … things.”

She nodded, still not looking at him, smiling at his failure to be the least bit suave. It was tempting to tease him, to discombobulate him as the conference attendees came rushing into the ballroom, eager to snatch the best seat, the best pumpkin. It was quite possible that Erin was among them, and Carrie should have cared about that as she was supposed to have picked out their seats. Not that they’d discussed the contest arrangements, but between them, it was the way things were done. The first one there secured seating or tickets or places in line. But Carrie didn’t care where they sat. Or if they sat. She wanted to think about the sex, think about Sam. Think about sex with Sam.

“Have you decided?” he asked, startling her with his volume.

“What?”

“Which pumpkin you’d like.”

“Oh. Okay, sure. That one.” She pointed down and to the right, which turned out to be not the most perfect of pumpkins. In fact, it was unusually tall, but as soon as she saw, she knew exactly what she was going to draw.

He picked up her selection and when he stood, he met her gaze once more, only something had changed in the few seconds since his question. Somehow, she guessed through some decision he’d made, he’d become far more confident, relaxed. And damn, sexier than ever. “Let’s get you a seat.”

She followed him, not saying a word as he found a table near the back, on the end. He put the pumpkin on the butcher paper between the markers, then he touched her upper arm. “Do you think Erin has a particular pumpkin type? “

Carrie shook her head. “Oddly, we’ve never discussed the issue.”

“If you had to guess?”

“I’d said asymmetrical. Something interesting.”

“I’ll be back.”

She watched him walk through the burgeoning crowd, and though his hair still rebelled, he was all long legs and easy grace, and Carrie gave herself a quick hug, so proud of herself and her bravery she could just spit. She wasn’t one of those women who could snare a man with a come-hither glance. Her confidence was primarily in her pen, on paper. In sharp retorts and wicked double entendres, all the things she’d promised to keep under wraps for the duration of the conference. And yet, she’d managed to say just the right thing at the right time. What would happen from here was anyone’s guess, but things were definitely looking up.

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