my room isn’t available.” She drew back and those twinkling green eyes gazed up at him. “Please tell me you can fix this.”
“Samantha? Sam?” Hank said, still in a state of slack-jawed shock over her transformation. The rest of the room swelled back into view, but he still felt like he’d been knocked over the head with an anvil.
“Yeah, it’s me,” she confirmed with a small shrug, not the least bit offended. She did a delightful pirouette, then looked back up and met his gaze. “I, uh, gained a little weight.”
She’d gained more than a little weight, Hank thought as his breath once again evacuated his lungs—she’d gained one helluva figure. My God…she had breasts. He blinked, swallowed, blinked again. Great breasts that lay under her tank top like a couple of lush, ripe peaches. And that wasn’t the only change, either, Hank noted as he continued to stare at her in openmouthed amazement. She’d lost the glasses and her light green eyes sparkled with amusement and something else, something mysterious and not so easily read. Something almost…wicked.
In the dimmest recesses of his mind a warning bell sounded, but he was too stunned to pay it any heed.
In addition to that, her hair no longer looked like it had had an unfortunate accident with an electrical outlet. Her curls were still tight, yet soft and tumbled over her shoulders like long strands of curly ribbons. Which seemed appropriate, considering she looked like a delectable gift, ready to be opened.
She’d always been beautiful to him—Sam was gorgeous to anyone who took the time to notice because, despite popular opinion, true beauty was something that couldn’t be measured aesthetically. It came from within, was the sum total of the entire package. His gaze drifted over her once more. But he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t affected by the outward changes. He was a guy after all and every guy responded to visual stimuli. Not that he’d needed any additional reason to want her—he’d been secretly in lust with her for years—from the summer she turned eighteen to be exact.
Hank scratched his temple, tried to gather his scattered wits. “Fix what again?” he asked, still bewildered.
Then it hit him. Her room. First week of September. God, how could he have forgotten? he thought, mentally smacking his forehead. He’d talked to her just a couple of weeks ago, had been looking forward to her coming down. Her visits were one of the brightest spots of his year. Hank scowled. It was this damned Belle of the Beach contest. He hadn’t had time—
“My room,” Sam repeated. “According to Tina, I don’t have a room. Which isn’t possible because I have a standing reservation. Right?”
Yes, Hank thought hesitantly, she should…but he had a terrible suspicion that she didn’t. A knuckle of unease nudged his belly. “Er…let me take a look.”
He moved behind the counter, searched the system for Samantha’s reservation and, just as he’d grimly suspected, she didn’t have one.
Hank winced, rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a regretful smile. “It’s not here.” He shot Tina a pointed look. “We’ve had some computer problems lately.”
“Hank,” Samantha all but wailed, scratching the inside of her wrist. “What am I going to do? It never occurred to me to call and verify my reservation. I talked to you a couple of weeks ago, remember?” She blew out a breath, cast him a glance. “When will the people who are in my room be leaving?”
Hank checked, braced his arms against the counter. His blew out a breath. “Not until Sunday.”
“Oh, hell.” She shifted, seemingly at a loss. “What about any of other rooms? Will any of them come available?”
Hank made a show of checking, but knew the answer to that without looking. “We’re booked solid.”
She swore, rubbed a hand over her elbow.
Hank frowned. “Is something wrong?”
She arched a brow pointedly. “You mean aside from the fact that I don’t have a room, friend?”
“Yeah.” He gestured to her hand. “You’re scratching.”
She immediately stilled and flushed like a kid who’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “No, nothing is wrong…except for the fact that I’m tired and hungry and I’ve been looking forward to this vacation all year. Which, I distinctly recall telling you in a recent e-mail,” she added pointedly. She pushed a hand through her curly locks. “God, I can’t believe this is happening.”
A deeper explanation lurked behind that guilt-provoking excuse, but Hank didn’t have any idea what on earth it could be. He studied her thoughtfully. Something else was at work here. Still, she was right. Given the recent reservation screwups, he should have checked and made sure that hers were secure. He just hadn’t thought about it. Things had been too damned crazy.
She rolled her eyes, then heaved a dramatic put-upon sigh. “Well, if you’ll help me get my bags back out to my rental car, I guess I’ll head straight back the airport.” She moved to pick up a bag.
“No, you won’t,” Hank heard himself say. “You can stay with me.”
She straightened slowly. “What?”
“You’ll stay with me.” So much for avoiding her like the plague, Hank thought, but then what choice did he really have? This was Sam. He couldn’t let her leave. And he didn’t want her to. Having her here this week would be the only thing that would make it bearable.
Her brow puckered. “Where?”
“In my room,” he said patiently, nonchalantly because that was how he was supposed to feel, how a friend would feel. But he didn’t—not by any stretch of the imagination. There was nothing patient or nonchalant about the blood sizzling in his crotch. He’d had a hard enough time battling his lust over the years without her turning vamp on him. It was a nasty turn of events, but he’d simply have to deal with it. He’d had a lot of practice, after all.
Her expression grew comically blank. “Your room?”
Despite his present turmoil, Hank chuckled. “Have you developed some sort of hearing disability that I’m unaware of? Of course, my room,” he said with mock exasperation. “Where else? You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch.”
“But you hate that couch.”
He heaved a dramatic put upon sigh, tried to look humble. “All the more reason you should appreciate the sacrifice.”
A reluctant grin tugged at her lips. “I’d forgotten just how full of sh—”
“Shining light and goodness I am, I know,” he finished magnanimously. He sighed deeply. “Just say thank you, and it’ll all be worth it.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Thank you.”
The issue settled, he smacked his hand against the counter. “Besides, you’re probably saving my life,” he added grimly.
“How so?”
He shot her a look. “Mom and Pop would kill me if I let you leave.”
Her eyes suddenly glittered with a warm, knowing humor and her lips
