to pieces?’ Always a boy asking that one.
She was so grateful to have him by her side, but every time Sam told the story he used words like ‘standard operating procedure’ and ‘protocol’ and ‘training’. Depersonalising the entire incident. By contrast, her contribution was all about her feelings, her fears, how much difference Sam’s presence and support had made to her.
Not unlike the whole day, really. And the two yet to come.
As an exercise in public relations it was textbook. As a tool to remind her how everyday her situation had been for Sam—how not special—it was acute.
‘I just wanted to explain why I wasn’t at dinner,’ he went on.
Reality still haunted her. ‘I don’t expect you to babysit me every minute.’
‘I know, but this is my city. My turf. I feel bad that I left you here alone on our first evening.’
Our. As if they were a couple.
‘Don’t feel bad. I had Room Service soup and then a long, hot bath. It was blissful.’ It had soaked away some of her exhaustion, but not all. She squirrelled deeper into the sofa and got comfortable on a soft sigh. ‘Is that why you called? To apologise?’
There was the slightest of pauses before he cleared his throat and continued. ‘Getting fresh air was only part of the reason I went out. Mel turns thirty next weekend and I wanted to pick her up something.’
Aimee smiled past the little twang at the mention of his wife’s name. She was going to have to get used to those twangs. ‘I’m guessing the innercity constabulary don’t offer a lot in the way of fine giftware?’
Her eyes flew to the adjoining wall as she imagined she heard his rich laugh clean through it. Until that moment Sam being next door to her in the hotel had hovered around her consciousness in a kind of abstract way. Talking by phone, he might as well have been across the country.
But that laugh brought him into pulse-racing context.
Right. Next. Door. Her heart kicked up a beat.
‘I have no idea what to get her,’ he said.
Really? His own wife? ‘None at all?’
‘Flowers? Chocolates? Something expensive?’
‘Lord, don’t use price as your primary parameter …’
‘Don’t all women like expensive gifts?’
Aimee smiled at the genuine bemusement in his voice. ‘Not if they’re in lieu of intimacy, no. We see right through those.’
‘My sister says lingerie, but—’
Her stomach curled. Oh, God, don’t ask me about lingerie for your wife.
‘—won’t she think I have an expectation of seeing it on her?’
Despite not wanting to have this conversation, Aimee frowned. ‘She’s your wife, Sam.’
‘Right, but … lingerie’s a statement. You know?’
She blinked. What kind of marriage did they have?
Before she could worry that particular bone further he went on. ‘In the same way that a toaster is a statement. Or slippers.’
‘Do not buy her slippers.’
His low, rich chuckle down the line had its usual effect on her. Every hair on her body quivered. ‘I won’t. Even I know that much.’
She blew out a breath. She owed Sam: bigtime. If gift advice for the wife she wished didn’t exist was what he needed, then so be it. She wouldn’t fail him. ‘Okay, so you want intimate, but not intimate.’
‘Right. Thank God we have this shorthand, Aimee.’
That made her frown. She stretched on her sofa. ‘And you have no thoughts whatsoever?’
‘I have heaps of thoughts, but I have no idea which is the best one.’
‘Want to throw some at me?’
Pause. Long pause. ‘Actually, I was hoping you might help me out … in person. We have a couple of hours’ down-time tomorrow.’
Her spine stiffened again, just as it had started to relax. Being together racing around the suburbs of Melbourne on business she could handle. Being on the other side of a thick hotel wall was doable. Shopping together for a gift for his beautiful, talented wife …?
She got to her feet—all the better to roam around the room.
‘Together?’
He laughed again. ‘That’s the idea. Unless you want to phone in your advice like tech-support?’
Restricting themselves to phone conversations might be the best thing all round. Though she doubted that those few degrees of separation would do much to diminish the way he invaded her thoughts—awake or dreaming—it would at least spare her the confusion and frustration and risk of sitting across a table from a man she couldn’t in good conscience touch.
Not in the way her body wanted to.
She stalled him as her mind raced for a way out of this. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘The markets?’
Say you’re busy. Say you have to work on a transcription. Say you’re feeling fluey.
A deep shudder left her in a rush of air. ‘Okay.’
She did a shabby kind of rain-dance across the carpeted floor of her suite. Honestly! She had the self-determination of a lemming.
When it came to Sam she had absolutely none.
‘Fantastic. Thank you, Aimee. I appreciate it.’
Sure he did. Why wouldn’t he? She was at his beck and call. And that was a dangerously familiar dynamic. But she pressed her fingers to her temple and took a deep breath. It wasn’t Sam’s fault she’d reverted to the bad old days. It wasn’t his fault the gravel of his voice turned her spine to jelly and her mind to hot, long, imaginary nights.
Not seeing him in person these past weeks hadn’t done anything to reduce the thing between them. Or the fact that indulging the thing wasn’t acceptable because of his wife. Because of Aimee’s own values.
But she’d committed to helping him—she wanted to help him. To do something to even the slate. Though this really wouldn’t have been her first choice.
As had become her norm, she took shelter behind her book. ‘My price for assistance will be knocking off some more of my interview.’
‘The pleasure of my company is not reward enough?’
It couldn’t be. She couldn’t let it be. She
