This episode of Remy’s story comes to us from Val Muller. Check out her sweet romance novella, For Whom My Heart Beats Eternal, and her mystery series for young detectives, Corgi Capers (the next installment comes out in early October.) Find out more at www.valmuller.com
Next week’s piece comes from Cathy MacKenzie. Check out her three books of short stories available on Smashwords for only $1.99 and $0.99. There you can read the first story in each book for free. However, the stories are all different, so the sample stories aren’t a true representation of the other stories.
The Spot Writers’ blogs appear at the end of this story. Don’t forget to check them out.
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Remy ran her hands underneath Sam’s jacket, letting the warmth dissolve the chill Jeremy had brought. She was moving backward, she knew that, but her mind let her body take over. Something cold and sharp found its way to her hand, and into the lock of her door, and soon Sam was bolting the apartment door behind them, and they were making their way in the darkness to the couch. The comforting smells of Remy’s apartment blended with the musk of Sam’s aftershave, and something primal took over.
Remy could walk her apartment blindfolded, and she continued her backward walk, leading Sam to the couch and pulling him down on top of her like a blanket. Another eternity passed and then Sam came up for air. Remy’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. Sam was looking down at her, and she tried to read his eyes. Was he embarrassed? Did he want more?
Was he going to fire her?
“Sam,” she whispered.
He brushed is hand along her cheek and smiled. It was the kind of smile made with the eyes more than the lips.
“Does this feel wrong to you?” she asked. “Is it wrong?”
Sam licked his lips. “No.” He leaned down but paused, his brown concerned. “Does it feel wrong to you?”
She bit her lip. What was it that Sam read on her face? Did her expression tell Sam that it was wrong? Logic was starting to trickle back into her brain. She thought of her job. She thought of Irene. She could never keep a deadpan face at work. Irene would read this the moment she set foot in the office. And Sam? He wanted an assistant at work, not extra baggage. Right?
Her skin rose into goosebumps as he whispered her name, but she had no answer for him. “I—”
He ran his fingers along her cheek one last time. Then he got up, flicking on the lamp. He walked to the back door, checking the security bolt. Then he went through the kitchen, and Remy could hear him from the couch, testing the windows.
“Got a balcony?” he asked, motioning to the second floor.
Remy shook her head, freezing at the thought of Sam going upstairs to check. Upstairs to the bedroom…
“Then you’ll be safe tonight,” he said. “Everything’s locked up tight. You just bolt the door behind me. And if that punk comes back, call me first, and then call the cops.”
He shook his head. “No need to explain. You think it over. I’ll be waiting.” He walked to the door, and then he turned. She saw how broad his shoulders were against the doorframe. “See you at work,” he said.
Remy ran to bolt the door behind him. Then she sank into the couch that still smelled like Dr. Sam Kendrick. She turned out the lamp and stared into the darkness, thinking about nothing and everything all at once.
The Spot Writers- our members:
Catherine A. MacKenzie