"Who's pretending?" Trinity inquired. She batted her eyes, and Sam snorted. He was in too good a mood to dispute the point further. He pulled the freezer open, but Trinity held her hand out before he could go for the gin.
"I'll have a Manhattan, actually."
"Look at you," Sam echoed, but he couldn't ignore the way his stomach flipped at Trinity's sudden change in preference. A Manhattan was his favorite drink. He closed the freezer and went for the whiskey instead. "Is bourbon okay?"
"As long as it's in the proper glass."
Sam snorted. "Can we joke about something else other than my…proclivities this evening?"
"I don't mind staying on the subject of proclivities." Trinity leaned on her elbows and rested her chin in her hands. Sam tried not to let on that he watched her watch him as he went about measuring out her drink. "I've missed this. Watching you make drinks. If you weren't—you know, a zillionaire—you'd be a killer bartender, Sam."
"I can be both," Sam replied. "Although I don't think you give yourself enough credit for being my biggest fan. Then again, maybe that's purposeful."
"I am your biggest fan," Trinity said earnestly—so earnestly that he knew it couldn't be anything other than a joke. "I'm serious, Sam. If you wanted to forget all this ad agency nonsense and open up a bar somewhere, I'd be first in line."
"No you wouldn't," he said, "because I'd never make you wait. I'd have the bouncer maintain a long queue for appearance's sake, but there are no lines where you're concerned."
"That's no way to run a business," Trinity mused as he slid the Manhattan her way. "I'd be your only customer if you kept everyone else out."
"It'd be the only way I could get you alone." The words were out of his mouth before he could think of a way to terminate the fantasy. This sudden segue back into reality wasn't one he had planned on, but Trinity didn't look affronted by the turn. If anything, she was looking at him with an expression of cautious optimism.
"You've got me alone now," she murmured.
As if Sam wasn't aware. As if every time he looked at Trinity, sitting there with her legs crossed, he wasn't as blown away by her as the first time he ever laid eyes on her. He stayed in the kitchen, keeping the breakfast bar between them for her sake. He didn't know what he might be tempted to do without a physical boundary.
"But I haven't got you," he insisted.
"No," Trinity agreed. "You haven't got…me."
"And maybe…" He leaned his hip into the counter in the quest to be nearer to her. "…that's too much to ask right now. You've always known I was a shrewd negotiator. I'm used to coming out on top."
"All or nothing," she volunteered in a whisper.
"But I'm willing to revisit my original offer," he persisted. "I want to take you out on a date. Please, Trinity. I'm asking you to give us a second chance."
He waited with bated breath for her response. Trinity fingered the stem of the cherry garnishing her Manhattan, sliding it around and around. No clear acceptance of his offer came, but no ready rejection either.
Maybe she just needed that extra push.
Sam came around the side of the bar. Trinity sat back in her stool, and lifted her eyes to study him. He was close enough that he could see the gorgeous starbursts of brown in her otherwise green eyes; as he watched, her pupils expanded a little. He had read somewhere once that dilating pupils gave away unvoiced attraction.
He decided it was more than enough to work with.
Sam slid his hand along her cheek
bone, and watched as Trinity's eyes fluttered closed at his touch. Did she know how her gaze had betrayed her? Did she care? This was finally happening. It was a homecoming, yet Sam felt as if he was allowing himself to touch Trinity for the first time. She was the same woman he had married, and yet she was also all-new. There were depths to her, experiences, that they hadn't shared—that he needed to know.
And anyway, the karaoke kiss was too good not to repeat.
Sam leaned in. Trinity parted her lips at the last moment to receive him, and his mouth collided with hers. She had yet to taste the Manhattan he had made for her, but her essence was sweet all the same: she tasted like spearmint, and he leaned in to sample her further. His tongue swept the seam of her lips and she parted for him obediently, instinctively. It was the old signal, and she couldn't help but respond now with an invitation. Sam thrust his tongue past her teeth into the warm satin of her mouth, and Trinity moaned at the intrusion. Her tongue rose to greet his, and in his eagerness to savor every inch of her, Sam nearly pushed her off the stool.
Trinity's hands came up to cling onto his shoulders as his fingers threaded down to the roots of her hair. He made a fist; she gasped. She let him tug her head back, exposing the exquisite column of her throat, and his lips returned to relish the region that had been denied him so long. He nipped and kissed his way along her neck until she was practically trembling to pieces beneath him.
"Sam…" His name escaped her quivering lips. Sam groaned his response and shifted closer. His free hand found the curve of Trinity's waist, and he dragged her off of the stool before she could form a real protest. Her gasp of surprise cut off whatever defense she had been ready to mount.
Not this time, Sam thought as he pushed her back against the wall. He pinned her wrists together above her head as she squirmed half-heartedly. Not again. You can't deny this thing between us anymore. I won't let you.
"I have to have you, Trinity." His fingers glided down to her cleavage and began to push their way beneath her collar. The top button on her blouse worked itself loose, then another, until his hand disappeared completely beneath her shirt. "Come back to me," he murmured. His lips were so close he tasted the aroused little catch in her breath. His cock stirred to life between his legs. His invading fingers pushed past the stiff scalloped fabric of an unfamiliar bra, but he knew too well what lay beneath it. Trinity's nipple was already taut by the time he overtook it.