ChapterNineteen
For the first time since Sam finally gave in to her desire for Bianca, the two of them were lying together peacefully, without interruption. For the first time in as long as Sam could remember, she was relaxed.
Relaxed, and with an amazing woman in my arms.
Because that was who Bianca was. Not a spoiled heiress who had no chance of making it in the cruel world, but a complicated woman with her own wants, needs, and dreams.
And being with her threatened to tear both their lives apart.
But Sam couldn’t linger on that thought for long. Especially when a naked, exhausted Bianca opened her eyes, peering up at her from where she lay, head resting on Sam’s shoulder. Her hands were sprawled across Sam’s stomach, her smile only a few inches away from Sam’s now bare breasts.
“I know this is cliché,” Bianca said. “But what are you thinking about right now?”
“You’re right,” Sam murmured. “That is cliché.”
“I can’t help it.” Bianca’s fingers walked the length from Sam’s navel to the center of her chest. “It’s the first thing that comes to my mind after all of that.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I’m not thinking about anything?”
“Yes. Because I’m not, either.”
Sam sat up, gently shaking Bianca from her torso, and stretched out her tight limbs. As Bianca dug further beneath her covers, Sam reached up to fix her mussed-up hair. That required her to take it out of its tight bun.
As she fanned out her long hair and combed through it with her fingers, it took her a moment to realize Bianca was staring.
“Whoa,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen you with your hair down. I didn’t know it could do that.”
Sam chuckled. “You thought my hair grew in a bun?”
“You know what I mean. You look so different.”
Bianca reached out and spun a lock of Sam’s hair around a finger, just like she often did with her own mane of long curls. Sam tensed, but not because she was uncomfortable. Because it was the first time in years anyone had ever done that.
“Why do you have this amazing hair if you’re always wearing it tied up?” Bianca asked.
“It gets in the way with work.”
“But I’ve seen you in your ‘civvies.’ You don’t wear your hair down then, either.”
“First, don’t say ‘civvies.’”
Bianca pouted. “Why not? Civvies. It’s fun to say.”
Sam rolled on top of Bianca, playing keep-away with her hair. Yet Bianca was too delighted by the dark locks showering her to care about anything else.
Sam laughed. “Only people like me get to say civvies. When you say it, it sounds like a kid saying PJs.” She climbed off Bianca and lay back, hair splayed beneath her head. “And I used to have short hair before. Sometimes I miss it, but…”
Bianca nuzzled against Sam’s arm. “But?”
“I had long hair my whole childhood. My mom was always fussing with it. More than my sister’s hair, and Nisha always liked that attention. But whether my mom was braiding my hair for dance class or doing it up for somebody’s wedding, it was a painful experience. She’d tear at my scalp and I’d have to sit perfectly still so she could do it the way she wanted. People would fawn over it. They’d take pictures of it. I was so embarrassed having that kind of attention… I think one of the reasons I wanted to run away and join the military was so I had an external reason to chop it all off.”
“I think you’re gorgeous as you are,” Bianca swooned, “but I’d love to see a photo of you in your dress uniform. With the short hair.”
“They’re out there,” Sam said. “I kept it cut short for years after I first cut it. Told myself it was practical. Plus, in the military, you get free haircuts. Depending on where you’re stationed and what kind of training the barber has, you can get a decent cut that suits your face, as long as it’s within regulation.”
“You grew it back out, though?”
“When I left the military. One day, I realized that the only reason I wanted short hair was to stick it to my mother. I was letting her control me years after I left home. So I decided to grow it out, just to see how I liked it.”