He had a body on him. Wide shoulders. Thick chest. Lots of muscle. He was strong. She knew because she employed him as a handyman and he had to do all sorts of jobs that required unbelievable strength. He had to have knowledge of boats, carpentry, fishing, climbing and most outdoor activities, and so far he hadn’t let her down once.
He had scars. Lots of them. He took his shirt off when it was hot as hell and he had to work outside. Not so much when there were others around, usually only her, or when he was a good distance from others, but she’d seen the scars and those scars weren’t pretty. They weren’t the kinds of scars one acquired in a car accident. He looked like the skin had been flayed from his back. He’d been shot more than once. He had a few knife scars for certain. She hadn’t looked closely. She’d made it a point not to stare, although she’d wanted to. She’d never asked and he’d never volunteered an explanation.
“Quit sneaking up on me,” she snapped irritably as she reached for the coffee he had in his other hand, which was clearly meant for her.
He pulled the to-go mug out of reach and sat down, Bailey between them, ignoring her outstretched hand.
“Sam.” She practically growled his name. He couldn’t bring the aroma of her favorite brew and then withhold it.
He quirked an eyebrow at her. Evidently, he thought he could. He set the mug on the opposite side of his body so there was no way she could lunge over the dog and grab it. Ignoring her, Sam calmly drank from his mug and looked out over the lake. Bailey didn’t even help her by biting him. Or lifting his head and growling.
“Did you come out here just to annoy me?” Stella demanded.
He didn’t answer. She knew he could keep up the silent treatment forever. It was like his annoying nickname for her. He called her Satine in that silly voice—Satine, the lead character in the movie Moulin Rouge. Well, not that he had a silly voice exactly; he had a low, mesmerizing, sexy-as-hell voice. Fortunately, he didn’t call her Satine in front of anyone else. He didn’t talk much, so it never came up when her friends were around.
She was not one to be embarrassed by much, not even when she was caught in a ridiculous situation, but because she harbored a slight crush on Sam she found things she normally would laugh at nearly humiliating.
She loved the movie Moulin Rouge. Loved it. It was her go-to movie when she was in a funk and wanted a pity party. She didn’t have them often, but when she did she played that movie and cried her eyes out. When she wanted to watch something that made her heart sing, she played Moulin Rouge and ate popcorn and cried and laughed.
Stella didn’t even know how it happened that Sam had come in once when she was having a pity party, but he had. He’d sat down and watched the movie with her. After that, he’d joined her more than once and seemed to watch her more than the movie. As usual, he didn’t say anything; he just shook his head as if she was a little nutty and then walked out afterward. She didn’t even know if he liked the movie, but if he didn’t, he had no soul, which she shouted after him. He didn’t even turn around.
She knew every song by heart, and every single morning when she did her exercises she played the songs, sang to them and danced. At night she did her fitness routine to them and did a little burlesque show. Naturally, Sam once walked in just as she was kicking her leg over a chair and she didn’t quite make it and landed on her butt. That was the first time.
She loved to do aerial silks as a form of exercise. Because the house was two stories and open, she had her own rigging in her home and she practiced some nights. Of course, once when she’d gotten tangled for a moment and found herself upside down, desperately trying to get her foot unlocked from the silks, music blaring, he had walked in.
The third time she was doing a very cool and sexy (if she did say so herself) booty shake to the floor and back up again. Naturally, he would be leaning against the doorjamb watching, arms crossed over his chest, those dark eyes on her. She could never tell what he was thinking because he had no expression on his face.
He took to calling her Satine in a low, dramatic movie voice every now and then. She wanted to glare at him, but it always made her laugh. He didn’t share the laugh with her, but his dark eyes sometimes went velvet-soft and her stomach would do a strange little roller-coaster loop, which irritated the crap out of her.
“Seriously, Bailey, what kind of watchdog are you?” She sighed as she sank her fingers into her dog’s curly fur. There was no getting around the fact that now that coffee was in her reach, she needed it. “Sam, thank you for thinking to bring me coffee. I appreciate it so much.”
Since she did appreciate him bringing coffee, it was easy to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, although a part of her wanted to be sarcastic. Maybe push him off her private dock into the snow-fed freezing-cold water. He’d no doubt find a way to drag her into the water with him so she couldn’t even get satisfaction that way.
Without a word Sam handed her the to-go mug. She gratefully took her first sip as they both watched the breeze play with the surface of the water. She stole a quick look at Sam’s face. Fortunately, Sam never smirked. He was a restful person in that he never demanded anything from her. Sometimes she was so exhausted at the end of the day she didn’t want to have to give one tiny bit of herself to anyone.
Those days, Sam would be on her deck grilling vegetables and steak or whatever, as if he knew she’d had a terrible day and didn’t want to talk. He’d indicate the cooler and there would be ice-cold beer in it. She’d grab one for herself, hand him one and go sit in her favorite swing chair hanging from the overhead ceiling covering the porch. He never asked anything of her. She never asked anything of him. That was the best part of their strange relationship. He just seemed to know when things were bad for her. She didn’t question when he showed up and made things better or how he seemed to know she needed a little care.
She sighed and took another sip of coffee, her hand moving through Bailey’s fur. She’d found a few things that made life great. This place and its beauty. Her dog. Coffee. Her five friends. Her favorite movie of all time and maybe Sam Rossi. She wasn’t certain what category to put him in. They didn’t exactly have a relationship. Sam didn’t do relationships. Neither did she. They both had too many secrets.
The leaves on the trees closest to the pier were yellow and red, some orange, and they swayed with the breeze, creating a frame on either side of the wooden planks at the shoreline. Many of the leaves had dropped on the boulders where the lake’s waters lapped at the shore. On the pier, where the breeze sent the leaves spiraling down over the wood, it had turned into a carpet of blazing color.
The sun was just beginning to rise and the colors shifted subtly. Rays began to spread across the water. They were low at first. A golden globe barely seen reflected in the deep pools of the sapphire lake. The sight was pure magic, the reason Stella lived here. She felt connected to the real world. Humbled by nature. As the golden sphere began to rise, the trees took on a different look altogether. The ball looked as if it grew in the water, spreading out across the lake, shimmering beneath the surface like a golden treasure.
Stella kept her gaze on the sphere. It appeared to be moving as if alive. Each sunrise was different. The colors, the way it presented in the water. The magic. She couldn’t always get to her favorite spot to watch the dramatic entrance, but she tried. There were always the sounds of the morning accompanying the sunrise. The melodies of the early birds. Some were the songs of the males defining their territories. Some birds had beautiful musical qualities, while others seemed to be raspy.