Private 02 - Private Paradise

someone's optimistic,” Carla said, heat scorching her cheeks as she bent to put the ice cream in the mini fridge.
    As she stood she met Sam's gaze. “We only have two left to get us through the storm. I didn't want us to run out.”
    Even in the lantern light there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze. Carla felt it rush straight to her core, the look in his eyes enough to make her clench with need. She picked up her plate in two hands, marveling at her own ability to make it to the couch and set it on the low coffee table without dropping and breaking it.
    She picked up half of her sandwich and sat back as Sam placed a bottle of beer in front of her, then settled into one of the padded teak armchairs positioned at either end of the table. She couldn't decide if she was relieved or miffed that he hadn't chosen to sit next to her. Then she took the first bite of her sandwich and didn't care as the first bite of solid food in over eightee hours made her mouth and stomach sing with joy.
    She polished off the first half and sat back and sipped at her beer, a little embarrassed at how she'd scarfed down her food like a trucker in front of Sam.
    Not that he was showing any more restraint. He ate like a man who'd spent several months in a POW camp, polishing off at least three times as much food as she did in the same amount of time. Soon, he too sat back, beer in hand, resting his big hand on his lean stomach.
    She would have been a little bitter, she thought as she contemplated the ripped―no shredded―ab muscles rippling under his tight skin, had she not witnessed for herself exactly how hard Sam worked out to look like that.
    The memory of him, droplets of sweat beading on his skin as though daring her to chase them with her tongue, flooded her senses. Between her legs her sex throbbed almost painfully and her nipples pulled tight under her thick robe.
    “ Chris seems really happy.”
    Carla jerked her eyes up to Sam's face, embarrassed, yet again, to be caught blatantly ogling his buff body. But instead of the sly, knowing look she expected to see, Sam's expression was pensive as he stared sightlessly at the flame of the hurricane lamp perched on his end of the table.
    Carla couldn't help but give a wistful smile at the mention of her cousin and Julie, his wife of four years. “It's kind of disgusting how happy they are.”
    “ I remember how he used to talk about Julie when he'd come back to Vegas,” Sam said, his teeth white as he flashed a wry grin. “It was so obvious he had a huge thing for her, but whenever I asked him why he never made a move, he kept saying she was too good for him. Deserved better than a player like him,” he paused and took a sip of his beer. “I know how that goes.”
    “ He's not a player anymore,” Carla said, instinctively defending the cousin who was as close to her as her own brother. “And besides, it wasn't all a cakewalk.”
    “ I know,” Sam said, shaking his head. “He told me all about it, how he very nearly fucked it all up. Lucky for him she gave him another chance.”
    Carla's throat closed around the sip of beer she'd just taken, warning bells going off in her head at the direction this conversation was going.
    “ He's living the dream,” Sam said with a little shake of his head. “He got his business going, got the girl he always wanted, two kids...no man could ask for anything more.”
    She gave a harsh laugh. “Oh right, like that's your dream.”
    “ I never said it wasn't.” Sam retorted.
    “ Really? Like I'm supposed to believe you, the guy whose personal mission in life is to break Wilt Chamberlain's record for number of women screwed.” Carla drained the rest of her beer and set the bottle down with a thunk.
    Sam's eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled into a tight line. The muscles in his shoulders pulled tight and she got an uncomfortable feeling like she'd just poked an angry lion. “Not wanting it and never believing you can have it are two totally different things. At the risk of sounding like a fucking broken record, I'm not like that anymore.”
    “ Sure,” Carla said. “Next you're going to tell me that before tonight you've been celibate for the last eleven years.”
    Sam shrugged and sat back against the chair back, his hard chin jutting out ever so slightly. “More like nine or ten months.”
    “ Bullshit.”
    “ I'm not twenty-one any more. This may sound corny, but I've realized sex is a lot more fun when I actually care