Stalking her at the Eleanor M. Westbrook art museum was probably the calmest I’d seen her. The deserted museum was a quiet and relaxing cocoon, making it easy to let your guard down. I’m sure Samantha was so busy marveling at the paintings, her worries had fallen away. I knew the experience well. I felt it every time I went to a great art museum myself, and slid into the colors and shapes of the paintings, escaping my own inner turmoil for brief moments.

While Samantha had stood mesmerized in front of my grandfather’s painting, Shrouded Paradise, I witnessed her truest beauty come out of hiding for the first time, like some timid field mouse sniffing the air for danger. That crazy beauty was such a fragile, fleeting thing, like a snowflake or a perfect sunset. You could only appreciate it if you stopped yourself and really took it in before it was gone, maybe forever.

I wanted desperately to protect Samantha from whatever haunted her because I knew her insecurity ran deep, just like mine. The only difference between me and her was that I hid it, and she didn’t.

I couldn’t decide if she was the bravest person I’d ever met, or the craziest.

It didn’t matter.

I wanted to wash away her tears and fears so that the amazing young woman I sensed beneath her teenaged anxiety could finally emerge.

I already knew beyond all doubt that I would do anything to help Samantha find her way in life.

The fact I was parked in the back of a squad car because of her, ten hours after we’d met, was living proof.

I sighed heavily again, my heart accelerating while my chest tightened around it. Man, I knew Samantha was going to be trouble for me. Maybe even more trouble than where I was heading in this black-and-white. I grinned to myself. The good news was, this shit was temporary.

I looked forward to finding out how much trouble Samantha could be the second I got out of whatever steaming mess I’d tripped into with the cops.

Because whatever was brewing between me and Samantha felt permanent.

Eternal.

SAMANTHA

PRESENT DAY

I still couldn’t get over how hot Christos was. His tattooed arms flexed hypnotically and his body gyrated only inches from mine.

“Oh, it’s so wet,” Christos said.

“Can you get it in all the way?” I asked nervously.

“It’s so tight. I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

“Push it in all the way. Go deep.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve waited long enough. Just do it.”

“Okay, but I’ll go slow, just in case.” He eased it in. All the way.

“Oooh, yeah,” I purred, “I think that’s going to do it. Just like that. Smooth and easy.” I totally needed this. I’d been waiting for what seemed like my entire life.

“You like it when I do this, don’t you?” he smirked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I grinned back.

“I don’t know, I thought maybe you were afraid it would ruin things. You want me to go faster?”

“Yes. Do it, Christos. I trust you. As fast as you can.”

His entire body flexed in a choreographed symphony of poetic movement. “Like this?”

“Oh yes, Christos. Just like that. Harder.”

Things were so wet down there, it made a sucking sound as it went in and out, in and out.

“Here it comes!” he grunted. “It’s gonna pop!”

“Faster! Harder! Keep it in deep or it’ll gush everywhere!”

“Now!”

“Yes, that’s it! Flush it!”

I pressed the lever while Christos gave the rubber plunger a final thrust into the toilet bowl. The water swirled and gurgled. “We did it!” I squealed.

He high-fived me as my toilet bowl finally drained.

“What’ve you been throwing in that thing?” he asked skeptically. “Paper towels? It’s not a garbage disposal.”

“I don’t know, regular stuff?”

“Regular stuff doesn’t clog the pipes.”

I wiped sweat from my brow. This conversation was making me feel guilty of some sort of heinous pooping problem. I needed to steer the heat onto a likely target. “Maybe my neighbor’s pet elephant has been sneaking into my bathroom in the middle of the night and is clogging up my pipes with its elephant dumps?”

“I’ll totally buy that if you can convince me how the elephant gets past your bedroom door without you noticing.”

“It tiptoes?”

Christos lifted a doubtful eyebrow.

“Elephants are very light on their feet. It probably wears ballet slippers, which are perfect for sneaking around.”

Christos’ eyebrow ratcheted up another notch.

“Have you ever worn ballet slippers?” I demanded. “They’re ninja stealthy.”

Christos’ other eyebrow joined its twin.

“I swear! It wasn’t me! It flushed fine before I went to D.C.!”

Christos smiled broadly, finally letting me off the hook.

“Jerk!” I tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek. “Anyway, thank you for helping.”

“My pleasure.” Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, he kissed me affectionately on the cheek. “While I’m at it, do you have any toilet bowl cleaner?”

“What for?” I asked.

“May as well give the bowl a quick once-over while I’m already in here.”

I grabbed a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner from under the sink. He squirted a blue ring under the rim and went to work.

 “Christos, why is it I get all turned on when I see you scrubbing things?”

“All women have an elbow-grease fetish.” He cocked his head and flashed his now-legendary dimpled grin. “It’s a proven fact.” Christos put the bowl brush away and washed his hands. After toweling them dry, he leaned toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Now that I’ve got you all worked up…” he said suggestively.

“Christos,” I rolled my eyes demurely, “Romeo and Kamiko are going to be here any minute. We don’t have time to fool around. I still haven’t picked out an outfit.” Earlier, Christos had told me he had a surprise New Year’s Eve destination in store for all of us. I couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

“You’ll be gorgeous no matter what you wear,” he said, suddenly dipping me like a ballroom dancer.

“Oh!” I gasped.

He grinned.

I gazed into his liquid blue eyes. They bathed me in the light of his love.

He leaned toward me, licking his lips. “Agápi mou,” he murmured.

Phew! His fluid Greek accent melted me every time. My mouth parted as our lips met like lost lovers. We hadn’t kissed in, oh, I don’t know, about thirty minutes. My soul was parched and needed another drink from his sensual fountain. Christos poured himself into our kiss, his tongue caressing the sensitive spot under my upper lip before sliding across my teeth, then deeper into my mouth. My head started to spin.

I didn’t realize my bathroom could be this sexy. The next thing I knew, Christos had pulled me back to standing from our ballroom dip. His palms slid down my back and cupped my ass, huge hands squeezing hypnotically. Jolts of pleasure fingered up into my pelvis. Oh god. How did this man do this to me? I hooked my leg around the back of his, pulling him into me.

“Mmmm,” he moaned. “Aggressive. I don’t remember this behavior. Do I know you?”

I dropped my leg. “Stop, Christos,” I giggled.

“No, don’t stop. I like it when you do that.”

“You do?” Feeling shy, I studied the barbed tattoo that wired around one of his forearms, tracing it lightly with my fingernail.

“Yeah. It’s okay to be confident. I don’t mind one bit.” He grinned and slid a thumb across my cheek lovingly. “Let go, agápi mou. You’re safe with me.”

I gazed up into his eyes.

“Let your hands roam freely, Samantha. Explore my body with your fingertips. Your touch is electric, and powers my heart.”

I grimaced, but laughed and bonked my forehead against his chest. “I’m not San Diego Gas & Electric, Christos.”

“You sure?” he smiled confidently. “You totally light up my life, Samantha.”