All Grown Up by Janice Maynard

and heart were doing their damnedest to remain uninvolved.
    To put it bluntly, Annalise was having sex with him like some men would. Strictly physically. With no intention of entering into any kind of long-term relationship. Hell, Sam himself had approached sex that way when he was younger.
    But that was then and this was now. Slowly, the light was beginning to dawn. He might want more from Annalise Wolff than he had realized at first glance. He might want it all.
    That notion spooked him so badly he bolted from her bedroom, clothes in hand. Was he insane? As he redressed and did his best to salvage the chili, his heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t have the luxury of “trying” a relationship with Annalise. If it crashed and burned, he would have to face the music from the older generation. His dad, her father, Uncle Victor. Not to mention five angry brothers and cousins, any one of whom could go head-to-head with him in a fist fight.
    As he sliced bread and buttered it, his brain whirled. It was time to back off. The Weather Channel app on his phone said they should see widespread snowmelt by the day after tomorrow. Sam could be back in Charlottesville in time for dinner that night.
    Sex with Annalise had been incredible. Possibly the best of his life. But physical intimacy with her came with a lot of baggage. And he wasn’t sure it was worth it.
    * * *
    Lunch was awkward and long. Annalise picked at her chili, though she professed it to be delicious. Her careful politeness emulated the demeanor of a reserved young lady. It was weird. And scary.
    Sam wolfed down his first bowl and went back for seconds, not so much because he was hungry, but for something to do. When they were done, Annalise offered to help clean up. He declined. When she stared at him briefly, her eyes turbulent with unspoken emotion, he almost cracked.
    Instead, he turned toward the sink and held his breath until he heard her leave.
    * * *
    Two hours later, he was ready to climb the walls. He had three young, ambitious paid interns back at the office, any one of whom could run the whole operation given half a chance. That they were all at work on a Saturday morning pointed to their determination to succeed. After a spirited conference call to handle a few pressing matters, he bade them goodbye and hung up. He was itchy, and irritable, and, well…hard.
    When he gave in and went in search of his guest, he found Annalise in the same room as earlier, back up on the ladder, picking at a corner of wallpaper with a pocketknife. This time she didn’t give him the courtesy of looking up to note his entrance into the room.
    Her gaze was focused on the task at hand, as if by peeling back enough layers she might uncover the secrets of the Rosetta Stone. Sam didn’t like being ignored.
    “What are you doing now?” he asked, his tone a masterpiece of mild interest.
    Still no turn of the head. “Trying to determine how many layers of paper are under here. It’s possible that the deepest ones might give us something to go on in terms of color.”
    “You know that my grandmother doesn’t have to have everything exactly like it was…even if you could figure that out. She just wants the decor to be in keeping with the time period of the original house. After all, she’s not making Pops get rid of this pool table.” He reached in the side pocket and pulled out a striped ball, rolling it in his hand. “I learned to play when I was ten years old. And the old man didn’t cut me any slack. It took me four summers to finally win a game.”
    Finally, Annalise gave him her attention, and a tiny, reluctant smile lifted the edges of her lush lips. “I learned at eight,” she said. “And I could beat both Devlyn and Gareth by the time I was nine.”
    His eyebrows went up. “The devil, you say….”
    “I’m always up for a wager.”
    He felt a kick in his chest and his gut simultaneously. When she forgot to be guarded with him, the luminosity of her smile