Sam was up to thirty-two rings now and feeling the slow boil of frustration build inside him to exponential levels. He was three minutes from quitting time, two minutes from yelling time and about thirty seconds from throwing his cell phone across his office.

Moodily he clicked the off button and smacked the device closed, then planted his elbows on his desk and rubbed his eyes. The files were neatly stacked; pending to his left; closed/waiting for review to his right, but the one thing he focused on when he looked up again was the framed photo near the edge of his desk. Not the little ones of the nieces, no, the larger one in the carved wooden frame, the one that held the picture so damned stunning it still sent a hint of a shiver through him when he looked at it.

Sam picked it up and brought the photo up to his face, feeling the churning begin deep in his stomach once more. He sighed, misting up the glass of the frame with his breath. “Damn it, Reg . . . I do NOT deserve this. Don’t shut me down, not now—“ he muttered, his tone shifting from anger to low, sad frustration. Carefully he kissed a finger and pressed it to the photo, then set the frame down again and fished his jacket off the back of his chair. He locked up the office and left, his feet dragging the entire way. In the parking lot he waved absently to Grissom, and managed a bland smile at Hodges before pulling out into the morning traffic.

The only good thing about the night shift was that he was often going the other direction from the rest of the commuters, and he didn’t have to spend a lot of time on the road. The bad thing was that at the moment, he dreaded his destination.

Sam Vartann was a brave man; he had the commendations and citations that said so. He’d been in firefights and shootouts; he’d rescued civilians and had helped deliver a baby just off Highway Fifteen once. Still, all of that didn’t really seem to count, not at the moment. Not when things between him and Reggie were looking rough. He sighed, and thought about what he was going to say.

“Cuddlebaby, look, I know I was out of line,” he murmured to the steering wheel.

That was a good start. It was the truth, and Sam knew owning up to it up front would get him points from Reg. She liked the truth. He cleared his throat.

“What I said about Lyle was rotten. It was totally uncalled for, and I’ll apologize first thing in the morning, I promise,” Sam murmured, gritting his teeth a little. That was only partially true—what he said HAD been rotten, but the absolute truth, even if Reggie couldn’t see it, and the apology, well that would be as dry and short as possible.

The truth? Lyle McAlister was a friggin’ asshole. He wanted a hell of a lot more than to expand the shop into a franchise; that much was perfectly clear to Sam. Lounge lizard Lyle not only wanted in the shop but also in Reggie’s pants and as far as Sam Vartann was concerned that was NOT fucking going to happen.

Cancel THAT agenda right there.

Sam took a hard left and swerved around a slow cyclist. He reached the Nagazy Brothers Furniture shop and parked out front, pleased to see Reggie’s Mustang there; that was countered by a flare of annoyance about the cell phone. He strode around back to the freight elevator and fumbled for his key.

The ride up took less than twenty seconds; at the freight doors Sam hesitated, then shoved the doorbell with his fist. It rang. He loosened his tie and suddenly wished he’d bought flowers, even though the cliché made him wince. Reggie deserved a hell of a lot more than flowers.

Sam rang the bell again, impatiently. Behind the doors he heard Humph bark, and the defiant little sound made him grin. Good dog; knew his job. Then he heard footsteps coming to the door and Sam straightened up. It opened a crack and he saw only half of Reggie’s face; the security chain stretched across the opening.

“Sam.” Came her quiet, slightly hurt tone. “I thought we were done arguing.”

“No arguing—“ Sam nodded. “Not here for that. Look, can I come in?”

“It’s not a good time—“ Reggie murmured. “I was going to take a bath.”

Sam said nothing, but swallowed, and that little sign of weakness made Reggie soften slightly. She sighed and pushed the door shut; Sam heard the chain slide off. The door opened again, wider this time and he stepped inside. Immediately Humph snuffled his shoes and pant cuffs, checking to make sure it was really Big Man, although it clearly was. Humph’s stubby tail wagged hard, and Sam bent to pat his head, still touched at how much the dog’s affection meant to him. He straightened up and looked at Reggie, taking her in, feeling parts of himself relax while others tensed up instantly.

God he loved her. From the top of those wild red-gold curls and along every curve and line of her majestic frame all the way down to her painted toenails and ticklish feet. There wasn’t an inch of Regina Owens he didn’t adore with the possible exception of the frown on her face. He drew in a deep breath and launched into his apology. “Cuddlebaby, I know I was out of line--.”

“—Yes, you were,” Reggie broke in swiftly, not giving him a chance to continue. “And thank God you have the balls to admit it, Detective. So that’s to your credit.” She turned and headed for the kitchen; Sam stood sheepishly at the doorway for a moment, wondering how to regroup. He moved forward and met up with her at the doorway to the kitchen, taking the cold beer she held out to him. Reggie smirked at his expression.

“That’s NOT a peace offering, Sam. Call it a fortifier, okay?”

He popped it open and drank thirstily, warmed by her tone but wary of her words. Thank God he and Reg liked the same brand; that helped. Sam gave a gusty sigh and loosened his tie a bit more then looked at Reg again.

She was wrapped in her satin bathrobe with lilacs on it and had her hair pinned up in a loose mess. Reggie looked as if she hadn’t gotten much sleep, and Sam felt a little glad—at least the argument had bothered her as much as it had him. He spoke softly.

“Look, I ragged on McAlister and I’ll apologize to him before I go to work tonight, okay?”

Reggie frowned. She turned away, her expression troubled. “You weren’t totally wrong about Lyle. He’s a little creepy, I’ll grant you that. I didn’t like a few of his comments either. But Lyle’s not the problem here, Sam.”

“Sure he is—“ came his automatic contradiction before he caught himself. Sam clamped his mouth shut at Reggie’s warning glare and she continued.

“No, babe, he’s not. The problem is ours. You want to protect me from every jackass out there. You want to get in the face of any man you think might scam me or take advantage of me, and that’s not good. I KNOW my business, Sam Vartann, and I don’t need you to play misguided white knight.”

Sam stared into his beer can, wincing. Reggie moved closer, sliding gentle hands up to his tie and undoing it. He grunted. “That scuzzball is offering you a crappy percentage on the franchise deal AND he eyed up your ass—how am I SUPPOSED to react, Reg?”

“You aren’t. You’re supposed to have a little faith that your woman knows how to play the game,” she laughed sadly. “Negotiating for a better deal is something I can do by waiting him out.”

“And the ass thing? I’m supposed to sit back and let him letch over you? Because that’s WAY over my limits, Cuddlebaby—he doesn’t just want to screw you over; he wants to screw you PERIOD. And I’ll see him a smoking crater before that happens. Look, you can dump me for Ben Affeck or Sean Connery or that TV guy you like, but NOT Lounge Lizard Lyle.”

Reggie listened to this tirade with one quirked eyebrow; as he finished, she spluttered into giggles, her joyous amusement loud in the kitchen. Hearing it, Sam relaxed, feeling the tightness in his chest loosen a bit. This was good laughing, not bitter or mean. This was a happy Cuddlebaby sound.

“Oh YOU. I am NOT going to dump you, Sam Vartann. You have half your wardrobe in my closet and half of mine at your place. We’ve barely slept a night apart in almost half a year, you big sweet dope.” She patted his cheek. “Besides, Ben’s married. So’s Sean, I think.”

“Lucky for me that long distance relationships are hell,” Sam pointed out, grinning down at her. Reggie snorted and flicked his tie off, setting it on the back of a kitchen chair.

“Whatever. The point I’m making is that while we’re fighting, we’re not quite breaking up here yet, okay?” she murmured. “I hear these days that the police are trained in negotiation. So let’s go that route instead of yelling and scaring Humph.”

Sam glanced down guiltily at the little dog, who was sniffing the edge of the carpet. “Yeah, I feel bad about that. No more yelling.”

“Oh we’ll yell—“ Reggie sighed, “We’ll just lock Humph in the bedroom before we do.” She walked out of the kitchen; Sam took his beer and followed her, wondering what she was up to.

Oh yeah, bathing. Sam approved. Bathing meant she was going to get naked, and that was a sight he wasn’t ABOUT to miss. He watched her turn on the water and dump a scoop full of pink powder under the faucet. The stuff began to foam up instantly, and a scent of strawberries filled the bathroom. Sam sighed and settled his ass against the counter, feeling good. He took another sip, and Reggie sat on the edge of the tub looking up at him.

“Sam, Intimates is doing good. I’m in the black for the first time in two years, and the mail order has taken off like a rocket since the website went up,” she began gently. “Veronica and I know it’s the right time to franchise.”

“I’m listening,” Sam muttered, more interested in the way the silk robe was gaping at Reggie’s cleavage, showing milky sweet curves—

“Stop eyeing my boobs and listen to me—“ Reggie groused. “Lyle McAlister is willing to open up three stores and bankroll them on spec for a year. That kind of investment could make a big difference in a lot of things for me.”

“I know,” Sam replied sourly. “It would mean a lot more time in Lyle’s company than mine, and a lot of traveling, Cuddlebaby. Forgive me if neither one of those options thrills me.”

“It would mean—“ Reggie rose up, her face twisted in an expression of exasperated affection, “—That I could quit in about a year and a half. At least the day to day running of the store.”

Sam thought about that for a moment, and lightning flashes of daydreams moved in a quick slideshow through his thoughts. Moving in together. Vacations. Marriage. Kids—he looked up at Reggie.

“Quit the store. You really mean that?” he repeated, hoping against hope. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to work; Sam appreciated that a woman as talented, creative and fiercely independent as Regina Owens needed a purpose in life. But this—they’d skirted around the future and the store so often now—

Reggie turned and let the bathrobe slide off her shoulders. Sam nearly dropped his beer at the glorious unveiling of his beloved’s backside. Freckled shoulders, little blue dragon tattoo, dimpled spine and nicely plump ass all on display like a personal Rubens exhibit JUST for him.

And a big part of Sam Vartann was attempting a standing ovation through his slacks, oh yeah.

Reggie looked over her shoulder, trying for an annoyed smirk but not succeeding. She tossed her head and daintily stepped into the tub. Sam gave a little happy groan. “What were we talking about?”

Reggie settled into the mountains of strawberry-scented foam and shot him a demure look. “The store.”

“What store? Oh, yeah, right, the store. So you think that once Intimates is franchised, you’d cut back?”

“I could afford to, yes—“ As she spoke, Reggie reached for the little bottle of shaving lotion. She rested one long shapely leg up against the tiles over the faucet, and Sam licked his lips as he watched her.

“You’re going to shave your legs?” he muttered distractedly. She glanced up at him, slightly surprised at his tone.

“Yeah. It’s not bad, but I thought I’d get it done early. Does it bother you?”

“Not bother, really—“ Sam shifted a little, “Unless you kick me out.”

Reggie let her glance slide up his body, her dimples deepening. “You’re kidding—you want to watch?”

“Hell yeah,” he replied in an oddly serious voice. Reggie blinked a little, then shrugged, making the foam around her wiggle.

“Whatever floats your battleship, Sam.” That particular turn of phrase made both of them smirk for a moment. Sam set his beer on the counter and hunched down, ignoring the discomfort of his trousers as he began to roll up his sleeves. Reggie slowly applied the lotion to her leg, almost caressing it on, blushing now that he was closer. She picked up the razor.

“If I end up slashing my leg open it will be all your fault for making me nervous,” Reggie accused. Sam leaned forward and kissed the top of her wet foot.

“Can’t have that now, can we?” came his husky murmur; that tone of voice he had that always left Reggie feeling tight and shivery. Sam Vartann was an amazingly sexy guy and the unbelievable thing was he himself never thought so. She found THAT to be mind-blowing.

“You have sex on your mind—“ Reggie accused openly. Sam leaned over the edge of the tub, sliding an arm down in the suds and water to brace himself as he moved in to kiss her.

“I’d be willing to shift it to other body parts—“ he offered, his beer-tinged breath warm and sweet against her lips. Reggie giggled helplessly and kissed him, giving in to the heated desire rising between them. Sam groaned softly, and she could taste his hunger, shaky and tender as he deepened the dance of their tongues in the first kiss since they’d started bickering.

Reggie tried to fight the flare of lust, but it was a losing battle; one she loved struggling with over and over again. Sometimes Sam would win, and she’d languidly lie back and savor his lovemaking; enjoying his eyes dark with lust, his rough language and barely restrained strength. Sometimes she’d win, and make him go oh so sweet and slow until neither of them could take the anticipation anymore.

And sometimes—sometimes they kept up the struggle all the way through, laughing and groaning and both claiming victory in wild cries and sweaty, blissful kisses. Reggie almost loved those times the best, when they’d fall asleep together, sharing a deep satisfaction and whispering lullabies with their eyes and hands.

She heard a splash and giggled; she’d dropped the razor into the water and it sank beneath the suds. Sam barely pulled away from her mouth and laughed a little himself.

“Butterfingers.”

“I was distracted!” came her muffled protest when he kissed her again. Lazily Sam fished under the water and pulled up the little pink plastic razor, then twirled it gently in his fingers. He kissed her again, more possessively this time.

“Allow me—“ came his smirk, and he gently pressed the bladed head against Reggie’s lotion covered shin. With finesse, Sam drew the razor up to her knee, leaving a smooth band of skin behind and she examined it, leaning forward a bit for a better inspection.

“Impressive—“

“I’ve worked with razors for a long time—not generally on legs, but in your case, I’m willing to do a hands-on sort of learning,” he told her, trying to brush the foamy suds away from obstructing his view under the water. Reggie flicked water at him in retaliation, and Sam shot her a warning look. “Hey, hey, none of that, or you’re getting a dunking, Cuddlebaby.”

“Shave on, my slave—“ Reggie ordered, all too aware that Sam actually would dunk her if she wasn’t careful. He flashed a grin at her, carefully wet the razor again, and stroked once more.

Sam was good, Reggie had to admit, gentle and precise, focusing on the job but still struggling a little with the sensuality of it all. She watched him; felt his fingers caressing her ankles, shins and knees as he shifted her legs for better access. By the time he was done he was clearly, blatantly aroused, and Reggie tugged the little drain plug out with unseemly hurry. She shot him a quick glance.

“Towel—“

“No—“ he countered in a low, tight voice. “No, please. All wet and sleek, driving me crazy, Reg—“ He took her hands and pulled her up from the cooling water; it sloshed as she rose up and into his arms, feeling deliciously naked against his shirt, the dampness of her bath seeping into the cotton as he kissed her.

Sam wrapped her in his anaconda-like hug, settling Reggie against him for the long haul. Kissing was first on the menu, and lots of it. God she felt so good against him, solid and soft, everything terrific about a woman and all his to touch. Her mouth yielded under his, and Sam drank in her little moan, lost in the heated thrill of knowing she wanted him too. When she started with those whimpers from the back of her throat . . . damn. Better than good; rocketing into absolute heaven.

Reggie cupped Sam’s face in her damp hands for a moment, feeling his late morning stubble, the heat of his skin against her palms. He was so enthusiastic at times, forgetting how the grind of his whiskers could scrape . . . but when he took her mouth this way, it was hard . . . to remember . . . . She gave up, gave in and opened her lips, feeling the quick rise of lust curling up from her stomach; smoke from the heat in her loins.

Behind him she could see the steam on the mirror, smudging the reflection of Sam’s big back, and her own bare arms wrapped around his shoulders, the dampness leaving dark marks on the fabric. Reggie drew her nails along his shoulder blades, rewarded with his low, appreciative groan; his hug on her tightened to leave her breathless for a second.

“Ohhh yeah . . . “ Sam growled, “Come on; be my bad, bad baby—“

Reggie giggled very softly, feeling the throb of his erection against her thigh, and realizing through lovely pangs how much she wanted him. Slowly, she reached down and unzipped his fly, sliding one warm hand in his pants in a teasing caress that he arched himself into, shuddering a little.

“You carry quite a piece, Detective—“

“Yeah? Well I don’t let just anybody handle my weapon—“ Sam grunted back, one of his hands caressing the back of Reggie’s neck, sliding under the damp red-gold curls. The other hand stroked her hip, curving to cup her ass. She squirmed a little.

“You’d better not—“ Reggie warned breathily. “Oooh, yeah, we’re talking large bore caliber tonight—“

“What can I say? Gun talk gets me hot, lady—“ Sam laughed against her busy lips. He rocked forward, hungry for her touch, kissing her mouth hard this time as pangs of pleasure throbbed through his cock. Her touch teased, maddened him, and Sam knew Reggie was doing it deliberately, just as he’d done it to her while shaving. He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her forcefully.

Reggie freed his shaft, curling her fingers around the proud heft, loving the hot suede weight of it against her palm. She was still stunned at how much Sam desired her, how aroused he got even with the gentlest petting and teasing. With delicate skill she rubbed her thumb along the head, the slickness of his precum letting her touch glide in tender circles.

Sam groaned again. “Jesus, you are killing me here—“

“—Guns don’t kill people—“ she began, but he slid his hand down over hers, tightening her grip, his eyes closing in pleasure.

“---Shhh—safety grip—“ he teased back, but in a distracted tone as he licked her neck. Reggie had an incredibly sensitive throat, Sam knew, and there were one or two places—

She gave a little howl of delight, a sound that made his balls tighten at the same time that Humph gave a curious whine from the other side of the bathroom door that broke the mood. Reggie laughed. Sam slid his hand to her big bare bottom and squeezed it, his expression twisted.

“Dogs and guns don’t mix---“ he grumbled, but good-naturedly. Reggie was still toying with him as she nipped his earlobe; Sam arched up again, his eyes half-closed as he rumbled like a tiger.

“Let’s take this dangerous weapon to a safe place, Hmmmm?” she suggested, letting his ear go with a last lick. Sam gave her a hooded glance, and when he grinned, all his teeth showed.

“You are SO getting a firearm merit badge, Cuddlebaby—lead on—“

“Reggie reluctantly released her grip on him and took his hand instead; the one time she’d led him along the OTHER way Sam had laughed so hard that they’d both gotten the giggles, which was fun too, but made it difficult to get back in the mood.

And Reggie knew they were both in a mood tonight.

When they reached the bedroom, she shooed Humph to his basket in the living room, turned and reached for his shirt, working the buttons open with a single-minded ferocity that made Sam laugh low in his throat. He looked down at his exposed chest when Reggie tugged the shirt open. “Naughty girl—“

“I’m naked, and you aren’t. I like to even things up,’ she huffed at him, going for his belt buckle. Sam moved to do it himself, but suddenly Reggie slid to her knees and he swayed a little, feeling hands and lips and so damn much pleasure it took all his concentration to stand upright.

If Reggie had been a tease with her hands, her mouth was devastating. Privately Sam had suspected it would be ever since the first time he’d seen her sweet lipglossed smile; images of those pretty lips had haunted him in dreams of a wet and sticky nature.

Reality was a thousand times better though—and that was very nearly the last coherent thought Sam Vartann had as Reggie slid her tongue under the length of his shaft, cushioning each deliberate suckle as she rocked her head forward. Sam dropped his big palms to her bare shoulders, as much to brace himself as to slow her down. His lanky frame shivered in torturous delight.

“MmmmGod, Reggiebaby, you . . . oooh, gotta stop . . . “ he pleaded in a voice with no conviction in it, a dazed mumble spilling out of his mouth. In reply she slid her nails along the back of his slacks; Sam instantly tensed, his fingers clamping on her shoulders. “No . . . babepleasestop!”

Reluctantly Reggie pulled back and lifted her face up at him, hot-eyed and smiling; Sam felt his cock graze her soft cheek as she laughed. “Can’t take the tease, Detective?”

“Later, when the edge is off—“ he barked, shoving down his slacks with one hand and hauling Reggie to her feet with the other. In two quick steps he’d backed her up to the bed and pushed her down, looming over her with a wolfish hungry glitter in his eyes. Reggie felt a rush of desire, tinged with a little fear, but languidly, she stretched her hands up, stroking his exposed chest and sighed at the lovely warmth of the fur there.

“Gonna ruthlessly interrogate me?” came her innocent little taunt. Sam caught her wrists and brought them back down to the coverlet, pinning them there as he stretched out along her stomach, his feet braced against the carpet.

“Seems to me that you’ve been reckless with a dangerous firearm, disturbing the peace—“ he mused, one knee nudging hers apart. Reggie languidly let her thighs drop open.

“Maybe I just need a good talking-to—“ she told him throatily, loving the heat in Sam’s gaze. He made her feel glamorous when he looked at her like that, and his grip tightened a bit, so she wriggled defiantly.

“I think you need more than THAT, Jail Bait,” Sam rumbled, letting his shaft nose up over the thick bed of curls between her thighs, sliding with evil intent. Reggie laughed, sliding one leg up over his hip and using it to pull him more firmly down on her.

“Been a long time since I was Jail Bait, officer—“

“—Not to me,” Sam breathed as he rubbed himself against her, kissing her mouth gently. “And you have no idea how much I want to pass on the condom right now—“

“Yes I do,” came her heated reply as she shifted, one hand sliding down to stroke the stiff length of his cock, “Sam—“

“Grrr.” He leaned over, long arms reaching for the drawer of the nightstand, pulling it open with a quick yank. A fumble later, and he tore open the little foil packet, tossing the wrapper over his shoulder; Reggie spluttered a giggle at that. Sam sighed. “I’ll pick it up LATER—got more important things to do right now—“

He shivered as Reggie reached down and helped him slide the condom on, her fingers caressing him through the lambskin, and when it was secure, she pulled him to her, growling a little herself.

Sam wasn’t about to argue; the slow deep stroke into her squeezed the air out of his lungs as his spine liquefied. His husky groan of pleasure mingled loudly with hers. He lay on her, pinning Reggie down, simply savoring the exquisite sensation of being buried within her.

“Ohhh God, Sammm---“ she groaned, trying to wiggle her hips, “Move!”

“Not yet—“ he whispered, resting his forearms alongside her ribs. “Baby, not yet—“

Pliantly Reggie wrapped her legs around his waist, and in a fit of bitchy pique, deliberately slid her nails along his back, raking it with just the right pressure; Sam rocked forward under the sting of her scratches, rumbling, maddened; thrilled. “Oh you little witch!“

She laughed, eyes half-closing. “Now, Sam, nowwww---“

Sam couldn’t stop any longer, and stroked into her, pumping strongly, letting the gorgeous heat flare up through his aching body. Reggie rocked with him, her legs wrapped snugly around his hips, her hands clutching his broad back, her voice low and hungry. “Come on, Detective, show me what you’ve got, yeah, harder, big man, yesssss----“

Sam thrust harder, his body arching in to hers, desperate to make it last; this glorious wild ride, when Reggie was as much a part of him as his own skin, his own soul. The warning rush of pleasure began to build low behind his balls, and feeling it, Sam shifted, moving one hand along Reggie’s sweetly rounded tummy, moving low enough to brush her wet fur. He leaned back, and ran his thumb over the top of her cleft, barely brushing the excited little bud there with a few gentle strokes. Reggie sucked in a breath, her voluptuous form clenching hard, her generous chest shaking.

“Yeah baby—“ Sam crooned, teetering on the edge, holding back a fraction longer as he watched her, felt her pleasure squeeze him tight.

She mewled, a sweet little sound of such blind, wild delight and Sam growled in response, thrilling in the tender heat, the wet curves and slick sweat, the utter glow of Reggie plundered and savored and loved.

He tried not to collapse on her, but she pulled him down and he let her, resting his head against her shoulder, his entire body replete and sated. After a long quiet while, Reggie nipped his ear gently, tickling the rim of it with her teeth. “I think I like being held over for questioning, you know?”

Sam muffled his laugh against the warm haven at the join of her neck and shoulder. “Great! Now every time Vega’s going to suggest that about a suspect I’m going to be thinking of THIS.”

“You BETTER not—“ Reggie pouted softly. “And especially not WITH Vega.”

Sam laughed again, his whole body shaking on top of hers. “I’ve been in a locker room with the guy, Cuddlebaby, and trust me, even if I DID swing that way, I’m not into the kinda curves he’s got.”

“Don’t be mean—“

“I’m not—Sammy’s the first one to laugh at himself anyway. Ohhh I don’t wanna move. I wanna sleep RIGHT here for the rest of the night—think we can arrange that?” he sighed happily, running one big hand through Reggie’s curly hair before stroking her cheek. She smiled back at him.

“Go clean up and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed with a quick grin. He pushed himself up and reached down, holding on to the base of his shaft to keep the condom on as he withdrew, and as he did so realized the immediate problem. He stiffened. Reggie propped herself up on her elbows, blowing her still damp bangs out of her eyes.

“Sam?”

“Oh God---Reg, the condom broke,” he whispered back to her, staring at the sludgy tatters hanging like a hula skirt around his softening cock. Reggie blinked and scooted up, pulling herself away from him and stared.

Neither of them said a word, and the warmth of the previous moment evaporated. Reggie gave a soft little whimper, a slow exhalation of breath. “Okay. Uh, Sam, I’m pretty sure it’s going to be okay. We’ll just go get cleaned up and come back to bed and it’s going to be fine. I’m due to start in about four days, so we’re in a safe 
time . . . “ she babbled gently. Sam rolled off the mattress and headed for the bathroom. The door closed with a slam; Reggie bit her lip.

Sam savagely yanked the remains off of himself and dropped them in the waste can, then turned on the water in the sink. When it was warm, he grabbed one of the hand towels and wet it, then washed himself, his actions automatic and distracted, his thoughts running a mile a minute in a swirl of chaotic fury. He felt dizzy.

God—Reggie probably hated him now. Didn’t trust him. And after that stupid remark about not wanting to use one; bad karma. Fucked up karma. First the fight, and now this--- Sam glared at himself in the mirror; a tousled-haired sweaty sad, sorry fuck and shook his head.

She could be getting pregnant right now. And DAMN IT, that wasn’t supposed to make him feel good. That wasn’t supposed to send a little thrill through his stomach and make him want to go out and take her all over again.

But it did.

Sam tossed the hand towel into the hamper and gripped the edge of the bathroom counter, trying to get some sort of control over these insane feelings, the lust and panic and fear all whirling in him.

Reggie. Had to get back to Reggie and make it right--- He picked up another hand towel and wet it, squeezed the excess water and stepped out of the bathroom.

She was there, curled on her side, pillow clutched over her. Sam went to the edge of the bed and gently pulled the pillow up, away from her thighs. Reggie resisted a moment, but Sam gently pressed the damp hot towel against her curly fur, and obediently she parted her legs. He tenderly cleaned her, bending low over her hips, keeping his attention on her body.

“I’m sorry Reg,” Sam croaked out. “You’ve gotta know that, okay?”

“I know that. It was an accident—statistics happen,” she mumbled back. For a moment Sam tried not to snort at that, but when he found the courage to look at Reggie it was too much and she spluttered into teary giggles. He half-turned and threw the towel into the bathroom, then climbed onto the bed, sliding up along Reggie’s body, feeling the silky warmth of it against his skin.

“Cuddlebaby, talk to me. Don’t just . . . clam up, okay? We were SO good there, I mean over the fucking moon and now . . .” he trailed off, angry at the pleading tone in his voice, but unable to stop it coming through. He pulled her into his arms as if the physical action would make the emotional closeness come back.

Reggie didn’t speak for a long time, and when she did, it was a quick whisper against his chest, her words slightly muffled. “Sam, if I asked you to marry me, would you?”

“Yes. Hell, yes,” it came out hard and fast, without a flicker of hesitation. “You know I would. Are you asking?”

“I can’t ask you until after I know I’m not pregnant. That wouldn’t be fair. You’d think I only asked you because of that,” Reggie sighed. Sam thought that line of reasoning over, frowning. He took advantage of her distraction to pull her leg up over his hip, and sighed into the crown of her head.

“I wouldn’t think that. I DON’T think that. But I know your stubborn voice, so I’m stuck because I also know even if I proposed right now, which I am willing to do in the God damned buff right here and now, you’d tell me no, that I’m only doing it because you might be pregnant. So, you know where that leaves us?”

“Very confused?” Reggie offered shyly. Sam laughed, letting one hand stroke down her back. The sunlight was trying to get through the heavy drapes of the bedroom, and dimly they could hear the sound of the drill press far down below them.

“It leaves us with ninety six hours of frustration, babe. I love you, I want to marry you, pregnant or not. And once I marry you we’ll consider getting you pregnant in due course, but even if you already are, I’m good to go with it. You are my woman, my Cuddlebaby, my amazing terrific unbelievable Regina Owens, and there just ain’t any more to say on that, okay?”

Sam wasn’t sure where the words came from and he didn’t think they were particularly eloquent, but now Reggie was crying, and he knew it was the good kind because he had to swallow hard and fight not to cry a little himself.

Christ he loved this woman.

She kissed him, working her way up his throat and reaching his lips; against them she whispered softly, “Damn it, marry me, Sam Vartann!”

“Hell yes,” he shot back and kissed her hard. “Now. Ninety six hours from now, in a week, a month, a year—you name it, Cuddlebaby, we’ll do it.”

“Okay. First we wait four days.”

“Gotcha. What do we do in the meantime?” he demanded. The sweet giddy heat of unreality flooded through him, and he recognized the emotion.

Joy.

Total joy.

“In the meantime, we . . . sleep,” Reggie told him in a voice soft and shaky. “And Sam?”

“Yeah Cuddlebaby mine?”

“I love you. And you don’t have to apologize to Lyle McAlister.”

Sam smiled and settled down, letting Reggie drape herself over him in their favorite sleeping position. After a while the giddiness transformed into a low sweet comfort and just before he dropped off, Sam Vartann kissed Reggie’s temple once more.

He hoped if it WAS—

--That it was a girl.

End.