Author: TartanLioness PM
Sam may be presumptuous in a lot of situations. But not when it comes to formalities like how to address your boss.Rated: Fiction K - English - Romance - Words: 1,280 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 2 - Published: 01-28-12 - Status: Complete - id: 7782773
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: I would just like to make it very clear that this is NOT a continuation of Duty-bound! Other than that, the usual thank-yous go out to the lovely dancesabove for all her hard work keeping me up and at it.
It was already darkening out when Foyle glanced up after finishing dictating the last of the chapter they had been working on. Startled, he glanced at his wristwatch.
"Seems I've kept you here much past dinnertime," he said drily to the woman sitting across the table. Sam looked up from her typing, grinning slightly.
"It's all right, I don't mind."
"Well," he conceded, "At least let me treat you to dinner?" Rewarded with Sam's bright smile, he decided to offer to feed her more often. He'd enjoyed spending time with her like this; at his house, relaxed, Sam in casual clothes and with her hair down (in more ways than one). Seeing her frustration at the typewriter, he had known that she wasn't really as proficient a typist as she claimed, and for some reason he hadn't cared. It might take him twice as long to finish his book but he got to spend time with her. And while she had always seemed comfortable with him, she now appeared to be completely at ease in his company and their conversation was effortless.
"Ooh, I'd be delighted, sir!"
Except for that. He didn't know why it bothered him now, it never had before, but for all their familiarity with each other, she was still calling him 'sir'. Not constantly, but enough. Somehow he'd expected her to begin using his given name or at least 'Mr. Foyle' on her own, but she never had.
He smiled at her, saying, "Let's call it a day then." He stood and went to the kitchen to prepare their meal while she packed up the typewriter, stacking the freshly typed papers neatly on the table next to it.
After a few minutes, she joined him. "Can I help?" she asked, turning on the radio and swaying softly to the music.
"No, you relax," he replied, noticing how at ease she seemed in his kitchen. In his whole house, he realised suddenly. He expected it to be uncomfortable; expected to feel like it was a breach of his privacy. He didn't. Instead he enjoyed watching her putter around his kitchen, humming softly to herself as she set the table.
"It's not much," he said as he placed the skillet on the table between their settings. Having no meat in the house, he'd opted for a simple vegetable omelette – using powdered eggs.
"Looks mouth-watering," Sam replied, a ravenous look on her face. Foyle chuckled.
"That was delicious," Sam sighed happily as she lay down her cutlery.
"Good," Foyle smiled slightly. "I'm glad you liked it. So, are you enjoying your new work?"
"Not really. It's not nearly as interesting as police work, I'm afraid," Sam lamented, thinking about her librarian work. Then she grinned. "And the people aren't nearly as nice as at the station, sir."
There it was again. That blasted 'sir'. Foyle sighed.
"You don't work for me anymore, Sam. You could call me Christopher."
Sam blushed and looked down. "I didn't want to appear presumptuous."
"Well, you're not my driver anymore…"
"I know," Sam interrupted ruefully. Foyle gave her a look.
"We've had a private dinner, we're alone and you're off duty and not in uniform. By all means, go ahead and be presumptuous."
Sam looked up at him thoughtfully. There were times over the years and in particular in these last few weeks when she'd seen something in his eyes, something that had given her hope that maybe, just maybe, he could return the feelings she had for him. That look was in his eyes now, something tender and… longing?
She hadn't dared to believe that he really did feel something for her beyond the natural protection and affection he would feel for any young woman under his command, but now she made a quick decision. Rising swiftly, she closed the distance between them in a few steps, delighted to see him stand when she did, and put her hands on his cheeks. For a brief moment she looked at his startled face, searching his eyes for some sign that she wasn't about to make a complete fool of herself. Then she whispered his given name and put her mouth on his.
The kiss was brief and close-mouthed, but she endeavoured to put all her feelings into it, letting her fingers run through the curls at the nape of his neck as she moved her lips slowly over his. When she released his lips, he stared at her, eyes wide with surprise.
Foyle tried to find any proof of deceit in her dark eyes and found only devotion and a hint of apprehension, evidence that while she might seem confident, she was in reality terrified of what she had just dared to do.
"Sam, what…" Flustered, he was at a loss for words. Despite the intimacy he had shared with Sam over the last few weeks, he had never expected to hold her in his arms, to feel her lips on his, and the sensation of both nearly took his breath away, not to mention his mental equilibrium.
The suggestion of nervousness in Sam's eyes grew to fully blown anxiety as she began to pull away from him, stuttering an apology.
Faced with the horrifying prospect of losing the delightful proximity to her, her name slipped past his lips in something akin to a groan. Forgetting every argument he had ever given himself for not getting closer to his young driver, he reached his arms out and pulled her back to him with trembling hands, capturing her lips in a fervent kiss.
Reassured, Sam revelled in the feeling of his embrace, feeling the heat of his hands through her shirt as they snaked inside her open cardigan, pressing her against his broad chest. His warm, soft lips moved over hers, his tongue begging entrance to her mouth and she gave it willingly, a thrill running up and down her spine as his tongue touched hers.
This is heaven, she thought blasphemously, unable to imagine a greater joy than this; being held in Christopher Foyle's arms as he ravished her.
His lips left hers and she nearly whimpered at the loss. Then she felt him kiss her throat and she held her breath, leaning her head back to grant him better access.
"Christopher," she moaned softly as he sucked gently at her pulse point.
The breathy sound of her voice cut through the haze of Foyle's mind. Sam, he realised. This was Sam and he was kissing her, practically ravishing her! Horrified at his own lack of control, he nearly jumped away from her. How could he let himself overstep that boundary? How could he have taken advantage of her youth and susceptibility?
"Oh, God, Sam, I'm, I'm," he stuttered helplessly, wanting nothing more than to step back into her arms and stop thinking about everything that might go wrong.
Sam's eyes twinkled as she watched him stammer, warmth spreading through her body.
"I love you," she whispered as she leaned in to silence him. Foyle's heart swelled at her words and he accepted her lips, unable to remember any good reason to leave her warm embrace and loving kisses.