The Fall Up (The Fall Up #1)(35)

“It is. But it’s still a work in progress, and I can’t promise how safe my handiwork is, so don’t step on the cracks or the whole floor might cave in.” He unbuckled himself and climbed out.

“Uhhh,” I stammered as I got out, meeting him at the hood. “Seriously?”

He shook his head and looped an arm around my waist. “Why are you nervous?”

“What? I’m not.” I swayed in his arms with a herd of butterflies stampeding in my stomach.

“You haven’t called me on my shit once since you got in my car. You’re nervous. Now tell me why.”

“I’m not—” I started, but he twisted his lips, unconvinced.

“You want me to take you home?”

“No!”

He dropped his hand to my ass. “Then tell me what’s got you so distracted.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. How the hell did I answer that?

You, Sam! You have me distracted. I’m nervous because I can’t say the wrong thing again. Not if I want you back. And, God, do I want you back.

I kept that to myself.

After backing me up, he pinned me against the hood with his body. “Levee,” he prompted.

“I have crabs!” I blurted out when the truth got lodged in my throat. “I didn’t want to tell you, but since we had sex, it’s only a matter of time before those critters get you too.”

I didn’t expect him to believe my joke, but I figured he’d at least laugh. Instead, he groaned, sliding a hand under my shirt and over my breasts—his rough fingers dipping inside my bra to tease my nipples.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

“Mmm,” I moaned. Closing my eyes, I slipped a hand down the back of his jeans—strictly for balance, of course.

I whined in complaint when he suddenly stepped away.

“Get your ass inside. I need to smoke.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not going inside my stalker’s house alone.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Should you ever really go in your stalker’s house at all?”

“Excellent point. We should definitely do it in the driveway.” I reached for the button on his jeans, but he backed out of my reach.

“Jesus, Levee.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Aren’t we supposed to be talking?”

I nervously began chewing on the inside of my mouth again.

Talking was going to suck. Sex definitely wasn’t.

But sex didn’t mean I got to keep him. Talking hopefully would.

My eyes flashed to the ground. “Yeah. You’re right.”

I heard his lighter spark to life. Then his shoes entered my field vision. Threading our fingers together, he lifted the back of my hand to graze over his dick bulging behind his denim.

I sucked in sharply as his warm breath whispered over my neck.

“I’ve never in my life wanted to lose myself inside a woman more than I do with you. In my driveway. In my bed. In my car in the middle of a hospital parking lot. Anywhere, Levee.” He draped my arm around his neck then dropped his forehead to mine. “I’ve also never wanted to make something work with a woman more than I do with you. So, if talking is what I have to do, then let’s do it. But, after all of that’s settled—and I swear to God it will be settled—we’ll get back”—he roughly tugged me against him, pointedly rolling his hips—“to this.”

I’d been wrong.

That was everything.

I immediately looked away, and I did it smiling.

Huge.

Taking my hand, Sam smoked as we walked up the short sidewalk to his front door. While he fumbled with his keys, my eyes were drawn to two antique white doors that had been transformed into a porch swing.

I lifted our joined hands to point. “Did you make that?”

He tossed me a proud, lopsided grin. “If it’s in this house, I made it.”

“That’s amazing. I can’t imagine being that talented.”

He barked a laugh as he pushed his door open. “Says the woman with a mantel full of Grammys.”

“Oh, shut up. I meant talented with my hands, smartass.” I pinched his nipple.

“Ow! Shit!” he complained before reaching out to pinch mine in retaliation. His was definitely gentler, and I might have secretly wished that he had done it again. Repeatedly.

He didn’t though. He dropped his hand and flipped the lights on.

The outside of his house was amazing, but it didn’t do justice to the inside in the least. Dark hardwood floors covered the expanse of the den, and a rugged, brown leather sectional butted up against the wall, facing a flat-screen mounted above a stone fireplace. The whole area was open, and his galley kitchen sat in the back with only a granite-top bar dividing the rooms. The house appeared to be older from the curb, but inside, it was as modern as it could get.

Sam’s house definitely wasn’t the bachelor pad I’d expected. It was unnaturally clean. I had a full-time maid and his place made mine look like a stable.

What single guy keeps a house this neat?

I gasped. “Oh my God, you’re married!”

“Shh! You’ll wake up my wife,” he replied, touching his lips to my temple. “Don’t worry. She’s okay with you being here. You were on the top of my celebrity sexception list.”