Page 48 of Falling for You

“Isthat an eggplant in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

Laughter bursts from his lips along with mine. “What the hell?” he asks, teasing, tipping his head forward to land on my shoulder.

“I’ve always wanted to say that.” I shrug.

His head jerks up and a dark brow rises above the frame of his glasses. Dang those glasses are oddly sexy. “Really? That’s what you’ve always wanted to say?”

I know my eyes are shining. I can feel the excitement practically emanating from my skin having him here with me. I had not taken any appointments today, wanting a day off from the world.

“Don’t be judgy.”

He raises his hands. “No judgement. And for the record, it’s both.” He winks at me and my stomach flutters.

Once I’ve released him from where I have him pinned against the wall by the door, I take a reluctant step back, smooth down my hair that his fingers had a heyday with.

Fanning myself, my voice is high when I say, “Phew. That was one hell of a hello.”

“Hey now. I just came to your door. You’re the one who attacked me and pushed me against the wall here. I was completely innocent in this.”

“But you came here looking sexy and smiling and after last night I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. So yeah, it’s your fault, Mister.” I poke a finger into his chest which he immediately captures and brings to his lips, kissing the tip.

“You think I’m sexy?” He wiggles his eyebrows and I roll my eyes, not feeling confident enough to admit it out loud. His impish grin is almost more than I can handle as he tugs me by the hand over to my couch. Plops us both down, pulling me in close so our thighs are touching.

I did just admit that he’s sexy, huh? However, it’s not really as if he wouldn’t have known. Or couldn’t have figured it out by the fact that I practically mauled the poor guy when he came to my door. To prove my point, rather than sit here like a couple seventh graders, I pull up a leg, bend at the knee and rest it on the back of the couch. Face him with an elbow propped on my knee and chin resting in my hand.

“What brings you by?

“Wanted to see you.”

“Missed me already, huh?”

“Sure did,” he says, leaning over and kissing me on the cheek. “Are you normally home on Tuesdays?”

Shaking my head, I tell him, “No. I took a day off.”

“Any particular reason?” he reaches for my hand, fiddles with my fingers, circles his thumb around mine. I’m surprised by how rough his hands are considering he works on computers for a living.

“Why are your hands rough?”

His fingers still and eyes show the confusion he feels. His humor laced in his tone he asks, “What?”

“You’re a computer geek, right? So why the rough hands?”

He inspects his fingers. “Do they bother you?”

No. The opposite, in fact, they turn me the heck on, actually. “No.”

“I don’t know, I guess. A friend of mine is building a house and I spent the summer helping him.” He shrugs adorably, frowning at his hands as if they’re offensive somehow.

“I like your hands,” I assure him.

A cocky grin stretches across his handsome face. “I know.”

Barely containing my eyeroll, I tip my head down, take his hand back in mine and focus on our joined fingers. He nudges me with his foot and I look up. “What?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

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