Page 90 of Falling into Place
She quirked a brow. She’d die on this hill. “Yes. That bad.”
“Huh.” He put his thumb and forefinger to his chin. “I seem to remember you once telling me it’s not the piece of clothing, but how the person wears it.”
“Those jeans were excluded from that comment.”
“Really?” A muscle flexed in his jaw and he regarded her carefully as he reached behind his head with one hand and in one fluid motion tugged his shirt off. “How about now?”
Okay. So, the thing was, the man had a nice body. She’d never been very attracted to those huge guys who spent hours at the gym to be all muscly and veiny. She gravitated more toward lean and fit, and the modest chest, defined abs, and masculine-without-being-overly-large arms filling her vision were very much her preferred eye candy.
She also had a mild obsession with romance films, so when he raked his long, clean (and talented, she’d learned a few hours ago) fingers through his hair and reached up to grip the doorframe, several parts of her body took notice.
In conclusion, she was very, very attracted to him. Even, apparently, in the jeans.
In. The. Jeans.
She was also very, very stubborn. With considerable effort, she schooled her features to what she hoped was bored and unaffected. She didn’t trust her voice not to come out breathy and wanting, though, so she kept quiet.
He licked his bottom lip and smiled as he let his arms fall and took a few steps toward her, eyes locked on hers. He reached down and flicked open the button, and they slid an inch down his hips, revealing his left hip bone and a mouthwatering view of that beautiful V. “Now?”
Her grip on the pillow tightened. “I hate those jeans so much,” she said in a near whisper, swallowing thickly, “that I want you to take them off right this minute.”
“You do?”
She nodded. Vigorously, her intention to appear unaffected be damned. She was on fire.
“I will if you tell me I look good in them.”
She squeezed her eyelids shut. “Brooks, it’s not you. You’re so hot my mouth is watering. But no one, and I mean no one, would look good in those.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He rebuttoned them and walked away, tossing a victorious grin over his shoulder. From the hallway, he called out, “Which movie should we watch next?”
Carly threw the pillow to the floor and fell backward on the bed, covering her face with her hands. She groaned. “Fine. You win, I love the jeans and you look goodinthe jeans and get your fine ass back in here right this second!”
One second later she heard the thump of denim hit the floor and two seconds later he was on the bed, laughing and kissing her all over.
She frowned while she ran her hands down his back and arched her neck to give him better access. “I’m not sorry I stole them, though.”
He kissed her hard and deep, sliding his hand into the waistband of her leggings.
“Neither am I.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brooks
Good evening. Is this the residence of Deborah Martin? May I come in for a moment?
—Officer Gary Sanchez to Paul, Brooks, and Sasha Martin
It had been a while since Brooks had been to Macy’s without Sasha. But she’d called and asked him to come by, and he wasn’t altogether surprised to find their third sibling absent.
She still wouldn’t talk to him.
He spent an hour in the backyard with the boys before Macy sent them upstairs to wind down, then told Brooks he could stay on the deck. She returned a few minutes later with two beers and settled in beside him on the wooden steps.
“So,” she said.
“So.”
