I leave the flowers on the counter and go to him. “Is he okay? Are you okay?”
His arms wrap around me and pull me close. “He’s going to make it, but shit…” He runs one of his hands through his hair. “I’ve been at the hospital all night and all day today. He needed surgery.”
I’m a little hesitant to ask. “What happened?”
“He fell off the roof. They were framing it up and, according to the guys, he was fucking around, trying to be funny, doing a jig or some bullshit, and he fell.”
“Doing a jig? He was dancing?”
“That’s what they said. We’ve got cameras. I haven’t had a chance to see it.” He runs his hand through his hair. “He landed on a pile of retaining blocks. Two stories.”
“God. That’s terrible.”
“Could’ve been worse.” He scoffs. “Broke his leg, both arms, had some internal shit going on.” He glances down at me. “That’s the reason for the surgery. It took hours.”
“Oh, Sam.” I reach up and touch his face. “You must be exhausted. Have you eaten?”
“Vending machine food.”
“Sit.” I point to my sofa. “Let me make you something.” Do I even have anything? I open my fridge and see some parmesan cheese and half a jar of marinara sauce. Pulling those out, I search my cupboard, hoping I’ve got some pasta. I have one package of macaroni noodles. “Is pasta okay?”
His arms wrap around me from behind. Then, his lips kiss the side of my neck. My favorite spot. “I would have called, but I don’t have your number.”
“We should remedy that. After dinner, we’ll sort that out.”
He pulls me back until we’re flush against one another. “I missed seeing you,” he whispers in my ear. His voice is husky. “I figured you’d be pissed.”
“Me?” I act like I’m the coolest cucumber in the world. But I can’t sustain it. With a sigh, I look over my shoulder at him. “I was.”
“I know.” I hear the chuckle and smile. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I am.” I nod. “An open book, my sisters have always said.”
I feel his lips on my neck again. They move down to my shoulder. “Love your freckles.”
And I love that he loves my freckles. They aren’t for everyone.
I feel the strap of my tank being moved off my shoulder. His lips touch that spot, too. My nipples peak at the sensation, and I know if I don’t get him to sit down, things are going to get hot—and I’m not talking about the pasta.
Pulling away, I point to the living room. “Sit. Let me feed you.”
He smirks and pats my bottom. “Yes, ma’am.”
From my living room, Sam asks, “Mind if I take a shower?”
Oh, god. Now, all I can do is picture a naked Sam in my shower. “Be cool, Colette.” Clearing my throat I reply, “Sure. Towels are under the sink.”
“Great. Thanks. Be right out.”
I set the pot of water on to boil and grab a skillet to brown the little package of ground beef I found in the freezer. As everything cooks, I stir, but all I can think about is naked Sam. Wet, naked Sam.
Focus, Colette.
Stirring the ground beef around in the pan, I see movement from my right. Sam steps into the kitchen, and I immediately drop the pan, making it clatter into the sink, because, holy moly, Sam Griffin is standing at the entrance to my tiny kitchen wearing only his work pants. No shirt. Not only that, but the work pants aren’t buttoned. They’re zipped, sort of. My god. The man is so much better close up than he was that day he washed his truck. So. Much. Better. Ignoring the pan, I take three steps closer.
“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” My voice is hoarse and breathless. “You should never wear clothes.”
“That’d make it difficult to work, sweetheart.” His palm moves up and skims across my face. “But thanks.”
