by Alison Bliss
Sam grinned and leaned against the doorjamb. “You mean besides watching you show off your skills with that performance?”
The blood drained from her face, then her cheeks bloomed bright red. She turned away from him and lowered her head, using her hair as a curtain to hide behind as she gathered her composure.
Oh, hell. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. Now he was the one who felt like a fool. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in or anything.”
She lifted her head slightly and peeked at him through her strands as she twisted them together. “I told you before…I can’t dance.”
“You can’t sing either.” Sam gave her an exaggerated wink, trying to make her laugh. When she did, his grin widened. “I came to fill your hole.”
She stopped laughing and blinked. “Excuse me?”
Sonofabitch. Why’d I say it like that? He laid the section of sheetrock on the table and rapped on it with his knuckles. “The hole in your wall.”
“Oh, I…um, okay.”
“So what’s for dessert?”
“Well, if I’d known you were coming by tonight, I would’ve saved the rest of the pecan bars I sent home with Valerie. But since you didn’t bother mentioning it, I guess I’ll have to figure something else out.”
“Might want to get to figuring then because I’m not touching your hole until you do.”
She stood motionless, gawking at him, as she inhaled a large breath.
Jesus. Why do I keep referring to it as her hole? I sound like a fucking pervert. Use a construction term or something, damn it.
Leah thought for a moment. “How about some bran muffins?”
“How about I leave?”
She giggled. “Okay, fine. Um, well, I have a great recipe for a sour cream pound cake.”
“Uh-uh. You can’t convince me to eat something by telling me it’s rotten. Try again. This time with the word chocolate thrown in.”
Leah grinned at him. “I can make a chocolate pie from scratch in about twenty minutes, but it would need to set up and chill in the cooler for at least an hour.”
He nodded and flipped open his toolbox. “Works for me. That’s about how long it’s going to take me to spackle your hole.”
Ah, shit.
* * *
Leah carefully measured the flour and the unsweetened cocoa while Sam pulled off his red flannel shirt. Her mouth went dry as the white T-shirt he wore underneath tightened against his firm abs with every movement. She kept her eyes focused in his direction, waiting to see if he’d pull the undershirt off too.
Unfortunately, he didn’t.
Probably a good thing though. The last thing Leah needed was to see him without a shirt. Her mind was already running amok over his massive biceps and the way his jeans fit snugly against his ass. As it was, she’d never get that image out of her head.
She added water to the powdery mixture and whisked it in a double boiler until it formed a smooth paste, then glanced up to check his progress. Sam had just finished cutting a squared-off section around the hole in the wall with a utility knife. He pulled the damaged drywall loose, making white dust rain down onto his work boots.
“Shouldn’t you be filling in the hole, not making it bigger?”
He eyed her playfully and raised a brow. “You wanna do this yourself?”
A giggle tickled her throat. “Nope.”
He pulled out a tape measure, marked the new piece of drywall he’d carried in with him with a pencil, and cut it. Even eyeballing it, Leah could see that it was way too big to fit in the now-square hole. What the hell is he doing?
“That’s not going to fit in that hole. It’s too big.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” He grinned as he sliced the new piece down the sides and peeled the back of the drywall off. “I’m doing what we call a butterfly patch. It’s where we cut the new section two inches bigger in diameter, score the sheetrock along the border, pull out the chunks of plaster, and just leave the paper edge that’ll hang over the wall to secure it.”
He lifted the new piece and fit it against the hole, tapping to squeeze it into the tight space. Two inches of paper overlapped the wall on each side, just as he said it would.
“Why do you do it like that?” Leah asked as she added some sugar and beaten egg yolks to the paste she’d made.
“Because you don’t have a stud here…well, unless you count me, of course.” Sam gave her a quick wink that made her stomach twirl. “This is the easiest way to fix a hole in the wall when there’s nothing to nail to.”
He bent down and opened a tub of something that looked like whitish-gray frosting while Leah added milk and a touch more water to her chocolate concoction and whisked it all together.
“What’s that?” she asked, turning the stove’s heat down low.
Sam breathed out heavily. “You sure you don’t want to fix this yourself?”
“Sorry, I’m just curious.” She headed to the walk-in.
He laughed and called out, “You know, I’m not breathing down your neck and asking you why you’re baking a pie on top of the stove rather than in an oven, am I?”
Leah found what she was looking for and stepped out of the cooler with an already prepared piecrust in her hand. “I never said anything about baking a pie. I said I’d make a chocolate pie. The only thing I have to actually bake is the piecrust…which I’m about to do.”
“So, in other words, I got screwed?” Sam asked, chuckling to himself.
She tossed it in the preheated oven and whisked the chocolate filling again, making sure it had started to thicken. Glancing up, Leah froze when she saw what he was doing. “You? I think I’m the one getting screwed here. Why the hell are you smearing that crap all over my wall?”
Sam pursed his lips. “Sweetheart, if I was screwing you, you’d know it. Trust me on that.”
He glanced over at her, and his eyes did that weird smoldering thing again, causing a shot of pure lust to run straight down Leah’s center. My God. One look from him and I’m a puddle.
“It’s joint compound,” he explained. “This mud will seal the paper to the wall and hide the seams.”
“Oh,” she said softly, then busied herself—and her hormones—by adding butter and vanilla to her chocolate pie filling.
Sam continued swiping mud on her wall with a funny-looking spatula that made a weird scraping noise. He put it on thick but ended up scraping most of it off before he was through. She didn’t really see the point, but Leah couldn’t ask him why. Mostly because she was still trying to steady herself after his remark about screwing her.
With an oven mitt, she pulled the golden brown piecrust from the oven and then poured in her chocolate filling. After placing it in the cooler to chill, she cleaned up the mess she’d made and loaded the dishwasher.
Once the mud on the wall dried, Sam sanded the seams and applied another thin coat. Quietly, she watched him work. The way his muscles bunched and flexed under his thin undershirt. The way his capable hands gripped the spatula with strength and endurance, yet smoothed over the wall with a soft, delicate touch. The room would’ve been completely quiet if it wasn’t for the sloshing sound of the dishwasher and the scraping of metal along the wall.
By the time the pie was chilled and had set up marvelously, Leah had already retrieved two plates, forks, and a piping bag filled with whipped cream. She cut them both a slice and topped each with a white dollop. “Ready for dessert?” she asked.
Sam turned, wearing a wide grin. “Just finished,” he said, dusting his hands on his jeans. “All you have to do is paint the patch job to match the rest of the wall. Mind if I borrow your sink to wash up?”
“Not at all.”
As Sam washed, Leah looked over his handiwork. Not only was the hole completely gone, but she couldn’t see the seams anymore either. If it hadn’t been for the different colors of the patched wall, she wouldn’t have known there had ever been a hole there. “Wow! Sam, you did a fantastic job.”
; He walked up behind her. “Still feel like you got screwed?”
Her cheeks heated. “Um, no…not yet.” Oh, jeez. Did I have to say that?
“Good. Now let’s get on with it.”
She blinked. “Get on with it?”
“The pie,” he clarified. “Are we going to stare at the wall all night or are we going to eat?”
Knowing her cheeks had grown hotter, Leah hurried to the counter ahead of him and sat down on one of the stools as he took another. She slid a piece of chocolate pie toward him and waited for him to take his first bite. As he did, his eyes closed, and his mouth turned up into a smile.
“Sooo,” Leah said, “do you feel like you got screwed?”
“Oh yeah. In all the right ways too,” Sam said on a moan. “Jesus. This is almost better than sex.”
God. His penis really must be small if he thinks pie is better than sex.
Leah sighed. She needed to change the subject or she would be thinking about Sam’s Slim Jim the rest of the night. “I wanted to talk to you about this Friday. I know we had an agreement, but I don’t really expect you to keep your end of the deal and go on this trip with my family. I can just call my mom and—”
“No, Leah. Like you said, I got you into this whole mess. It’s only fair that I get you out.”
“That’s sweet, Sam. Really. But it’s not going to work anyway. No one in my family is going to believe we’re dating, much less engaged. We hardly even know each other.”
“I already thought of that.” He grinned and shoveled another big bite into his mouth. “Debriefing session. Tomorrow night. You come to my house this time.”
“Why your house?”
“It’d be a little strange if my fiancée doesn’t know where I live or remember anything about my house,” he said with a chuckle. “You were pretty hungover the last time you were there. Besides, it’s just one less lie you’ll have to come up with. The truth is always easier to remember than lies. Less chance that one of us will mess this up.”
Leah picked at her pie with her fork. “I don’t know. I just don’t think it’s going to work.”
“Trust me,” he said with a wink. “Your family is going to hate me.”
Chapter Seven
You’ve spent almost every night with her this week,” Max said. “What happened to being single?”
Sam shook his head. “I am single. Leah’s just a friend.”
“Who happens to be a woman?”
“Yeah.” Sam shoved his hands into his pockets.
“The same woman friend who you happened to have half-naked in your bed last weekend?”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Goddamnit, you know it wasn’t like that!”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Max said, grinning wide. “Unless you’re suddenly gay, I’m going to call bullshit.”
“Think whatever you want,” Sam said, waving his friend off. “You’re going to anyway. But I’m telling you, there’s nothing sexual going on.”
“Whatever you say.”
A knock on the door captured Sam’s attention. “That’s probably her. Keep your mouth shut. She’s meeting me here because I’m helping her with something.”
Max smirked. “I bet you are.”
As he walked to the door, Sam rolled his eyes and said, “It has to do with her family, asshole.”
Max held up his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa! Settle down. If you say nothing’s going on with this chick, then fine, I believe you.”
“About damn time.” Sam opened the door.
Leah stood there smiling, wearing a low-cut black tank top and a pair of dark-wash jeans that clutched at her hips, her arms filled with a white bakery box, a man’s red flannel shirt, and a notebook. She lifted the lid of the box and flashed him the half-dozen cupcakes she’d brought with her. “They’re chocolate,” she said with a big grin. “Your favorite, right?”
Sam blinked at her impressive display of cleavage and moved aside to allow her entrance. “Um…yeah.”
“Oh, hello. Max, right?” Leah said, giving him a small wave. “I didn’t know you would be here.”
He nodded, obviously checking out her spectacular chest as well. “I was…er…just leaving.”
“Sorry to hear that.” She passed by him. “I’m just going to set these down in the kitchen. It was nice seeing you again, Max.”
The moment Leah was out of hearing range, Max closed the space between him and Sam. “Nothing going on, huh? I saw the way you were eyeing her goods…and I’m not talking about the ones inside the box.”
Sam shook his head in denial. “I’m not the only one who looked at her chest, asshole. And just because I’m not blind doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with her. I already told you, we’re just friends.”
“Oh, by the way, Sam, you left your shirt at my place last night,” Leah called out from the kitchen. “I washed it for you and brought it with me.”
“Thanks,” Sam yelled back, heaving out a hard breath. He gave Max a nonchalant shrug. “I must’ve forgot it.”
“The woman walks in with your clothes, showing off her goodies, and handing out her sweets like it’s Halloween, yet you’re still going to pretend nothing’s going on. Un-fucking-believable.” Sam started to speak, but Max raised his hand to stop him. “Face it. You’re in denial, buddy.”
“Damn it, Max. It’s not like that.”
“Whatever you say.” Max stepped out the door but turned and faced Sam. “Look, I wasn’t going to say anything, but since you obviously are into this chick, there’s something you need to know about last weekend. I sort of told Leah’s friend that…well, I told her you had a small dick.”
“You did what?” Sam blinked rapidly and shook his head, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. Then Max’s words registered, and anger punched through Sam’s gut like he’d been shot with a high-powered nail gun. “What the fuck do you mean you told Leah’s friend I had a small dick? Why the hell would you do something stupid like that?”
Max started to grin but apparently decided it was wiser not to. Instead, his brows furrowed and caused deep grooves to form on his forehead. “Look, you’d ditched Leah to dance with that other chick so I thought you weren’t interested. I was just trying to help her out.”
“By telling her friend I had a small pecker?”
“Seemed like a good plan at the time.” Max shrugged nonchalantly. “Sorry, man. I thought you and Leah were hitting it off, but then you left her sitting there all alone. She looked miserable, and…well, I felt bad for her. But since you claim you’re not into her, then it shouldn’t matter, right?” The grin he’d suppressed moments before finally surfaced.
Leah sauntered into the room, carrying a plate with two cupcakes. “Sam, if you think I screwed you in all the right ways last night, you’re going to love—” She stopped talking when she saw Max still standing there with his mouth open wide. Her face reddened. “Oh! I…uh, thought you’d left already.”
“He did,” Sam said, shutting the door in his friend’s face.
Shifting her weight nervously, Leah stood there staring at the closed door. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he was—”
“It’s fine,” Sam said, gruffly. He walked over and plopped down on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. “He’s gone now. It doesn’t matter.”
Without a word, Leah set the plate in front of him on the coffee table and returned to the kitchen. She didn’t run, but her fast walking pace led him to believe she’d considered it. Probably to get away from the embarrassment chasing her down the hallway.
Sam picked up the cupcake and stared, trying to find something wrong with it, but he couldn’t. The black cake was springy to the touch and smelled decadent and rich. Dark brown frosting swirled into a beautiful peak, topped with pieces of shaved and curled chocolate. He set it back on the plate and sighed. The goddamn cupcake was perfect and exactly what he wanted.
Like Leah.
The thought had popped into his head faster than he
could push it out. But he wasn’t ready for another relationship. Sam needed to make that clear to Leah before he ended up hurting her. And he would hurt her if they didn’t have this conversation before pretending to be a couple in front of her family.
Sam doubted he’d have any problems convincing her family he was Leah’s fiancé. Hell, he couldn’t even convince Max that they weren’t together, and they hadn’t even started the ruse yet.
Then Sam remembered what Max had confessed to him. Why do I give a shit if Leah thinks I have a small dick? It’s not like I’m going to…Because I do care. Goddamnit.
Leah came back into the room, carrying her notebook while licking icing from her fingers. First one, then another, sliding her tongue over each before inserting them into her mouth. Something tugged painfully in his groin as his cock pulsed and hardened against the inside seam of his jeans. She stopped next to him, tossed the notebook on the end table, and sucked another finger into her delicious mouth just as she realized he was watching. Her eyes sparkled with something that clearly looked like an invitation.
Christ. If she tastes anything like she looks and smells, I’d be in heaven.
Sam wanted to oblige her, wanted to slip those delicate fingers of hers into his mouth and suck the icing off, right before he pulled her into his lap and…No, I can’t. The attraction between them was obvious, maybe plain for anyone to see, but he couldn’t act on it.
His gaze lowered to the cupcake in front of him as his fingers rubbed at the back of his neck, easing the tension building inside him. He cursed under his breath. “I don’t want this.” He hadn’t meant the words to come out so harsh.
“Okay,” she said with a question looming in her voice. “I’ll take it back then.” She reached for the cupcake.
Sam’s hand shot out, capturing hers. “You touch that cupcake, and I’ll have to break your fingers.”
For a second, an amused grin played on her mouth, but then it changed to a grim line. “I guess I don’t understand what you mean then. What is it that you don’t want?”