Page 27 of Falling into Place

Chapter Eighteen

Carly

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Employees will avoid personal, financial, or other potential conflicts of interest that may hinder their ability to perform expected job duties.

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Carly was freaking out.

Cucumbers. You’re just here for cucumbers.

And yet, she remained frozen in her car outside Brooks’s house, staring at his front door, Kendall’s words from the night before scrolling through her mind like a Broadway marquee.

He talked about you all night. I could tell it wasn’t on purpose, but he just sort of kept coming back to you.

You should see the look on his face when he talks about you. Literally all I want in life is for a man to look like that when he talks about me.

Please put that man out of his misery.

She’d come because she told him she’d be by today, but after hearing all that? What was she supposed to do, just stroll in there and act normal? Like she felt nothing and knew nothing and that nothing would change?

Half of her wanted to talk to him, but the other half maintained it was pointless.

Was it best to get it out in the open, maybe talk it out, because trying to hide mutual feelings that grew stronger every day could cause problems on its own?

Normally it wouldn’t have had her tied up in knots, because once she’d become an adult and gained some experience in the relationship department, she rarely had trouble telling a man she was into him.

But in this moment, instead of butterflies it felt like a swarm of hornets dive-bombing inside her stomach.

Something about admitting it to Brooks Martin .

.. and more, admitting it to him when maybe he felt the same .

.. It was important. Bigger and more significant than anything she’d done before, and that gave her pause.

Also, the fact they absolutely, positively could not act on it right now really fucking sucked. But she’d literally just landed that job, and she wasn’t about to let a man get in her way, that man being Brooks Martin or not. Two points to the Carly who wanted to keep her mouth shut.

When an older woman walking her dog gave Carly the side-eye as she sat in her car staring at his house, she finally got out, no closer to deciding what she’d do. Talk to him? Don’t talk to him? Make a run for the cucumbers and get the hell out of there?

She rubbed at her eyes as she walked unsteadily to his door and knocked.

A few moments later he opened it, looking rumpled and sexy in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, his dark hair in adorable disarray.

In her purely professional opinion, he had the hot loungewear look down pat. Vivid imagery of the dream she’d had last night—of her and Brooks making good use of a vacant hospital room—cycled through her brain, and she reached out to steady herself on the doorjamb.

“Hey,” he said with a smile, lifting one arm to run a hand through his hair. Gah . “Come in. Sorry I didn’t get dressed for you. I usually just go from sweatpants to scrubs and back again when I don’t have plans.”

“You never have to get dressed for me.” She stopped short, halfway through the door, and turned wide eyes on him. “Um, I meant get dressed up . For me.”

He laughed and put a gentle hand on the small of her back to urge her forward enough for him to close the door. The touch burned straight through her shirt, burrowed beneath her skin, and radiated to every single nerve ending.

Oreo pranced into the room and made a beeline toward her. She picked him up and nuzzled his head, happy to take the distraction.

“He missed you,” Brooks said. He stood near the armchair, relaxed with his hands in his pockets, looking at her like he was happy she was in this room with him.

Cat. Cat. Focus on the cat. “I started making him another sweater.”

Brooks tucked his lips between his teeth.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She cocked a brow at him and some of her anxiety settled, replaced by something more pleasant. “Just wait until you see it on him. You’re gonna love it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, clearly trying to hold in a laugh.

With each look and word spoken, just being in his presence and the reminder of how comfortable it was ... made it all seem easier.

Being with him felt natural. Maybe they could figure this out.

She glanced through to the kitchen, then brought her eyes back to his dancing hazel ones. “I know you think the fact that I crochet cat sweaters makes me a huge nerd, but you’re the one with a dozen cucumbers laid out on your counter.”

“Fourteen,” he corrected, his ears turning pink. “Got two more this morning.”

That was all it took. That sweet look of pride that he’d successfully grown a vegetable all on his own.

“I like you,” she blurted.

His body stilled and his brows came together. “What?”

Oh God. That happened.

Might as well keep going ... but, just .

.. what was she supposed to do with her hands?

“I like you, Brooks. As in, I have feelings for you. Lots of them. Technically they’re not all good, I guess, because sometimes you’re frustrating.

” His stunned expression shifted a little at that, forming a crooked grin.

“Like when you can’t see how good you look in a straight-leg jean or when you’re moody because you haven’t had enough caffeine.

But mostly they’re wonderful, warm, sparkly feelings that make me happy and make me want to be closer to you.

You’re so smart and kind of nerdy, and sweet and thoughtful.

And funny, even when you’re not trying to be.

So ... I, um. Yeah. I like you and that’s all. ”

His smile was sweet and languid and adorable. She couldn’t help but smile back at him, even though her stomach had tied itself back into knots.

“I like you, too,” he said, grin widening. He gripped his chin with his thumb on one side and fingers on the other, and slid them down as he nodded slowly. “I also have feelings. Lots of them.”

Then he started toward her.

“No!” she cried.

He froze and his hands shot up like she’d yelled this was a stickup.

“Sorry. I just, I mean, we can’t act on it right now, and I’m not sure what I’ll do if you come close.”

“Carly,” he said roughly, hands falling to his sides.

“I know,” she groaned, and again apologized. “I wasn’t sure if I’d tell you or not, and maybe I shouldn’t have because you’re my client and I can’t date you as long as you’re that, and now this will just be miserable for both of us. But I couldn’t help it. You just ... You made me.”

“What? I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did. You knew I was coming over and you wore those.”

He glanced down and frowned. “Sweatpants?”

“Exactly. Then you smiled at me and teased me, and you have all your produce so carefully lined up—did you arrange it by size? Honestly, what was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, maybe not show up here in those shoes and with those dangly earrings and gorgeous eyes and tell me you like me, then make me stand over here like I’m in time-out?”

She sniffed. “You can sit over there. If you want.”

“I don’t want,” he said thickly.

“Oh.”

They stared at each other.

“I also don’t want to date you.”

“Oh,” she said again, then, “Wait, what?”

“You said you can’t date a client, and that’s fine. I shouldn’t date you right now, either.”

“Yes. Good. I agree.”

“No dating.”

“Right.”

He studied her for a long moment, and she felt his perusal like a gentle caress. Then, he said, “How do we feel about kissing?”

“Abou—what?”

“Kissing. How do you feel about that?”

“I—”

“Because here’s the thing: Kissing isn’t the same thing as dating. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I agree with that specific sentence, yes. But—”

“Because, and hear me out, I think we should go ahead and get that part taken care of. Get it out of the way, or else we’re going to be thinking about it for the next month until this whole magazine thing is over.

We both have reasons to see it through to the end, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to want you the entire time. ”

She let out a long, slow exhale. “Same.”

“So that’s a yes, then?” he asked. “I can kiss you? Just the once, for the time being. I promise.”

Her pulse throbbed from her collarbone to her fingertips. She wanted that more than she wanted early access to next year’s Nordstrom Anniversary Sale. “Okay. Yes. Please.”

Then he was moving, coming up against her in three long strides, both hands drifting across her cheeks in a move that was somehow firm and gentle at the same time, and the next thing she knew his open mouth was hot against hers, tipping her head back as a deep groan rumbled from his chest into hers.

It felt like he wanted to climb inside her, and she twisted his shirt in her fist to make it easier for him, to pull him closer.

She buried her other hand in his hair, and he walked her backward until her shoulders hit the wall.

Arching into him, she kissed him deeply, so instantaneously addicted to him that she whimpered when he flattened one palm against the wall and pulled back.

His mouth left hers but didn’t go far, instead moving to rasp into her ear, “Twice? Two times. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Yes to two.” Her hands snaked down his back to grip the ass she’d been dying to investigate. “Maybe three, four tops—”

He kissed her again and dipped down to grip her upper thighs, lifting her, and it was the single hottest thing that had ever happened to her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist as he used his hips to pin her to the wall, his full lips determined and insistent.

She gave herself over to the moment, clinging to his shoulders and moaning when he did something filthy with his tongue.

When she needed a second to breathe and it seemed like he did, too, she tipped her head back.

“So,” she panted. “Is that ... a cucumber in your pants, or ...?”

Brooks did a sort of sharp exhale-laugh thing, and his breath brushed the sensitive skin along her neck, making her shiver as she smiled.

“How do you do that?” he asked, gently sliding her down the front of his body until her feet were back on the ground. His pupils were dilated and his breath came fast. “Turn me on and make me laugh at the same time?”

“It’s a gift.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “God, I can’t believe I got to do that. Part of me has wanted it since the first time you said ‘dicks’ in that coffee shop.”

She slid her hands down to palm his butt again. “And I’m happy to report this ass was worth the hype.”

“Holy shit,” he said gruffly. “You can’t do that.”

“What? This?” She pulled his hips harder against her.

He made a choking noise. “Fuck. Yes.”

“Why not?”

“Because. Even though we decided on thirty-seven kisses before we wait, I don’t want to get carried away. We have to be careful.”

“Careful. Right.” She nodded. “But before we do that, can we keep doing this? Just for a little bit.”

“Good idea.”

He kissed her hard, dipping his tongue into her mouth and turning her into a vessel of pure sensation. He could suggest just about anything right now and she’d be all in, so it was a good thing he’d come to his senses and drawn a line somewhere.

They remained that way for long moments, wrapped up in each other and barely coming up for air.

For a man who’d claimed just a few short months ago to be unfamiliar with the dating scene, he sure knew how to use his mouth.

First kisses could be fumbling and awkward, but there was none of that with Brooks.

Kissing him felt like coming home.

A strange beeping came from somewhere to her right, stopped, then started up again.

She whimpered when he pulled back, the disappointment shining in his eyes indicating he didn’t really want to stop, either. “That’s the hospital.”

“Oh.”

He slowly peeled himself back and walked to the end table, coming back with his phone. He bent down to kiss her forehead and said, “Let me see what they need. Don’t move.”

He took the call in the kitchen, and his serious doctor voice saying all sorts of fancy medical jargon did nothing to cool the embers still smoldering in her bloodstream.

She smoothed her thumb across her lower lip, processing everything that had just happened.

Brooks Martin. Brooks-fucking-Martin just had his hands on her body and his mouth on her mouth and said he couldn’t believe he was touching her. Her , Carly Porter.

Smiling, she flopped onto the couch and pressed her face into a throw pillow, inhaling his spicy scent before kicking her legs and squealing with glee.

A throat cleared behind her and she scrambled to sit up. Brooks stood there, one hand gripping his neck, eyebrows raised.

“That was for high school me,” she explained.

“Ah.”

They just looked at each other for a moment, then he threw a celebratory fist in the air with a deep and rowdy, “Yeeeeah!”

She clapped a hand over her mouth.

He dropped his arm, nonchalant. “That was for present-day me.”

Laughing, she got up and walked toward him. He put his phone down and opened his arms. It was a perfect hug with her cheek against his chest and his against her hair, despite the chuckles of disbelief and exhilaration passing between them.

“Do you have to go in?” she asked, referring to the call.

“No. Not yet, anyway.”

“Good.”

“Can you hang out for a bit?”

“Yeah. I can.”

“I’m glad you came over,” he said, lips in her hair.

“Me too.”