He does.
“You keep your paws away from my…chakra.”
I step back and turn around, grabbing my purse that I discarded on the floor. “One of these days, Sammy, I’m going to get ahold of your…chakra, and make you feel so good, you’ll never want me to stop having my hands on your…chakra.” Grinning inwardly to myself, I turn back around to face him. His eyes, however, are cast downward.
Where my ass was.
Knowing he was just busted ogling my behind, he quickly makes his way to the flower arrangement we had moved and rights it. It actually takes him several minutes as he steps back and inspects the angles of the flowers multiple times to ensure it’s displayed properly, which I find comical, considering tomorrow he’s moving them all to the church for the funeral service. “You know, no one is going to see that bad boy, right? Live on the edge. Let it be out of place for the night.”
He glances over his shoulder, giving me his best “zip it, Freedom” look before turning back around and adjusting the display once more. This time, he crouches down, looking at it from the floor angle. Why? No freaking clue.
My eyes automatically start to scan his physique. Samuel isn’t as muscular as his younger brother, Jensen, who works outside all day, every day, but you can still tell he works out. His arms hold just enough definition to them without screaming gym rat, and his ass is firm, framed in a pair of expensive trousers. Once, I even caught sight of him shirtless. His nephew, Max, finally talked him into playing in the sprinkler at one of their summer gatherings. He strolled out of the house as uncomfortable as could be, wearing a pair of his brother’s swim trunks hanging dangerously low on his narrow hips. I did things to myself later that night when I was alone a lady never speaks of in public.
Since I’m no lady, you should know I got myself off twice with images of a wet Samuel standing in the middle of the yard, pretending to have fun with his nephew in the sprinkler. Oh, I think he had fun, in the only way he knows how. Even though he stood paralyzed while Max ran repeatedly through the water, he enjoyed watching his nephew play.
As I finish my perusal of his body, that’s when I notice something…off. This man wears suits for a living and is always so well put together. I’m even willing to place a bet on the fact his underwear probably matches his tie. No, wait. I take that back. Samuel is definitely a tighty-whities guy. His dress shoes probably cost more than my entire outfit, and I know for a fact he gets monthly manicures because my bestie told me. That’s why when my eyes reach his feet, I know something is much out of character for Mr. Samuel Grayson.
I bust out laughing, which causes him to look over his shoulder from his crouched position. “Oh my God, Sammy, I knew you loved my gift!” I exclaim, my eyes riveted to the completely inappropriate trouser socks I found online for Samuel’s birthday this past summer.
Realization sets in, causing him to stand and spin around. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffs, embarrassment marring his handsome features.
Of course, I can’t let this go, which is why I fling myself onto the floor at his feet, pull up his pant legs to get a good look at what he’s wearing, not even caring my long, flowy skirt is bunched up around my thighs. “Let me see!” I hang on for dear life to his legs as he tries to shake me off like a dog trying to hump his leg.
“Get off me,” he grumbles, trying to buck me from his body, but I’m part spider monkey and there’s no way I’m letting go of his legs without seeing the goods he’s trying to hide first.
Suddenly, though, he stops moving. I stop moving. I look up and realize our position would definitely border on scandalous if the right individual were to pop their head in this room. My face is there—right there—and he knows exactly how close I am to his pool stick because it starts to grow inches from my face.
“You’re wearing my socks.” The words come out raspy and needy as my eyes connect with his.
He swallows hard but maintains eye contact. “It was laundry day and I didn’t have a chance to stop by the dry cleaners to pick up my clothes.”
“You dry clean your socks?” I ask, glancing back down at the multiple sex positions socks he’s wearing beneath his fancy suit. Yes, you heard me right. Sex position socks. I thought they were hilarious when I found them online, knowing he’d hate everything about them. So I bought them for his birthday.
“Doesn’t everyone dry clean their socks?” he asks, incredulously.
I shrug. “I don’t wear socks,” glancing down at my well-worn brown sandals with my painted toes on full display. He does the same, his eyes lingering a few extra seconds on my hot pink toes. Looking from his face to his socks, I can’t help but smile wide and say, “You love me.”
Now he rolls his eyes dramatically. “I do not love you,” he jeers as he reaches down and helps me stand, brushing off his pant legs as if I left some sort of hippie-inspired, tree-hugging dust behind.
“You’re wearing my sex socks. That means you love me.”
“Christ, Freedom, why must you be difficult about everything?” he asks almost absently, rubbing his right temple with his thumb.
“Just admit it and I’ll leave you alone,” I tell him, grabbing my purse I again dropped
