Fake (West Hollywood #1) -Kylie Scott Page 0,82

their damage, but still. The place is all but empty. A hollow shell. Not a home.

“Maybe we should have gone out,” he says.

“It’s fine.”

He lifts himself up onto the kitchen counter and looks down at me, swinging his legs like a child. “You know, you keep saying the word ‘fine.’ But I can basically see the tic in your eye from my lack of a sofa and ottoman.”

I am not amused.

“An armoire and a side table too, maybe. A couple of lamps for some mood lighting.” He shrugs off his leather jacket. The short sleeves of his gray tee reveal even more ink along with the ripple of a whole lot of lean muscles. I don’t let my gaze linger on the gnarled and jagged pink scar on his upper arm. And meanwhile there’s a gleam in Leif’s amber eyes, one that suggests he’s enjoying himself way too much. “Don’t even get me started on the lack of suitable glassware and drinks coasters. Probably for the best that I don’t have any furniture or we’d be leaving water marks everywhere. I don’t even have a linen napkin to my name. I’m really not prepared for guests at all, am I?”

“You’re teasing me.”

“You’re judging me.”

Shit. “I don’t mean to,” I say, subdued. Horrified at being called out.

Coming here was such a bad idea. He’s a veritable stranger and we have nothing in common. Nothing good, at any rate. Then there’s the part where I’ve been standing for too long. I hate the lingering weakness. My therapist says feelings of frustration and anger are to be expected. The accident has changed me. But mostly I’d just like to stop falling on my ass sometime soon.

“Come here,” he says, jumping down with ease.

“What?”

“I’m going to lift you up onto the counter so you can get off your feet.”

I just look at him.

“You need to sit, don’t you? That’s what the panicky face and the shakes mean. Believe me, I know it all too well, having recently spent some time in rehab myself with the arm.”

“Yes,” I reluctantly admit.

He makes a come-hither motion with his hands. “It’s okay, Anna. I’m actually sorry I don’t have a sofa for you to sit on. May I help you?”

My options aren’t great. The floor, the mattress, or this counter. And there’s no way I can get up there on my own. “Thank you. Yes.”

He’s standing so close. The man must be a bit over six feet tall because I barely come up to his nose. Strong hands grip my waist and my breasts brush against his chest on the way up. Accidental, as evidenced by the slight widening of his eyes. As if he’s never been up close to a bosom before. Please. And he smells ridiculously good. Clean, warm male sweat with a hint of spice. It verges on nirvana for a woman who hasn’t had sex in almost a year. Not to mention the recognition that I am in fact a real live breathing person, with feminine wiles. The sensation that he’s actually seeing me when I’ve felt nonexistent for so long is a heady thing. I’ve been a patient, a problem, everything but a strong, capable woman with a beating heart with wants and needs.

“Thanks,” I say again, a little breathless this time.

“No problem.” The way he stops and studies my face is weird. It’s probably because I’m being weird. But finally, the odd moment ends, and he takes a step back. “Nice dress.”

“Thank you.”

“Tell me about yourself.”

I counter with, “Nichelle said you visited me every night for a while in the hospital.”

He sighs and crosses his arms. “I read to you at night for a few weeks. It’s not a big deal.”

“It kind of is. That was very sweet of you.”

“Anna—”

“Don’t,” I say, harder than I mean to. “Don’t diminish it. That you took the time to sit with me means a lot.”

“Yeah. Well.” He scratches his head. “Truth is, you were lousy company.”

I bark out a surprised laugh. Then slap a hand over my mouth, because what an unholy loud noise.

Leif smiles behind his can of beer. “So come on, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Start with the basics.” He leans against the wall, one of his big-ass boots tapping out a beat in the silence. “Or surprise me. Whatever.”

“Twenty-six. I was in hospitality, but that’s all on hold.” I shrug. “Grew up in Cape Elizabeth.”

“Fancy neighborhood.”

“If you say so. Only child. Went to college in New Hampshire.” And