Get Stuffed

I put the first box on the floor in the dining room. My uncle wants that space to be the primary office area of the house, so all the boxes will go there for now. We agreed that we’d find a better set-up once we were both settled into the house.

Trudging out to the car again, I decide that I’m going to try to get the boxes into the house in as few trips as possible. Even if that means nearly breaking my back by carrying multiple boxes. I stack three on top of each other. It’s a stretch, but these are the lightest ones, and no one’s here to see me if I drop them.

I have to use my butt to open the door—no hands—and I nearly trip over the threshold. I steady myself and make a mental note to only bring two next time. I’m halfway to the dining room when I hear a sound, like someone else is in the house.

“Hello?” I can’t see over the boxes, but I’m almost there. But as I turn the corner I collide with something and I hear a grunt of pain. I stumble back, keeping my grip on the boxes even as I blurt out an apology. “I am so sorry! I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

The mystery person grabs the top box off my pile and suddenly the other two boxes go crashing to the floor, because standing in front of me is Andrew Finch. And he’s smiling.

3

I think that my mouth is on the floor along with the boxes. “What are you doing here?”

“The same thing that you’re doing here.” He takes the box he rescued into the dining room and adds, “I’m living here for the next couple of months. Roger didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I say, picking up a sheaf of papers that spilled from one of my boxes. “My uncle forgot to mention that detail.”

“I’m not surprised.” I pile my two boxes on top of the rest. “Did you get all these into your car by yourself?”

“Yeah.”

He scoffs, “I’m sure there are plenty of guys at the office that could have been persuaded to help you.”

I feel myself bristle. “I’m not made of glass, it’s just boxes.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, mouth sliding into a smile. “You’re perfectly capable of carrying boxes. But in case you haven’t noticed, it’s hot as hell outside, and you didn’t need to do it all yourself.”

“It was really fine.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure it was. Why don’t you get some water and then grab your suitcase? I’ll take care of the rest of the boxes.”

“Mr. Finch, you really don’t have to—”

He cuts me off. “First, please don’t ever call me Mr. Finch. It makes me feel like a fossil. Second, you already carried all those file boxes once. I can take it from here.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he gives me a look and I change my mind about finishing the thought. Instead I say, “What should I call you, then?”

“Andrew is fine.” He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it over one of the dining room chairs.

I wander into the kitchen and poke around in the cupboards looking for a glass. I find one and get some ice and water, and then I go back and get another glass for when Andrew is finished with the unloading. It’s the least I can do.

He’s already back with another box, and I try not to stare. It’s not like he’s naked, but that shirt fits really well and he definitely fills it out. He doesn’t even hesitate before going out for another box, and I follow him. I grab my stuff from the back seat of my car, and I hear his voice behind me. “There are a few empty rooms upstairs. You can choose whichever one you like.”

“Thanks,” I say, and I make a beeline for the stairs.

No, Naomi, you will not think about the fact that you’re alone in this gorgeous house with your current crush. You will think about that later. Alone. After dark. Under the covers.

I find a corner room that overlooks the garden, and immediately know it’s the one I want. A queen size bed with crisp blue linens dominates the room, with a desk and a reading chair tucked along one wall and an actual armoire and vanity on the other. I drop my suitcase by the armoire and head back downstairs.

The pile of boxes in the dining room is growing, and Andrew walks by with another as I come down. “Are you sure that you don’t need any help?”

“Very sure,” he says, disappearing out the door again.

I take a sip of the water. It feels weird just letting him do all the work. I mean, he is technically my boss. But he also volunteered.

The more I watch him go in and out, the more I’m glad I’m standing in the kitchen. Mostly because it’s cool and not at all because Andrew is sweating through his shirt and making it easier to see even more of him.

Finally, he comes through the door and says, “This is the last.” He puts the box down with a sigh.

I push his glass of water across the counter toward him. “Here.”

He grins, tugging at the open collar of his button down shirt and exposing just a flash of that smooth, perfect chest. “Thank you. Did I mention it’s hot as hell outside?”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I say, smiling into my glass.

“Definitely.” He unbuttons his shirt and takes it off before reaching for the glass, and even though I know I shouldn’t stare at him, I can’t look away. The v-neck T-shirt he’s still wearing is soaked through, and I can see everything. If there were wet T-shirt contests for men, he would win. Hands down. The man is cut like a diamond. I can count his abs through the shirt, and my eyes drift down to where it’s ridden up and showing skin that’s perfectly tan.

Suddenly I realize that I’m staring, and he knows it too, because he’s staring at me. He’s not smiling anymore. Instead he looks…curious. I feel myself blush from head to toe. Yes, I swear even my toes are flushed at the thought of what that body could do to me. My imaginings haven’t been doing him justice. I’ll need an upgrade.

I clear my throat and say, “I should go unpack, since we’ll be here for awhile.”

I don’t actually run, but it feels like it. I retreat into my pretty room, and attempt to take a breath. Cool down. I get my suitcase open and start sorting through the mess that I made this morning when I was late. I jump at the sound of a floorboard behind me, and turn to see Andrew at the door. He walks over to where I am, and I can feel his eyes on me. I try not to look, because if I look again I’ll stare, and the staring will lead to wanting. Instead, I start to talk.

“I know, this is totally a mess. I got really distracted this morning by this song, and then I ended up not having much time to pack.” I yank the suitcase over to the wall next to the armoire, and Andrew follows me. “Now I’ll have to organize everything. Re-fold, re-hang, re-wash, whatever. I’m not usually this disorganized.” I find my bag of toiletries in the wreckage of my s

uitcase and grab it. I turn to go and put it in the bathroom, and Andrew is there. “I should put this away,” I blurt, holding up the toiletries.

He stretches out his arms on either side of me, blocking the doorway with his perfect body. “It’s not a crime to look, Naomi.”

My eyes snap to his, really looking at them for the first time since we bumped into each other in the hallway. “I wasn’t.”

His mouth quirks up. “You were. I don’t mind. If I didn’t have other things on my mind I’d let you look at me all day.”

“What other things?” My mouth has gone entirely dry, and I find it hard to speak. He’s so close, and every nerve in my body is begging to find out what it would be like to have him touch me.

He leans forward until our faces are almost touching. “How much I want you. I told you in the copy room I would think about you. I did.”

Oh god. My heart is beating so fast now, I swear I can hear it pounding. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. I think I make some sort of sound though, because he smiles again. “What was that?”

“It’s not real. Not true, I mean. You have no reason to think about me.”

Our faces are still close, and his cheek presses against mine as his lips brush my ear. “I promise that when I am with you I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And I want you.”

His words make me shiver. He takes a step back and peels his T-shirt over his head, tossing it aside. I let myself look at him. Like he said, it’s not a crime. His body reminds me of a surfer’s, long and lean with unexpected muscles and definition, all leading my eyes down to his belt. His face is all mischief as he moves back toward me. “Now that you’ve finally seen me without a shirt on, don’t you want to see the rest of me?”

The familiar feeling of my blush hits, and I don’t have time to answer because he kisses me. His lips aren’t on my mouth by next to it, barely a press against my skin. The sensation travels across me and leaves goosebumps in its wake.