“Oh, come on. It was a manly moan and you know it,” he flirted, flashing me a bright grin that warmed places other than just my cheeks.
The absence of that feeling in my life might have been the only reason I let my guard fall away. I couldn’t restrain myself anymore. I scooted forward, and as I hoped, Sam slid his arms around my waist, tugging me against his chest.
“Is your boyfriend going to kill me for this?” He nodded to my car only a few yards away.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I whispered as my breathing began to speed.
I shouldn’t tell him.
I was losing my mind.
It was one kiss that probably meant nothing to him.
Maybe that was true, but in the few days since I’d gotten to know Sam, he had begun to mean a whole lot of something to me.
My heart pounded in my chest as I weighed my options.
I can’t risk him telling the whole world about my dirty little bridge secret.
I should just walk away before the headline “Levee Williams is suicidal” paints the front page of nearly every tabloid imaginable.
But, for reasons that could only be explained by the safety I felt when I broke down in Sam’s arms, I announced, “My name’s Levee.”
He tipped his head to the side in surprise. “Really? Levy, like the tax or the pop princess?”
Shit.
“Levee, like the embankment used to prevent the overflow of a river.”
His head snapped back as he barked a laugh. “True story.”
I didn’t quite understand his reaction, but I steeled myself for worse.
Squeezing an arm between us, I pulled my sunglasses off and quietly finished, “And the pop princess.”
His eyes, not surprisingly, flashed wide, but his words were not at all what I’d expected.
Cupping my jaw, his callused thumb rubbed over my cheekbone. “No bruises,” he breathed, visible relief paining his face.
My mouth quirked in confusion. “What?”
Placing his other hand on my cheek, he framed my face. “Your shades—they weren’t to cover bruises.”
“Jesus, Sam. I told you no one was hurting me. I tripped down some stairs.”
“Yeah, but everyone uses that excuse,” he said through an infectious smile.
“I fell off the stage during rehearsals the other night. Some asshole leaked the video. It’s probably trending right about now if you need proof.”
He laughed. “That’s really fucking good news. I was worried about you.”
I was worried about him.
“Well, don’t. I’m fine.”
He angled his head, giving me a side-eye that told me he wasn’t buying it. He was probably right, but I rolled my eyes. Once again, he laughed, but this time, he brushed his lips against mine.
“So, the guy in the car?”
I pressed to my toes and grazed my lips against his again. “Bodyguard.”
Nipping at my mouth, he pulled me even tighter against his firm body. “You should fire him”—kiss—“for letting you go up a bridge every night alone.” Kiss.
I smiled against his lips. “I’d fire him if he followed me.”
“I follow you.” He smirked. Kiss.
“Every celebrity needs a stalker I guess. The good news is I happen to like mine.”
“That definitely makes my job that much easier.” He licked his lips in a way that sent tingles over my body. A soft moan escaped my mouth when his tongue retreated.
“Kiss me,” I whispered.
He stared at me for a moment, his eyes searching mine for something. There was nothing to be found except lust.
“Kiss me,” I repeated.
He all-too-willingly obliged my plea and crushed his mouth to mine. It wasn’t timid or laced with concern like the kiss from the night before. It was deep and filled with indescribable relief.
He was kissing me.
“I’m sorry I taste like smoke,” he murmured against my mouth. “Damn it, I’m ruining the mango.”
I giggled, sliding my hands up his sculpted back. Sam might not have been thick, but taut muscles curved his lean body.