Page 138 of Perfect Pitch

I squeeze his fingers. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being honest.”

“I’ll always be honest with you.” He lifts my fingers and lays a kiss on my palm.

I shift so I can share the lounger with him. Mitch takes the invitation, stretching out next to me. I brush my fingers over his tattoo, over the Isaiah Fox quote scripted so carefully over his pectoral. “I’d stand for you.”

He lifts his hand and presses his palm there. He visibly shudders. “There were times when I wondered if a woman like you existed.”

“And just think? I’m an—‍”

He leans over, his dark hair obliterating the light. Pressing his lips to mine, he murmurs against my lips, “Don’t, baby. You know in your heart it’s not true.”

I lean my head against Mitch’s chest, letting the rise and fall of his upper body fill the ravine in my heart carved out by my grandfather. Soon, I’m lulled to sleep in the place I was meant to be with the man I was meant to be with.

* * *

I’m not certain how much time passes when Mitch lifts me in his arms high against his chest. I groan. “Why are we getting up?”

His lips curve into the bend of my shoulder as he carries me through the house. House? Shit. I almost clock him as my head snaps upward. In a low voice I ask, “How long was I out?”

“Not too long. I just want to get you into bed before I find my own rack.”

I frown as he bounds up the stairs managing my weight as if it’s nothing. “You could stay.”

His body shakes. “And that will go over well with your mother, Beats. How about we have—I don’t know—a conversation before I begin spending the night?”

“Hmm, probably a good idea. Except one thing.”

He leans over me and asks, “What’s that?”

“I don’t want to sleep without you. Not anymore.” I admit to him what’s in my heart.

“And you won’t.” I open my arms to welcome him into my bed when he dashes my hopes. “When we get back to New York.”

That’s when he places a swift kiss on my lips and stalks from my room.

Amid all the misery that floods through my mind, love for Mitch surges into my heart.

* * *

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

DJ Kensington was supposed to play at Redemption tonight, but it was announced she was called home for a family emergency which was confirmed by her legal rep, Carys Burke-Lennan, LLF. “Kensington looks forward to returning to the booth as soon as possible. She thanks you all for your good wishes as her family deals with this difficult time.”

—StellaNova

“They had to do a surgical repair of the valve due to stenosis,” Paige announces after she pulls a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator.

Beckett drags his eyes away from her slowly. Too slowly for a man who’s not hooked by the woman. Then again, I know what falling for a Kensington female is like. They’re impossible to get out of your system. Beckett’s natural Texan accent is more prevalent when he drawls, “Your brains have always been one of the sexiest things about you, Paige, but right now, I need you to stop speaking Pig Latin. Can you translate what that means, please?”

Before she can answer, Austyn bemoans, “The things I always wondered about my parents, and now I’m not so sure I really want to know.”

I’m silent against the wall as Paige fills the glasses. “You seriously wondered what I used to lure your father to me? This one leaves me stumped, Austyn. Should I feel offended or flattered? I assume since we do look alike it wasn’t about looks since you basically see my face when you look in the mirror.”

“No. It was more general than that—you know, sex in general. But that’s before I knew who my father was. Now that I actually know, it’s creeping me out a bit. I had friends who had your poster in their room. Seriously gross.” She scrunches her nose in Beckett’s direction.

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