Page 65 of Wrong Score

Before I can answer, another call flashes across my screen. It’s a Vancouver number and for all I know, it could be the hotel calling about moving my room or a leak in the bathroom. “Hey, can I call you back? I’ve got another call coming in.”

She lets out an annoyed sister sigh. “Fine. But I’m you to that weekend!”

“Great, I can’t wait.”

I click over to the new call, hoping it’s no bad news about my hotel reservation for the flight tomorrow. “Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Summers. This is Harper’s assistant from Harbor Art Collective,” a cheery male’s voice says on the other end. “I just wanted to double-check the shipping address for the painting Mr. Townsend purchased for you.”

“The painting he purchased for me?” I ask, replaying the entire evening in my head, trying to remember a time when Bex would have purchased a painting–and for me no less.

“That’s right. The Effervescent Embrace. It turns out that the collector who originally purchased the painting is a good friend of the artist and agreed to Mr. Townsend’s extravagant offer of triple the purchase price. We’ll have it shipped directly to your home as soon as we process the transaction.”

I’m caught out at the thought of Bex paying that much money. “I’m sorry, did you just say triple?”

“Yes, but as I understand it, the collectors are only keeping their original purchase price and are donating the rest to a cause that they say Townsend is a big contributor to. A Kids With Cancer fund. I guess they were at the gala this year and are big Hawkeyes fans. They did say they are keeping the box seats though.”

I just about swallow my tongue at the thought of what Bex just did for me.

“Ma’am, are you still there?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, clearing my throat, “I’m here.”

Harper’s assistant lists off my address and I barely hear the address. Only enough to confirm and then he thanks me and hangs up the phone.

Bex bought the painting. For me.

I knew tonight had felt different, that there was something between us that wasn’t just friendly, wasn’t just casual, but this? This is beyond anything I expected.

The second the call ends, I toss my phone on the bed and bolt for the door, needing to confront him about this. I make my way down the hall to his room and knock, my pulse hammering as I wait. It only takes a moment before the door opens, and there he is—looking a little surprised to see me standing here, especially at this hour.

“Summers?” His voice is soft, cautious.

I take a breath, but it does nothing to steady me. “You bought that painting for me?”

A flicker of surprise flashes across his face. “How did you know that?”

“They called me asking to confirm my address. I don’t understand.”

He opens the door to his hotel room to allow me to enter. I take quick steps with so many questions on my mind. So many that my brain feels cloudy and disorganized. I never feel like this.

“Why?” I turn around as he shuts the door behind me. “Why would you do that, Bex? It’s more than I’ll make over the next four years working forThe Seattle Sunrise. And that’s with a promotion.”

He turns to me running a hand over his jaw, clearly searching for the right words. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost vulnerable. “Because the moment I saw you light up looking at that painting, I knew I’d do anything to make you smile like that again. Even if you never smile at me that way. I’m tired of bringing you pain, I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to make you happy.”

I don’t know if he understands the effect of his words, but they hit me deep. Without thinking, I cross the small space between us and throw my arms around his neck, pressing my mouth to his in a fierce, grateful kiss.

His arms wrap around me instantly, pulling me closer, and I feel myself being lifted as he tightens his hold around my waist. My fingers dig into his hair, and I can’t get close enough—I need him, need all of him. It’s as if something’s snapped, something we’ve both held back for far too long, and there’s no going back.

He carries me to the bed, his lips moving over mine in a way that steals every coherent thought. We tumble onto the sheets together, his body covering me as he begins stripping away every barrier between us, piece by piece. I gasp when his hands reach my skin, his touch setting me on fire and while also soothes the burn. My shirt, his pants, the rush of hands and heat, all of it discarded in our frantic need to be closer.

When there’s nothing left between us, I run my hands over his bare shoulders, savoring the solid strength of him, how he feels above me, strong and steady, as if he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. He pauses, his breath coming hard, his gaze fixed on me, searching, as if needing my permission to continue.

“You make me happy,” I breathe, answering his unspoken question, pulling him to me, “It’s only you that I want.”

With a growl that sends a thrill down my spine, he moves against me, and I feel every inch of him, feel how he holds nothing back now. This is real, raw, a connection I can’t deny, and I realize at this moment that I don’t want to. I let go, giving in to everything I feel, every ounce of passion and need I’ve been holding back.

Our rhythm builds, the tension between us igniting into something almost desperate. And when we finally shatter together, his name is on my lips, and I know, deep down, we were meant to find each other.

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