Page 40 of Inked Obsession

I quickly made my way to the door and opened it to see Beckett standing there in stone-gray slacks and a black button-down, open at the neck. He had rolled up his sleeves so his forearms were bare, the ink peeking out, and I swallowed hard.

Why had I never noticed his forearms before? And, honestly, why was I noticing them now? I shouldn’t be. I couldn’t be.

Why was I looking at Beckett like this? I’d lost my husband a year ago, and I was ready to date. Beckett wouldn’t be that person. He couldn’t be.

And yet, something in the back of my mind told me that I was wrong.

Or maybe it was just thatthiswas wrong.

“You look great,” he said after he cleared his throat. I licked my lips, grateful I was wearing matte lipstick that wouldn’t smear, and then wondered why it mattered.

This was Beckett. My best friend’s brother.

Nothing more. But nothing less either.

“Are we walking over there?” I asked as he moved out of the way so I could close the door behind me. “Oh, and you look great.” I stumbled over the words, feeling awkward. Why was this so weird?

“It’s a couple of blocks down.” He looked at my feet. “Can you make it?”

“Maybe we can take a cab back.” I wasn’t great in heels after a few hours, even if they looked wonderful on my feet.

“The hotel has a car service. It’s free.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course, it is. This is so not how I normally live. This place is so classy.”

“And you think I do live like this? I’m not even wearing a suit jacket.”

I did my best not to rake my gaze over his body. That would be wrong. Oh, so wrong. “I looked it up, you don’t need one. It would probably make you feel out of place if you wore one.”

“I feel out of placenotwearing a suit jacket when I’m walking through the lobby here,” he said dryly.

“True. You think it matters that I’m wearing discount heels?”

“Your legs look fucking amazing in those heels. I think you’re fine.” He paused as we stood by the elevator and then winced. “Should I not have said that?”

“You know what? I just…I like it. So, keep saying it. You don’t have to apologize.” And I could totally ignore the little fluttery sensation that kept popping up every time he mentioned something about me. I was losing my mind, but I was okay with that.

“You like it?” he asked, his voice soft.

I swallowed hard and looked at his lips, then told myself that I was going to hell. “I don’t mind being flattered.”

His gaze darkened, and I knew it had to be the lighting. Nothing more. “I guess we can make sure that you’re flattered tonight.”

“Oh,” I whispered.

The chime to the elevator dinged, and we looked inside at the nearly full cab. People moved out of the way, and we made our way in, a large man standing between us.

That was good. We would let the large, sweaty man in a suit coat of all things stand between us so I could get my bearings.

We made our way out and ordered a car service to take us to the restaurant. It was slightly overcast outside, a storm coming in. That was the beach for you, you never knew when a storm would show up.

We sat in the back seat, talking about home and Archer and Paige’s antics—nothing important.

Beckett didn’t compliment my legs again, but I did notice how his gaze traveled over them and took in the way I crossed my ankles.

Or maybe I was just seeing things I wanted to see. Did I want to see them?

I really needed a drink. Not that adding alcohol to the situation would help.

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