Page 146 of Full Mountie

“It can wait.”

“It can wait isn’t the same as nothing.”

“Right.”

“Beth.” I growl a warning, and she slips past me, heading for our bedroom.

Our room. When had I started thinking about it like that?

I follow her and lean against the door as she strips down. Maybe we should fuck. Hard and fast. I’d bend her over the bed and stroke between her legs until she was wet for me, and then I’d bottom out. Fill her up and make her forget whatever the not-nothing-shit-that-can-wait.

She pulls on shorts and a tank top that apparently live in my dresser.

I head to the kitchen and put on the kettle. I feel like tea.

Ten minutes later, I’ve made tea that I’m not drinking, and she’s in the living room holding a book she’s not really reading.

Fantastic.

The front door opens and in strides Hugh, carrying takeout.

Beth leaps up and gets in front of him.

He gives her a lazy grin. “What’s going on? Did you start talking before I got here?”

The tension in my brain snaps. “You talked about this already together, but she can’t bring it up until you’re here?”

“Whoa.” He sets down the takeout bag and reaches for me. “Come on, that’s uncalled for.”

“No.” I jerk away from him and grab my keys. “I’m not ready for whatever emotional intervention you two have planned.”

“Lachlan!” Beth sounds shocked, but really, did I not project clearly that I wasn’t up for this?

Fuck.

I mumble something about needing space—and no, the irony isn’t lost on me, even as I see red—and I head outside.

I’d parked on the street so Beth could have the garage. Maybe deep down I’d known I’d want to be able to escape.

Fuck.

I jump in my car and just start driving.

This is not how I react, ever. Storming out is impulsive. And stupid when you do it from your own house, and realize you’ve got no idea where to go…or who to talk to about an unorthodox love life.

Gavin’s not an option. Our professional relationship has already been on rocky ground..

If he gets even the slightest whiff I’ve upset Beth, I can kiss my career goodbye. Probably worse than that, even.

Besides, he’s freshly married and the last thing he needs is his lovelorn chief of security on his doorstep intruding on marital bliss.

I briefly consider Tate. Sure, he’s a total player and probably the least qualified person I know to give relationship advice. But he’s kinky, and not committed to the over-romanticized notion of Team Beth-and-Lachlan. Or if I fuck this up, Team Beth-and-Screw-Lachlan. Then I remember he’s away.

After aimlessly driving Ottawa’s streets, I find myself at Max and Violet’s.

It’s twilight and their lights are on, so I assume someone is home and awake, but can’t seem to get my ass out of the car.

I should leave. Dropping by unannounced is rude.

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