Page 53 of Teach Me to Laugh

“Go run around a tree. That will get your blood flowing too.”

“This is so much more fun.”

The only thing between us now was the bed. When Beckett made a move to come around the foot, I dove onto the mattress, coming to my knees to crawl in a desperate attempt to clear myself from his tickling fingers when they clamped around my ankle, pulling me back down the mattress.

I howled, “Nooo!”

“Yes,” the bed dipped beneath his weight as he threw his body down beside me, flipping me onto my back, and tossing a leg over my belly to hold me in place. “Definitely yes,” his fingers found my sides and that’s when it happened—I laughed.

Beckett’s fingers quit moving and our bodies stilled as the echo of the sound lingered between us. I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed like this, without any inhibition at all. It felt—well, it felt wonderful.

When the shock of the sound wore off both of us, Beckett tipped his head down, and whispered, “Do it again,”

“I—can’t.” You couldn’t command a person to laugh. It didn’t work like that.

Beckett had other ideas, though. I knew this when I felt his fingers begin moving at my sides again. And again, the sound of my laughter spilled from between my lips.

It was beautiful and revealing and raw. I felt naked and vulnerable and safe beneath this brilliant man who unveiled the beauty I’d been hiding for years deep beneath my surface.

I felt clean . . .

And then I felt the tears. I was so overloaded with happiness I couldn’t take it, and it spilled from my eyes in salty liquid that streamed over my temples and into my hair. My heart danced and my soul sang.

And then Beckett dipped his head, and he kissed me.

His lips on mine were soft and warm and hesitant. There was a moment when instinct demanded I pull away, but only a moment. My heart took over from there as I pressed my mouthagainst his, opening to him, tasting, and being tasted. His hands on my sides stopped tickling, and instead held me close. His kiss deepened as I opened my mouth to him, a low groan rumbling from the deep of his throat as he pushed his body closer to mine, pressing my back deeper into the bed. It was on pure instinct that I lifted one leg, shifting into his body in a wordless plea for more of him.

And that’s when he tore his mouth from mine, lifting his head to look into my eyes. His eyes were hooded and his lips were red. We were both breathing hard and fast. And the longer he looked down at me, the more I began to feel uncertain. Afraid. Helpless.

“Don’t pull away,” he whispered pleadingly. “We’ll take this slow, beautiful. We’ll take us slow.”

“Us?”

“Oh yeah, baby. Us.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re mine and I’m yours. It means we’re lighting this spark that’s been between us since day one, on fire, yeah?”

Goodness, I didn’t know about that. “Beckett,”

“Say yeah, baby.” He dropped his forehead gently to mine, inhaling hope and—me. “Please, say yeah.”

The word was small and hesitant, but I couldn’t deny the fact that it sounded. “Yeah.”

I lay awake in the bed beside Beckett staring into the flames dancing over the logs Beckett had set before climbing into bed beside me. I knew he wasn’t asleep. I was also pretty sure he knew I wasn’t asleep. Neither of us had spoken since we pulled the sheet up over our bodies. I was in my totally unsexy jammies. I’d packed them knowing I’d be sharing a room with Beckett, not wanting to get any blood flowing. Now, I was regretting that decision. The purple fleece was killer hot. Lounging around the house in these jammies and wearing them beneath a thick winter duvet were two entirely different things.

I huffed, rolling onto my back, pushing the duvet down another inch or two.

“Hot?”

“Yeah,” See? I knew he wasn’t asleep.

“Did you pack any other pajamas?”

“No,” I huffed again, amending. “None that aren’t fleece.”

He chuckled. “For some reason that doesn’t surprise me.”

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