Page 38 of A Not So Merry Rescue
“Didn’t realize we were at this stage of getting to know each other.” I stall, deciding how truthful to be.
“Yes or no, Willa.” His heated gaze bores into me, friction palpitating between us. A sizzle scorching, hot enough to burn if I get too close to him. Good thing I’m keeping my distance. Even if it’s a metaphorical burn.
“Ye-yes,” I stutter.
He pinches his nose, suspecting a different answer maybe. “More than one?”
“Yes,” I state with more certainty, still trying to decipher his angle. “You?”
“A plethora.”
A chortle leaps out. “Not sure this is the time to prove your fixation with that word.”
“Why?” He steps closer, crowding my personal space. He does this often, too. It should bother me more than it does.
“You’ve had aplethoraof one-night stands?” He nods. “More than the average guy? An abundance of them? If your goal is to add me to your list, you’re not selling yourself so well.”
Honestly, I hadn’t planned to say that so boldly.
Now it’s his turn to be unsuspecting of my comment. He brushes his hand through his hair, causing a few of the front ends to stick up. Even with mussed hair, the guy is smoking hot.
He eliminates the tiny distance between us. “Is that so, Willafred?”
My eyes snap shut with his use of my full name, my lady bits calling for a ceasefire of surrender, campaigning for an end to the drought I’ve been in for two years.
His finger snakes under my chin, lifting gently. “Open those pretty eyes.” Like earlier, it’s a command. Unlike earlier, sexual undertones fill it. Like I’m not already hot and bothered.
My eyes flutter open, and an aroused Beckett fills my vision. I wish I weren’t so easily attracted to him. It would be easier if he were some troll, someone I didn’t visualize naked while sleeping in his bed. A hideous man who wouldn’t dare do wicked things to me.
“Have you changed your mind about me?”
“No.” The word breaches my mouth without thinking.
Because I haven’t. His past doesn’t change our magnetism. It doesn’t change the depths of how much I want him. If there’s no one else presently, I see no reason to keep myself off his list.
A timer dings, breaking the sexual hold he has over me.
“Shit. Dinner.” He rushes to the stove, moving the pan from the hot burner to a cool one. “We’ll pick this up after dinner, yeah?”
“We’d better. Now you have time to compose a well-thought-out response, a plan to get me into your bed.”
“Unlike the last two nights?” he counters.
Ah, good point. That is where I’ve been sleeping and planned to be tonight, too. Guess he doesn’t have to do much work.
I’m a blank slate about how to respond. Instead, I open the lower cabinet where he got the pan from and heave out a pot for boiling water. While the water fills, I sense Beckett watching me, waiting for a comeback. The longer I don’t answer, the better my response has to be. Nothing like adding more pressure.
When a significant amount of time has passed and I’ve still said nothing, I sigh. “Accurate,” I admit in defeat.
He shakes his head. “I expected more, Willa. A quip, a thesaurus word, something other than ‘accurate.’” He changes his voice on the last word, but it sounds nothing like me.
“Sexual tension and coherent thoughts don’t mingle.”
“I see. And there’s more of the former right now?” he astutely surmises.
“Lots. One might say a plethora.” My brain kicks into gear, and it sets him in motion.
Beckett dashes to where I’m standing, and using one swoopof his muscular arm, he crushes me against him. Our mouths crash together, and fireworks erupt. I feel the kiss everywhere, every nerve ending tingling. When his tongue invades—no other word could describe the action—my mouth, my knees weaken, and I crumble. Thank goodness for his arm under my ass holding me up. I steady myself by wrapping my arms around his waist, clasping my hands together, holding on for dear life.
