Page 20 of Black Ties and White Lies

I close the doors, turning to face him once again. “I don’t know. I just expected you to be the kind of guy that had a private chef cook for him all the time. It’s hard to imagine you cooking. Wouldn’t that ruin your suit and all?”

He laughs softly, pulling his body from the countertop and closing the distance between us. I hate how my pulse spikes as he gets closer. The problem with Beck is that he’s easily the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on. His personality could use some work, but even with his harsh demeanor, he’s got this magnetism to him that draws me in. I could choose to fight it, or I could let it pull me in. I’m not sure which one would be worse in the end, but I need to keep my hormonesandfeelings in check with this deal.

I’ve already had my heart broken by one Sinclair brother, I’m sure as hell not letting the other anywhere near my freshly mended one.

Beck’s hands press into the matte black refrigerator over my head. He doesn’t touch me, but his presence is looming—dominating—that it actually feels like he’s touching me everywhere. “I do have a private chef that cooks most of my meals. But it isn’t because I don’t enjoy cooking or know how to, it’s more for convenience.”

His breath tickles my skin. My tennis shoes do nothing to give me any kind of height, so with him this close, it brings attention to just how vastly different our heights are. I’m only a few inches over five feet on a good day. He’s got to be at least a foot taller than me, but I’m a terrible judge at that. I know Carter used to brag that he was six feet tall, and Beck definitely has a few inches on him.

He leans in closer, our foreheads almost touching. I want to know what cologne he wears. He smells like bergamot mixed with something else, something sweet—maybe jasmine. Whatever it is, I can’t get enough. I want to bury my face against wherever he sprays it in the morning, to inhale the scent until it’s forever imprinted in my mind.

“You’re quiet for once,” he observes. I don’t tell him the reason I’m quiet is because I’m imagining pressing my face to his neck just to lose myself in his scent. His intoxicating indigo eyes roam my face. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact he’s staring right at my lips.

Does Beckham Sinclair want to kiss me?

Do I want to kiss him?

Our conversation from a few days rings in my mind. He’d told me we’d be kissing sooner rather than later. I’d scoffed at the idea, but with him looking at me like this, I can’t help but wonder what’d happen if we did.

I press my shoulders into the cold metal doors of the fridge, trying to escape him, even if I know it’s no use. “I just couldn’t picture you cooking. Do you wear an apron to keep yourself all nice and clean?”

Beck removes his hands from over my head, but his feet stay planted in the same place. Keeping eye contact with me, he deftly undoes the top button of his button-up. I expect him to stop there, but he doesn’t. Once the top one is undone, he pops the button from the next hole as well. After three buttons are undone, I can see the splatter of his blond chest hair.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, half-panicked as I watch him all too closely. Even as my gaze is focused solely on his fingers as they continue to undo each button, I feel Beck’s gaze watching me intently. “I’m starving. And sorry to disappoint, I have no apron. Can’t get this shirt dirty. So I’ll just have to…” He leaves the rest of what he was going to say up to the imagination as he quickly untucks his shirt and undoes the last button.

And holy hell, seeing Beck stand in his kitchen with an undone button-up and his abs on display might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

I don’t know where to look first. There’s the fire in Beck’s eyes. I swear they burn so brightly with desire that it makes my body feel hot all over. There’s also the ripple of muscles in front of me. I’d barely have to lift my hand and I’d be reminded of what his abs feel like underneath my touch.

When Beck rolls his lips together as he stares at my own mouth, I’m lost in the lust of the moment.

I want to feel him underneath my touch more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

I’m about to act on impulse when he makes the decision for me. He leans in, letting his nose brush against my jawline.

Holy fuck. My breath is mixing with Beck’s breath.

Are we going to kiss? To fuck? God, I want it so bad even after telling him days ago that we could never cross the line.

Right now, I want to say screw the line and have Beck screwme.

“Margo,” he breathes, his hand coming to rest next to my head. I have to steady myself by doing the only logical option, placing my hands against his hard abdomen. As soon as my skin connects with his, I feel his muscles clench underneath my fingertips.

I didn’t know someone could feel so hard and warm and intoxicating.

Maybe he’s right. I’m tempted to beg him to fuck me.

“Yes?” I pant.

Beck leans in even closer, lining his lips right next to my ear. A featherlight kiss is pressed against my cheekbone before he speaks. “I need in the fridge.”

It takes a moment for my brain to process his words, but as soon as it does, it feels like cold water has been thrown on me.

And then I get the hell away from him.

Regret.

It lingers all around me as I watch Margo dart across the kitchen.

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