Page 67 of One Touch

“The materials for the back entryway still haven’t arrived.” I mirrored his slow, steady strokes. “I wanted to help.”

He grunted and took a step to the left to give me space. “Fine. But don’t mess it up.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and he smirked, falling into an easy silence as we worked together.

Side by side, each of us was lost in our own thoughts and the steady rhythm of painting the broad backside of the house. From the corner of my eye, I saw the paintbrush in Beckett’s hand start to shake, and when I sneaked a glance, he was fighting back a smile.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

I turned to face him and planted my free hand in a fist on my hip. “Seriously. What is it?”

“You’ve just got something.” He turned to look at me. “Here.”

Without warning, Beckett’s paintbrush swiped across my forehead, and I gasped in surprise.

Oh, it’s on.

On a yelp, I flicked my brush in his direction, splattering droplets of paint on his sexy, grumpy face. Heat flamed in his eyes, and I realized I was totally fucked.

I screamed again and ran into the open yard, paintbrush still in hand and flying above my head like an Olympic torch.

Beckett chased me around the yard, playfully yelling and gaining ground with every one of his long strides. As I ran, I flung my arm, splattering paint behind me with abandon, laughing and dodging as he came for me. Members of his crew stared and smiled as they continued working on the house and we ran circles through the yard like children.

“No!” I shrieked as he effortlessly closed the distance between us.

His muscular arms wrapped around my waist, trapping my hands at my sides. “That’s it. You messed up, Katie-girl.”

“You started it!” I shouted through laughter. Heat bloomed in my stomach at the new, unexpected nickname.

With one arm still banded around my middle, Beckett reached up and rubbed his face on me, transferring and smearing the splatters of paint from his face to mine.

Together we tumbled to the ground, collapsing on the soft grass.

The sun rode high in the sky, and my heart raced as our laughter filled the air. Panting and laughing, I turned my head to Beckett.

His eyes crinkled, and a deep laugh rumbled from him as his chest rose and fell with each breathless pant.

I leaned over and kissed the side of his face, unable to hold back anymore.

He responded eagerly, rolling to loom over me and pull me close.

The tension between us melted away, and a warm, fuzzy feeling spread throughout my body. Beckett peered down at me, his eyes moving over the soft lines of my face.

He smelled like soap and leather—a scent I found myself missing when he wasn’t around. I pulled the comforting smell deep into my lungs.

From overhead, we heard a low, grumpy bawk.

“What the hell is that?” Beckett looked over my head and out into the yard.

I lifted my chin. Though upside down, I spotted Bartleby Beakface only feet away, looking annoyed and ready to attack.

“Don’t. Move.” Beckett’s tone was intense and measured. He slowly started to lift himself off me, his eyes never leaving the rooster.

Crouched, Beckett raised a palm in surrender and slowly lifted himself off the ground. He took a step forward, attempting to scare the rooster away, but Bartleby was undeterred.

As if it were his war cry, the rooster let out a loud crowing.

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