Page 50 of One Touch

“With me.” He repeated the words softly, as though he couldn’t believe I would be pleased with how perfectly aggressive and in control he was.

What he didn’t realize was that he had unlocked some deep part of me, and I craved more. When he was in control, I didn’t have to think or make decisions or worry.

“In fact,” I said, scooting closer, our mouths only centimeters apart, “I’m more than happy to mouth off to you again, just so you can put me in my place.”

Beckett’s eyes narrowed as he lowered his chin. “I knew you were a brat.” He nipped my lower lip and kissed me.

I inched forward, sliding my hands into his hair and working my way up his body as I deepened the kiss.

Beckett’s arms wound around me. “You know what happens to brats? They get punished.”

Before I could tease back, he slid his body down, dragging us both underwater. I pushed off him, sputtering and wiping a thick layer of bubbles off my face. “Beckett!”

His long fingers tickled my sides. Shocked by this new, playful side of him, I couldn’t do much but struggle against his flirtatious assault and try to get away. Wet and slippery, we slid around the tub as our legs tangled.

Breathless, I wound my legs around his torso to hold him in place. I wiped at my eyes. “You’re theworst!”

“I know, baby. But if anyone could bring out the best in me, it just might be you.”

* * *

We optedto take the tray of snacks and wine to the living room. Beckett had started a fire, since neither of us wanted to bother with the clothes that going to the beach would entail. On a cozy blanket, he lay across from me, completely unashamed of his nakedness, his long, muscular body sprawled across the soft blanket. I had a throw blanket wrapped around me as we laughed and ate our weight in gourmet cheeses. The wine was heavenly, better than any I had ever tried.

I swirled it in my glass, appreciating how it clung to the sides and how the firelight danced in the reflection. “I wonder if Charles Attwater would carry this in his shop.”

A little laugh escaped through Beckett’s nose, and I scrunched my eyebrows at him.

“I don’t know that he’d move a lot of bottles. That particular year goes for about four thousand dollars.”

I nearly choked on the sip I had been taking. “Abottle? Fourthousanddollars?! I can’t drink this.” I set the glass down.

He laughed and picked his up to take a sip. “Too late now. You drank nearly half of it, and it doesn’t keep. Might as well enjoy it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “How is it that your work boots are scuffed and some of your jeans are threadbare, yet you casually drink four-thousand-dollar bottles of wine just because.”

“The boots are finally comfortable, and the jeans are just pants. And this is notjust because.”

“It’s not?”

“Of course not. We’re celebrating.”

Intrigued, I leaned forward. “What exactly are we celebrating?”

He swirled his glass as he considered his words, then shrugged and swallowed the last remnants. “You. Us.”

Warmth spread through me, and it was not the ridiculously expensive wine. Beckett had a way of irritating me one moment, then turning me on my head and completely buttering me up the next.

It was infuriating, but I loved it.

My cheeks warmed as I struggled to find the right words to tell him that somehow he’d changed things. I had been so wrong about him and was enjoying getting to know the real Beckett behind his grumpy exterior and all the misinformation I’d been fed over the years.

He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Look. I don’t really do the wholepillow talkthing.”

A laugh burst out of me at how uncertain he was. “It’s fine. I don’t need that. We can talk about something neutral—no feelings allowed.”

He popped a bite of food into his mouth. “What did you have in mind?”

I considered. “How about ... what’s the weirdest thing you did as a kid?”

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