Page 12 of The Season of Secrets

I lick my lips, hoping this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass but…he did say he wanted me. Maybe I just needed to push a little more. “Can…I come with you?”

“Raegan…”

I take a step closer to him, not close enough that we’re touching but almost and I tilt my head to look up at him. “Please?”

I can see the war he’s at with himself as he looks at me and then back into the venue.

“Mr. Beckham, your car, sir,” I hear and I see a black Maserati pull around.

I eye it appreciatively. “Nice car.”

His eyes turn to the valet attendant who’s standing at his car holding his door open before moving back to mine. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s…sexy.”

He lets out a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, simultaneously pushing his glasses upward and I try to hide my smile because I think I’m about to get my way. “You’re killing me, Raegan.”

“My friends call me Rae.”

“I definitely donotwant to be your friend.” My skin tingles in response to his words, my nipples hardening beneath my shirt. He looks behind me and then down at me again. “Where is your coat?”

“Coat check.”

“Give me your ticket,” he tells me.

I pull it out of my clutch and hand it to him before he ushers me into the car. He then closes the door and walks back inside.

I look around, noting how clean his car is. The inside is a rich caramel and black and it’s so sleek and beautiful. Moments later, I see him moving down the stairs with my grayBurberrycoat in his hands. He shakes hands with the guy from valet—assumedly paying him if he’s anything like my dad—before he opens the back seat to lay my coat down and then slides into the driver’s seat.

“Did anyone say anything to you?”

“No.” He chuckles. “That’s why I went in for you.” He pulls out of the parking lot and I breathe a sigh of relief that we made it out with no one noticing.

“So, where are we going?” I ask.

“Where would you like to go?” he asks.

“I mean it’s nearing eleven thirty, there aren’t many places we could go at this hour that aren’t a loud club or a bar.”

“Do you want to get a drink somewhere?”

I want to tell him if thesomewherein question could be his house but I figure that may be too forward.

“Where were you planning to go when you left?”

“Home,” he answers, and I suddenly wish I’d had another drink because the heat crackling between us has me sobering up quick.

“Do you think it’s a good idea for us to be in public together?” I counter, wanting him to come to the conclusion that it’s best if we are somewhere more private.

“Everyone from the office is still at the party.”

“Surely, not everyone. What if we run into someone?”

He doesn’t respond right away and I’m beginning to wonder if he’s not going to give into whatever urges he has. He did saywe couldn’t. Maybe he has more self-control than I thought. My eyes linger on his left hand on the steering wheel, noting the ink that peeks out from under his jacket sleeve and I’m excited to finally see how far it goes up his arm.

“I don’t know that I trust myself somewhere in private with you.”

“I do,” I tell him. I’m not used to being forward. I had a boyfriend in high school, and two boyfriends in college, and two guys I dated casually while on the rebound from those two boyfriends, and I never made the first move. I’m not a stranger to male attention, but I am a stranger to whatever is coursing through me in response to Wes’ attention. I want him and it’s making me bolder than usual.

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