Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2)

by Jodi Watters

  He kissed his way up her lax body, the sound of her shallow, muted whimpers making his blood boil and his cock throb. She tightened her grip on him, hugging him to her body in what felt like gratitude.

  Nipping along his earlobe, she issued an order. “Inside me, Beck. Now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Reaching over, he grabbed a condom from the nightstand drawer, groaning and cursing under his breath when she helped him roll it on.

  He watched her movements as she stroked him from root to tip, then again, using a tight grip guaranteed to have him shooting in ten seconds flat. Stopping her, he entwined their fingers and brought their joined hands up to rest on either side of her face. Cradled invitingly by her open thighs, his erection nudged her opening, rocking into her tightness slowly, letting her body suck him into her wet passage inch by inch. She gasped and he stilled, not sure how much she could take at once. Dropping his forehead to hers, he closed his eyes and recounted the detailed steps to clean Steel Lucille, his trusty M4A1 rifle, as he gave her a minute to adjust. Apparently she didn’t need it because she hooked her legs around his ass, bucking hard against him, and his hips surged automatically. Sliding into her fully, he searched her face for signs of distress. There were none.

  “Christ, look at you,” he muttered hoarsely, barely holding himself still. Squeezing their entwined fingers tighter, he brushed a soft kiss across her grinning lips. “I love your smile.”

  Said smile turned wicked, full of sass and sex. “And I love it when you’re on top of me. Or under me. Or in the same room as me. But especially when you’re inside me.”

  There was a whole lot of that love word being tossed around. A little too freely. A little too easily. And then it hit him with the swiftness of a kick in the teeth.

  This. This is what it felt like when it was right. When it was with someone who mattered.

  And while he fully intended to deny it until the fucking cows came home, Hope Coleson mattered.

  And then she was moving beneath him, and he moved with her, taking control and thrusting deep, setting a pace that stole his breath and filled him with shocking pleasure. Freeing her hands from his, she threaded her fingers through his hair, her gaze reflecting what he was feeling.

  Wonder and awe. A little bit of promise. A tiny seed of fear.

  Banding an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer, the angle allowing him to thrust deeper, and she cried out, shuddering in pleasure. Her eyes drifted shut, but he tangled a hand in her long hair, pulling gently until she opened them again. Allowing him to see the tenderness in her gaze that he didn’t know he wanted until now. Allowing her to see the same in his eyes, even though he knew he was incapable of providing it. Losing himself in the idea of it all, he pounded into her as if she were the only thing sustaining him, and all too soon he felt her tremble. And as she came, she took him with her, the free fall of emotion as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Wondering what time it was, and maybe what day, Hope flopped to her back and dropped a slack hand over her heart to keep it in her chest. Thumping wildly, she caught her breath and shivered slightly, the breeze off the ceiling fan cooling her clammy bare skin. Then she tried to think of something witty to say.

  “Wow.” It was the only thing that popped into her mind. She stared at the coffered ceiling and murmured it again, because honest to God, it bore repeating.

  On the bed next to her, Beck let out a rough sound of agreement and snagged her hand in his much larger one. Brushing his lips across her knuckles, he sighed. “The sun’s almost up. When the hell did that happen?”

  She had no idea. “Somewhere between you kissing me and... well, you kissing me. And some other stuff.”

  He turned his head and looked at her. “Good stuff,” he confirmed, male pride lighting his smile.

  “Hence my repeated use of the word, wow.” The bed dipped slightly as she rolled over him and placed her forearms on the vast expanse of his bare chest. His body was like a furnace and she cuddled closely, wondering how his armpit could possibly smell this good after their bedroom aerobics. “Loosely translated into guy code, that means, you da man.”

  Playing with a strand of her hair, he wrapped a long curl around his finger. Winding then unwinding, it held his rapt attention. “We should sleep. I’ve got to be at work in a few hours.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked, knowing his emotional distance would come, just as surely as the new day would.

  A marathon of frenzied sex lasting all night long had to end sooner or later. And she knew without a doubt that he’d tuck back inside himself again, letting his hard outer shell deflect anything resembling commitment. Hope had seen his face the exact moment he’d pushed inside her, an invisible force tethering them, reducing them to a singular heartbeat when their two bodies connected for the first time since the Vistancia. Slamming to a halt on its axis, her world collided with his in a strange, soul nourishing moment in time. And although it seemed beyond the realm of possibility, Beck’s gaze had relayed the same intensity back to her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know Mr. Smith wasn’t happy about it, either.

  “I’m more than okay,” he said, rolling them to the side and pulling a blanket up over her chilled body. Propping his head on one hand, the other stroked along her hip under the thin sheet.

  “Then why the look?” There was no need to explain which one.

  His gaze strayed from her face, staring at something over her shoulder. “It was good, Hope. Real good.” He made it sound bad.

  “And this surprises you? Because your moves are pretty smooth, buddy. I can’t imagine you not being good. World class player material.” Probably not the best time to crack a bad joke, but she wanted to chase the furrow from his brow.

  “It scares me.” That was the very last thing she expected him to say.

  His clear green eyes cut right through to her heart and that pesky world-shifting-on-its-axis thing happened again. Maybe they were having an earthquake.

  God, please let it be an earthquake.

  “Why?” Reaching out, she ran the pad of her thumb across his perfectly formed eyebrow, downplaying the seriousness of the conversation. “A little sex never hurt anybody.”

  His expression turned skeptical. “You strike me as the kind of girl who expects more than a temporary hook up. You should want more than this, Hope. You deserve it.” The ‘and I won’t be the one to give it to you’ hung in the air.

  “Well, this is all I want, Beck. Nothing more, nothing less, okay?” Because she needed to hear it, too. Needed to put it out there, loud and proud. “I’m heading to Denver in a couple of months. I already enrolled in the fall semester and I can’t wait to get there. That’s why I’m working at the club. I need the money to make the move. This summer is just a stepping stone toward my future, my real life. It’s like... taking a sabbatical to find my inner peace in India or backpacking my way through Europe,” she said, on a laugh. “Only there’s sweaty, dirty sex with a six foot, three inch tall cool drink of water.” Leaning forward, she kissed the hollow of his throat, then down along a hard pec muscle. “That’d be you,” she mouthed, against a flat male nipple. When he said nothing in response, she looked up, sighing dramatically. “Okay, let me shoot it to you straight. I like you. A lot. I want to have sex with you. A lot. Very badly, if you want to know the truth. But I’m not gonna latch on and refuse to leave. I’m not gonna throw myself at your feet and beg you to keep me around. I’m not gonna fall in love with you, Beck. I’m gonna leave at the end of August. Before that, if you want me to.”

  He ran his index finger down the bridge of her nose. “Just like backpacking, huh?”

  She nodded. “I’m a big girl, Beck, and I’m picking up what you’re putting down.” Hooking her finger with his, she added, “I pinky swear not to break your heart or propose marriage.”

  “You can’t break what doesn’t exist, honey. And I’m the opposite of marriage material.”

&nbs
p; She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’ll probably never get married either, despite what my family thinks is good for me. It seems like a very controlled environment.”

  He choked out a laugh. “You’re gonna live a lonely, celibate life, then?”

  “You don’t have to be married to have sex, Peggy Sue.” Hope teased, winking.

  He pushed the flyaway strands of hair off her forehead. “Says the twenty-five year old virgin.”

  “I’m not a virgin anymore, thanks to you.” Reaching down, she took him in her hand, not surprised to find him sporting some impressive wood. “And I’m gonna live a boring life. Once I have my degree, I plan to wear wide-brimmed straw hats and spend all my time with trees and shrubs. I’ll be the kooky lady who talks to her plants and scares all the neighborhood children.”

  She felt a pang in her chest, knowing there would be no jacaranda trees blooming a purple fusion of flowers every spring in Colorado. Instead, she’d have to find enjoyment in the burnt orange and golden maize of the aspens in autumn. The snow clung evergreens in the middle of winter. The dainty red geraniums fighting a losing battle against summer’s gusty Chinook winds.

  He seemed satisfied with her clear and concise game plan for a commitment free summer fling. It sounded good to her ears, too, but honestly, she would’ve sworn allegiance to the leader of a communist nation if it meant she had free reign over Beckett Smith’s naked body.

  “Since we’ve established a deadline,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck, hands roaming down over her ass, “Let’s not burn anymore daylight.”

  The hot sun was well above the horizon and his phone was ringing off the hook when Beck reluctantly left for work a few hours later, leaving Hope to sleep soundly in a bed that smelled like fabric softener and him.

  You thought I forgot about you. You thought I went away. But I’m watching.

  I know where you are. What you’re doing. You don’t belong there. Go home, little girl.

  The texts, separated by a handful of hours, had come through sometime during the night and early morning hours. A dead battery and several rounds of amazing sex had kept Hope from checking her phone until late afternoon, when she’d turned it on to call Val for a ride to work. And her fabulous day had gone to hell in a handbasket with those two messages. The truth was, Hope did think the sender had finally given up and gone away.

  Shaking off the creepy messages, she jumped into Val’s cute new compact, a souped up silver Mazda that looked ready to drift down a deserted roadway.

  “Did Helen give you a raise or what?” Hope ran her hand along the leather dashboard, inhaling new car scent.

  “No, she’s still the same old battle ax as before.” Whipping away from the curb, he floored it and she grabbed the door handle, holding on for dear life. “I got a job working at that cute women’s boutique at the promenade shops by Bay Point Pier. I told you about it two weeks ago.”

  He did? “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I forgot.” Hope was so wrapped up in her own problematic world, she hadn’t been making much time for Val lately. They’d gone from spending nearly every day together to barely talking on the phone once or twice a week. She’d grown closer to Bridget, and Beck, as well, and that left Val on the outs. “Let’s do lunch tomorrow. We can catch up. I’ll treat you to a happy meal and the latest happenings in the fascinating world of strip clubs.”

  “No can do, Ho-ho. I’m splitting time between the Vistancia and the boutique. They have a thirty percent commission structure, so when those real housewives roll up, I know I’m banking good coin that day. I might go full time when classes start back up and leave Helen to serve sheet cake by herself.”

  Val was also in his final year of college, majoring in business management, but with a minor in up-selling to lonely rich women, it seemed. Much like Hope, he had little support from his family, all of whom had trouble accepting him as he’d been born. Val, however, was as loyal as a lap dog to all of them, particularly his mother, who suffered from early stage dementia.

  “Can you slow down?” she asked, still bracing herself. “I don’t have health insurance.”

  If he lifted his foot off the accelerator, she couldn’t tell.

  “So, this thing with you and the hunky Army guy?” he asked, prompting her to dish out the juice. “Do tell. It must be serious if you’re still living with him.”

  “Navy. And I’m not living with him, I’m just renting a room. It isn’t serious, it’s—” What? Not serious? “It’s like summer camp. With sex.”

  He dug for more details, but Hope sidetracked him with talk of shopping, choosing not to cheapen her no-strings fling with Beck by gossiping about it. And if there was one thing Val liked to talk about more than sex, it was shopping. All she had to do was mention the half off sale on costume jewelry at Neiman Marcus and the subject turned to a sterling silver arm bracelet in the shape of a coiled python.

  Speeding through the busy streets of San Diego at twice over the limit, he peeled up to the front door of Club Kitten in record time. Her orange Toyota sat untouched in the parking lot, only a few other cars in the surrounding area, and her heart thumped at the reminder of what went down in this lot last night. She was looking at the longest six hour shift of her life before she could get back to Beck and pick up where they’d left off, his naked body against hers.

  Releasing her death grip on the dashboard, she let out a relieved breath. “Holy crap, that was scary. Your license should be revoked.”

  “You’re alive, aren’t you?” he asked, with an eye roll. “You’re not dead, right?”

  Grabbing the garment bag holding her leather waitress uniform, she kissed Val on the cheek, leaving a glossy, coral tinted lip imprint behind. “Thanks for the ride. Come by for a drink later, okay? We’ll chat over virgin bloody Mary’s when I’m on break. You can make fun of my swollen ankles.”

  “Toodles,” was his affirmative response as she hopped out of the car, barely clearing the back bumper before he hit the gas, spitting small bits of crumbling concrete in his wake.

  Six more hours without Beck. A half dozen. It really wasn’t all that long. In fact, when it came down to donuts or deviled eggs, it was a pretty good number. It just felt like sixty.

  It was now a known fact around Club Kitten that people named Delores had little forgiveness in their heart. And, due to people named Delores bellyaching to the management, Bubba sought fit to immediately enact a policy by which all employees must be addressed by their stage name. Or in a server’s case, her cocktease name. It was no skin off Hope’s back considering Hope was her preferred way to be addressed anyway, versus the jokingly issued Cocktease, Dicktease, Pricktease, and/or Beer Wench, all complimentary, yet terribly misguided names she’d been called just tonight. But it was her lifeless hairstyle that had a real problem with people named Delores. Kiki had waved that bottle of volumizer around the dressing room like a crazed hostage taker refusing to negotiate with the police. And Hope and Bridget’s limp locks were caught in the crossfire.

  Making a mental note to hit the beauty supply store tomorrow, Hope pulled up to the curb in front of the Lark Street house at ten minutes to one. In the ever lovin’ morning. God, these hours were hell on her sleep pattern. The house was dark, but for the dimmed lamp in the upstairs window and the soft glow coming from the kitchen, the light over the sink guiding her home.

  If she let out the smallest of melancholy sobs at the precious sight of that light, then she could blame exhaustion for it. Or the ache in her feet. Or the rumble in her stomach.

  Tiptoeing into the kitchen, a dark shadow whispered a rough, “Hey, honey.”

  She barely held back a shriek. “Jesus! Stop doing that!” she said heatedly.

  He grinned from his spot on a barstool, arms spread out on the kitchen island. “You don’t have to be quiet. I’m not asleep.”

  “Clearly,” she said sarcastically. “You’re like a vampire hanging out in dark places every night, waiting to scare the bejeezus out of innocent peopl
e.” And then she smelled it. Peanut butter.

  A paper plate sat on the counter next to him, saltine crackers with neatly spread peanut butter covering each square. It was the only food in the house. Hope knew because she’d brought the groceries home herself.

  He gestured toward the plate.

  “You made those? For me?” she asked, hopefully. He didn’t say one way or the other, but she knew. Beck had made her dinner. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she moaned, around a mouthful of glorious peanut butter. “I take back the vampire comment. You’re the most wonderful man ever born. I should call your mother right now and thank her profusely.”

  “Christ, you really need to up your standards.” He downplayed the thoughtful gesture, as if he’d done it a hundred times, and walked to the refrigerator. By the time he grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to her, she’d inhaled the entire plate. “Better?” When she nodded, he took her hand and headed up the stairs. “There’s more.”

  Her stomach dipped at the thought and she followed him, staring at the threadbare denim pockets covering his fine ass, wanting to slip into his arms and then his bed. His pants, for sure. But when he bypassed the bed and guided her into the bathroom, the sob she’d barely swallowed back upon seeing his welcoming house threatened to escape again.

  His antique tub, with silver claw feet and tall, curving back to rest your head, was filled with steaming, sweetly scented water, iridescent bubbles floating along the surface, popping randomly in the lilac scented air. He didn’t say anything and Hope didn’t either, a lump of grateful emotion lodged in her throat. She stood there speechless, staring at the water as he gently undressed her, then helped her into the tub. Her tense muscles melted in relief as she sank her tired body into the stinging hot water, stopping when the bubbles brushed her chin.

  Beck sat on the tiled floor across from her, leaning back against the wall. “Good?”