by G. K. Brady
“Jesus, you scared me! You okay?” he croaked.
Her arms seemed to fold over her chest on their own; her tapping foot also seemed to move by itself. Unable to stop herself, she blurted, “Where have you been?” The fishwife again.
He took a step closer, jaw swinging open. “I was … I was playing cards and …” He pointed vaguely toward the door and seemed to stagger a step.
And then it hit her. The reek of cigar smoke and liquor rolled over her in waves. She twitched her hand in front of her nose.
“You smell terrible!”
He gave her a cockeyed grin. “Yeah, well, I had to keep up. Man, can those fuckers drink! I thought for a sec I was going down, but I held my own.” He teetered slightly before dropping his jacket over a chair, nearly missing. His hand dove into his pocket. The grin intact, he hauled out a wad of bills. “I won!” he declared proudly. And hiccupped.
Her arms relaxed a tic. “How much?”
“Scotch or money? I have no fucking clue. A lot—on both scores.” He reeled, stiff-arming the wall to catch himself. She ran to his side, snugging herself into his armpit to prop him up. He draped his arms heavily over her shoulders and sniffed her head.
“I may smell like shit, but you smell soooooo good.”
Wait. Was he nibbling her hair?
“So you weren’t with a … a … what do you call hockey groupies anyway?”
“Easy?” he snickered. His joke stoked an angry little blaze inside her, and she pressed her lips together. Why wouldn’t the fishwife dry up?
With what seemed a Herculean effort, he pulled back and stared down at her. Her eyes nearly watered from his distillery-saturated breath. “Puck bunnies, and no, I wasn’t with one.” He grimaced. “Why the hell would I do that when the most bee … the most boo … the prettiest woman in the whole goddamn hotel is in my room?” Then he began singing a tune that resembled an old Hall and Oates song.
“I wanna play … whoaaaa, tonight, my lord, so slow.” His resonating baritone vibrated his chest.
“You’re wasted.” She pulled away.
“Yup.”
She handed him a full glass of water, which he drank obediently. Then she led him to his bedroom, pushed him on the bed, and removed his vest, tie, socks, and shoes while he continued crooning.
“Oh, oh, I wanna play … hum, um, with you, my girl.”
For the briefest second, she considered helping him out of his shirt and pants. But logic surged, flashing warning lights in her head, and she rejected the risky thought. From the neutral zone to the danger zone. Not a good idea.
He looked around himself and slid his hand over the sheets. “I getta sleep with you? Sweet!” He began fumbling with his shirt buttons.
“Absolutely not.” Good call leaving the pants on.
She handed him another glass of water. “So it was just you and the boys?”
“Yep. God, can those fuckers drink.”
“You said that.”
“Yeah, well, not my first choice for how I spent tonight, but I hadda get away from you.”
What? “Get away from me? Why?”
The glass wobbled as he set it on the nightstand. With a tug on her wrist, he yanked her on her bottom beside him. He’d only wrestled one button open. Laying his head on her shoulder, he cradled her face in his warm hand. Then his lips were on her neck, soft, moist, moving slowly, shooting shivers to her red toenails.
“Don’t wanna break my scout pledge,” he whispered against her throat.
Her eyes rolled up in their sockets. Please break your scout pledge. Break it. No, please don’t.
He pulled back and ran his finger down her nose, his gorgeous eyes locked on hers. “I’m trying really hard to keep it just friends, pixie. I don’t wanna screw everything up. Not with you.” His unbroken gaze still on her, he brought her hand to his lips and planted a kiss in her palm. More shivers raced up her arm. “You’re the hottest, most volumptuous pixie I’ve ever seen.”
Volumptuous? Is that even a word?
With that, he fell backward and groaned, his fingers still encircling her wrist. She caressed his sandpaper jaw, yearning to lie beside him, run her hands over the hard planes of his body, and discover just how the rest of him might fit her.
Chastising herself, she gingerly moved away and pulled the bedspread over him. He sighed into a pillow and hugged it, mumbling about pixies and fairy dust.
Oh God, to be that pillow!
Breathless, she crept into her own bed, turning over Beckett’s words and the questions they raised. Was his attraction all about the physical, or was there something more? Where might it lead? Would she feel his lips on hers again? Sparkling ice crystals danced hypnotically on the wind outside, and she watched them through the window until much later, when her eyes finally closed.
.~ * * * ~.
Beckett stumbled into the living room. Gray sky tinged the window with watery light, and despite its dimness, he threw a hand over his eyes.
“Gah!”
Andie’s door was shut. He glanced down at himself, taking in his twisted pants, still belted, and his rumpled, half-untucked shirt. T-shirt and underwear were bunched but in place. He hadn’t remembered doing anything except kissing her silky neck; at least his memory and the evidence matched up. But had he said or done anything stupid?
He retreated to his bathroom and cleaned up. When he emerged, he brewed some coffee and waited, his eyes floating in and out of focus. Andie stepped out of the bedroom in sweater and jeans, her damp hair curling around her face. Her eyes swept him from head to toe, and her mouth immediately curved into a smile.
“How you feeling, Mr. Moneybags?”
“I don’t know yet. Did I get out of line?”
“You kept your pledge.” She raised three fingers in a salute.
Relief dropped his shoulders an inch. “Thank God for that.”
He thought a look of disappointment flitted over her face. If it had, she quickly masked it. “So how’s your head?”
“Uh, my eyes don’t work so well. So I didn’t screw anything up?” Pouring out two mugs, he doctored one and handed it to her.
Her brows knitted together as she blew into the steaming cup. “Screw anything up?”
“You know. Piss you off.”
“No, though I was a little surprised when you left.” She cradled her cup. “Tell me. Is this how you begin all your morning conversations with your dates?”
“No,” he chuckled. “I don’t remember ever being concerned with whether I was out of line with anyone else before.”
She pinked. “So. Any New Year’s resolutions?”
He sucked on the coffee, scalding his tongue. “Fuck!” He looked at her contritely, and she arched an eyebrow. “Yeah. No more swearing.”
She stared at him over the rim of her cup, her eyes clear, light. “You’re just one big surprise, Beckett.”
The kiss roared through his mind—for about the millionth damn time. “Good surprise or bad surprise?”
“All good.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. Andie had a way of making him feel twenty feet tall—or two feet tall when he was a jerk—but she also knocked him off his game, rattled him in a way he didn’t fully comprehend. Right now he was twenty feet high, toppling into flustered, and his stomach was doing strange things that had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d consumed. He set the steaming cup down.
She laughed. So did he—from nerves. Was he broadcasting his uneasiness as clearly as it seemed? Hell, he didn’t like this feeling.
“Have you counted your winnings yet?” she asked.
He blew out a breath. “Not yet. You’re going to help me.” He ducked into his bedroom, fished the roll from his pants pocket, and tossed it at her. A card fluttered to the floor, and she stared at it as if it might explode. He snatched it up and handed it to her.
Her brow furrowed as she scanned it. “What’s this?”
“We were shooting
the sh—breeze—during the card game, and I was telling them about you looking for land to build on. One of the guys handed me his card and said you should give him a call. Some relative has land in Denver he’s looking to dump.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he’s got that sweet piece of property you’ve been wanting.”
She blinked, and her mouth formed a perfect O. Several beats later, she walked over to him, stood on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek. A cloud of Andie fragrance engulfed him. “Thank you, Beck,” she said in a soft voice.
Okay. Zooming up to forty feet now. He grinned. “Sometimes it pays to get hammered.”
She began separating the bills into neat stacks. “My God, Beckett! There must be hundreds, thousands of dollars there! You’ve been keeping another talent hidden, Mr. Card Shark.” She covered her mouth as if stifling a giggle.
Definitely forty feet tall. A step back, and he watched her, her mouth moving as she counted. Jesus, her mouth! He hadn’t been hammered for that part of the evening, and replaying that kiss triggered a powerful reaction. He shifted his stance, grateful for roomy jeans.
The poker contingent had ribbed him about swallowing her on the dance floor. Jealous. Hell, anybody who had anybody had retired to their rooms to welcome the New Year the right way—the horizontal way. Only the losers had remained. They’d called him crazy for hanging with them, offered to take his place, and he’d shrugged. “She’s tired,” he’d said, downing another Scotch, “so I’ll fleece you guys, then in a few hours when she’s rested up, I’ll cover her naked body with the bills I win, and wake her up by pulling them off one by one with my teeth.”
His head filled with all kinds of pleasant images, though knowing those guys had pictured the same didn’t sit well, and he’d been the idiot who’d painted the picture. Besides, she’d kill him if she knew what he’d said.
Her wide green eyes stared at the stacks she’d built, and as she pointed, she mouthed “One thousand, two thousand …”
She hadn’t asked about his mad sprint away from her last night, and hopefully she wouldn’t. All he’d thought about since kissing her was doing it again and again, envisioning all the sensations those kisses would offer—and lead to. How could he explain to her he had, in fact, been protecting her from himself?
He took a swallow of coffee and jerked his chin at the piles.
“A good way to start the new year, pixie. Set aside a stack for Tyrone, Frida, and their buddies and help me spend the rest.”
CHAPTER 19
Thin Ice
Paige stared at snowflakes skimming her office window. They’d been falling, fat and thick, from a somber sky throughout the morning. The world she looked upon was monochrome, its hues passing from white to gray to lead, and though she wore an emerald sweater, it too had a dull cast.
What was wrong with her? It had been a week since New Year’s, since she’d hugged Beckett good-bye on his way back to Chicago, and she’d been melancholic ever since. For not the first time, she pondered where their friendship was leading. Where did she want it to lead? How could it ever be anything more than what it was? He was Beckett Miller after all. Now if only she could forget that earth-shattering kiss.
Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was because her broken marriage would become a statistic in a week. Maybe it was seeing Adrian for the final time tonight.
Her phone pinged. Three texts. Adrian confirming. Gwenn checking in after vacation. Beckett asking about virtual-watching hockey on TV with him tonight. She texted Adrian back and called Gwenn.
“I loved the selfie of you and Beckett,” Gwenn said. “You looked amazing in that dress. Did it work?”
Paige laughed. “Really well. I got lots of attention, which sent Beckett into a tailspin. He kept trying to cover me up.”
“What?”
“He said men were ogling me, so he played bodyguard all night. It was sorta cute, and I’ve got to admit, I enjoyed the attention. If he’d been a dog, he’d have peed on my feet to mark territory.”
“Hmm.”
“God, Gwenn, I’m so mixed up. It’s probably the divorce screwing with me. Being with Beckett made me feel so … I was tingly the entire time, and I shouldn’t have been.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a tidal wave, and I don’t want to get swept out to sea and drown. Besides, I’m still married.”
Gwenn sighed. “Gawd, Paige. In name only. Let it go.”
“I’m seeing Adrian tonight.”
Gwenn’s silence was deafening.
“Not like that. He’s leaving on another business trip and has some things of mine he grabbed by mistake when he moved out. Old yearbooks, stuff like that. I want to tie off the loose ends before he goes. You’re the only one who knows, and I’m swearing you to secrecy.”
“Why didn’t you tell Beckett?”
“Because he’d give me such a hard time. He’s never liked Adrian.”
“Did you guys take things beyond friendship over New Year’s?”
Now it was Paige’s turn to sigh. “No. Ironically, he stopped us both going too far.”
“What? This is Beckett Miller we’re talking about and not his stunt double?”
Paige laughed. “No, I was with the real Beckett.”
“So nothing intimate?”
“We kissed at midnight. That’s all.”
“And? Deets, Paige.”
Paige felt a twinge between her legs, and she squirmed in her seat. “Um, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t really, really hot, but I’ve been in a drought for so long I probably could have kissed an orangutan and been turned on. Anyway, he brought me to the room and left me there. Alone. God, Gwenn, if I can’t get a manwhore to sleep with me, how will I—”
“So you would have slept with him?”
“No, but my ego could’ve stood him trying.”
“Know what I think, Paige?”
“No, but you’re going to tell me.” Paige braced herself.
“You’re so attracted to each other that it freaks you both out. You’re scared shitless of taking it to the next level so you stay in the friendship zone. Henry says he’s in love with you, by the way.”
“Henry’s in love with me?”
“Ha! No, Beckett’s in love with you, and I gotta say I agree with Henry. When Adrian is in your rearview, you should, you know, explore possibilities with Beckett.”
Paige scoffed. “That would be so like my mother. Going from one man to the next. Especially when the ‘next’ is Beckett.”
“Why? If you’re in love, why does it matter if it happens one day or one decade later?”
“I didn’t say I’m in love.”
“You don’t have to, sweetie.”
After Paige ended the call, she dialed Beckett. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, pixie. We watching the game tonight? Or a movie? I can be talked into a romcom.”
“I need to cancel, Beck.”
“Why?”
God, did he have to sound so disappointed?
“Something, um, came up at the last minute, and I won’t be home.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
“I’ll be up if you want to give me a call late,” he offered.
“Thanks, but I’m climbing into bed as soon as I get home.” She’d be mentally exhausted, with barely enough energy to manhandle the quart of Häagen-Dazs Vanilla Swiss Almond waiting in her freezer.
A noisy sigh. “Okay. Talk to you tomorrow, Andie.”
“Thanks, Beck.”
.~ * * * ~.
Paige pulled into Adrian’s driveway as dusk settled in, surprised when he ambled out and helped her out of her truck.
He eyed her. “Wow. You look great. I guess getting away from me agrees with you.”
Speechless, she followed him inside. As he closed the front door, she got a good look at him—her next surprise. His face was drawn, gaunt, and shadows colored pouches beneath his eyes.
She looked into doleful amber eyes and swallowed hard. He looked pale, pathetic. Is he sick? “Um, a few minutes.”
“Good. Wait here.” He carried her boxes out as she stood in the foyer, first swinging then crossing her arms. When he returned, he took her coat and led her to the kitchen. “I have something for you.”
Her eyes caught on a pair of crystal goblets on the center island. They held wine the color of dark garnets, and beside them was a partly full wine bottle.
Apprehension snaked up her spine. “What’s this?”
He handed her a goblet. “I was unpacking, and I discovered this.” He picked up the bottle and handed it to her. She frowned, pretending to read the label.
“We bought it in Napa and said we’d drink it on our tenth wedding anniversary,” he explained. “Remember?”
“We never said that.”
If it were possible, his eyes drooped a little more. “Well, I probably thought it and never said anything. I took a lot of things for granted. Anyway, since we won’t reach our tenth, I thought we should open it and toast to better times.” He gave her a half-smile.
“I never wanted this, Adrian.”
“I know.”
He cleared his throat and held up his glass. “Here’s to your being free and my rediscovering, too late, how lucky I was.”
Wait. What?
He rang his glass against hers and sipped. Pursing his lips, he glanced at the ceiling as he sampled the wine. He’d done it a million times, often exaggerating his expressions to make her laugh. In happier days. “It’s really good. Try it.”
In stunned silence, she took a mouthful. It was good. She drank a little more.
He topped their glasses. “So, I’ve, uh, continued therapy with Clay.” He paused a beat. “He helped me realize what a bastard I was. I wish I could’ve seen it before.”
Her eyebrows knitted together. I must be hallucinating.