by G. K. Brady
“Why’d he get suspended?”
“This time?” He shrugged. “It’s what he does. So will you come?”
She tapped her forefinger against her cheek. “Ugh. My schedule’s nuts. Can I give you an answer later?”
He looked her over. “Yeah, you can give me an answer later. If it’s yes.”
“I don’t see your car. How’d you get here?” Before she’d given it a thought, she pushed his hair off his forehead. It was soft and thick, and she wanted to weave her fingers through it. He didn’t seem to notice when she snatched her hand back.
“I took an Uber. I was a little intoxicated.” He squeezed his forefinger and thumb together.
“Oh.” She frowned. “I can take you home.” She paused a beat. “Did I pull you from a date? A party?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “No. Just a solo drunk stumble through Denver. And I’m glad you did.”
.~ * * * ~.
Andie tilted her head, a bemused look on her face. He didn’t want to field any more questions, and her soft contours were messing with him, so he scooted her off his lap.
“Now go on, git. Get ready so you can take me home, woman. I’ll make us coffee.” He flapped his hand at her.
“Yes, sir, your lordship, sir,” she giggled. He loved that sound; he wanted to hear it over and over. She rose from the couch and kissed the top of his head. “I love you, Beck.”
His heart stuttered. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.”
As she walked away, he blew out a breath. How could she make pink plaid pants and a T-shirt look so damn sexy? Hell, he’d had to practically shove her off him because he couldn’t control his dick, which was growing harder by the second as he pictured peeling said pink pants off her body. He’d sported wood most of the night lying beside her as it was. Torture.
Scrubbing a hand over his chin, he laughed at himself. Andie’s get-up had a far more powerful effect on him than the combo what’s-her-name had worn last night. The chick’s face flashed through his head—her mouth had swung open when he’d said he had to go. She’d looked at him as though he were certifiable. But he’d never been saner.
It was as he prepared those powdery lines that fragments of his life had ricocheted around his brain and coalesced into one miserable mass. A sobering epiphany had flared on like a floodlight, exposing everything with its blinding beam. Where there had been a sexy siren in his mind’s eye, the light exposed a gaunt, overly made-up woman who reminded him of flashy costume jewelry: gilded and fake. And the perfectly parallel white lines of oblivion had stirred his own words—words that sliced through him.
I’ll never do coke again. Had he just been blowing smoke up his own ass?
As the chick had stuffed a furled twenty up her nose and bent over the glass, her knobby spine protruding like a sprawling chain of peaks, a far more pleasing form—compact, curvaceous, and real—had slammed to the forefront. Everything had crystallized in an instant: he didn’t want to get high; he didn’t want to roll around naked with the woman next to him. So he’d shot to his feet, mumbling an excuse before he’d run from her, finally breaking free from his old life. Which had left him clueless as to what came next.
How long had he been wandering the streets when Andie’s text reached him? No idea.
But she’d fucking saved his life.
Minutes later, Andie emerged from her bedroom, clean and dewy and smelling of flowers and vanilla. He leaned over and sniffed her hair. It caught light as though gold filaments were woven into the dark cinnamon strands. Her pale green eyes sparkled with mischief, and her smile exposed that covert dimple of hers, that tiny dent in her perfectly smooth, creamy skin. She was flawless.
He handed her a fresh mug of coffee. “Are you wearing makeup?”
“No. Why?”
He shrugged. “Just curious.”
“Do I need to?”
“Oh God, no!”
She blinked at him before her smile broadened. “Okay, then. I won’t.”
Another revelation rattled him, and he gulped scalding coffee. Whatever form their relationship took, he wanted to be where she was, breathing her in, luxuriating in her brilliant smile, taking in whatever she’d let him. Because being with her made him feel decent. Needed. Worthy. Alive.
He’d never been in love before, but God help him, he was in love with her.
CHAPTER 21
Tighter, Tighter
A short while later, they climbed into her truck, and as she was backing out of her garage, she said, “I checked my calendar, and getting away to the mountains doesn’t look promising.”
“Well, I guess I’ll just be praying one of your deals falls through. I’m a self-serving son of a bit—gun. And speaking of sons of guns, have you spoken to Adrian?”
She shook her head.
“Then I should explain what went down yesterday afternoon.”
Frowning, she shifted the car into drive and accelerated. “What do you mean, what went down?”
He cleared his throat, eyeing her profile. She even had a perfect nose. “Adrian surprised me at my office, and I sort of, uh, hit him.” Without thinking, he rubbed his hand.
She snapped her head to him. “You what? Hit as in punched?”
“Afraid so. Watch the road.” He pointed straight ahead.
“Beckett, why—what the hell happened?”
Uh-oh. She’s swearing.
“He told me to stay away from you. He thinks we’re … you know.” He shrugged.
She came to a stop at a red light and gawked at him. “He thinks we’re having sex? You told him the truth, right?”
Beckett ran his finger over his chin and tapped it against his bottom lip. “I might not have corrected his false assumption.”
Horns blared behind them, and she surged the truck forward.
“So you came to blows.” She sounded incredulous.
“We came to one blow. I hit him, and he left.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, he threatened to sue my ass, but he can get in line.”
She let out a wild, maniacal sort of laugh.
This is worse than her swearing. I think. Then again, she hasn’t asked if he’s hurt.
“So does this mean you’re not talking to me again?” He held his breath.
A huge sigh left her body. “After we … um, he wanted to get back together. Maybe he thinks I won’t because of you—hey, how did he know where your office was anyway? Oh my gosh! Did you get hurt? Did you hurt him?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “He walked out cussing at me, so I assume he’s fine. He said you told him where I worked, and that you couldn’t bring yourself to blow me off so you asked him to do it for you.”
She parked along the curb outside his building and swung her head to him once more, her eyes wide. “I never said any of that.”
“Not even in bed?” He kept his eyes fixed on hers, ignoring his aching gut check. She didn’t wanna sleep with him. She’s done with him. Let it go.
“Especially not in bed. I was … well, I just wanted the hell out of there.”
His gut relaxed a fraction. “So you are still talking to me?”
She thumped the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Oh God! He asked me questions about DeFunked; he said he knew someone who wanted to invest. I told him you’d just moved into a new office.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh crap! I even told him you were out of town and when you’d be back. Oh, Beck, he did get that information from me, but not the way he said.”
Her face scrunched as if she might cry.
He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, then tapped her nose. “It doesn’t matter, Andie. It’s done, forgotten. Just think about getting away, okay? Even a day trip. It’s beautiful up there, and you’d love it.”
She sighed and gave him sad eyes. “I’ll try.”
.~ * * * ~.
The following week whizzed by, and though Beckett spoke to Andie daily, th
eir conversations were brief. Too brief. He’d traveled to Chicago for a meeting, and as he sat at O’Hare waiting for his flight, his agent called. His heart began pounding.
“Hey, Herb. Long time no talk. How’ve you been?”
“Doing well, Beckett. Staying out of trouble?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Well, that’s good. Listen, the reason I’m calling is I was contacted about you today.”
Beckett’s heart lurched into his throat, tossed there by his bouncing stomach. “Yeah? Which team?”
Herb chuckled. “Well, that’s the funny part. It was some advertising company wondering if you’d be interested in modeling.”
Beckett shook his head as though he had water stuck in his ear. “What? Hockey gear?”
Now Herb guffawed. “No, son. A men’s clothing line. Heard of Grant Paul?”
“Yeah, who hasn’t? But, Christ, Herb! What did you tell them?”
“I told them that wasn’t in my wheelhouse and that I’d pass you the gal’s number. I guess they liked that underwear ad,” he snickered. “In all seriousness, Beckett, you should talk to them. I know it’s not what you want, but there’s stupid money in it. And lots of very pretty women. It’d be a temporary gig.”
Beckett snorted. “Yeah, pretty women are not going to help my hockey career, Herb.”
Beckett jotted down the number and thanked him. As they announced his flight, he called Andie. “Hey, pixie! Glad I caught you. I have some weird news, but first I want to know if you were able to clear time off. I’m heading to the cabin in the morning, and reception up there sucks.”
The big sigh at the other end didn’t bode well. “I don’t think I can swing it, Beck. I just got another deal, and my roofing company purchase got bumped up.”
He couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice. “Well, you have the address in case something changes, right?”
“Yes. I’ll still try. I miss you.”
“They’re calling my flight, pixie. I gotta go.”
“Hey! What about your news?”
“Not important. I’ll fill you in later.” He hung up.
Modeling men’s clothing? What a joke. He might as well stick a fork in his hockey career and call it done. And spending time alone at the cabin? Not his top choice, especially since he wouldn’t be able to watch a movie with Andie on the phone, much less see her in person.
The disappointment didn’t go away during the uneventful trip home. He awoke the next morning and methodically packed everything, loaded the Escalade, and drove west on I-70 into the mountains ahead of an oncoming storm. He stopped in Evergreen and stocked up. The storm wasn’t supposed to bring much snow, but one never knew in the Rockies.
When he reached the cabin, he cranked up the furnace and stowed the groceries. Several hours later, he lounged in front of a crackling fire and sipped his first bourbon. He had plenty of firewood, and judging by the sheets of snow outside, he would need it. Six inches had fallen since he’d arrived. Small storm. Yeah, right.
John C. Maxwell’s Failing Forward lay open beside him, but he couldn’t read more than two sentences without having to start all over again. As he stared at the flames, contemplating which frozen dinner to nuke, he heard a tapping noise. He glanced at the windows, darkened by the night. Couldn’t be anything but a branch heavy with snow whacking the house.
A rap, loud and distinct, shook the side door.
Puzzled, he rose and padded over. He flipped the outside switch and peered through the half-light door. Beneath the dim yellow beam, a small form huddled on the stoop. Greater than the surprise that someone was at his door was the one he got when he opened it.
Andie shivered on his doorstep. “Thank God I found you, Beck.”
.~ * * * ~.
After closing his gaping mouth, a bespectacled Beckett drew Paige in and shut the door. She lit up inside at the sight of him.
He looked her over. “You’re soaking wet.” He walked her to the fire and handed her his cocktail. “Drink this. Are you all right?”
How was this man not married? Oh, right.
“Never better. Is your invitation still open?”
He snatched off his glasses. “Absolutely!”
“I brought some wine and munchies,” she chattered, turning her back to the flames. Her legs were so cold they barely held her up.
“I’ll unload your car.” Beckett pulled on boots, hat, coat, and gloves. “Keys?”
“In the car.”
After he stepped out, she looked upward at soaring tongue-and-groove vaults supported by massive timbers, then back to the towering stone fireplace. The room she stood in—a great room—was big enough to fit two master suites. When she’d first pulled up, she thought she was looking at a multi-unit building where Beckett owned one unit—not the entire structure. But this was no cabin. He owned a frickin’ lodge! She was still gawking when he swept back in, depositing the contents of his full arms on one of several stone kitchen counters. “That it?”
“Uh-huh.” She peeled off her gloves and coat.
When he pointed the key at the door, she made out her truck’s muffled chirp. “You really need to lock the car in the middle of nowhere in this weather?”
He shrugged out of his gear. “Abominable snowmen roam all through these mountains, and they’re real practical jokers. They like to hot-wire cars and take them for joy rides. They leave an awful smell. Surely you’ve read about the yeti grand-theft-auto crime wave in these parts?”
God, he was making her smile already.
He took her soggy things and disappeared. When he returned, he stood behind her and rubbed her arms. Heat radiated off him like a stoked woodstove.
“Better?” he asked.
She fought her desire to lean against him. “G-getting there.”
“How’d you get so damn wet? Your lips are blue.”
“There are no house numbers, and my GPS didn’t work up here. I must have tried five different places in the pitch dark before I found you.”
“Christ. You need to get into something warm.”
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes. I headed out late morning, expecting to stay just for the afternoon. But I got so turned around, it took me forever to find you.”
His eyebrows crashed together. “You didn’t check the weather forecast?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t supposed to be this bad.”
“Well, you’re not going anywhere in this storm. I’ll find you something, pixie. Then I’ll pour you a glass of wine, and you can sit by the fire. I’m glad you’re here, by the way.” He gave her a cockeyed grin that brightened his light blue eyes.
Crap! I’m in trouble.
He disappeared again, only to return with a stack of folded clothes. “These are the smallest I could find. The heat’s off in the guest rooms, so change in my room.” He pointed toward where he’d just come from. “You can use that bathroom too.”
She stepped through the doorway and about dropped her jaw. On one golden-plastered wall stood a king-sized sleigh bed covered in lush navy and cream bedding. It was piled high with neatly arranged pillows and begged to be jumped on. Opposite, a stacked-stone fireplace rose to a vaulted ceiling. But the best part? The twenty-foot-high floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the snowscape swirling against an ultramarine backdrop.
In the equally luxurious bathroom, she changed into a pair of worn flannel pants and a green long-sleeved T-shirt; it smelled like Beckett. He’d also given her a burgundy robe—which hung on her like something from a Harry Potter movie—and a pair of white crew socks.
Peering into a wide mirror fixed above double stone sinks, she finger-combed her hair and pinched her wan cheeks. Ugh. The look was as far from body-clinging Tadashi as she could possibly get, but she was dry and warm. When she emerged, Beckett was uncorking a bottle of wine. She eyed him; she couldn’t help it. He wore a snug, long-sleeved white tee, navy flannel lounge pants, and wool socks. Everything fit—really well. Whe
n he glanced over at her, he started laughing.
“What? You’ve never seen a woman in clothes she picked up from a big-and-tall before?” she quipped.
“I think we could fit two of you in that outfit.”
“This way I can eat as much as I want without the waistband digging in.” She shucked the robe, yanked and cinched the pants—again. “I like how we match, Beck. We’re twins.”
He handed her a glass of wine and rang his against it. “Twins. Just what I was thinking. Not.” After a sip, he said, “Now satisfy my curiosity. I thought you couldn’t get away. What changed?”
“A few appointments got postponed.” By me. “I suddenly had a free afternoon and was ready for an adventure. Besides, I wanted to see your place.” Wanted to see you. Paige swallowed a hefty gulp. Does he buy it?
“Ah. Well, it sounds as if just getting here was an adventure. With this raging storm, you may regret coming. I hope you’re ready and willing to hunker down for a while.”
Stuck in a cabin alone with you? Oh yeah. Can’t think of a better way to put this disturbing day behind me. Had he forgiven her though? Since they’d made up, he’d acted as though nothing had happened. Yet she’d fretted. Everything had to be right again.
He studied her over the rim of his glass.
The breath suddenly whooshed from her lungs, and tears flooded her eyes. Damn it! She flapped her hand in front of her face. She’d vowed to herself she wouldn’t do this. “I’m sorry.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Don’t be. This about the divorce being final today, huh? I didn’t bring it up because I was waiting to follow your lead, and you didn’t seem ready to go there.”
“You remembered.” She laid her cheek against him. “I didn’t expect it to hit me like this.” But was it the divorce? Or was it the thought of losing Beckett? “God, I’m lame. I’m always leaning on you.”