by Mary Frame
He shakes his head.
“He got his master’s in financial management. That’s what he worked on while I supported him. And once he got a job and started making money, he . . . changed. I took care of everything, bills, dinners, cleaning, and I worked part-time. Yet despite providing so much, everything he did was serious and adult-like and everything I still loved was infantile. Annoying. A hindrance to his wannabe jet-setting lifestyle. I didn’t belong in his world.”
There’s something comforting about sharing these details under the cover of the night sky. Like it’s a temple where you can reveal your sins and secrets and all will be forgiven.
He types again, the words coming to life on the screen. I get it. The not belonging thing.
“Do you? You have a great family. You go to school. You have goals and dreams. You belong here. I’m basically a homeless wretch.”
He nudges me with his elbow before typing again. You are not a wretch.
“But I am homeless?” A giggle bubbles out of me.
He shrugs.
“I mean, it’s not inaccurate, you’re right.”
This is the only place I fit in—with Jude and Grace. Both of them are brilliant, though. I can’t even speak.
I gasp in shock. “You can’t?”
He stares at me, eyes wide. For a split second I think he’s going to be pissed but then he slaps a hand over his mouth and turns into me, hiding his face between my arm and the towel, his body shaking.
“You’re laughing.” I smack his shaking shoulder. “I finally get you to cave and all I had to do was make a terribly insensitive joke.” I laugh with him, my voice the only sound filling the night, but his quiet mirth is the best thing I’ve never heard.
Eventually, he flops onto his back again, and we’re motionless together, breathing in the crisp mountain air.
I’ve wanted to ask him something for a while, though I didn’t want to offend him. But now, after that little laughing spell, I bet no one ever talks to Beast about his silence. Grace and Jude are used to it, and everyone else is probably too scared.
“Hey, remember when we got attacked by the rooster?” I ask.
He shrugs, lifting his hands in a gesture of How could I forget?
“Yeah, right? Good times. I heard you, before I came through the trees. Were you . . . are you still working on talking?”
He turns his head on the blanket. Our eyes meet. He nods.
“Why can’t you speak?” The question is a whisper.
He bites his lip, drawing my eyes to his mouth. But then he’s typing again and I have to look away to read the words.
It’s . . . his fingers halt. Then start again. I don’t want you to think badly of me.
“That’s basically impossible. I would never think badly of you.”
He shrugs.
“You take care of everyone, Beast. You notice when people need something and you provide it, whether it’s a cup of coffee or a taste of home or tissues for a broken girl you don’t even know.”
He watches me as I speak, tracing my features with his warm gaze, like he’s searching for truth in the words, before he types again. If you knew everything about me, you wouldn’t look at me the same.
I turn toward him, lying on my side. “How do I look at you now?” The words are a whisper.
Our eyes lock and then his flicker to my lips.
My heart stutters.
Like I’m normal. Like you care. Like I matter.
“Because you are and I do. You do. I have to admit though, you were kind of intimidating at first. For like the first five months of our acquaintance.”
I’m too big.
I smack him on his shoulder. “You’re not. You’re perfect exactly as you are.”
So are you. You were never a broken girl. Only a homeless wretch.
I laugh and he smiles at me, a small one, but it’s there, the curve of his cheek glowing under the moonlight. Our faces are only inches apart.
I take a breath, about to speak, but then we’re kissing.
I don’t know who moves first, but the connection is instant, his mouth moving over mine, his hands spearing into my hair to lock me in place. I part my lips and his tongue slips inside. It’s like we’ve done this a million times.
It’s just as good as before. Better even, because we’re lying out in the open air instead of the confines of the truck. I can press the rest of my body against him. I can run my hands up his arms to his shoulders. I can hitch one leg over his waist.
One of his hands glides from my head down to my thigh, then to the side of my hip, grasping me in blunt possession and tugging me closer. Close enough to feel the hard length of him between us. I suck in a breath and desire ricochets through me. He’s hard and huge, the size befitting the rest of him. What would he feel like inside? The thought trips through me, adding another layer of arousal.
I edge up and push at his shoulder. He rolls over onto his back, stretched out before me like a sacrifice. A huge, hot sacrifice. I straddle him, centering myself right over the bulge of his arousal. Our clothes are still on, but the thin fabric is no barrier.
We stare at each other for a hot minute, the visual connection nearly tangible, both of us breathing like we’ve been running miles. My hands fist his shirt. If lust had a color it would be Beast’s eyes in the moonlight.
I grind against him and he sucks in a breath, his fingers spasming against my hips. Leaning down, I kiss the breath from his mouth and set up a small rhythm, shifting against him, enjoying the play of soft material between us.
The desire, already an inferno, expands. I lean back to enjoy the view of him underneath me.
He feels so good. Perfect. His hands link with mine and I tug them up, cupping them over my breasts.
I groan, loud in the silent air and he crunches up to cover the noise with his mouth. I’m panting into him, frantic, hips moving against him.
He leans back, and air whooshes out of him in one hot breath. His fingers tremble against my tank top. I show him exactly what I want and he’s eager to learn, his hands moving with greater speed at my direction and then his thumbs brushing, oh so carefully, at my nipples through the slinky fabric. I have to keep moving or I’ll die. Grinding against him is the only relief and I need it because this craving inside has teeth. And claws digging into me. Adamantium claws.
He collapses back onto the towel, his breathing heavy, his eyes dark and focused on me, his hands moving back to my breasts. He bites his lip, his eyes taking in everything like he doesn’t even know where to look. Hands slide under my top, then under my demi bra, the hot skin-to-skin touches nearly tossing me over the edge.
I pant and moan his name and then the orgasm shudders through me, quaking my entire being. The world goes dark as my eyes fall shut and I collapse on top of him.
His arms slide around me, holding tight and then he makes a noise, too, something I haven’t heard other than that day in the woods, a kind of murmuring rumble brushing my ear. His fingers grip my hips, moving me against him as he frantically thrusts. His erection spasms against my still sensitive core as he finds his own release.
We stay there, foreheads touching, sharing air.
“That was . . . that was . . .” I can’t think. No words. My mind is blank, my body sated and boneless.
His hands rub up and down my back for a long while.
Time passes in that pose. A minute, an hour? Who knows? Eventually, he leans to the side, reaching for his phone atop the towel.
I prop myself up to see his words.
I’m sorry. I’m messy.
I grin at him. “You aren’t alone. I am, too.”
His eyes search mine in the darkness before he types again. You enjoyed it as much as I did?
“You couldn’t tell?”
One corner of his mouth lifts. I thought so, but confirmation is nice.
“Let’s just say enjoyed isn’t a strong enough word. I need a word with more bite.”
Then both
corners of his mouth kick up at once and he’s all-out grinning and my heart does a nosedive straight into my stomach.
Beast without the smile is broody and handsome and compelling.
Beast with a smile?
I might not survive it.
And with that realization follows reality. I can’t have this. This isn’t for me. He isn’t for me. The thoughts must be scrolling across my face. The delight of the past hour dies a slow death inside my heart, and Beast’s smile follows suit on its heels.
He tilts his head, a question in his eyes that needs no vocalization.
I slide off him in one smooth motion and kneel on the towel beside him. I lean my head back, focusing on the sky above. The blanket of stars is no longer soothing, but smothering.
“We shouldn’t have done that.”
He sits up on an elbow, watching me.
“I’m leaving. Soon. You’re . . .” I swallow. “With Caroline.”
He jerks up straighter, a hand on my arm, a rough shake of his head.
“I know, you aren’t, like, together with her, yet. But you want to be.”
Maybe Caroline is a weak excuse, but the full truth is harder to admit, even to myself. I’m scared. Terrified of this thing blooming between us, the strength of it. I can’t fall for him only to have it all end. Better to end before it begins, before my heart is completely annihilated.
He stills. Pulls his hand away. Bends his knees, resting his elbows on them, his hands tugging through his hair. He blows out a breath and shifts his attention toward the lake, giving me his profile.
“And even if Caroline wasn’t in the picture, I can’t be. I’m not letting go of my goals and aspirations, as lame as they may be. It’s something I need to do for myself. I gave up everything for someone else once upon a time.” And there was no happy fairy-tale ending. “I’m sorry.” The words are reflexive.
I’m not sorry. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. I would do it all night long. But that’s not fair to anyone, and I’m leaving and he doesn’t like me that way. Well, he wasn’t complaining, so maybe it’s possible he could like me that way, but I’m leaving. Caroline is not. Caroline lives here. Caroline Caroline Caroline. Even if we both wanted to continue whatever this is, it’s not a good idea.
He belongs with Jude and Grace, and all the others. They are his self-made family and I’m a temporary blip.
He’s still staring out over the water and the silence is pushing me into a mess of rambling nerves. “It was a bad idea. You have Caroline and Blue Falls and I have . . . New York. And we’re friends, right? We shouldn’t have let it get out of control and now you probably feel guilty and I’m an idiot and—”
He puts a hand out and rests it on my forearm. A quick touch before pulling back.
I can’t read his eyes.
He stands and sticks out his hand. I take it. He tugs me to my feet and then gathers our towels and the lantern. I watch him in stupefied silence. He doesn’t try to communicate. He slips the phone in his pocket. Without another glance, he heads across the beach, back toward the path.
After a few seconds, I follow.
I walk behind him on the narrow footpath. It’s as silent as a tomb. More silent. The trees are more forthcoming with their feelings at this point.
Before we get too close to the tents, I stop him, reaching out and grabbing his hand to force him to a halt.
He turns partway toward me. It’s even darker here under the trees, his face a mask of grey slate.
“We’re still friends, right?” I keep my voice low.
He pauses for a long time, not moving.
My hand is still grasping his lax fingers. “I don’t have many friends.”
The words finally garner a reaction. His hand moves, a hint of a clasp, and then he releases me and nods.
That’s something. I should be relieved, but the sensation isn’t presenting itself. Now it doesn’t matter what he says, I’ve made it weird.
We can’t be friends. We orgasmed together. Friends don’t do that. How do I fix this? My stomach ties itself into knots. My brain goes into panic mode and lands on what feels like the most reasonable next thing to say.
“Do you still want me to help you with Caroline, or is that too weird now?”
His face is inscrutable. Heavy shoulders shrug once.
See? I knew it. I made it weird. I make everything weird. I’m the worst.
“That’s fair.” My mouth is dry. I clear my throat. “We’re friends, though. If you ever need anything, I’m here.”
Another short nod and then he’s moving back along the path, faster than before. His long strides put him farther and farther ahead of me. Once he reaches the campsite, he stops and waits. When I get close, he hands me my lantern and towel. Then he practically bolts away toward the tent he’s sharing with Grace.
The Flash is a turtle compared to this guy.
Back in my tent, I stare up at the canvas top like it will give me all the answers. But it’s blank, devoid of stars and explanations.
I did the right thing. So why does it feel like I’ve lost everything?
Chapter Fourteen
“My dad told me he relates to Tywin Lannister. He’s like, ‘No, it’s hard being the head of the family!’ ”
–Overheard at Comic-Con
* * *
The next morning, everything is perfectly normal. Except I can’t quite look Beast in the eye, I barely slept, and the guilt hanging around my neck is heavier than the Eye of Agamotto.
We cook foil-wrapped eggs and sausage in the firepit, spend a couple of early morning hours on the beach—sans games—and then before lunch, everyone helps take down the campsite for the trek back to Blue Falls.
We could only stay the one night because nearly everyone has obligations back in town. Except me and Beast. We don’t have to work until tomorrow night.
Beast. My heart stutters as I shove my sleeping bag into an impossibly smaller bag.
How could I have ruined everything so terribly? What was I thinking? I stomp my feet into the dirt, hauling some of my bags out to where the guys are repacking Fitz’s truck.
He’s inexperienced. Naïve. I’m like the older, more experienced woman taking advantage of—
My brain short-circuits as Beast lifts the camp box and the cooler stacked together in one mighty heft, the muscles in his shoulders bunching under his shirt.
Okay. Maybe he can’t really be taken advantage of, but still. I shouldn’t have instigated a sexual situation with him. Or continued it. Or brought it to its inevitable conclusion. Not when I’m leaving. Not when it isn’t fair to either of us. Now we can’t be friends, despite our awkward agreement last night. It isn’t possible. And it’s my fault.
Last night.
Memories of his hands on my breasts, teasing my nipples with his wide thumbs, send an avalanche of heat rushing through me.
“Are you okay?” Reese frowns. “You look flushed.”
“I’m fine.” I toss my camp gear down and race back to my tent before my traitorous face gives everything away.
I attempt to take down the tent on my own, tugging at the stakes someone has pummeled into the ground with supreme, immovable force. I take out all my aggression in my attempts to pull the items from the earth, but it’s useless. I’m weak and pathetic.
And then Beast is next to me, reaching down, pulling the offensive item out with little more than a tug.
I take a few deep breaths and watch him yank out the remaining stakes like he’s done this a thousand times.
I focus my gaze in the direction of the campsite, but I can’t see the others from here, although occasional bits of conversation and laughter reach me through the trees.
And then Beast is in front of me.
He gives me the sign for okay, his pointer and thumb creating a circle while the remaining fingers are lifted up, a question in his eyes.
“I’m okay,” I say, my voice whisper-soft.
And then wit
hout warning, his arms are around me and I’m surrounded by the most overwhelming and somehow tender embrace I’ve ever received. It lasts a second, maybe two, and then he pulls back, his hands still on my shoulders.
Our eyes lock and he smiles.
It’s a forced smile. Doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Nothing like the beauty he revealed last night on the beach, but . . . it’s something. And because of that, I know it will all be okay.
Not the same, not even close to what my heart and body demand. But it will be okay.
“Granny, we’re home!” Grace calls out as we thump into the house, unloading our bags in the entry.
It’s quiet and empty. Just the ticking of the old cuckoo clock in the corner.
“Maybe she’s out in the barn.” My eyes alight on something bright and red hanging on the banister.
Grace’s footsteps tap away toward the kitchen and I head to the stairs, reaching for the item just as I realize what it is.
It’s a bra. It’s lacy and red. And it’s not mine. It can’t be Grace’s. Only Granny has the rack for it. Grace’s plodding footsteps stop and then increase in volume. She’s coming this way. I snatch the red piece of lingerie, hiding it behind my back as I face her.
“What was that?” she asks.
“What? Nothing.”
One hip juts out and her hand rests on it. “Why are you hiding a bra?”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“You suck at lying. Fine.” She ducks around me and grabs it before I can blink. “Holy crap, who’s is that?”
“Uh. Mine.”
She snorts. “Your boobs are not that big. Is that Granny’s? Why is it down here?”
I snatch it back. “It’s none of our business.”
“I can’t believe Granny has a boyfriend. So that’s where she’s been disappearing to almost every night.” Her eyes gleam as they meet mine. “We should spy on her.”
“No spying.”
I run up the stairs.
Grace stomps up behind me. “Oh, come on. I bet it’s old Mr. Thompson. She says she doesn’t like bald men but she’s always telling him what to do. I think she likes bossing him around.” She gasps and the sound is so loud I stop on the middle of the stairs and turn to check on her.
