It's in His Kiss

by Jill Shalvis

  doesn’t count.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “You know why.”

  She gave him her I’m-not-impressed-with-that-excuse look, and he let out a laugh. “Look, we both know that intimacy between us is . . . inappropriate,” he said.

  “Hey, we crossed the intimacy barrier a long time ago.”

  “Yeah. Shit,” he muttered, his voice a low, incredibly sexy growl that wasn’t helping the situation one little bit.

  “Tell me the truth,” she said. “Is it because you’re no longer attracted to me?”

  “No. Christ, no.” He dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling for a beat, then came back to her. He let his weight cover her and rocked his hips, proving that he wasn’t lying. He was absolutely attracted to her, in a big way if the erection he was sporting was any indication.

  “I don’t get it,” she said, clinging to him. “I’m not asking for a marriage proposal. I mean, I’m not exactly relationship material, either.”

  He went still, then lifted his head. “You don’t think I’m relationship material?”

  She stared up into his beautiful green eyes, surprised by the fact he seemed insulted by this. “Are you?” she asked.

  He didn’t take his gaze from her. “Well, no.”

  “Are you a commitment-phobe?”

  “No, definitely not,” he said.

  She slid her fingers into his silky hair. “So why are you complicating things by holding back?”

  “It doesn’t matter why,” he said. “I said no. And as your boss, whatever I say goes.”

  She shivered at that, and laughed as she nudged her good spot to his. “Maybe I like that, you being all bossy.”

  He tightened his grasp on her hips to hold her still, but his eyes were so heated she was near melting point. “You need to stop playing with me.”

  She stared up at him. “Just tell me this—are you holding back because of me?”

  “What?”

  “Olivia said maybe it wasn’t just the job, that maybe it was me, you were holding back for me.” She was worried about this. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve got some misguided notion that I’m not ready for the likes of you, or something equally macho and alpha and stupid.”

  The truth was in his eyes.

  He was holding back for her. Damn it. She hated that. “I hate that, Sam.”

  He kissed her again. Becca tried to remain unmoved but he was such a good kisser, and in two seconds she was kissing him back. Just when things started to get deliciously out of hand, he pulled back. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered against her lips.

  And then he was gone.

  “Ditto,” she said into the silent room.

  The next morning, Becca staggered out of bed. Moving slowly so her throbbing head didn’t fall off, she showered, dressed, and made her way to work.

  The hut was open, lights on, coffee made, computer booted up. On her counter sat a mug of steaming coffee, three aspirin, and a whole tin of ranch-flavored popcorn.

  Damn, he was romantic after all.

  Chapter 19

  Sam stayed in his warehouse most of the day, figuring that both he and Becca could use a little space.

  At least he could.

  So why he found himself watching the big, open doorway of his warehouse as if that was his job, he had no idea. But he was still watching when his dad pulled up in the alley with Becca’s car. Mark got out and walked toward the beach hut, undoubtedly to return her keys.

  Sam rolled his eyes, thinking Becca should consider herself lucky his dad hadn’t sold the thing and pocketed the money.

  A few minutes later, Mark was back in the alley, and when he caught sight of Sam, he waved. “Son, hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Mark came to the doorway. “So . . . what’s your policy on letting houseguests drive your spare car?”

  Sam’s spare car had been Gil’s and was a ’68 Camaro. “My policy is fuck no.”

  Mark sighed. “Yeah. I get it. It’s not like I deserve to borrow shit, especially since you’ve been letting me stay with you and eat your food and everything I should have done for you all those years ago, right?”

  It was Sam’s turn to sigh as he fished out his truck keys.

  Mark grinned. “Thanks. Love ya.”

  And then he was gone.

  Much later, Sam looked up from the boat he was working on and blinked, realizing hours had gone by and he hadn’t been interrupted by a single thing. It had to be a record.

  The phones had rung, but they’d been picked up. Apparently Becca was doing fine since she knew to call him if she needed anything.

  She hadn’t.

  Which was great. After all, the whole point of hiring her had been so that he could be left alone.

  His favorite state.

  But Cole and Tanner were still out, and she’d been on her own all day.

  Maybe something was wrong. Maybe she’d fallen and hit her head.

  Maybe he was an idiot.

  “Shit.” He gave up wondering and headed toward the hut.

  He heard her before he saw her, that bubbly, infectious laugh. When he turned the corner and saw the open hut, Becca was sitting behind the counter. She’d kicked off her sneakers and rolled her jeans into capris. She wore a red tank and a straw hat, which Sam recognized as the one Tanner occasionally wore in the bright afternoon sun, and a welcoming smile.

  “That’s perfect, Yvonne,” she was saying to a customer. “You’ll have such a wonderful time. The guys are all so great, you’ll want to book another trip right away, I’m sure.” She pointed to a spot on the iPad screen in front of her—onto which she’d loaded all their forms. “And don’t forget to leave your email addy. You don’t want to miss any specials we have going on.”

  She’d been right—she was a fast learner. She had a gift, a different one from anyone he’d ever met. She had the gift of curiosity and empathy, and of bringing people out of themselves, charming them, getting them to open up.

  He knew that firsthand. He hated that she seemed to think her self-worth was wrapped up in her past, because that was bullshit. The smart, determined, resourceful Becca Thorpe could do anything she set her mind to.

  He wished she knew that.

  Yvonne was beaming when she walked away, and Becca immediately turned her attention to the next person waiting.

  It was Anderson, the guy who ran the local hardware store. He was in his mid-thirties, and had been in Lucky Harbor since he was a kid. He was an okay guy, Sam supposed, but he was a known dog when it came to women. And sure enough, he leaned on the counter and flashed Becca his on-the-prowl smile like he was God’s gift. “Hey,” he said smoothly. “I know you. I sold you some stuff a few weeks back.”

  “You most definitely did, thank you,” Becca said. “What can I sign you up for today? A snorkel? A deep-sea fishing expedition?”

  “Which one of those do you do?”

  “I take your money,” she said.

  Anderson laughed. “How about I take you instead.”

  “Um, what?” she asked.

  “Out to dinner.” Anderson clarified this with a smile, leaning in closer.

  “Like . . . on a date?” Becca asked.

  “Yes,” Anderson said. “A date. What are you doing later?”

  “She’s busy,” Sam said, stepping inside the hut and coming up behind Becca, laying a hand on her shoulder.

  Anderson stopped drooling over Becca and straightened. “Hey there. I like your new front person. She’s a whole lot cuter than any of you three. No offense,” he said, and smiled.

  Sam did not.

  Anderson’s smile faded. “Right, well, okay then. I’ll just be on my way.”

  When he was gone, Becca very slowly, very purposefully turned to Sam. “What was that?”

  Sam shrugged. “He thinks you’re cute.”

  “No, I meant what was that, as in what were you doing just now?”

  �
��Stopped him from harassing you. I came up to see how you were feeling after last night. And to see. . .” What, genius? “How you’re working out.”

  He knew his mistake immediately, even before she narrowed her eyes. “I’m working out just fine,” she said. “But you not so much.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She moved closer and lowered her voice without lowering her annoyance level, which was blasting from her eyes. “You just acted like . . . a caveman.”

  “A caveman,” he repeated.

  “Yes! You chased him away from asking me out. You might as well have dragged me back to your cave by the hair.”

  He stared at her and then turned and tugged down the hut’s rolling door for privacy, intending to show her his inner caveman.

  But though Becca’s eyes were still fiery, she took an immediate step back.

  Sam swore beneath his breath and shoved the door back up again, giving her the space she clearly needed.

  Becca held her own. She’d crossed her arms, but looked more pissed than anxious. Which was infinitely better, but not ideal. He still had no idea what made her tick. All he knew was that she made him tick.

  And that was a first for him.

  Also, he wanted a few minutes alone with whoever had made her anxious in small spaces. He wanted that badly. “Okay,” he said slowly. “You’re going to have to make a lot more sense for me here. Are you saying you actually wanted to go out with Anderson?”

  “You’re missing my point on purpose.”

  “Maybe because you’re not speaking English.” He dipped his head so that they were eye-to-eye. “Tell me in English, Becca.”

  “All right,” she said, nose-to-nose with him, toe-to-toe. “I want to date you, you big, stubborn lug. But you don’t want to date me back. You have all these. . .” She waved a hand. “Stupid rules.”

  “No, just the one,” he said. “And it’s not stupid. It’s to protect you.”

  “From what?” she demanded, then blew out a breath when he just looked at her. “Whatever,” she said, unimpressed as she tossed up her hands. Then she drew in a deep breath, like she was searching for patience, which was a new one for him. Normally he was the one searching for patience. And here she was looking at him like he drove her crazy. Which made no sense since he was being perfectly reasonable and she was not.

  “I’m new to town,” she finally said. “You know this.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “So?”

  “So maybe I’m lonely.”

  He stared at her, and he could admit, that hadn’t occurred to him. He liked to be alone.

  But this sweet, tough, beautiful woman in front of him wasn’t wired the same as he was, and he should have gotten that. “Becca.”

  “Oh, no.” She waggled a finger in his face. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. I’m a big girl, and I take care of myself. You don’t want to be with me that way, I get it. We did it once, and maybe it was so awful for you that you can’t bear to repeat it, maybe—”

  “You know that’s not the case.”

  “Fine. But it doesn’t matter. You won’t let yourself be with me, for whatever secret reason—”

  “It’s not a secret, Becca.”

  “Yes, it is. I mean, you say it’s because I work for you, and also because you think I’m not ready, but you know what I think? I think that’s just an excuse. Which leaves me to believe you’re afraid of me and what we had during our one night together.”

  He let out a low laugh. “I’m not afraid of shit.”

  “No?” she challenged, hands on hips. “Then prove it.”

  He stared at her and then drew in a deep breath and tried again. “I don’t feel sorry for you.”

  “Great. But if you could not put on your scary alpha-man face and shoo away the next person who might want to be my friend, that would be great, too.”

  She couldn’t be that naive. Could she? “Becca, Anderson didn’t want to be your friend. He wanted to be in your pants.”

  She lost some of her bluster at that. “Well . . . that was for me to decide.”

  “So you do want to go out with him.”

  “Nooooo,” she said slowly and clearly, as if he was a huge idiot. “As already established, I want to go out with you. But you’re turning out to be an ass, and I try very hard not to date asses anymore.”

  “Anymore?” he asked.

  And just like that, her expression closed. This got to him, in a bad way. “I think it’s time we talk about you,” he said quietly.

  She turned away.

  Reaching out, he gently snagged her hand and pulled her back around.

  “I’m on the clock,” she said. “We’re not talking about this now.”

  “Becca—”

  “Or ever.”

  He disagreed, vehemently, and began to reel her in, but her cell phone rang. It was sitting on the counter, which is how he saw it was a FaceTime call from Jase.

  Becca stared at the thing as if it were a snake poised to strike.

  “You going to answer?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Sure.” Taking a deep breath, she slid her thumb across the screen to answer. “Hey, Jase,” she said, back to her friendly smile. It was the one she gave out to his clients, Sam realized, which was different from the smiles she gave him. The smiles for him were . . . real.

  “Becca.” A guy’s face filled the screen. He looked like Becca, with the same big, soulful brown eyes and easy smile. He also looked incredibly relieved. “You’re hard to get ahold of.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I know.”

  “Too busy to call me back?”

  Becca didn’t look at Sam. “I’m sorry.” Her cheeks were red. Her ears were red, too. Her eyes weren’t. They were just plain unhappy.

  Jase’s smile faded as he took in this fact as well. “Bex,” he said, until he caught sight of Sam. “Who’s that?”

  “He’s my boss,” Becca said before Sam could answer. “I. . .got a job.”

  Jase’s gaze came back to Becca. “A job?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you have a job in New Orleans, close to home.”

  “I lied when I told you I’d taken a leave of absence,” she said. “The truth is, I quit. And now I. . .answer phones.”

  “I’d have given you money,” Jase said. “Bex, you should be playing, going for your dream of music. Not . . . answering someone’s phones. Jesus.”

  “It’s more than phones,” Sam said. “She’s running a charter company.”