Theresa appeared oblivious to the increasing tension as he invaded Grace’s space, making notes and suggestions and asking good questions.
“Um, Beckett has suggested an option for fabric.”
His pleasure that Grace was considering his offer made him smile, and he dropped a kiss on her nose. She was clearly flustered by his attention but hesitant to say anything in front of Theresa, confining herself to the occasional glare and arched brow—that he ignored.
He explained about the offcuts and the seamstress jumped on the idea. She agreed to have the material delivered to her shop, signing a quickly drafted promise to protect Grace’s proprietary interest. Grace insisted on input in assigning the fabric to each garment and Beckett had the impression a fledgling partnership was born between the two women. He was content in an advisory role if it meant his wife would succeed.
“She’s wonderful.” Grace leaned against the door. “Don’t you think?”
“Indeed she is. You’re making a good start.”
“I know. And I want to start out small, build my name. That way, if it flops no one will know.”
“You won’t fail, Grace.” He’d see to that. “Will you ask me for help?”
“I… Maybe.”
He supposed he had to be content with that. “I’d better get back. Kalim’s contract is calling me.”
“What’s he buying?”
“An expansion of our glamor line. It’s extremely limited.”
“I doubt there’s any call for my line in his country.” The teasing note in her voice made him smile. It reminded him of their first times together when they actually talked and he wasn’t actively trying to get her into his bed. Not that he wasn’t now—okay, so she was in his bed, just not in it.
He hurried to answer her. “I expect not. Modesty is judged differently there. That bathing suit would set off a storm.”
“That’s true.”
Passing close by her, he dropped another kiss on her hair, feeling her stiffen before he headed to the den. He resolved to stoke the building connection between them while not slaking his need unless Grace was all in. It promised to be a long, hard slog.
Chapter Ten
“So, you and Kamil?” Grace kept her voice down, even if the men were in the living room pouring drinks after dinner and she and Charity were upstairs in her bedroom turned office.
Her friend’s generous mouth curved into a glowing smile. “Indeed.”
“But he’s… I mean, he’s from a conservative country and you’re not…”
“Conservative?” Charity laughed out loud, a rich, earthy sound. “I’m definitely not, and I think he likes that.”
“He’s leaving tomorrow.”
“Grace, don’t look so worried. I’m not ass over heels. He’s hot and we have chemistry. I’m a big believer in grabbing the good things in life while I can.”
Grace could admit Kamil both looked and seemed like a good thing. “I guess I’m concerned you’ll get hurt. I mean, at first I wondered if you’d put him in his place, but then I’ve seen the two of you together.”
“I’ll be his woman overseas when he comes to visit. At least until one of us isn’t interested anymore.”
The designs and pictures she’d been showing her friend blurred before her eyes. If only she was built that way.
“What’s wrong?” Charity’s tone was sharp and she moved in close. “Is it the baby?”
“What?” She realized she’d pressed a hand against the swell of her baby bump. “Oh, no. Baby’s fine as far as I know. In fact, I think she’s moving.”
“Really?” Her friend reached out a tentative finger.
“Nothing to feel, Charity. Not yet. It’s like butterfly wings in there, very faint.”
“And you didn’t have that … before?”
“No. My first baby was probably … gone sometime before that and I didn’t know.” It still hurt to speak of it but she wasn’t going to dwell. Not when this child was with her.
“Does Beck know?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you withholding?” There was no censure in the other woman’s tone, merely curiosity.
Was she? “I don’t think so. It’s very new and… Maybe. I still don’t trust him.” It made her feel vaguely ill to admit that.
“Well, he was a prick for a long time. A couple of months of being nice to you—”
“It isn’t that. Well, some of it. But it’s more that my feelings for him are returning.” If they ever really left.
“Ah. Not surprising. You, honey, were ass over heels for your husband. I get that you thought it got killed off, but the heart wants what it wants.”
“And you’d know that how?” She winced. “Sorry. That was bitchy.”
Charity laughed and drew her to a chair. “Sit. You look like it’s past your bedtime. With that sexy man of yours.” Grace blushed and her friend pounced. “Maybe sex is rekindling your love?”
“No. Though it’s tempting,” she mumbled.
“I can imagine. But with you, it’s strings attached.”
“Probably, though I’d just like the sex right now.”
“The advice I have for you on that front wouldn’t suit, so I won’t offer it. Instead, let me say that you’ll follow your heart and if Beck puts a foot wrong he’ll answer to me.”
Looking every inch the Amazon warrior in her golden, wraparound dress and bangles, a pair of heavily strapped sandals on her feet, Charity blazed with determination. Grace nodded and felt her spirits lift. “Good to know.”
“In the meantime, I’m so excited for you about the maternity line moving forward. Beck supporting you can’t be the worst thing.”
“It isn’t. And he also seems to understand how important it is for me to do this on my own. I’m not adverse to, say, having him as a supplier, but that’s it.”
“Slow and steady, Grace. And we’d better get back downstairs. I have plans for Kamil later and dining and dashing is rude.”
A giggle bubbled up at her friend’s blatant honesty, not that it distracted her from her own … needs. As they descended to join the men, it occurred to her that Charity hadn’t answered her query about knowing how “the heart wants what it wants”.
Both men rose as they entered the living room and her gaze settled on Beckett. Dressed in dark slacks and a pale-blue button-down shirt, open at the neck, he exuded casual elegance and sexuality. Her body tingled and her feet carried her to him, his stare sweeping over her from head to toe.
What did he see? Her body was changing, as was her demeanor. Confidence was a wonderful attribute and she was feeling more and more of that. Whatever he saw, he liked, and that need pulsed in her core—hard. Her brain, fortunately, caught up and whispered a reminder that he was capable of destroying her…
True to her word, Charity spirited Kamil away after a suitable time of two couples hanging out in a relaxed fashion if one didn’t count the escalating sexual tension, and not just between her friend and Beckett’s.
Beck had been consistently invading her space, finding reasons—valid and otherwise—to touch her. Even those casual kisses dropped on her hair and one on her nose were full of promise as they put her in the proximity of his well-made body and treated her to his spicy scent. And now she was going to be alone with him while they cleaned up after the dinner party.
Resolving to ignore her body’s interest, she bade the other couple goodbye and once they’d left, busied herself picking up glasses to carry back to the kitchen.
“I’m glad I hired someone to clean, seeing as you’re going to be busy with the clothing line.”
Her first instinct had been to protest, seeing as how she’d managed the cleaning in addition to the coursework. But he was right. She’d be hard-pressed to keep up, especially as her pregnancy progressed. Except then she wouldn’t feel like she was contributing. “I’ll pay whomever.”
“You won’t.” He was stacking plates in the dishwasher, his back to her, but his
tone was implacable.
“I feel obligated. Not paying my way.”
“Grace.” All the good humor of the evening was gone from his face and tone as he faced her. “You’re not a roommate. This is your home too, as austere as it is.”
She wanted to say it was only for a few more months but remembering his hurt when she’d resisted his help with the fabric kept her silent. And the truth was, the place wasn’t feeling nearly as cold and unwelcome, not with Beckett home more often than not and with the influx of odds and ends of furniture and accessories. Though, it was more because of the difference in the people filling it.
As each day passed, she could admit to entertaining the idea that living in the same house with Beckett could be a good thing, for the sake of the baby. Unless he met someone else and wanted her. Fell in love… She focused on washing the crystal, refusing to consign it to the dishwasher as she shoved that thought away. Right now he seemed content with their living situation, determined to be there for his child and she’d cross the other bridge when they came to it. Or he would and she’d be left behind.
Blinking at the sudden rush of tears, twice in one day wasn’t unheard of, she was hormonal, after all, she rinsed and set the glasses to drain. If you willingly invited his attention he’d have no reason to look elsewhere.
That evil little voice sounded far too much like her father’s and sufficed in drying her tears like magic. She straightened from the sink and looked around to see if there was anything left to do—besides Beckett. She needed to keep reminding herself what he’d been capable of, like Charity said, for nearly a year. And while he’d indicated a desire to repair their relationship before he learned about the baby, she had only his word for it. Trust was a commodity she couldn’t—and wouldn’t—do without.
The flutter in her belly froze all her maudlin thoughts and she stilled, the better to focus in on it. A kind of swishing sensation, a drift of butterfly wings entranced her and she carefully splayed her palm across the area. I feel you, little one. I love you.
“Grace?” Beckett was in her space, staring down at her, concern etching his handsome features. “What is it?”
How long had she been standing there, turning inward? “The baby’s moving.”
“What? For real?” To her astonishment, he dropped to his knees and paid rapt attention to her midsection. “Can I?”
“You can’t see it, Beckett. And you can’t feel it yet. It’s just a flutter. She’s still really small. I’m surprised I can even feel her, except apparently second-time moms can.”
His gaze drifted up to meet hers and having him at her feet did curious things to her insides, the baby’s movements notwithstanding. “Is this the first time?”
“I think maybe the third. I’m not sure about the first one. Maybe wishful thinking.”
He rose to his feet in one lithe movement. “Will you keep me updated, Grace? Please?”
Maybe she had been withholding. His fascination soothed her and she acknowledged his continual interest in everything she did so as not to take any risks. Regret pinched. “I will. I promise. I … I was thinking about childbirth classes. With Charity’s shifts, she can’t commit.”
His face lit and he gave her a smile. “Count me in. Doesn’t matter when they are. I’ll be there.”
She hadn’t thought that far ahead, to him being there when their baby was born. She’d gone from withholding to total involvement. Hopefully, it was the right choice. And, if he backslid, she’d rescind her offer. For now, it felt curiously like relief. She really didn’t want to go through this alone.
“The real deal ultrasound is in five weeks, right?” he asked.
“Yes.” She was secretly terrified.
“Do you want to know the gender?” He’d obviously been poring over the same information she had.
“No.” She had no idea why that was, but maybe it was because she didn’t want to jinx anything.
“Okay. Do you have a preference?”
“Do you?” She held her breath. What if he wanted—?
“No preference, Grace, aside from him or her to be healthy. And for you to be okay.”
Air whooshed out of her lungs. If he had no preference then she couldn’t fail him. “Oh, that’s good then.”
“What was that about?” Amusement danced in his blue eyes. Eyes that looked at her the way they had in the beginning. “Why would it matter if we have a little girl with her mother’s gentleness or a boy with her good heart?”
“I can’t guarantee the sex, Beckett.”
One big hand swept over his hair as the humor vanished again. She was obviously forcing mood swings on him. “Don’t you dare think you’ll disappoint me, woman. Besides, I determined the gender. All that crap about men historically chastising their wives for not giving them sons…”
Her mood instantly lifted. She’d forgotten that nugget of information, sinking back into that old habit of feeling less than and blaming herself. Something she needed to be cautious about because no child of hers was going to be exposed to that kind of thing as long as she could help it.
“Hey.” He clasped her hand, that devilish thumb unerringly finding that sensitive place on her wrist. “Your old man did a number on you. And then I fucked up. Sweetheart, I’ll be apologizing for the rest of my life, trying to make amends. If the day comes when you’ll look at me again the way you did in those early days, I’ll be the happiest man alive.”
“You don’t need to keep apologizing, Beckett,” she said quietly, trying to ignore the whisper of his thumb against her skin. “Actions speak far louder than words.”
His big body stilled. “And am I any closer to convincing you?”
“I… I want to believe you’ve changed—for good.” And, if she was honest with herself, she did. “But I can’t go through that again, not any of it.”
“I know.” He drew her in for an embrace and she allowed it, soaking up his heat and breathing in his scent. In moments, the comfort and reassurance morphed into something less staid, her sensitive breasts pressing against his solid chest, the sensation of his muscled thighs against hers highlighting the hardening of his flesh at her belly.
Perhaps soothed by the hug and lulled by his behavior for the past while, her body snapped awake into instant lust and her core dampened, a tiny moan building at the back of her throat. Beckett’s hand slipped up her back, his fingers working into her hair in a familiar way that upped her response. He tugged her head back and stared into her eyes, slowly lowering his mouth to hers, giving her time to resist—if she chose.
She chose him, and the instant his lips took hers, she melted, on fire with the passion she’d been stoking for weeks. Their first kiss in forever and the reminder didn’t change a thing about how she was feeling and what she wanted. Opening against his questing tongue, she pressed closer and let him steal her breath and what remained of her senses.
He kissed her for an eternity, a deep drugging sensation interspersed with tiny nibbles along her bottom lip and sweeps of his tongue. And she took it all as fully as it was offered.
Somehow, her top came undone and slipped from her shoulders, dispensed with by Beckett’s talented hands, and her own fumbled inside some hastily undone buttons on his shirt to explore the planes of his chest and belly. His skin was like velvet, smooth and heated, and he groaned into her mouth as she touched him.
“We’re not doing this here,” he muttered, his voice strained.
Looking into his eyes, she fell past his wide pupils, knowing her own were dilated with arousal. He grimaced. “We are doing this, Grace?”
She’d kill him if he walked away with some reasoning about having sex being more than scratching an itch. Though her higher synapses bleated a faint warning, she whispered, “We are.”
He scooped her up, something she didn’t ever recall and carried her through the dining room to the living room and the new couch. Laying her down, like she was some kind of fragile treasure, his stare zoned in on her breas
ts. “You’re gorgeous.”
Men and boobs. She dismissed the niggling inadequacy on that subject even as she wondered if her more voluptuous top half would remain after the baby’s birth. The fleeting thought vanished as Beckett leaned a knee between hers to press a kiss to the swell of her left breast, his mouth tracing a path above her pounding heart and downward to drift over where their child grew.
“Silky smooth,” he murmured. “You have the most intriguing swell.”
Her skin tingled in the wake of his lips, his faint stubble a decidedly pleasant rasp. Her fingers lifted to his hair, teasing through the thick strands as he nuzzled lower. “Beckett.”
He interpreted her need without further words—non-verbal communication when it came to their sexual connection had never been an issue—and lifted up to strip off his shirt, her hands tugging loose from his hair. She feasted her eyes on his broad chest and shoulders and let her gaze wander downward over his defined abs.
“The way you look at me,” he said, shoving his pants over his narrow hips, the zipper having made a loud, tearing sound in his haste.
She’d hidden her avid interest for a long time, fearful of rejection, afraid he’d mock her. Their coupling had taken place in their bed upon his return home, using his hands and mouth to arouse her, and then driving them both up through mutual pleasure with heated, desperate sexual congress. How many nights had she laid there, waiting?
“Grace. Don’t. Stay with me. Let this be the start of something even better,” he urged, slipping his arms around her to draw her close.
Was he reading her mind now? The hot length of him swept away her darkening thoughts and she abandoned herself to his questing lips and clever hands. The rest of her clothing was stripped off and Beckett descended on her, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking, teasing the beaded tip until the arrowing sensation direct to her apex made her whimper.
“Too much, sweetheart?” He eased up and turned his attention to her other breast, more gently but with equal intent as his shaft pulsed faintly against her thigh.
Love Changes Everything (Romance on the Go Book 0) Page 12
