Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5)

by Jessica Hawkins

  “Lola. Hang on.” Beau rubbed the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes, but he knew she was walking out. It was always going to end. It’d already gone on longer than it should’ve. Beau had never been good at ignoring his gut, though, and against all odds, it was telling him to go after her.

  He crossed the room, strode through the lobby and caught up with her in the elevator bank, where she was waiting with her arms crossed.

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Beau said.

  She didn’t even blink as she stared down the elevator doors.

  “We’re not supposed to be together. I don’t see how it could ever work.”

  “Then let me go back to my room. I’ll find a new hotel in the morning—or maybe I’ll just go home. Either way, you won’t see me again.”

  “I don’t want that.” Beau didn’t like talking to her profile, but she avoided his eyes. “Come upstairs with me.”

  She exhaled a short laugh. “Upstairs? To your room? You must think I was born yesterday.”

  Beau raised his palms as if not to spook her. He might, if he didn’t tread carefully. He regretted that he’d made a pass at her earlier. She suffered, because of him, and he was no longer sure he wanted that. “I don’t think that, but it feels wrong for you to be here in my hotel and not with me.”

  She opened her mouth, but he continued before she could interrupt.

  “I have a guest room. You can sleep there tonight, and after we’ve both gotten some rest, we can continue this talk.”

  The elevator arrived. Lola boarded it before the doors were even all the way open and hit a button.

  He followed. “Lola.”

  She looked at him. “What?”

  The doors closed. They were alone now—him, with Lola. He knew her, knew how to handle her, how to get her to respond. It was instinctual. “You’re not going back to your room tonight.”

  “I see. Suddenly, you’ve decided you want me, and I’m just supposed to obey?”

  “Neither of us knows what we want,” he said. “But we both know you’re not ready to walk away forever. Neither am I.”

  She readjusted her arms and tapped one gentle finger in sync with each ding of a passing floor.

  “What do you need?” he asked. “Just to agree to come for tonight?”

  She turned to face him without hesitating. “I need you to make me a promise. No matter what happens, no matter how good or bad it feels between us, no sex. I can’t sleep with you right now. I’m too confused. I need to feel—safe…again.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t just mean tonight. No, we don’t know what’s going to happen, but if it lasts a minute past tomorrow morning,” she paused, “you can’t touch me until I come to you and tell you I’m ready.”

  Beau sighed. He was exhausted—he’d have to be to agree to that. He would’ve said anything to get her up there so he could go to bed, though. Because he wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing she was in the next room.

  It wouldn’t be easy. Lola’s power over him wouldn’t go away just because he wished it would. That was becoming obvious.

  “You have my word.”

  Lola looked at him a second longer and turned back toward the elevator doors. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll come.”

  It wasn’t until they were walking to his room that he realized they’d never even stopped at the eleventh floor. When she’d gotten on the elevator before him, she’d pushed the button to go to the sixteenth.

  Chapter 40

  Lying on her back, with her hands folded over her naked stomach, Lola stared up at the dark ceiling of Beau’s guestroom. Beau’d kept his promise and shown her to the opposite side of the suite without so much as a handshake. From the dark circles under his eyes, she guessed he hadn’t slept since well before she’d left him that morning.

  She was tired too, but her thoughts were coming fast. Lola was far from the master Beau was. She hadn’t had as much time to plot as he had, and she’d stumbled and faltered her way through their interaction tonight. He’d riled her. She’d almost walked away. It’d been risky, threatening to leave, but she was still here. And she wasn’t ready to give in yet—she could learn this game.

  She reviewed the evening with careful attention to detail—like his anger when she’d questioned his authenticity. It was most uncomfortable to turn the magnifying glass inward, though, to figure out what about Beau derailed her. She’d almost broken down learning the nuances of his layered plan.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised about Hank Walken’s involvement—she might’ve figured it out if she’d given it enough thought. But the extent and depth of Beau’s reach scared her. When Sean, the doting bartender, had turned from confident to cowering, Lola had realized how alone she was in this. Nobody could take Beau on, because there was nobody Beau’s money couldn’t buy.

  Lola took a deep, meditative breath and closed her eyes, but not because she was going to sleep. She assumed somewhere out there, a star was shooting across the night sky. She made a wish—that Beau should suffer from his love the way she had. That she would be the first to bring him to his knees for what he’d done.

  She had no choice but to return to a place she didn’t want to. She had to be the Lola he’d fallen for in the middle of the night. The girl he’d touched as if she’d belonged to him rather than someone else. The girl who’d looked up at the stars and wondered how long ago her feelings for Johnny had begun to change. Who’d stepped in front of a gun for a man she hardly knew but one she knew she wasn’t prepared to live without.

  Beau had given her a picnic under the stars, but he’d also given her a pair of brand new Converse in her size when any old tennis shoes would’ve been fine. He paid attention when it counted and when it didn’t. Lola’s love for Beau was as fresh as the wound he’d left her with. That was good. She needed to feel the sting of both in order to pull this off.

  She checked the clock by the bed. 2:17 A.M.

  Lola folded back the comforter, swung her legs over the side of the mattress and stood. Beau had given her a robe, so she slipped into it. She easily knew her way to his room in the dark.

  She stopped in his doorway. Her life had changed in that room. In that bed, she’d given him everything that’d meant anything to her. She had crawled across the floor to him, opened her legs to his mouth, bit the comforter as he’d broken down her last barrier. In that moment, Lola’s love might’ve been hard to find, but her attraction to Beau was as loud as the beating of her heart. It was dangerous, and it’d require all of her strength to control it.

  Lola tiptoed to the edge of his bed. His heavy, steady breaths told her he was sleeping peacefully. How could he not be when he’d gone so long without rest? She bent at the waist and peered at him in the dark. It would take nothing to hurt him. It would also be just as easy to fuck him. Was he naked? Did he dream of their two nights and what a third would be like?

  His breathing stopped instantly. Before Lola could react, Beau’s arm shot out and grabbed her robe by the belt. “What are you doing?”

  She touched his hand at her waist, his skin radiating warmth. When he didn’t object, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “What do you want, a lullaby?” His tone was harsh, but his hand slipped inside the robe. Her breath stuttered as her body reacted to his touch in an alarming way—thawing as if it’d been frozen and waiting for heat. It disgusted her, the way Beau aroused her. He didn’t deserve her, and he wouldn’t have her—but he had to believe he could. She knew from experience, hope was one of the most painful things a person could lose.

  Beau’s palm flattened over her stomach and slid up around her waist. “Take this off,” he said. “Come here.”

  She tightened the robe around herself but pulled back the covers and got in.

  Beau sat up on an elbow and looked down at her. With his other hand, he touched the lapel of the robe. Lola’s heart nearly stopped. He’d promised to re
spect her wishes, but did it matter? Wasn’t it his way, to take what he wanted while making her think she wanted it too?

  He moved his hand to her face, leaned in and kissed her. Every part of him was warm from sleep—his lips, the inside of his mouth, his breath. His thigh pressed against hers. She couldn’t ignore the dull throb between her legs. No matter how much he’d hurt her, she’d always want this. But Beau had taken it away from her. This was his fault.

  She didn’t stop him right away. Men needed to touch and feel, to know she physically existed. It had to be done, and it had to be convincing, so she melted into the mattress, gripped his face and ran her fingertips down his scratchy cheeks. He opened his mouth wider, kissed her harder.

  She pushed him back by his chest. They stared at each other, panting. “You promised,” she said.

  “You crawled into my bed.”

  “To be close to you.”

  “Let me get this straight.” He placed his palm right below her throat, on the only skin the robe exposed. “You’re asking me to sleep next to you and not touch you?”

  If Beau moved his hand any lower, if he commanded her, Lola wasn’t sure how she’d resist, but she had to. Her dignity was in shreds, but sleeping with him would destroy everything.

  Lola rolled her lips together and glanced out toward the balcony, lit up from the moon. “I need time, Beau. You hurt me, and the worst part is, you did it on purpose. You can’t expect me to—”

  Beau sat up and switched on the bedside lamp.

  Lola shielded her eyes. “What’re you doing?”

  “What do you think’s going to happen when you come in here in the middle of the night? After everything we’ve been through in this exact spot?”

  Lola reached over him and turned out the light. It was too harsh. Maybe she’d come to him too soon, but they needed to mend the bond they’d broken, and it had to be fast. Too fast for him to realize it was happening. “Do you want me to leave?”

  He lay on his back again, looked up at the ceiling and sighed as if he carried the weight of the world on his chest. “No.”

  Lola put her hand on his bicep, softly stroking the hard muscle with her thumb. Touch was good—a weapon, even—as long as she could control it. “I’m not talking about your bed. Should I go?”

  “I already told you. When I make a decision, it’s done. I invited you here tonight. You aren’t leaving.” He rolled his head toward her, removed her hand from his bicep and pulled her down next to him. “Not this room. Not this spot.”

  Lola’s body thrilled, but it was with a different kind of adrenaline. This feeling—this kind of power over someone—it wasn’t like she’d never experienced it before, even with Beau. When her mouth was on his cock, or the moments right before she undressed, he’d get this look in his eyes like there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. This was something else, though. She was doing this to him with her words, using him against himself.

  “Will you still feel that way tomorrow?” Lola asked. “What if—”

  “I don’t do ‘what if,’ Lola.” Beau turned onto his side, put his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. He yawned in her ear. It was a moment before he spoke again, and his voice sounded far off. “Tomorrow is tomorrow. We’ll deal with it then. If you’re worried I’ll wake up and…”

  “And what?”

  “Change my mind…”

  Lola waited, willing herself to stay perfectly still. If she tensed even one muscle, Beau would notice. That was the kind of attention she was dealing with. After a few seconds of silence, she realized he’d fallen asleep. “Beau?”

  “Hmm?” He inhaled deeply and sighed. “What?”

  “You said if I’m worried you’ll wake up and change your mind…?”

  He tightened his arms around her and whispered into her hair, “I won’t.”

  He fell back asleep. She bit her lip to keep her relief inside and the smile from her face. It seemed to Lola that within only a few hours, she already had the bastard exactly where she wanted him.

  Chapter 41

  Beau opened his eyes at 5:58 A.M. on the dot, just like every other morning. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t gotten enough sleep—routine was one of the secrets to his success. It kept him on track. It was the framework by which he measured his output.

  This wasn’t every other morning, though. Lola was in his arms. It didn’t surprise him, but the memory of how she’d gotten there was foggy. Beau didn’t like being woken up by anyone. It put him at a disadvantage. But if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have been there in his bed that morning. And he liked her there.

  He slid his arms out from under her and got up on an elbow. Her heart-shaped lips were parted for small, even breaths. He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. Based on the previous morning, this was the last thing he would’ve expected to wake up to. Even knowing Lola loved him, he wouldn’t have thought her pride would allow her to fight for him. She had a weakness for him the way he did for her.

  Beau got out of the bed and pulled on his boxer briefs. Before leaving the room, he turned back and took his cell phone from the nightstand. God knew what kinds of incriminating things Brigitte might text him.

  In the suite’s kitchenette, he took two mugs from a cabinet. If Lola had slept as little as he did, she’d need caffeine when she woke. He rarely made his own coffee, but he didn’t want to leave her alone to go get some. He got a pot started and checked on Lola to see if she was still asleep. She’d flipped over, her black hair strewn on the pillow like a sinister Sleeping Beauty.

  He went to the foot of the bed, let his eyes travel the sheeted curves and bends of her body. He could take what he wanted from her. Waking her with a kiss would lead him between her legs in no time. He knew her body better than she did, how to touch it, read it, manipulate it. He traced the arch of her foot underneath the sheet, and she stirred.

  His respect had to be earned. That was a tall order for the women he’d slept with. But he and Lola had been through enough that he felt he owed her at least that. It wasn’t a stretch, not at all, to think he might love her. That was why he left the bed despite wanting to climb in next to her. He wouldn’t keep his hands off her if he did.

  He went out to the balcony and let the morning air cool his urges. The sky had shaded from black to cobalt, silhouetting the mountains against a blue as rich as Lola’s eyes. He closed the door to the room and called Brigitte.

  “Beau?” she answered and cleared her throat. “What time is it? Is everything all right?”

  “Sorry to wake you.” He looked back at Lola through the windowed door. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically. This was what he’d missed those mornings she’d left at dawn. Anticipating the moment she’d wake up. Planning what they’d do with their day. “I’m coming home.”

  After a moment of silence, she spoke, the smile clear in her voice. “Well, that’s news worth waking up for. I’ve missed having you around the house these past few weeks.”

  Beau kept watching Lola. He went out of his way to avoid fights with Brigitte, but this was one he needed to have. He wanted to do right by Lola from now on, and that wasn’t stashing her away in a hotel room. “I’m not coming alone.”

  “Meaning?” She waited. “You’re bringing someone over? Who?”

  “We’ve been talking about getting you your own place for a while—”

  “You’ve been talking about it,” she said, sounding more awake now. “I haven’t.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to go if I didn’t think you’d like it. Being on your own.” Over time, Brigitte had grown less independent and more reliant on Beau. He didn’t mind taking care of her, but he planned on having Lola around a lot. And for her sake, he wanted his home back. “You have to trust me.”

  “Trust you?” she asked, her voice rising. “You’re throwing me out on the street. How am I supposed to trust you?”

  Beau closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t blow th
is out of proportion. I’ll talk to my real estate agent today, and in the meantime, Warner and I will find you something temporary. You’ll be more than comfortable.”

  “Pass me off to Warner like always. Did he know about this?”

  “I didn’t even know until just now. And I do not pass you off to Warner. Remember our conversation about wild exaggerations?”

  “It’s not an exaggeration. When was the last time you did anything for me that required more than making a phone call or writing a check? When I had that kidney infection last year, Warner took me to the hospital.”

  “And I paid your medical bills without flinching,” Beau said evenly. “I’m your brother, not your employer.”

  “That’s not the point. You wanted new furniture for the guestroom last month, so I got it. But you couldn’t even come by the store to give me a second opinion on what I’d picked out. ‘Just put it on the card, and have it delivered.’ Whenever I need help or a ride or anything that doesn’t absolutely require your presence, you send something else in your place. If it’s not Warner, it’s your credit card.”

  “Damn it, Brigitte, we’ve been through this before. I’m fucking busy. How do you expect me to take care of you if I’m not working my ass off?”

  “Maybe I need to be taken care of in other ways,” she snapped.

  “I do as much for you as I’m capable of. I’m not your goddamn boyfriend. If you want someone to go shopping with you, find someone who has the time and inclination.” Beau ended the call, gripping the phone. All people ever wanted from him was money, and he was fine with that. Why couldn’t that be enough for Brigitte too? He didn’t need to be constantly reminded of his shortcomings as a brother and a son. He gave his family what he could, and that was more than what ninety-nine percent of the world had. He held up his phone again, but this time he sent Brigitte a text.

  Start packing. Will have arrangements for you by tomorrow.

  He turned off his phone and went back inside.