Stand & Deliver

by Rhenna Morgan

  Hustling to the master bedroom on the second floor, he flipped on the light, expecting to find more of the same—and stopped hard in his tracks. To say the décor in her room was a shock was an understatement. Yeah, he knew Gia could put the girl in girly when she needed to, but he’d never in a million years expected her private space to be anywhere near this feminine.

  Where she’d stuck to neutral colors everywhere else, the basics for this room were white and a pink. And not the brash, oh-my-God-my-eyes-are-blinded pink, but a soft ballet color that encouraged you to take a load off and linger awhile. Especially the bedspread. He’d be damned if he had any clue what kind of fabric it was—something silky that could have passed for an exotic animal’s coat if it wasn’t pink. He combed his fingers through the fluffy surface, all too easily picturing Gia spread out naked on top of it.

  He shook his head to clear the image and peeled back the comforter, only to find innocent white sheets that looked as soft as the ones he kept at home. Oh, yeah. Totally an invitation to let his mind go about a hundred different places it had no business going.

  Fisting his hand to keep from sampling the surface, he took two unsteady steps backwards.

  Focus, dumbass. She needs clothes. Not you perving out in her bedroom.

  One glimpse in the top drawer of her dresser was enough to have him slamming it shut as fast as he’d opened it. Unfortunately, his eager brain had clocked the lacy bras and panties neatly tucked inside. Gia might be fond of pale colors in her bedroom, but clearly, she was open to racier, bolder stuff against her skin. “And Darya says I’m not observant. Fuck that.”

  He yanked open the next drawer. And the next. “Come on. She’s gotta have T-shirts somewhere.”

  On the bottom drawer, he got his answer—but it wasn’t T-shirts. Nope. The tiniest badass of the century was a silk-nightie girl. A bit of an addict really, given the number he had to choose from.

  For a second, he just stared down at the contents, his fingers and his imagination all too eager to dive in.

  He deserved this torture. Truly, he did.

  Yeah? And you’d be cool with Judd being the one slipping in between those sheets? Not to mention between Gia’s thighs?

  Oh, hell no. That motherfucker rubbed Beckett all kinds of wrong. From his Malibu looks, to his suave bullshit routine, Judd was all window dressing and no substance. Or at least that was Beck’s take on the man.

  He exhaled slowly and ran his fingers along the pristine white nightie on the top of the pile. He could do this. He could absolutely do this. And if he was lucky, his dick might calm the hell down sometime before the next century.

  A moan sounded from downstairs followed by unsteady footsteps on the hardwood floors.

  “Gia?” He tossed the nightie on the bed and hauled ass downstairs.

  Sure enough, his walking, talking fantasy was on her feet and weaving toward the stairs, an almost comical focus marking the features on her face.

  “Girl, what are you doing up? I told you to sit tight.”

  At the sound of his voice, she halted so fast she almost fell over. She caught herself, though, and frowned up at him like she couldn’t figure out who he was, or which of the three versions of him she should talk to. “Why are you in my house?”

  Guess that answered if she knew who he was. “Because you’re hammered and I’m the one that put you on the fast track to getting there, so I’m on puke patrol.”

  As if the mere mention of the word stirred her stomach, she tucked her chin in a little and swallowed hard. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “Yeah, I don’t doubt it.” He moved in quick and swept her up in his arms.

  She floundered for a minute, but finally settled one arm around his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking the express,” he said, covering the stairs faster than was probably wise with a drunk woman in his arms. “Figured that was better than adding cleanup detail to tonight’s agenda.”

  He was two steps into her room and on track for the master bath when she spoke, the desperation in her voice pushing him to move faster. “Beckett...”

  “Yeah, gorgeous. We got this.”

  He made it with one retch to spare, barely getting her hair pulled out of the way before she let loose. Not that she had much left in her stomach after round one at Trident.

  The weird part? It didn’t bother him. Not in the slightest. Granted it’d been years since Knox had pulled a bender worthy of talking to Ralphie on the big white telephone, but watching Knox in the same situation had always made Beckett want to hurl himself. With Gia, he was fine. Like taking care of her was a privilege instead of something to endure.

  The second the muscles in her shoulders eased and she sat back on her ass, he let her hair go and nabbed a washcloth out of the cabinet. “Feel better?”

  She moaned, pulled her knees up in front of her and crossed her arms on her knees, resting her forehead on top of them.

  “Ah, it’s not that bad.” He crouched beside her and wiped her mouth, grateful the green-around-the-gills tint to her skin had been replaced with a healthy flush. “You think you can stand up long enough to rinse out your mouth?”

  “I think so.”

  Surprisingly, that part went somewhat easy, routine kicking in and taking over when she reached for a toothbrush. At least, things stayed fine so long as he stayed planted behind her and held her steady. Otherwise, she tended to sway like a drunk pirate on the top deck in the middle of a hurricane.

  She tapped her toothbrush on the counter, wiped her mouth with a fresh washcloth and met his eyes in the mirror. “I can’t believe I just puked in front of you.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re not gonna remember it in the morning anyway, so I’ll swear I never saw a thing.”

  Her head dropped back against his chest, but her eyes were closed. “Sleepy.”

  Sleepy.

  “Right. Time to get you in bed.” Although, how he was gonna get her into that nightie he still hadn’t figured out. Opting for the fast route to the bed, he swept her up and got her settled on the edge. “You think you can get yourself changed?”

  She clocked the nightie on top of her comforter, paused for at least a seven-second delay, then frowned up at him. “‘Course.”

  There she was. Undoubtedly the most indomitable woman he’d ever met—even three sheets to the wind. Rather than cup the side of her face and sample her skin the way he wanted to, he straightened and forced himself back a step. “Atta girl. I’m gonna wait out in the hall, but if you need me, you just give me a shout.”

  Clearly, getting into bed was a huge priority, because she was tugging at what had once been a crisp, tailored white button-down before he could turn for the door.

  What felt like twenty, but was probably only five minutes later, the shuffles and indelicate grunts coming from the bedroom grew silent. “G?”

  No answer. Not so much as a heavy sigh.

  “Gorgeous, you done?” When she still didn’t answer, he peeked around the door frame, only to grab ahold of the wood just to balance himself from the visual punch that greeted him. “Fuck, baby. You tryin’ to kill me?”

  Of course, she wouldn’t answer. Couldn’t since she was out cold and stretched out on the comforter. With her dark hair, white nightie, and creamy skin against the pale pink surface, she was every man’s fantasy centerfold come to life. And with the way the silk draped high on her hip, he was pretty damned sure the nightie was the only thing she had on.

  Don’t go there, Beck. She’s a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He killed all the lights save a small one in the bathroom and tried to blank his thoughts the way he did at the gym. Unfortunately, the image of the blank white wall he relied on to clear the clutter in his head kept shifting to white silk and the possibility of what lay beneath it.

  Standing bes
ide the bed, he pumped his fists, the desperate need to ground himself through touch burning his palms. Yeah, the slick fabric would help center him. Would ease the agitation he’d fought since the second he’d seen Gia leaning into Judd. But tonight there was more. Pure primal need. A demand to claim her. Take her. Mark her so thoroughly and deeply she wouldn’t be able to ignore him ever again.

  He leaned over, pried the covers he’d partially peeled back out from under her dead weight and dragged them up over her legs. God, she was tiny. Firm, but still giving in all the right places. Even her scent sucked him in, a mix of crisp ocean air and sultry nights on a beach.

  She opened her eyes and her words came thick with sleep and wonder. “You’re in my room.”

  He liked that look on her. Her full lips relaxed and slightly parted. Her eyelids heavy over soulful dark eyes. He’d give a lot to see them that way when she’d remember it. Preferably after a long night spent doing everything except sleep. “Better me than Judd.”

  “No, not Judd.” She smiled, a soft, wistful one as her eyes slipped closed. “Judd’s not who I want.”

  “Yeah? You could have fooled me.” He sat next to her on the bed, careful not to jostle her too much. No easy task considering his bulk. He gave into temptation and smoothed the backs of his knuckles along her jawline, the delicate sensation drawing everything inside him to laser focus.

  He shouldn’t ask. Shouldn’t take advantage, but the question pushed free despite the minute blip from his conscience. “Who’d you want to go home with?”

  Her eyes opened and the raw vulnerability in her soft gaze nearly cut him in half. “You.”

  His lungs stopped working.

  Hell, he was pretty sure his heart had kicked it, too. Or maybe it was just a case of his ears giving up the ghost after one too many of Axel’s concert venues. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Shhh.” She scrunched her eyes closed for a second and nearly missed pressing her fingers to his lips. “It’s my dream. Don’t mess it up.”

  He caught her wrist before she could pull her hand away and dragged his thumb across her palm. “You think this is a dream?”

  She chuckled. A low, dirty and delicious sound best relegated to moments where no clothes were involved. “Oh, I know it is.” Mirroring the touch he’d given her, she grazed her fingertips along his jawline and cocked her head on the pillow, a soft sigh slipping past her lips. “You don’t look at me like that in real life. Only in my dreams.”

  He couldn’t think.

  Couldn’t move.

  Didn’t want to for fear of losing the way she kept touching him. Letting her hand drift down to his shoulder and arm and the covetous way her gaze followed behind it.

  “I don’t want to wake up.” A whispered confession that hit him square in the solar plexus. Truth offered from unknowing lips.

  Using what she’d shared was a shit move. An act Gia would not only kick his ass for at some point, but would probably try to cut his nuts off for just for fun.

  But fuck if he was going to ignore it. Not when the holy grail of women had just drawn a great big X on the path to every fantasy he’d nursed for three years.

  He stretched out beside her and tucked her as close as the sheets and comforter between them would allow, guiding her head so it rested on his chest. He’d sleep for shit like this, if he even slept at all, but no way was he pausing to shuck his clothes like he normally did. Not if it meant letting her go. Not until he’d had time to formulate what to do with his newfound knowledge.

  Men don’t always see the things women do.

  Darya had all but whacked him over the head with her words. Had told him to pull his head out of his ass and pay attention. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how he’d missed it. Couldn’t mesh the way Gia acted around him with her words tonight. But if it was the truth...

  He smoothed his hand up and down her spine, thinking. Remembering countless details over the time they’d known each other. She always kept her distance. Kept things polite and professional, yet friendly.

  But she watched him. He’d felt it. Caught her on several occasions, but he’d thought it was just her being observant. He waited for her breathing to even out before he trusted himself to speak. “Gia?”

  In way of an answer, she snuggled closer and set free a contented “Hmmm?”

  “I’ve always seen you.” He speared his fingers through her hair and savored the weight of it. The summery scent and cool slickness against his knuckles. “And I want you to wake up. I want your eyes wide-open and your thoughts crystal clear the next time you see me.” His grip tightened against her scalp, conviction pushing the words free in an almost violent surge. “Because your days of dreaming are over.”

  Chapter Three

  Bright light danced behind Gia’s closed eyelids, prodding her from a deep, comfortable sleep. Her temples ached like they did when she’d gone too long without eating and her mouth could give a cotton ball a run for its money, but her muscles were looser than they’d been in months.

  Cocking one eye open, she fumbled for her phone on her nightstand—and found nothing.

  Weird. She never went to bed without it close by.

  She flopped back onto her pillows and frowned up at the ceiling. What the hell had she—

  Oh, right.

  Tequila.

  Lots of it. Almost every shot matched one-for-one with an ornery-looking biker with shoulder-length gray hair and a wicked grin.

  On the heels of that memory came another less pleasant one in the bathroom. Though, she also thought she remembered extracting a pinkie promise from Darya to get her home safe and sound. So, where the heck was she? And more important, what freaking time was it?

  She rolled to one side for a better view out the window, squinting at what had to be at least mid-morning sun working its way up the horizon, when a subtle yet out-of-place scent drifted up from her pillow. Definitely not her dryer sheets, but the scent was familiar. Like cedar with a little kick of orange or bergamot thrown in and undeniably masculine.

  Beckett.

  The thought yanked her upright with a gasp and the throbbing at her temples went from mild nuisance to the mother of all bass drums. She swallowed the best she could and pressed her trembling hand to her stomach.

  Oh, shit. She was in a nightie?

  One glance at her clothes scattered in an uncharacteristic mess all over the floor and her panic jumped another notch. “Please, God. Say I didn’t...”

  She pushed back the covers and started to stand, unwilling to even think the possibility to herself, let alone say it out loud. But the second she moved the fact that there was nothing under her jammies but the skin God gave her registered crystal clear and she froze.

  No. She couldn’t have slept with Beckett. Tequila or not, her brain would never let a single detail of such an event slip free. Not after the number of nights he’d starred front and center for her imagination. And wouldn’t she be sore? It’d been too long to count since she’d slept with anyone, so she’d have to feel something the morning after. If not, she was going to have to seriously rethink his place as her model fantasy man.

  From downstairs, a muted click and whoosh sounded. The filtered water dispenser in her fridge if she placed it right.

  So...what? He was still here?

  She gripped the faux fur comforter in her damp palms, torn between running for the bathroom to hide and stomping downstairs for an explanation. God, what had she been thinking? And what was the protocol for a snafu like this anyway?

  Oh, hey. Good morning. Thanks for bringing me home. Did I do anything stupid? Like, you know...puke on you? Jump your bones? Fall asleep at an inopportune time?

  Wood creaked on the staircase, followed by the soft pad of feet steadily headed her direction.

  Okay, so she’d have to meet things head-on. Becke
tt was a decent guy. And things couldn’t have been too awful if he’d stuck around for face-to-face time the morning after. Right?

  Even with the mini impromptu pep talk, her heart punched almost painfully when he sauntered into view. While he still had on the jeans and T-shirt he’d worn the night before, his feet were bare and his usually hard focus seemed softened somehow. As if he’d not yet shaken the dregs of sleep or donned the mask he put on before meeting the rest of the world.

  “Ah, good. You’re up.” His mouth crooked in a sly smile and he lifted the glass of water in one hand. “Hope you don’t mind I dug around your bathroom and kitchen, but I figured you’d want something for your head when you woke up.”

  “Thank you.” Nowhere near the I’m a little fuzzy on anything past the third round of shots. Could you fill in some of the blanks for me? she’d have rather asked, but at least she’d managed something besides a simple nod.

  Thankfully, she managed to take the glass and the Tylenol he offered without dropping either one.

  Like he’d been there a thousand times before, he stretched out on his side beside her, cocked one knee and propped himself up on one elbow. “Sleep good?”

  Getting the pills down made for a decent delay tactic. Not that her mind managed to cough up much in the way of sly strategies to ask the obvious. “How bad was I?”

  Not a bad approach. Open-ended and formed in a way he could take any number of ways.

  “Well, I’ll tell you this. You’re the only woman I know who can make puking a classy affair.”

  She kept from hanging her head, but just barely. Her eyes closed of their own accord, though. As if by visually blocking out the room, the humiliation wouldn’t sting as bad. Although, on the bright side, if she’d thrown up in front of him, it probably meant she hadn’t actually slept with him. It also meant the odds of that fantasy ever happening for real had been firmly cemented in Never Never Land. “I take it you got a ringside seat for my performance?”