by Dylann Crush
Nobody he kept in touch with? Poor guy. She couldn’t imagine how lonely life would be without her brothers, even though sometimes she wished there weren’t so many of them.
“Must be weird for you then, to think about me having so many relations. I have twenty-seven first cousins on my dad’s side alone. Another nineteen on my mom’s. Our family reunion kind of takes over the Rambling Rose. Sully let us use it every other summer to get everyone together.”
“They all from around here?”
“Mostly.”
“You’re lucky. Probably doesn’t always feel like it, but you’ve got people who have your back.” Beck tucked his chin to his chest and spoke really quietly. “I wish I’d had the chance to know my grandfather.”
Charlie resisted the urge to wrap him in a hug. That had only gotten her in trouble the last time she’d tried to offer comfort. But he looked so sad, she had to say something to break up the moment.
“He would have liked you.”
Beck’s eyes sparkled. “You think so?”
“I know so. Although he probably would have tanned your hide for tossing Senator Duncan’s son in the mud.”
“Not one of my finer moments,” Beck agreed.
“Hey”—Charlie gestured toward the bathroom—“do you want to hop in the shower while I get dinner started?”
“What, in there?”
“Unless you want me to turn the hose on you out back.”
“Oh, um, yeah. I guess I could take a quick shower.”
“Good. Put some of that aloe gel in the medicine cabinet on your back and shoulders when you get out. It’ll help with your sunburn.” Could he tell she was nervous as all get-out, having him shower in her bathroom? She’d never entertained a man at her place. The few dates she’d been on, she’d met up somewhere with the guy. The couple of times there’d been a connection, they’d always ended up at the guy’s place. Not that she’d stayed. Usually within about ten to fifteen minutes, she’d made up some excuse and escaped.
Beck grabbed his bag and took slow, unsure steps toward the bathroom. She wanted to laugh at the nervous uncertainty his body language showed. Instead, she unwrapped the steak and seasoned it the way her mom had shown her when she was a girl. She might not have mad skills when interacting with the opposite sex, but she’d never doubted her expertise in the kitchen.
While Beck took his time in the bathroom, she prepped the steak, heated up her cast-iron grill pan, and tossed a salad. She’d just pulled out a bottle of local cabernet when he opened the door and the steam escaped into the family room. He’d changed into fresh clothes—a pair of shorts and a Yankees T-shirt. His bare feet padded over her wood-plank floors as he crossed the family room and entered the kitchen.
“Here, let me do that for you.” He took the bottle of wine and opener from her hands and easily slid the cork out. “Where do you keep the glasses?”
She pointed to a cabinet over the sink, and he reached around her for two long-stemmed wine glasses. He poured the wine and handed her a glass, then leaned up against the counter next to her while she chopped tomatoes to add to the salad.
“Thanks.” She paused to take a sip.
“Need me to throw the steak on the grill?” he asked.
“Absolutely not. Around here we know how to cook ’em right.” He cocked his head, tilting upward and revealing the copper-and-gold highlights in the scruff on his chin. “Best way to cook a steak is in a grill pan. Hand me the butter from the fridge?”
He navigated the cozy space like he’d been fetching butter and glasses in her kitchen for years. She took the butter and plopped a pat into the pan. It spattered and melted right away, then she dropped the steak in next to sear it.
“So I’ve been doing it wrong all these years?” Beck leaned over her, watching the steak sizzle in the pan.
“Don’t take it personally. I think most people ruin their steaks that way.”
“Will you teach me?”
She’d moved on to buttering the garlic bread before popping it into the oven. “Teach you what?”
“How to properly cook a steak?”
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, cowboy. Belly on up to the burner.”
He stepped in front of the stove. Charlie moved next to him. “So right now we’re searing it. Just a minute or two on each side.”
“Okay. Should I flip it?”
“Go ahead.”
He slid his hand into an oven mitt and grabbed the handle of the skillet, then carefully flipped the steak with the tongs Charlie handed him.
Charlie took a sip of her wine, trying to distract herself from the incredible nearness of Beck. He smelled amazing, and she wanted to reach up and run her fingers through his still-damp hair.
“What next?”
She nudged him with her hip. “Now we put it in the oven.”
He slid the pan into the preheated oven and turned to her with a giant smile. “That was easy enough. Now what?”
Why did he have to look so darn kissable? “Now we wait.”
“Okay.” His fingers wrapped around the stem of his glass. Her gaze followed it from the counter as he lifted it to his lips. A blaze of heat swelled from her gut, up her chest, and across her face, igniting everything in its path.
“What?” He held the glass away from his mouth and leaned against the counter.
Her heart pounded. Her chest heaved. This was it. She needed to either take a chance and make a move or put the man out of her mind once and for all. Her fingers moved up to touch his hair.
“What are you doing, Charlie?” His voice held an undertone—something soft, simmering, seductive.
“Nothing.” Her hand lingered on his cheek, finally feeling the scruff she’d wanted to touch all day.
“It doesn’t feel like nothing,” Beck warned.
“No?” She stepped between his outstretched legs, sliding her feet between his. “I keep telling myself there’s nothing between us.”
“Nothing?” He set his glass down, then took hers and placed it next to his.
“Yep. Nothing.”
His hand caressed her cheek. “So this is nothing?”
No, it was definitely something. Something big. Something terrifying. Something that set her so on edge she couldn’t keep herself from diving headfirst into it.
She nodded into his chest, annihilating her vow to keep things professional. She’d never let herself even think of being with another man besides Jackson until now. But now she couldn’t think of anything else.
“I feel like we’re flirting with that line again here.” Beck’s mouth nestled against her ear. Goose bumps rippled along her skin. Her heart sounded like a bass drum in her ears. “I’ve tried to keep my distance. Tell me to go away. Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want me as much as I want you.”
She opened her mouth to speak, and nothing came out. Not even a squeak. She did want him. In the worst way. In a way that had nothing to do with keeping her distance. In a way that would obliterate the employee–employer line. In a way that would probably break her.
“I can’t.”
“I know. It’s okay. I understand.” He pulled back, his lids heavy with the same desire that simmered through her veins.
She caught his shoulders, preventing him from moving too far away. “No, you don’t. I can’t tell you that because it’s not true.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’re talking way too much, Manhattan.” Comprehension graced his face. His eyes lit in appreciative surprise. Before she could change her mind, Charlie wrapped her arms around his neck and smashed her lips to his.
His arms clenched around her, and he nudged into her, deepening the kiss. Their lips meshed, parted, connected again. She lost track of time, of everyt
hing but the way his body felt next to hers. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to feel him, really feel him, at every point their bodies connected. His mouth made contact with her neck. She took slow, measured breaths, faltering every time his lips landed on the sensitive skin behind her ear.
He spun them both around, then pressed her against the counter with his hips, showing her with his body how much he wanted her. Her heart did a happy dance in her chest, sending an “all systems go” signal through her central nervous system.
He cradled her against his chest and whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry. I know we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Hey, I started it.” She nestled her cheek into his chest. “But I need to tell you, it’s been a long time for me.”
His finger traced her the line of her cheek, stopping at her chin and tilting her face up toward his. “I know.”
Her gaze met his. His eyes conveyed a gentleness she wouldn’t have thought possible. It was time. The right time to take things further, to go all the way. Her stomach swirled around like that ride at Six Flags, the one that spun around faster and faster until the floor dropped out. He leaned closer, his lips grazing hers, and that was all the encouragement her body needed. She took the kiss deeper, trying to hold herself back, to slow down. His hands cupped her ass, lifting her onto the counter. She opened her legs to him, and he filled the space, pushing against her. She locked her ankles around his waist, drawing him closer, needing to feel him there, right there.
Her body craved more. More kissing, more touching, more skin. His hands twisted and tangled in her hair. All she could feel was in this moment. Time stopped, suspending her between never wanting it to end and needing to get over it as soon as possible. She’d waited eight years for someone to make her want to move on from Jackson. Eight years of emptiness, of trying to fill the hole in her heart and soul with work, with family, with friends. Now Beck was poised to fill that void. To lead her back to that place inside she’d disconnected from all those years ago.
She was ready.
Her body molded into his. Helpless to stop it, she let go with all the abandon of eight years of pent-up lust. Ravaging his mouth with hers, she tasted, sucked, nibbled at his lips. He lifted her off the counter, and they careened through the kitchen, bouncing off the table and sending a chair clattering to the floor.
“Bedroom?” he mumbled against her mouth.
“No time.” She unhooked her legs from his waist and yanked him down to the couch.
They collapsed, him on top of her, scrambling to free themselves of shirts, shorts, and all the other annoying pieces of clothing that prevented full skin-on-skin contact. The leather couch creaked and squeaked underneath them, sticking to her backside as she raised her hips to slide her pants and panties down her legs. Finally, after the frantic removal of clothing, Charlie fell back onto the couch. This was really happening.
Beck traced a finger down her collarbone and between her breasts. “You’re beautiful, Charlie.”
She tugged under his arms, pulling him up so she could reach his mouth with hers. “I think all that fresh country air has about scrambled your brain.”
He leaned down and took a nipple in his mouth. A moan wrenched through her. His hand went under her ass as his lips worked their way down her body, kissing a path from her breasts to her navel. She sucked in her breath as he circled her belly button with his tongue, then moved lower. Lower. Trailing kisses down her pelvis, her inner thigh… She urged him on, trying to position herself exactly where she needed him to go.
“You like this?”
“Mmm.”
He slid a finger close to the epicenter of her need. “How about this?”
“Mm-hmm.” Why was he talking? She tried to grab a handful of the leather couch cushion but couldn’t get a grip.
“I know we shouldn’t be doing this. It’s probably going to make things awkward between us. Maybe we should stop.”
Seriously? His face was inches from her skin, moments away from what she hoped would be some amazing tongue action, and he picked that moment to have second thoughts? She raised up on her elbows and blew a chunk of hair out her eyes.
“Are you kidding me?”
A smug, satisfied smile spread across his lips, like he knew some secret she had yet to figure out. “Yeah. I just wanted to be able to see your face when I did this.”
He lowered his head, and his tongue took over. Her head rolled back, and her entire body went rigid as his mouth and lips took her to a place she’d only dreamed about for the past eight years.
“I want to make you feel so good.” His words muffled against her thigh.
Stop it with the talking already.
“That’s it, just like that.”
She couldn’t take it anymore. Her legs clenched around his neck, and with a move she’d perfected in years of backyard wrestling, she twisted her whole body and rolled him off the couch and onto the floor.
He landed with a thud on the giant sisal rug, and she followed. Her body draped over his, she straddled him and leaned down, nose to nose.
“No. More. Talking.” To drive her point home, she attacked his mouth with hers. If he wasn’t going to finish what he started, she’d take charge. He pulled back and opened his mouth like he was about to say something.
“Uh-uh. I said no talking.” She put a finger over his lips. He grabbed it and slid it into his mouth, working it over with his tongue.
“I was just going to tell you I have a condom in my wallet. Back pocket of my shorts if you want to grab it. Seeing as how you’ve got me penned and all.”
Charlie scrambled to her feet and found the shorts, the wallet, the condom. She ripped it open with her teeth and, since he was standing at the ready, slid it on.
“Not much for foreplay, are you, country girl?” Beck teased.
She straddled him, one knee on either side of his hips.
“Eight years,” she growled out as she slid down onto him. There’d be time for foreplay and tenderness next time. Right now, she had a deep ache that demanded resolution. The pain didn’t last long. She moved against it, through it, and slowed the frantic pace as she found herself on the other side. Beck matched her rhythm, seeming to finally understand that this wasn’t a quick roll on the couch. This was primal. Her need came from deep inside—a place she didn’t even think existed anymore.
She took what she needed, grinding into him, letting the momentum build within her until it couldn’t be contained. Her knees scraped on the rough rug, her butt cheek cramped, and still she fought for her release.
And then it happened. Her body clenched, suspended in time and space.
“Let it go, Charlie,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
She met his gaze a heartbeat before her body took over. He watched her, the tenderness in his eyes intensifying the sensations racing through her veins.
Let it go she did. She let everything go. The heartache, the guilt, the need. She let go completely, and he took it all, whispering to her, urging her, guiding her to that place she needed more than anything.
Spent, she collapsed onto Beck’s chest, feeling like she’d spent a day stacking hay bales, not three minutes putting an end to her dry spell.
His fingertips grazed her ribs. “You okay?”
Her cheeks hurt from smiling. “I’m better than okay.” She put her palms on either side of his head and rolled her hips. “Seems like you could be a little better though.”
“Oh yeah?”
She lifted up and eased back down on him. He hissed out a breath. “Better yet?”
“You keep that up, and I’ll be better in a New York minute,” he ground out.
Teasing him, she continued to slide up and down, varying the pace and enjoying the look of sheer restraint he wore on his gorgeous, scruffy face.
“I can’t take it anymore
. You’re making me crazy.” He thrust once more, his fingers digging deep into her hips, holding her tight in place as he followed her to his own release. “Damn. Charlie. You feel so fucking good.”
Good didn’t describe it. Awesome, magnificent, incredible…none of those words seemed to do justice to the way Beck made her feel.
“Oh my gosh. That was…” She struggled for words.
“Nothing, right?” Beck winked at her from his sprawled-out spot underneath her.
“We need to do nothing together more often.” As she slowly floated down from the out-of-body experience she’d just had, a buzzing filled her ears.
“Beck?”
He groaned underneath her, still coming down from his own high.
“Do you smell that?”
“Smells like something’s burning.”
“And the buzzing. Do you hear the buzzing?” She climbed off and staggered to her feet while he took care of the condom. “The steak!” How long had the smoke detector been going off? She rounded the corner to the kitchen, Beck on her heels. Smoke filled the space, billowing up from the closed oven door. She pulled it open and grabbed for the handle of the pan, the hot pad sliding from her hand. Pain immediately seared her palm.
“Dammit!” She turned on the faucet and shoved her burned hand under the cold water.
“You okay?” Beck stood beside her. “Tell me what to do, Charlie.”
The sound of his voice jarred her. Think, come on, think.
“Grab the hot pad and take that pan out back, okay?”
Beck nodded, snagged the hot pad off the floor, and whisked the pan through the living room and onto the back patio.
Her hand felt like a giant flame had swallowed it up. She needed to look, to see how bad it was. What was it her mama said to use on a burn? She couldn’t remember. Beck returned to the kitchen, naked as the day he was born except for the ridiculous oven mitt on his hand.
“Can you grab the bread, too?”
He pulled it out of the oven and tossed the entire cookie sheet into the sink. Rising hysteria threatened to take over, but she wasn’t sure if she’d end up laughing at how crazy Beck looked or crying from the angry stinging of her palm.
