by Katee Robert
Beckett set the food Samara had ordered out on the coffee table—Indian and Italian—and then took the garment bag into her bedroom to change. He noted the price tags on the suit and lounge pants, fully planning on repaying her the cost. Beckett changed into the lounge pants and paused to take in Samara’s bedroom.
He’d expected more of the same from her living room—cozy comfort. But it was downright girly. No less than a dozen throw pillows were artfully scattered across her bed, in gold and red and orange. The bedspread itself was red with a floral border. The gauzy gold curtains let in the early evening light, and the two prints on either side of the window were close-up photos of flowers that reminded him of that painter he’d studied in school. The overall effect was busy, but welcoming. A little sanctuary for Samara alone.
And anyone she’s been serious with over the years.
He shut that thought down. Samara hadn’t been a saint any more than he had. If she’d had a recent serious boyfriend, there was no evidence of the man in this room. Even if there had been…Beckett was here, not some ex of hers.
You’re focusing on something that doesn’t matter instead of the hulking elephant in the room.
Beckett sat on the bed and dropped his head into his hands. Seeing Samara trying to salvage the ruined baby book…He hadn’t expected it of her. He’d taken the damn book only because he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving it in his ruined condo for another moment. He’d called her because being alone was the worst thing he could contemplate while he dealt with the emotional fallout. Knowing someone had broken into his apartment—his safe space—and methodically destroyed anything and everything he valued.
The door opened and he looked up to find Samara standing there.
Not everything I value was destroyed.
But it could be.
She gave a half smile. “You should eat something.”
Taking care of him, even when he didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t let it go without telling her the truth he’d been avoiding for half the week. “I took the contract.”
Samara blinked. “What?”
“The contract—the one you’ve been working your ass off to put in a bid for. I pulled strings behind your back and took the contract before the date to give the proposal.” It was selfish, his need to get this out, to drive her away now before she kept piling kind act upon kind act onto him. Before he found a reason never to tell her so that he could keep this thing going between them longer.
Samara leaned against the door frame and considered him. She wore a simple black dress that did nothing to downplay her curves. Sometime after he’d arrived, she’d pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail, and it struck him that this was what Samara Mallick looked like without her many walls in place. Relaxed and a little rumpled and more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.
Look your fill now. This ends soon.
She finally sighed. “Okay.”
“What?”
“Okay. It’s a dick move, sure. But I get it. It’s business. And given that Morningstar already had that contract so long, it doesn’t surprise me you were able to bend the rules. I would have done the same thing in your position.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It was still shitty, though.”
“I’m sorry that it was you I was up against, but I’m not sorry I did it.” Losing out on that bid would hurt Lydia. Not enough and not for long, but it allowed him to retaliate in some way.
She threw up her hands. “Beckett, you’ve been systematically attacked multiple times in the last week and those attacks show no sign of slowing down or de-escalating. Right now, the bid is the last thing I’m worried about.” She hesitated. “But you should still call Journey and tell her not to spend the next twenty-four hours cramming for it.”
He could barely believe what he was hearing. “You spent a lot of time putting together that proposal.”
“Yes, I did. And I’m mad at you for pulling such an underhanded move, but I also know how to prioritize. Your safety—physical or otherwise—is more important than either Morningstar Enterprise or Kingdom Corp.” She crossed to him and crouched in front of him, putting their faces closer to level. “My job is important to me—really important to me—but losing that bid won’t change my life overmuch. What you’re dealing with will.” She gave him another of those sweet little smiles that he’d started to crave. “But the next time we go head to head, I’m going to kick your ass if you pull a stunt like this…if I don’t pull it first.”
He gave a faint smile. “Deal.”
She took his hand and rose, tugging him to his feet as she did. “You need to at least try to eat. I have my own bombshell to drop.”
It wasn’t until they were seated next to each other with plates of food that she took out her phone and showed him Lydia’s secondary calendar. “I haven’t had a chance to look at it too closely and compare it to the one I have.”
He zoomed in on it, noting the reflection from the monitor. “You were in Lydia’s office?”
“Yeah. How else would I have gotten this?”
Beckett’s stomach dropped and he had to fight not to raise his voice. “That was dangerous, Samara. No one knew you were there. Anything could have happened to you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve worked in that building for ten years, Beckett. Lydia would have been furious if she caught me, and she might have fired me on the spot, but it’s not like she’d shove me out a window.”
He wasn’t so sure. He’d had certain beliefs about his aunt since as long as he could remember, and it never would have occurred to him that she was capable of murder until his father died and so many strings connected her back to what might have happened that night. “There were no drugs found in my father’s system, but that doesn’t mean he chose to drink that much.”
“Wait a minute—you think she actually orchestrated that entire night?”
“My father’s driver was paid off. He’s currently somewhere in Brazil as best I can tell. Even with the guy gone, Nathaniel had three others who worked as backup to accommodate his schedule at any given time. My father drank often enough that his being shit-housed wouldn’t raise red flags, but his not having a driver does. She was at the restaurant that night—I have pictures proving it. How hard would it be to ensure he got behind the wheel? If it’s not murder, strictly speaking, it’s still criminal.”
Samara poked at her food. “Okay, I’m not saying she’s not capable of doing something like that. She wasn’t where her schedule said she should be that night.”
“Wasn’t she?” He zoomed in on the night of his father’s death and flipped the phone around to show Samara.
She frowned. “The spa appointments are there, but so is one with…N.G.”
“Nathaniel George King—my father’s full name.”
“She lied.” She didn’t sound surprised, exactly, but definitely perturbed. “Okay, let’s say this played out exactly like you described. I still can’t picture Lydia sneaking into your building to set a fire, or breaking into your condo with a bucket of pigs’ blood.”
He couldn’t, either, but that didn’t mean a damn thing. “Then she hired someone else to do it.”
Samara took several bites and he followed suit. They ate, both lost in their own thoughts, until she set down her fork and turned to face him. “What happens now?”
“Now I find Walter Trissel and see what he knows.” At her questioning look, he explained. “This all goes back to the changing of the will. The only two people who definitely know what happened with it are my father and Walter. If Lydia managed to manipulate my father into giving her Thistledown Villa, then she used Walter Trissel to do it.”
“That makes sense. There’s a thread that runs through all this, so if you find it, you can trace it back to her.”
He forced a smile. “You almost sound like you believe me.”
“Well, it’s getting impossible to ignore. I don’t know that Lydia’s personally responsible for every bit of th
is, but she’s definitely the one gaining the most from it.” She pressed her lips together. “What’s her endgame?”
“I imagine she’s got alibis for every single attack against me.”
She motioned for him to continue. Beckett leaned back against her couch and sighed. “She tried to buy Morningstar from me.”
“She had to know you wouldn’t take that offer.”
“I’m sure she did. She’s not stupid.” He stared at her bookshelves, not liking the direction of his thoughts. “I don’t know what happens to Morningstar if I die.”
“Beckett.”
He shifted closer and put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m just musing. I have a will set up, but it mostly concerns my trust fund and Thistledown, the latter of which is a nonissue at the moment. The company is set up differently. Normally, it would be up to the board to determine a new CEO and distribute shares from there, but Morningstar is ultimately a King operation. It has its own procedures when it comes to how the family works.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’d have to consult our friend Walter Trissel, but it’s entirely possible that if I die without an heir, the company reverts back to the nearest King—either to Lydia or Anderson, her oldest child.”
She blanched. “If that’s not motive for murder, I don’t know what is.”
Chapter Nineteen
Beckett wanted to soothe away Samara’s worry for him. All he had to do was kiss her, and the magnetic pull between them would take care of the rest. He’d tow her into the bedroom and neither one of them would think too hard about the threats they were facing down for the rest of the night. With his body dragging against hers, her taste on his tongue, her cries in his ears…the rest of the danger would cease to matter.
But the danger would still be there in the morning.
It would still be there no matter what they did, but he wanted her to choose to let him stay without his steamrolling her. He wanted her to choose him.
Samara shifted a little and laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re staying here tonight.”
He should just let it go, but he wanted her to want him there—not to be offering because she thought he didn’t have anywhere else to go. “If you’re sure. You’re probably safer if I leave.”
“That’s a joke, right? You’re not doing this alone. I’ll have to deal with Lydia eventually, but for the time being I’m on vacation because she commanded it. There’s no reason I can’t go with you to talk to Walter Trissel tomorrow.” She nestled closer. “And you shouldn’t be alone tonight. Before you get your back up about it, that’s not pity talking. Don’t let your pride make you act like an asshole. Stay. We don’t have to have sex, but you’re sleeping in my bed tonight.”
Relief surged, the jolt so strong it nearly sent him to his knees. It’s not over between us. Even after everything we’ve seen in such a short fucking time, it hasn’t ruined the possibility of a future together. “I’d like that.” He reached over and scooped her into his lap. The sensation of having Samara in his arms soaked into him one heartbeat at a time. Her mass of dark hair pressed against the side of his face, soft and smelling of lavender. The subtle strength of her arms where they were wrapped around him, holding him as tightly as he held her.
Home.
Samara felt like home.
Beckett rested his chin on the top of her head. “Movie or bed?”
She tensed, but it barely lasted a single breath. “Bed.”
It felt strange to walk hand in hand to her bedroom. She dug around under her sink and came up with a spare toothbrush. He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. It struck Beckett that this could be his life—brushing his teeth next to Samara every night. Watching her wash off her makeup and strip off her armor as she got ready for bed. Knowing that he’d be able to hold her for hours without having to worry that one of them needed to leave.
Beckett unzipped her dress, his gaze glued to the long slice of bare skin revealed as the black fabric parted. His hands shook with the need to follow the path, to drag his thumbs over the lean muscles lining her back, to find the dimples on either side of the bottom of her spine.
Tonight is supposed to be about comfort. Not sex.
He stepped back before he could do something to damage the fragile balance tonight required. He walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom before he could come up with a bullshit reason to stay and watch her finish undressing. It didn’t help calm his suddenly racing heart. The bed invited him to imagine her laid out there, naked and beckoning him to join her. The closet was filled with bright dresses that had him remembering what was like to press her against that door and go to his knees before her, or how tempting she’d been when she rode him in his office. Control is overrated.
He should have stayed out of the damn bathroom until he could be sure Samara was covered again, but the sound of the shower running was too much of a temptation to ignore.
She stood with her face tilted up to the spray of water, something resembling peace in her expression. The shower was the only sign of extravagance in the condo. It was a good six feet with varying grayscale tiles and three shower heads—two normal and a sunflower one in the center. Samara had all three going, and with her brown skin slicked with water and the steam twisting through the enclosed space, she looked like some kind of divine creature who’d wandered into this place by mistake. The sight hit him right in the gut, even stronger than before. I want this.
Her. Us. The dinners and the comfort and the sex and the conversations. A future together.
I want it all.
She smoothed back her hair and turned to look at him. “I changed my mind.”
He forced his body still, using every ounce of his control not to take a single step toward her. “This isn’t about sex. Or the shit we’re dealing with both tomorrow and in the future. This is about us. I’m not here because I had nowhere else to go. I’m here because you’re here.”
“I know.” She pressed her hand to the glass. “Shower with me, Beckett.” Her wicked grin had his cock rising to attention. “You look like the best kind of dirty.”
He could no more resist her than he could make the sun rise in the west. Beckett shucked off his pants and stalked to the shower, never taking his gaze from hers. She stepped back as he walked into the shower, and the appreciation he found on her face warmed him even more than the steam, chasing away the last bits of numbness clinging to him like cobwebs.
The water was a temperature just shy of scalding. Beckett rolled his shoulders and ducked his head under the spray. When he opened his eyes again, Samara was right in front of him. She slid her hands over his chest, pausing at his scar. “You’re not alone, Beckett. Not anymore.”
He wasn’t alone because she was there. Because she might…keep being there. Longing nearly took him to his knees. “Samara, I—”
She kissed him as if she knew how close he was to saying something neither of them could take back. It was soft and bittersweet, and it made his chest ache all the way down to his soul. He laced his fingers through her thick hair and tilted her head back, the angle allowing him a slow exploration.
He licked down the long line of her neck and nipped the sensitive spot where it met her shoulder. Not enough. Never enough. He guided her to lean against the cool tile and cupped her breasts. “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never get enough of you.”
“I’m familiar with the feeling.” She arched into his touch, her eyes half closed.
Let me keep you.
He ducked his head and captured one of her dark nipples in his mouth. Too many things left unsaid between them. Too much uncertainty in their future. Tonight, they could use touch to comfort each other, to convey all the things they weren’t ready to put into words. Beckett ruthlessly smothered the desire to claim her in every way that counted. “Let me take you to bed,” he breathed against her skin. Let me show you all the things we aren’t allowed to say.
She tugged him up and kisse
d him hard. Samara’s cinnamon taste teased him as much as her body sliding against his. She smiled against his mouth. “Beckett, I’m taking you to bed.”
The words were barely out of Samara’s mouth when Beckett moved. He scooped her into his arms, his hold sure. Her stomach erupted in butterflies, and she didn’t have a chance in hell of keeping it out of her voice when she said, “What are you doing?”
“No time like the present to settle the debate on who’s taking whom to bed.” He grinned. “For tonight, at least.”
He’s talking like he means more than tonight. Hope unfurled cautious wings inside her. Even as she called herself seven different kinds of fool, she wanted him to stay. To carve out a future with her.
To love her.
You are in the middle of a crisis and that is where your focus should be. She swallowed hard. “You’re going to break your leg trying to get out of this shower, and then we’ll have to spend the night in the ER.”
“You know what your problem is, Samara?” He opened the glass door and snagged two of her fluffy pink towels.
“I bet you’re going to tell me.” She dried off absently, watching him do the same. Beckett was…Beckett was obscenely attractive. He’d always been handsome, but grief had created a rough edge that called to her like a siren song. It was more than the seemingly permanent scruff on his jaw or the fact that his muscles were ridiculously defined. The events of the last week had honed the steel within, leaving him as something stronger. More determined. Infinitely sexier.
“Damn right I am.” He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her over his shoulder. Her world turned upside down, and the spectacular view of Beckett’s muscled ass wasn’t enough to detract from the fact that her ass was in the air.
“Hey!”
“Oh look—I’m taking you to bed.” He dumped her on the bed and snatched her ankle when she raised her foot. “I think that settles that argument.”
She glared, but a grin kept slipping through. “Pretty sure you’re not playing fair.”
