Suddenly Beck: (A Hot & Sweet MM Romance Series) (Belong to Me Book 1)

by Vawn Cassidy

  It’s truly remarkable what goes through your head in that split second when you’re facing imminent and certain death. You’d think it would be something deep or profound, something you could comfortably engrave on an epitaph and preserve for posterity. But no... I can tell you that is absolutely and categorically, one hundred percent not the case.

  My first thought was, you’re an idiot, followed rapidly by, oh my God, I finally grew the balls to run away from home, only to wind up accidentally killing myself on a pretty coastal stretch of Cornwall, followed lastly by the really random thought, what if I don’t die and get swept out to sea, only to land on a desert island like Tom Hanks in Castaway and doomed to spend the rest of my days in a dodgy loin cloth and talking to a basketball with a bloody handprint for a face?

  I kick for the surface again, my arms flailing, and for a brief second, I manage to suck some oxygen into my starving and panicked lungs before being forced under once more. This time, I’m under no illusion that I’m going to die. My arms and legs are tiring, moving sluggishly in the water as I’m battered by the crashing waves. My vision is blurring, and my lungs screaming for air. I stop struggling, but as I slowly sink down, a strong pair of arms wrap around me.

  My head breaches the surface, and this time, I’m being towed back toward the shore. My body feels like a dead weight. It’s a struggle to move my exhausted limbs as I feel myself being hauled out of the water and dragged further up the sand away from the icy waves.

  There’s a man hunched over me in concern as I lie on the freezing wet sand, wheezing and coughing the seawater from my lungs and spread out, rather unattractively, like some sort of graceless starfish.

  I blink again, but all I can focus on is a pair of incredible hazel-coloured eyes. They’re staring at me, hovering just above my face. For a second, I’m still disorientated, so caught up in the golden amber and vivid green depths encircling those dark pupils, I almost miss the flash of fury until his sharp words penetrate the fog surrounding my brain.

  ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ he snaps angrily, raising his voice above the violent boom of the waves and the howl of the wind. ‘Are you stupid? Have you got no sense of self-preservation? Why the hell would you stand that close to the water’s edge during a fucking storm? What the fuck did you think you were you doing?’

  It immediately raises all my hackles.

  ‘Re-enacting the shrimp boat scene from Forest Gump,’ I snap indignantly in response, humiliation burning my cheeks. ‘What do you think I was doing?’

  For a second, we stare at each other breathing heavily, and just when I think he’s going to yell at me again, I see the corner of his mouth twitch in reluctant amusement.

  ‘Well, Lieutenant Dan, did you make your peace with God or were you trying to prematurely join him?’ he asks after a moment.

  ‘Neither,’ I huff and find myself impulsively grinning at the ridiculousness of my current situation. ‘It’s just the latest example of my rather questionable decision making skills.’

  He blinks at me as if momentarily dazed, and my smile dims at his silence. He’s gorgeous I realise, swallowing hard. He looks to be in his twenties the same as me. Those piercing hazel eyes are set in a beautiful, tanned face with a firm jaw and high cheek bones. His blond hair is long, hanging almost to his shoulders and plastered wetly to his face.

  I glance down, and, in that moment, realise two things. Firstly, that I’m gripping onto his firmly muscled biceps as he leans over me, and secondly, that he’s actually laying between my spread legs, his weight braced on his arms with his hands placed either side of my head. With that sudden heady realisation my cock instantly hardens. I squawk in embarrassment and shove him, but his body is so solid it’s like trying to move a bloody rock.

  ‘Off,’ I croak, hoping desperately he can’t feel the firm press of my dick.

  He climbs off me, standing slowly as he watches me. I roll to my side, pushing myself onto my knees and breathing deeply. My heart is pounding in my chest so hard it feels like I’m going to crack a rib. I silently try to will away the uncomfortable stiffness of my rebellious cock, but it seems to be thoroughly unrepentant when presented with such a beautiful man to look at.

  Christ, what the hell is wrong with me? He’s probably not even into guys, he’s probably just some buff off-duty lifeguard who spends his free time saving idiots from trying to accidentally baptise themselves with the ocean.

  ‘Hey, are you okay?’ he asks in concern. ‘Did you hit your head when you went under?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head feeling more in control of my traitorous body as I push myself to my feet and turn to face him. Holy shit, that’s even worse. Now that I can see him fully, I realise he must have discarded his jacket and shoes when he dived in after me because he’s standing, soaked to the skin, in nothing but jeans and a white t-shirt, which clings wetly to every single ripple and rock-hard ridge on his torso. ‘Er, I… I’m fine,’ I stutter. ‘No head injury, believe it or not, this is actually normal behavior for me.’

  His face breaks into a wide smile, and once again, I blink.

  Oh, sweet baby Jesus, the boy has dimples. I stare in fascination at the tiny little creases at the corners of his mouth. Fuck, there goes my dick again. I seriously need to get that maniac under control before he gets us both in trouble. But before I can do or say anything, my attention is drawn by a blur of golden-coloured fur bounding across the sand heading straight for me.

  ‘It’s alright she won’t hurt you,’ the stranger manages to get out a second before the golden retriever jams her nose straight into my crotch.

  ‘Jesus,’ I wheeze as I double over.

  Dick instantly deflated, mission accomplished. I reach down and cup her jaw, gently removing her face from my crotch and leaning down to look at her. She stares straight into my eyes, letting out joyful bark as she wags her tail.

  ‘Sorry, I’m just not that sort of boy,’ I tell her as her tongue lolls out in a canine smile. ‘And that’s really very forward of you, you didn’t even buy me dinner first.’

  The stranger laughs again.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ he apologises. ‘She’s mine. She has no manners or concept of personal space.’

  I hunker down as she licks my chin, her whole-body wagging. I rub her damp fur, sending her into paroxysms of delight.

  ‘What’s her name?’ I look up at him and find him watching me curiously.

  ‘Ursula,’ he replies. ‘Because she thinks she’s the Queen of the Ocean. You have no idea how often I have to fish her out of the sea.’

  ‘I, um.’ I swallow, suddenly nervous as he watches me. ‘I should get going.’ I stand quickly and move to pick up my backpack, which is still sitting at the edge of the dunes.

  ‘You staying around here?’ he asks, eying the huge backpack.

  ‘I, um, no… yes, maybe.’ I hesitate.

  ‘Well, which is it?’ He smiles in amusement. ‘Yes, no or maybe?’

  ‘I just got here, and I haven’t found a place to stay yet,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a hotel or something close by?’

  ‘Just up over the dunes to the left, follow the road up past the little blue cottage and at the top of the hill is a B&B. Big white building, just ask for Molly.’

  ‘Um, thanks.’ I turn, but before I’ve taken two steps, I pause and turn back. ‘Thanks, by the way.’ I flush. ‘For saving my life.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he replies, studying me thoughtfully. ‘Next time, don’t get so close to the edge during a storm.’

  ‘Lesson learned.’ I smile and turn away.

  ‘Hey, Lieutenant Dan,’ he calls out, causing me to stop and glance back toward him once again. ‘What’s your name?’

  I stare at him for a moment. ‘Nat,’ I finally answer before turning and hurrying up and over the dunes until I can no longer feel his hot gaze trickling down my spine.

  Chapter Two

  Beck

  ‘In the words of Mado
nna, I’ll take my chance on a beautiful stranger.’

  I find myself watching the dark-haired stranger scramble up and over the dunes nervously before disappearing out of sight. My lips purse speculatively as I continue to stare in his direction even though I can no longer see him.

  Nat… I roll the name on my tongue experimentally, a smile tugging at my lips. A loud almost mocking bark draws my attention, and I look down to find Ursula tilting her head and staring at me, her pink tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth as if she’s somehow laughing at me.

  ‘What?’ I shrug as I stare at my dog.

  She barks again, standing suddenly, her tail thumping against my leg.

  ‘Okay fine, you win.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Let’s go.’

  I turn and scoop up my discarded jacket and shoes. It’s really not worth putting them back on considering I’m soaked to the skin and covered in wet sand, which is now sticking to me in clumps. Dusting the worse of it off and leaving my hand feeling gritty, I wander back down the beach slowly. The rain, although now a fine mist rather than a hammering downpour, doesn’t bother me. I was born and bred in the Bay, and I’m well used to the temperamental weather and having sand stuck in unfortunate places.

  I think back to the pretty man I’d just fished out of the ocean, all that dark curling hair and pale olive skin, a slim face and full, slightly, bee stung lips. I swallow hard trying not to think about those lips as they’d parted on a panting breath, or how soft and inviting they’d looked, it draws my imagination to places it has no business going. That pretty face of his is certainly tempting, but what really caught my attention, and won’t let go, are his eyes. They’re a pale and shocking shade of blue, a striking contrast to his dark hair as they’d stared back at me.

  I shake my head feeling slightly unsettled. I probably shouldn’t have yelled at the poor guy. He’d almost drowned after all, and it was bound to have shaken him up. It’d certainly shaken me the hell up. I’d seen him climb down from the dunes and drop his backpack on the sand, pausing almost in awe as he watched the storm-tossed sea. I couldn’t blame him, after all it’s a hell of a show. Mother nature in all of her truculent glory, throwing a wild temper tantrum. It’s a sight I never tire of and often wander down to the beach to watch when I feel restless.

  I wasn’t expecting to find anyone else out in this weather and had stood mesmerised watching the dark-haired stranger as he inched closer to the water’s edge. He was fascinating to watch. My fingers had twitched involuntarily, and I found myself wishing for a moment that I’d had my sketchbook with me. I’d watched as he lifted his hands palm up to the storm laden skies, tilting his face back so it was bathed in raindrops. He closed his eyes and just breathed, a tiny smile of contentment curving the corner of that delicious mouth.

  He looked like a mischievous God… or maybe… Poseidon I decide, commanding the waves. He was so lost to the storm, that he hadn’t seen the huge wave heading straight for him. I’d shouted in warning, but a violent gust of wind and the crashing boom of the waves stole my voice away. He didn’t hear me. I was already running for the spot where he’d last stood, kicking off my shoes and stripping my jacket to reduce the drag in the water, just in time to see him flailing in the surf before being dragged under.

  I’d dived in, heading for him frantically as the waves pounded against my body, smashing into me as I searched. It was lucky for both of us that I’m such a strong swimmer or we’d have probably both drowned. But this is my bay, my ocean, and I’ve been swimming and surfing it since I was old enough to walk. I may have done some dumb shit like storm surfing when I was younger, although if my mum ever found out, I’d deny it to my grave, but one thing’s for certain, I never failed to respect the ocean.

  I’d finally grabbed onto the guy and dragged him back to the shore, hauling him up the beach away from the edge. The worry and stress had frayed my temper making me snap at him when I could’ve been a little more understanding, after all he wasn’t a local, he didn’t know any better. Instead, I’d been rude and not a little insulting. I hadn’t meant to, but something about the fact that he could have died if I hadn’t been there had shaken me badly, and I was at a loss to explain why. I was about to apologise when he’d opened that gorgeous, pouty mouth and snapped right back.

  I smile to myself, shaking my head. God damn it, I’ve always had a weakness for the snarky ones. That pretty, impish god-like face, the sharp tongue and bloody hell, that smile. When I’d answered back, his face had broken into a wide, genuine smile, and holy shit it was like being momentarily blinded by a light flare, and I’d found myself staring at him like an idiot.

  I watch Ursula bound ahead of me enthusiastically, climbing the craggy incline winding up to the top of the small bluff and letting out a series of barks, and I’m almost certain she’s accusing me of being too slow. I glance up, and a small smile of contentment tugs at my lips as I see my house.

  It’s a faded silvery blue two storey sea cottage with a slate tiled roof and slightly wonky chimney. It’s old and a bit shabby with a kind of rugged beauty to it that I love. I bought it a couple of years ago, and I still get a little thrill every time I see it standing on the bluff overlooking the bay.

  I climb the incline slowly, following my dog up to the top of the bluff, pausing for a moment to watch the turbulent sea curving around the headland. My stomach clenches at the sight of the pounding surf, and once again, my mind snaps back to the pretty young man. I find myself wondering if he did head up to the B&B to see Molly or if he decided to just move on.

  He’s a bit of an enigma. His clothes may have been plain and casual, but they weren’t exactly cheap and looked brand new, his accent a little posh. In fact, he didn’t seem anything like a drifter. He was clean shaven, and his hair neatly cut. He looked a little too… well-kept, and yet, he’d rocked up in our quiet little town with nothing more than a backpack, not a small one either. It was the kind you could pack up your entire life in.

  But it wasn’t just his clothes that were a bit of a contradiction, it was him. One moment he was sassy and sarcastic and the next his cheeks would flush with uncertainty. It was almost like there was another person lurking beneath the surface waiting to break free, and for a second, I’d caught a glimpse, and it fascinated me.

  Ursula’s impatient bark shakes me from my thoughts, and I head for the cottage. The shrubs either side of the gate are overgrown, and as I shove at the low gate, it sticks firmly, the wood swollen from days of late spring rain. Jesus, I can’t wait for summer, I want to feel the warmth on my skin and see the sunlight glittering off the deep blue waves.

  Shaking my head, I vault easily over the gate and make a mental note to fix it and trim the hedge at the first break in the weather, but even as the thought occurs to me, I know I’ll forget as soon as I’m inside.

  Letting myself in, I drop my shoes unceremoniously on the floor by the door and hang up my wet jacket, despite the fact it’s still covered in sand, knowing it’ll dust off easy enough once it’s dry. If there’s one thing you get used to growing up in the bay, it’s sand on everything. Honestly, I barely even notice it anymore.

  Heading toward the kitchen and leaving sodden footprints across the flagstone floor, I pad contemplatively through to the older part of the house. When I bought the place, I replaced the windows, repaired the roof, and shored up any structural issues, but I’ve yet to bother decorating any of the rooms. They’re all in varying degrees of cracked paint and peeling floral wallpaper courtesy of the previous owners. The bathroom is a vomit inducing shade of avocado and the kitchen is an unsightly mismatch of broken cupboard doors, drawer’s half off their runners and a very unappealing beige Formica work surface, which was probably installed back in the seventies.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love this place, and I know it might seem like I’m neglecting it on purpose, but I’m really not. They’re all things I know I’ll get to eventually, I’ve just had other priorities.

  I open the door to the
mud room, which doubles as a laundry. Stripping off my filthy socks, wet jeans and dirty t-shirt, I stuff them unceremoniously into the washer, and after a second of internal debate, I lose the boxers too. Rummaging in the dryer, I yank out a pair of sweatpants and pull them on sans underwear, and grabbing a clean towel, I scrub my damp hair. Flicking off the light, I exit the room forgetting to switch the washer on, an idea already beginning to form in my mind.

  I absently scoop up a tin of dog food and empty it into Ursula’s bowl, checking to make sure she has enough water and then head into the new extension I’d had built onto the side of the cottage, and as soon as I step inside, the scent of paints and linseed oil mingled with a dozen other familiar scents immediately relaxes me.

  This is my space, my pride and joy. I’ve sunk every penny I have into it; the massive windows stretch from floor to ceiling and dominate one whole wall giving an unparalleled view of the ocean stretching for miles in either direction. Two big skylights let in the natural light filling the room on bright sunny days and at night shrouding me with starlight.

  A huge moss-green sofa hugs another wall, deeply cushioned, and so comfortable I can sink into it and not come up for days. In fact, more often than not, it doubles as my bed when I don’t make it up the stairs to my room. Knowing I’d be sleeping on it, I made sure I picked something descent, but I consider it a necessity. It’s also my only faint concession to any kind of interior design. The rest of the room is devoted entirely to my art. There are dozens of shelving racks filled with supplies, brushes and paints. There’s a huge easel and stacks of canvases against every wall, some blank, some not and sketchbooks slung over every available surface. I love working in several different mediums, but I’m a very tactile artist, painting and sketching aren’t my primary passion. I’m first and foremost, a sculptor. I love the feel of it taking shape beneath my fingers. I love the scent and texture of the clay, but what I love most of all is casting my pieces in bronze.