“Of course I was into it,” she blurted out. She felt her cheeks heating. “I loved every second of it. You were there, Z. You should know that firsthand.”
He exhaled, looking relieved. He planted a firm, gentle kiss on both of her cheeks. His thumb swept across her cheekbone.
“Good. For a second there, I thought maybe my radar was off when it came to you.”
She scoffed at the idea. “I think your sex radar is one hundred percent accurate when it comes to me.”
His smile widened. Her heart did that predictable flutter.
“I won’t go at you like that every time,” he mumbled. His feet and stare on her shifted. Much to her amazement, she realized he was embarrassed. “I was just…really feeling it after we got back from the picnic.”
“So was I,” she assured, going up on her tiptoes and kissing his mouth. She hated the idea of him getting embarrassed, because he’d needed her so strongly in those moments. His gaze met hers again, his eyes glittering in the dark room.
“It’s okay, isn’t it, Z?” she whispered tentatively. “To really feel it?”
She felt him stiffen next to her. He cleared this throat and took a step away from her, his hands sliding to bracket her waist.
“Of course it’s okay,” he said gruffly, giving her a squeeze before he released her. “Let me just pick up a couple things and I’ll walk you out to the car.”
As she stared at his back as he walked over to his desk, Ursa felt like she’d just swallowed a dozen stones. She’d read his face before he’d turned away. She knew firsthand that really feeling it was definitely not okay with Z Beckett.
Not when it came to her, it wasn’t. Maybe it wasn’t all right for Z to really feel it with any woman.
Chapter Twenty
Despite her depressing thoughts, the day still shone bright and beautiful when they stepped outside of the café later. Her optimism peeked through the gloom when instead of walking her directly to her car, Z asked her if she wanted to return to the garage with him for a few minutes.
“Everyone had gone to lunch by the time we left the lab earlier. I’d like to introduce you to the other mechanics.”
“You would?”
He shrugged. “Why not? Surely you can’t think I’d be embarrassed to be with you,” he teased, his gaze sweeping down over her in slow appreciation.
Ursa fell into step beside him, but was too preoccupied by what had just happened in his office to answer him. She felt Z’s stare on the side of her face. He grabbed her elbow and halted her on the sidewalk.
“Ursa?”
“Huh?” she asked distractedly.
“Do you think I’m embarrassed about you?”
She blinked, bringing him into focus. His gaze bore into her like a drill.
“Maybe a little,” she confessed.
“That’s bullshit.”
She bristled and jerked her arm out of his hand.
“It’s not bullshit. You’re bullshit,” she hissed. “Don’t act like you haven’t made it clear that you think I’m practically jailbait, and that you feel like you’re indecent for sleeping with me.”
His face went cold, but his eyes blazed down at her.
“Is that your thing? You store up every little thing I’ve ever said, and then throw it at me whenever you feel vulnerable?”
“You just said it yesterday. You shouldn’t be surprised if I still remember it a few hours later,” she snapped. “You asked me if I thought you’d be uncomfortable introducing me to the people in your garage, and I answered. Don’t get pissed at me if I said the truth.”
“But it’s not the truth,” he growled. He gave a sharp, assessing glance around the parking lot, as if to make sure their little spat wasn’t being overheard.
“Don’t worry. No one is paying attention and judging you, Z.”
“Nobody but you.”
She blinked at his palpable fury. Christ, how could things go from zero to a hundred so fast between them?
True for heartbreaking intimacy. True for sex. True for their tempers, too.
You store up every little thing I’ve ever said, and then throw it at me whenever you feel vulnerable?
He was right. She’d been feeling very vulnerable and on edge ever since she’d realized she was in love with him a few minutes ago…
Ever since he’d stiffened up next to her when she brought up really feeling it. She clamped her eyelids shut.
“I’m sorry,” she said honestly after a few seconds, opening her eyelids to meet his stare. “I think maybe I’m a little tired.”
He said nothing, but she saw a muscle twitch in his cheek. He’s so tense. God, I’m making him miserable.
He exhaled and shifted on his feet. He crossed his arms, his narrowed gaze trained on the horizon.
“What’s going on, Ursa?” he asked stiffly.
“I don’t know,” she lied. “The only thing I know is that I didn’t come here to make you miserable.”
His gaze flashed over to her.
“Miserable? Where the hell did that come from?”
Her throat felt scratched raw all of a sudden. She didn’t know how to respond. She felt suddenly small. Defeated.
“Ursa?”
His deep voice vibrated with unspoken emotion. It dislodged something deep inside her.
“Z, if my presence here is upsetting you in any way, please tell me now. I’ll go. I’d die if you relapsed. I’d never forgive myself,” she said quietly.
His mouth hung open. “Jesus, Ursa, what do you think? That I’m so fragile I’m going to fall into a bottle just because you’re feeling a little edgy?”
“I…I don’t know. Maybe.”
He rolled his eyes. Despite it all, she smiled.
Suddenly, miraculously, everything was okay. The storm had passed.
“The ground I’m walking on isn’t that shaky, baby girl.” He inhaled deeply, his powerful chest expanding. He glanced around at the sprawling property that housed his various businesses. “In fact, I’d say it’s pretty damn stable.”
She chuckled, amazed that all of the tension that’d just been boiling between them had dissipated to nothing. That small, very appealing smile shaped his mouth.
“You are doing very well for yourself. I’m really happy for you. I just worry about you sometimes. I wasn’t trying to set you off, Z. I was just feeling kind of—”
“Wrung out. I get it. The past few days have been pretty eventful,” he said gruffly. Their stares clung, sensual memories of everything they’d shared since she’d arrived in Columbia flaming high. Given the gleam that entered Z’s eyes, she wondered if he wasn’t recalling some of the same things.
“You can’t walk on eggshells around me all the time, Ursa. If you’re feeling irritated and tired, it’s okay to put it out there. I’m not going to collapse. Or relapse. Besides,” he said, his mouth twitching. “I’m pretty used to Esterbrook-girl-moodiness by now.”
She scoffed in disbelieving amusement. “Esterbrook moodiness. You’re crazy. We aren’t moody. You Beckett boys defined moodiness.”
“Jude did have some problems with his temper,” Z mused seriously. She slapped his forearm and then reached, palming the back of his neck. She pushed him down toward her. He came willingly.
Thank God.
Their mouths met in a warm, questing kiss. She heard a car door slam near them in the parking lot. She started to pull away, not wanting to make Z uncomfortable by being caught by a customer or employee. But his arms encircled her, pulling her closer. The kiss continued, growing deeper. Hotter.
Ursa finally broke it when she felt things spinning out of control all over again.
“Whoa, cowboy,” she whispered next to his lips. He nipped at her gently before he straightened.
“I guess I deserve to be reigned in.�
��
“You don’t deserve anything I don’t deserve as well,” she admitted, stroking his muscular back as longing rose up in her yet again, nearly choking her. She peered up at him. “You’re a brilliant mechanic. You’d think you could do something to regulate this speedometer problem between us…the way things go from zero to a hundred in a second flat.”
He considered her somberly for a second. “Maybe I can’t regulate it. Maybe I don’t want to.”
She smiled, letting him know she appreciated him saying that.
“For my part, I’m promising to do better. No more random bitchiness. Smooth sailing until Saturday morning,” she promised.
“Back to being a prodigy at all things? Even controlling your temper?”
She pointed at him warningly. “Don’t you dare say anything about me being a saint.”
He held up his hands in surrender, his eyes now dancing with humor. He didn’t say anything, but she had the definite impression he had about a dozen sarcastic comments bouncing around in his head. She wouldn’t give him an opportunity to let one of them fly.
“Is it okay if I meet your mechanics another time? I think I might go back to your place and take a little nap.”
He dropped a final kiss on her mouth and stepped away from her. “Go on. Get some rest.” He kept her hand in his when she started to turn away. Ursa turned back to him with a questioning look.
“Just don’t eat anything,” he called out.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to make you dinner tonight. Surprised, I suppose,” he added after a pause.
She laughed and shook her head, a heady feeling of euphoria going through her as she absorbed the glint of humor in his blue eyes.
“Not at all. Your days of surprising me are long gone, Z Beckett.”
“That’s odd. I have a feeling mine are just starting when it comes to you.”
When she returned to Z’s place, she didn’t immediately use the house key he’d provided her. Instead, she walked around the side of the house, pausing to appreciate the daffodils and tulips blooming there, before finding her way to the backyard. When she rounded the corner, she saw a backyard wooden terrace with a table and chairs, several potted plants and trees, and a gas grill. But the thing that drew her deeper into the yard was the large garden and lush trees shining in the spring sun.
Her mother had been a gardener ever since Ursa could remember. But this was a garden to rival even her mother’s dedicated efforts. She stared in astonishment at neatly planted and maintained rows of vegetables and spices. There was spinach, radicchio, and romaine. She spotted tomatoes, peas, and asparagus growing abundantly, along with carrots, cabbages, beets and radishes. The spice section was especially impressive. As she knelt to inspect row upon row of basil, oregano, rosemary, parsley, and cilantro, something caught her eye.
To the right of the thriving garden were several trees. She walked amongst them, delighted to find three avocado trees heavy with fruit. There was a flowering one that she thought was an apple tree. And back in the corner, she realized with amazement, was a fully mature orange tree. Ripe, lush fruit hung amongst the vibrant green leaves. Ursa plucked a navel orange, holding it up to her nose and inhaling the sweet, fresh citrus scent. She carefully placed the fruit in the shopping bag she carried. She hadn’t realized navel oranges were ready to eat at this time of year.
Humming with awe, she crossed the backyard, taking note of a few other treasures along the way—raspberry bushes along the perimeter of the yard, two lemon trees growing in pots. She’d told Z she was done being surprised by anything he could do, but here she was, freshly amazed once again. Because surely he was the gardener of this lush, well-maintained slice of backyard heaven.
A memory popped into her brain of Erica setting their lunch order on the bar earlier and giving Z a significant wink. “One full throttle burger and one fish taco, both made with special ingredients from a local farmer.”
Z must give some of the harvests from his garden to the cook at the café. Erica had known about it, and had been teasing him.
Ursa realized that in fact she could picture Z working there, crouching amongst the plants, pulling weeds and setting up tomato trellises, his big, strong hands useful for shoveling, building fences and handling heavy stones, his fingertips sensitive when stroking fragile, newly budded leaves.
She paused at the side of the house, shivering as she thought of his hands on her body, forceful, deliberate, and exacting at times…
Achingly gentle at others.
Will I ever get to bottom of you, Z Beckett? Will I ever know all of your secrets?
“I doubt it,” she said softly to herself, staring at a newly opened pink tulip as a sadness unfolded inside her. “Not unless I can learn all there is to know in two more nights.”
Because that was the extent of her invitation into Z’s usually well-guarded, very private world.
When Z entered his house that evening at a little after six, he did so quietly. He thought Ursa might be napping.
But instead, he found her sitting at the kitchen table with a plate in front of her, a partially peeled orange on top of it.
“Hi,” she called brightly, standing. His gazed moved over her appreciatively. Ursa was a hell of a thing to come home to, that much was certain. She must have just showered. Her hair hung damp and waving around her shoulders. He noticed what she was wearing, his gaze sticking on her as he set down the bag he carried on the counter.
“Is that another new outfit from Rags?” he asked, referring to the biker clothing store he owned.
“Is that a frown on your face?”
“No,” he defended at the same time he attempted to erase the frown lines from his forehead.
She laughed and came toward him. He found himself staring at her bare legs and feet. How could she look so smooth and touchable? Probably because she is that touchable, he told himself wryly. He knew firsthand how soft and silky her skin was. Her skin was optimally on display at the moment, given that she was only wearing a black tank top and a pair of denim shorts.
Very small denim shorts.
“I got them at a boutique in downtown Columbia today,” she said, tapping her hip to indicate the shorts. “I thought maybe they were a comfortable compromise between my usual clothes and the outfit I bought at Biker Rags to… ”
“Torture me?” he asked when she faded off, his lips twitching with amusement. Foregoing gawking at her for the moment—hard as it was, she looked like a freshly scrubbed invitation to sin—he turned to start unpacking the bag he’d brought from the café.
“I didn’t buy those clothes to torture you. I bought them to entice you.”
He smirked and gave her a wry glance, which inevitably stuck on her unadorned, full, pink lips. “I think I’m past the point of no return on that one, baby girl. No matter what you wear—or preferably don’t wear—I’m going to be more than enticed. And tortured is definitely the right word.”
Her smile created a tugging sensation in his crotch area. Damn, I’ve never spoken truer words. He hoped that truth didn’t rise up to clobber him in a few days time.
She went up on her tiptoes, and suddenly those pink, lush lips were beneath his. He craned toward her. God, she tasted good.
“Oranges,” he muttered a few seconds later when her lips fell away.
“I picked it from the tree out back. Why didn’t you tell me about that gorgeous backyard of yours? Or that you’re a master gardener?”
“I’m hardly a master gardener.”
“Seriously. Where’d you get such a green thumb, Z?”
He shrugged and set the Tupperware dish his cook, James, had given him on the counter. “I’d think the answer to that was obvious.” He noticed her puzzled expression. “From your mom, of course. Jude and I were always helping her build fences or plant trees in the ba
ckyard.”
“I didn’t think you were paying much attention to the actual growing part. I thought my mother’s gardening outfits were the draw, at least when you and Jude were teenagers.” He heard the hint of sarcasm in her tone and gave her an innocent look. He’d never admit to her that he and his brother had gone on high alert every time Ilsa Esterbrook took to her garden wearing shorts and a bathing suit top. Ursa laughed and shook her head.
“God, it sucks having a gorgeous mother.”
“You got all her genes, and then some. You’ve got nothing to be insecure about in that department. Trust me,” he added gruffly, yanking his gaze off the vision of the thin material of the tank top outlining every nuance of her full, firm breasts.
He scowled at the Tupperware dish he’d set on the counter.
“Z? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, picking up the dish and walking toward the refrigerator.
But he wasn’t being entirely honest with Ursa. The conversation about Ilsa Esterbrook, Ursa’s mom, had brought to mind the explosive topic.
The taboo topic, at least for Beckett men.
By the time he’d hit puberty, he’d come to understand that all Esterbrook women were off limits. First off, Ilsa Esterbrook may have been a former international model and a world-class knockout, but she was also old enough to be his mother. Not only that, she had been a surrogate mother figure to him since he’d been ten years old. Without putting it into actual words, Jude and he had somehow agreed that Ilsa was to be respected at all costs… no matter how she looked tending her garden.
Then there was Sadie and Esme, both stunning in their own way, both brilliant in their own right. But Jude and he had played with Sadie and Es since they were kids. The two older girls were like sisters to the Becketts, yes, but they were more. They became part of the fabric of Jude and Z’s new world in Tahoe Shores. To make a move on Sadie or Esme would have torn at those precious threads. It’d be downright sacrilege, even if Z would’ve had to have been a eunuch or idiot not to notice how appealing Sadie and Esme were. Once they’d reached adolescence, nobody could deny that Sadie and Esme weren’t sexy as hell. It was just that Sadie and Esme meant more to him than sex.
Wild, Wounded Hearts Page 17
