Mia
I’ve suddenly sobered up. Beckett touches me how no other man ever has before. Besides a few guys I’ve kissed, I’ve never let anyone get close.
I don’t know why I touch him. It’s like an animalistic need to feel all of him. Without thinking or any agenda, I reach for him, stroking his hard-on, not even sure if I’m doing it correctly.
Within seconds of grasping him, he makes my head spin, creating an orgasm within me more intense than I could ever give myself.
As adrenaline spikes throughout my body, I grip him harder, and he cries out my name and ejaculates all over my hand.
Okay, you did it right.
I’m mentally patting myself on the back and trying to catch my breath when Beckett apologizes. I quickly realize that he’s embarrassed and that he, while more experienced than me, hasn’t had any sexual encounters for over a decade. At least, I’m assuming nothing bad happened to him in prison.
I may be inexperienced, but I’m not oblivious to the fact that I’m a twenty-four-year-old virgin, and that isn’t normal. Any dates I have been on, I always felt anxiety due to my lack of sexual experience.
Once again, I don’t think about how he killed my brother, or that he won’t tell me who else was involved. My only concern is that I don’t want him to feel shameful about his climax.
So, I kiss him, still breathing hard, my insides still slightly quivering, my arms tight around him.
Several minutes pass. Beckett hardens against my leg again but leans back. “I need to get you ice.”
Reality crashes into me.
What did I just do?
He killed Clay.
But did he?
Part of me is convinced he didn’t kill him, but he never denies it. He always goes around the question, telling me he can’t explain anything to me.
You want to believe he didn’t do it, and that is clouding your judgment.
Beckett pecks my lips and leaves the room. The only sound is him breaking up the bag of ice and my thoughts.
Go to sleep, Mia. You can’t let this go any further, and he’s too much of a temptation. Pretend you’re asleep until you zone out.
Before Beckett returns to the room, I close my eyes. The scent of him, raw and woody, flares in my nostrils before he even touches me, but I keep my eyes closed.
He packs my arm in fresh ice, tucks me in, and kisses me on the head. “I’ll get vengeance for you, angel,” he says so quietly, I wonder if I’m imagining it.
I’m tempted to ask him what he means, but I know his answer will be the same. If I open my eyes, I’m afraid of what else I might do with him tonight, so I pretend to sleep, my loins wanting more but choosing my logic over my emotions.
Chirping birds wake me up the next morning. I look to my side, expecting to see Beckett, but he isn’t there. His side of the bed is neatly made.
I feel a mix of disappointment and relief.
Back to me, myself, and I.
At least he isn’t here tempting you to cross the line again.
What happened last night can never happen again.
My alarm clock says eleven.
Jeez. I never sleep this late.
Standing up, I make the other side of my bed, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and head to the kitchen to make coffee. When I get there, I freeze.
Beckett is fixing the lock on my back door. Connor and another man I don’t recognize, but who resembles Beckett, have removed two of my windows. Four other windows are brand new and already installed with tape still across them.
“What are you doing?” I hurl at Beckett, and all the men stop to stare at me.
I realize I’m wearing my pink, satin nightgown and nothing else, as Beckett’s eyes fill with the same heat I saw last night.
He jumps from his crouching position, scans the room, yanks the afghan off the couch, and throws it over me.
“What are you doing?” I repeat, but this time, it’s more about him covering me up.
“Go put clothes on.” He points toward my bedroom.
“Excuse me, but this is my house. You can’t just come in here and tear it apart.”
“We aren’t tearing it apart—”
“Really? What do you call that?” I point to the empty holes where my windows once were.
“We’re fixing things. Go put clothes on.” His jaw clenches, and he points again.
“No. This is my—”
He picks me up and carries me across the room.
“Put me down,” I demand and wiggle in his arms. But he has me tight to him, and I can’t escape his grasp.
I hear snickering in the background.
When we get to my room, he puts me down, and the afghan falls off me. “Are you going to get dressed, or do I need to dress you?”
I glare at him. “This is my house. You do not have permission to be here nor rip anything apart.”
“It’s not safe. It will be when we’re done today.”
“That isn’t your concern.”
He raises his eyebrow at me and adamantly says, “It’s my only concern.”
My heart races as he licks his lips, and the only sound is the clock ticking. “I didn’t ask to be your concern,” I say quietly.
“You need to be more aware, Mia. Don’t leave your house unlocked anymore. Windows, doors, everything gets locked.”
Anger consumes me. “Is this another code for ‘I know something that concerns you, but I’m not going to tell you’?”
“Mia,” he groans in frustration.
“Get out of my room, Beckett.”
He leaves and shuts the door.
I quickly change and return to the living area, stopping in front of the two holes in my wall. “Connor, what are you doing?” I ask, hoping to get more from him than what Beckett gave me.
He grins. “Hey, Mia. Do you remember our brother, Hudson? We’re changing your windows. The old ones were falling apart.”
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I didn’t authorize this. Please put my old windows back—”
Hudson cuts in. “Sorry, Mia, but the old windows fell apart when we removed them. This island gets some nasty storms. I’m surprised they didn’t blow out before now.”
I should say thank you, but I’m pissed they’re tearing my house apart without my permission. I don’t need Beckett Brooks doing anything for me. He’s already done enough.
“What is the cost?”
“No cost, Mia,” Connor says, smiling.
I gape at him.
Hudson must sense my disbelief. “I own a construction firm. I had the windows from a job that was measured wrong, and we couldn’t return them. They happen to be perfect for your cutouts. No cost.”
I sigh from relief and frustration. “Thank you. What about your time?”
An amused expression crosses both their faces, and Connor replies, “No charge.”
I should be elated that I’m getting all new windows and my door lock fixed, but I feel strange taking help from Beckett and his family.
“Mia, can you come here for a minute, please?” Beckett asks.
I approach him, and he says, “I need a four-digit code that you can remember.”
“Why?”
“So, you can have keyless entry.”
“I don’t need that.”
“Well, you’re getting it, so pick a code.”
“Beckett, this is so inappropriate,” I tell him.
“Hey, Mia!” a familiar woman’s voice calls out.
I turn to see Gabriella and another woman sticking their heads in the windowless hole. Ryland is standing next to them as well.
Why are the Brooks all in my house?
I spin to Beckett. “What is going on here?”
“I’m just fixing your door. You’ll have to ask them.”
“Seriously?”
He winces. “Sorry.”
Someone taps my shoulder. A huge smile is on Gabriella’s face. “Want to go to lunch with Gracie and me?”
Gracie. That’s who the other woman is—Beckett’s other sister.
“My house is kind of in pieces right now.”
Gracie puts her hand on my back. “Exactly why you should go. Let them do their job, and you can come back after it’s finished.”
“Good idea. Go eat. Come back when it’s done,” Beckett instructs.
I glare at him, and he cockily grins. I have a flashback of him smiling like that with Clay standing next to him.
At first, it makes me happy, but as soon as joy comes, so does sadness. The pit in my stomach widens, and I blink back tears.
He stands up and takes both my hands. “Mia, what’s wrong?”
I turn away from him. “Let’s go, Gabriella.”
She looks at me as if she isn’t sure if she should ask what is wrong or not. We’re out the front door when Beckett comes running after us. “Mia, wait!”
I turn around.
“I need a four-digit code.”
I glare at him. “Four five nine two.”
“Four five...” Pain crosses his face.
For a brief moment, guilt rears its head. I’m being so cruel.
You have nothing to feel guilty about. He’s the murderer.
Is he?
Yes, and now you won’t forget. It’s another reminder not to fall into his arms again.
It’s his inmate number. A reminder of who he really is and what he’s done.
I blink back more tears.
His pain is replaced with hardness. Gone is any resemblance of who he was in the past. He nods and walks away.