Chapter Twelve

This was a first for Beckett. The words “we need to talk” had never before left his lips. He’d discovered early on that those four little words were woman-code for trouble. No matter who said them—his mother, his sister, or Sherri—it never ended well.

But if he didn’t clear his head of all things McKenna, there was no way he’d be able to get back into his work. And if he couldn’t work…then what the hell was the point of any of this?

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” she said. She hadn’t invited him in yet, nor had she shrunk back from the way he leaned toward her. “Now, if you said we need to grunt about it on the other hand…”

“You know me so well,” he drawled.

“I do, don’t I?” This time there wasn’t any sarcasm in her voice—no teasing, no deflection. Just raw vulnerability.

That, combined with her bare face—which he didn’t think he’d ever seen—and her dressed-down outfit of an oversized blue My Little Pony hoodie and leggings, made her look stripped. Exposed.

“You have freckles,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve never seen them before.”

As much as he thought McKenna looked beautiful with her sparkly eyelids and fringy lashes, he liked her this way, too. Maybe because it made him think of how she might look in the morning—fresh faced and disheveled.

Stop that right now.

“I get them on my shoulders and my arms, too, come summer time.” Her lips quirked. “Come on, get out of the hallway before people start gossiping.”

He walked into her apartment and she shut the door behind him, flicking the lock. The loud click echoed in her quiet apartment. This was the first time he’d been inside…and it was so perfectly her. A little messy, bright and welcoming. Makeup was strewn all over a small white dining table. A pink couch faced a small TV and was littered with mismatched cushions in shades of purple and blue. Some had sequins on them, others were made of velvet or silk. And the place smelled like vanilla cupcakes.

The pulse of desire that shot through his body, causing a tightness in his muscles—and behind the fly of his jeans—shook him. “I want to talk about your email,” he blurted out a little harsher than anticipated.

Smooth moves, Walsh. Why don’t you bark at her next time?

“What did you think of the plan?” she asked. Her fingers tugged at the hem of her hoodie, picking at a loose thread.

“I wasn’t sure if it was a serious suggestion or not.”

She fidgeted as he studied her, silent. For once, her mouth wasn’t running a mile a minute and he desperately wanted to know her game plan. It felt like they were two dogs circling one another, neither one ready to make the first move.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked, shaking her head. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

The right thing was drawing a line in the sand. Pushing him away. He swallowed. Logically, she was right. Logically, he agreed with her. But, for once, he wanted to tell logic to go and fuck itself. He wanted McKenna. Wanted to throw all his rules and overthinking and rigidity out the window and just live.

You should be with someone who excites you.

Those words were stuck on repeat. It was like a glass shattering into a million pieces. It couldn’t be reversed. He couldn’t un-think that thought.

No, that’s not what you want. You have control here.

Maybe he’d been stifling his life this whole time, by being too worried about financial security. By being too worried about making sure his mother had everything she needed because he thought it was his responsibility to take care of her. By thinking that work was the only thing he was good at.

But since he and McKenna had made their pact, he hadn’t thought so little about his work in his whole life. She distracted him. Made him question the things he thought he wanted.

That’s not a good thing. You need to be focused. Stay on track!

But his control was evaporating, drifting like smoke through his fingers so that no matter how hard he tried to grasp it, he couldn’t. That’s what she did to him. McKenna made normal things feel different. She’d turned everything on its head.

She made him ask questions he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to.

“What’s the right thing?” he asked, taking a step forward.

Her eyes widened, and her shoulders rose as she sucked in a breath. “Sticking to the plan.”

“The four-point plan?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “You want Sherri back and I agreed to help you.”

Did he want Sherri back? He swallowed. His head said yes. The whole thing had started with McKenna because he’d wanted to get back to how things were before—stable. Secure.

But if he was being honest with himself—with her—his heart said no.

Guilt rocketed through him. In his quest to chase the things that had been so lacking in his childhood, he’d been chasing the wrong woman for all the wrong reasons. And not only did he deserve better than that…she did, too.

“What if I decided I don’t want your help anymore?” he asked.

“Look, I know the plan might not have seemed that good. But—”

“Screw the plan, McKenna.”

He was sick of it—sick of acting like he wasn’t attracted to her. Sick of pretending that everything could go back to normal. Normal was gone and he felt…free.

…

“Don’t.” The words stuck in her throat.

God, why was this man so hard to resist? If his ex couldn’t see what a great guy he was, then she was blind and she didn’t deserve him.

“Don’t what?” Concern laced his tone. She swallowed and stayed stock-still.

“You don’t have to keep pretending like you’re attracted…”

She couldn’t force herself to finish the sentence. Because he’d shown again and again that he was attracted to her. From that time in the elevator, to their bungled test date, to their white-hot kiss last night. But that wasn’t enough to make things work between them. He wanted another woman.

No matter how much she wanted him, she’d never ever use her family’s money to lure a guy in. That’s why she wasn’t supposed to fall for him, because then she wouldn’t have to face his shattering rejection. She could simply skip off into the sunset by herself—dignity intact. Go back to her original plans for Operation Self-Love. Back to creating her own happiness.

But even with Kayla’s wedding looming—the one thing she needed to get her business off the ground and take steps to have the success she craved—she felt empty at the thought of losing him.

You never had him to begin with.

“Keep pretending that I’m attracted to you?” He couldn’t mask the hurt in his voice. “Keep pretending like I enjoy spending time with you? Do you really think this is all an act?”

“No.” Her voice was small.

How was she supposed to tell him that she’d crossed the line? Well, mentally anyway. He thought they were friends and she wanted…more.

If he only wants to be friends, then why is he here?

“I know it’s not an act.” She walked over to the couch and dropped down, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. “But I know we’re not… God. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“We’re talking.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his expression belied the cool, calm, and collected tone of his voice.

He feels it, too.

The couch shifted as he sat next to her. This time, neither of them left a gap in the middle. He was right there, his thigh touching hers. Impossibly close. Her breath hitched. The feeling of wanting had started small—like a bare spark—until it swept through her, a blazing inferno of anticipation.

“Is that all? And don’t hide behind all that literal stuff. I know that’s a front.”

He was a literal guy. But she knew now his silence and matter-of-fact way hid a passion so bright and so hot that it made every other man she’d been with pale in comparison.

“What do you want me to say?” He raked a hand through his hair. “This is unchartered territory.”

She didn’t want to hope that he might see something more in her than all the other guys she’d dated. Guys like Gage, who thought she was fun but lacking in substance. Hoping was dangerous and she’d been let down too many times before. By her exes, who thought she had nothing more to offer than flirting and flings. By her parents, who wanted to change her.

By herself, for quietly listening to all the insults and swallowing them like bitter little pills and allowing herself to be frightened of failure.

“Tell me I’m not the only one feeling something here.” Her breath stuttered in and out. “Take the pressure off, Beckett. Tell me the truth.”

A noise vibrated in the back of his throat—dark and animalistic.

“Please.” Her heart galloped. “I need to know this isn’t you scratching an itch because you’re lonely and nursing a bruised ego.”

For once, Beckett wasn’t able to hide behind his mask of impassivity. He wasn’t the logical, literal guy who made decisions based on calculations. A kaleidoscope of emotion shifted on his face—the war going on inside telling her that she wasn’t the only one feeling confused right now.

“Tell me.” She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingertips catching on the golden stubble that’d broken through his skin. “I don’t want to be your rebound girl.”

Beckett crashed his mouth down on hers, knocking the air from her lungs with one desperate, no-holds-barred kiss. McKenna’s hands curled into his T-shirt, holding him close as he pressed down against the couch. It was so wrong—he was supposed to want someone else, but satisfaction barreled through her as he groaned into her mouth.

No amount of reasoning could hold her back now. Not when his hands were tangled in her hair, his lips open and hard against hers. His large frame felt even bigger as he covered her, his leg wedged between hers.

“McKenna.” His teeth tugged at her earlobe, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin on her neck. “What you do to me…”

“Yes.” The word hissed out between her teeth, her chest rising and falling with anticipation. “Tell me.”

“Words are inadequate to describe you.”

She melted into him. Never before had a man said so little and affected her so much. But that was Beckett in a nutshell. Unconventional. Quiet. Perfect.

“Bedroom,” she growled. “Now.”

They stumbled off the couch and she dragged him to her room, her fingers interlaced with his. Her room was what she liked to call structured chaos, which meant that even though it looked a little crazy, she knew where everything was. On another day, she might hastily try to create some order knowing that he was her opposite—clean, minimal, orderly—but right then she didn’t care.

She only cared about having him. Now.

“Undress for me,” he said, his voice strained.

She stripped her Rainbow Dash hoodie over her head. The leggings came next, landing in a soft whomp on the carpeted floor.

“Bloody hell.” The awe in Beckett’s voice sent goose bumps rippling across her skin. “You’re magnificent.”

McKenna felt as though her knees had suddenly turned to jelly. How did he manage to do that to her? He could strip her back to her most basic desires with only a few words, like he’d somehow tapped into the very core of her. Like he knew exactly what she needed.

“Leave the rest.” His eyes swept over her, taking in the neon-pink lace of her bra and underwear. A set that made her feel good and was never supposed to be seen by him.

Yeah right. Like you didn’t wish for this very moment…

Oh, she’d wished, all right. But there’d never been any planning where Beckett was concerned. This was entirely off plan.

She climbed onto the bed and let her head sink back against her pillow. Her fingertips caught on the embroidery of her bedspread, trying to keep her calm for what was about to come next. Her hand extended out toward him.

“Aren’t you going to undress?” she asked, excitement and anxiety warring inside her.

“Soon.” The bed shifted as Beckett hovered over her.

His eyes were consumed by the black of his pupils, his brows knitted and his nostrils flaring. The intensity in his expression made her breath come faster as he studied her. Watched her. Scrutiny was something she avoided, but he’d pinned her with only his gaze.

“I want to see you,” she said. When he was quiet like this, she felt her own words bubbling up to the surface. The noise was her protection from the criticism in her head. From the worry that maybe he didn’t like what he was seeing, that maybe she should have done something better with her hair. Maybe she should have asked for a moment to freshen up…

“Soon,” he repeated.

She swallowed. “Please. I want to see what’s underneath.”

“You have,” he said. He pressed his lips over hers, the kiss far too chaste for what she’d imagined. For what she wanted to do, now.

“What are—”

“Shhh.” A crooked, charming grin tugged at his lips. “Always talking.”

“One of us has to.” She bit down on her lip.

“Why?” His hand had come to her breast, his fingers tracing the scalloped edging of her bra as if committing the shape to memory.

“How else are we supposed to know what one another is thinking if we’re not talking?” She hummed in pleasure as he plucked her nipple straight through her bra. “You know, there’s a biological reason why we speak. It’s very important, and sometimes I worry when you don’t say anything—”

“McKenna.” Her name was soft and silky, like melted butter on his tongue. “Humans actually communicate most information nonverbally.”

But that left things open to interpretation, and history had told her she wasn’t too good at getting it right. She thought things were going well, and then they weren’t. She thought someone liked her, but they didn’t…or not in the same way that she liked them. Nonverbal communication was ambiguous, difficult. Dangerous.

“Are you going to tell me to shut up, then?” She felt vulnerable now. Raw and open and terrified that he could see how much she wanted this to be real because it was probably splashed all over her face. Maybe she should shut up. Because the more she spoke, the more she let him in.

“No.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t be you without the chatter.”

“Chatter?” It didn’t sound like an insult when he said it.

“But I work better with actions than words,” he said. His lips probed hers, dissolving her concerns. “Close your eyes.”

She nodded, complying. Without her sight, everything else was amplified. Every other sense dialed up in intensity to compensate for the black behind her eyelids. She could hear things that maybe before would have gone unnoticed—the slight scratch of Beckett’s jeans against the silky bedspread as he moved. Then his absence.

“Don’t move.” He sounded farther away.

Then there was footsteps and McKenna’s heart hammered against her ribs. What if this was some cruel joke? What if he’d decided he didn’t want her and now he was making a stealth exit while she lay there, waiting?

She was slowly freaking out over his rejection—anticipating it—but the press of something at her ear jolted her. She felt the familiar snug fit of her earbud headphones in one ear and the brush of his lips at her other.

“Just to prove that words aren’t everything.” His voice was raspy, ragged. “You can open your eyes now.”

Without waiting for her response, he slipped the other bud into her ear. The drone of white noise filled her head with nothingness. For a moment, the lack of context made her anxious, but when cool air blew across her stomach she almost launched off the bed. Her eyes sprung open and the sight of his wide, wolfish smile was everything.

“This is…” She had no idea if he could hear her or not. “I want you, Beckett.”

For some reason, not being able to hear her own voice above the sounds—and not waiting for a response from him—made her feel free. Uninhibited.

Then the rough edge of his jaw brushed against her skin. She let her eyes close again as she lay there, feeling him. Focusing on the intense pleasure of his touch. Teeth. Lips. Fingers. Silk. Her skin prickled with awareness, her nerves firing on all cylinders and making blood fizz in her veins. If he wasn’t careful, he’d short circuit her brain before they got to the good stuff.

But that was exactly it. With Beckett, everything was the good stuff—it wasn’t about ticking boxes and saying the right thing. Or going to the right places. Or wearing the right outfit.

She could simply be herself around him.

The slow-burn build-up, the teasing, the games were everything she never knew she wanted. She opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it, and she had no idea if he’d caught her almost-slip or not. He moved farther down her body, his tongue swiping across the skin lower on her belly, almost at the waistband of her underwear.

Yes. Lower. Please.