Page 19 of Beckett the Bad Boy

Why the hell did I just point out my flab to the toned fire god in front of me?

Beckett’s gray eyes sharpen then deepen to a molten steel color as his gaze drops from my breasts to my belly. “I like a girl who eats. And I like the way you lookand taste—all soft, sweet curves.”

He licks his bottom lip as if he’s remembering our night together, where hedidseem to enjoy burying his face between my thighs, squeezing my love handles, and thoroughly kissing every inch of my body.

“Beckett!” I scold with a light slap to his arm. “This is a family event. Kids are everywhere. What if someone hears you?”

He shrugs, an amused twinkle entering his gaze. “What if they do?”

He lifts a spoonful of chili to his mouth with a smirk. It's a peek at the bad boy rep locals paint him with, until the effect is ruined by a gasp of pain and Beckett frantically chewing then swallowing.

“Holy fuck! Is it supposed to be that spicy?” His chili cup lands on the volunteer table with a thump as he searches for relief.

Swallowing my bite of the same chili, my lips roll inward to hold in a laugh. “Spicy is a relative term,” I say as I round the table to the cooler with water bottles we keep on hand for volunteers. “Here, it’s not milk, but it should help cool you down.”

Beckett guzzles the entire bottle, and I automatically reach for a second one before he asks. That one is demolished just as quickly.

Which is what finally breaks my restraint.

Uncontrollable giggles burst free at his cartoonish behavior. Steam should be shooting from his ears and nostrils with the way he’s acting.

“You know, for a firefighter, you should be better at handling a little bit of heat,” I tease.

“Heat? That wasn’t heat. That was fucking lava. How are you not dying right now?” He gestures to my sample cup. The one I keep eating from.

“Guess my spice tolerance is higher than yours, Mr. Fireman.”

Beckett pins me to the table with a growl, his arms caging me against the flimsy plastic and metal with ease.

“What did you say earlier? Spice is a relative term? Because I think you may be right.” The hard press of his erection nudges between my thighs, and my eyes widen at his blatant arousal.

“How high is your spice tolerance, Beth?” He leans close enough to brush his lips over my ear. “Cayenne and chili peppers are one thing, but what about the bedroom? Howspicydo you like it there?”

“Umm…”What the fuck?How the hell do I answer a question like that in the middle of thefamily eventI’m managing! “W-Well…”

“Relax, baby.” Beckett retreats with another signature smirk. “I’m just playing with you. I don’t expect an answer right now. Too public. But later?” His lips claim mine hard and fast, melting every bone in my body. “Later, I expect an answer.”

Later.

The warning makes me all sorts of sweaty and discombobulated.

And it only gets worse as the day wears on because Beckett sticks by my side to taunt me with stolen kisses whenever the mood strikes.

After I answer questions from cook-off attendees.

While I sit through judging of the Best Chili contest—where Beckett’s crew comes in second.

During the breakdown of the volunteer booth.

By the time I get home hourslater, my body feels anything but fatigued. Ironic, since Beckett figured I’d be exhausted. Too tired to want to do anything but rest.

Instead, I’m wired.

Hot.

Part of me considers texting Beckett and inviting him over to my place to finish what he started, but I’m not that brave yet.

“Soon, maybe,” I comfort myself as I reach for my handy-dandy vibrator to save the day…or rather, the night.