Page 3 of Beckett the Bad Boy

Another pretty blush stains her cheeks, and she nods, allowing me to wrap one arm around her back and the other beneath her knees.

With a slight heft to secure her against my chest, I turn to wade back through one of the more interesting ways I’ve started a Monday morning—a busted water main and a woman with an adorable penchant for babbling in my arms.

“So…” I lightly bounce my arm along her back, and the movement causes a chain reaction from her jiggling tits straight to my cock. Dragging my eyes upward, I focus on not tripping on anything hiding in the water, clear my throat, and ask again, “What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Oh, um… Elizabeth.Beth.”

“And you’re friends with the Reaper’s Wolves MC women?”

“And your sister.” She slams her mouth shut as if she shouldn’t have voiced that connection, too.

In such a small town, and with so many mutual friends, I’m surprised we haven’t officially met before.

I voice my thoughts, sidestepping a floating trash bin.

She manages a shrug as her grip around my neck tightens. “I haven’t lived in Suitor’s Crossing long…Fuck!” A spray of water explodes from the wall to our left to nail both of us in the face.

“Shit!” I shout and spin to take the brunt of the impact, although we’re both coughing water out of our mouths.

It’s no secret that City Hall is old. Hell, a lot of the original buildings on Main Street are. But the pipes shouldn’t be so rickety as to pop like cans of biscuits straight out of the fucking wall.

My booted feet quicken their pace until solid ground greets me instead of splashes of water and squishy carpet.

The City Hall entry steps are dark from moisture, but at least they’re not slick, and we’re no longer in danger of getting blasted from another rogue pipe.

“Are you okay?” I carefully lower Beth to the grass a slight distance from the crowd of people staring at the flooded building.

The police have cordoned off the street on three sides of the structure, and a line of traffic clogs the fourth side.

It’s going to be a bitch for anyone to leave with their car. Street parking is blocked either by other vehicles or caution tape—not to mention the small lake the burst water main created.

Beth dries her cheeks with the bottom of her cardigan. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“It was my pleasure.” A jolt of bewilderment catches me off-guard.

Itwasa pleasure holding her in my arms.

Listening to her awkwardly explain knowing who I am.

She’s not the first woman I’ve saved on the job, and she won’t be the last, yet I’m lingering by her side, remembering the feel of her in my arms when I should get back to work.

I’ve dealt with transference in the past. When someone I rescued attached romantic feelings to me because of the heroic act.

But this is the first time the opposite has happened.

Bullshit.

Ridding myself of the ridiculous notion—this is plain-old attraction, not the beginning of a romantic attachment, or fuckingheart sparks—I decide it’s time to leave before I do something stupid like ask for her number.

I don’t date locally.

Not anymore.

My family already makes fun of thebad boyreputation I earned in high school that then followed me into adulthood. I’m not about to add to the lore by fucking one of Kennedy’s friends.

Hell. No.

Raising a hand in farewell, I mutter, “See you around,” then stalk back to what should be my primary focus—a flooded City Hall.