Page 33 of Suddenly Beck

He takes the gift from me, his mouth stretching into a wide smile as he laughs loudly in delight. ‘I guess great minds think alike.’

It’s a stuffed black fin shark, the same as the one on the baseball cap he bought me, and the same as the one who’d been watching us in the underwater tunnel, interrupting the moment I was certain Beck was going to kiss me.

‘I love it.’ He grins. ‘Although, I’m going to have a nightmare keeping it away from Ursula. My dog is a sucker for a stuffed toy, her bed is filled with them.’

I flush, pleased that he likes my gift.

‘You’re dripping,’ Beck mutters.

‘What?’ I blink slowly.

He tucks the shark under his arm and reaches out, grasping my wrist and lifting my hand. The ice cream is melting and running down over the side of the cone, sliding onto my fingers. His eyes lock on mine, and my mouth falls open as he slides his tongue around the edge of the cone, trailing across my fingers and licking the ice cream from my skin. My breath catches in my throat, and I’m sure he can feel my pulse thundering in my wrist beneath his light grip.

‘Beck,’ I whisper roughly, his gorgeous hazel eyes are dilated.

A childish squeal behind us startles us from the intense stare off, and he lets go of my wrist. His breathing as unsteady as mine. I turn my head, staring out into the glittering waves and trying to talk myself down from doing something really stupid. Like jumping him and humping his leg like a badly behaved puppy.

‘That is not how an Elliott behaves…’

I can almost hear my dad’s disgusted voice in my head, and it’s like being doused with a bucket of cold water. My dad would be horrified, not only at my behaviour in general, but at the thought of just what I’d like to do to the incredibly sexy man sitting beside me, or more importantly what I’d love to let him do to me.

I raise the ice cream cone to my lips for want of something better to do and swirl my tongue around the cool creamy soft whip, following the same path Beck’s tongue had taken, as it was probably the closest I was going to get to tasting him. After a few moments silence between us I find myself sighing inadvertently.

‘What?’ he asks curiously.

‘I couldn’t have possibly imagined any of this a week ago.’ I turn back to him, feeling a little calmer. ‘My life before I left London was very different.’

‘What would you have been doing now? If you were still there.’

‘I… I’d’ve been at work I suppose,’ I tell him evasively. I wouldn’t have been at work, but there was no way in hell I was telling him where I was supposed to have been this week. I couldn’t even think about it without it leaving a sour taste in my mouth and a cramping in my gut.

‘Tell me about your job.’ He leans forward eagerly like he wants to know everything about me, and it’s as flattering as it is terrifying. ‘I… um… well, what do you want to know?’

‘Where did you work? What restaurant?’

‘Oh.’ I shake my head. ‘I didn’t work in a restaurant. My father would’ve had a heart attack if I’d followed my dream of being a chef, after completing my MA in Finance & Economics I worked for my father’s investment banking company.’

Beck tilts his head slightly as he studies me. ‘That doesn’t sound like you.’

‘It wasn’t.’ My mouth quirks at the corner. ‘It was Nathan.’

‘Nathan?’ he repeats with a slow smile almost as if he hadn’t quite made the connection that Nat wasn’t my full name.

‘Nathan Elliott was who I was back in London, and he’s very different. Hair combed ruthlessly into submission, freshly shaved twice a day, immaculate Tom Ford suits.’

‘So, who’s Nat?’ he murmurs as he continues to study me.

‘That’s the million-pound question, isn’t it?’ I reply thoughtfully, watching him as he stares at me, his eyes darkening. ‘You’re picturing me in a suit, aren’t you?’

‘Totally am.’ He grins unapologetically. ‘I bet you looked fucking delicious.’

‘What about you?’ I turn the tables.

I’m tired of talking about myself, although I haven’t told him much. Sometimes, taking a step back and looking at myself is like trying to assemble a jigsaw puzzle of a picture of baked beans. No matter how similar the pieces look and no matter which way I try, the pieces just won’t fit together.

‘What about me?’ Beck replies easily. ‘Ask me anything.’

‘What do you do?’ I say curiously. ‘I mean you help out at the surf school, but you don’t work there. You volunteer during the summer season as a backup lifeguard, but you don’t work there. You help out at the restaurant, pitching in and waiting tables, but you don’t work there either. So, what do you do?