Page 27

Three nights passed since I realized I was in love with a man I never would have thought I was capable of falling so deeply for. In the three days since, I only fell deeper. This was because Beckett was undoubtedly the most gallant man I’d ever encountered.

I wasn’t quite certain he still wasn’t trying to prove he would never cap out at being a gentleman.

However, I had to admit I was blossoming under his carefully displayed affections.

I also had to admit that it felt really good, and in no way, did I want this to end.

Boxing Day had been topped with snow filled fun on the mountain, jovial quips, and heart fluttering teasing.

The morning after had me finding myself alone with Beckett in a huge cabin that, although silent after everyone had left, felt undeniably comfortable.

I was at peace with both my surroundings and myself for the first time in such a long time, I didn’t know if I could recall the last time I’d felt so wonderful. So free. So safe.

Beckett had made a delicious breakfast that we shared together over a pot of coffee and conversation about nothing. We laughed, we teased, and we flirted shamelessly.

It was on the third morning after I’d realized the true depth of my feelings for Beckett Davis, that I took a moment to appreciate my new feelings of safety and contentedness.

The hour was early and the sky was still black with remnants of the night.

It was so early, in fact, that the moon was still bright, although not nearly as high in the sky.

This was why the moon, in its slow bow to the sun, was shining brilliantly in the center of one of the massive windows.

It was because of the moon that I’d been able to see every beautiful line of Beckett’s peaceful face as he slept.

He really was a beautiful man. There was a kind power surrounding him that in the beginning, I’d feared.

He was a large man. His arms were twice, if not triple the size of mine.

He was tall, so tall he dwarfed me. And he had the legs of a rugby player, strong, and again, powerful.

I’d once feared all the power that Beckett housed, but never once had he used his power against me.

He’d never hurt me and I trusted that he never would.

At least not intentionally. I thought it was possibly because of this that I’d begun to value his power rather than fear it.

All the power that was Beckett now made me feel little, delicate, and protected.

He held me in his big arms when he slept, cocooning me in his massive strength—and I loved it. Every minute.

I’d once thought I’d succeeded in hardening my heart against men. All men. Bad men and good men the like. I’d been wrong, because like Raina, and Maddy, and Joss, Beckett had somehow slipped through the gaps in my seams.

He’d found his way inside and now I didn’t ever want to let him loose.

Every night, and even yesterday on the couch after we’d found ourselves alone, and Beckett distracted me from our newly resumed Game of Thrones marathon, I’d experienced the pleasure of his touch.

It was something else. Gentle and yet sweetly raw, I’d found myself aching for him in ways I never expected I’d ever ache.

It was remembering the fierce passion in his kisses, the experienced wonder in his every touch, and the way he hesitated in taking too much from me, even though I had been willing on more than one occasion to give, that had me squeezing my thighs together tightly to relieve the discomfort my remembered pleasures caused.

I could no longer deny that I wanted to experience all that it meant to be with Beckett.

I wanted to know what surrendering myself physically would feel like.

I wanted to watch the emotion I knew would pour from his expressive eyes as he took all I had to give.

I was twenty-two years old and I was finally in a state of mind where I felt I was not only physically ready, but also mentally, and emotionally ready for sex.

I’d thought about it and even though it was soon, and we were moving fast—although I could tell Beckett was trying to keep things progressing at a safe, slow pace—I was ready. I was finally, completely, ready.

That was then. This was now.

Now it was late and the moon was again shining into the large windows.

I wore my housecoat tied tightly around my waist as I padded, barefoot, from the bathroom door, across the room to the couch.

There, I lowered myself to the cushion and watched as the muscles in Beckett’s bare back rippled with his movements as he fed the small flames another log.

My hair was still damp from my shower, even though I’d spent time in the bathroom blow-drying it.

My hair was incredibly thick and had always been hellish to dry, but I couldn’t, and wouldn’t ever cut it.

My hair was my shield. When I didn’t feel as though my eyes shot the daggers I intended to use to keep me safe, I let my hair fall over my face, offering a last-ditch sheet of protection.

I loved my hair, and although I was growing much more comfortable with Beckett being in my life, I didn’t think I’d ever come to the point where cutting my hair became emotionally feasible. Not ever.

My thoughts disintegrated as Beckett rose to his full, massive height. He turned to me and I watched, a little breathless, as his lips lifted in that quirky grin he sometimes gave me when we were alone. It was the grin that made me feel gooey and, in an odd way like I was—his.

“Gonna grab a shower,” he lifted his chin to the bathroom. “You done in there?”

“Yes,” Oh, for the love of all womanly integrity—why was the man so good at stealing my breath?

“Fire should keep you warm.” He started for the bathroom, but to my surprise, he stopped by the couch.

Dipping low, his big hand caught me at the side of my neck and his thumb slid beneath my chin, and with gentle pressure he lifted my face to his.

He pressed his lips to mine. Warmth and want filled me within seconds.

I was entirely helpless against his physical onslaught as he parted his lips, tasting me.

Distantly, I heard a noise I wasn’t altogether familiar with. That was why it was seconds later, when I realized with heavy humiliation, that the sound was coming from me.

I was moaning.

Still, I wasn’t the one to break the kiss. Beckett was. And when his eyes swept over my face, lingering on my mouth, I flushed with heat.

“Beautiful.” He whispered. And then he released me to walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

And I knew, with the intensity brewing in my belly, that tonight was definitely the night.

That was why when I heard the shower turn on, I raced around the room to gather all I needed to gather for the night I had planned.

My heart was going to rip out of my chest, I was certain of it. I was acutely aware of everything. Every sound, scent, and wild thrum of my heart. I was aware of it all.

I was also aware of the fact that when Beckett stepped from the bathroom wearing nothing more than his checkered draw-string pants, I wasn’t breathing.

I could see him from where I was laying on my make-shift bed before the fire.

While he was in the shower, I’d run in pursuit for blankets to bring back to the bedroom we shared.

Now, the bed of duvets I was currently sprawled on was intensely comfortable and plush.

I could easily spend the entire night right here, and not be achy in the morning.

Well, at least not achy from sleeping on a floor.

I entirely intended to be achy come first light.

I intended for this night to be the night that I gave all of me to Beckett.

It was either from intense nervousness, or the confused look on Beckett’s face, that made me giggle when he stepped from the bathroom only to pause in confusion when he saw the naked bed. I’d also pulled our blankets onto the floor, and was currently lying beneath them, beside the fire.

I realized that sex by a fire on the floor was probably on par with the cliché of rose petals and candles, but I didn’t care. I wanted cliché and I wanted romance I’d remember forever. So I was taking it.

Beckett’s eyes swung to mine at the sound of my giggle. And then I watched as he stiffened. “What are you doing down there?”

“Getting ready for bed.” I said, my voice sounding husky and thick with emotion, desire, and maybe even a dash of insecurity.

“You want to sleep on the floor?” His long legs were covering the distance between us, and his lips were curling up at the corners.

“Yes.”

“All right,” There was a deep gravelly sound to his acquiescence when he lowered his body, his big arms taking the brunt of his weight as he positioned himself above me, kissing the tip of my nose. “Whatever you want, beautiful.”

“Whatever I want?” God, the words were barely even audible.

“Whatever you want,” his eyes had darkened a shade or two. They were an intense chocolate now, warm and filled with want.

My belly fluttered and I felt that familiar ache of desire pulsing between my legs. I knew he wanted me. I knew he’d wanted me countless times since we’d been here at the cabin, but not once had he made an attempt to take things all the way. This both frustrated me and made me feel cared for.

Lifting my arms, I looped them around his broad shoulders, pressing my lips to his.

My heart hammered fiercely in my chest as he kissed me, dropping some of his weight over my body, and I wasn’t certain if he’d consciously left the thick blanket between our bodies.

I wanted to tell him to come beneath the blankets with me, but I couldn’t seem to find the courage, so I just kissed him.

I kissed him long and hard, and all the while, the need I felt inside for him continued to grow.