Page 51 of Will Bark for Pizza (Bluebell Springs #1)

FORTY

KIRA

“Dammit,” I cursed as I discovered another bookshelf on its last leg.

It was a miracle it hadn’t crumbled before I offloaded all the books.

But it too, like eight others so far, would have to be completely replaced.

Just another expense that would burn through the pool of money I collected from my savings and the investments of the book club members.

At least the sidewalk sale went well in my absence. Dylann apparently was pure magic when it came to sweet-talking strangers on the street. Of the twenty-two hundred and eighteen books we identified, almost twelve hundred sold.

It wouldn’t be enough to pay the balance of outstanding invoices, considering we were running a buy-two-get-one-free sale and not a single book was selling for double digits. But the money earned this week would make a dent.

Small wins .

I pulled another set of books from the shelf, stacking them on the table behind me. Since I gave everyone the night off, the stacks I was pulling off the shelves wouldn’t be sorted until tomorrow. But it only felt right that I work a couple of late nights to make up for my quick trip to Omaha.

This was the first time since I opened the bookstore for the book club meeting just shy of two weeks ago that I had the store all to myself.

It looked nothing like it had.

Books were piled everywhere, sorted into categories. Most shelves were empty; the rest would be by the end of the night. Some, like the one that held a variety of travel books in the back, were good for little more than tinder. So many of them would need to be replaced.

“What else could go wrong?” I mumbled.

A flicker of an image flashed in my mind.

A feisty woman, emptying the shelves of a shop.

What kind of shop? I couldn’t tell from the cloudy vision.

Was it potions? I heard the woman mutter, “What the fuck else could go wrong today?” and knew she was the heroine I’d been waiting to meet—Mateo’s mate.

Holy hell.

Where did that come from?

I pulled my phone from my back pocket, opened my Notes app, and jotted it all down. As I typed the final line of dialogue, I heard the rattle of the lock.

I could count on one hand the number of people who had a key to the bookstore, and none of them were a threat. But I tensed nonetheless, unable not to brace for the worst. Maybe someday, I wouldn’t be afraid of every goddamn thing.

It wasn’t until my gaze snagged on Beckett’s easygoing smile that I relaxed.

“Red, what are you still doing here?” he called back to me, closing the door behind him and flipping the deadbolt.

My pulse skipped and stuttered at the sound of his voice.

My traitorous nipples pebbled at the very sight of him.

Or maybe it was from the memory of me jumping him a couple of nights ago on that deserted country road.

The way he kissed me so fucking thoroughly that I felt it in every single cell of my being.

The way his hands roamed my body possessively.

I was so fucked when it came to Beckett Campbell.

So very fucked.

“I’m working,” I shot back, spinning away from him and continuing to empty the last couple of shelves. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to take some measurements.”

“For what?”

“For the new flooring.”

I grunted under the weight of some European travel books from the shelf, and stacked them on the table. “You don’t have to do that, Beckett.”

“I know.”

“Then, why are you? And don’t give me that bullshit line about doing that for anyone else who rented from you.”

“Because it needs to be done,” he said simply, weaving through the precarious piles of books until he was in my corner.

The ceiling was lower here, making the space feel more confined.

Mom used can lights to lighten up the cramped area, but most of them had burned out because Margene had been too lazy to change out lightbulbs.

Fucking lightbulbs.

I wanted to be mad about it, but I was having a really hard time focusing on my anger with Beckett this close to my orbit.

“That space might not get used for a long time,” I said, focusing on the books still on the shelves.

“It’s empty right now,” he said. “Now is the best time to get it done.”

“I can’t pay for it.”

Beckett came closer, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the edge of one of the sturdier shelves. “Do you think I’m doing it so you owe me?” There was a hint of something in his tone, as though I’d offended him.

“Sorry,” I said, apologizing more out of habit than anything. “I’m just used to . . .” I let my words trail off as I reached up on tiptoe for a book lying flat on the very top of the shelf. Who the hell put it up there?

I felt Beckett move more than I saw him, as though I sensed his energy pulling to mine like a magnet. He came up behind me, not touching, but the heat of him swirled between us like an untamed flame.

I started to look back, but thought better of it. If I met that intense gaze head-on, I’d probably just suction myself to him again. And though the thought of that was very, very tempting, it would only further complicate things.

Beckett reached above me for the book, capturing it easily.

He held it out in front of me, and I took it .

“Thanks,” I said in what equated to barely more than a whisper.

“Kira,” he said, his voice low against my ear.

His hot breath tickled my neck as his fingertips grazed my side.

It was a barely there touch, but it scorched the skin beneath my cotton shirt all the same.

“I never do anything expecting you to owe me for it. Sooner or later, you’ll realize I’m telling the truth. ”

Just as he started to pull his hand away from my hip, I reached back and shackled his wrist. This was a very stupid idea, but tonight I was past caring.

I was so damned sick and tired of one thing after another going wrong.

Tonight, I wanted one thing to go right.

I wanted— needed —him to touch me. I needed to sate this burning desire for him, consequences be damned.

I moved his hand beneath my shirt, placing his palm flat against my stomach.

“Kira,” he said, his whisper a warning this time.

“Please.” Was I begging? Yes, the fuck I was. But in this moment, I didn’t care. “Please, Beckett.”

“Please what?” he said, his voice a low, sexy growl that instantly ignited every nerve ending in my body.

“Please touch me .”

I guided his hand further north, reminded of the interruption that kept him from cupping my breast on that country road. If Aspen hadn’t called—if I’d left my phone on silent—how far would things have gone that night? The wetness pooling between my legs suggested all the way .

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, fingertips lingering on the very edge of my bra. My nipples ached for him to reach up.

“Yes,” I panted.

“Then, Kira?”

“Yes?”

He pulled away my guiding hand. “Be a good girl and keep your hands on that bookshelf.”

I nearly came at his command.

Holy hell, Beckett Campbell had a secret dark side.

A super sexy dark side.

And I was here for it.

Future Kira could worry about the repercussions.

Kira of Right Now needed to experience this freshly uncovered, wicked side of Beckett Campbell.

I gripped the edges of the sturdiest bookshelf, bending forward as Beckett slid a hand over the fabric of my bra. I whimpered at the delicious contact, craving more. I arched into his touch, wishing the fucking lace prison would evaporate.

He slid his other hand up the side of my shirt and back down before dipping inside.

The man was set on torturing me as he moved leisurely up my body, taking his time caressing my skin with his fiery touch.

Until finally, after what felt like hours, his second hand joined the first. Then both my breasts were in his capable hands. He kneaded them, gently yet greedily.

“Fuck, Red.”

“Fuck is right,” I panted.

One hand disappeared, but before I could complain, the clasp of my bra slackened .

“Was that move part of your military training?” I teased.

“That move was all me, Red.” Both of his hands gripped my hips, and I pushed my ass against him. He groaned as I grinded against his hard length. Those capable hands slid up my sides and gripped my bare breasts as though they were the only handholds on the side of a cliff.

“Fuck me, Kira,” he groaned, teasing my nipples with pinched fingertips as he continued to massage my boobs.

“I’ve been thinking about your tits since that first day I saw you.

” His confession came in hot whispers against the shell of my ear.

“When you were soaking wet from falling in the lake. Your nipples”—he squeezed them both—“were poking through that sorry excuse for a shirt you were wearing.”

I was so fucking turned on.

Had a man ever made me feel this desired by doing so little?

He released his hold on my right breast, his hand moving south. I gasped as his fingers played at the waistband of my shorts.

“Who the fuck wears shorts all the time in a mountain town?” Beckett growled. “You’ve been killing me with those long legs.”

“I have?”

“Like you didn’t know,” he said, chuckling deeply.

The low laughter vibrated against the crook of my neck as his lips pressed there.

My top button popped open with the same ease as the clasp of my bra.

My knuckles were turning white at the death grip I had on the bookshelf, but I didn’t dare let go for fear Beckett would stop. And I did not want him to stop.

Not now.

Not ever.

He slid inside my shorts, those warm fingers on a slow but determined mission. He ran them over the silk of my panties. I spread my thighs wider, desperate for him to reach his destination.

“So fucking wet,” he said, his tone pure primal approval. He stroked softly, applying the perfect pressure to my button. I rocked my hips gently with his motion, afraid I’d spontaneously combust at any moment. His touch was fucking fire, and I was the short fuse to a bomb about to go off.

I moaned as he slid his hand up, and dipped it beneath the silk.

I cried out when his rough, callused fingers made contact with my clit.

“Do I make you wet, Kira?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

His laughter was one of my favorite sounds. He kissed my neck, biting down gently. “I could mark you. Like Darius,” he offered in jest.

Had Beckett Campbell read my book?

No. He just remembered the characters the entire book club were still talking about.

“Just like that scene in the library,” he said against my ear.

Fuck, he had.

“Beck . . . I’m going . . . going to?— ”

He pulled his hand away seconds before I was due to explode.

“What the?—”

“What did I tell you?” he said.

Fuck. I’d dropped a hand from the bookshelf without realizing it. I replaced it instantly, desperate for him to finish me off. I needed this release. I needed him to give it to me.

“Please,” I begged, turning my head over my shoulder to meet his gaze. It was liquid heat.

I parted my lips in anticipation.

He kissed me the same moment he dove back into my pants. There was nothing slow about his movements this time. His hand moved savagely through my folds. He slipped a finger inside me, and that was it. I clenched, bracing for the powerful orgasm. I cried out as my climax fucking wrecked me.

My body shook violently.

I gripped the bookshelf so hard I heard a crack.

Beckett held me to him, one hand on my breast, one anchored between my legs, as wave after wave of pleasure pummeled me. He held me until my body stopped jerking from the euphoric intensity of it all.

“That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucking witnessed,” Beckett said, kissing my temple. “Next time,” he said, dragging his hands leisurely across my body as he pulled them away, “I want to taste you as I make you come.”