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The tension in the air is so thick I can taste it.
I want to taste her. Tell her.
Fuck words.
Stepping forward, I yank my hands out of my pockets. Hands that shake as I cup the back of her head with one and her face with the other. I tilt my head and guide her mouth up to meet mine.
You, I tell her.
It’s always been you.
To: Annabel Rhodes ([email protected])
From: John Beauregard ([email protected])
December 18, 2013 4:23 AM EST
Subject: Congrats!
Another night, another bout of insomnia. So naturally, I’m emailing you.
Got your voicemail earlier. I’m so effing proud of you, Bel. A director before you’re 30? That’s gotta be some kind of record. Managing director, here you come. Does that mean you’re not going to be my co-CEO of Blue Mountain Farm? You gonna be too good for us, Bel?
Just kidding. I’m 100% sure you’re capable of becoming whatever you want to be in your career. CEO of the bank? You got it. Professor of literature and/or porn at an Ivy League? Piece of cake for you. You’re driven and you’re smart and you’re seriously an inspiration for a simple guy like me.
Although, gotta be honest. You didn’t sound as excited as I thought you’d be. Everything okay? I know you’ve been working your balls off lately for this promotion.
Come take a break with me. Aaron invited me out to his place in Cabo when the season ends. We can celebrate, rest, and drink ourselves silly. Just say yes.
Thanks for asking about the concussion. I feel better. Doc says I should be back on the field soon. But I was just telling my mom how this season is really taking a toll on my body. Retirement may be in the cards sooner than I thought.
Congrats again. Wish I could be there to hold back your hair. Or have a sloppy make-out session on a dance floor somewhere. But I’m guessing your boyfriend wouldn’t like that. Ha!
Beau
Chapter Nineteen
Annabel
His kiss is a confession.
It’s hot and it’s soft and it’s so different from the caresses we shared at the dock house. That was pure fire.
This, this is the kind of kiss that makes you want to cry.
He’s pouring himself into me, the things he’s feeling and the things he doesn’t know how to say.
He’s saying them with his lips and his tongue.
He’s ardent. All in. I get lost in the kiss, allowing him to take and take and take. My time. My breath.
My heart.
Behind my closed eyelids, the thought runs wild that it’s always been his. I just needed life to strip me of my defenses and my excuses to see it.
My pulse thunders. His breath is hot on my left cheek, the tip of his nose brushing against the other. He opens the seam of my lips with his tongue, licking it into my mouth. Need bolts through me, gathering between my legs, and I can’t take it. I need to touch him.
I lean into the kiss, into him, plastering my body against his. Running my palms up the firm slope of his chest, I glide my fingers around his neck and dig them into the hair at his nape.
He growls, pressing forward with his hips, and then plants his feet on either side of mine. The heat of his body makes me feel surrounded. Safe.
A full-body shiver has me gasping into his mouth. A mouth that tastes like wine, equal parts tart and sweet.
This.
It’s everything.
We kiss so damn well. Kissing chemistry is a real thing. You either have it or you don’t. Beau and I have it—big time. I swear to God if my legs didn’t feel like they were about to give out, I could kiss this man for a year.
The kiss deepens.
We’re going for it. But just as I’m starting to get really turned on—he is, too, by the bulge he presses into my belly—Beau pulls back. My eyes fly open.
My tits feel full to the point of pain.
“Bel,” he says, leaning his forehead against mine. His eyes are still closed. His brow is knitted, like he’s hurting, too.
I’m having trouble catching my breath.
“Yeah?”
“I still can’t—”
“Please.” I shake my head against his and drag a hand down to his chest, placing it over his heart. It’s going wild. “Let’s not go there now. Let’s just…be here, okay?”
He lets out a breath. “Okay.”
I want to know what this change of heart means. Lord, do I want to ask that question and a million others. But I’m working on instinct here. And my gut is telling me to let it be.
Whatever it is that’s going down between us, let it be. Maybe that way, I can let it go when I need to.
The idea sends a searing ache through my middle.
I ignore it. What else can I do?
“Want to come in?” I ask. I have no idea where this is going, but I do know I don’t want it to end.
