Page 52
“Beau!” I shriek, my arms flying around his neck. “What are you doing?”
He starts walking, cool as ever, jaw tight and body solid beneath me. “Carrying you back.”
“I swear, if you drop me—”
“I won’t.”
There’s a beat of silence. His strong arms tighten. His chest rises and falls against mine.
I make the mistake of looking up at him. Except…it’s not a mistake, really. More like a full-blown catastrophe, because his eyes. Good lord, his eyes.
They’re a rich, warm brown, like molten chocolate. And they’re focused straight ahead while I’m wrapped around him like some kind of bridal party koala. The longer I stare, the more I notice the little things. The tiny scar near his jaw. The faint stubble shadowing his cheek. The curve of his mouth. The soft, infuriatingly full lips that I’ve imagined kissing more times than I’ll ever admit out loud.
I want to kiss him.
I want to grab his face with both hands, press my mouth to his and see what happens when the brooding mechanic finally breaks. I want to taste the parts of him he doesn’t share with anyone. I want to feel his control slip, just for a second, and know I’m the one who did it.
I’m so far gone, and he has no idea. Or maybe he does. Maybe that’s why he’s carrying me like I’m something fragile.
Joke’s on him. He’s already broken something loose inside me…and I’m scared to death he’ll never do a damn thing about it.
As he carries me along the moonlit path, owls calling in the distance, I find myself thinking about the sound that slipped from his lips earlier tonight. That laugh. The one that came so suddenly and unexpectedly when I’d teased him. A deep, rich rumble that had vibrated through his chest and straight into mine as we danced.
It wasn’t loud or showy. Wasn’t meant for anyone but me. Just a brief, unguarded moment where he let his walls come down, and the sound was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard.
I want to hear it again. I want to be the reason for it. I want to collect those rare, beautiful moments when he forgets to be so damn careful around me.
“What are you thinking about?” His voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Your laugh.”
His steps falter slightly. “My what?”
“Your laugh. So now I’m thinking,” I continue, eyes locked on his jaw because I cannot look at his mouth right now. “I want to make you do it again. See how many times I can drag it out of you before you realize I’m a menace with a mission.”
His steps slow, just enough for the tension to crackle between us.
“I’m serious,” I whisper. “I want to hoard them. Every single laugh. Like little treasures only I get to keep.”
Silence. Then—
“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters.
But his ears are pink, and I swear I catch the ghost of another laugh rumbling in his chest.
Score one for the menace.
By the time we reach the front steps of the cottage, my hair’s a mess, and my dignity is somewhere back near the confetti send-off.
Beau sets me down gently and for a second I just…stare at him. His eyes. His mouth. The stupid, unfair symmetry of his face.
“You good?” I don’t know why he asks when he already knows I’m not.
“Define good,” I challenge, leaning back against the door because it’s holding me up better than my knees can right now. “Because I can only take one more broody stare before I make some very questionable choices.”
His brow lifts just slightly, amusement written on his face. “That so?”
“Oh yeah. I’m teetering, Sinclair. One more commanding sentence and I’m gonna start climbing you like a tree.”
