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Overhead the sky was ominous and the wind off the lake had picked up so much that the branches from the oak tree were bent way over. Betty had somehow ended up curled against him, her body soft and pliant—her hand on his heart, her hair spread across his chest.
He let that settle—that feeling of rightness—his throat a little tight as he gazed down at her. He could just make out the tip of her nose and her lips from beneath her hair. He cradled her and it felt as if he’d somehow managed to tame something wild and unpredictable.
He supposed in a way, he had, even if it was only for a little while.
Beau laid there with Betty underneath the oak, with a storm threatening, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so content. As if he could stay in this spot for hours—days even—with nothing changing.
He wasn’t thinking about sex or the movie or anything other then how warm she was. How sweet and relaxed she appeared to be. The thought that he was somehow responsible for that, well, it made him feel like goddamn king.
Just then thunder rumbled across the sky at the same time lightning streaked over the lake. As much as he’d love to stay right where he was, he knew that they needed to find shelter or they were screwed. It wasn’t fun riding a bike in a storm. In fact it was downright dangerous.
“Hey,” he said gently, “Bets, we need to go.”
She stirred, murmuring something he couldn’t quite understand as she stretched against him.
“Betty?”
“Matt,” she said softly. “I had the nicest dream.”
Shit. Disappointment coursed through him and Beau’s jaw tightened. Matt-Fucking-Hawkins.
Her body was pressed so close to him that he was damn sure she could feel his erection as she pushed the hair from her face and slowly opened her eyes.
She licked her lips.
Thunder rolled.
“Oh,” she said slowly. “It’s you.”
Irritated, he nodded. “Disappointed?”
“No.” She didn’t hesitate with her answer. “Not at all.”
She moved again and he hissed, his eyes widening at the smile that curved her lips. Seems
as if the little minx wanted to play. He was willing to play. Willing to do whatever it took to make her forget Matt Hawkins.
His eyes fell to the fast moving pulse at the base of her neck and he bent forward, his mouth open hungrily, because all he could think about was tasting her. Savoring her.
Her breath hitched.
Beau groaned.
And then the heavens opened up, spewing out buckets of rain that had the two of them drenched before they could react.
With a curse he let Betty go and they scrambled to their feet, half laughing, half cursing as they ran to his bike. He scooped up his bag but left the blanket and after she clambered on board behind him, Beau gunned the motorcycle and headed back down the road they’d come in on.
The rain was too heavy to attempt a ride home—New Waterford was a few hours away—but he remembered a motel on the outskirts of the closest town and that’s where he headed.
The rain was coming down in torrents by the time they reached the Hillside Motel, and after parking the motorcycle beneath an adjoining carport, the two of them ran inside.
An older gentleman with thinning hair manned the desk and he didn’t bother to look up as Beau approached him.
“Some storm out there.”
“Yep.” The man peered over small round wire-framed glasses. His skin was ruddy, his cheeks as round and full as his stomach.
Beau slicked back his wet hair and cleared water from his eyes. “Do you think it will let up anytime soon?”
