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The bed was simple and instead of a headboard, it was situated in front of a stone wall with two sconces above the bed. A massive painting of what had to be the orchard filled the space. It was a dramatic piece with an aerial view of the trees and the skyline at dawn.
I dragged my fingers down the simple green blanket on his bed. I wasn’t surprised the bed was made, but I was surprised it was a linen duvet. Maybe the brunette from the photo had helped him.
Ugh.
I had to put that aside or it was going to drive me crazy.
A tobacco-brown leather bench at the foot of the bed had a shirt and a pair of pants thrown over it, showing he wasn’t rigid about his space. An armoire was tucked into the corner beside a door to what looked like an en suite bathroom.
I turned back toward the massive windows where a pair of comfy couches filled the rest of the space. Instead of another television, there was an endless row of short bookcases framing the bottom of the windows, stuffed with books and interesting art pieces I’d want to look at later.
But it was the French doors that I couldn’t resist.
I opened them and the wind whipped my hair around my face. The sky was darkening quickly, and lightning slashed the sky. I went right for the railing and Beckett’s backyard opened up. More trees hid the house, but in the distance, the orchard rolled out below.
It was a beautiful space, but I couldn’t drag my attention away from the view. And the storm racing our way.
I backed away when the first fat drops of rain hit my hand.
“I was hoping to see you in my bed, but this is the next best thing.”
Chapter8
Beckett
Just One Night
It had been a damn long time since anyone had been in my private space. And here she was, a near stranger, looking exceptionally perfect in it.
Her wispy blond hair whipped around her shoulders in the increasing wind. The summer storm was practically overhead. Based on the roiling clouds behind her, it was going to blow through hard and fast.
Kind of like us.
I hadn’t been prepared for her.
I still wasn’t.
A smarter man would have taken her to a fancy hotel like she deserved. Where the sheets were a high thread count and the memories could stay apart from my everyday life.
Compartmentalizing sex had been the only way I could do my job. When my family obligations sat heavy and I had no room to breathe, this house was my sanctuary.
Now a pint-sized socialite was standing on my balcony in borrowed clothes, no makeup, with a touch of wildness breaking through those burning gold eyes.
All for me.
I was used to shouldering big responsibilities. The Manning legacy had been my sole purpose for more years than I could remember. I’d been made to step up.
But this woman pulled at something I couldn’t name. From the moment I’d seen her sneak into Clay and Rachel’s reception with those big, wounded eyes, I’d felt the shift. I’d wanted to ignore it. I was damn good at staying in my lane.
She’d been there with that dick, Pierce. He’d treated her like an afterthought, and still, I put her out of my mind. I didn’t poach. There were certain lines in the sand, and that was mine.
But then she’d run at me with eyes brimming with shame and hurt and there was no going back.
Just like now.
The wounded part was less now. It was banked under the inescapable pull between us. I’d tasted her. Experienced her flying apart under my mouth beneath an oak tree that had been part of my land since before I was born.
That was nothing compared to having her in my sanctuary.
