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“Would you shutup?”he said.
“Oh, that’s mature. That’s excellent communication. That how you talk to the guys on the job? I can certainly see how you’ve advanced so far in your career.”
He made a noise very much like “Grrr,” grabbed her, and kissed her.
It startled her. That was clearly why she didn’t push him away and grabbed his shoulders instead. And, yes, his tongue was in her mouth, though he wasn’t shoving it down her throat. He was …
His hand was under her shirt again, and if he had a problem with the size of her breasts, you’d sure never know it, because his hand was right there. She had that thought, but it was about the last one, because his other hand was inherhair now and he was kissing her neck, and the hunger in him was making her shiver. She tipped her head to give him better access, because his mouth feltgood,andgot her own hand under his T-shirt, just to feel his back muscles. Which was when he got a hand on her bottom, yanked her closer, and said, against her neck, where his Sunday-morning scruff was abrading her skin in the most tingle-inducing way, “There is nothing in the world wrong with your arse. Don’t you remember when I told you so? Seems I’m going to have to remind you.” He gave it a hard slap, then rubbed his palm over the spot. “Oh, yeah. I’m definitely going to have to remind you.”
“Beckett,” she managed to say with her four remaining brain cells, “we have to talk about this. We can’t just keep … havingsex.”
“Why not?” he asked, which was a very good question. Maybe she should … Did he mean that about her butt? He took a step back, though, and stopped kissing her neck. She swayed a little, that was how much he’d rocked her, and he put out a hand and held her upper arm to steady her.
“Right,” he said. “Talk. Because I don’t get it. I wanted to talk last night. You’re the one who ran away. For that matter, you’re the one who went out with somebody else.”
She didn’t actually want to talk to him. She wanted to press up close and have him put his arms around her and hold her tight. That would feel so good. So … reassuring. Communication was important, though, so she said, “I was tired last night.”
“I got that,” he said. “But all you’ve done today is run away from me. All right, you heard me talking to Janey. About what? About why kids her age shouldn’t have sex? About how she misses her mum?”
Oh, no. He was actually right. Wasn’t he? She said, “I guess I just— I guess I felt—” And for once in her life, couldn’t express herself coherently. “Do you think you could sort of … just hold me a minute? So I can think? I know we need to communicate, but …”
He sighed, and she thought he was going to say, “What are you, a lunatic?” Instead, he reached out, pulled her close, and wrapped his arms around her.
It was exactly as good as she’d imagined. His arms were strong, his chest was broad, and he seemed to know she needed to be held tight. Even histhighsfelt good. Sort of … solid. He didn’t try to talk, either. He just kissed her hair and kept holding her.
Maybe it was thirty seconds. Maybe it was more. The shed smelled like potting soil and fertilizer and cold steel, and the air was cool on her face, but the rest of her was so warm. She took a deep breath, then took another one, and finally said, “I’m OK now.”
He said, with his cheek pressed against her hair and his arms around her back, “You don’t have to finish this up fast, or be efficient. I’ll hold you as long as you like.”
“We need to … communicate, though,” she said.
“Don’t you think this is communication?”
“Oh. I guess it is.”
“Too right it is.”
He stepped back, though, took her hand, and sat on a stack of soil-amendment bags. She sat beside him, because she couldn’t do anything else, not with him holding her hand, and said, “We could talk while we rake. That would be more—”
“Yeah,” he said, “or we could do it like this. With me holding your hand.”
“I’ll admit,” she said, “it feels better.”
“Yeah, it does. You felt what?”
“It sounds stupid, if I say it out loud.”
“Know how much I care about that? Not at all. Tell me anyway.”
“All right. Here goes, then. I realize you loved your wife, and, obviously, that’s a good thing. Do I want a guy whodidn’tlove his wife? Who says, ‘Well, thank goodnessshe’sgone’? No. Like marrying somebody who’s still trash-talking his ex and can’t agree on custody. It never works out. I know that, because I was the Divorce Queen of Sinful, and, yes, sometimes you do two in a row. Also because I judge a lot of custody cases now.”
“So you’re clearly an expert.”
“You’re laughing at me,” she said. “I’m not kidding, though. It actuallyisgood that you loved your wife so much, and that you miss her. I know that. It’s just—”
“That it’s awkward,” he said, “wondering if you’re second best.”
“Well, yes. I mean, obviously you know that my dates haven’t been all that great. You can’t help but look fantastic in comparison. Maybe not with George, last night, though I still seem to like you so much better, and I can’t even put my finger on exactly why,but the others? I could tell you about my ex, the doctor, too.”
