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“What the fuck?” he asks. “What good would that do?”
I don’t trust Jeremy enough to spell everything out. “I assure you they’ll be interesting pictures.”
He studies me for a long moment. Whatever he finds, he appears to be satisfied with it. “Get me the flight info,” he says. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
I’m not as relieved by his agreement as I’d have expected to be.
* * *
Beck’s bikeis in front of the house when I pull up, though it’s far too early for him to be home for the day.
Why is he always home early when I’ve done something wrong?
Maybe I’m just doing something wrong more often than I’d like to believe.
I open the door to find him waiting on the couch—legs apart, elbows resting on his thighs, his jaw set hard. Only his head moves toward me, and he sears me with a glance.
He’s so angry that even I, someone never scared by Beck, am scared by Beck...and that pisses me off. I spent my entire fucking childhood scared of what I’d find at whatever “home” I was in at the end of the day. I’ve come too far to cower now.
“What the fuck are you doing, Kate?” he hisses.
I ignore him, walking toward the kitchen. “Well, I was planning to collapse on the couch, but you’re once again taking up all the space. You really need some more furniture.”
In a breath he’s on his feet, blocking me, and my heart explodes in my chest.I guess I’m not done cowering after all.
“Did you just go out with Jeremy Boudreau?”
Jesus Christ. It was a half hour at most. This is why I hate small towns.
I brush past him to drop my purse on the counter. “I didn’t ‘go out’ with him. We got coffee. And since when is it any of your business? Are you not only my boss and my roommate but myfathernow too?”
“It’s my business because there are only two possible reasons you’re getting coffee with that asshat, and both of them suck.”
I round on him. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight: it’s okay for you to hang out at your bar, see all your friends, go off with that little slut who’s always there when I leave, but the only friend I’m allowed to have isyou?It’s taken nearly two months for anyone else in this town to evenspeakto me, and you’re telling me to stay away from him.”
His nostrils flare. “You have a number of flaws, but stupidity isn’t one of them. He does not want to be yourfriend,and you know it. If it wasn’t about Lucie, then he’s trying to get in your pants.”
I shrug. “Maybe I should let him. Seems only fitting since his ex and mine are doing the same.”
He’s got me pressed to the wall so fast that there’s barely time for me to gasp. His breath is coming fast, but when our eyes meet, it’s not rage there...not entirely. He wants to kiss me. He’sgoingto kiss me.
And I want it so badly I can already feel it on my lips. I can already feel his beard abrading my skin and the weight of him as he leans against me. Everything inside me grows soft and pliant, experiencing the moment before it’s even begun.
His nostrils flare. “Fuck,” he hisses, pushing away and walking out of the house.
I slump, letting my head fall backward, closing my eyes so I can picture it: that breathless half-second of waiting for his mouth to descend. The desire is so pointed it’s painful, jabbing into my gut like a small knife.
For the rest of the night, I can’t feel anything else, and I’m not thinking about anyone else.
Not even my husband.
* * *
The slammingdoors when he comes home the next morning warn me that he’s not here to apologize. I remain in my room because I’m sure as hell not planning on an apology either.
He isn’t behind the bar when I get into work, and he’s busy when I leave for the day—chatting to customers, not a care in the world.
My simmering anger fires into a boil as I climb into my car.
