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“There was this one cat,” I say, testing her interest. She doesn’tseembored. “My favorite one. A silver tabby. He was bad-tempered and moth-eaten and enormous, and he wouldn’t sit on any laps except mine. He lived to be twenty years old, and for the last few of them he was half-bald.”
“Name?”
“Rustbucket.”
Resa bursts out laughing, the sound echoing around the empty bus. And somehow I’m grinning, shifting on my aching knees as I grab another antiseptic wipe; somehow talking about this personal stuff is easier than it’s ever been before.
“I never had any pets.” Resa clicks her tongue. “Our house was already so loud and crowded, and there was never any room for animals. It used to feel so unfair, like I was missing out on a furry best friend, but these days I’m glad I never got one. There’s nothing tying me to one place, you know? I can take off on a whim. Go and travel the world, maybe.” She eyes me. “Run away with a handsome writer.”
My stomach drops. “Resa…”
She sighs and flops back on to the bed, where I can’t see her face properly. “Joking, obviously. That would be insane.”
“It would.”
Insane like winning the lottery.
Insane like falling in love in one night.
And my throat is so tight, I need to cough quietly before I can speak again. “Your feet are done.”
“Oh!” Just like that, Resa lurches upright again, leaning over to see my handiwork. Her bandaged toes wriggle, and her face is suddenly so close to mine. It’s dim in this room, lit only by my bedside lamp, and the golden glow makes her cheeks look soft.
So soft.
My hand moves of its own accord, cupping her face. Softness confirmed.
Resa breathes faster, reaching forward to grab my tie. She wets her lips, giving them a damp sheen.
We’ve already kissed once. What’s the harm? It’s only my heart that will never recover; only the threat of madness once she leaves. No big deal.
“Beckett.” Resa’s knuckles are bleached pale where she grips my tie, squeezing it like a lifeline. “You carried me to your bedroom. You’ve done your manly savior bit. Are you gonna ravish me or not?”
And I’m a cool, collected man—usually. A paragon of restraint.
But when Resa stares at me, beseeching with those big, doe eyes… fuck it. An archangel couldn’t resist this girl.
Lunging forward, a beast roaring in my chest, I capture her mouth with mine.
Seven
Resa
Thank. God.
It feels like years since I kissed this man, though in reality it’s probably less than an hour. He’s eaten a breath mint since then, the cool flavor carried on his tongue, but otherwise it’s all so perfectly familiar.
Becket tilts my head and kisses me hard, kisses medeep, sliding his tongue past my lips—plundering my mouth like a sexy pirate rather than a man in a suit. And he’s so warm and hard, muscles shifting beneath his shirt. When I trace beneath his jaw, his racing pulse taps against my fingertips.
The bed creaks beneath us. Beckett’s still kneeling, but even from the floor, he looms over me. One of his hands presses into the mattress for balance, balled into a fist, while the other strokes over my waist, my shoulder, my neck.
“Resa.” He kisses me so hard, my jaw cracks. I freaking love it. “Angel.”
My fingers tremble as they pluck at his shirt buttons. And how is Beckett still in a suit, how is he wearing all theselayersonthis hot metal bus that’s been cooking in the New Orleans heat all day? Madness.
Though he’s not sweaty. Not ruffled at all—or at least, he wasn’t until thirty seconds ago. But now that we’re kissing again, now that I’m tugging him up onto the bed, scrambling back on the mattress as he crawls on top of me, there’s a telltale flush on Beckett’s vampire-pale cheeks. His dark hair is rumpled.
“We don’t have to do anything.” Even as he mutters those words, Beckett buries his face in my throat, licking and nipping at the skin. And the bed rocks beneath us as we shift around, my backpack sliding to the floor with a clatter, but I don’t care.
