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‘You’re staying with me.’ He gives me an expression that dares me to argue further. ‘Bag.’
I shake my head in silent refusal, making him fall deeply into thought. After everything that was said downstairs, that’s a bad, bad plan. ‘Not a good idea, Becker.’ I didn’t need to follow up my head shake with that statement. He knows.
‘Why?’
‘I’m not rehashing everything. You know why.’ I turn and drag my bag from under my bed. ‘I’ll stay with Lucy.’
‘Well, maybe I do want to rehash everything.’
I look at the ceiling. I really don’t have the energy to go over it again. Or even the willpower to maintain my resistance. Maybe he suspects that. Or senses it. My lungs are shrinking by the second, the air slowly draining until I’m holding my breath. There’s something tugging at my whole body, an invisible connection from him to me, making me quiver as I prevent it from drawing me closer to him. ‘I’m staying with, Lucy,’ I repeat, facing him.
He steps forwards. ‘I want you to stay with me.’
Our eyes hold like magnets, never faltering. ‘Give me one good reason, Becker. Just one.’
He moves closer. ‘Because if I don’t win this battle, Eleanor, I’ll feel like I’ve thrown away the chance of something fucking incredible.’ Another step. My heart quickens. ‘Is that a good enough reason for you?’ I swallow. He’s within touching distance now. Smelling distance. Every sense I possess goes into overdrive. ‘Please, Eleanor,’ he whispers, reaching up slowly and sliding his palm on to the side of my neck. He trails his thumb lightly up and down my throat, and my eyes close, soaking up the tenderness of his touch. ‘I want to make the last seconds I spend with you today unforgettable,’ he murmurs. My cool bloodstream ignites and sizzles, but my head still starts to slowly shake fractionally in his hold. My body is begging for him, but my mind is vehemently refusing to let it happen again. ‘Yes.’ His one word is barely a breath, as he moves his hold to my nape and applies a light pressure that manipulates my neck back, exposing my lips to him. ‘Good God, aren’t you tired of fighting this?’ His soft whisper tickles my cheek, and my relaxed lids squeeze shut tighter, hiding from him.
Then his lips brush mine and demolish every scrap of doubt, because that’s the moment my mind decides to remind me of his earlier words.
I took you to Countryscape because I wanted you to see what no one else sees. Because you like me in a way no one has liked me before.
Oh God. I can feel the doubt and caution being replaced with belief and willingness. His groin expertly rolls up into my lower tummy as he kisses me and lightly laps his tongue through my mouth, holding my head securely to keep me in place. My lack of fight in this moment gives him his answer. Distraction has been my friend since I arrived in London. My new purpose at The Haven has given me life and enthusiasm. My guilt has faded, and my heart has been repaired. Becker has the potential to annihilate it all. My hard exterior, my closed-book approach, my impenetrable heart. It’s all at risk. He could strip me bare and expose my fragile centre – send me back to places in my past I’m scared of revisiting.
His kiss is worshipful. It’s soft, slow and powerful. I expect it’s also a strategy to get what he wants. So I break it. And it hurts like hell. ‘And what about tomorrow?’ I lightly push away, cowardly lowering my head to avoid his eyes. They’ll be dark. Full of heat. Soaked in promise. All of which I won’t be able to resist. He dicks around, I join in the fun. He tosses an insult, I lob one right back. I play the game, he invents the rules. He casts a spell, I fall under it.
Trying to figure out in my conflicted mind if what’s developing here could be a good thing or bad thing is continuously hurting my head. The conflicting emotions are confusing. The potent sensations and feelings he creates within me are addictive.
This could be heaven.
It could also be hell.
I promised myself this wouldn’t happen. How could it when he winds me up every second of my working day? This is his fault. I’m blaming him. I both love him and hate him. I hate him for failing to be professional. I hate him for pushing the boundaries. Or destroying them. However, I also love what he stands for. I love him for being so bold and daring, so confident and determined, and I love his passion and grit to get what he wants. I’ve seen many sides of him, and I admire each one. But I suspect there are more. He’s a multifaceted man, and I can’t help wanting to solve the puzzle that is Becker Hunt. For my sins, I’m captivated by him.
