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Eyes flick down to me, then away. “Yes. But that’s not why I’m…”
“No kidding.” Can’t resist tugging Beckett’s earlobe. “You had me at your mercy earlier, all eager and willing, and you dropped me off at door 5E without even a smooch goodbye.”
A troubled frown creases his forehead. “That’s not quite how I remember tonight’s events.”
His earlobe is soft and squishy. Rolling it between my finger and thumb, I marvel at howintimatethis is. How I didn’t even know this man a few hours ago, and now I’m carried in his arms across a dark parking lot, poking and prodding at his body like I have an all-access pass, hoping against hope that he’ll take advantage of me tonight. That he won’t be aperfectgentleman.
“Sorry, mister, but the tape doesn’t lie.”
“What tape?” An eye roll, then I’m jostled against Beckett’s chest—like he wants me closer, even when I’m already in his arms. “That is not what happened, Resa.”
“So you say.”
“So I do.”
“And yetIcame looking foryou. Are you sure you even want to hang out with me more? Or are you humoring me?” Flipping Beckett’s shirt collar up and down, I stare at his chin while I wait for an answer.
Because if this is all in my head, if I’ve magicked up some crazy connection between us out of sheer wishful thinking, I’m going to leap out of his arms and sprint home right now, bloodied feet or no.
Beckett heaves out a sigh.
My insides quiver as I wait.
Then: “I already got your phone number from Shelby,” the writer confesses quietly. His voice is taut with consternation. “Seems I couldn’t let you go either.”
Six
Beckett
Resa’s questions echo in my head as I carry her onto the tour bus, the door hissing shut behind us. The doubt in her sweet voice back there sent arrows through my gut, and I hate that she wouldn’t meet my eye. Like she was bracing for rejection, not sure if I want her around.
But what else could I do earlier except let her go?
Grab the bubbly fan girl I chose for an interview and steal her away? Abduct her onto this glossy black tour bus and keep her with me forever? Slide a ring onto her finger before dawn?
That’s 911 territory, and I’m no fantasist.
“It looks even bigger on the inside,” Resa murmurs, craning her neck to peer around us at the bus. Everything is lit by soft lights dotted overhead. We pass the kitchen area with its break-out table, bolted to the floor and surrounded by bench seats; the closed doors of other crew members’ bedrooms; a shower room that smells like the battling scents of three different shampoos.
The cramped hallway is carpeted and silent, and Resa’s sneakers scuff gently against the wall as I carry her through. The shower drips.
“Doesn’t feel all that big when you live in it for weeks. More like a glorified camper.”
But I don’t really mind. I wanted an adventure, and this tour has given me one—and now it’s brought me to Resa.
Christ. Resa.
How will I ever let her go? Every time her breath mists against my neck, my heart thumps a little faster. My cock is harder than sin with her body this close to mine, and now we’re alone on this dimly lit tour bus.
…Alone.
For hours, probably.
Focus, you prick.
“There’s a first aid kit,” I say as I deposit her on my bed in the last room on the bus, determined not to notice how rumpled and flushed Resa looks already—like we’ve been rolling around together in those sheets. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, sure.” She flops back, empty bottles crunching in that backpack beneath her, and starfishes on my double bed. “Wake me up if I fall asleep.”
