Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2) (40 page)

“Oh-kay,” she said, hiding her smile. Squeezing him reassuringly, she laid her lips against his temple, the kiss meant to soothe. To connect. “Oh, my God, I’ve missed you. And suddenly, I’m very hungry.”

“Missed you, too, honey.” His lips were hot against her neck as the air shifted, crackling with sexual tension. “And I should apologize now for how fast this first time is gonna be. My hand’s barely getting the job done.”

Letting out a surprised laugh, she nuzzled his stubbled jawline, swiping her tongue over his sensitive earlobe. “So poetic. I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

If he didn’t have a condom in his pocket, she was going to kill him. Well, maybe not kill. That seemed a little too harsh considering she had her hand down the front of his unbuttoned pants and her tongue in his mouth. But she was going to maim, for sure. And God knew, she had plenty of weapons at the ready to do so.

“You have a condom, right?” Mumbling against his lips, her breathy words were barely discernible.

Releasing his mouth long enough to let him whip her pink t-shirt over her head and pop the front enclosure on her bra, she pushed out of her sweatpants. Only one leg was free, but that’s all she needed, happily staying perched atop his lap.

“Do you?” His answer in the form of a question sounded distracted, but felt like a test. At least she wasn’t the only one obsessing over revenge sex.

“Sorry. Used ‘em all up last weekend.” She bit his bottom lip. “Frat party.”

His dark head stilled, his lips a breath away from her nipple, and Hope cursed her stupid humor.

“I’m tapped out, too,” he said, warm air rushing across the sensitive tip. “Hit Club Kitten on my way out of town.” His wet mouth closed over the aching nipple, suckling her with teasing pulses. “Don’t worry. We’ll name our first child after my Aunt Agnes.”

His hair was soft in her fingers and he yelped when she gave it a good pull. She could forgive his awful condom joke for one glaring reason—based on the substantial erection in her hand, he still wanted to have sex with her even though she’d been wearing sweatpants. The same sweatpants as yesterday. And she was pretty sure there was a diet Coke stain on the thigh.

That was keeper material if she ever saw it.

A rush of wetness flooded her when he ran his fingers through her slippery folds, his mouth moving to her other breast. Her core clenched at the pleasurable touch, months without it making her crazed with lust, and she squeezed her fist around him in response. Circling the pad of her thumb over the thick head, she pushed his t-shirt up past his belly button and slid back on his lap, bending down to take him into her mouth. He stopped her with a garbled moan and the tug of his hands under her arms.

“Uh-uh,” he mumbled, the most inarticulate command she’d ever heard him utter. “Inside pocket of my duffel. Condom. Now.” He moved to stand, but she didn’t budge from his lap, not wanting to lose the sexy power position.

“Do not move an inch,” she whispered against his lips, not loosening her hand from his hard length. “Let me get it.”

Kissing him again, tasting his rich, masculine flavor and inhaling his familiar scent, made her heart burst with joy. The last five months had been a torturous blur, her life a series of motions without emotion. Without hope. She hadn’t even dared to wish she would ever see his beautiful face again, much less hold him in her arms. And now he was here, hers for the taking. For the keeping.

“Don’t move,” she instructed again, with a snooty point of her index finger, reluctantly hopping off in search of protection. Quickly shedding her stained sweatpants and damp undies, she rifled through his kit of bathroom supplies, tossing everything aside until her hands snagged on the long strip of foil wrapped packets.

“Oh, thank God.” Ripping one off and holding it up high, she looked at him. “Safe sex, the only thing keeping poor Baby Aggie from a lifetime of name-shaming.”

The smile froze on her face when she drank him in, his big body relaxed back on her ugly plaid couch, making it look like a prized piece of furniture on the showroom floor. The button fly on his jeans was wide open, his erection free and proudly prominent, but he wasn’t nearly naked enough. No male torso that perfect should remain covered by cloth, two layers of thin cotton and soft flannel standing between her and his sculpted pectoral muscles.

When his hand gripped the base of his thick erection and he pumped once, then again, she thought she might dissolve into a puddle of her own fluid. His fathomless green eyes held her spellbound, tracing her body as he stroked himself slowly, lightly, with just the tips of his fingers. Her skin heated to burning as his gaze skittered between her breasts and the juncture of her thighs, stealing her breath when he finally looked into her eyes. The fact that he was still fully dressed, his tanned skin bared only from his flat navel to the top of his hair roughened thighs, made watching him even more forbidden. He was total man candy.

Frozen in place, she stared at his moving hand. “Holy... moly,” she finished lamely, afraid her mouth was agape, but not really caring. “I want to watch you do that from start to finish.”

His grin was wicked, locking on her thighs. “Only if you let me watch, too, princess.”

Oh. My God. A visual of that sinful scenario popped into her head and it was straight up pornographic. And highly, outrageously appealing.

Whimpering, her voice was bashfully agreeable. “Okay.”

He groaned, closing his eyes briefly as he gripped himself in a tight fist.

She wanted in on that action, taking a step toward him. “Unless you want your clothes cut off by a horny woman wielding a sharp pair of scissors, you better take them off yourself.”

“And unless you get that thing on me in two seconds,” he said roughly, his eyes on the condom as he reached for her impatiently. “Baby Aggie is a real possibility.”

It took her longer than two seconds, but he wasn’t joking. She was still rolling it down his length as he was pushing deep inside, their mutual groans of pleasure competing with the blistery winds howling outside the thin apartment walls. His thickness filled her, touching her so deeply she could feel him with her whole being.

It was fast. It was hard. And it was glorious.

There was no two ways about it, Beck was a bed hog. And it had less to do with his six feet two inch, chiseled frame and more to do with his arm span. The man wasn’t built for a cramped double bed.

Hope burrowed in tighter, tucking herself into him and absorbing the waves of heat rolling off him, his naked body like an electric blanket, only better. Way better. Muscled arms spread wide, he mumbled his good morning, but didn’t move those impressive guns a centimeter. Running her finger down the narrow strip of soft hair bisecting his rippled abs, which seemed impossibly more defined now than before, she brushed a hand over his toned navel.

“Go any farther south and some things are gonna happen.” His raspy voice was only slighter louder than the wheeze of her old furnace, rumbling to life with a racket that could wake the neighbors. “I’m not saying stop. Just giving you fair warning.”

A quick look downward told her something was already happening. A remarkable rising that had her licking her lips with deviant intent. But that could wait for later.

Pressing open mouth kisses across his chest, she slid her fingers back up his happy trail and laid her hand flat on his pec, propping her chin on top of it as she stared at his bristly face. Even from this angle he looked ridiculously handsome, his long, dark lashes hiding his unclouded eyes as he slowly came awake. A person shouldn’t look this good when you were staring straight up their nose.

Lifting his spread arm sluggishly, he dropped it heavily across her lower back and pulled her in tighter. If that was possible. “Mmm, should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“What letter did you give Ash?” Her brother’s comment last night had slipped past her, the shock of seeing Beck overriding everything else.

But, as the sun started to rise this morning, casting the pristine white landscape in a blindingly bright light, she’d replayed last night in her mind while watching him sleep. Counting every soft, sleeping breath, and the rise and fall of his chest, Hope was too afraid to close her eyes. Too afraid he was only a figment of her imagination. And that’s when Ash’s comment penetrated her thoughts.

Cracking one eye open, he lifted his head a fraction, a frown wrinkling his forehead. Sleepy, sexy, and grumpy, all rolled into one panty melting package.

“He said to tell you he shredded it,” she prodded. “What was it?”

“That motherfucker,” he said, with affection. At least, as much affection as a person can produce while calling another an extremely foul name. With a heavy sigh, he scooted down the too small double bed, pulling her up as he did so.

Face to face, he cupped her cheek, sweeping the pad of his thumb across it. “I resigned.”

“You what?” Rearing back, she scrambled to her feet, reaching for his flannel shirt on the carpet next to the sofa. “Why would you do that, Beck? I thought you loved all that... that... pow-pow and ka-boom stuff,” she sputtered, buttoning his huge shirt over her chilled body.

He sat up, not bothering to cover his nakedness. It was distracting as hell. “I can’t work for Scorpio long distance, honey. And I’m not living in a different goddamn state than you,” he said, adamantly.

“What? You quit your job? For me?” He quit his job for her? “But, why?” It wasn’t easy to be articulate with a bare-assed Beckett Smith standing in front of you, much less with his bare front locked and partially loaded. And now she was regretting her reluctance to take advantage of him while she had the chance.

“I’ll find something here, Hope, and there’s plenty of money in my savings. Hell, I’ll work as a mall cop, if I have to. Busting punk teenagers for riding their skateboards through the food court sounds like fun.” He grabbed his jeans, putting on a far better show than any working class male stripper as he carelessly shrugged into the frayed denim, leaving the button fly undone. “And I still want to get my hands on this place.” He pointed up. “That popcorn ceiling has got to go.”

It would be so easy to shove her hand down the front of those jeans right now, grab onto his goods and give him an especially good morning. Sheer curiosity was the only thing stopping her.

Dragging her gaze upward, she said, “You want to stay here? In Denver?”

“No. I want to stay where you are, Hope.” Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward him. “Didn’t I make that clear last night, honey? I want us to be together for the long haul. I lost the right to ask you to come back to me, so from now on, wherever you go, I go. Like a hobo on a ham sandwich.”

“For the long haul?” she asked, squeezing his hand. “Like I’m a ham sandwich?”

His grin matched hers. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“That could be a long time, you know.” Smiling, she bit her bottom lip. “Because I love you a whole lot. I love you so much it could be like... forever.” When the corners of his mouth lifted in supreme, masculine confidence, she threw her curve ball. “But, you might want to keep your duffel bag packed because you’re not gonna be here as long as you think.”

“Honey.” He frowned. “Princess, you have to know I’m so sorry—”

“Honey and princess at the same time? God, you’re hot when you grovel,” she said, swooning. Swinging their clasped hands playfully, she leaned in and kissed the center of his chest, just above his heart. “I’m moving back to San Diego in a few weeks. I need sunshine and seawater.”

“Oh, thank fucking God.” Relief laced his words as he hugged her tightly to him, cupping the back of her head.

“You might not be saying that when we’re sleeping in my Toyota,” she said, teasingly. “I haven’t found a place to live, yet.”

“At least we’ll be together.” Playing along, he nibbled her earlobe. “Although, it might get a little tight once Baby Aggie comes along.” Releasing her abruptly, he rifled through his duffel.

Holding out her pink blanket, a heavy look crossed his face. “You were right. That stupid thing works. Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

Not disputing the stupidity of her blanket, Hope held the soft cotton to her nose, breathing in Beck’s favored fabric softener. It smelled like his guest towels. It smelled like him. It smelled like home.

“Anytime,” she replied, amazed that someone could feel such complete happiness, standing on dirty shag carpeting in a mildew ridden studio apartment. But the truth was, she did.

“One hundred, thirty-nine days today, honey.” He released a deep breath, hesitantly holding out a large envelope, his greens eyes bright with uncertainty. “For you.”

“What’s this?” Confused, she released the small metal clasp sealing the envelope and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers. Legal papers.

“It’s your jacaranda tree,” he whispered.

Flipping through the pages of legal mumbo jumbo, her sleep deprived brain absorbed the information. “You gave me a tree?” she asked absently, skimming the pages.

Then it dawned on her what the papers were. What they really meant. Yes, he’d given her the beloved jacaranda, its canopy of purple blooms providing her safe haven on so many nights. But, what the envelope actually held was the deed to his house, both their names listed at the top.

He’d given her the Lark Street house.

“You gave me your house?” Stunned, she looked from the papers to him, then back to the papers. Then back at him again, her jaw slack. “You can’t give me your house, Beck.”

“Sure, I can. I own it,” he said easily, shrugging. “I can do whatever I want with it. And I want you to have it.”

“You can’t give me a house, Beck.” Repeating it in a firmer voice, she shook her head and the papers at the same time. “Who gives somebody their freaking house?”

“You have my heart, Hope, and now you have my house. Sooner or later, it’s gonna be marital property, anyway, so the whole place will be yours, as much as mine.” He tilted his head toward her midsection. “Baby Aggie, remember?”

She rolled her eyes. “You do know there’s no way on God’s green earth I’m naming some poor child Agnes, right? That’s why we used birth control.” When he merely grinned, she took a shaky breath, letting it out slowly. “Are you proposing?”