Hot Under Pressure (17 page)

For a long, liquid moment, Skye was suspended between the water and the sky, held up by nothing more than Beck’s maddening touch deep inside her.

Then, without warning, that touch disappeared, leaving her empty and cold.

Mindless with desire, she writhed against him until she realized he’d freed himself from his boxers.

She couldn’t see the thick, intimidating stalk of his erection, but she could feel it, blunt and uncompromising, rising high and tight to his flat stomach. The movement of the choppy water pushed her into him, and suddenly her slick, open core was rubbing against the smooth underside of his cock.

As warm as his fingers had been, they hadn’t prepared her for the searing heat of his erection.

“Yes,” she gasped. “In me, come on.”

But Beck’s hands slid around her hips, holding her in place, his cock jammed up against her but not doing anything, not going in, just burning into her softness.

She might have whimpered. She couldn’t be sure; everything was a little hazy.

“No, like this,” he whispered, shifting her weight, and that slight movement, that hint of friction, was enough to send a pulse of sensation straight up her spine.

“Okay,” she groaned. “I guess I can be satisfied with—oh!”

Beck’s hips were in on the action now, thrusting his hardness up then raking it back down, the ridge of his cock head catching with agonizing regularity on the swollen nub of her clit.

Every thrust drove her higher, towards that shiny, elusive, just out of reach … damn it, she needed more!

Skye twisted to drag her taut nipples across his chest. She curled her fingers into the waves of his hair, loving the way she could get a good grip on him, and pulled his head down to attack his mouth with hers.

Her lips parted, inviting him in, and when his tongue rubbed velvety over the ticklish roof of her mouth and began a dance of swift in and out, it was the last bit of sensation she needed.

Skye pushed her hips against Beck’s as hard as she could and froze there, quivering as she exploded in his arms. Shivers wracked her frame, aftershocks rocketing through her, and Beck let out a hoarse cry. A moment later, warmth spread between their tight-pressed bellies.

Exhausted and wrung out, Skye tucked her face into Beck’s neck, feeling the rapid pounding of his pulse as they began to come back down to earth.

“Skye.” His voice was wrecked, guttural and deep. “Christ, I missed you.”

She stiffened all over, reality descending with a crash, scattering afterglow like a bowl of fresh peas spilled out onto the ground. Three little words, so close to the words she would’ve given anything to hear in a voicemail, on a postcard … heck, even in a text.

But to hear them now, after all this, reminded her of exactly how long he’d been gone. And what had happened since he left.

Jeremiah Raleigh.

She’d met someone else. A good man, someone she supposedly loved. And yet she’d done this.

Never mind that she and Jeremiah had an “open relationship.” Never mind that her parents applauded them for being so sensible and practical, mature and liberal-minded about the outdated sentimentality of fidelity.

Skye had never believed in it. In her heart of hearts, she’d always known that what she wanted was a secure, loving, monogamous relationship, so even though she’d agreed to the open relationship because it was what Jeremiah wanted, she’d never been unfaithful.

Until tonight.

“You can put me down now,” she said quietly, shame and self-loathing creeping into her chest and making it hard to breathe.

Beck didn’t answer, just waded in a little closer to shore before setting her on her feet.

Shaky, Skye looked up at him and tried to smile.

It wasn’t Beck’s fault that she’d just betrayed everything she believed in. Tempting as it was to lay the blame at his feet, she couldn’t do that.

No, the simple truth was that Skye had been forced to take a look inside herself. And what she’d found was that she wasn’t the person she’d thought.

“You okay?”

The words were cautious, quiet. The beautiful openness Beck’s face took on during sex was gone. Even as Skye wished it back again, she couldn’t blame him. She was acting like a fruitcake.

“Sorry, yeah.” She tried that smile on again, and this time it didn’t wobble so badly. “Just tired. Been a long day, you know?”

“A long day, full of surprises,” Beck agreed as they made their way back up the beach to the clothes piled at the foot of the big, flat rock.

Even the reminder that she and her team had been called first as finalists in the Rising Star Chef competition couldn’t lift Skye out of the pit of guilt she’d fallen into. Not all the surprises the day held had been great, after all.

Surprise! You’re a faithless tramp!

They got dressed in silence. It wasn’t a shocker—Beck had never had a whole lot to say for himself, even when they’d been together. Which had been a big part of the problem.

Silence weighed on Skye. Made her antsy, made her babble just to fill it. Only right now, she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

But it turned out Beck had one more surprise for her.

Shaking his head like a wet dog, Beck threw himself upright and slicked the dark waves back with both hands. Turning to watch her roll her crumpled tank top down over her naked breasts—she’d taken off the wet bra and stuffed it in her pocket—Beck went still.

Then he said, “This doesn’t change anything.”

Skye jerked the shirt on angrily enough to almost rip it. She was terrified that this night had changed everything, her entire future … and for Beck, it was, what? A trip down memory lane?

Before she could snarl at him, he narrowed his eyes and pointed at her. “The bet is still on, Skye.”

Awareness crashed over her. The bet? He was worried about the damn bet, when her whole life was falling apart?

“You listen to me, Henry Beck—” she started, furious.

He cut her off with, “No. You listen. You want your divorce? Fine. But I’m not through with you yet.”

Her mouth dried out as he stalked toward her, prowling like a big, hungry predator. She didn’t move, caught like a mouse in a trap, and he leaned in close.

“That was only the appetizer,” he murmured, nuzzling her jaw line and starting that sweet thump of desire pulsing through her again. “Next time, I want you naked all the way. I want you under me. And I want more than a taste of you.”

Surprise!
Skye’s brain caroled happily.
You’re an
unrepentant
faithless tramp!

Because as Beck pulled away and grabbed her hand to lead her up the trail and back toward civilization, all Skye wanted was to tug him down to the forest floor with her and make “next time” happen immediately.

She was such a mess.

Chapter 16

Loud pounding on the hotel room door woke Beck up. Instantly alert, he swung his legs off the bed and padded, naked, to check the peep hole.

It was Winslow, wearing a blue shirt with a simple black line drawing of a bunk bed with the caption
Top or bottom?
and a worried expression.

“Hold on,” Beck called. “Gimme a sec to find my pants.”

“Okay.”

Beck paused. Win didn’t say anything else, and Beck realized he’d been waiting for a zippy, vaguely sexual comeback that hadn’t come.

Shit, something must be really wrong.

But when he opened the door for Winslow, one hand still zipping up his jeans, the first words out of Win’s mouth were “Do you know what’s wrong?”

“You’re the one who woke me up,” Beck reminded him, glancing over to the nightstand for the clock. “At … Christ, what is it, oh six hundred?”

Win jittered into the room, nearly sloshing the two white-lidded to-go cups in his hands. “Don’t growl. I brought you coffee. And I’m freaked the eff out, man. Something’s up—Jules called a team meeting for an hour from now. I couldn’t wait that long, sitting around my room all by my onesie, knowing nothing. Here.”

Beck took the caffeinated peace offering and sipped at it appreciatively, letting the dark, smooth roast wake him up the rest of the way. Win had a genius for ferreting out the best coffee shop, no matter where they were.

“You can hang with me,” Beck said, crouching to grab a T-shirt from his tightly packed duffel bag. “But I don’t know any more than you do. Probably less. What did Jules say when she called the meeting?”

Win threw himself down on the unused bed, rumpling the coverlet. “Just to meet in her and Max’s room at seven. But she was definitely wigged, in that tough-as-nails Jules way.”

Pulling the navy-blue shirt on, Beck was glad he’d showered the saltwater off the night before. He stood up and went to brush his teeth, grimacing at the crazy mess of his hair in the bathroom mirror.

Gathering the top part of it into a rubber-banded ponytail, he wandered back into the room just as his cell phone buzzed against the nightstand, where it was plugged in.

His mind leaped instantly to Skye—was she calling him? Did she want to talk about last night? Did she want to plan when they could do it again? Because the trip back up the hill to her car, parked at the Kirby Cove campground, had been mostly silent.

He wasn’t used to being unable to tell what she was thinking, and he didn’t much care for it.

But Winslow said, “I bet that’s Jules calling to clue you in about the meeting, even though I told her I’d tell you. Nobody trusts me to do anything.”

Forcing himself to relax, Beck reached for the phone, sure that Win was right. Except the number on the display wasn’t Jules’s, or even Max’s.

“Who is it?” Winslow asked nervously, probably reacting to the frown Beck could feel tightening his brow.

“It’s the restaurant,” he said slowly, clicking the Talk button and holding the phone up to his ear. “Beck.”

“Oh, thank goodness I caught you.”

Nina Lunden’s warm, motherly voice filtered into Beck’s consciousness like a sip of peppermint tea—bracing, comforting, and sweet.

“Nina. What can I do for you?”

“That’s what I love about you, sweetie. Always straight to the point!”

She gave a little laugh, and Beck felt his lips twitch in response. Nina was … something else.

When she’d hired him to work the hot line at Lunden’s Tavern seven months ago, she’d barely glanced at his resume, full of his work history and military service. She’d tossed the papers on the table between them and leaned forward on her elbows, faded blue eyes fixed on his face.

“Well, Henry Beck? Are you ready to be a chef?”

“Just Beck,” he’d told her. “And I’m ready. You won’t be sorry you hired me; I’ll never let you down. I’m a hard worker, Mrs. Lunden.”

“Oh, I know you are.” She’d cocked her head to one side, those kind eyes of hers going shrewd and sharp. “The question is, are you ready for what it means to be a chef, with the bunch of yahoos we’ve got working here? And I say that with love, since my husband and son are part of the kitchen crew.”

“I’m ready,” he’d repeated, as firmly as he could.

Her laugh bubbled up, surprisingly youthful and vibrant. “I wonder. You’ve got a very stoic look about you, Beck. I’m not sure how long we’ll let you keep it, or how you’ll like losing it. But there’s no way to know unless you give it a try.”

She’d led him back into the kitchen and had her husband, Gus, run him through some hands-on tests of his culinary skills, and that was it. He was hired.

But he’d never forgotten the way Nina Lunden seemed able to peer right inside him, or the way she’d accepted him almost immediately, without hesitation.

That kind of acceptance wasn’t something he’d had a lot of in his life, and he treasured it when he came across it. Nina had a special place in Beck’s heart from that day on, and even if he didn’t show it much, he had a feeling Nina knew.

Remembering all that made Beck gentle his voice now. “Nina, tell me what’s going on. If I can help, I will.”

Her breath caught audibly, and something in Beck’s chest tightened like a fist. “Oh,” she choked out. “Well, that’s good to hear. Because we’re having a bit of a problem here at the restaurant.”

Suddenly unable to be sitting, Beck got to his feet and started to pace, the hotel carpet thick and soft under his bare toes. “What kind of problem?”

“It’s Gus,” she said softly, confirming Beck’s fears. “He’s been having dizzy spells, a little trouble breathing. And yesterday, he said his chest was feeling tight. Beck, I’m worried about his heart.”

Nina had good reason to worry. A mere month ago, Gus had landed in the hospital after collapsing in the restaurant’s kitchen with severe angina. It had kept him off the Rising Star Chef team, and he’d stayed home in Manhattan to run Lunden’s Tavern with a skeleton crew while the rest of them competed.

“He was supposed to be taking it easy,” Beck said. “Let the crew handle the heavy lifting and the worst of the work.”

“I know,” Nina fretted. “But he’s so damned stubborn! And I can’t watch him every second—I need to be out front, managing the servers and the bar, and the reservation line’s been ringing off the hook. You wouldn’t believe how much business is booming, just from our team having made it so far in the RSC! We’re packed every night. Which is what we wanted. But it’s taking its toll on Gus, and I’m just worried…”

“That’s all you have to say.” Beck stopped her before the tremor in her voice could get any worse. “I’ll catch the first flight to New York and get back in the kitchen to help out with the rush and keep an eye on Gus.”

And if Beck was surprised at the need to muscle through a painful stabbing in his gut at the thought of running out on Skye after last night, well, fuck it. The Lundens were the closest thing to a family that Beck had found in years, and Skye had made it pretty clear that she wanted him out of her life for good.

Ignoring the voice in his head that whispered how Skye hadn’t seemed all that through with him out in the water last night, Beck tucked the phone against his ear and started packing the few things he’d removed from his duffel with swift, economical movements.

Before he could even get his toothbrush off the sink, though, Nina was saying, “No, no, that’s not what I’m saying.”