Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2) (15 page)

She hoped Mr. Man Candy was still feeling that zing of attraction crackling between them because a bell signaling round two was ringing in her ears. Down and dirty or quick and clean, she wanted to explore her newfound sexuality with him again. And again after that.

After weeks of raining nothing but crap, the universe was finally shining down on her with good fortune. Sure, her life had gone to hell in a handbasket since the night of the Gleeson slash Ross wedding. The night Beck made his indecent proposal. But Hope knew he wasn’t the reason behind Helen’s joyfully delivered termination. If her ball busting former supervisor hadn’t discovered her visit to his hotel room that night, she would’ve found another bogus reason to get rid of her eventually. Missing money and eviction notice aside, hooking up with Beck and getting fired from a horrible job on the same evening were just about the best things that had ever happened to her. And while she’d rather pull her eyelashes out one at a time than admit it to his craggy face, Bubba was a cream puff of a boss, and the money from the club was rapidly adding up.

And now she was standing here, with Beckett only a few feet away. The light in the house was low, almost intimate, cocooning them within its walls and casting his nearly perfect profile in flattering shadow. It would be so easy to lose herself in him. Let him teach her how to touch him, how to please him. How to love him.

Whoa. Back the reality truck up. She didn’t know where that word had come from, but it could go right the hell back. She wanted nothing to do with love. Lust, yes. A big fat yes. But love, and the strings that came with it, could take a long walk off a short pier.

Feeling her presence, or maybe just deciding to acknowledge it, Beck looked at her, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the casing tighter. Her toes curled in her boots at the indisputable want in his green gaze. He didn’t try to hide it as his eyes raked over her body, snagging on the low cut edge of her shirt. It took everything she had not to lift her arms and cover her beaded nipples, wishing she’d worn a padded bra instead of the flimsy lace. Her modesty was ridiculous, considering she’d just come from an eight hour shift in a titty bar and the man in question’s mouth had been up close and personal with her nipples, but it was another reminder of her inexperience compared to his.

He was right. This was definitely not a good goddamn idea.

“What’s up there?” she asked, breaking the spell of his suggestive gaze when she pointed toward the wide wood staircase leading to the bungalow’s second story.

“Where I sleep.” He turned back to the window, as if something beyond the glass required his undivided attention. “Don’t go up there.”

“Why?” The inappropriately nosy question was out before she could stop it. “What are you keeping up there? Or maybe I should say, who?”

“Nothing breathing.”

She barked out a laugh. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

The corners of his mouth kicked up. “Nothing breathing that should be or once did. How about that? Better now?” Her gut clenched at the serious lady charm he could put out when he wanted to. And then he ruined it by sternly repeating, “Don’t go up there.”

“Ohh-kay,” she replied slowly, when he stared at her, making it clear she understood him.

When the silence turned awkward, Hope looked around, wondering what to do. Clearly he wasn’t going to strike up another conversation and she nodded her head to cover her nervousness, saying the first thing that came to mind.

“So. How have you been? Still popping cherries, then making a break for it?”

Okay, that did not help the awkwardness. Nor did the jogging motion she’d made with her arms as she’d said it.

Running a hand across the back of his neck, he turned away from the window, resignation lacing his voice. “That night never should’ve happened, Hope. And it wouldn’t have, if I had known.”

“Known what? My last name or that my hymen was intact?”

“Either,” he said. “Or both. And don’t make a joke about this.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t know about it then, Beck, because I enjoyed myself immensely.” Sitting on the sofa, she watched him pace the length of the room. “Except for the part where you made like Houdini and disappeared.”

Stopping in front of her with a noticeably safe distance between them, he put his hands on his hips. He rocked a pair of jeans much like he did suit pants and she tried not to stare at the impressive bulge behind his button-fly. She failed.

“You should’ve told me. It was a surprise I wasn’t exactly prepared for.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe after you dropped your room card down in front me, all cool and cocky before walking away like it was a done deal, I could’ve shouted out, ‘hey, guy who’s name I don’t know, I’m a dreadful virgin so you may not wanna do me.’ Would that have worked for you?”

“Yeah, it would have. And you’re a far fucking cry from dreadful. A little too old to be a greenhorn, though.”

She laughed, enjoying their lively exchange. “Geez, thanks for the compliment. You should know, Vinny Rinaldi wanted to pork me underneath the ping pong table in his parent’s basement when we were fourteen, but I told him no. A girl can’t give her v-card to just anyone, especially if his favorite sport is table tennis. Instead, I saved it for a smooth talker like you.”

He wanted to smile. His handsome face was set in stone, but Hope could see him biting back the grin. “I’ll concede your point that I could’ve handled it better, but I’m not gonna say I’m sorry. We both knew going in what that night was about. What I am gonna say, though, is that it was a mistake. One that can’t happen again, Hope.”

“What? Why?” Was this about her brother? Because if it was, she was going to kick his meddling ass with her two-hundred dollar boots. “It was fun, Beck. And we’re consenting adults, so there’s no good reason we why can’t have fun again. Repeatedly. In many different positions.”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “There’s great reason. You and I don’t fit.” He motioned between them. “We’re wrong. On so many levels.”

He didn’t deny his enjoyment, nor did he mention her inexperience. Or her brother, thank the good Lord, and Hope wondered how well he actually knew Ash. If he knew they were related. Maybe their interaction at the wedding was simply a fluke. A passing acquaintance that looked chummier than it really was.

“No, you’re wrong,” she said, standing and taking a step closer to him. “We fit together pretty damn well, if I recall. And it felt pretty damn good, too. I wasn’t complaining and neither were you.”

Standing firm, with his arms still crossed and his expression shuttered, didn’t make him look as formidable as he’d probably intended. It made him look like a challenge. A double dog dare. And so vulnerably sexy her core clenched. She wanted to tongue kiss the indifference right off his stubbled face. Strip him naked and use spit and her fist to change his mind. Make him beg her not to stop. And then she wanted to hug him.

Wishing she had the guts to push the issue and do exactly that, Hope stood her ground, too, not breaking contact with his unreadable green gaze.

“I’m doing you a favor by letting you stay here. Don’t make me regret it.” And with that, he walked past her without a second glance, taking the steps two at a time as he disappeared up the stairs.

“Okay, then,” she called out loudly, her voice carrying up the empty staircase. “Good talking to you. Glad we cleared the air on all that.”

The soft click of a shutting door was her only response and she fought the urge to follow him. She might not have the courage to seduce him right this moment, but she did have the perseverance to wear him down. Along with a jaunty set of tits and a healthy ass that made a guy want to spank it—according to one of her intoxicated male customers tonight. The slurred compliment held no appeal, but she hoped to high heaven Beck felt the same way.

With a shake of her head and one last glance around the stunning living room, she headed toward the guest bedroom, hopping as she pulled her boots off along the way.

Stripped naked within minutes, she snuggled under the cool sheets, staring at the play of shadows on the ceiling. He was awake up there. The subtle thump of masculine footsteps told her so, as did the square patch of filtered light hitting the lawn where it shone down from the large bedroom window above her. Familiar with the nightly habits of the formerly unknown person occupying this house, she knew the light in that window would stay on well into the night, only the rays of a sunrise extinguishing it.

Lying awake as long as her exhausted body would allow, Hope fought to keep her eyes open as thoughts of her imperfect mother bombarded her. Not once, during all the times they’d driven through Mission Hills, with Hope dreaming aloud about the day when they would lay their heads down to sleep in one of these majestic houses, had her mother ever doubted her. She’d never chided her for being silly or told her to dream within reason. Instead, she would thread her fingers through Hope’s dark, tangled curls, pushing them away from her dirty face, and say, “One day you will, Hope. One day you will.”

The smile of that optimistic little girl split Hope’s face now, and she wished for the millionth time that she could talk to her mom. The selfish woman who’s desire for love and companionship had made her many a man’s temporary lover—married or otherwise because that little moral detail didn’t seem to matter. It was that same misguided quest that also made her a shitty, neglectful mother to a young, impressionable girl. A girl who held the key to that sought after unconditional love inside her, if only the woman had lowered her skirt long enough to notice.

Shaking the maudlin thoughts away, she rolled to her side, letting her watery eyes drift shut.
It’s just like I knew it would be, Mom
, Hope thought, a grainy image of her mother all she could remember after so many years.
It’s warm and it smells good. It’s pretty and perfect for a family. It’s a place where a jacaranda tree grows. It’s a place where love grows.

She wasn’t alone in a stuffy studio apartment above a garage, designated specifically for the help. She wasn’t alone in her parked car on a darkened street, with no other place to go. She was inside the Lark Street house tonight, and while it was crazy and silly and wholly unrealistic, the sturdy walls of this home embraced her, protected her. The light shining reliably over the kitchen sink and the lamp burning faithfully in the upstairs window filled her entire being with a sense of true belonging.

It was a strange and ironically frightening feeling for Hope. A helpless little girl turned independent woman who’d never felt such incredible rightness as she did now, in all her life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The twinkling chorus of Jingle Bells sounded again, stopping after several annoyingly long seconds. Looking at his watch, Beck knew the alert would sound again in exactly four minutes, loud enough to be heard from the nightstand in the guest room where the offending device sat, clear to the kitchen where he sat. But apparently not noisy enough to wake the person sleeping a foot away from it. Whoever sent her the text message better not be expecting a response anytime soon. The woman slept like a dead person.

Trying to feel human again after a white-knuckled night featuring a few rounds of the shakes combined with next to no sleep, he downed what was left of the thick black coffee and contemplated heading for work an hour early. Hanging around the house more than necessary was asking for trouble and he’d already added a few more miles to his morning run each day, giving him a sixteen minute reprieve with her out of his sight. Just not out of his mind.

He’d managed to steer clear of her in the three days she’d been here. It helped that their work schedules offset, with his mostly days right now and hers evenings and late nights. Just in case, Beck worked much of the weekend and made it a point to hang out at the gym longer than usual, knowing the less time spent with her, the better. It didn’t seem to matter one iota.

The grind of a metal key turning the lock in his front door just after midnight, then the lingering rush of a running shower in the bathroom below him wasn’t the only indication of her presence. The tingling on the back of his neck and the tightness in his balls were a sure sign, as well, no matter how much his body’s reaction to her pissed him off. The running water tormented him as he lay sprawled in his big bed, sweating the hours away until morning, wondering what her soap smelled like. If she used one of those spongy things or her bare hands. And if she touched herself while she was in there. Really touched herself. Then he wondered how the hell he would get any quality shut eye, considering the substantial hard-on he was sporting.

His brain had memorized every nuance of her naked body that night, cataloging each inch of silky smooth skin, perfect under his impatient touch. And he’d spent a shitload of time thinking about it ever since, from the way her stomach dipped inward when she arched her hips, to her lush lips when she singed his skin with a hot kiss. If there was a flaw anywhere on her compact body, he sure as hell hadn’t seen it. And now that same body was on display at a hole in the wall, topless bar downtown, where the line between showing your tits and not showing your tits was pretty fucking fine, given the skimpy outfit she’d been poured into. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d listed her occupation as a cocktease waitress. The sharp edge of arousal riding him mercilessly could testify.

Beck had been called a number of things in his life, most of which were unfavorable and fully justified, but a chauvinist wasn’t one of them. A prude sure as hell wasn’t either, but when he’d seen Hope sashaying around the bar, tending to her tables like a woman on a mission, he’d fought the urge to drag her out of there using whatever bodily force necessary. Or hand her his shirt at the very least, not that he had the right. It was a good possibility she would’ve shown him her one knuckle punch if he’d told her to cover it up, anyway. Taking solace in the fact that he knew what she looked like naked, what she felt like gripping him from the inside out, he’d sat back and enjoyed the jiggle and bounce that came with every step she took.