Page 56 of Redemption

“Beck, I can’t—”

“Fuck it,” he growls right before slamming his mouth over mine.

I squeal in surprise, which Beck takes advantage of by sliding his tongue into my mouth. The moment that happens, a switch is flipped, lighting me on fire. I throw my arms around his neck, pulling him into me. My memory didn’t do this man’s kissing skills justice. The soft velvety slide of his tongue against mine, the way he pulls back just enough to bite softly on my lower lip before diving back in again. The love and adoration that’s suffused into every lick, every nibble, every groan are all-encompassing. The way his muscular body feels pressed against mine awakens a hunger inside of me that I’ve only known with Beckett. No matter how close we are, it’s never enough. My need for this man is both electrifying and terrifying. How am I supposed to learn how to stand on my own two feet again when my very existence feels dependent upon his?

“Beckett,” I pant. “Stop.”

I’ve been so conditioned to having my pleas denied, the fact that Beck freezes immediately sends another shockwave to my senses. He helps me into an upright position—I hadn’t even realized I was bent backward over the desk—then slowly removes his arms from around my back.

“What’s wrong?”

I touch my fingers to my swollen lips. “What happened to taking it slow?”

His full lips curve into a cocky grin. “You wouldn’t stop trying to think of excuses why this can’t work, so I had to knock some sense into you somehow. It’s the first thing I could think of.”

I shake my head. “That can’t happen again, Beck. I’m not ready. I’m still married. I haven’t even filed for divorce yet. I’m going to... I’ve started the process... but I’m not there yet.”

His face falls. “You’re right; I’m sorry.” I know I should look away as he discreetly adjusts the rather large problem in his pants, but I can’t seem to do so. “But next time you try convincing yourself that this won’t work, think about what just happened. What happened with Nicole and me doesn’t matter. What happened with you and that bastard doesn’t matter. What does matter is that kiss we just shared. It proves that we’re not over, Presley. We were never over. You’re lying to yourself if you think otherwise.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Presley

I give myself a few moments after Beckett leaves, but I know I need to get back out front before people start talkin’. I check my reflection in the little mirror on the wall and smooth down my hair. Once I’m presentable, I head back out and join Clayton behind the bar.

“Where’s Beckett?”

Clay smiles. “Oh, you mean the guy who just walked out of here with nothing more than a half-assed wave and a shit-eating grin? A grin that matches yours, I might add.”

I narrow my eyes. “Quit stirring the pot, Clayton.”

“I’m not stirring the pot. I’m simply making an observation. Now, if you’re done with your break, it’s gettin’ a little busy in here, and I could use some help.”

Old Man Caruthers plops down on the stool in front of me to prove Clayton’s point. “Hey there, pretty lady. Can I get a Jack and Coke when you get a moment?”

“On it,” Clayton says, grabbing the soda dispenser and the bottle of whiskey. He sets the drink on the bar. “Now, remember, your beautiful wife says you only get one of these, so don’t even think about asking for another.”

Mr. Caruthers harrumphs. “Damn meddling woman. Always worried about my goddamn health.”

“It’s because she loves you so much, she wants to keep you around for as long as possible.” I give him a flirty wink. “You can’t blame her for that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles into his glass. “What about you? I heard you’ve ditched that husband of yours and moved back to Hope.”

“News travels fast,” I say dryly. “Lucky me.”

He flashes a big yellow-toothed smile before barking out a laugh. “Girl, you can’t take a shit in this town without everyone knowin’ about it. I bet you didn’t have that problem up north.”

“No, I did not.”

But I had plenty of other problems.

Mr. Caruthers takes the final gulp of his drink and pins a ten-dollar bill beneath the glass. “Well, anyway, it’s nice havin’ you back, Presley. I’ll be seein’ you around.”

Becca, one of the three servers working tonight, leans on the bar and whispers. “Uh, Clayton, I think we have a problem on seventeen.”

Clay and I both look up to the table in question. I’m not entirely surprised she’s referring to Nicky’s table.

“What’s she doin’?” Clay asks.

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