Page 37 of One Pucking Heart

It’s the wine and the walk through Venice. That has to be it.

The fact that Beckett is one of the hottest men I’ve ever met has nothing to do with the butterflies doing backflips in the pit of my belly. Oddly enough, gorgeous men are usually a turnoff for me and leave a bad taste in my mouth. But unlike most of the attractive men I’ve had the misfortune of knowing, he’s not a total douchebag. He’s sincerely good.

This is the first moment I’ve had any regrets all day. I should have fake married a troll. Beckett is too much temptation, and something about him, here in Sin City, has me all worked up.

“What is it?” Beckett asks.

Walking through the hall of the hotel, we approach our room door.

“Nothing.”

Using the key card, he opens the door, and my heart plummets when I step inside. There must be a couple of dozen vases full of lilies that look like the ones in my bouquet placed around every flat surface in the suite. It’s too much, too sweet, too thoughtful. I need to go into my room, shut my door, and stay in there until we leave this intoxicating city.

But I don’t take my own advice. Instead, I turn to Beckett, my eyes wet with emotion. “What is this?” My voice cracks. “When did you have time to do this?”

“I snapped a picture of your bouquet at the wedding and sent it to the concierge. Told him to order vases of flowers that looked exactly like your wedding bouquet and have them set up in the room before we got back from dinner. I figured you liked the flower since you chose it for our wedding.”

“I love them. They’re my favorite. They were my mom’s favorite. Thank you so much. This is too sweet. You shouldn’t be this nice, Beckett.”

He laughs. “I can’t help it. I like being nice. I like making people happy, and I really love making you happy.”

“Thank you.” I take a step toward him and wrap my arms around his neck.

He circles his arms around my waist, and I lean into the embrace. Beckett’s hard chest presses against me as it rises and falls in labored breaths. He’s just as affected as I am. I feel it in the way he holds me. I hear it in his breaths. Most of all, his arousal is evident in the way the bulge beneath his suit pants pushes against my abdomen.

“We can’t.” My words come out broken.

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t.” I inhale the scent of him. He smells woodsy, spicy, and clean all at once, and the ache between my thighs grows.

“I know,” he repeats.

Moving my face away from his chest, I stare into his eyes. His pupils are dilated, and his lips parted. “Maybe we should just call it a night and go to our rooms,” I whisper.

“Okay.”

I don’t move, and neither does he.

“Beckett,” I plead, for what I’m not sure.

“Tell me to go, Elena. Tell me to walk away from you, and I will. You hold the power.”

I open my mouth to speak, to tell him to go, but I can’t form the words. Instead, I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“What do you want, Elena? Be honest.”

“This isn’t real, Beckett.”

“I know.” His voice remains hoarse and husky.

“It’s going to end.”

“I know that too.”

I squeeze my thighs together, needing relief. The desire is painful. “It can’t mean anything.”

“Okay.” Beckett’s hold tightens on my back. “We’re two consenting adults, Elena. Sex can just be sex. It doesn’t have to be a promise of something more. It can just be for fun, to feel good. You know?”

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