Page 46 of Flare

“Let me.”

I worked my way down the buttons, acutely aware of the uneven edge to his breathing, his breath fanning my hair, letting me know his lips were right the fuck there. I didn’t dare look up. We were so close I could’ve slipped my arms around his neck without taking a step. He was so still, so quiet, I couldn’t tell if he was nervous, turned on, or just plain fucking terrified, like me.

Did he want me to look up as much as I wanted to?

One button to go and time ground to a sluggish crawl, my fingers fumbling like big, fat, frozen caterpillars. “Shit.” I dropped his coat and shook out my hands, feeling too ridiculous for words.

Beck immediately engulfed them between his huge paws. “You’re freezing.” He rubbed them vigorously, then slowed as if savouring the moment, focusing on one finger at a time. I kept my eyes on our hands because I just fucking knew he was watching me, waiting. I glanced sideways at the sound of voices instead, the unbridled intimacy of our simple act garnering nods and a few giggles from a group of women as they passed.

But Beck never missed a beat, never dropped my hands, just kept on massaging, grinding my determined will to protect my heart to shreds. Then, too soon, he let them go, slowly, warm fingers trailing over my palms until there was nothing left but the chill of the night air.

“Better?” His voice was thick with something I didn’t want to think about.

And no, I wasn’t at all sure that I was. “Yes, thanks. I’ll, um, get that last button for you.”

“You don’t need—”

“I want to.” I looked up, knowing I shouldn’t but needing to see those eyes, to see if I was just fooling myself. But his gaze sparkled bright in the reflection of the neon sign above the bar door, watching me, intent, caution to the fore, but also... heat. A lot of fucking heat.

I needed to look away, but I didn’t, since that was how I appeared to be rolling these days, and it left the invitation open.

What the hell was I doing?Living, for once.

A small crease formed between his brows, and the tip of his tongue ran across his lips. And god, how could such a simple thing be so fucking hot?

He dipped his head from those lofty heights and then hesitated.

Move away.Move away.I didn’t.

“Are you kissing nice men now?” he whispered.

“Not yet.” I stared at the soft hair on his upper lip, then finally caught his eyes. “But maybe you could get on with it.”

And then his mouth was right there, ghosting over mine, hot breath sliding over my lips, the gentle brush of his beard on my jaw as he kissed me, chaste and closed mouthed on the corner of my lips. Soft as a brush of silk, almost like he wasn’t there at all, except he was, our eyes wide and locked on each other, so close I felt the flick of his lashes on my cheek, with more questions in their depths than I had answers to give.

It had been a question, no more, and before he could move away, I lifted up on my toes, just enough to dial up the pressure as I teased my tongue along the crease of his lips. Gentle fingers slipped under my chin and raised it a fraction more, enough for Beck to fully cover my mouth, the slide of my tongue alongside his eliciting a deep rumble of approval.

My first taste of Beckett Northcott and maybe my last. I drank it in. Amber hops, malt, and salt from the peanuts we’d shared flooded my mouth. And then he was gone, tugging at my hand. “Come with me.”

I followed him into the covered portico of the building next door and found my back against the freezing beaten-copper wall.

“Is this okay?” He frowned at the sudden tension in my body.

Was it?Something squirmed in my chest, but I was so fucking tired of walking away, of not feeling...this.

I held his gaze, my fingers playing with the soft waves on the nape of his neck. “Yes.”

He picked up on the slight hesitation, but I kept my gaze steady and eventually he smiled and dipped his head, and this time he didn’t hold back. His tongue swept inside, demanding, in and out, nipping, biting, licking, taking me apart in an exquisite barrage of sensations, all the while muttering between kisses, “So damn sexy... under my fucking sink... smooth skin... clothes... so fucking prissy... wanna rip them... Jesus Christ... Rhys.”

I smiled against his lips, wanting all the words in between but craving his mouth on mine, wanting to stay lost in the moment,thismoment, this sweet space where my heart soared and everything was good.

How had I lived without this? How had I thought I could?

Heat washed through my body, my arms snaking around his neck as I sank deeper into the kiss, delving into his taste, his lips exploring. Nothing urgent, nothing forced, nothing rough, every second measured and languid, smooth and leisurely, sweet and hot and absolutely breath-taking.

In seconds I’d lost myself to the sensation of his mouth on mine, the brush of his beard, the needy groans he made as he licked and sucked at my tongue, his arms around my waist, hands on my arse, a body caging me in, a dick as hard as fucking nails against my stomach. And oh, I wanted to stay here so fucking badly. Wanted to be that someone for Beck, someone he could get lost in.

But no sooner had the thought appeared than a whip of fear licked at my throat. The voices on the street dulled. The freezing air warmed, clogging my throat, tightening in my chest. A rising beat of music in my ears, a hand on my neck, close, suffocating...

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