Page 73 of Flare

“With you?” He looked hopeful.

“Can we wait till next time? Just in case. I’m just not sure...” My gaze slid away but he gently brought it back with a hand to my cheek.

“I’ll add it to the yet to try but maybe list.” He kissed me, then wriggled up until we sat naked together. And as always, he kept his hands off me.

“Thank you.” I pressed a kiss to his sticky lips. “For listening and being patient.”

He grinned. “Well, it’s a tough job being handcuffed and sexed up by a beautiful man, but somebody has to do it. And don’t roll your eyes at me.” He laughed. “I loved it. Now can I look at that damn photo? You caught me in a weak moment.”

I reached for my phone, and if there was a red deeper than beetroot, Beck turned it.

“Fuck. Me. I look...”

“Hot and sexy and mine, and I’m gonna jerk off to this sucker so many times I’ll need a new screen before the end of the week.” I ran a fingertip down the image. “Fuck, you look hot like this. Sorry about the...” I tapped the bite mark on his neck. “Don’t know what came over me.”

He grabbed the phone for another look. “Goddammit, Rafe is gonna have a field day.”

“Are you upset?”

He looked again, then cradled my face. “Not one bit. I might be forty, but right now I feel like a damn teenager.”

My heart skipped in my chest. “Then maybe you could return the favour next time? I kind of like the idea of wearing your mark.”

He gave a slow blink and smiled. “Yeah, I think I might like that too.” He brushed his lips over mine then ran his nose through my hair. “I’m going to use your shampoo so I take your smell with me to bed tonight.”

I swallowed hard because, damn, who said shit like that outside a romance novel?

“Now, you better point me to the shower before I give new meaning to the phrasestuck on you.”

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

Beck

Jack pulledme down and whisper-shouted in my ear. “At least try to look like you’re actually interested and not guilty as hell. You’re scoping the store like you’re gonna be arrested any minute.” He let me go and pulled a pair of black jeans from the rack, holding them up for inspection. “What do you think?”

“Sorry.” I fingered the jeans, with more rips than Piha beach and held together by a prayer and a million staples, and tried to lookinterested.Then I read the tag. “Holy shit! Fifteen hundred dollars for something that looks like it was shredded by a pair of blunt scissors. I think it’s a joke, is what Ithink.”

“Keep your voice down,” Jack hissed as a nearby sales assistant threw a curious look our way.

Gloria’s Mennz store was teaming with shoppers on a wet Saturday morning, in stark contrast to Flare’s graveyard equivalent on the other side of town. Conversation buzzed loudly and there was a long queue at the service desk. Something close to a snarl broke my lips, and as if he read my mind, Jack shot me a warning look. I wanted to find this Gloria Mandell and string her up by her double stitched seams. And okay, I might’ve been hanging around Rhys a little too much. The fact I now recognised the difference between a welt pocket and a flap pocket was also somewhat concerning. And don’t even get me started on pinking shears.

“Focus,” Jack muttered. “We’re here to get some dirt on the bitch, not start a cage fight.”

“Language. But also, I’m thinking of a two for one deal.”

“Behave.” He rolled his eyes. “If you start pissing on the racks, I’m outta here.”

I chuckled. “Okay, okay. Standing down.”

He shook his head and brushed some non-existent fluff off my shoulder as the snotty assistant gave us another once-over. “The guys are going to have a field day with this.”

He turned his attention back to the line of shirts and I took the opportunity to take a good look at this new seriously grown-up version of my nephew who Rhys had dressed in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a funky multi-coloured T-shirt under an expensive black leather bomber. He passed for a good year or two older and was drawing a lot of attention from both the young womenandmen.

I’d been gobsmacked when he’d walked out of Flare’s change room and was simultaneously struck by the thought that I was going to miss him badly when he finally left. We were living a strange version of our old family, but I was beginning to believe it might just work. I’d never seriously considered being a parent, but I caught myself thinking about it now, not to mention wondering if that would be something Rhys would want. And also, where the fuck had that come from?

I hadn’t escaped the Rhys Hellier two-minute makeover, either. After texting me to wear the skinniest trousers I possessed—which to be fair left only one choice—Rhys stripped my sweater and threw it to Kip who held it between two fingers and deposited it in the nearest bin. He then substituted it with a beautiful dark blue cotton button-down with fancy bead work on the yolk that I should’ve hated and yet strangely didn’t. But even in the largest size Rhys stocked, I’m pretty sure I broke a rib getting it buttoned up. Still, even I had to admit I looked... good. On-trend. as Jack called it.

Dear god, kill me now.

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