Page 54 of Beach Reads
And the agency could be watching. They might sniff out my weakness for her, and get ideas about using Betty as leverage.
All smart reasons to turn around and never come back, but instead my feet carry me over the street. I curse myself under my breath, even as I push through the coffee shop doorway, bell ringing.
“Sorry, we’re closed—oh.” Betty clutches the mop where she’s cleaning behind the counter, her eyes going wide. “It’s you.”
I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets. “It’s me.” I’m dressed in my usual faded clothes, the worn jeans and t-shirt, all selected to keep me from being too memorable—but Betty stares like a celebrity just walked into her coffee shop.
This woman. She’s so goddamn sweet.
“Um.” Her fingers flex on the mop handle, and she looks at the coffee machine, expression dazed. “I already cleaned everything up for the night. I’d serve you, I really would, but—”
“I didn’t come here for coffee.”
Betty’s throat shifts as she swallows. “You didn’t?”
“No.”
My boots squeak against the freshly mopped floor. She should hate me for that—for messing up her cleaning routine. Betty should hate me for a lot of things. But as I reach the counter, the cash register dim and silent, her breath catches and she inches closer to the wood.
“Do you often lock up on your own?”
She’s still strangling the mop handle, her knuckles pale—but Betty’s smile is dazzling. “You don’t think I can handle it, River Dawes?”
“No, I do.” It’s everyone else in the world I don’t trust. The strangers who could walk in off the street and catch her here alone; the agency, always watching. “But lock the door next time. Just while you’re in here by yourself.”
Blue eyes roll, but Betty seems pleased to hear me fuss over her. She tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear, the movement shy.
This woman is a bundle of contradictions. Brassy and bold in some ways, with her teasing grins and tattooed arms, but sweet and uncertain in others. That shy side has taken the reins, and Betty bites her lip as she watches me.
“If you didn’t come for coffee, why are you here?”
Does she sound hopeful? Has she thought of this too—being alone together? I move as close as the counter will let me, the edge pressing against my stomach, drawn by an invisible rope. Cars rumble past on the street outside, and my heart thumps against my ribs.
Shouldn’t be here.
Shouldn’t do any of this.
Shouldn’t let myself want this woman.
“Needed to see you,” I say, voice gruff, and we both stop breathing as my hand reaches across the empty space. Betty’s cheek is soft as I cup the side of her face; her silky hairs tickle my wrist. My thumb settles over the pulse point beneath her jaw.
Her skin is so warm, her pulse rapid. Over on the wall, the AC hums, gusting out frozen air.
The counter creaks beneath my weight as I lean forward, my free hand spreading over the surface. Betty steps closer too, drawn by my touch, and we meet somewhere in the middle.
The mop handle knocks against wood, and we exchange ragged breaths, lips brushing together in a featherlight touch. So close yet so far.
Don’t.
Don’t do it.
Don’t risk her like that, asshole.
When I slant our mouths together harder, surrendering with a groan, I’ve never hated myself more.
Fuck.
She’s so sweet. So hot, so soft, and each bruising kiss, each nibble of her lip, each stroke of our tongues stokes my need higher. The coffee shop blurs around us, and the sounds of traffic outside fade, and there’s nothing in the whole goddamn world except this woman, sighing against my mouth.
