Page 63 of Hopeless Romantic
Levi was kind, funny, sweet, and so giving of himself. He had this capable way that drew her to him, a contagious confidence that made her want to say yes. But it was the small things he did for others, going out of his way to make their lives easier and happier, that challenged everything she believed about Levi—and what dating could look like with the right man.
She wasn’t saying Levi was her Mr. Right, or that she was even looking for Mr. Right, but she’d be a fool to pass up the chance at an affair with a guy she’d been crushing on from afar. What was the harm in enjoying the time they had, then going back to her regularly scheduled life after he set sail?
“I’d like to try,” she said honestly.
“I like the sound of that,” he murmured, as his hand cupped her jaw and his fingers slid into her hair. His thumb lagged behind, languidly tracing down her cheekbone to lightly graze her lower lip.
“I like playing hooky with you,” she said, feeling suddenly very shy. “And I’m realizing that I like being with you. A lot. I’m just working up the confidence to say it.”
“I think you just did.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “This is new to me, too. You’re not on the edge alone.”
“Who says I’m on the edge?”
He chuckled and placed her hand against his heart. She could feel it pounding through all the layers of fabric. “Then how about you be there for me, because I’m on the edge looking over.”
“Levi,” she whispered thickly.
She didn’t know who made the first move, but one minute she was telling herself to be bold, the next their lips brushed in a kiss that was so tender, so perfect, she never wanted it to end. She would be content to sit right here, on his lap, and kiss him until the sun came up.
His mouth slowly moved against hers with devastating care, and a seriousness that shook her to the core. An inferno of lust ignited in her belly, expanding in all directions with such speed her head spun.
His fingers gently tightened in her hair, tilting her head to the side as he kissed his way down her neck, his breath hot on her skin. To say his lips were experienced was like saying Jimi Hendrix was good at guitar.
“Levi,” she groaned. “Who kissed who?”
He smiled against her skin. “Does it matter?”
“Well, if I kissed you, good on me. If you kissed me, then I’d like to be the one to initiate the next one.”
He looked up, staring at her for a long beat, then shrugged. “Okay, you caught me. I kissed you. Your turn.”
“My turn?”
“Yup.” He leaned back against the truck bed wall, all casual like, his arms folded behind his head.
She bit back a smile, then rested her hands on his chest, one on each pec, and leaned in. And this time, when their lips met, there was no doubt who’d kissed whom. And since she was being bold, she wasted no time tracing her tongue along the seam of his lips.
“God, Beck,” he groaned, giving her the confidence to deepen things—on every level.
Gently sucking his lower lip, she ran her hands up from chest to jaw, holding him exactly where she wanted, then covered his mouth with hers. She wanted to cover a lot more of him, but the blanket bag was acting like a slinky, coiled around her lower half.
She shifted; he moaned. She twisted, and things got interesting. Laid-back Levi lost some of that trademark control and pulled her all the way against him, then took over. Which was fine by Beckett, since she was having a hard enough time remembering to breathe. Levi was a master kisser, with the kind of well-honed skills that made Beckett wonder if she’d been stuck on the bunny slopes of dating.
Speaking of slopes, Levi might not be on the competitive sailing circuit anymore, but his body hadn’t suffered one bit. He was all sinew and muscle, from his pecs way down to his abs, and he had six, well-defined, well worth the hype, packs to explore.
“Beck.” His groan sounded husky, and his hands captured her wrists. “A few inches farther, and it’s game on.”
“I’m sorry.” She tried to snatch her hands back, but he held them in place. “I just meant to kiss you and end it there. But—” She shrugged.
“Your hands didn’t get the memo?”
“My head’s having similar issues.”
His eyes heated. “What does that mean? Again, asking for a friend.”
“That I’m beginning to wonder if you’re right,” she said, trying not to stare at his mouth and failing horribly. “Maybe the best way to figure this out is like two adults and face it head on.”
“That’s the smartest idea I’ve ever heard.” His eyes were dark. “Go on, I’m listening.”
