Page 84 of Hopeless Romantic
“I never leave things to luck. She’s more temperamental than chance.” He skillfully flipped each scallop, then squeezed lemon over the artichokes. A blue-and-red flame sparked, licking the sides of the artichokes, curling the leaves and blackening the tips before vanishing beneath the grill.
“You don’t even serve artichokes at your restaurant.”
“Remind me to rectify that oversight.” He placed the artichokes on a white plate, then made a big show of squeezing the charred lemon over the top, and slid it across the bar.
“Levi Rhodes, are you trying to impress me?”
“Desperately.” He looked up from plating. “Is it working?”
She looked into his eyes and saw a hint of vulnerability, as though he were willing to work as hard as it took, and Beckett felt everything inside of her shift. He might want to impress her, but she was desperate to be a part of him. To be the kind of woman he’d work hard to impress always, and that’s when it hit her.
She was in serious trouble. This wasn’t some silly attraction or hormones talking. Her heart was involved, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
He was leaving in six weeks, and if she wasn’t careful, he’d take her heart with him. But as she looked around his boat, she couldn’t help but wonder: Did Levi realize, while he was searching for a happy distraction and dreaming of a solitary life at sea, that he’d managed to build a homey retreat with all the makings for family fun? The seating for ten, industrial-sized grill, excess snorkeling gear, and water toys—none of that spoke of a man embarking on trip-for-one around the continent.
Then again, the serious and vulnerable man who sat in front of her now was nowhere near the same flirty, life-is-one-big-party guy she’d met all those years back. Just like she was no longer the shy and uncertain woman who was willing to settle.
None of that changed the fact that he was still leaving, and her life was in Rome. He wasn’t in a position to give what she knew her heart needed. So she changed direction to something she could handle. Flirty, funny Levi didn’t make her feel things she was foolish to feel.
Flirty, funny Levi she could handle.
“Depends.” She took a swig of beer. “Do you take your artichoke with mayo or butter?”
“Honestly, I’m an artichoke virgin. So you’ll have to take your time with me.” He grinned, erasing every ounce of vulnerability and replacing it with testosterone-dripping swagger. “But since a Boy Scout is always prepared, I have both. Plus, some lemon-garlic aioli.”
A plate with three blue bowls, expertly arranged and garnished, appeared. Next came the scallops, and the steaming clams, which he poured into a big, shallow bowl.
“If your goal is to make it hard for the next guy, you’re doing a good job,” she said.
“Lucky for you, I already have your next guy in mind.” He walked around the bar, bracing a hand on either side of her, and leaned in. “He’s about six-two, dark blond hair, blue eyes, a real dreamboat, and manly as hell.”
“I hear he can be a bit of a braggart, though.”
“It’s not bragging if it’s the real deal.” He nipped at her lower lip. “And for the record, it’s the real deal.”
She laughed, and the release felt good. Being in his arms felt even better. She didn’t know how he did it, but the man had a knack for turning her world completely upside down and sideways—in the best possible ways.
“For the record,” she whispered back, “I’m more of an experience-it-for-myself kind of person.”
“What are you looking to experience tonight?”
All her life, Beckett made the “responsible” choice, put others’ needs before her own, even at the expense of her happiness. Went out of her way to avoid rocking the boat. But with Levi, she believed things could be different. That responsibility and happiness weren’t mutually exclusive, but in fact, usually came as a package deal. She was on the verge of something amazing and wanted to reclaim the parts of her life that she’d lost.
Starting with incredibly hot boat sex.
Beckett wanted to know what it was like to be wanted with a certainty. She wasn’t greedy; one night would do. Maybe they’d even make it to breakfast. And maybe, if she was lucky, he’d even help her figure out what she liked and what she loved. But one thing was for sure—she was ready to rock the boat.
“Everything you have to offer.” She locked her arms around his neck, then slowly drew him closer until he hit the edge of the barstool, her legs on either side of his. Her mouth a scant inch from heaven.
“That’s a tall order,” he murmured, peeling the coat open, his hands wasting no time sliding inside and around to cup her ass.
Her breath caught. This was what she wanted. “Good thing you’re six-two.”
“Don’t forget manly as hell.” His grip tightened and, in a move so manly her panties went damp, he engaged her in a sexy little game of musical chairs. At the end of round one, Levi was sitting on the barstool, Beckett was straddling his lap, the coat was puddled on the floor, and her T-shirt was doing little to conceal how much she enjoyed the game.
“How could I?” she said, deciding she was ready to advance to round two, and gripped the hem of her shirt to pull it up, up, and over her head, dropping it to join the coat.
And like every manly-as-hell guy, Levi was rendered silent by a pair of boobs.
