Page 74 of The Art of Discretion
I looked down at my outfit. “It’s simple, really. Probably could’ve gone with something a bit less revealing.”
He shook his head. “You’re absolutely perfect, Flower.”
I smiled softly as he sat beside me and pulled me to straddle his legs.
“…I usually wear my satin and silk nightgowns. Sometimes, I wait for Gavin to notice me, and he never does,” I muttered, casting my eyes down at Beckham’s chest.
He hummed as he ran his hands over my waist.
“I’ll tell you this… it probably was a smart idea for you not to wear them here tonight.”
“Why?” I asked.
He placed a kiss on my neck before pulling me down to lay on his chest as he leaned back on the bed.
“Would’ve had a harder time controlling myself around you… Better be lucky you’re more cute now than sexy… I’m lying. You’re still too fucking sexy right now,” he muttered, irritated.
I giggled as I traced patterns on his chest.
I should feel guilty… drown myself in shame.
But all I feel is this unbearable ache whenever he looks at me the way he is now.
“This feels… weird. I feel so wrong but so right… and I don’t know. It’s the guilt of not staying faithful, I guess.”
“To a man who doesn’t cherish you?”
I smiled again. “Is that your favorite word, Mr. Garcia? You can’t seem to get enough of it.”
“I can’t get enough ofyou, Flower.”
My heart fluttered as I stared into his utterly sincere eyes.
Clearing my throat, I slowly got off of his lap and walked over to the nightstand to take a sip of water. He leaned up on his elbows, watching me.
“Any big plans for tomorrow?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Just the usual. Stop by to help Kira, run a few errands, and make a bunch of phone calls.”
An idea popped into my mind.
“Would you… like to visit a museum with me? It’s run by a woman, and her husband and I haven’t visited in a while.”
“Of course I would, Flower. I can never say no to you.”
I sighed as I smiled softly. “I’m beginning to understand the feeling.”
Chapter twenty-seven
Rosenna
Itwasthefollowingday, and I had finished getting dressed after my shower. Dressed in a sleeveless maroon blouse and a pair of cream-white pants, I was currently brushing my hair in Beckham’s bathroom.
As I pulled it into a low ponytail, I looked in the mirror behind me to see him staring at me in the doorway. I couldn’t describe the way he looked at me. For a man who doesn’t have emotions on hand to share with the world, his gaze most definitely told a different story.
He seemed poised, but his eyes were taking me in possessively.
“Don’t you have better things to do, Mr. Garcia?” I asked playfully as he slowly entered the bathroom.
