She licked her lips as he stepped closer, as he backed her against the wall and bracketed her in with his hands on either side of her head. He felt bigger in this position, as if his shoulders could block out the very sun. You have to get him to back off. You’re too close. She leaned against the wall, the move arching her back just a little. Beckett’s gaze dropped to where her breasts pressed against her blouse, and he dragged in an unsteady breath. As if he was using every ounce of willpower not to touch her. He dragged his eyes up to meet hers. “You were thinking about that night.”
She could deny it, but it would be pointless. “Yeah.”
Slowly, oh so slowly, he moved one hand to sift his fingers through her hair. When she didn’t immediately answer, he leaned closer yet. “I think about it, too.” He trailed his fingers through her hair until he reached her shoulder and his thumb dipped beneath the fabric of her shirt. “All the fucking time.” He dropped his hand farther, the tips of his fingers tracing over her breast in a touch so light she was half sure she imagined it.
Might have convinced herself she imagined it if her entire body wasn’t tuned to his in that moment.
Touch me.
As if reading her thoughts, he shifted closer, his leg sliding between hers. The move forced her skirt up as she spread her legs to accommodate his thigh. Higher and higher until he was firmly pressed against her clit. It throbbed in time with her heartbeat, and it was everything she could do not to rub on his thigh like a mindless version of herself.
She felt mindless. Samara gave up her determination not to touch him. She couldn’t wrap her legs around his waist because of her damn skirt, but she ran her hands up his chest. “We can’t.”
“I know.” But he didn’t stop. He slid his hands down to her ass, urging her to grind against his thigh. Slowly, so incredibly slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. He dragged his mouth over her collarbone, the faint rasp of whiskers drawing a whimper from her lips.
Samara dug her fingers into his hair, and he went still. Waiting. She pulled him up and took his mouth the way she’d wanted to since she’d snuck out of that hotel room six months before. She flicked his tongue with hers, teasing him even as he resumed the delicious movement between them again. Yes, yes, do that, don’t stop.
Beckett let her have control for all of two seconds, and then he deepened the kiss, pressing her more firmly against the wall. He took with his mouth even as he gave with his body, hitching her higher until her toes barely touched the floor and she was completely at his mercy. Pleasure sparked through her, and she kissed him harder. It wasn’t enough, might never be enough, but she couldn’t stop.
Not when she knew that, as good as this was, what came next was even better.
He tore his mouth from hers. “I don’t give a fuck if this is a shitty idea. I want you again, Samara. I need you.”
I need you.
She stared into the storm barely contained in his eyes. He held perfectly still, waiting for her response. As if she had the slightest bit of control in this situation.
She didn’t have control, though.
If she followed through on the promise Beckett’s body was making, it would be good. It would be so far beyond good that there were no words for it.
That wasn’t why she’d come out here, though. She’d been tasked with searching out his secrets. If she said yes now, she’d spend the next few hours coming on Beckett’s cock, his mouth, his hands, and she’d have compromised herself and her future in the process. No matter how phenomenal the pleasure he could give her, a few hours wasn’t worth the rest of her life.
Her mother had learned that the hard way. Samara would be worse than a fool if she made the same mistake.
“Let…” She had to take a shallow breath and try again. “Let me down.”
He shifted back just enough for her to slide down his body until her feet were firmly rooted to the floor again. “You want this.”
“Yes, I do.” Taking that first step away from him felt like tearing her own arm off. It was too right to have Beckett’s body pressed against hers. As if they fit in a way that defied logic and comprehension.
That was the problem. The second he touched her, she stopped thinking, and being quick on her feet was the only thing that had gotten Samara to where she was today. She couldn’t compromise that, even for a man who made her blood sing in her veins and her entire body yearn.
He’s the enemy.
She couldn’t afford to forget that.
The next step was easier, and she paused to right her skirt. Her thighs shook with denied pleasure, but she managed to smooth her expression. Remind him what’s at stake. Get your barriers back in place. “That’s not why we’re here, Beckett. Get your things and then we’ll scatter your father’s ashes. After that, you should probably say good-bye to Thistledown Villa.”
Beckett couldn’t look at Samara. Not with her taste still stinging his tongue and the memory of her heat searing him through his jeans. She was right about stopping, right about not complicating things further, but fuck if he cared about it. They could be in his old bed, losing themselves in each other. The temptation to forget everything for a little while was almost as strong as the temptation for the woman herself.
Liar.
He grabbed an ancient backpack from his closet and looked around the room to distract himself. He’d lived in this space from the time he was a baby to when he moved out at eighteen. He hadn’t gone far—just to his brand-new condo
