At thecomputer once more, she re-read a detailed email from Katie. Thank God forKatie! As Paige moved the mouse, she slipped and clicked on another window,maximizing it. Beckett’s inbox. Her eyes darted away, but like driving by a carwreck, she couldn’t avert her gaze for long, and they darted back. She caught aname, two, five, before looking away again. Her heart chugged as though shewere a thief trying to make a clean getaway.
Coveringone half of her face with a hand, she peeped between her fingers while herother hand oh-so-delicately rolled the mouse. Why she thought this particulartechnique would make her less guilty didn’t occur. She previewed one email froman obviously female sender and let out a breath she didn’t know she was holdingwhen she realized it was from the woman coordinating the modeling job in LasVegas. Another female correspondent proved to be Joe’s wife doubling asDeFunked’s office manager, giving Beckett details of the Hammacher meeting.
Growingbolder, she scrolled through other senders, clicking a few here and there. Stopit! She returned to the top of the inbox to minimize the window. Put itback the way you found it. Her eye snagged on a folder in the lower leftcorner. “Yamila,” read the label.
Shewiped clammy hands on her pants, staring at the folder as if it might openitself. When it didn’t, she hovered the mouse over it, her mind running througha list of reasons why this was so wrong, on so many levels—like pawing througha host’s medicine cabinet, something she’d never done. All her logic wassmashed by a chirpy voice in her head telling her it didn’t matter: Yamila wasthe past, Paige was … What was she? Maybe just another Beckett Millerconquest. The thought constricted her chest. Well, if she was his latest fling,then it was nothing serious, so learning about an old girlfriend didn’t count.In all honesty, she barely followed her own convoluted logic.
Ashrill dinging nearly shot her from her seat. The timer! She raced tothe oven and pulled the dessert out to cool. She meandered back to thecomputer, with another quick glance out the window, and plunked down, herethical dilemma still glowing on the screen before her.
Suckingin a sharp breath, she clicked on the folder. An endless list of emails tauntedher. They were from Yamila, dated—wait! The last one was only ten days old, thenext one not much older. Scrolling down, she kept going weeks, months back.So many!
Paigeinched up the list and, settling on a month-old email with several attachments,clicked on it. Her jaw dropped to her chest as she read explicit, intimatedetails of what Yamila had done to someone named Gino, what she wanted to do toBeckett, what she wanted Beckett to do to her. Paige paused on a sharp intakeof air. Yuck! The message degenerated into threats—Yamila would leaksalacious details, even allege rape. “Who are they going to believe?” Yamila’swords mocked. “A big, strong athlete or helpless me?” Vicious phrases like“destroy your career” and “trash your reputation” were peppered betweenpathetic pleas for Beckett to contact her. At the end was a PS: “Remember howit used to be with us, baby. Here’s a reminder.”
Paige’svirtual car crash was now a twenty-vehicle pileup. Unable to look away, she hitone of three attachments. She scrunched her brows at a picture, unsure what shewas seeing. A caption read, “U know u want it.” Then the image registered, andPaige’s jaw dropped beyond her chest to her lap. Yamila, naked on some furrything, legs flung wide, her hands forming a heart shape surrounding her bare, piercedgenitalia. The next picture was as explicit, but what disturbed Paige most wasYamila’s pose: her fingers pointed at her temple in the shape of a gun.
Paigeclosed the JPEGs she never should have opened in the first place and minimizedBeckett’s window. She jolted upright and paced, her stomach in knots. Whydid I look? I can’t un-see it.
Ashower might sluice some of the dirt away, so she retreated to the masterbathroom, stripped, and turned on the hot water full blast while thoughts shotthrough her mind. Yamila was deranged—she had to be—and she wasthreatening Beckett. A question flashed like a winking red stoplight: Whyhadn’t he done anything about her?
Thewalk-in shower was a large space, so large it held a built-in bench, two sprayheads, and no door—just an open entry. Eyes closed, Paige let water run overher as she smoothed her wet hair. The air shifted, and a whisper of coldcaressed her back. She turned toward the opening and gasped.
“Sorry.I didn’t mean to freak you out.” Beckett, fully dressed, broad shouldersfilling the gap, held his hands up in surrender.
“Beck!Where have you been?”
“I’msorry, pixie. Some people needed help, and I couldn’t—”
Drippingwet, the shower running, she went to him and pulled his head down, pressedherself against him, and kissed him with a wild desperation. Whether it wasbecause she was relieved or because she was moved to claim him, mark him ashers, she had little idea, but her need to feel him was visceral, and hereturned her passion touch for touch. As their bodies crashed together,thoughts spiraled in her head—of him with her, of him with Yamila—and she towedhim under the spray with her. He began peeling off wet clothes. She helped himdrag them from his body, kissing, sucking, teasing his bare skin anywhere shecould reach. When his legs were clear of his pants and boxers, she sank to herknees on the hard tile and took him in her mouth.
Hegripped her head, digging his fingers in her hair. “OhmyfuckingGod,” he exhaledin a throaty rush.
Shesucked, licked, swirled, grazed, nipped, kissed, and worshipped every rigidinch of him as groans rolled from deep in his chest. Her man, her Adonis.He pushed into her mouth with gentle thrusts, his fingers twisting, tangling inher hair. She stroked him with her tongue, her hand, and trailed her fingersalong his thigh, over his ass, in his crease.
“Jesus,Jesus, Jesus, what are you doing to me?” he muttered, his words charging herlike jolts of electricity.
Thetile bit into her knees, so she shifted, grasping at his discarded clothes, butbefore she could arrange them into makeshift kneepads,
