13. Willa
13
willa
Panic infiltrates and a sick feeling eclipses me. Slamming the door shut a little harder than necessary, I lean against it, sliding to the floor. I kick my legs out in front of me, breathing heavy.
“Do not vomit. Do not vomit.” I repeat the affirmation over and over out loud, willing the contents of the delicious dinner to stay inside where they belong.
I begin counting, controlling my breathing, clawing out from the wave of destruction attempting to wash me out to sea. Everything blurs for a moment, and when the dust settles, I determine it’s embarrassment driving these emotions.
Not fear.
Not anxiety.
Pure humiliation.
I can’t let Beckett’s sister and niece see me like this. Oh my god, if she only knew my identity.
I about tossed my cookies when she recognized my sweatshirt. And then she professed her love for the books. My books. Now I’m glad I didn’t tell her. And I respect Beckett for keeping the secret as well.
A knock comes on the door. “Willa? They’re gone. I turned off the lights as soon as they left the driveway. It’s safe to come out now.”
What did I do in life to deserve this man? He’s rescued me—literally, saved me from being stranded—he’s fed me way more delicious meals than I’m used to eating in a month, and he doesn’t demand to know my business. Oh, and he’s super accommodating about my hatred of his favorite holiday. Who does that?
“Why are you so kind to me? I’ve done nothing to show you I deserve your kindness.”
“It’s who I am. You don’t owe me anything, and I’ll still be kind to you.”
I believe that to be true. In the short time I’ve known him, he’s proven it several times.
One might even say a plethora.
I laugh at my joke, the action cathartic.
“Can I come in?” he asks from the other side of the door.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I came out?”
“Are you ready?”
“Not really.”
“Then I’m coming in. You might want to move away from the door.”
How he knows this is beyond me. I didn’t lock the door, so when he opens it, it pushes my back, my size no match for his strength.
His chuckle enters before him. “I see this time you ignored my suggestion.”
Still on my butt, I scoot away from the door, swiveling around as he steps inside, shutting the door behind him. It’s odd since we’re alone in the house. The urge to get up and run floats through me, but I tamp it down, curious about what he’s going to say.
“So that’s your sister and your niece.” I get the elephant out of the way. One of them, at least.
“Yep. Told you she was into books. Ironic, much? ”
“Eerie,” I murmur. What are the odds? My publicist would argue high because a lot of kids read the Hidden Clues Club books. Even without two years without a release, the books sell well. I shouldn’t be so surprised to meet fans. Even when I’m incognito.
“Why didn’t she recognize you?” His question is earnest and valid.
With the way social media and technology rule our lives, it should be more difficult to keep my identity a secret. To be fair, I’ve been out of the limelight for the last two years.
“My author photos are old and need to be updated, but it hasn’t been a priority. My hair was a different color when I was younger, and I wear a pair of ‘Evelyn’ glasses in all the photos.”
“What about social media? Author signings? Book tours? Or do you not do those?”
“It’s, um, been a little while for either of those things. And Clem says when I’m Evelyn, even she doesn’t recognize me sometimes.” I lift a shoulder. Instead of continuing this discussion, I change subjects. “What did you tell them? To get them to leave?” I ask nervously, my fingers finding my earlobe. It’s a nervous habit, yet it’s self-soothing, too.
I doubt he’d tell them my distaste for decorations. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to share someone else’s secret.
He shrugs. “I played it off your eyes are sensitive to the lights, so while you’re here, we’re keeping them off. Not even Autumn questioned it.”
“Uh, thanks. I appreciate it. Can’t imagine what they’d say if they knew the truth.”
“First, they wouldn’t believe it. Second,” he pauses, taking a seat on the floor near me. For only having one bathroom in the place, it’s a decent size with plenty of room for us both to sit without being squished together. “Second, they’d interrogate you until the cows came home, wanting to know how it started and why. They’d be relentless, never taking ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ as an answer.” He glances at me, a burning desire encased in his features. He’s asking without asking, like the gentleman he is.
I take Beckett’s hand in mine, desperate to touch him, needing the odd sense of comfort he brings. Callouses dot his palm dwarfing mine, giving him character, telling his story. Even without words, he’s a storyteller.
“If I weren’t here, what would you be doing tonight?”
“Probably this.”
“Sitting on the floor of your bathroom, pondering life?”
“Yep. It’s my Saturday night routine,” he deadpans. The raspy tone has my eyes closing. I could listen to him speak, no matter what he’s saying, for hours and never get bored. He’d make a good audiobook narrator.
I shove my shoulder into his. “No, for real.”
“I might be at my parents’ house. I’ve got the next few days off to prepare for the town’s festivities, so if anyone else needed my help, I’d lend a hand. Otherwise, I’d be home, boring as fuck, watching TV or reading a book, soaking up the last quiet night before chaos reigns. Probably have a fire going, with only the lights of the tree for lighting.”
Guilt worms in at how much I’m ruining for him. I hate myself a little more for not confronting my own fears and demons, for not dealing with the effects of two years ago.
My ears perk up at the “festivities” and “chaos.” As if my body knows something I don’t, my breathing hitches.
“What kind of chaos?”
Beckett rubs his fingers along his chin, his five o’clock shadow more pronounced today than the past two days. Maybe he didn’t shave this morning.
“It’s probably better you don’t know and plan to stay in the cabin after tomorrow. I’ll be out of your hair. You can get some writing done.”
I kinda love how he’s so concerned with my work and making sure I get it done. I almost hate being so untruthful to him .
Our hands are still entwined, and he traces lines and patterns along my palm with his finger. I don’t want him to let go.
From outside the bathroom, my phone rings. I peek at my watch to see my mom’s name.
Beckett drops my hand and stands up. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Wait,” I press, ignoring the phone. I’ll call her back. His back to me, Beckett peers over his shoulder. “The thing we talked about earlier?”
A hint of recognition flares in his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Are we, uh, can it, um, still happen?” I hope he doesn’t hear the desperation. Once he planted the seed, the need for him hasn’t disappeared. It’s dimmed, but not gone entirely.
“Sure thing.”
A wave of relief washes over me. I wasn’t sure where we stood after the grocery store and his family’s visit. I’m glad I didn’t have to beg.
“I’ll clean up dinner and meet you in your room.”
Beckett nods his agreement. “Feel free to have dessert, too.”
“Are you not having any? Wasn’t there mention of cake?”
His eyes rake down me, lingering longer on my groin. “Oh, I am. Can’t wait to discover how you taste, Willa. The cake can wait.” He exits the bathroom, leaving me aroused with one dirty comment.
I linger in the empty room, needing several moments to compose myself after the array of emotions assaulting me.
“Hope you know what you’re getting yourself into,” I address the woman in the mirror.
Beckett disappears outside, and before I start on the dishes, I rinse off in the shower, making sure I’m more presentable for sex. A quick shave of my legs, armpits, and the bikini area to eliminate the jungle they become over the winter .
I zip through the dishes, load the dishwasher, and let the others dry on the drying rack. The pot he cooked the steak in needs some elbow grease, so it takes a little longer.
Beckett returns soon after I finish the last of the dishes. “I’m going to lock up. Do you want anything to drink?” I lift the filled water glass. He nods and grabs a beer from the fridge. “Meet you in my room in a few.”
“K.”
While he locks up, I get comfortable in his room, slipping off my pants and hoodie, leaving me in only a bra and undies. I feel a little awkward, the tiny fluttering in my abdomen the only twinge of nerves.
I definitely thought I’d be more nervous when the time came to get naked with a man again. Somehow Beckett has extinguished my fears without even trying.
Probably because there’s nothing at stake except sex. No strings, no expectations beyond my time here. No deep-seated feelings attached. No questioning what this means. Just two adults coming together to let off some steam. A way to enhance the physical connection between us, test out the chemistry.
A means to an end.
Beckett breaches the doorway with a plate and his beer.
“Oh, what did you bring us?” I inquire with a nod to the plate. He tips it down, revealing one cookie. Setting the dish and beer on his nightstand, he rips the cookie into two halves, extending one to me.
“A treat before. If I’m not too tired after, I’ll make the cake.”
I waste no time devouring the cookie, careful not to get crumbs in his sheets. If he was against food in his bed, he wouldn’t have been the one to bring it in.
“Delicious. Wish I could ask for the recipe to replicate at home.”
“Mom’s probably got some in her freezer. Remind me to grab some before we part ways.”
His use of “part ways” elicits a twinge in my chest, something I have to shut down before it grows out of control. Everything with Beckett is temporary.
The stay, the food, the feelings, the sex.
His cookie eaten, he shucks his T-shirt by grabbing it behind his neck. However, I’m more engrossed in what’s hidden under the shirt.
A V dipping into his waistband.
Washboard abs.
A well-manscaped chest.
Muscular pecs.
It’s evident he takes care of his body, works out to keep a fit shape, but not overly. He’s trim and fit, not bulky like some guys who think more muscles are attractive.
My tongue sneaks out of my mouth, moistening my lips.
I’ve never been with a man who looks like Beckett. Like he stepped off a page in GQ, both with his clothes and without. I’m certain our attraction isn’t based on physical attributes alone, but he is not an eyesore.
I try to walk a few times a week and meet a friend for different gym classes at least two or three times. Some days, those are the only reason I have to leave my house. I’ve never been more thankful she coerces me to join her than I am now. You can’t bounce a quarter off my ass, but I’ve got some definition, and I don’t cringe when looking at my naked body in the mirror.
He shucks his pants, leaving him standing in black boxers. He strides around the bed to the other nightstand, my eyes trained on him, my body contorting to watch his every move. Two dimples stand out on his back, but it’s hard to delineate the shape of his ass. I don’t think I’m drooling, but man, if I am, I’m not even an ounce ashamed.
Beckett Nicholas is one fine specimen.
I blame this complete obsession with his body on the situation I find myself in. I’m not usually into objectifying people’s bodies, male or female, but that’s exactly what I’m doing with Beckett. I’m a proponent of what’s on the inside matters more than the outside, but in Beckett’s defense, I’d say they’re equal.
“Got your fill?”
His words draw me out of my stupor, but the meaning doesn’t process.
“Huh?”
“You’re staring. Like I’m a piece of meat.” His voice isn’t its usual tone, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. His use of “meat” doesn’t go unnoticed by my ears.
“With a body like yours, I can’t imagine everyone doesn’t stare.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. I like your bra. You wear that for me?” Why does that thought light up my insides further?
Forgetting which one I’m wearing, I peek down at the floral embroidery mesh.
My lips tip into a smile. “Would you like it more if I say yes or no?”
He tips his head from side to side, his eyes never leaving my chest. “Honestly, either answer turns me on. Knowing you wore it so I’d see, like you had me in mind when you put it on, is powerful.” He reaches into the drawer next to me, extracting a box of condoms. “But knowing it was hiding underneath your clothes?” The mattress depresses where he kneels next to my legs. “Damn. That’s hot, Willa.”
I give him my skewed truth. “I put it on this morning, before any of this was on the table.” He climbs more on the bed, caging my legs with his knees. “But I kept it on for you. It’s my favorite.”
“Even when no one sees it?”
“Bras are my one indulgence, a treat to myself. Even at home, when I spend all day writing in sweats and don’t leave my house, I wear a fancy bra. A best-kept secret, maybe? I’ve never had anyone ask before, and I’ve never tried to explain it.” It’s something I’ve done for a long time. Elias accepted it as who I was. If he thought it odd, he never said .
Beckett nods, his eyes glued to the bra. “While I admire it, love how it showcases your cleavage, mind if I take it off?”
I sit up, my arms reaching around behind me to unclasp it, but Beckett grunts, halting my movements.
“I asked, politely if you’ll recall, to take it off. I didn’t mention you doing the honors.” There’s a hint of hesitation in his voice, though he makes his motives clear.
“Okay.”
He reaches around, unhooking the bra, allowing the straps to fall to my arms. Gentle fingers trace down my arms, eliciting goose bumps. He removes the lingerie, letting it drop to the floor on the side of the bed, his vision not once leaving my chest. Under his scrutiny, my chest heaves, my skin tingling.
“Beautiful. Gorgeous. Luxurious.”
I can’t contain my giggle. “Interesting list of synonyms.”
He breaks the stare he has on my chest, bringing his gaze to mine. “Exquisite. Magnifique. Shall I keep going?”
His adoration for my breasts shouldn’t be a turn-on, but damn if my pride doesn’t swell. It’s one thing for me to think they’re nice boobs, but to hear him lavish this praise on them? It doesn’t hurt to hear. With no expectations for this, he could have done the minimal foreplay, and I would have been satisfied. Yet the way he’s taking his time, drawing it out, bestowing me with compliments? I could easily fall for him if I let myself get too carried away.
Good thing that’s not happening.
Temporary , I remind myself.
“My pussy’s feeling neglected.” The statement shoots from my mouth like a cannon, no thought into it at all.
He glances down, scooting the blanket out of the way. “Patience,” he croons before planting a kiss on the bow of my undies. “Your turn is coming.”
I didn’t expect him to be so . . . endearing in the bedroom. I expected demands, like the ones he’s been giving all day.
Even in the bedroom, this man is a conundrum.