Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sydney turned off the hairdryer and set it on the dresser with a thunk as her eyes locked on the reflection in the mirror. Beckett stood in the bathroom doorway, his muscular frame clad in a fluffy white towel that clung perilously low on his hips and revealed those two delicious V-lines.
“I don’t know,” she mused, “I think I may rock the whole topless look better than you.” She chewed on her lower lip with blatant intent, unable to stop herself from toying with him for whatever insane reason. “But I’ll admit, you’re giving me a run for my money.”
Beckett set his palms to the doorframe, his muscles going taut with the action, readying himself to join her in the room. Or trying to hold himself back. “Now, you see . . . no matter what I say next is bound to get me in trouble.”
She arched a curious brow and leaned her hip against the dresser. “Oh really?” Go for it. Get yourself in trouble , was on the tip of her tongue, dying to slip free.
After the day they’d had, she needed to offset the drama with a little humor. Or is this flirting?
“You definitely win in that department.” His voice lowered an octave while he fixed her with a smoldering gaze. So, he’d decided to go for the ballsy answer, admitting he’d enjoyed seeing her topless twice that day.
“Now that we’ve cleared that up,” she said with a smile, “why are you parading around in only a towel?”
And why did it have her heart hammering? Sure, she worked with a group of special operators who were ripped enough to belong on a book cover, but she’d never found herself gawking when they removed their shirts. There was something about Beckett though. His incredible physique gave an entirely new meaning to the term “dad bod,” and she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“Left my suitcase out here.” With a lift of his chin, he looked toward his luggage sitting by the main door.
Instead of following his gaze, Sydney’s eyes journeyed from the smattering of chest hair on his golden-tan body over to the vein in his left arm that cut down his bicep.
“Oh.” The word was little more than a puff of air as her attention fell to where she swore his dick had just twitched behind that towel, certain he was working up to an impressive hard-on. So . . . he hadn’t taken care of himself in the shower. What the hell, Sydney? Of course, he didn’t jerk off in your shower. “Would you like me to get your bag for you? Wouldn’t want to risk that towel falling off,” she teased while going for his duffel bag.
Beckett remained in place, hands still glued to the interior doorframe of the en suite.
“Thank you,” he muttered through clenched teeth when she dropped the bag just outside the bathroom.
My goodness, Sheriff, what’s got you all worked up? Was it the book? Did it make you as horny as the other one made me last night? But unlike earlier, when she’d caught him absorbed in the romance novel, he wasn’t trying to hide his arousal behind a book. Well, she was pretty sure that was what he’d been doing.
“Do you need help putting your clothes on too? Did you sustain an injury during our jaunt through the jungle I don’t know about?”
A sexy laugh rumbled from his chest and hit her in the solar plexus. “We define jaunt a little differently where I’m from.” His lips tipped into an easy smile that further knocked her off guard as he slid his palms up the doorframe, then pushed away. “In my opinion, that excursion was less than pleasurable.” That deep, husky tone of his was as spine-tingling as his laugh.
Taking a step forward, he stopped and slowly slid his gaze over her body before reaching down for his bag and brazenly tossing her a wink as he did so. Another surprise. Wow, this man.
Then just like that, Beckett stood, retreated to the bathroom, and shut the door before she was able to utter a word in response.
What the hell is wrong with me? She spun away and tried to get a handle on her emotions, which was proving to be difficult around him.
Men, no matter how good-looking, never rendered her speechless.
The sight of shirtless men never caused her panties to become soaked.
And good-looking, shirtless men, even those sporting six-pack abs, sure as hell never caused romance-novel-level butterflies to take flight in her stomach with a mere wink.
Whiskey-tango-foxtrot. Sydney unplugged the hairdryer, deciding to let the rest of her hair air dry. She needed to pack up her stuff so they could get a move on as soon as Beckett was clothed.
She grabbed the cowboy-sheriff romance book from her beach bag and tossed it into her luggage along with the other books from the nightstand. Why on earth had she packed all the ones Savanna had given her? No clue. Even if Beckett and Oliver hadn’t crashed her vacation that morning, she’d never have had time to read them all.
Sydney huffed out an exasperated breath after she finished packing, then zipped her suitcase and set it next to Beckett’s boots by the door.
As she waited for the sheriff to get dressed, her attention paused on her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. The skin along her cleavage had faded from angry red to pink—the fire ant bites almost forgotten. But what tugged at her mind from their time in that cenote was what Beckett had shared. After learning what Cora had put him through, Sydney realized he had as many layers as she did. Maybe more.
Beckett emerged from the bathroom wearing a fresh pair of faded jeans and a plain white tee. His dark hair, shorter on the sides than the top, was still wet but slicked back as if he’d combed it with his fingers. And the touch of silver at his temples gave him a distinguished look she found incredibly hot.
Even the frown directed at his boots, soaking wet from their “jaunt” in the jungle, was sexy. Whenever she heard that word in the future, she’d always think of Beckett with a smile.
“You hate wet boots as much as every operator I know, huh?”
“I do.” Beckett crouched and searched his bag, pulling out a pair of wide-strapped black flip-flops. “Not my usual style of footwear, but I bought them at the airport in Cancun as if I somehow knew I’d need them.”
“Fate.” She chuckled as he tucked his boots into his bag.
“I’m beginning to think so.” Beckett’s serious tone hinted that his comment wasn’t just about his footwear.
Sydney cleared her throat, trying to loosen the odd swirl of emotions that had appeared the moment she set eyes on him at the beach that morning, and had thrown her for a loop ever since. “We should go.”
Beckett gestured toward the door and snatched all the bags, except for her purse.
Deciding not to be stubborn and protest, she quietly retrieved her phone and followed him from the room.
Tossing one last look at the framed photo of the cenote over the bed, she wondered if Mya was right when she declared words held power.
Sydney had gone from wishing she could swim in the underground river that morning to jumping right into one in the afternoon. Yeah, talk about fate. Something along those lines, she supposed.
She closed the door behind her, shutting out the rest of her thoughts along with it, and they silently made their way to the hotel entrance.
Mya was sitting shotgun in a blacked-out Chevy Suburban, and Oliver stood with his back resting against the vehicle waiting for them. “Finally,” he said while checking his watch.
They were at the most five minutes late. Worth it for the showers and change of clothes. Mya and Oliver had clearly decided to wait, given they were still in the same outfits from before.
Oliver opened the side door for Sydney to climb in while Beckett stowed the bags in the trunk, and she found herself in the middle between the two guys. Not the bucket-type seats she preferred, so they were sandwiched together.
“Let’s roll.” The driver pulled away from the hotel, taking a turn a bit sharply when exiting, which knocked her into Beckett, and Heaven help her, her palm landed on his crotch.
Sydney quickly yanked her hand back and mumbled an apology. As she righted herself in the seat, she caught Oliver smirking. Jerk.
“You good back there?” Mya twisted to look back as Sydney tugged at the thin material of her dress, trying to cover a bit more of her thighs.
“Great,” Sydney lied with a tight smile, shifting side to side to try and get comfortable between the muscular arms pinning her in place.
Any more bumps in the road, and she’d wind up flashing everyone her panties, so she lifted her purse from where it was wedged between her feet on the floorboard and set it atop her thighs.
Within a second of doing so, her ex’s name popped onto the screen of her Apple watch. She was tempted not to answer at all. She’d spoken to both Seth and Levi before she’d gone to the bar earlier to let them know she was extending her stay. But what if something’s wrong? What if something happened to Levi?
Sydney fished her phone from her bag, accidentally elbowing Beckett in the process, and brought it to her ear. After a quick “sorry” to Beckett, she answered, “Seth?”
Mya looked back at her once again, alarm in her eyes. Her thoughts must’ve settled on the same idea that something was wrong for him to be calling. He never called unless there was a problem.
“We need to talk,” Seth cut straight to the point.
Great. He was using his “Major” voice. His authoritative military tone. No bullshit, just the facts, ma’am. She hated when he talked to her like she was one of his officers. They’d never served in the Army together, but he’d always treated her like he was her commanding officer during their marriage. “Bad timing,” she responded, focusing her attention out the front window of the SUV.
More bumps in the road and another sharp turn jostled her against Oliver this time. The middle seat was hell.
“You need to hear this from me before Levi tells you,” Seth announced as the driver hit a pothole. The phone tumbled from her lap, landed on the floor, and somehow activated the speakerphone. Shit.
“Levi confessed he saw Alice and me together, so I decided to tell him the truth,” Seth rattled on. Her heart climbed into her throat as she scrambled to find her phone on the floor, almost bumping heads with Beckett, who dove in to assist in the search.
“Hold on, let me take you off speaker,” she quickly called out, hoping he’d realize others were listening and keep his mouth shut for a damn minute. Whatever bomb he was about to drop on her . . . well, she didn’t want everyone else in the vehicle hearing.
“Alice and I are getting married,” Seth revealed just as Beckett set the phone in her palm.