Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Beckett stopped in his tracks, momentarily stunned by Sydney’s rather offhanded comment, and his pulse skyrocketed in anticipation of what she might say next.
A marriage proposal? And while nearly two decades had passed, it was pretty damn clear Gray was still hung up on her. Who’d blame the guy?
“I turned him down,” Sydney clarified. “Back then, Gray knew me as Sydney Bowman. I didn’t want anyone at West Point knowing about my family.” She wet her lips and dropped her eyes to the skirt of her dress. “He had no idea.”
He understood withholding the truth from her classmates, he supposed. But from a guy she dated? Why not come clean? It wasn’t his place to ask her, though, so he kicked at a stone with the toe of his loafer and tried to wrap his head around what this new information meant. What would he do with it?
“Gray still has feelings for you,” he found himself admitting aloud. “I saw how he looked at you at Savanna and Griffin’s wedding last month.” Like he’d wanted to rip her dress off and devour her—same as Beckett. But until Oliver had spilled the news, he sure as hell hadn’t known she and Gray had a history. “And I know what you said, but?—”
“But what?”
He returned his attention to her, pausing at her luscious lips for a moment before journeying up to her bold green gaze.
He’d nearly kissed her back in the bungalow before Gray had called. But we didn’t go through with it, which means we’re on the same page. He shouldn’t worry about her past or who she’d once shared a bed with. Nor who she might share a bed with tomorrow or the next day.
So, then, why’d it feel as though they were both standing there wanting to do a lot more than just breathe in the same air?
“Nothing.” He opened a palm, an offer to continue walking, but she remained in place. Quietly studying him as if waiting for him to expand on whatever thoughts he’d chosen not to share.
No, sweetheart, you don’t want to hear them. Because they all center around you in my bed, and that’s a place we sure as hell can’t be.
“Hey, you two coming?” Oliver hollered, and Beckett forced a smile and nodded.
“Yes,” Sydney returned and began moving. Beckett gave her a head start, sensing they needed some space to process whatever awkward moment passed between them.
He trailed behind her, hating the knot forming in his throat and the tight fist-like feeling in his chest. Upon reaching the courtyard, he found Mya and Oliver off to the side of the pool, the skirt of Mya’s dress billowing around her as she twirled in a circle and took in the majestic setting.
Maybe years ago, Beckett might have fallen under the romantic spell of this place, but romance had been dead for him for a long damn time.
He swung his focus to Sydney, in his mind a much more beautiful sight than the tropical flowers surrounding the courtyard and pool.
Standing at the head of a long, rectangular table, she shook the hand of a woman Beckett assumed was Martín’s wife, Valentina. He slowly crossed the paver stones to greet their hosts. “ Hola ,” he said as he reached to take Valentina’s offered hand.
“Nice to meet you,” she responded. “Not under these circumstances, of course.” After firmly shaking Beckett’s hand, she motioned toward Sydney, who now stood at Beckett’s side. “Your wife here was just telling us that?—”
“We’re not married,” Beckett and Sydney replied simultaneously, and he peered at her, finding a touch of red inching up the column of her throat. A nervous smile played across her lips before she refocused on their hosts.
Shy? Really? Hmm.
“Ah, that’s right.” Valentina clapped her hands together in front of her face. “How could I forget? My husband already told me that.” She reminded Beckett of a younger version of his mother. Already playing matchmaker two seconds into the conversation.
And that reminded him . . .
His mom had flown to LA the day McKenna was born and had disliked Cora from the moment she met her. Honestly, if his mom hadn’t been by his side when Cora took off, he probably wouldn’t have survived it. He’d been young then, young for a detective at least.
And I’ll be forty-two in June. Damn.
“You two would make beautiful babies, though, if you don’t mind me saying,” Valentina added when neither Sydney nor Beckett had spoken.
“Forgive my wife. She watches too many bachelor reality shows.” Martín came up behind Valentina, wrapped his palms over her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “I think she secretly wants to leave me for a younger man, and all the men in those shows are in their twenties.” He laughed, obviously trying to cut through any awkwardness his wife’s comment had created.
“I would never leave him, and he knows that.” Valentina looked over her shoulder at Martín and patted his hand. “But he’s always busy saving the world.” She opened her palms to the sky now and shrugged. “I get bored, what can I say? I have to occupy my time somehow.”
“Mmhmm. With young bachelors, eh?” Martín teased while motioning toward the long table, waving over to Oliver and Mya.
Beckett pulled out a chair for Sydney, which seemed to give her pause. She tossed an unsure look his way, squinting her eyes a little as she studied him.
“This isn’t chivalry,” he said, pitching his voice low enough for her ears only. “Just manners.”
“Thank you,” she said, allowing him to scoot her chair in farther.
He cleared his throat while rounding the table to sit opposite Sydney, still feeling a bit rattled by Gray’s proposal to her years ago.
“Sorry for the circumstances once again, but we’re so happy to have guests wearing nice clothes to dinner instead of holstered weapons.” Valentina was blunt, and yup, she’d fit in just fine back home at his family’s ranch. “Well, I assume you’re not carrying a weapon beneath your clothes tonight, are you?” Her gaze met Beckett’s from where she sat two seats away from Sydney.
“No, ma’am.” He graciously smiled, and they all took turns thanking them again for their hospitality.
“Ah, here’s the food,” Martín beamed as several members of his staff approached carrying large trays.
Beckett’s stomach growled in appreciation at the sight of the dishes placed down the center of the table. Fruit and cheese platters. Beef and pork dishes. Small tapas. A beautiful array of local cuisine. “Thank you for all of this.”
Martín gestured to the food. “ Buen provecho. Dig in.”
Oliver didn’t hesitate and eagerly began piling up his plate.
“You can always get seconds. You know that, right?” Mya jabbed, but Beckett was too preoccupied with Sydney to inspect Oliver’s leaning tower of tapas.
Her plate was empty, eyes zeroed in on the cherries her hand hovered over.
Cherries? He thought back to the hotel when she’d told him she’d swapped her cherry-scented perfume for a different one. What was the story there?
She blinked as if emerging from a daze, snatched some grapes and cheese, then busied herself with adding a little of everything to her plate. A woman with an appetite was his kind of girl.
“Not hungry?” she asked, licking her lips as she peered at Beckett’s empty plate and picked up her fork. Oh, he was hungry alright, but not for food.
“Starving,” he promised, hoping the desire that’d reared up again wasn’t too obvious as she popped a grape into her mouth.
Yeah, he wanted to kiss those perfect lips.
No, he needed to kiss her.
Every part of her.
He wanted to lay her out on the table and fucking devour her. Feast on every inch of that perfectly silky skin before sliding between her legs and?—
“You may not be married, but you two are lovers, no?”
And just like that, Valentina’s question shocked him back to the fact he and Sydney weren’t alone. And he’d been living in an If things were different alternate reality in his head.
But things weren’t different. He was still a small-town sheriff living in Alabama, a single dad raising his daughter while managing a cargo hold’s worth of baggage. And he was in Mexico because of said baggage.
“I’m sorry, what?” He set the black linen napkin on his lap and placed his hand on top of it, trying to will his dick down, then focused on Valentina.
Valentina lifted a brow. “If you don’t mind me speaking so candidly?”
“She will anyway.” Martín smiled and reached for a bottle of wine. “Apologies in advance.”
“Well,” Valentina began despite the fact neither he nor Sydney had acquiesced. She accepted a glass of wine from her husband before continuing, “I know passion when I see it. You look at that woman the way my husband looks at me. Like you want to . . . well, you know.”
“Like I said, apologies.” Martín chuckled as Beckett chanced a look at Sydney.
He had no clue what to say, and Sydney’s silence suggested she was in the same boat, so he reached for his bottled water and gulped a few heavy swallows.
“How about we eat, mi amor ? And leave them alone about their personal lives,” Martín suggested.
“What? Talk about the cartel instead?” Valentina sighed. “He is obsessed with them. In taking them down, I should say. He’s also not allowed to work on Sundays—God’s day of rest. But I allowed him to make an exception when we learned of the situation. Plus, Carter Dominick called, and when that man calls . . .”
“You’ve met Carter?” Oliver asked before taking a bite of food, and Beckett finally worked his heart rate down to normal levels to get some food on his plate as well.
“ Claro que sí . Carter is a unique man. He reminds me a bit of my husband. A wild card and not much of a rule follower.” Valentina smiled before taking a sip of her wine.
“Carter is that,” Oliver remarked.
The bottle of red made its way down the table, and Beckett decided he’d have a small pour. Maybe it’d help ease his nerves. Jesse and Ivy were safe for now, so he felt a little less guilty about enjoying a nice meal. Plus, Martín saved their asses earlier, and he told himself it’d be disrespectful to decline their generosity.
“And you all work with Carter?” Martín sliced his pork chop with a sharp blade. The meat was drizzled in a dark sauce, and it was calling Beckett’s name, so he finally added a serving to his own plate.
“Just the two of us.” Oliver motioned to Sydney before focusing on Mya across from him. “She may join our team as well.”
“Ah, I see.” Martín fixed his attention on Beckett as if waiting to hear the reason he’d accompanied the others.
Valentina set her eyes on Beckett as well when he remained silent. The woman was as curious as Mya. “I’m, well, here for . . .”
“He’s helping us track the cartel,” Sydney spoke up. “He has some inside sources.”
Beckett’s shoulders fell at her words, and he shot her a small nod of thanks for having his back.
Thankfully, Martín changed the subject and began talking about his ancestors and the history of the Mayan people.
Twenty or so minutes later, music began to pour from the speakers positioned around the courtyard area, and Valentina stood and twirled her finger in the air. “Time to dance. I love to salsa, but my husband doesn’t like the exchanging-partners aspect of that dance. He’s a bit possessive that way. Perhaps tonight we just dance however our bodies feel like it?”
“I’m not really up for dancing.” Oliver patted his stomach as if being full was why he had no interest in dancing. Doubtful.
“It will help you rest later,” Valentina insisted while taking her husband’s hand. “Dancing frees your mind so you can think better tomorrow when it’s a new day. Every tomorrow is a chance for new beginnings, sí ?”
New beginnings? God, he’d give anything for that. But he was still haunted by his past. By Cora and the damage she’d left in her wake.
“Maybe one or two dances, then?” Mya politely smiled at Valentina. “I don’t need a partner.”
“Oh, don’t be silly.” Valentina shook her head and began looking around the courtyard. “There are plenty of men here that would love nothing more than to help you free your mind if you’d prefer not to mix business with pleasure by dancing with Oliver,” she added.
“No, that won’t be necessary.” Oliver was at Mya’s side before she could object. Mya may have driven him nuts, but it seemed he didn’t want her driving any other man crazy either.
“That’s what I thought.” Valentina winked. “And now, you two?”
“Us?” Sydney pointed at her chest as she slowly rose from the table, leaving Beckett the last to stand. “As in us-us?” she added while tipping her chin in his direction.
“Prove me wrong.” Valentina smiled brightly. “As Sasha Azevedo said, ‘ To dance is to be in tune with the steps of life. ’ If you two are not in sync,” she added with a shrug, “then perhaps you really have no chemistry.”
Chemistry isn’t our problem. That fact, that reality was a kick in the nuts because he’d never wanted a woman this badly in his life. He’d never felt anything so visceral, so raw and downright primal before. The savage need to gather Sydney in his arms . . . and at a time like this? What the hell was happening to him?
Pueblo Mágico, he recalled the man’s words from the bar before they’d been shot at earlier. It’s just a magical place , he rationalized. No other explanation.
When his eyes locked with Sydney’s again, he called bullshit on himself. It wasn’t merely the magic of Mexico. It’s her.
He circled the table and offered Sydney his hand, deciding to let her choose whether she wanted to dance. She accepted his palm without hesitation, and her warm skin against his already hot flesh quickened the beats of his heart.
They silently walked toward the open area at the side of the dining table where Mya and Oliver were already dancing.
He was more of a country, jazz, or blues fan, but when he set his hands on Sydney’s hips, he realized they could be in complete silence, and he wouldn’t notice. He’d still move with her.
“You good?” he asked as she draped her forearms over his shoulders, inching closer.
“I think so.” She wet her lips, and the heat glowing in her green eyes obliterated all rational thought.
“Jesus.” The word slipped free as he pulled her tighter against him.
“I’m Sydney, actually,” she whispered against his ear, lingering for a moment before gently gliding her cheek against his to meet his gaze once again.
Unsure of what to say—because every ounce of blood in his body was on a journey south—he slid his hands around her back and eased them into a slow, sensual dance. On instinct, he bent his knees and pulled her closer so when she swiveled her hips, her sex rubbed against his. It was torture. Sweet, hot torture.
Her hands slipped from his shoulders to his biceps, her short nails digging into him as she arched back and tipped her head heavenward to peer at the starry sky.
Beckett took the opportunity to skate one palm along the smooth column of her throat down the center of her body while supporting her lower back with his other.
She clutched his biceps for support when she shifted upright, staring at him breathlessly. They stayed like that for one quiet moment, both locked in place, and he did his best not to kiss her right there in front of everyone.
She finally began moving again, and they did a piss-poor job of proving Valentina wrong.
Sydney gathered the fabric of her skirt in one hand, and he couldn’t stop himself from hooking her leg and pinning her knee to his waist, drawing her body even tighter against his. He kept hold of her back as she dipped, and he stared at her tits that strained against the dress in the process.
He had no idea how long they danced, but at some point, the music stopped, and they were both breathless and sweaty.
Without letting go of Sydney, he swiveled his gaze to find Valentina at his side, an amused expression on her face. Oliver and Mya were gone. To bed? With each other? He doubted that.
“I would say you two found dance partners in each other. You dance beautifully together,” Valentina commented, then chewed on her lip a little as if she were watching a reality show come to life in front of her. “It’s getting late. Maybe you two get some sleep, sí ? Your friends left a few minutes ago, not that you noticed.”
He released his hold on Sydney as he replied, “Thank you for dinner and your hospitality.”
“Yes, thank you,” Sydney said, her voice strained.
Valentina simply winked, set a hand on his shoulder, and patted twice before leaning in and whispering, “She’s special. I can tell. Don’t lose her.”
“What’d she say to you?” Sydney asked once Valentina and her husband left them alone in the courtyard.
Beckett faced her. “Nothing you don’t already know.”
Sydney’s cheeks were flushed, and she swiped a hand over her collarbone, damp with sweat. “How long were we dancing?”
“I have no clue.” He stole a look at the dinner table, finding it already cleared. He really had been lost to everything and everyone around them while they’d danced.
And he sure as hell had never danced like that before.
“Shall we?” He opened his palm, gesturing toward the path.
They walked the trail in silence, no small talk. Or heavy talk.
But his thoughts were racing. Body still on edge with need.
When they reached her small porch, he followed her to the door. Just say goodnight and go.
Sydney opened her door, then turned around, keeping the door propped open with her back. “So.”
“So.” He smiled and pocketed his hands, worried he’d reach for her, and he had no excuse to touch her again. No music. No Valentina pushing them to check if they were in sync.
“Tonight was unexpected.” Her soft, sweet tone did nothing to stamp out the burning lust coursing through his veins.
“I’d say today, overall, has been . . . well, it’s been unique.”
She angled her head, eyes journeying over his chest. “You’re hot.”
He chuckled. “Am I?” But he knew she was referring to his linen shirt clinging to his frame from sweat. “I need another shower before I sleep, but I’m worried about Cha Cha.”
“Cha Cha?” Her beautiful smile had his heartbeat pounding harder and harder.
He removed a hand from his pocket to point to the trees. “He’s the little spider monkey I named earlier, and he was creeping on me through the window.”
“And you named him Cha Cha?”
“That’s the sound he makes with his teeth.” He shrugged. “Anyways, there’s no roof over the shower, so I get the feeling Cha Cha will be watching me. Not a fan of that idea.”
Sydney laughed and folded her arms as if she were chilly, which wasn’t possible, but . . . “There goes my shower.” She captured her lower lip between her teeth for a second, and realizing what she’d done, quickly freed it. “Goodnight, then.”
She expelled a deep, heavy breath and started to turn. Before thinking twice, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and circled her wrist, drawing her back around.
Her gaze fell to where he held her just before he gently pulled her against him, and her door clicked closed.
“I’m going to kiss you now.” His tone was harsher than he’d meant, his body driven by insane need.
“Telling me so I don’t kick you in the balls?”
“Mmhmm.” He released her wrist, captured her cheeks between his palms, and slowly drew himself closer to her.
“Okay, then.” And at that, he guided his mouth to hers.
They shared a breath as her lips parted and she offered her tongue, and fuck, he took it.
Her hands went to his chest before sliding around to the back of his neck, and he deepened the kiss even more.
Every part of him was on fire, their tongues dancing as erotically as their bodies had moved out in that courtyard.
He broke free from their kiss to trail his lips to the shell of her ear, sliding a hand down to cup her breast at the same time. She gasped as he gently rolled her beaded nipple between his fingers, and fuck if that sound didn’t go straight to his dick.
“More,” she pleaded, grinding against his painfully hard erection.
“Not yet,” he admonished, nipping at her earlobe, unable to hold back the drops of precum as she moaned in pleasure.
He silenced her with his mouth, kissing her fervently again, and she walked backward, hitting the door.
Breathing hard, he let go of her breast and set both palms on the doorframe, resting his forehead against hers.
“Sydney,” he whispered. “We should?—”
“I know,” she cried in return. “We shouldn’t,” she added in a defeated voice. “I know.”
That was not where he was going to go with his sentence. But he channeled his control and gathered his strength so he could pull away from her. If she wanted to stop, then so be it.
He tenderly kissed her mouth one more time before pushing away from the doorframe.
She was panting a little, and so was he.
He needed to corral the animal inside him. Walk away. Go. “Goodnight, Sydney,” he said in a gravelly voice.
“I wish . . .” She shut her eyes.
He tipped his head, waiting for her to finish.
When she remained quiet, he forced himself to leave, knowing he had a date with his dick in that outdoor shower.
Damn, did he wish things were different.