48. Eloise
48
ELOISE
By the time we pulled into the hotel parking lot in the next town, I was running on fumes—physically, emotionally, mentally. Beau parked first, and I slid into the spot beside him. We left my car there, tucked safely under the dim light of a streetlamp, and climbed into his Hellcat.
We grabbed a pizza and cruised around town until we found this cute little grassy park surrounded by wheat fields. Twenty minutes and an empty pizza box later, we sit in comfortable silence.
The breeze blows in through the open windows of Beau’s Hellcat, cool and refreshing against my skin after the heat of the day. It carries the sweet scent of the surrounding wheat fields, mingling with the lingering aroma of pizza inside the car. The tall stalks of wheat sway gently in the evening breeze, a mesmerizing dance of silvery gold in the bright moonlight.
Soft music plays from the speakers, a soothing melody that seems to blend seamlessly with the tranquil atmosphere. Beau’s arm rests along the back of the seats, his fingers idly playing with a strand of my hair.
For the first time since the race, I feel like I can breathe.
“You scared the shit out of me tonight, Peach,” Beau murmurs, his voice rough with emotion.
I tilt my head to look up at him, my heart clenching at the lingering fear in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, reaching up to brush my fingers along his jaw. His stubble prickles against my fingertips.
He captures my fingers and places a soft kiss on them. “What happened in there?”
“I don’t really know. It felt like I was dropped in the middle of a cat-and-mouse game. Like I was being chased. Someone was behind me, and then a Camaro came out of literally nowhere.” I shake my head, cutting myself off.
His thumb brushes over the tops of my fingers, his touch comforting and grounding.
I let my gaze roam over his face, lingering in the bite of tension between his brows. “The Camaro was going to T-bone me if I didn’t swerve out of the way. I knew I wouldn’t clear the tree. There just wasn’t enough room.”
“So you hit the tree to escape being t-boned,” he murmurs, his eyes growing dark. “I should’ve fucking killed Wallis.”
A low laugh escapes me before I can swallow it down. “I think you did enough.”
He drops my hand and cradles my face in his hand. His fingertips ghost over the small bump on the side of my forehead, where I hit my head on the window and blacked out for a second.
Blacking out was scarier than facing down two cars. But I don’t want to tell him that. I don’t want to dwell on the bad stuff, not when our time together already feels limited.
“He hurt you, Peach. I couldn’t let it stand.” He touches me with a gentleness that makes my heart ache. “Does it hurt?” he murmurs, his thumb barely skimming the skin.
“Not too bad,” I say, my voice wavering.
He leans closer, his blue eyes filled with something so raw and tender it nearly undoes me.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, my hand finding his on instinct.
“I’ll have someone fix your car,” he says softly, his fingers curling around mine.
I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I can handle it, Beau. I have a friend who works in a garage.”
He tenses, his mouth slipping into a frown. “Nate Thomas?”
“Yeah, do you know him?”
His gaze narrows on me a little. “Is there something I need to know about you and him?”
A soft laugh escapes me as I take in Beau's furrowed brow and the possessive glint in his eyes. It's a little amusing, seeing this powerful, confident man getting jealous over my friendship with Nate.
I lean in, my fingers finding the front of his t-shirt and toying with the soft fabric. “Beau Carter, are you jealous?” I tease, my voice lilting with amusement.
His jaw ticks, but there’s a playful gleam in his eyes. “Should I be?”
I turn in my seat to face him fully, my knee brushing against his thigh. “Nate and I have been friends since we were kids. He’s like a brother to me.”
“I doubt he feels the same way.”
I let my fingers trail up his chest, relishing the feel of hard muscle beneath soft cotton. “You have nothing to worry about,” I murmur, holding his gaze. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Something flashes in Beau’s eyes, hot and intense. His hand finds my hip, his touch searing through the fabric of my dress. “Good,” he rumbles, his voice low and rough. “Because you’re fucking mine, Eloise Hawthorne.”
My breath hitches at the promise in his words, the unmistakable claim. I’ve never wanted to belong to anyone before, but with Beau, it feels right. Natural. Like puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.
I lean in closer, my lips a hairsbreadth from his. “Show me,” I whisper, my voice husky with need.
Beau’s eyes flash, dark and hungry. In one fluid motion, he hauls me into his lap, his hands gripping my hips possessively. I straddle his thighs, my dress riding up as I settle against him. Beau’s hands skim up my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. One hand tangles in my hair, angling my head just right as his lips find mine in a searing kiss.
I melt into him, my fingers fisting in his shirt as I lose myself in the all-consuming heat of his mouth, his touch. His tongue sweeps along the seam of my lips, demanding entrance that I grant without hesitation. He explores me with a thoroughness that has me moaning into his mouth.
But even as I lose myself in his kiss, I feel the constraint of the Hellcat’s interior. The gearshift digs into my hip, the steering wheel pressing against my back. It’s not enough, this small space. I need more. More room, more of him.
As if reading my mind, Beau tears his mouth from mine, both of us breathing heavy.
“Do you trust me, Peach?”
“Yes,” I answer, without hesitation.
He opens his door, and with one hand around my lower back, he steps out of his car. He closes the door with his boot and stalks to the front of the Hellcat.
Beau sets me down on the smooth, cool surface of the Hellcat’s hood, his movements gentle yet purposeful. The metal warms quickly beneath my bare thighs, the engine’s residual heat seeping through the thin fabric of my dress.
He steps between my parted knees, his hands skimming up my legs to rest on my hips. His touch is electric, igniting sparks beneath my skin that flare and dance through my veins. I lean into him, drawn by an invisible tether, a gravitational pull I couldn't resist even if I wanted to.
“It’s just you and me and the stars, baby,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead to mine.
“You and me and the stars,” I repeat in a whisper, tilting my head and capturing his lips.
It’s a soft exploration, a hushed reverence in the way he slides my straps of my sundress over my shoulders.
Beau’s fingers dance along my skin as he slowly slides the straps of my sundress down my shoulders. The fabric whispers against my heated flesh, the cool night air kissing the newly exposed skin and raising goosebumps in its wake.
His touch is reverent as he traces the slopes and valleys of my body. Each brush of his fingertips ignites sparks beneath my skin, desire unfurling deep in my core. I arch into him, my own hands slipping underneath his tee and mapping the hard planes of his chest, the corded muscles of his arms.
We move slowly, without any of the usual urgency fueling our movements. This time feels . . . different.
It feels transformative. Profound. Like we’re standing on the edge of an endless cavern, the stars above bearing witness to our choice to jump off of it together. To fall into the dark abyss with one another.
His touch isn’t hurried or possessive; it’s reverent, like he’s memorizing me, mapping every inch with a quiet kind of awe. There’s something eternal about this moment, as if the world has paused just for us, holding its breath to see what we’ll become. His hands trace my edges, not to claim me, but to remind me that I’m whole.
That we’re whole.