Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
SKYLA
I ’m already exhausted, but tonight’s going so well. Everyone seems to be having fun. I know we’ll bring in a lot of money for the foundation, and that’s the most important thing.
I’ve just moved away from a woman whose name I can’t remember when, suddenly, someone’s hand slips across my lower back, caressing me.
Oh God. No. It can’t be.
Ice-cold fear spears through my body.
Before I can fully turn, lips are pressed to the shell of my ear.
“So good to see you, my beautiful, tiny dancer.” He kisses me— fecking kisses me!— and then he’s off, moving through the crowd.
I can’t breathe.
My heart kicks up as I press my lips together, searching the crowd, and then I see him.
Beckett.
His face is murderous as he makes his way through the packed room to me. My feet won’t move. My body won’t move.
But I don’t have to because then, Beck’s here, and his warm hands frame my face as a sob tears from my throat.
“What is it, baby?” He presses his lips to my forehead and then stares me in the eyes. “What happened?”
“He’s here.” Is that rough whisper my voice?
“Who is?” That’s Connor’s voice, but I can’t tear my gaze away from Beckett’s eyes.
“L-The Arsehole.”
Beckett’s grip tightens on me.
“He touched me.” I lick my lips. “And said it was good to see me. Called me tiny dancer. I fecking hate that name.”
“We need to get out of here,” Beck says to Connor, who’s already nodding and motioning to someone.
“I can stay.” I shake my head and take a breath. “Let me collect myself.”
“No, we’re leaving,” Beckett insists. “Connor?”
“Sir, what’s going on?” Miller joins us. He takes one look at me, and his face goes stony.
“Get us back to the hotel,” Beckett says. “And find the fucker who keeps terrorizing my girl so I can have a word with him.”
“Beck.”
“Follow me,” Miller says, and he’s already speaking into his wrist, the way you see in movies. I don’t know why, but that makes me laugh.
“She’s going into shock.” I think that’s Connor’s voice.
“My handbag.”
“I’ve got your bloody handbag,” Connor says. His voice is so growly when he’s angry. “And I’ll handle everything here.”
My skin is crawling, and I shiver. Oh God, he had his bloody hands on me. His mouth. I wish I was numb. I wish this creepy sensation would go the bloody hell away.
“Beck.” I can’t stop saying his name.
“Can you walk?” Beckett asks me as his thumbs move over my cheeks, catching tears that I don’t want anyone else to see.
“Okay.”
“I will carry you out of here if I have to,” Beck says in a low voice, leaning in to press his cheek against my own, “but I don’t want to bring any more attention to this. Can you walk out of this room, Irish?”
I nod, but he grips more tightly.
“Skyla. Can you walk?”
“Yes. I can walk.”
He nods, seemingly satisfied, and takes my hand so firmly in his, I don’t think anything could tear him away from me.
And that’s exactly what I want. To be with him, right next to him, from now on. I wonder if he’d let me just milk the cows with him all day, every day?
That makes me want to laugh again, so I press my lips together and nod at people as we make our way through the crowded ballroom toward a back exit.
Miller leads us to a waiting black SUV and opens the back door for us.
“I’m sorry, miss,” he says, and I stop to look into his eyes.
He’s so … angry.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it fucking is,” Miller growls by my ear. “It won’t happen again.”
Beck helps me get into the back seat. Since this dress is so tight, I can’t lift my leg high enough to boost myself into the vehicle. Then he’s right next to me, and we’re riding to the hotel. I’m shaking so hard, my teeth chatter, and Beckett slides over so he can hold on to me.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers as I shake.
We’re quiet as a security guard I don’t know drives us, giving status updates into his radio.
“Pulling into the hotel,” he says, but he doesn’t stop at the front entrance.
He takes us into a parking garage and escorts us to a private elevator that leads us to the suite level where we’re staying.
“I’ll be right outside this door,” he says with a nod as Beckett gets us inside.
“My dog.” I turn back to the security guard. “Riley’s with Sally at the end of the hall. Can you get him for me?”
“Give us about thirty,” Beckett adds.
Security nods and closes the door, and Beckett pulls me against him, wrapping his arms so tightly around me, but I wiggle away, making him scowl.
“Not yet. I need a shower.” I’m shaking my head as I stomp for the bathroom, trying to will my body to stop the bloody shaking. “My skin is crawling. He touched me. He touched me. ”
I feel Beck right behind me, and I’m trying to reach behind me to unfasten the buttons of my dress, but it’s a lost cause.
There’s no way.
“Get this off me.”
“Do you want me to be gentle, or can I tear it off?”
“ Get this off me. ”
He grips the fabric on either side of my spine, and with one yank, buttons go flying, and I’m able to wiggle out of it. I need help with my shoe straps because my hands won’t stop shaking, then Beck’s turning on the water in the shower.
He sheds his jacket and shoes but doesn’t bother taking anything else off before he gets us both under the hot spray. I’m seriously losing my shite now that the adrenaline is wearing off.
It’s so good to see you, my beautiful, tiny dancer.
“Tell me what to do,” Beck says, pain in his words, and I cover my mouth with my hands, panicked because I’m going to throw up.
He springs into action, leaving the shower to grab the garbage can, and I throw up into it, my stomach heaving as I remember how it felt to have his hand on me, his lips on my ear.
Beck’s rubbing my back, murmuring soothing words until I’m done heaving, and he sets the can aside.
“Okay, baby. You’re safe. I’m right here. Nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise.” He kisses my head, but I don’t feel clean yet.
“I have to wash my ear.”
“Your ear?” He frowns down at me.
“He k-kissed my ear.” The tears want to come, but I swallow them down.
Beckett’s jaw twitches as he grinds his molars together, but he’s so gentle with me as he leads me under the water and helps me wash my hair, and I rub my soapy hands over my ear, trying to get The Arsehole off me.
When the soap’s gone, Beckett moves closer and presses his own lips there.
“I’m right here, Irish,” he says, immediately soothing me. “Just me. You’re safe. It’s my lips here now, and they’re the only lips that will be here ever again. You think about that and only that.”
“Thank you.” I lean into his touch, pressing my hands against the sopping material of his white shirt, letting his words seep into me. The only lips that will ever be here again . Does he mean that, or is he simply trying to soothe me? Either way, it makes me feel better. “You’re still dressed, Beck.”
“Doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is you, baby.”
God, he’s amazing. “It’s wonderful, that’s what you are.” I swallow as he pulls me to him, and I cling, hugging him close, burying my face in his wet chest. “You’re bloody everything. And it’s sorry I am that I’ve ruined our night?—”
“No, baby. Shh. You didn’t ruin anything. I just need to make sure you’re okay and that you know that you’re safe. However we need to make that happen.”
I nod against him but don’t let go. “This is a lot, and our relationship is so new, and if you decide that you don’t want to deal with this, I understand.”
“Not getting rid of me. You’re not a fucking burden simply for existing, Irish.”
He doesn’t sound angry or frustrated. He sounds almost … bored with that comment, which makes me feel warm.
“How did he get in?” I ask at last.
“We’re going to find out,” he replies and buries his lips in my wet hair. “Do you want to dry off, or do you want to stay in here for a while longer?”
“You’re soaked, and this can’t feel good.”
“Hey.” He makes me look him in the eyes, and all I see there is … love. And it steals my breath away. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine. I get to hold you, so don’t think for a second that I’m anything but fine.”
“Maybe we can get dry.”
He nods, and turns off the shower before grabbing me a towel. He stands before me, this tall, strong man, soaked to the bones and still wearing his suit, which has to weigh a ton, but instead of taking it off, he’s drying me, soothing me with every brush of the towel and every press of his lips on my damp skin.
“Go slip into that fluffy robe,” he says as he unbuttons his shirt enough to slide it over his head, and it lands in a sloppy heap on the tile floor. “I’m right behind you. I’ll leave these in here.”
“Your suit is ruined.”
“It’s just a suit, Irish.”
I chew my lip as I push my arms into the robe and watch Beck as he peels the trousers down his legs and then his socks and boxer briefs. Finally naked, he reaches for a towel and brushes the terrycloth over his skin before stepping out and pulling me against him once more.
“I’m going to order you some tea,” he says, and that sweet gesture is all it takes for my eyes to fill. “You don’t want tea?”
“I do. That would be lovely.” I sniff and wipe a tear away. I have so much I want to say to him. I want to tell him that I love him.
Bloody hell, I love him.
“I just need to grab some dry clothes,” he murmurs, moving into the attached closet. He pulls pajama pants and a T-shirt out of his bag and slips them on, along with a fresh pair of white socks. When he returns, he’s dressed and looking so cozy, and I just want to curl into him.
But before I can, Beckett kisses my forehead, turns me away from him toward the mirror, and he picks up my comb. I look awful. My hair is a wet mess, my makeup is running all over my face, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“You don’t have to dry it,” I murmur as he gently makes his way through my wet hair. “I’ll braid it.”
“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice soothing and quiet, and I watch him work in the mirror. “Do you want your music?”
God, this man is good at taking care of me. “No, I like the quiet right now.”
“Hmm.” He smiles at me in the mirror and continues to work. “How do you feel?”
“I’m settling down.”
“You’re so fucking strong, baby.”
I can’t respond to that. I just watch him as he methodically combs my wet hair, and when he’s finished, he doesn’t give me the chance to braid it myself.
“Tip your head back for me,” he says, and I immediately comply.
“How do you know how to French braid hair?” I ask him, surprised when he sections the strands and starts to weave them together.
“Birdie.” He winks at me in the mirror. “She loves braids, and when Bridger was single and without child care, I’d take care of her sometimes. Billie taught us all how to braid so we could do it for her. Your hair is easier.”
“It’s way thicker.”
“Yeah, Birdie’s hair is fine, and my hands are too big. Your hair is easier for my clumsy fingers.”
“Your fingers aren’t clumsy. Trust me, I know.”
He exhales, and when he reaches the bottom of the braid, I pass him a black tie from the counter. When it’s secure, Beckett wraps his arms around me from behind and kisses my ear.
“I’ve fallen in love with you, Irish.”
My heart stops, and my eyes flit up to his in the glass. He’s so calm. His whiskey eyes are full of warmth and tenderness, and my heart starts to beat again, sending fire through my veins. It’s as though he could read my mind just a few minutes ago.
“Beck.” I spin in his arms to look him in the face, and my fingers instinctively reach for his whiskers. “I love you, too.”
He boosts me up onto the vanity, and his lips find mine in a kiss so tender it brings tears to my eyes. But rather than deepen the kiss, he pulls back and ghosts his fingers down my cheeks.
“Where are your makeup wipes?” he asks, making me raise an eyebrow.
“In that drawer.” I gesture to my left, and he opens the drawer, pulls out the blue container, and tugs out several wipes to remove my makeup. “And how do you know about makeup wipes, Mr. Blackwell?”
I slap a hand over my mouth. Of course, I’m not his first girlfriend.
“Forget I asked that.”
With a shake of his head, he takes my hand away from my face and kisses it before setting it back in my lap.
“Billie used to walk around the house at the end of the day, wiping her face down. My sister is a girly-girl, so we always had to have her makeup wipes.”
“Hmm.” He frowns at my eyelashes, and I grin up at him. “Those are fake. You’ll have to peel them off.”
Taking a step back, he holds his hands up in surrender. “That’s above my pay grade. Peel your own lashes off, Irish.”
For the first time since we got back to the suite, I laugh. Once I’ve peeled off the artificial lashes, Beck steps back to me to resume wiping my face. Having my makeup removed has never felt so good.
“Can I ask some questions?”
He brushes the wipe over my eyebrow. I never knew that could feel so good.
“Shoot,” he replies.
“Have you ever lived with a woman?”
Beck takes a breath and doesn’t immediately say anything, giving me my answer.
“Got it.”
“It’s a story,” he says, pausing in the makeup removal to kiss my lips softly and then brush his nose against my own. “I did live with someone, briefly. Her name is Tori, and you’ll hear people talk about her once in a while, so you should hear this from me. I don’t have any secrets. Not from you.”
He tips my chin up with his finger and resumes taking off the makeup. He’s methodical about it, working on one spot at a time before moving on to the next. I reach out and tuck my first two fingers in the waistband of his pants, anchoring myself to him.
“I’m listening.”
He presses another kiss to my forehead. This man’s lips are always on me, and it’s heaven.
“Tori is from Bitterroot Valley. Like most people in town, I’ve known her a long time. She was a couple of years behind me in school, but I didn’t really know her until she moved back after college. Anyway, it was the typical thing. We had mutual friends, ended up hanging out with the same people, and started seeing each other.”
He discards the wipes, then turns on the tap and wets a cloth. He uses my cleanser to finish cleaning my face, moving in little circles over my skin.
“How long did you date?”
“About a year, give or take.” He shrugs and rinses out the cloth, then removes the cleanser from my skin. “I invited her to live with me at the ranch.”
I pull back and grab his wrists, so he’s no longer touching my face, and frown up at him.
“You lived with her at the ranch ?”
In the bloody bed that we’ve made love in?
I’m not okay with that.
“No.” He kisses my nose, and his smile turns tender. “No, Irish, she never lived at the farmhouse.”
I release his wrists and take a deep breath. He takes my hand and guides it back to his waistband, and I grab it with my fingers once more.
“All right then.”
He tips his head to the side, his eyes bouncing back and forth between my own. “You don’t like the idea of that.”
“No, and I can’t explain the why of it. I just don’t like it.”
Perhaps because it already feels like my home.
This is my man.
Those are my chickens.
Mine.
He nods and warms the cloth again before returning to his task of wiping my face.
“Fair enough. Anyway, she didn’t want to live at the ranch. She wanted to be in town, so we moved into a place, and I commuted.”
“What did she do for a living?” I ask, frowning. Why wouldn’t she want to live at the ranch?
“She’s a nurse. She had shift work at the hospital, so I figured she didn’t want to have to drive back and forth in the middle of the night, and I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t really want her to do that either. But I put in long hours, so I’d leave well before five in the morning and not get home until close to ten at night. Sometimes later. I didn’t have the staff that I have now.”
Tossing the cloth aside, he reaches for my moisturizer, but I pass him the rose water spray that I use first, and close my eyes while he spritzes it on my skin.
“Now this?” he asks, and I nod as he dips his finger into the pot. “We never saw each other. I hated the drive into town every day, and she made it perfectly clear that she’d never be a ranch girl. She didn’t like the animals, and honestly, I think she assumed I was wealthier because I ran a successful dairy operation.”
“What do you mean?”
“She wanted me to tell her to quit her job. To do whatever she wanted. Buy whatever she wanted. And I told her that if she quit her job, we’d have to live at the farm.”
“And she didn’t like that.”
“No.” He shakes his head and shrugs. “Not long after, I walked into our place, after a long day at the ranch, and found her in bed with some tourist she’d picked up at the bar.”
My eyes go wide as I stare up at him. How could anyone do something like that to Beckett ?
“Never spoke to her again,” he continues. “And it was probably telling that it didn’t really break my heart. It pissed me off, don’t get me wrong, but it didn’t hurt me. I knew we weren’t going to work out. We wanted very different things, so shoving my things in a bag and leaving that night felt really good.”
I frame his face in my hands and pull him to me so I can kiss him.
“Worked out well for this Irish girl.”
He laughs against my lips. “I’d say it worked out fucking fantastic. How about you? Any live-ins?”
“No. Do you have any children I should know about?”
Beckett’s eyebrows climb in surprise. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Hey, you never know. A girl has to ask.”
“Any kids for you?”
I laugh at that and shake my head. “No. I went years without having a period at all. Sorry, that might be TMI.”
“No, it’s not. Why?”
“Because when a woman’s underweight and under immense stress, her body is in survival mode, and periods become irregular or go away altogether. It’s common in athletes, dancers in particular. Gymnasts, too. I had intense diet restrictions, Beckett. I don’t think I can adequately explain how strict my diet was, and I put my body through a lot. So it wouldn’t have been possible for me to get pregnant for a long time. But I was so busy with dance that sex wasn’t really something I worried about.”
“Let’s take this chat into the living room, and we can get Riley,” he suggests, and I nod and hop off the vanity, feeling so much better.
“Do you want to change? Your family is going to end up in here soon.”
“Yes, that would be better.”
He nods and finds me some leggings and one of his shirts.
“Can I have the shirt you wore on the plane earlier?” I ask. He looks surprised, so I bite my lower lip. “It’ll smell more like you.”
His eyes soften as he reaches up to brush his thumb over the apple of my cheek before he goes back into the closet and returns with the blue button-up from the plane. I button it up, then slip on my leggings and follow Beck into the living area of the suite just as there’s a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” Beckett asks.
“Sanders, Ms. Gallagher’s security. I have Riley.”
“Well, that was good timing,” Beck says as he opens the door. Riley comes bounding in, his tongue hanging out of his mouth happily, and when he sees me, he races to me.
“Hey, beautiful boy.” I kiss his head and feel so much relief having him by my side. “Were you good for Sally? I missed you.”
As if he can sense that I’m not okay, he pushes his head into my stomach, trying to soothe me.
“It’s okay. We’re okay.”
I sit on the sofa, listening to Beckett’s voice. The front door closes, and then he’s talking to someone else. Probably room service.
Even though I’m still in shock that The Arsehole found me—how did he know that I’d be at the fundraiser?—having Beckett here, determined to soothe and care for me, has made it all more surreal than terrifying. I have no doubt that Miller will figure this out, and Connor won’t rest until all the details are gathered. And knowing Beckett loves me? Nothing has ever felt so wonderful. So despite the growing anger from seeing him , and especially now that I have Riley with me, I know I’ll be okay.
I hated that meltdown, but I’m not alone.
Not this time.
When Beck walks into the room to join me, he picks me up, sits in the corner of the couch, and settles me in his lap, and I curl up around him, looping my arms around his neck and pressing myself to him. I sense Riley lie down in his bed next to the couch, and I sigh, truly feeling completely content since the moment The Arsehole put his hand on me.
“So,” Beck says, his fingertips under my shirt, ghosting over my skin deliciously, making me want to purr. “Sex is a higher priority now.”
I smirk against his neck, nuzzling him, breathing him in. “Absolutely, as long as it’s with you.”
“If it’s with someone else, we’re going to have a problem, Irish.” He chuckles and nips at my ear.
“I love you.”
“Say it again,” he whispers, tightening his arms around me.
“I love you, Beckett Blackwell.”
He pulls back and brushes my hair back behind my ear. “I love you too, Irish.”
With a grin, I press my lips to his so gently that it’s barely there until he moves in and deepens the kiss, nudging my mouth open with his tongue.
He’s claiming me with this kiss, the way he’s done before, but there’s no mistaking this feeling of belonging.
Of ownership.
From both of us.
The doorbell rings, and Riley barks, but Beck doesn’t immediately pull away. He rubs his nose over mine and sighs before he sets me on the cushion next to him, then pads over to open the door. Room service rolls in a table topped with a silver tea set. They raise the edges of the table, making it round, and pull hot plates out from under it.
“Would you like me to pour the tea, sir?”
“No, thanks,” Beck says with the shake of his head. “We can handle it.”
He walks the man to the door, tips him, then returns to me.
“I got you some soup in case you wanted something to eat,” he says as I stand. “Along with a grilled cheese sandwich.”
“Are you handling me then, Mr. Blackwell?”
“I’m taking care of my girl,” he replies and presses his lips to my forehead. “What would you like?”
“Tea for now, but keep the warming domes on the others because I’ll probably want them in a bit.”
He nods and makes my tea the way he knows I like it, then he joins me on the couch.
After I take a sip, I set the cup aside, then take his hand in mine and thread our fingers together.
“Was it too soon for declarations of love?” I can’t help asking.
Beck frowns and shakes his head. “Time doesn’t matter. Shit, I knew you were it for me that day that I saw you in the bookstore months ago.”
“What day?” I sit forward, interested to hear about this. “I don’t remember seeing you at the bookshop.”
“You didn’t see me.” He grins and simply pulls me to him again, and I happily sit in his lap. “I was in a hurry, and you were there, reading the back of a book, and you were so fucking gorgeous, it knocked the earth off its axis.”
“When was this?”
“Last winter.”
I blink up at him. “ Winter ? But we just met?—”
“We just met this spring,” he confirms. “But I saw you months before that. Then I had to work to get you to go out with me.”
Laughing, I sag against him, nestling my head under his chin.
“I guess it’s good you’re a hard worker. This is nice. When do you suppose the others will get here?”
“As soon as they can. I should have checked my phone.”
I don’t move to get off him. “I’m so tired, Beck.”
“You can go to bed, and I can handle the rest.”
“No.” I shake my head and drag my fingertips up and down his arm, enjoying the way his muscles feel under my touch. “I don’t mean that. I’m so tired of dealing with him. It’s gone on too long.”
“We’re going to figure this out, Irish. I promise. This is the last time that fucker gets close to you in any capacity.”
I don’t just want to believe him, I do. Because I know that Beckett won’t let anything happen to me.
I haven’t felt this safe in three years.