Chapter 14
I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so tired. If this was any other Sunday, I would have been in bed hours ago. Hell, I probably would have been asleep mere minutes after Maggie had gone to bed.
But it’s nearly midnight and I’m still awake, even though I barely slept last night, too riddled with nerves about whether I could really marry Beckham. I made it through most of the day on pure adrenaline.
Thankfully, Maggie was asleep before seven. It took a lot of convincing to get her to leave her new bed to eat dinner, which consisted of a pizza Beckham ordered. I’ve never seen my little girl as happy as she was when she saw that bed. Normally, bedtime can be a bit of a struggle. Not tonight. She was bouncing with excitement over the idea of sleeping in her brand new “big girl bed”, as she calls it.
As much as I want to be upset with Beckham, I can’t deny it warms my heart how he went out of his way to make her comfortable here. Still, I have to keep in mind what’s best for Maggie in the long run.
“Do you want to head up to bed?”
I snap my eyes open and glance at the opposite end of the couch where Beckham and I have been lounging the past few hours.
I didn’t get a chance to appreciate his house when we first walked in, since Maggie was so excited about seeing her room. It’s exactly the kind of place I pictured for him. White walls with dark trim, complete with exposed wood beams lining the open space of the living, dining, and kitchen areas. The decor is what I’d describe as vineyard chic with obvious inspiration from Tuscany, especially in the art pieces adorning the walls.
“We can watch another episode if you want. I’m not that tired,” I say, fighting a yawn.
“Haley…” He narrows his gaze on me with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you only staying awake because you’re nervous about your wedding night?” He waggles his brows suggestively. “The first time can be scary, but I promise to make it good for you.”
I throw a pillow at him. “You’re such a jackass,” I retort, trying to suppress memories of just how good he made my first time.
It’s the last thing I need to think about, considering I’ll be sharing a bed with him for the next few months. After feeling his lips against mine again earlier today, it’s nearly impossible not to let my mind wander to what could have been.
Which won’t do either of us any good.
“I just really like this show.”
It’s not a complete lie. Schitt’s Creek is one of my favorite series. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t purposefully staying awake to delay slipping into bed with Beckham.
“This episode is one of the best ones, too,” I continue. “The whole ‘fold in the cheese’ bit is hysterical.” Another yawn fights to be set free, and this time, I can’t hold it back.
“Okay, sleepy head.” Beckham grabs the remote and turns off the TV.
“I was watching that,” I attempt to protest as another yawn escapes.
“You’re done watching it.”
Standing, he grabs my hand and pulls me up from the couch, his grip on my hip holding me steady.
“You’re being unusually bossy.” My words come out somewhat slurred, despite only drinking one glass of wine tonight.
“Trust me, Haley…” A devious smile teases his lips. “You haven’t seen bossy.”
His voice is a low growl that sends shivers through my body. It makes me wonder just how bossy he might be in the bedroom now that he’s older and more experienced. Based on that kiss earlier, he’s definitely a man who likes to take charge. I was more than happy to give up control to experience the bliss filling me from his expert kiss.
My insides ignite from the memory, my gaze drawn to his lips, full and tempting. A part of me wouldn’t mind feeling them again, and this time without an audience, forcing us to keep things PG-rated. As his eyes trace over my mouth, I get the feeling he’s thinking the same thing.
He leans closer, his hand on my hip tightening as a combination of desire and restraint dances in his dark gaze.
We’re standing on a landmine, waiting for one wrong move to set off an explosion.
Or one right move.
“Come on,” Beckham says around a sigh, releasing his hold on me, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. “You need to sleep.”
“Right. Sleep.” I swallow down any disappointment that he didn’t kiss me. I’m not supposed to want him to kiss me.
DoI actually want him to kiss me?
Or has it just been so long since I’ve had the attention of another man that I’m doing things I normally wouldn’t?
I try to convince myself it’s the latter, but deep down, I know it’s not the case. Not with the way my body always buzzes to life in his presence, even after he ignored me and pretended I meant nothing to him. The passing of years hasn’t dulled that. If anything, it’s even stronger now.
“Is there a side you prefer?” Beckham asks once we step into his bedroom.
I refuse to call it our bedroom.
The room is dimly lit with warm hues emanating from a lamp on the nightstand on the far side of the bed. Pieces of him are scattered throughout the space — a guitar in the corner, a pile of books on the dresser, even an old record player on a stand against the far wall.
“It’s your bed. I’ve been sleeping on a couch the past few years.”
His jaw twitches, something he does whenever he’s upset or angry.
“I’ll sleep on this side then.” He nods to the one closest to the door.
“Is that where you usually sleep?”
“No.” His eyes lock with mine. “This way, in the unlikely event of an intruder, they’ll have to go through me to get to you.”
“Oh.” I ignore the butterflies that take flight in my stomach from the protectiveness in his voice.
Then he spins and disappears into the en-suite bathroom.
The sound of running water fills the silence as I blow out a long breath and move to my side of the bed, pulling back the fluffy duvet before slipping underneath.
It’s even more comfortable than I imagined.
And to make matters worse, his sheets smell like him. Leather. Bergamot. And raw earth. When he was ripped from my life, I found myself craving his scent, needing it to feel any sort of comfort.
Now, as I bask in it once more, I feel more at ease than I have in years, so much so that I start to succumb to sleep within seconds.
But not before sensing the bed shift as Beckham crawls onto the other side.
“‘Night, Haley.” He touches a soft kiss to my temple.
“‘Night, Beck,” is my barely audible response.
Then he rolls over, placing a pillow between us.
I’m not sure if it’s for my benefit or his, but a part of me wishes it wasn’t there.