17. Chapter 17
Beck and I entered under the canopy of Manuel Antonio National Park, and—amongst the trees—I didn’t feel like an observer of nature but a part of it. The jungle teemed with wildlife: unabashed bird calls followed by flashes of bright feathers, rustling bushes, monkey tails, and proud, lazy iguanas. The color of the lush green forest would have been enough. It screamed life. Pura Vida. I got it now. In my mind, the phrase took a turn from hokey to sacred.
Animals and insects collaborated to create a symphony. I closed my eyes for a moment and took in the music of the jungle. I had to soak in what I could because this trip was going too fast. Only six days, and I’d be back in the office. I didn’t know how I was going to return to my old life after this.
It’s fine,I tried to tell myself. I’d still have calligraphy—Sebastian’s live lettering event, Kat and Jake’s wedding, but the comfort didn’t stick. I’d gotten lucky with those two jobs. The opportunities wouldn’t arise again without proper marketing, and I couldn’t swing that and keep up with work.
If anything, I didn’t even know if I had it in me to do those two jobs while working at The Arlow Group. I’d barely made it out alive with Victoria’s wedding. I could make it work if I had a job that didn’t require me to work so late and on weekends. But I didn’t.
And then there was Beck. I’d had a great time with him the night before. I hardly slept, knowing he lay in the dark only steps away. The dance—his body on mine—had awoken something in me, something that ached for him. I’d considered flinging the comforter off, crossing the room, and pulling him to bed with me. I fantasized about his chest pressed against mine, being caged by his arms.
But I didn’t act on it, of course. Because I knew none of the things that had been lighting up my life as of late could last for long. Not this vacation. Not my calligraphy side hustle. Not my time with Beck. It all had an expiration date. If anything, Beck and Reagan will probably reconcile by the end of the six days, I thought sourly.
Neither Beck nor I did much talking during the hike. It almost felt sacrilege to interrupt the wild. Occasionally, he’d hold out his hand to help me over a branch or rock. Other than that, Beck kept his hands to himself, a stark contrast to the evening before—my backside pressed into him, his hands on my stomach, my hips. The absence of his touch left me feeling hungry, starved to experience it again.
I chided myself. This is better.Simpler. Safer.
But I kept catching myself stealing glances at his reaction to the scenery, kept having to step away to separate us after pulling toward him like a magnet. I wanted him. I’d known that for some time. But that didn’t mean he returned the sentiment. He had Reagan to pine over, and now that I knew she wanted him too . . . Things were more complicated than ever.
I have to work with him. He’s my superior, even if just by a step,I reminded myself when a passing parrot made him smile so brilliantly that something in my chest pinched.
Falling for him would mean getting my heart broken by him.
This became my anthem for the trek, but with each repeat of the mantra, it seemed to lose its potency until it faded into the background.
At one point, Beck spun me around, pointing into the trees. “There! A monkey!”
“Where?”
Beck stepped closer until his chest met my back. He put his face close to mine and readjusted where he pointed until there it was. A tiny monkey with beady eyes and a black muzzle climbed down a vine with the grace of a Cirque du Soleil performer.
A surprised giggle bubbled out of me. Beck angled his face down to see my expression, and all but a few inches separated our lips. I grasped at something, anything to pull me back to my senses.
“We have to find that sloth,” I said, almost in a whisper.
It took an extra beat for my words to register with Beck, but when they did, he took a step back, suddenly aware of how close we stood. “Don’t worry, Lane. I’m on it.”
As soon as he pulled away, I regretted shattering the moment. What was the point of guarding myself against falling for him? I stumbled off that cliff the night before—probably sooner.
I’d been losing my footing for some time now. I’d dedicated myself to trying on Hailey’s life. What would she do in this situation? I could almost hear her voice answer in my mind: I’d let myself slip.
After a stunning, albeit humid, hike, we finally made it to Playa Escondido—the beach portion of the park. The glimmering blue ocean spread out like a prize for surviving the jungle.
“God, the water looks so refreshing,” Beck said, and the comment would have surprised me—seeing as he wasn’t a beach person—if it hadn’t been scorching out.
His shirt stuck to the front of his hard chest, soaked. He was flushed, and beads of sweat dripped down his jaw.
Without my permission, my imagination ran wild—keeping the character but changing the setting: back at the resort suite, him on top of me—sweating for an entirely different reason.
I needed to get in that water ASAP. Cool me down, alright. As our feet met the sand, I chucked off my shoes, skipped out of my socks, and flung off my shorts. Luckily, I knew the hike included the beach, and I’d worn my bathing suit underneath.
Scanning the water for a marker, I found a lady with a large hat. She stood not quite as far as the twenty-five meters for half a lap, but it would do. “Race you out to where the lady in the straw hat stands and back.”
I didn’t wait for him to take off his hiking clothes or even respond. I needed every advantage.
My feet pounded on the sand before meeting the deliciously cool water. As soon as I was deep enough, I dove, and for a moment, I let myself suspend—spear-shaped—in the most refreshing water I’d ever experienced. Every cell in my body seemed to sigh at the drop in temperature. Then, I made myself work, pushing my arms forward, kicking my legs, propelling through the water.
I came up for air and lifted my face, searching for my marker. The straw hat was only a little further. I kept going until I saw her figure on my right, then I dove down, trying to remember how Beck described the flip turn. Curl. Twist. Kick. No wall to push off, so I kicked furiously instead.
I surfaced and realized I’d successfully turned the right way. I would have given a victorious war cry if I had the energy. Instead, I pretended each scoop of water was part of a rock wall, and I climbed through. Pulling myself forward.
I couldn’t see Beck. Meaning he either whipped by me so fast I hadn’t caught him, or I had actually held my own (not likely, but a girl could dream). Pulling my head up, I tried to spot him, and I did. Beckett Atteridge was still on the beach. Feet planted like a palm tree.
I tested putting my own feet down and found it shallow enough for standing. I thought Beck might say he hadn’t agreed to a race, or I’d lost the bottom of my bikini, or Jaws picked people off in the surf. But he just looked at me, almost sad. Then he turned, heading for the tree line.
“Beck, wait!”
I exited the water into the hot jungle air, grabbing my shirt, shorts, and shoes in one swoop. I’d barely managed to get my bottoms on when I got back on the trail. My feet thudded on the wood-plank pathway. As I rounded a corner, I had to skid to a stop to keep from smacking into his back.
“Where are you going?” I asked, breathlessly pulling my shirt over my head.
He kept walking. “I told you. I’m not a big—”
I whirled on him, putting a hand on his chest to make him stop. “Beach person?” I finished. “Who cares? Beck, we did a long hike. It’s hot as the devil’s taint out here. You’re sweating. You’re flushed. You’ll feel better after a quick dip.” I tried to push him back towards the beach, but he didn’t budge.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.” He looked at the trees and then back at me, pained.
I took his hand in mine. No one was watching us. I didn’t have to pretend to be his girlfriend. But I wanted to be in this moment with him for whatever reason. He looked at our hands for a long while. I thought he might pull away, but he didn’t.
“You don’t have to tell me anything. But Beck, you can trust me with this.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and I could see the conflict warring in those brown eyes. “It’s not a pretty story, Emily.”
“Tell me anyway,” I said quietly.
He sighed, sliding his hand from my grasp but not stepping away. “I guess I owe you since you won.”
“No.” I shook my head, not wanting him to feel forced to talk about something that obviously tormented him. “That was about your tattoo.”
His mouth stretched into a straight line. “They’re one and the same.”
I cocked my head, curiosity fully piqued now, but then stopped myself. I wanted Beck to open up to me, but not like this.
My eyes lowered to his lips, and my body automatically shifted closer to his. Images of the night before flashed across my mind, of us dancing, our bodies moving together. The ghost of his touch licked across my skin. My flesh burned to have him against it once again. And then there was the almost kiss. The thought of which had kept me up for half the night.
I needed to know how those full lips would feel pressed against mine. “You don’t have to tell me.” I swallowed, trying to muster up as much of Hailey’s bravery as possible before I chickened out. “But it’s going to cost you.”
“Oh yeah?” An eyebrow rose.
“I want to scrap one of our rules.” I took a steadying breath. “Specifically, the no-kissing one.”
His tongue ran across his bottom lip, and my insides melted, pooling to the bottom of my stomach. “It’s our number one rule.”
“We’ve already broken the other ones,” I said, stepping closer.
“You said you wanted to keep things uncomplicated.” His voice was smokey, as if he was having a hard time getting the right amount of oxygen.
“I changed my mind.”
“I don’t want you to regret this later.” But his eyes snagged on my lips, his face angling towards mine.
“Then don’t do anything to make me regret it,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, but I think my silent plea threaded through: Please don’t break my heart.
Beck’s hands slid across my jaw and into my hair, cradling my head before lowering his mouth onto mine.
His lips were smooth and soft as a whisper as if he feared the moment might break. Or I would. Giving and taking, we found a slow, savoring rhythm. And between the touching of our lips, we shared breaths, which was almost as intoxicating, as intimate as the kissing itself—breathing each other in. Then, Beck’s tongue slid across my bottom lip, and I parted for him.
He backed me into the railing, no longer seeming to worry about the fragility of the situation. My nipples pinched at the thought of being cornered by him. Our tongues glided past each other in urgent exploration. My hands explored as well. Starting at the front of him—his chest, his ribs. Then they moved to his back, getting a good feel of those swimmer muscles—tight cords under soft skin.
He nipped my bottom lip, and I gasped.
Beck retreated half an inch. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”
I pulled him back to me, and our lips met with bruising force. “Not a pain gasp,” I mumbled against his lips.
“Fuck,” he groaned into my mouth, then picked me up, setting me on the railing, mouth still on mine.
My head swam. I wrapped my legs around him, and he ran a hand from my knee up my thigh. His fingertips moved so. Achingly. Slow. But when he got to the hem of my shorts, he angled his body back and away from me, resting his head on my shoulder.
“I need a minute.” His voice was sandpaper.
I was pretty sure I knew what he meant by that, but completely beside myself, I gripped his shirt and yanked him back over. I gasped at the length of his outline pressed against my center. “You want me.” It wasn’t a question, but I was surprised.
“Are you seriously just figuring this out?”
“I guess not,” I said, thinking about the night before and the way his fingers dug into my hips as we danced, how hard he was when I pressed my ass against him. But we’d been drinking. I didn’t know how much of that was really him.
He rested his hands on my shoulders. “I’d love to show you how much I want you, Emily, but I don’t think the rainforest is the right place for that.”
“It’s probably frowned upon,” I agreed, trying to get a hold of my senses though the throbbing between my legs begged for release. Who cared if the howler monkeys saw us? My mouth went dry at the prospect of him. I swallowed, trying to get the words out before I lost my nerve. “I guess it’s a good thing we share a room. Maybe you can show me later.”
Beck’s chest heaved. His dilated pupils nearly overtook the rich brown of his eyes. “Maybe I can.”
Heat crept up my chest at the possibilities of tonight.
He moved to my side, leaning on the deck’s railing, his ribs expanding with a long inhale. Then, the movement stopped. “No way.”
“What?” I hopped off the railing.
“Right there,” he whispered. “It’s our sloth.”
I followed the direction of his point, eyes bouncing from tree to tree until I saw her hanging by her claws. She may as well have been a damn unicorn for the awe that fell over me.
“You found her,” I said, hushed. “You found our sloth.”
We watched as she pulled herself upward in a movement not quite as slow as I’d imagined.
“Are you having a good time, Emily?”
I looked at Beck, and he did that thing where he tried to read my expression. I let my smile meet my eyes as I nodded. “I’m really glad I braved the jungle with you today.”
A smile unraveled, slow but wide. “Me too.” He was handsome.
So incredibly handsome when he smiled. I’d known it before, but now—alone in the jungle with him, after kissing— the sight made my knees weak.
The ride back to the resort was tense and quiet. Different scenes kept playing over and over as to what Beck would do to me when we got there. I pictured the door closing behind us and him carrying me to the bedroom. Maybe we wouldn’t even make it that far. I could see him setting me down on the loveseat or even the countertop. I imagined running my hands under his shirt, across his chest, then down his stomach, following tight muscles until I reached his boxers.
A pothole jolted me from the fantasy.
“Sorry,” Beck mumbled.
To a passerby, he might have looked casual behind the wheel of the rental. But I noticed how he gripped the wheel, white-knuckled. It was all too easy imagining that tight hold on my shorts before he pulled them down and placed himself between my legs.
God. Get a hold of yourself.
The ride to the park had seemed much shorter in the morning. Now I ached for him, and every minute seemed to stretch out, making the twenty-minute drive torturous.
As our feet met the tile of the resort’s lobby, my pulse thrummed. Beck. Beck. Beck. Beck. I wanted to get behind that locked door. All previous reservations be damned. Beck seemed eager as well. We walked hand in hand, but my short legs had a hard time keeping his pace.
My imagination still ran wild with all the things I hoped Beck would do to me when Victoria and the group sent those fantasies to a screeching halt.
“Where have you two been?” Victoria asked. I noticed how they all had their bags as the group sprawled over the chairs and couches in the lobby.
“I texted you this morning. We went to the national park.” Beck gave her suitcase a light kick. “What’s all this?”
“I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour.”
Beck looked at his phone and then held it out for Victoria’s inspection. “Sorry. Spotty service in the jungle, I guess. What’s going on?”
“We’re leaving. Jerry told us about this amazing place only about an hour from here—glamping in Uvita.” Victoria practically glowed.
Beck didn’t seem impressed. “Victoria, you can’t get much better than this.” He gestured vaguely to the lobby around us. “Our rooms literally jut out into the rainforest. Hell, do I need to remind you that we were attacked by a viper two days ago?” I wondered if his apprehension of this idea matched mine—wanting to pick up where things left off. Now. “Where is this coming from?”
“Beck, listen.” Victoria tried to straighten his shirt by grabbing where it hung off his shoulders and pulling, but the sweat from the hike didn’t allow the shirt to move much. “I have to get out of this resort. All I can think about is the service here and whether the other guests are having a good time. It’s going to be a great place to get married, but I can’t enjoy myself while being practically immersed in work.”
“Vic—”
Victoria clapped her hands together, loud and final. “You two are going to love this place. It is so romantic.”
Beck pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have a pretty big group. Are you even sure they have enough rooms?”
“They have six tents left. Reagan and Madison are happy to room with each other. Gabe and Koontz . . .” We all looked over to where the two guys slumped. “Are a little unhappy to share a bed. But they are going to suck it up in the name of the trip.” Victoria gave us a light shove in the direction of our suite. “Pack your bags. We’re staying there for the next two nights. The van will be here in fifteen.”
Before, my adrenaline had been high with the prospect of Beck and what we might do together behind closed doors. Being packed in a van with the rest of the wedding party had doused the mood. The toll of the hike hit me hard. My body sagged into the seat, and the soft rocking of the van made my lids heavy. I hadn’t meant to allow myself to fall asleep, which is why I was surprised, waking to Beck’s hand cradling my head against his shoulder.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, sitting upright and finding my neck muscles tense from the odd angle they’d been at.
“It’s okay. I’m beat too.”
The ride had been quiet—everyone else looked wiped out from another day under the sun. We stopped for dinner on the way, which meant we didn’t arrive at the camp until after sundown.
Stringed lights and tiki torches lit the path to a village of yurts circled around a curvy pool with a gurgling waterfall and eclectic seating. The scene was complete with a waist-high sheet metal sign and swirly letters that read Welcome to Tranquility.Even exhausted, I could appreciate the serene atmosphere.
The hostess of the property showed us where we could find the community showers and restrooms. She explained that tubs were available in the yurts for a more intimate experience. My cheeks warmed, and I was thankful for the low lighting to hide it. No one else seemed hot and bothered by the words “intimate experience” because either they’d already had plenty of intimate experiences with their yurt buddy, or there was no way in hell they ever would.
Dropped off at our yurt, Beck and I paused at the threshold. How to read that look on his face? Bracing, maybe, some curiosity, definitely tentative. And hunger. Beck held open the flap, and I took in our living space for the next two nights.
A canopy covered a circular bed in sheer, seductive sheets. Ivy spilled from shelving around the circumference of the room, giving the space a wild, fresh feel. The bones of the yurt seemed to be made of some sort of bamboo material. Hung from the beams, works of macrame hugged glass bowls with candles. The yurt was cozy, authentic, and romantic.
The cushions around a short coffee table were the only seating. No couch. Beck would have to sleep on the floor or in the bed.
Noises from the yurt next to ours—where Kat and Jake had been placed—took my attention off the self-guided tour. From the sounds of things, they were thoroughly enjoying the intimacy of their yurt. Except, they either didn’t realize their yurt wasn’t as secluded as expected or, more likely, they didn’t care.
My face flamed.
“Jesus Christ.” Beck ran a hand down the front of his face, looking a shade red himself. “These tents are paper thin.”
Then he seemed to register the bed situation, eyes landing on the cushions near the coffee table. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said.
“No. We’ve both had a long day. You aren’t sleeping on the floor.”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Silence stretched between us as I tried to read the shift in our chemistry. “Did I seem uncomfortable earlier? In the jungle?”
Something sparked in Beck’s eyes, but then he shook his head. “I don’t think we should act on—” He looked at the canvas ceiling, seeming to search for the right words. “—those desires we expressed earlier.”
That stung. “Oh.”
“I want to,” he rushed to say. “I really do. But now that I’ve had time to cool off, I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret later.”
He tried to soothe the jab of his rejection, but all I heard was that he didn’t want me anymore. Not the way I wanted him.
“Okay,” I said because what was I going to do? Beg him to sleep with me? “Yeah. You’re right. Wouldn’t want to complicate things.”
His jaw worked. “Right.” A crease formed on his forehead, like agreeing with me pained him.
“Well, I’m going to go find those showers,” I said before plunging into my bag, trying like hell to hide the disappointment on my face as I searched for my toiletries.
I knew it. I knew I’d have to share a bed with Beck at some point on this trip, but I hadn’t expected the scorch of his rejection.