Chapter 6
Noelle
Maybe it was Delilah’s weed, maybe it was the strangeness of the whole situation, or maybe it was Beau’s pecs—but I was steering dangerously close to hookup territory.
I’d spent the whole day with him under the pretense of recording a podcast episode. He was my friendly local guide, right? He had the inside scoop and all the connections, he could show me around…
…and he was hot.
Devastatingly hot.
Since last night, I’d been trying to deny it…but I wasn’t trying anymore. This man was hot, I got the feeling he was into me, and I was apparently in Wonderland.
Following the white rabbit right into Beau Ward’s bed.
The sun set as we walked back from the waterfall, Milo still just as jazzed as he was when we picked him up. My car was parked outside the shop, dead, with Beau’s truck beside it. Beau gave me a look, then swept his eyes toward town—where people were still swarming.
“You know,” he said, “I uh…wouldn’t mind cookin’ for you if you don’t mind somethin’ simple. I’ve got everything inside for mac and cheese. I’m no chef, but…”
“Yes,” I said before he could finish. “That sounds great.”
He grinned, then he opened the door—unlocked, of course—to let Milo in first.
“After you,” he said.
I stepped inside the auto shop, looking around as I wandered after Milo into the attached apartment.
The place was…cute. Unreasonably, offensively cute.
Old wood floors, warm paint on the walls, mismatched mugs hung on a rack on the kitchen wall.
A blue dog bed sat in the corner, well worn from years of love, and a record player stood beside it with a collection of what mostly looked like outlaw country and a few indie records.
“This isn’t what I expected,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “What—no serial killer vibes?”
“Hey, serial killers come in all kinds of flavors,” I said. “But…no, I was more concerned about finding guns and confederate flags.”
Beau huffed. “Yeah…we don’t take kindly to that kinda thing around here.”
He moved into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge, rummaging around for ingredients while I moved over to the record player to sort through his collection.
It was solid—some classics like Johnny Cash and Fleetwood Mac, a few newer bands like The Shins, some I didn’t recognize.
This guy…he couldn’t be real, could he? It was all making the feeling of unreality worse, the sensation that I’d gone through the looking glass intensifying with every record I flipped through.
“Real cheese or fake?” he called over his shoulder.
“Real,” I said without looking. “If you gave me fake, I’d have to reevaluate everything I’ve learned about you.”
His laugh made my lips tingle. “That bad?”
“Worse. You’d be downgraded to ‘hot but untrustworthy.’”
He snorted. “So you think I’m hot.”
“It’s not an opinion; it’s an observation.”
We turned at the same time, and I met his eyes across the small house—
—only for me to snap my gaze back toward the records, blushing like mad.
“Hell of an observation,” he murmured.
I shook my head and pulled out one of the records, pretending my face wasn’t burning and that his arms hadn’t just flexed in a way that made it impossible to focus on anything but the activity in the kitchen.
The man was a walking thirst trap, and he moved around that kitchen like he had no idea the kind of chaos he was stirring up in my nervous system.
“Got any secrets in here?” I asked, tapping a sleeve with an unfamiliar logo. “Something unexpected?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Depends what you mean. If you’re lookin’ for Taylor Swift, you’re outta luck—but there’s a Dolly Parton album in there that’ll knock you sideways.”
I pulled it out. “You like Dolly Parton?”
He shrugged. “I’m only human.”
I carefully took the record out and placed it on the turntable, then dropped the needle—and a moment later, Dolly’s voice poured out of the speakers while Beau layered cheese in a dish of noodles.
The smell was already intoxicating—cheddar, butter, just the right amount of breadcrumbs on the top.
Comfort food…comfortable like this house, this town, this man.
I was going to have quite a story for Shane when I met up with my co-host again after this was all over.
Beau slid the mac into the oven, then he wiped his hands on a faded dish towel, leaning back against the counter with crossed arms. He had to know, right?
That he was pure small-town heartthrob—one hundred percent Halloween Hallmark, one thousand percent not my type…
and already about a million percent charming the pants off me.
He caught me staring, and returned the favor by dragging his eyes over me as if my functional pixie cut, black hoodie, and boyfriend jeans were something to look at.
“Somethin’ on your mind?” he asked.
I tilted my head, then crossed the room and leaned a hip against the counter just a few feet away. “Do you always pretend not to notice when someone’s thinking about climbing you like a tree?”
He blinked.
Then—then—he laughed. One low, disbelieving breath, like he couldn’t decide whether to be scandalized or flattered.
“I mean…” he drawled, scratching the back of his neck, “I try to be polite.”
“Why?” I asked, deadpan. “Because I’m a stranded guest in your tiny little town and you don’t want to risk sullying your gentleman mechanic image?”
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t look away. “Something like that.”
I leaned in a little. “You’re allowed to be impolite if I’m giving you permission.”
He didn’t move, but his gaze dropped to my mouth.
“I don’t exactly make a habit of—”
“Hooking up with weird cryptid hunters who fall out of the sky and into your shop?” I offered.
He chuckled. “Maybe I just don’t want you spillin’ the tea about me on your podcast.”
I huffed a laugh. “You’re overestimating the number of people who listen to my podcast…and God forbid a girl talks about your sexual prowess publicly. You’d never have a dry streak again.”
His expression shifted—not a laugh anymore, not even close. No…for the first time that night, he scared me.
Because he was looking at me like he was personally offended at the idea that he’d want anyone after me. That he’d wanted anyone before me.
In that moment, it was like he was telling me with those green eyes that I was it for him.
“So what are you tryin’ to say, Noelle?” he asked. He shifted to face me, one hand reaching out to trail down my side, resting solidly on my hip. God—his hands were huge, warm, rough. I wanted him to touch me more than I’d wanted most things in my life. “You want me to kiss you?”
I bit my lip. “I want you to do more than kiss me.”
He took a second, breathed deep, his eyes darting from my eyes to my lips.
And then…then he kissed me.
He really, really kissed me…with his whole body, like I’d never been kissed before.
Beau’s hand slid to my lower back, the other coming up to cup my cheek—and he tilted his head before pressing his lips to mine, inhaling me.
I moaned out loud, embarrassing myself, but he didn’t seem to care; in fact, it made the kiss better, encouraged him to dart his tongue out and sweep it across mine.
I fucking melted…because how could I not? My hands found his chest, curling in the fabric of his shirt, and I sighed into his mouth.
“You have no idea,” he whispered against my lips. “How long I’ve been waitin’ for someone like you.”
I didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—kissing him. “You just met me.”
He kissed me again like that didn’t matter. Like he already knew me.
Like he already wanted me—body and soul, skin and sinew, everything that made me me. It wasn’t logical; it wasn’t smart.
And I didn’t give a single shit.
Beau’s hand slid lower, gripping the back of my thighs to hoist me onto the kitchen counter. I gasped, breath catching as the counter chilled the backs of my thighs through my jeans—but then his mouth found my neck, and any chance of rational thought dissolved entirely.
“God, you’re killin’ me,” he murmured, lips brushing just under my ear. “You walk into my house and put on Dolly Parton and tell me to kiss you, and you expect me to cook?”
I shivered, arching into him. “You offered to cook.”
“That was before you asked me to fuck you,” he growled, teeth grazing my jaw as his hands slid beneath the hem of my hoodie.
He tugged it off over my head along with my t-shirt, leaving me in my bra and jeans on his countertop—and his hands were on me again right away, rolling my nipples through the lace of my bra, making me arch and moan.
“You always…” I gasped. “Always this generous with stranded strangers?”
“Just the ones with blue eyes and a bad attitude.”
My laugh broke on a gasp as he leaned down, teeth grazing the swell of my breast before kissing it like he meant it—like he was worshipping at the altar of my sass and sarcasm.
His hands were everywhere, anchoring me to the counter, sliding down my sides, coaxing pleasure out of me with an ease that was either natural talent or very lucky chemistry.
“Off,” I murmured, reaching for the hem of his shirt and yanking helplessly at it. He pulled away enough to pull it off over his head, revealing the finest torso I’d ever seen in real life. “Nice.”
“Thanks,” he chuckled.
When his hand moved to the button of my jeans, I didn’t stop him. I lifted my hips instead, helping him tug them down, dragging my underwear with them. He stepped back just long enough to peel them off completely, and when he reached for his own jeans, I watched him like I was under a spell.
And his cock…fuck, of course it was perfect. He was perfect. He had to be. None of this was real and I must’ve died somewhere back on the highway, and now I was in heaven with a stupid sexy angel.
Beau stepped between my legs again and kissed me like we were the only two people on earth.
“You still want this?” he asked against my lips, voice thick with barely held restraint. His cock was so close, pressing against my thigh, hard as a fucking rock.
I nodded. “Yes.”
Beau gripped my hips. “Then I need you to look at me, darlin’. The whole time. I wanna see your face when I make you come.”
I choked on a sound that might’ve been a laugh—or a whimper. “Seriously?”
“What?” he asked, leaning in. He reached one hand between us and dragged his cock through my arousal, the head catching on my entrance. “You don’t think I’m gonna make you come?”
I’ve never come from vaginal sex, my very unsexy inner critic thought.
“Guess we have to try,” I said.
And then, smiling and locking eyes with me, he thrust inside.