We both laughed softly.
“I’m sorry.”
Beckett’s hand covered mine. “For what?”
I turned my hand over and our fingers linked. “For making you hurt your hand.”
“I was glad to do it,” he said.
He took off his glasses and set them on the nightstand. He looked younger without them. More vulnerable but just as handsome. It was hard to decide which way I liked him better—with or without glasses. It was a tie.
“Are you reading my book?” I asked, glancing at my copy ofBeneath the Starson the nightstand.
“What?”
“Beneath the Stars. I left it here.”
“I wanted to make sure you got it back.”
I studied his face in the darkness, tempted to lift my hand and caress the line of tension from his jaw. “You don’t have to be embarrassed,” I said. “Lots of men read romance.”
He squeezed my fingers. “I’m not embarrassed. I don’t get embarrassed.”
“Everyone gets embarrassed.”
“Not me.” Beckett shifted closer and then eased an arm around my shoulders. “This okay?” he asked.
A streak of fire raced down my spine as I leaned into him. The hard lines of his body under the soft cashmere of his sweater made my skin tingle. “It’s fine.”
We fell silent, and our breathing synced. I was almost asleep when Beckett asked, “Do you like limericks?”
I lifted my head. “You mean the poems we wrote in elementary school?”
“Yes. I write them to relax. Do you want to hear one?”
“Okay.”
Beckett cleared his throat and began. “There once was an old man named Keith. Who often misplaced his false teeth.” He paused dramatically. “Imagine his face, when he sat on the chaise, and was suddenly bit from beneath.”
I held back a chuckle. “That was horrible,” I said.
“That’s the idea.” He rubbed my arm. “You want another?”
I nodded and closed my eyes.
“There once was an ice skater named Chuck,” he said. “Who thought he was good with a puck…”
Even though it made the pain in my head explode, I laughed.
Chapter 14
In my dream, I climbed a ladder with dozens of rungs. As soon as I neared the top, I slid right back down to the bottom and began the process again. I woke slowly, feeling as though there were a dozen things I’d left undone.
It took a moment to adjust to the darkness of the bedroom, but as soon as my vision cleared, I knew I was in Beckett’s bed. And I was alone.
Beckett had probably gone to another room to get some sleep. I could hardly blame him. Not when I lay outstretched on his bed like a starfish. I wasn’t used to sharing a bed with a man, and I was a cover hog.
I sat up and yawned, then shuffled into the bathroom. Moonlight streamed in from the tall windows, casting a glow on the white tiles.
