Beckett laughed, but the sound fell far short of mirth. “What life?” He brought my hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over my knuckles. The skin around his eyes tightened as he met my eyes. “When I saw you standing on the ladder at the bookshop, everything clicked into place. You were like an angel up there. An angel with a perfect ass.” He grinned, making one dimple pop. “I wanted to write again. I wanted to create something new, and different, and worthy of your beauty.”
“Beckett.” My cheeks burned with a blush.
“I mean it.” He tugged on a damp curl, pulling it down and then releasing it. “You inspire me.” He scrunched a handful of my hair in his fist. “This hair inspires me.”
I laughed. “My hair has a mind of its own.”
“That’s what I like about it.”
“Does my status as muse entitle me to special treatment?”
His hand cupped my neck, fingers caressing my nape. “What would you like?”
The question, asked in Beckett’s low rasp, made a tremble rush through me. My skin tingled, and I leaned closer, reaching up to kiss the underside of his jaw.
“I want your words.”
The admission made me tremble. I’d never said something so intimate to a man. I was asking Beckett to let me see his bared soul.
“Then you’ll have them.”
He turned his head to take my mouth. His kiss was magic. I tumbled under his spell.
“You must be hungry,” he said, pulling away.
“Are you gonna cook?” I couldn’t imagine Beckett puttering around in the kitchen.
“I don’t cook.” He rubbed a hand down my back. “But I’m an expert at ordering delivery.”
“Isn’t it a little late—or early—for takeout?”
“You like omelets?” He went to his desk to retrieve his phone.
“Sure.”
Beckett stepped away, speaking into his phone. He ordered a spread of food as if it were a perfectly ordinary thing to do in the middle of the night. He lifted his chin at me. “Coffee?”
When I nodded, he ordered a pot of French press, then ended the call with a swipe of his finger.
“After we eat, I’m sending you back to bed.”
Chapter 17
When I woke later, my head still ached, but I felt a bubble of something light in my heart that hadn’t been there before. I think it might have been hope, but I couldn’t be sure.
Beckett strolled into the bedroom looking impossibly handsome in dark slacks and a button-down shirt.
“You’re up.” He fastened a silver watch on his wrist.
God, the man could wear a watch. “Why are you so dressed up?”
“I have to leave for the airport,” he said. “I can give you a ride home now, or you can stay as long as you like and call the courtesy van from the resort to take you home when you’re ready.”
“Where are you going?”
“London.”
I regarded his perfectly styled hair and imagined a woman running her hands through it. “Do you have a girlfriend in London?” I asked.
