“Hey, Princess.”
“Princess?” I asked with a laugh. I wasn’t exactly the princess type. Princesses didn’t usually have sleeves of tattoos and piercings. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”
“Hmm…” Beckett reached for me, and I thought he would take me into his arms, but he pushed aside the sleeve of my sweater instead. “Princess Alaura of Marlydia,” he said with a nod at the pirate ship etched on the inside of my wrist. “That’s her ship, isn’t it?” he asked. “TheRenata?”
I swallowed hard, loosening the knot in my tongue. “Yes,” I confirmed.
Beckett stepped closer, sliding his hand up my arm. “You remind me of her,” he said.
My eyes shot to his. “Why?” I breathed. Princess Alaura was a warrior. A hero.
“You’re so brave,” he said.
Holding the bouquet aside so we wouldn’t crush the flowers, he pulled me close. I had a moment to appreciate the way the green flecks sparkled in his eyes as his mouth covered mine, and I closed my eyes.
I hadn’t imagined how great the kisses we’d shared had been. Beckett’s kiss was sweet and sensual, making me crave more of him. His fingers cradled me closer as he tasted my mouth like I was something rare and delicious. His breath puffed against my lips, and lightning streaked down my spine.
Beckett released me slowly, and I eased down off toes I hadn’t known I was on. “You’re early,” I said when I could speak.
“I missed you.” He held out the flowers. “I’m sorry I’m early. I’m all messed up. Still on London time.”
“Did you bring me something to read?” I asked.
Beckett’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t back out on a deal.”
I salivated at the thought of devouring his words. “Where is it?”
“After dinner.” He reached up and touched a curl dangling from my rebellious ponytail. “I want to be sure you don’t run out on me. Sneak out through the bathroom window or something.”
“You’ve seen too many movies. I don’t back out on deals either.” I pointed at my hair. “I need to do something with this.”
He leaned in to press another kiss to my mouth. “Take your time. I’ll wait in the car. Dress warmly.”
“Why?” It was in the fifties, and the air was dry.
“It will snow,” Beckett promised, looking at something in the Carolina sky that I didn’t see. “Don’t rush. I have a book.”
I sighed. I’d never heard anything sexier.
“Do you like champagne?”After setting aside his book, he pulled a bottle from a cooler.
“Yes.” My eyes flickered to the book he’d just set aside, and I wondered about the one he was working on. I’d been dying of curiosity all week. I’d been sorely tempted to snoop through his office while he’d been gone.
“You look gorgeous,” he said, handing me a plastic flute full of bubbling champagne.
I was wearing a deep-blue sweater that hung off my shoulder and jeans tucked into a pair of cowboy boots I’d bought in Boulder, Colorado. I’d pulled my hair up into a bun, and it was already doing its best to escape.
“How was London?”
Beckett sighed and leaned back in his seat with the champagne. He crossed his ankles in front of him, stretching. “I’m glad to be back.”
“What were you doing over there?”
I sipped my champagne, trying to act casual when I was dying of curiosity. I really knew nothing about Beckett. His work. His writing. His history. A nerve thrummed inside me, insisting I find out everything about him. Absolutely everything.
“Fixing things,” he said.
I eyed him skeptically. “I need more.”
