“It’s okay.”
“I’d much rather Miranda Lockhart be my competition than another man.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “There isn’t another man.”
“Good,” he said. “There isn’t another woman.”
My heart beat wildly. “I thought a man like you would have a girlfriend in every city he visited.” The thought made me nauseated.
“A man like me does nothing but work.”
I heard a whirring sound in the background. “You sound like you’re on a treadmill,” I teased.
“I work out when I’m stuck on an idea. It frees up my mind. That’s what I was doing the first time we met.”
I remembered the day I’d seen him the first time, and my cheeks heated. He’d been so gorgeous. He’d been wearing only a pair of shorts and those rubber ducky socks.
“What socks are you wearing?”
His low chuckle sounded across the line, making my belly clench. “Are you asking me what I’m wearing?”
My cheeks flushed, and my stomach clenched. I squeezed my thighs together as a thrill shot through me. Even though my question had been innocent enough, now it felt dirty. “Yes,” I confessed.
“Lacey Donovan, are you trying to have phone sex with me?”
I swallowed. “Maybe.”
Phone sex was unfamiliar territory for me. It had always seemed silly and desperate. I didn’t even like reading about phone sex in books. I usually skipped those scenes. But now I understood the incredible draw of a smooth, sexy voice over the phone. It was private, safe. No witnesses. No risks. Nothing but Beckett’s cultured voice with that faint trace of Southern sweetness seducing me from far away.
I might have some re-reading to do.
“Ever since you told me you love sexy underwear, I’ve been thinking a lot about undressing you.” Beckett’s low murmur caused fire to streak down my spine. “I’d press my mouth to the hollow of your neck and feel your pulse on my tongue.”
I lay back on the couch and closed my eyes. It wasn’t too hard to imagine Beckett’s firm lips trailing kisses across my shoulder.
“Where are you right now?” he asked. “In your bedroom?”
My apartment was one big room. My “bedroom” was at the far end, tucked under the A-frame of the roof. I got up and padded across the room to the bed, then sat down. “Yes.”
“Lie back.”
I did as he told me.
“Unbutton your shirt,” Beckett said.
I had changed into Beckett’s T-shirt. “It doesn’t have any buttons.”
“Are you wearing my T-shirt?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Silence ensued, then I heard his low growl. “Send me a picture.”
“My phone doesn’t do that.”
I heard his muffled curse. “You’re killing me with that ancient phone,” he said. “Please tell me you’re not wearing a bra.”
I smiled. “I’m not wearing a bra.”
