Beckett (8:32pm): Answer. Your. Phone.
Beckett (8:32pm): I’m getting you a new phone ASAP. You need to join the twenty-first century. You probably aren’t even seeing these texts. Are you?
A car pulledup in my driveway. I pushed the curtain away from the window and saw Beckett’s sleek black car below. I pressed closer to the glass, feeling queasy as I watched him unfold himself from the car and hurry up the stairs. His footsteps pounded on the metal staircase outside the window. I let the curtain fall, and I jumped up when the knock sounded.
Beckett knocked again. My heart was angry with him, but other parts of my body hadn’t gotten the message yet. It was safer to pretend I wasn’t home until he went away. If I opened the door, I would want to invite him in. That would lead to touching and probably kissing and more.
“Let me in, will you? I’m getting soaked.”
Beckett’s voice shot a tingle of awareness down my spine. My heart didn’t stand a chance as long as other parts of my body had a vote. I told myself to get it over with. I had to say good-bye at some point. I yanked open the door, and as soon as I saw Beckett’s face, I knew I was in trouble. Trouble with a capital T. He was too damn good looking. Even with rain plastering his hair to his forehead, he looked like he’d walked straight off a movie set.
Beckett frowned down at me, his eyes intense behind the wet lenses of his glasses. “Are you going to let me in?”
I opened the door wider and allowed Beckett into my apartment. That was another mistake. I should never have let him in. The apartment was tiny to begin with, and it seemed to shrink when Beckett entered. He peeled off his wet jacket, filling the room with the scent of his woodsy aftershave and crisp winter rain. Ducking to miss hitting his head on the light fixture, he draped his coat on the chair next to mine.
“Is something wrong with your phone? I’ve been texting.”
“My phone is fine.”
His head whipped around at the tone of my voice. Tension pulsed in the air as his eyes roamed my face.
“Is something wrong with you?” he asked.
I glanced at the Miranda Lockhart novels on my counter, and my blood turned to ice in my veins. It was easier to tap into my anger and ignore the pain. “I’m fine.”
Beckett took a step toward me. “You don’t sound fine. You don’t look fine.”
My muscles tensed under his scowl. “Why are you here?” I asked.
“We had a date, remember?”
I breezed by him into the kitchen, intent on putting the counter between us. Beckett’s hand shot out to encircle my wrist, and he tugged me closer.
“You seemed fine the last time I saw you.”
I closed my eyes against the image of Beckett on his knees, pinning me to the door with his mouth. I could feel the heat of his fingers penetrate my sleeve, burning my skin.
“Tell me, Princess.” He pulled me into his arms, wrapping me tight in his hold where I felt ridiculously safe. His wet shirt dampened the front of my dress. He leaned down and rubbed his lips over my cheek. “Whatever it is, we can work it out.”
Emotion welled inside me, and I couldn’t hold it back. “I saw you. With Miranda.”
Beckett smoothed my hair back, holding the curls prisoner as his eyes searched mine. “Is that what this is about?” he asked. “You saw me with Sally?”
My brows pulled together. “I saw you with Miranda Lockhart.”
“Her real name is Sally.”
Chapter 29
My mind raced as I struggled to process Beckett’s reaction. He wasn’t even trying to deny it. I braced my hands on his chest and pushed. Beckett released me, and I stomped across the room. My apartment was too small to get very far away from him. He was too big to escape. I could feel the heat of his body and smell his scent from across the room. Beckett had a fragrance that stayed with me even when he was gone. I knew I’d remember it for years.
He crossed his arms over his chest, drawing the wet fabric of his shirt tightly over his biceps. “You assumed we were on a date,” he said.
I wanted to rip the smug expression from his face. “You were sitting on the same side of the booth,” I said. “You had your arm around her.”
Beckett’s mouth tightened, fine lines radiating from the corners. “I can explain.”
“You were reading a book together. There’s no explanation that can fix that.”
