His breath stirs the wisps of hair that have escaped my braid, sending shivers down my spine. “No? Because from where I'm standing, you look like you're about five seconds from taking out both feet.”
“From where you're standing, you're about five seconds from taking an elbow to the ribs.” My breathless voice betrays the lie. What I really want to do involves no elbows, significantly more touching, and a lot less clothing.
He chuckles, the sound rumbling from his chest and straight into mine. “Violent tendencies, technical expertise, and an unwillingness to accept help. You're full of surprises.”
We manage to position the speaker, but now we're trapped in the small space between the equipment and the wall, his chest hovering at my back.
“You're blushing.” A callused finger traces the flush spreading down my neck without touching my skin. “Right here.”
My lower belly tightens. “It's warm in here.” I try to sound dismissive, but my voice wavers.
He reaches past me to adjust a wire, deliberately invading my space until I'm surrounded by the wall of his chest. “You're thinking about our night together, aren’t you, my little Ewok?”
I suck in a sharp breath, my body betraying me with a full-body flush I can’t hide. “I’m thinking about how fast I could short this wire and make your hair stand on end if you keep calling me that.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, his mouth dangerously close to my ear. “It was a compliment. Ewoks are scrappy, stubborn, and incredibly loyal.”
I should step away. Should elbow him in the ribs like I threatened. But instead, I stay perfectly still, letting the heat of him seep into my skin.
His hand brushes my waist lightly like he’s reaching for a cable, but I feel it everywhere. “I remember how you sounded when you stopped pretending. I’ve been replaying it in my head every damn night since.”
A whimper catches in my throat, and I curse my reaction.
“One little touch, and you're right back there with me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he whispers, voice rough now.
My breath catches, but I lift my chin. “You’re awfully confident for someone who didn’t even get a name.”
He leans in, his voice silk-wrapped sin. “I didn’t need a name to make you fall apart. But you keep teasing me, sweetheart, and I’ll make you scream mine next time.”
Yes. God, yes.
I forget how to breathe. Memories flash into my mind: Beckett’s hands in my hair, his lips ghosting my neck, the low growl he made when he came. My knees go weak, and I almost stumble.
I swallow thickly. “There won’t be a next time.”
The unmistakable thud of heavy boots comes from the barn entrance. “George!”
Deputy Marcus Wade’s cologne reaches me before he does, like someone dumped an entire bottle of “Trying Too Hard” on his pressed uniform.
I duck my head out from behind Beckett, summoning a smile. “Deputy.”
Marcus’s gaze slides over me in a proprietary way that makes me want to hit something. Preferably him. “Your father mentioned you’d be working here. Thought we’d stop by to see if you needed any help.”
I try to step around Beckett, but he angles his body, positioning himself between Marcus and me. The protective gesture shouldn't make heat pool in my belly. It absolutely does.
“We're good here.” Beckett's voice has a hard, protective edge, nothing like his intimate tone a moment ago.
Marcus’s smile doesn't reach his eyes as he extends his hand. “Don't believe we've met. I’m Deputy Wade.”
Beckett pauses, assessing the deputy before accepting the handshake. “Beckett Lawson.”
The testosterone in the air is suffocating. The contrast between the two men is stark. Marcus, with his manufactured charm and regulation haircut, versus Beckett's raw power and laser focus. The deputy carries a badge and a service weapon, but Beckett doesn’t need either. He carries himself like a man who’s been in enough fights to know he’ll win.Like a man who’s seen things. Done things.
I shouldn’t know that. But I do.
I saw the scars on his body. The old ones. Not from bar fights or dumb luck. The kind that don’t happen by accident. The kind you earn.
He said his name was Shadow that night. And later, he told me it was a nickname. But I’m starting to think it wasn’t meant to be casual. It feels more like a call sign. Or a warning.
