Softly nudging the bridge of her nose with the tip of his own, he pulled her closer. “I wanted to. I wanted to be alone with you. Away from everything else.”
“I’m glad. The lodge is great, but I like seeing where you live. Being in your space.” She trailed her lips along his collarbone, smiled against it when his fingers pressed into her hips. A low, rumbly sound left his chest.
“I have something else you’re going to like, a lot.”
An unexpected giggle left her mouth. Beckett pulled back, amusement dancing in his brown eyes. “Nice. But not what I meant. Well, that, too—but come with me.”
Taking her hand, he led them out of the room, into his bedroom, and then into the en suite bathroom. A large soaker tub took up one wall, and she thought maybe he was going to suggest that. She didn’t have time to be disappointed though, because he led her to the glass-enclosed shower and pointed up.
Presley sighed. There were two huge rainfall showerheads hanging from the ceiling. Another smaller, removable showerhead hung from the wall.
“It’s like a spa shower,” she said, leaning back into him.
“With excellent water pressure. Basically, the exact opposite of the lodge,” he said, kissing her neck.
Letting her go, he opened the shower door, turned on the water, and then pulled her back to him.
“Unless you’d rather go for a night bike ride?” He was already lifting her shirt over her head.
Presley laughed. “It’s unlikely you’ll get me out of this shower.” She pushed at his shirt, heart hammering against her ribs when he reached back, tugged it off himself.
“I can work with that.”
The lighting here was also better than the lodge or cabin. In the soft, warm glow, with steam rising around them, Presley took her time exploring the lines and muscles of his chest, kissing the spots her fingers touched, listening to their combined breathing.
His hands tangled in her hair, his next kiss consuming. It was a whole-body experience, the way he wrapped himself around her like he couldn’t get close enough. She lost herself in the feeling of being wanted, needed, cherished. They parted only long enough to remove the rest of their clothing and tumble into the shower together. He whispered words that heated her more than the water slicing over them. Words that made her feel seen.
He stroked her hair back from her face, stared at her with an intensity, a desire she’d never experienced. She told herself the heightened, unfamiliar need came from having an end date. But as she went up on her tiptoes to close the distance between them, she knew, without a doubt, that it was him. A week or a lifetime, the sensation would be the same. Because it was Beckett.
Twenty-Seven
That lovely, hazy moment in between sleep and waking was one of Presley’s favorites. In those precious seconds, waking in Beckett’s bed, she imagined this was more than a brief interlude. She ran her fingers over his soft sheets—the man did not scrimp on thread count—only to find his side empty.
Her eyelids fluttered open as her body came awake, including her mind. Which had the annoying habit of counting down, good or bad. Four days. She’d be going home in four days.
Stretching, she got out of bed, visited his bathroom, made sure her hair wasn’t pulling an Einstein.Not too bad.She smoothed it out a little before grabbing her toothbrush. Beckett had brought some of her things over. Thoughtful with great sheets was something a girl didn’t find every day of the week.
She found coffee in the kitchen, but not Beckett. Her phone, which she’d left charging on his counter, came awake when she unplugged it. There were several emails that she didn’t bother to open, a check-in text from Rylee, and a text from Beckett saying good morning, have some coffee, and he was just outside getting the bike ready.
“I hope that means you’re adding extra padding to the seat,” she said aloud as she poured herself a cup.
When she was a little more awake and caffeinated and had checked her socials, she posted a photo of her coffee with the caption:Second-best way to be awoken in the morning.Just for fun, she added the hashtag#GetOutside, because why not be optimistic? It got likes even before she closed the app to go find the internet’s current Hot Mountain Man.
He was outside, pushing on the back tire of the tandem bike that had been in his spare room.
Beckett’s eyes came to hers when she came outside. “Good morning.”
He left the bike as she walked down to the bottom step, leaning into a kiss like they’d rehearsed it. Like it could become a habit. Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the bike.
“Thought we’d take the tandem. I can take the front, or, if you’d like to, you can,” he said, turning her so she faced the bike and he was behind her.
“Definitely you in front. Then you won’t be able to see when I don’t pedal,” she said, approving of this plan.
She felt his rumble of laughter against her back, enjoyed the way his couple of days of stubble rasped against the skin of her shoulder.
“You know I’ll be able to tell if you’re not pedaling, right?”
Turning in his arms, Presley kissed his chin. He lowered it so she could kiss him again, on the lips. “Flat surface?”
