He mutters something under his breath.
‘Let’s go, cowboy.’ I move my hand from his pants to his cheek, patting it casually, like I’m not completely drowning in desire.
He scowls a little but steps back, moving around to his side of the truck. As soon as we’re in our seats, I reach for one of the water bottles and press it against my decolletage, needing desperately to cool down. I catch Beau looking at me and shrug.
‘Your fault.’
He smirks as he starts the car with a powerful roar, then drives out onto the highway, leaving a big plume of dust in our wake.
Chapter Fifteen
Bailey
Not quite two hours later, we’re pulling into a town that’s little more than a single strip of asphalt with a gas station, a diner, a post office and general store, the latter two sharing the same building. But the sky is dusky hues of pink and orange, the street wide, and there’s an old charm about the place that makes me want to explore it. Beau takes a right and then drives through double gates with a big sign overhead proclaimingMotel. Theois flickering a little, a light on the blink.
He pulls up down the end, where a placard in the window readsReception.
‘I won’t be long.’ Tension stretches around me like a string. His jeans hug his ass as he walks, and with each step his boots kick up a small cloud of dust. His shirt is a pale blue, tucked into his belted waist, and on his head he wears a black cowboy hat that he removes as he opens the door and disappears inside. My pulse kicks up.
Even when he’s gone, I feel him. The car smells like him. I look at the driver’s seat and can still see the ghost of Beau, driving with his arm on the open window, his slow, easy smile, deep, honeyed tan, the way he sat with his legs wide, one knee cocked to the console, so I could almost reach out and touch it. My hand drifts over, my fingertips running over the dark leather of his seat. It’s still warm.
A door closes and I jump guiltily. I glance back at the reception area as Beau steps out, still holding his hat, striding toward the car, all chiselled jaw and broad shoulders, all gorgeous cowboy action figure brought to life. I hope I can come up with a better way to describe him in my article. ‘Sex on a stick’ is accurate, but probably not what my editor’s looking for.
He opens my door and holds it wide, so I step out on legs that are a little unsteady. I’m wearing sunglasses; he’s not. I feel the intensity in his gaze and am relieved my eyes are shielded from him.
‘You’re over there.’ He nods along the rows of doors, holding out a key. Disappointment is a visceral, tangible thing. I try to smother any response, but I know it must show on my face despite the sunglasses.
A cocky grin lifts his lips. ‘What’s the matter, darlin’? Did you think we’d be sharing a room?’
Heat floods my cheeks as I bite back a retort. I hadn’t given it any thought, but yeah, apparently that’s what I had been expecting. And wanting.
He leans down and whispers in a gravelled voice, right in my ear, ‘Don’t worry—we have our own rooms but that doesn’t mean we can’t share a bed.’
I hate that Kirk has done this to me. I hate that because of him I have flashes of self-doubt even when all evidence is to the contrary. I hate that he’s made me wonder what a guy would see in me, when Beau’s been tripping over himself from almost the first moment we met to get in my pants. Okay, that might just be what he’s like, I’m not stupid enough to think it means anything to him, but it does to me. Kirk made me feel like I couldn’t trust myself, couldn’t get what I wanted in life, couldn’t have it all, and Beau makes me feel the exact opposite. Like he’s the buffet and I can just keep on filling up to my heart’s content—and that means something.The idea of being safe in a relationship—even just a fling—is something Bailey 2.0 struggles with. I trusted Kirk, he screwed me over, and somewhere along the way I vowed never to trust again. So yeah, this is a big deal.
He wiggles the key with the oversized red plastic keyring; I reach out and take it.
‘My sister, you know. She drummed it into us that girls like privacy.’ He lifts his broad shoulders and my heart turns over in my chest at both the courtesy and the admission. He’s not presuming anything, despite the heat that’s bursting between us.
‘You know, you’re a real gentleman.’
A muscle jerks in his jaw. ‘Only way to be when you’re raised a Donovan.’
I strangle a sigh in my throat—just.
‘I’ll get your bag.’
‘Sure.’ I say the word into the nothingness before me, then belatedly move toward the door he indicated. A quick check of the keyring shows the room number; I scan the brick walls until we reach it, then push the key into the lock.
Inside is pretty much exactly what you’d expect, if you’ve ever seen a TV show or movie that features a roadside motel. Aged decor, simple furnishings and a plastic palm in the corner. But it smells like pine and lavender, and rather than an ancient coverlet on the decent-size bed, the linen is crisp white, starched and inviting. My eyes run over it appreciatively and then, aware that Beau is right behind me, his warmth enveloping even without touching me, I fight an urge to fall back against him. To turn and wrap my arms around his neatly muscled waist, pressing my hands to his back.
Just like I’ve been wanting to do since the diner. No, since I woke up in my own room in Fort Worth, needing him like wildfire.
‘Okay.’ He places the bags down, takes a few more steps, hands in pockets now. There’s a flatscreen on the wall, a fridge, a small safe. ‘Good?’
He turns slowly to face me, one thick, dark brow cocked in inquiry.
I nod once.
