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“You’re still here?” Beckett asked.

“Hurtful,” Nico said, feigning offense.

“Bye, Nico.” Kat stepped closer to Beckett, pressing herself against him.

“Say hi to your sisters for me,” Beckett said.

“I will not,” Nico muttered as he left through the kitchen door.

They ate dinner in the garden Beckett paid a local landscaping company to maintain. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize he could still have a yard full of flowers without digging in the dirt himself—after all, trying to learn to cook was enough humiliation for the semi-retired pop star without also killing all the plants in the garden.

The high stone walls that separated Beckett’s property from his brother’s on one side and Logan’s on the other were covered in climbing greenery. Beds of flowers of every color created geometric shapes between cobblestone walking paths, all leading to a large, grassy clearing in the center of the yard where they often ate their dinner on a blanket under the stars. The space looked more like a park or public garden than a private backyard, but it was Beckett’s favorite place on his property. Well, that and wherever Kat was.

Beckett set aside the empty bowl as Kat licked the last of the chocolate mousse from the spoon. “So when do I get to read the new book?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “When it comes back from the editor.”

“I’ll get my colored pens ready.”

She laughed, tipping her face up to the moon. She was so beautiful like this, relaxed, free.

“C’mere,” he said, hauling her into his lap and kissing her.

Sometimes he still couldn’t believe this was really their life, this quiet existence where she wrote her books and he burned dinner, where he woke her in the mornings with his mouth between her thighs and she lay in his lap at night while they puzzled through whatever plot point had her stumped. It was more than he could have wished for, more than he felt he deserved. But he was working on that, on feeling worthy of her love. It was a little easier to believe every day.

“Where’d you disappear to this afternoon?” he asked against her lips.

He felt her smile through her kiss. “I have a surprise for you.”

He grinned, kissing the underside of her jaw. “Oh, yeah? What’s your surprise, Luna?”

“You’ll have to find it.” He pulled back to search her eyes and momentarily got distracted thinking of the songs he could write about the way the moonlight twinkled in her green irises.

“Is it somewhere in the house?” She shook her head. “Do you have it with you now?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

He eyed her outfit. The deep orange sundress hugged her curves, the low, gathered bodice with its chaste bow leaving little to the imagination. The dress didn’t even have pockets. There was nowhere for her to stash something.

“Are you wearing it?” he asked, remembering the lingerie shop in the center of town.

“Sort of.”

Now he was intrigued. How did you sort of wear something?

“Are you going to show me?” he asked.

Her smile widened, and she rolled her hips in his lap, a clear invitation. “I think you should find it yourself.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. With sure, slow movements, he untied the bow at the neckline of her dress. “Is it here?” he asked. She shrugged, pressing her red-painted lips together to hide her amusement.

The tie undone, the front of her dress fell open, her breasts tumbling free, nipples already hard in the evening air. A low, guttural sound of appreciation emanated from his chest and he cupped her tits in his hands, lifting one dusky pink tip to his mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp the way he liked, as he lavished attention on first one and then the other breast.

“No surprises here,” he murmured against her skin.

“Keep looking.”

Beckett dragged his fingers up her calf, over her knee, up her thigh, the fabric of her skirt bunching beneath his hand until it was pooled around her waist. He massaged her thighs, thumbs skating along the sensitive skin towards the edge of her panties.