Five
He’d let her go. He’d stared at the duffel bag outside his goddamned door and rather than chase her, call her, call the doorman, call his sister, call someone. He’d stood there, just staring at the bag. Then he’d brought it inside, and stared at it some more, jaw clenched. He’d reached inside, pulled out one of his shirts, and smelled it. And goddamn him, it smelled like her.
And he’d clenched it in his fist, fighting to let her go.
Because it was what he wanted.
Wasn’t it?
Hell yeah, he didn’t need a little problem called Sandy Brown in his life.
Did he?
For a whole week, Beckham couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t go back to his life the way it had been before prior to Sandy’s visit to Houston.
“Mr. Winters,” his assistant rang him on the phone as he sat in his office, coming to the realization that his life would never be the same after her, “Mr. Finch is outside—“
“Tell the pilots to get the Cessna ready. We’re going to Miami.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Exactly what I said,” he said, the conviction firing him up in a way he hadn’t felt fired up in days, “Oh, and, also…cancel all meetings? I realize this is a first but this situation I’m in…is kind of a first.”
He smirked to himself as he realized there was no going back to the way his life was before he saw sexy, adult Sandy Brown and fucked the living sheeshus out of her. Oh no. Things had changed—and he was manning up to the fact that he didn’t plan to spend the next ten years sulking about it.
He flew to Miami at noon. Descended the stairs of his Cessna jet, climbed into his rental car, and punched the address on the GPS that Calli had given him.
He’d asked Calli to call Sandy and tell her she was having something important delivered, and could she please be home to answer?
Well.
Sandy—his Sandy—was in a T-shirt and tiny jean shorts when she opened the front door, and her wide innocent eyes went even wider and more innocent when she saw Beckham across the threshold.
The unguarded look of surprise and yearning in her eyes was quickly concealed, but Beckham’s chest still tightened with that glimpse of it.
“I didn’t take anything!” she cried, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe he’d come here.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Are you sure about that?” He started for her and she backed off, her pulse fluttering so fast that he could see it—right there, at the base of her throat.
It was so good to see her, he could barely talk, his voice roughened with emotion. “You see, you took something from here—“ he tapped his chest “—and I’m not doing too well without it.”
She started shaking her head, but he lifted a hand so she let him finish.
“So I want to propose you come back to Houston with me. I want you to move in with me for a while, Sandy—and if we like it, then I want you to stay. For keeps.
I know you want to go back to school, and there are plenty of schools in Houston. And there are a lot more…” He tugged at the shirt he wore, “where this came from.”
“Becks, this is unnecessary,” she said, alarmed as if this shit was getting too deep for her, too intense for her. Too fucking close to reality for her.
“I’m not doing it for you,” he part laughed, part growled as he reached out for her arms and pulled her closer. “This is for me. And so is this.” He kissed her, sucking her tongue into his mouth, needing a taste of her. Damn she tasted good. Like home. Like what he needed. Like what gave his life fucking meaning. “You get under my skin, Sandy, you get under my nails, my teeth, my hair, my goddamned mind.”
She clawed at his shirt, wiping her tears. “I finally conquered the urge and I gave everything back.”
“Yes but what you took now, you can’t give back,” he said tenderly, holding her face in his hands. “I don’t mind that you take those other things. They can be replaced. But I mind that you take my mind. My fucking soul, girl. I mind that you took something of value since last weekend—maybe even, since before—and I don’t think you can give it back to me even if you wanted to.”
“Beckham, I don’t understand,” she said.
“I love you, you silly girl,” he said. “You get to me. I don’t want us to be apart. I want to figure this out. I want to figure you out. And I want you to let me. To trust in this, and in me. This is happening, Sandy. It’s—this—us—whatever you want to call it. It’s happening, you sexy naughty little thief.”
She grabbed his face and flew up on tiptoes to kiss him, wildly and without an ounce of restraint. “So I get to sleep in your shirts,” she whispered with a saucy little smile, and he agreed with a nod.
“Yes, though preferably naked,” he murmured.
Beckham had suffered many days yearning to touch her that now he couldn’t help but bring her closer. He slipped his hand under her shirt so that he could feel her skin and drew her close enough to kiss her, at leisure, romantically and with love. “Anyone home?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.
Sandy shook her head no. Beckham’s lips curled wickedly. “Then would you like to give me a tour of your bedroom?”
She moved her head yes and swallowed, her pupils dilated with desire.
He followed as Sandy guided him into her small, cluttered bedroom, where he proceeded to promptly get rid of her clothes, and then his own, and then he proceeded to fuck his love into oblivion.
Several times in a row.
Then he helped her pack, met her cousins, and whisked her away…back to Houston, and his side.
Where that lovely little thief belonged.
In his bed, in his life…and in his heart.
About the Author
Red Garnier is the author of multiple steamy books and novellas. She’s written for Harlequin Desire, St. Martin’s press, and NAL. Though she loves to write short and hot contemporary romances, she also enjoys writing an occasional paranormal story.
@redgarnier
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www.redgarnier.com
[email protected] Also by Red Garnier
Claimed by Him
Taken by Him
Bound by Him
Kept by Him
Bared by Him
The Secretary’s Bossman Bargain
Paper Marriage Proposition
Wrong Man, Right Kiss
Once Pregnant, Twice Shy
The Satin Sash
Divine Assistant
Bonaide Liar
Moody Bastard
Red Garnier, Naughty Little Thief
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