Give It Up Page 13

  “You might be right.” My eyes examined his. We needed to make sure our professional relationship took top priority. To that end, I was going to ignore the balloon of happiness that floated up in my chest and keep calm and practical about the work ahead of us. Yep, ignoring it. Sure my time with Beck in bed had been amazing, but there was a lot more to consider before jumping back into bed with him. After being exposed to Beckett Thorne’s sexiness for seventy-two hours straight, I needed to go into detox before I attempted to make any decision about the two of us.

  On the other hand, the chemistry between us was white hot and amazing. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before—other than with Beck—and I wasn’t sure I wanted to let that go just yet. I might never find something like this again.

  “But… It might be wise, now that we’ve found a way to collaborate, to keep it purely professional from here on out.” Beck stood stiffly, his gaze searching mine.

  “Oh, right. That’s probably a good idea. Just…you know...temporary business partners. Two people working together. Exactly right. I agree.” Gah. I’m an idiot.

  He was right. This job had too much riding on it. I needed to keep my focus on the job.

  My time with Beck helped me admit something to myself that I’d been in denial about for a very long time. I’d been hiding away from a healthy romantic relationship because of my negative experiences with my father and stepbrothers. I’d let my frustration and anger at their inexcusable and unscrupulous behavior color my thinking. And that had been my loss. Because if today was an indication, for my happiness and creativity to flourish, I needed this one-on-one closeness with someone.

  Someone like Beck. Only definitely not Beck. He’d made that clear. Heck, he told me he didn’t do relationships. He’d been honest and clear about that. So I needed someone like Beck who wasn’t emotionally closed off. I’d learned to never count on an emotionally bankrupt man.

  Chapter 17

  Beckett

  After the lock-in weekend, work began to flow amazingly well. We could get more work done back at our offices without the activity and sounds of three different crews banging away at Lila’s, so we stopped seeing each other every day too. But the few hours we did work together that week, now that we’d finally figured a way to meld our designs into one, was not a hardship. At all.

  I was damn happy about the progress. By Friday, Sam and I had finished all the plans and presented them to Lila. While she examined each room plan carefully, she seemed more satisfied by whatever vibe she picked up between me and Sam.

  “You don’t have to tell me I was right. I can see by the work you’ve just shown me that I was. I felt the change as soon as I stepped into the house today; there was a very clear energy present. A positive, creative force.” Lila smiled her bright flower-child smile at us. “Exactly what I need in a house I’m going to live in. Yes to it all, now go make magic in my house.”

  The fact that September was just around the corner meant our timeline was tight, but with demolition, electric, plumbing rough-in, and most of the framing already complete, we were ready for drywall and texture. That could be done in a week with both of our crews working on it, and then we’d be in a race to the finish. By December first, we needed to be finished in order to give the catering crew and florist time to decorate for the fundraising gala.

  I’ll admit I’d been tense waiting for Lila’s approval so, hell yes, I felt relieved as I watched Lila walk out of the house. It had taken us over a month, more arguments than I care to remember, and a bottle of Advil, but damn if Sam and I hadn’t finally come together on the design.

  I don’t know how it happened, but what started out as a celebratory embrace between me and Sam morphed into an impulsive kiss. Like some magnetic force pulled us together. The damn thing was I’d been fine all week, busy with the plans. I had everything locked down tight and under control. Until that accidental kiss turned into the first domino of a cascading chain reaction.

  Hell, it wasn’t even a real kiss. Just a whisper-soft brush of her lips…a barely-there touch. But that was all it took to break me.

  Sam’s lips, warm and soft against mine, were a shock to my system. The instant our lips touched, I knew I’d been lying to myself. I’d missed being close to her. Being intimate. We reacted at the same time, jerking apart and sliding back into our business-only roles. Or we tried to.

  Just because I was the one who’d suggested going back to a purely professional relationship, didn’t mean I didn’t have regrets. It didn’t mean I hadn’t lost sleep over the week thinking about Sam and our time together during the lock-in because those last twenty-four hours hadn’t been nearly enough time with her.

  Being with Sam, but not being with Sam—was getting to me. Every time I saw her on the jobsite only reinforced how much I wanted her. The tension in me—between us—had been building and simmering under the surface all week. The accidental kiss made it impossible to ignore.

  That damn kiss was why I ended up on Sam’s doorstep at ten o’clock on Friday night.

  “Hey, Sam,” I said. What else was I going to start with? Let’s fuck? Yeah, that didn’t sound good. So, I went with sounding like a high schooler instead.

  “Beck.” She blinked at me, not in confusion though. I think we both knew why I was there. Maybe because she was weighing out how dumb of an idea this was. “You want to come in?”

  Hell, yes. “Thanks.” I followed her in, closing and locking the door behind me.

  Her gaze whipped around when the lock clicked, and she looked up at me.

  “I know it was my idea to keep it to just work between us, but I can’t stop thinking about you. And I thought, maybe if you were going through the same thing, you’d be okay if we keep the …communication…open. I mean—just a…What I’m trying to say is our creativity was off the charts this last week. If I were to use a sports analogy, we hit it out of the park. We scored a hat trick.” Well, I was making a hash of this. But then I’d never—not once—asked a woman for something beyond a night or two. “You know how athletes are superstitious?”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “Well, I’m suggesting that we’re on a streak. Streaks need to be respected. You don’t mess with a streak, Sam. Everyone knows that. I think we should keep having sex until we finish the job.”

  “You’re talking months.”

  “That’s true. But it’s our responsibility to give this job everything we have.”

  “It would be downright irresponsible if we stopped.”

  “Exactly.” I nodded slowly. “For Lila’s sake, we need to take this one for the team.”

  “I guess I could make that sacrifice,” Sam said. Thank God she didn’t look like it would be a sacrifice at all.

  “Obviously, I think what happens between us should stay private.”

  “I agree. We don’t want all our subcontractors and their crews talking about us instead of our work. That would be counterproductive and possibly take away from the work we hope to achieve.”

  “Right. But truthfully, I was thinking about my brothers. They don’t need to know what’s going on between us.”

  “You think they wouldn’t like the idea of you and me together?”

  “Oh, hell no. They wouldn’t care about that. No, they’d just be a big pain in the ass, giving me a hard time about finally getting laid.”

  “Just sex? We’ll be all work on the jobsite and keep the sex on the down low.”

  “Exactly, just sex.”

  “No relationship. No dating. You won’t buy me flowers and I won’t volunteer to do your laundry.”

  “Right. Just hot, set the sheets on fire, no strings attached sex.”

  “To be clear, I’ll be the only woman you’re sleeping with, right?”

  “Fuck yes.”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  Thank God
. I needed Sam again. I missed spending time with her. And not only when I lay sleepless in my bed, but even catching glimpses of her working across a room. The way she got excited over finding the exact right shade of paint, or the quiet authority she used to direct her subcontractors, or the way she let out full belly laughs with Margo. Standing in her house with her bedroom down the hall, it might just have killed me if she’d said no.

  I scooped her up in my arms and plowed my way into the house. “Which way’s the bedroom?”

  “The end of the hallway with the light on.” She had her arms wrapped tight around my neck and her lips kissed a soft blazing trail along my jaw.

  “Jesus, Sam, that’s twenty feet away. I might not make it that far.”

  “Buck up, buttercup,” she whispered and then she licked my ear, and I picked up my pace.

  I tossed her on the bed, following down on top of her. I kissed her deep, tasting her sweetness as the electricity between us sizzled. I needed to nail down one last thing that was nibbling at my brain.

  “Just to be clear, I’ll be the only man you’re sleeping with, right?”

  “My one and only. Now stop talking and do me.”

  Oh, I did her. I had my ever-loving way with her. All my pent-up passion from the past week went into my efforts until I had Sam screaming in pleasure. Then Sam turned the tables and had her way with me. She ran her hands and her lips and tongue all over my body, pulling a response from me and dragging me deep down through dark waves of sensation.

  “Fuck, Sam, I’m not sure I can move after that.” It was one of the sexiest times I’d ever experienced and one I’d be happy to repeat. Only it wouldn’t be tonight as we lay tangled together, recovering our breaths and sanity.

  “I know,” she whispered, her voice relaxed and satisfied. “No complaints from me.”

  Our breaths leveled out, and I let myself enjoy the feel of her soft and warm in my arms. Maybe too much. And that’s what finally got me moving.

  I had a few sacrosanct rules I always followed. I never brought a woman back to my place, and I didn’t spend the night. After mutually satisfying no-strings sex, I always left. Was I a jerk? Maybe. But it was all I had to give.

  “I’ve got to go.” I pressed my lips to her temple and slid out of bed before pulling my clothes back on as she watched me. Grabbing my boots in one hand, I leaned down for one last kiss on her lips. “Night, Sam. I’ll lock the front door behind me.”

  * * * *

  That’s how our thing on the side started. Slow and sporadic. I think we needed each other but didn’t want to need each other too much.

  I went by Sam’s apartment again on Monday. And Wednesday. Late at night. We made love, and then I’d let myself out and head back to my place. I didn’t want to cross the line of the rules we’d laid down. She’d signed on for no-strings attached sex, and that was what I gave her.

  But even after three nights it wasn’t enough. I still had this burning in my chest and the need to have more of her. It was an uncomfortable feeling—like someone had power over me—one I had no control over, which made me itchy.

  So when Friday rolled around, I stayed away. I decided to prove to myself I didn’t need Sam. I simply enjoyed good sex like any other red-blooded adult. I did a little work on my computer. Heated up leftovers for dinner. Sat down to watch a game on TV. Turned off the game. Paced around my house for no reason. Got my keys in my hand to drive to Sam’s. Realized what I was doing and set them back on their hook. Turned the game back on.

  When my doorbell rang at ten-thirty, I didn’t even care which brother it was. I’d take any distraction at this point.

  Sam stood on my porch, blinking at me with uncertainty. “You didn’t come over, so…I thought I’d come to you. Unless you didn’t come because you don’t want m—”

  “I want,” I growled and hauled her in and made wild, desperate love to her.

  Chapter 18

  Beckett

  One week later…

  Crap, I was tired. Not that I was complaining, since my loss of sleep was due to Sam heating up my nights. During the days, we focused on work. We’d all but moved our lovemaking to my house on account of my king-size bed. You bet your ass we used all that space.

  Plus I had cable and Sam didn’t. And somehow we’d added spending a bit of time hanging out together in front of the TV before we burned up the sheets. Catching one of Ash’s games or watching some movie on Netflix. We both yelled at the TV when a ref missed a call during a Roughnecks game. And don’t even get either one of us started on the Yankees.

  I also got a kick when Sam watched one of her favorite cooking competition shows. It didn’t hurt that she clutched my arm looking worried as the clock ran out, and buried her face into my chest when it looked like someone wasn’t going to get everything on the plate. So maybe we stretched the “just sex” rule a bit with our extra time together. Other than that, we kept to the rest of the rules we’d laid down. No sleepovers or breakfast the next morning.

  Yes, the sex was fucking amazing, but lately when she left my bed in the dark hours after midnight, I felt hollowed out inside, afraid to admit I was craving more. No matter how many nights we saw each other—three, sometimes four nights a week—it still never felt like enough. Whatever it was between us, it wasn’t letting up.

  Hell, if I thought I was tired, Sam must be just as exhausted, since now she was the one who got up and drove home after lovemaking. Which didn’t sit well with me, even though I knew I was the one who’d set up that unspoken rule. But not only was I unable to sleep until she texted me she was home safely, I couldn’t settle easily when she wasn’t pressed against me even after her text.

  Like she was right now. Sam lay with her back pressed against me, my arm wrapped around her, my hand resting on her chest, her heart beating rapidly beneath my palm.

  When both our heart rates had settled, she stretched and rolled toward the side of the bed, to leave. To go home.

  I reached out my hand, ran it from her shoulder and down her arm, capturing her hand.

  “Stay.”

  * * * *

  The next morning I woke up when Sam rolled her lush body into mine and snuggled in. She was so fucking comfortable I didn’t want to leave. She had her head resting on my shoulder and one knee thrown over mine, claiming me in her sleep. I liked it. I liked it a damn lot. Maybe too much.

  After slipping out of bed, I set the coffee to brew and then grabbed a shower down the hall where I proceeded to overthink everything. Hell, I’d never slept all night with a woman, let alone had her wake up in my bed the next morning. It had always felt like giving someone that much access left me too exposed. I refused to leave myself vulnerable.

  The root structure of the dysfunctional family tree my parents had planted went painfully deep and twisted cruelly and invasively into the idea of a normal life. I’d learned early that trust was a commodity I couldn’t afford to hand over to anyone. I was unwilling to give another person that much power over me. Too risky. I didn’t take risks. I couldn’t afford to. My whole life I’d had to be there—a solid, reliable presence in my younger brothers’ lives.

  Hell, look at what a clusterfuck the last risk I took had turned into. That goddamned loan. It was hard to take risks when you knew you couldn’t afford to lose. I always thought out every move beforehand, calculating the pros and cons before deciding on an action.

  Except with Sam. Sam went to my head, which meant I’d taken some chances with Sam that I’d never done with any other woman. I’d never slept with the same woman more than once—until Sam. I’d never spent all night with a woman—until Sam. I’d never lazed in bed talking about sports, or movies, or life—until Sam.

  It’s just sex. There was something to be said for regular sex. I may not believe in love and relationships, but Sam had made me a believer in a healthy sex life between two consentin
g adults who couldn’t get enough of each other. I knew it was still just sex. Sam knew it. Neither of us wanted more, so things were still fine. Hell, this was about practicality and Sam’s safety. Of course it was. No big deal.

  When I reentered the kitchen, Sam was there, leaning against the counter, dressed in yesterday’s clothes and sipping a cup of coffee. If I smiled when I saw her in my kitchen, so what. It didn’t mean anything.

  “Morning,” she said, mumbled really, into her cup. I couldn’t tell if she wasn’t a morning person or it was just the awkwardness of spending the night together for the first time. Maybe a bit of both.

  “Morning.” I shoved my hands in my jean pockets. “Can I make you breakfast? Scrambled eggs or an omelet, maybe?”

  “Actually, I’ll take a rain check. I’ve got to run by my place to change for work.”

  Right. Of course. That would get old fast if Sam and I kept this up. And I wanted to. Could I give up a little control to let this run its course?

  “Sure. You could keep some clothes here—you know, for work. It’s just a practical move that would save you time.”

  Sam tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “I could. Okay. I like French toast more than eggs. Just saying.”

  “So noted.” Damn. I was better at scrambled eggs. I made a mental note to look up a French toast recipe. On Pinterest maybe. Not that I would tell a soul.

  * * * *

  Two nights later…

  Damn, I was late getting home. Eli and I had gone to a Roughnecks home game, and I’d forgotten how long it took to get out of the stadium parking lot. I told Sam I’d be home by ten-thirty, but it was ten forty-five when I pulled my truck onto the driveway. Shit. Sam was sitting on my porch.