Tools of Engagement Page 25

  “Yes,” she rasped, trembling. Like she could say no? Her sex was damp in his honor, clenching, looking for that hard part of him to fill it. None of her boyfriends had ever dared to spank her before, either, and a man she trusted doing such a thing allowed her to enjoy the exhilaration left in its wake—and God did she ever. She wanted to get on her hands and knees for him and be the object of his revelry.

  Bethany turned and pressed her back to Wes’s front, skimming the curve of her butt side to side on his lap, eliciting a frustrated male groan, before sinking to her knees. And then forward onto her hands. The fireplace cast a glow, allowing her to see the silhouette of her naked body on the opposite wall, and it ripped a moan from her throat. A moan that turned into a cry of “Now, now, now” when Wes positioned himself behind her, seeing to their protection before hefting her hips higher with a forearm. “Feel this, baby.” He worked his shaft into her and pressed himself deep—God it was so good, so good—setting off an erotic tremble in Bethany’s thighs. “Does that feel like a man who doesn’t know exactly what he wants?”

  “No,” she gasped when he started to move. “Wes . . .”

  “How about now?” He fell on top of her, stopping just short of crushing her to the ground, always keeping her hips elevated with that powerful arm—and he slapped his lower body tight to her bottom over and over and over again, his erection filling her with deliberate, slippery drives. “That feel like I could live without you for a fucking second, Bethany?”

  An intense shudder passed through her, making a stop at her heart, electrifying it. God, she loved this man. He could anchor her and send her soaring in the same moment. “No,” she managed on an uneven exhale. “You couldn’t.”

  “No. I couldn’t,” he gritted into the crook of her neck, the force of his thrusts turning punishing. “Fuck. You’re even tighter like this. I can feel you getting ready to come, but you’re going to stay with me a little longer. You work my cock so good when you’re climbing. Dirty and desperate, huh?”

  She nodded so she wouldn’t have to issue a verbal guarantee that she’d hold off her climax. His thickness was entering her from an angle that gave her a new appreciation for math, because it doled out continuous friction to her clit and her G-spot until she was panting down at the rug and praying he didn’t change the pace or those snapping upthrusts. Don’t change. Never change. Good God, she sounded like a bad yearbook inscription.

  “No you don’t,” Wes muttered hoarsely into her hair. “You’re perfect.”

  Wait. Was she talking out loud? Who knew. Who cared? “More. Please.”

  “I’m here to give you everything you want,” he growled, pressing his upper body down just those few inches more until her cheek was flush to the carpet, ass in the air, Wes’s hips smacking into hers relentlessly. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t . . . let me go. Anywhere.”

  “I won’t. I won’t.” Their voices sounded distant and she knew there was something she needed to remember. What did he mean, don’t let him go? But the arm holding up her hips shifted and his fingers joined the sensual attack on her clit—and it was game over. Bethany spread her thighs to allow him even deeper and the pleasure rained down on her head like liquid candy. Her orgasm was so good, it was excruciating. And endless. But when Wes groaned her name above her head and slammed deep that final time, his big body shaking, she hit peak fulfillment.

  Because they were there together.

  Moments later, he cradled her boneless body in his arms and carried her to the bed. He settled Bethany carefully down on her back and climbed in beside her, curving his front to her back. Holding her tightly in the firelight.

  Just before sleep claimed her, a worry crept in that nothing could remain this good for long, but it danced away with her consciousness before she could dwell on it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was Friday morning, their final day to work on Project Doomsday, and everything was in a state of utter chaos. Ollie and Carl were in the hallway and the second bedroom applying last-minute coats of paint. Bethany was installing light fixtures and sconces from her perch on a stepladder while simultaneously directing the furniture deliverymen who were carting in the items she’d selected. Wes was putting finishing touches on the built-in bookcase, cowboy hat long since discarded on the floor. Even the production interns had hopped in to direct the plumbers and building inspectors who were making their final rounds and approving all the changes.

  They had until tomorrow morning to make last-minute fixes, then the judges would arrive to film the final segment and declare a winner.

  Bethany would likely spend the whole night staging so the house would be camera ready. It would be different this time, however. She’d had a hand in every little detail of this home, from the direction of the grain in the floorboards to the backsplash tile. She had grout under her fingernails from tiling the bathroom and a sore neck from painting the ceiling. Even though she’d almost gone ass-over-teakettle off the roof, she’d hauled her butt back up there and finished the job—Wes keeping a very close and irritable eye on her. But still.

  When she’d thrown down the gauntlet with Stephen at the wedding, she’d thought the whole experience would be summed up by victory or defeat. That was no longer true. She’d already won.

  Or, rather, she was winning.

  She couldn’t become a different person overnight, but changes were happening inside of her. Positive ones. She no longer had to hide the red mark on her neck because it was gone. When she stood in front of her closet in the morning, she no longer went through a mental checklist of everyone who would see her that day and dress accordingly. She didn’t have to go through breathing exercises before setting foot on the jobsite. Every minute of her day didn’t have to be spent trying to make the next minute count. And this morning when she’d driven Laura to school, she’d said, “I love you, too,” when the crossing guard called, “Good morning,” and she’d only dwelled on it for like, ten minutes.

  Feeling a little zing in her spine, Bethany paused in the act of screwing in an energy-efficient light bulb and cast a look across the room to find Wes watching her. Watching and appreciating her as if there weren’t two cameramen capturing their every move. He dragged his tongue along his lower lip and sent her a wink. There was a time when she would have rolled her eyes at him or flipped him the bird, but now? Oh, now all the elements of spring seemed to bloom in her belly at once. Flowers unfolded, birds chirped, sunshine blazed.

  Bethany Castle had a live-in boyfriend.

  Who would have believed it?

  Not her, as little as two weeks ago.

  Still, tiny fingers of skepticism skimmed the waters of her subconscious every once in a while, and she couldn’t seem to help it. What if Wes hadn’t needed a stable living environment for Laura? Would he ever have moved in? Would he have eventually gotten his fill of her and found someone less neurotic?

  From across the room, Wes shook his head at Bethany and she quickly disguised her thoughts with a smile. Good God. Why was she borrowing trouble? She had a boyfriend who held her through the night like they were fending off a windstorm together—and she loved him. With a child in the house, her life was suddenly a Pandora’s box of crayon crumbles and chocolate smears, but those things were slowly teaching her how overrated perfection was. Who cared what got messy as long as everyone was laughing?

  And laugh they did. This morning, Laura had been lying in wait outside the bathroom to jump out and scare the shit out of her. She’d flailed like one of those used-car-lot inflatables and knocked a picture off the wall, landing smack on her butt, all while still in her towel. Wes had come rushing up the stairs to help her, his perplexed horror bringing the hilariousness of the whole situation into sharp focus. If they didn’t have a house to finish flipping by tomorrow, Bethany might still be on the floor laughing facedown into the carpet with Laura perched on her back, hollering for Bethany to act like a bucking bronco.

  How would she have spent the
morning before?

  Agonizing over flower arrangements and which flavor of tea to drink?

  Oh, she still had things to agonize about. Her mother had caught wind of her new living arrangements and left approximately seventeen passive-aggressive messages on her voicemail. Bethany couldn’t really blame her, either. A family dinner with everyone was long past due. Wes and Laura were a part of her life now and she needed to stop waiting for some nonexistent shoe to drop.

  “Hey,” she called to Wes.

  Were his eyes sparkling as he sauntered closer? Was he magical? How had she ever spent a second denying her attraction to this man? “Yeah, darlin’?”

  “I was thinking, you know . . . after tomorrow when everything dies down, we could invite—”

  Wes’s phone trilled, cutting her off. “Keep going,” he said, waving it off.

  “No, it could be something about Laura. You should get it.”

  He studied her for another beat, then answered. “Hello?” After a few seconds of listening, his demeanor changed. “Yes, this is Wes Daniels.” He covered the receiver. “Family court.”

  Bethany wasn’t given a chance to react. Without disconnecting the call, Wes wrapped an arm around Bethany’s thighs and hauled her off the stepping stool and out of the house. They left a bunch of confusion and amusement in their wake, but she was way more interested in the phone call and the fact that Wes wanted her there by his side while he took it.

  “Yes,” he said, setting Bethany down and closing the door behind them, motioning for everyone on the lawn to be quiet. “You want to do the house visit tonight?” Wes turned in a circle while raking a hand through his hair and Bethany knew what he saw. Hours of manual labor that had yet to be completed. “Tonight is going to be hard. Is there any way we could shoot for—”

  Bethany waved her hands at him. “Say yes,” she whispered. “Yes. We’ll make it work.”

  Wordlessly he asked if she was sure and Bethany nodded vigorously. “I . . . Yes, tonight is fine.” He cleared his throat. “Six o’clock. We’ll see you then.”

  Wes hung up the phone and reached for Bethany, but she was already on her way to him. He locked her in an embrace and they stayed that way for long moments, swaying side to side. “She says they’ll likely approve the temporary guardianship if the visit goes well tonight,” he said.

  “It will,” Bethany responded. “Of course it will.”

  If there was one thing Bethany knew how to do, it was charm. She might as well have majored in schmoozing in college, with a minor in sweet-talking people with clipboards. They had this in the bag. Wes and Laura were depending on her and she wouldn’t let them down.

  Something was eating at Wes’s gut, but he couldn’t quite give it a name.

  He sat on the couch with Laura beside him, trying to concentrate on reading her Judy Moody, but Bethany kept drawing his attention to where she bustled back and forth in the kitchen.

  She was in her element arranging chocolates on a plate and lighting candles. Her hair was pulled up, diamonds winking in her ears. She wore some kind of tight black one-shoulder dress that showed off her legs. Gone was the woman who’d been streaked with paint in lost-cause workout pants that afternoon. She was so beautiful; he could barely hear his own voice over the rap of his heartbeat. There was a jangle in her nerves, too, though, and it was impossible to ignore.

  He’d done enough research to know that if the court-appointed visitor didn’t approve the home as a suitable place for Laura, they could potentially appeal the decision and try again. He was going to see the guardianship through, one way or another. That’s not what worried him. It was Bethany. Their relationship was so new, and while she’d grown more relaxed and comfortable in her own skin, he could still sense her occasional panic when their new living situation turned her into a fish out of water.

  She might be worrying less and less about being perfect, but this single-minded intensity she was putting into tonight reminded him of Bethany Before. He was afraid if they failed, her old insecurities might come tumbling back out.

  There was an anxious feeling in his gut telling him tonight’s decision could put a crack down the center of what they’d built. Had he put too much pressure on her? He was the one who’d said they would take things slowly. Maybe he should have tried harder to find an apartment for him and Laura while he and Bethany grew stronger?

  As swiftly as his worries rose to the surface, he stuffed them back down. There was only enough room for one nervous person in this house and he’d already decided it couldn’t be him. He needed to be the picture of confidence at all times until Bethany knew for certain he wasn’t budging. Until then and as long as she needed, he was a boulder without a single crack. Solid.

  The doorbell rang and Laura’s head popped up. “Is that them?”

  His explanation to Laura had gone like this: The town had grown suspicious that Bethany’s house really was an ice palace being disguised by magic. Someone needed to come over and confirm no shenanigans were taking place. “Yes, that’s them.” He rose from the couch and pulled his niece to her feet. “Why don’t you go grab one of those chocolates Bethany put out? Wash your hands afterward.”

  “’Kay!”

  Laura ran off and Wes let out a long breath, moving to the entryway and meeting Bethany in front of the door. She squeezed his hand and stepped back so he could open it, revealing a thin woman in her sixties, arms crossed, with not so much as a hint of a smile on her face. Once again, Wes experienced that ominous click in his gut. “Daniels and Castle residence?”

  “Yes,” Bethany said brightly. “Please come in.”

  The woman entered the house unceremoniously, her eyes seeming to land everywhere at once. “My name is Paula.” She produced a business card from her jacket pocket and handed it over to Wes. “Just go about your night normally, please. I don’t require a guided tour. I’ll have a look around myself.”

  “Oh, okay,” Bethany said haltingly. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee?”

  “No, thank you,” Paula replied, already breezing past them.

  Wes stepped close to Bethany and took her hand, but it was clammy now where before it was warm. “Hey. Come read with us. It’ll be fine.”

  Her smile wobbled. “It will be fine. I know.”

  Wes didn’t hear a word of the story he read to Laura for the next fifteen minutes. He was only aware of the methodical footsteps moving through the house, entering and exiting rooms. Laura found a comfortable spot under Bethany’s arm and started to nod off, and it seemed like nothing could go wrong. How could there be a negative outcome to anything when his niece was more relaxed than he’d ever seen her? Bethany had been transforming right in front of his eyes, slowly but surely, into someone who could laugh when pancake batter plopped on the ground and who didn’t mind loud cartoons. She was fucking extraordinary and the kind of woman Laura could benefit from having in her life, before and after her mother returned—and he had faith that his sister could and would come back.

  There was no better place for his niece, and God knew there was nowhere else he wanted to be than right there with this woman he’d lost his heart to.

  So why was his pulse ticking faster and faster in his ears?

  He found out when Paula returned from her tour of the upstairs. One look at her pinched features and he knew.

  “Can I speak with you outside, please?”

  Bethany shot to her feet so fast, she almost lost her balance, but Wes caught her hand in time and brought her around the couch to the front door. He was grateful for the gentle snores coming from Laura because he didn’t want her to hear the bad news obviously headed their way. It was already hitting him like a crowbar to the stomach, the blow sending out reverberations of numbness. How did this happen?

  “I’m sorry to do this,” Paula began, hesitantly. “I don’t want you to think this is a poor reflection of yourselves or your home, but after examining Laura’s environment, I can’t recommend this as a qualifi
ed living space for a child her age. Either she’s only moved in recently or no accommodations have been made to make this house kid friendly. It looks like an interior design showroom. Really, I find the home . . . cold.” At that, Bethany flinched and Wes closed his eyes. “You’ll have an opportunity to appeal the decision and I could be sent back for another visit, but for now . . . I’m recommending the temporary guardianship be put on hold . . .”

  Wes didn’t hear the rest because he was too busy watching Bethany’s face and experiencing the slow erosion inside of his chest. And he couldn’t help but want to grab Bethany by the shoulders and shake her. Don’t fucking shut down on me now when I need you. It was too late, though. He could see that much clearly. Her brittle smile and distant expression had already moved into place, a mask to hide how she really felt about this failure.

  No, not a failure. A setback.

  Was there even the slightest chance he could make her see it like that? Did he even have the energy when his own disappointment was thick enough to choke him?

  “Thank you,” Bethany said woodenly, as she closed the door behind Paula. They both stood there, but she was unable to make even the barest eye contact with Wes.

  Humiliation ravaged her skin like fire ants.

  Really, I find the home . . . cold.

  The same had been said about her before by the men she put on ice, when they tried to get too close. All because she’d dreaded letting them in, all the way in, and having them come to that conclusion after meeting the real Bethany. That she was nothing more than an attractive package.

  This home was an extension of her, wasn’t it? She’d put her heart and soul into every single touch, floor to ceiling. And it had been deemed cold.

  All she could think to do now was minimize the pain of such a stark failure. She’d fooled Wes and Laura into believing she was the warm, settling-down type. But this had to prove what she’d been afraid of all along. She wasn’t the total package. She was an empty box dressed up in gift wrap.