“I can’t leave Laura,” he muttered into the crook of her neck. “I can’t.”
Her fingers threaded into his hair. “No, of course not.”
“I mean ever.” He lifted his head, emotion rippling along his jawline. “I put Becky in another Uber back to Jersey. She’s not going to push seeing her daughter for now, but even if my sister gets her life on track, I think . . .” Self-doubt flickered in his eyes. “Laura needs me, right?”
“Yes.”
He let out a hard breath. “I have to stick, Bethany.”
There was something familiar in the way he said those words. They sounded like every single time she’d questioned her own capabilities. Or done something that scared her, like flip a house, plan a wedding, lead a Just Us League meeting, or babysit a child. She knew that rush of fear for the unknown very well, and she suddenly felt connected to him in a way she didn’t think could be severed easily, to this man she’d once loathed. Or thought she loathed, anyway. Had any of her vitriol toward him ever been real to begin with?
Bethany didn’t know. She only knew she wanted to smooth the jaggedness inside of him now, the way she’d wished was possible for herself so many times.
“Wes,” she whispered, levering herself up on her toes until her lips landed against his surprised ones . . . and they tripped slowly into a kiss that was equal parts voracious and pure. Honest. He let himself be kissed, let Bethany hum comfort in her throat while mating their tongues, let her fingers twist in his hair and drag him down, before he grunted and tried to yank her up into his body at the same time. His arms were still around her as far as they could go and the embrace was so intimate, she could feel his entire body pulse, his inhales and exhales, the thick swells and sensual dips of his muscle. Could smell his sweat and deodorant.
The tempo turned desperate, but her need to give solace never abated, and she could feel him being undone by it. And it gratified her when Wes reached out for more, attacking her mouth and taking possession of the understanding she offered.
His right hand dove into her hair, gripping and angling her for deeper tastes, his body bowing over hers until she was almost bent backward. God, it was glorious, being needed this badly. Needing in return. Being in wordless agreement and not having to guess what a man was thinking. She knew every thought in his head because he was expressing it with his tongue, lips, and teeth.
It got to be too much, the pulse points throughout her body hammering, her mind reeling, her balance obliterated. So much feeling directed at one person and she was afraid of defining it, so she forced herself to put an end to the kiss and there they stood, still wrapped in each other’s arms, frantic breaths filling the scant space between them.
“Is that a yes to drinks?” he said, finally.
Bethany puffed a laugh. “Oh, now it’s drinks, plural?”
He brushed a hand over her hair. “One of anything could never be enough with you.”
There was a vicious tug in her middle. “Is that a fact?”
“Damn straight.” He nipped at her bottom lip. “I’ll ask you again, is that a yes?”
She drew a circle on his chest, finishing with a playful finger shove. “It’s an I’ll think about it.”
Wes growled. “God, you make me fucking crazy, Bethany.” He picked up a piece of her hair and twisted it around his finger. “When I walked back in here, I didn’t know up from down. Now I’m halfway to solid. How’d you do it?”
“You should know,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eye. “You’ve done it for me, more than once now.”
Admitting that was so exposing, her body broke his hold involuntarily. Though she immediately wished to be back in his arms, she all but dove for her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. When she chanced a look at Wes, he was tracking her movements with single-minded intensity. “Stay.”
“I . . . have plans,” she blurted.
His eyebrow ticked up. “Come again?”
“With Rosie.” Not that her friend knew about said plans, but Bethany was in sudden need of tequila and girl talk.
He grunted, but didn’t relax. In fact, there were thoughts churning behind his gaze. A multitude of them. “I asked Becky to think about giving me guardianship. Of Laura.” She was given no time to process that revelation, because Wes advanced on her, not stopping until her head was tilted back and their fingertips were brushing, his breath feathering her lips. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to stay, so when you get in bed tonight and think of me, remember to change the way you do it. Instead of that one sweaty session where we break the headboard, I’d be in your bed night after night after fucking night, learning what makes your thighs shake. We’d have to lose the headboard altogether.”
Her ears turned into wind tunnels. “You don’t make the design choices in this relation—”
“Relationship?” he prompted when she cut herself off, his tone triumphant. “When you’re ready to say it out loud, I’ll be waiting right here.”
Catch your breath. “With your blue balls?”
“They’re more of a blackish purple at this point.”
“Ouch.” The doorbell rang and she took the opportunity to escape his magnetism. “Good night, Wes.”
He groaned. “Good night, Bethany.”
Bethany opened the door to the pizza delivery guy and asked him to wait, unable to resist a final glance back at Wes over her shoulder. She found his powerful arms crossed, hair still mussed from her fingers. So masculine in his dirty work clothes, it should be a crime. “Your pizza is here,” she said, her tone more suited to a poetry reading.
He reached for the wallet in his pocket. “Thanks.”
“Wes?”
“Yeah?”
She swallowed hard. “If Becky says yes, you’re going to do an amazing job.”
A muscle popped in his cheek. “Thank you.”
Get out of here while you still have the willpower.
Her reserve of the stuff was running dangerously low.
Chapter Sixteen
Every time Bethany walked into Buena Onda, something new had been woven seamlessly into the atmosphere. Rosie wanted the restaurant to be an experience, and Bethany could safely say she’d accomplished that task.
Tonight, there was a string of lights, an angled rug hugging the floorboards, a new picture on the wall. Only a decorator’s eye would pick out the changes, they were so subtle, and the ambiance never changed. It was always a warm hustle-bustle. A noisy welcome that she could sink into and decide what journey to let the menu take her on.
She’d been right to come here tonight. Bethany weaved through the tables toward the back of the restaurant where Rosie would be putting together takeout orders and supervising the kitchen, and the sparkling depth swallowed her up in a hug. She waved at Dominic where he sat at his reserved table, sipping a beer and reading the evening edition of the Daily News. Several patrons called out to her or lifted their glass, not-too-discreetly whispering in her wake.
Nothing malicious, just Port Jeff gossip. Well earned, too. She’d given them quite a few topics to choose from by defecting from Brick & Morty, signing on for a reality-show competition, and being caught after sunset at Wes’s house. Not to mention picking his niece up from school, a distinctly domestic activity.