Page 46 of Almost Enough

It’s Beau.

He stands just beyond the glow of the porch lamp, hands shoved deep in his pockets and hair rumpled from the mountain air. He looks up, catches my eye, and jerks his chin toward the back garden in silent conversation: come out here.

My pulse thrums. Speaking of clichés, this is absolutely one of them. Apparently, the universe has decided that I’m the main character in a wedding rom-com with an unsanctioned late-night rendezvous.

I slip my bare feet into Violet’s ridiculous pink fuzzy slippers, grab a fleece blanket from the armchair, and sneak out the back door, careful not to let it slam.

Beau’s waiting for me at the bottom of the porch steps. I tiptoe down, nearly slipping on the bottom step, and he catches me by the elbow without saying a word.

Damn, he’s so smooth.

For a second, neither of us speaks. Beau’s grip on my arm is gentle and strangely reassuring, like he knew I’d trip but didn’t mind catching me. I right myself and shrug the blanket tighter around my shoulders, feeling about as composed as a scarecrow in a windstorm.

He finally lets go and steps back, hands sinking into the pockets of his jeans.

“Wasn’t sure if it was you or a bear.” I nod my chin at the dark tree line. “You’re lucky I didn’t pepper spray you.”

That gets me a ghost of a smile. “I’d take my chances.”

“Is there a reason you’re lurking under the bridal suite at one in the morning?” I ask, but my voice comes out softer than I intended. “You look like you’re about to ask me to help you bury a body.”

His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t look away. “Couldn’t sleep.”

I squint at him, trying to read his face in the pale light. “You want to talk, or are we just going to do the thing where we stand here and pretend this isn’t weird?” I pull the blanket tighter, secretly grateful for the barrier it creates between my skin and the night. And him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words forced out like he’s chewing gravel. “About earlier. The wall thing.”

I tilt my head, trying to gauge if this is some kind of trick. “You mean when you had me pinned against it, made my brain short-circuit, and then walked away? I think you broke my synapses, but honestly, I’m not mad.”

He lets out a hoarse laugh, the sound dissolving into the night. “I didn’t mean to be…” he snaps his mouth shut, searching for the word, “…so intense. We haven’t talked about if you’re okay with that sort of thing. And we should have had a discussion about it first.”

I blink. This is not what I expected at all. Not from the man who manhandled me deliciously into another dimension.

“I like control,” he continues. “I’m a little rough. But not without trust and a hell of a lot of respect. And I’ll always stop if you want me to. No matter what.”

An odd fluttery squeeze spans across my chest, like a balloon trying to inflate inside my rib cage.

“Beau,” I say, and he looks up.

“I trust you. And it was…hot,” I blurt. “Like, really hot. Your hands are criminally good at what they do. And your voice when it gets all deep and growly? Consider this your permission to do literally whatever you want with me if you’re going to speak like that.”

The silence that follows is so loaded I almost laugh. Beau, king of non-expressions, actually blushes. Not just a faint pink, either. His whole face goes a ruddy shade, like the admission triggers some internal mechanism he’s spent years fortifying. He looks away.

Holy shit. Did I just break Beau Sinclair?

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet night. “Oh my god, are you blushing?”

He scowls, but there’s no malice in it. “No.”

I step closer, emboldened by the fact that, for once, I have the upper hand. “No, seriously,” I tease. “I didn’t know you had a blushing setting. Is that new?”

He scrubs a hand over his jaw and mutters, “Forget it.”

“Not a chance,” I say, grinning. “You know, you spend all this time trying to be stoic and intimidating, but then you go full alpha, and I compliment you, and your face goes full tomato. Adorable.”

He groans, tilting his head back to look at the stars. “You’re impossible.”

“I know, but let’s unpack this. You should probably know that you could tie me to a railroad track and I’d still be turned on.”