His pulse quickened. He pulle
d back slightly, his breath catching. He’d pulled off his shirt, and moonlight glinted off of the bunched muscles in his forearms and biceps. She didn’t know where to put her hands, so she put them on him.
He leaned down, taking her lips in a kiss that didn’t ask permission, but took it.
She wrapped her arms around him, lifted one leg, and caught it behind his, feeling the texture of his trousers against her skin. Tongues tangled, he pushed his hand through her hair—she hung onto him until she was gasping for breath.
He pulled back a fraction, and she let him, dizzy and giddy. His voice sounded low and rough. “That should never have happened.”
Bethany traced a finger down one lean cheek. “You can tell a lot about a man by the way he kisses.” She ran her finger over his bottom lip. “You’ve got some mad skills there.”
Dropping his hands, Slade stepped back. “Maybe I should rethink that hotel.”
She shook her head. “I’m a big girl. I can make my own decisions.”
“You also just lost a sister and you’re dealing with a lot. Don’t get me wrong, that was great. But…”
“You’d rather not be a consolation prize?” She swallowed the disappointment. Mindless sex was probably not the answer to her problems, but she could use the distraction. And, yeah, he was giving her an eyeful now.
The kitchen had brightened. With his shirt off and a white wife-beater showing off tan skin, muscles, and a hint of dark chest hair, he looked good enough to have for breakfast.
She moved away and started to make coffee, grinding the beans, dumping the grounds into a metal basket. She moved to fill the pot with water, but her hands shook. Leftovers from that dream—she’d been the one in the coffin, the one being buried, and she’d still been alive.
Slade must have seen the tremor in her fingers. He took the coffee pot from her—an old fashioned percolator—and turned on the water to fill it. The pipe banged and water spat out in a cold stream. “Somehow I don’t think coffee’s the best thing for you right now.”
She offered a smile and pushed a hand into her tangled curls. “Probably not, but it’s hot and I’ll take it.”
He glanced at her, his lips curving. “How about a truce? For a few days. Seems to me you could use some help—some support at the least.”
“What do you get out of it?”
“Information. I think we both need that. About Tayra, what she wanted—and what Jason wants. That’s got to factor into this.”
She stiffened, turned away, and lit the fire under the coffee pot. “He’s just a boy.”
“He’s old enough to have an opinion, and it should matter. It looks to me like he’s had you and Tayra coddling him a little too much.”
She rolled her eyes. “Here it comes—a little boy needs a man.”
“Yeah, he does. He needs role models. He also needs to start getting some respect.”
She pressed her lips tight. The coffee began to percolate, making a soft bubbling sound, and the scent of it filled the kitchen. She tipped her head to one side. “Are you really here to help?”
“I’m here because you called.”
“For Brock Wells—and I got you instead. Unless I missed my guess, you’ve got an agenda here. There’s a reason you came instead of sending Brock, or bringing him with you.”
She saw him stiffen. The muscles in his jaw tightened ever so slightly and she knew she’d hit pay dirt with that last comment. But he only said, “I’m here to make sure Brock doesn’t get scammed.” He fixed a steady stare on her. “But I’d also like to make sure that boy doesn’t become a playing piece in anyone’s game.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That sounds like you have a personal stake in this.”
***
Slade let out a breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He hated to talk about the past, hated to even think about it. It was done, gone, and buried. But Bethany was staring at him, eyes bright and her chin jutting forward slightly, and he knew she wouldn’t leave it alone. He had to tell her something.
“My dad was military. Folks divorced when I was nine. My younger brother and I got to be the territory my folks fought over. I did my best to look out for my brother, but the back and forth was harder on him than it was on me. I went into the service at seventeen and didn’t look back. He didn’t do so well. Took him five years to drag himself out of drugs and booze, but he did it. He’s got his own family now. He’s stable, doing well.”
“And you were left thinking all marriages go that way?”