He’d always figured his first time would be a necessary evil, a jumping off point after which he’d get better. Learn how to please a woman. But Kenna, she’d been pleased. More than that, she’d given him a glimpse at her vulnerability. He hadn’t expected that, and the woman beneath had addicted him more than sex ever could. If she was still lying in bed, Beck worried he might have crawled on top of her and demanded to know every single thought in her head. So maybe it was a good thing he’d been given this time alone to think before going to find her.
Beck pulled a throw blanket off the end of Kenna’s bed and wrapped it around his waist. Unable to resist a quick look at her possessions, in the hopes it might give him some insight, he stopped in front of a framed picture on her dresser. A teenage Kenna in an oversized orange jumpsuit picking up garbage on the side of the road. She looked directly into the camera, her expression defiant. Daring the person snapping the photograph to comment. He recognized that look.
Growing up, his grandfather had owned a stable of horses, located just on the edge of the peach orchard. He didn’t make a trade breeding, merely keeping them for pleasure riding and traversing the narrow orchard lanes. One afternoon, his grandfather had come home with a beautiful unbroken filly whose previous owners hadn’t even succeeded in saddling her. Beck could remember the wariness in her brown eyes, the way she’d reared back when anyone got too close. Stay away or else. At least, that’s what Beck’s childhood imagination had interpreted from the filly’s wild look. About a week passed of his grandfather approaching the horse with a bridle with no success. Then one of the mares had gone into labor—a difficult one. Shocking everyone, including the vet, the usually standoffish filly had stood outside the mare’s stall throughout the night, refusing to budge.
Yeah. Beck had a fair idea that Kenna wouldn’t take kindly to being compared to a horse, gorgeous as the filly had been or not. Be that as it may, he’d seen two sides of Kenna during the last couple days, whether or not she’d intended him to. Wild, wary Kenna and selfless, nurturing Kenna. The girl who’d flashed him in her father’s house and the girl who’d been outraged at his lack of a welcome home. The girl who’d traced his shrapnel wound like she was willing him to heal.
Beck ran his thumb over the picture of Kenna stuffing garbage into a trash bag, wondering why she’d chosen to display this particular memory instead of a happy one. Did she have any happy ones? She better. He wouldn’t appreciate knowing she’d been unhappy.
With one last glance at the picture, he left Kenna’s bedroom, already knowing he wouldn’t find her in the apartment. He tried unsuccessfully not to stare at the armchair where she’d blown his mind hours before. The way he’d spoken to Kenna hadn’t horrified her at all. On the contrary. What else about his tastes could he reveal without turning her off? Resolving to think about it later, he quickly dressed in the living room. He patted his back pocket to make sure he had his wallet, frowning when he didn’t find it. There. On the floor. Beck stooped down to pick it up, wincing when he saw it was open. A photograph taken at his high school’s homecoming dance stared back at him. In it, he had his arms around Mary. Had Kenna seen this? If she was already spooked by them spending the night together, the picture definitely wouldn’t help his cause.
The few words she’d spoken at dinner the night before were the only thing standing between him and alarm. Workspace. He remembered she mentioned that she had a workspace downstairs in the garage. On his way down the back stairs, he saw a flare of sparks through a plastic garage window. Heard a sound that called to mind harsh rain pinging off metal.
She didn’t turn around when he walked through the open door. A good thing because the sight of her in frayed jean shorts, sexy lower back exposed, wielding a torch was just about the hottest thing he’d borne witness to in his twenty-six years. If her stiff shoulders and anxious energy weren’t telling him loud and clear she wouldn’t be receptive to touch, he’d already be working the button of her shorts, begging in her ear to let him give her an orgasm. His new favorite pastime.
Beck gave her wide berth as he circled the worktable, avoiding the blue sparks vanishing as they hit the concrete floor. She wore a mask, so it took an extra second for her to spot him in her peripheral vision. When she did, the sparks ceased immediately and the mask was pushed back onto her head.