breathing and existing and getting all up in my face? More importantly, I like him. Not a thing that happens often. And he can quote Austen. Still, rushing in doesn’t feel right. “I bet you’ve got a girl in every town you’ve been to.”
“If you’re asking if I’ve spent all of my time wandering alone, then the answer is no,” he says. “I’ve met lots of different people, worked lots of different jobs. Spent a lot of time staring out Greyhound bus windows, too.”
“Hmm.”
“What about you? Do you make new friends and acquaintances at the bar often?”
“No, not normally.”
He stares at me and every damn time he does it my nerves start to tingle. But it’s only chemistry, sexual attraction. Nothing to get my panties in a knot over. In all likelihood, it’s the reptile part of my brain indicating his sperm is of interest and how he might make a good protector for me and our young. There’s no actual bond between us. Not really.
“I’ve reached a decision,” I say.
“Regarding?”
“You.” I put down the fry and wipe my hands on a napkin. “I’m not taking you home with me tonight.”
“You’re not, huh?”
“No,” I say, though my voice wavers with my lack of conviction.
The way he watches me, the look in his eye, it’s as if nothing has ever been half as interesting as what just came out of my mouth and he can’t wait to hear what I have to say next. A girl could get drunk on this kind of attention. But hot males and I do not have a good history. It’s your usual pathetic backstory. Heartbreak, shattered dreams, and angsty songs played on repeat for weeks on end annoying the living shit out of everyone in the vicinity.
Much safer if my pants remain fastened. At least for the time being.
“Okay,” he says.
“Assuming, of course, that all of this flirting is leading somewhere and you were interested in going home with me?”
“It is and I am.”
A group of butterflies is called a flutter. And that’s exactly what’s going on in my stomach right now. “Perhaps another night, then…”
All of the smiles he flashed me before were nothing compared to the smaller, more thoughtful one he gives me now. Holy shit. My heart hammers inside my chest and my brain is both dazed and confused. I am utterly beguiled. That’s the word for it. This man is the perfect mix of funny, gorgeous, and intriguing. “No rush. After all, we have the rest of our lives together. And, when you’re ready, I’m happy to wait through however many bouts of meaningless sex before we go all the way to coffee. Whatever it takes for you to feel comfortable.”
I shake my head. “You know, I honestly can’t decide if you’re crazy, comedic, or something else entirely.”
Beck just grins.
Down at the beach, all is pretty much quiet and still. Most of the attractions on the pier shut down hours ago. I don’t usually come here in the early hours of the morning, but Beck was interested so here we are. Guess neither of us want the night to end. Which is wonderful. The sand is cool under our feet, the moon low. In a few hours, it’ll be dawn.
“I’d like to hold your hand, if that’s not too forward.”
“I think that would be okay.” I place my palm in his and he immediately laces our fingers together. His skin is warm, his hand large. It suits his size. Yet we seem to fit together just fine. Without being told, he shortens his strides so I’m not left behind or dragged along.
“I think taking it slow is the right idea, at least for the next forty-eight hours or so.” His expression is thoughtful, gaze looking out at the water. “We want to build a solid foundation for our marriage.”
“Right,” I drawl. “Dare I ask, have you been married before?”
“No, I haven’t. What about you?”
“Nope,” I say.
“Then our expertise is on the same level.” He gives my fingers a squeeze. “I have a good feeling about this, Alice. A very good feeling indeed.”
Waves lap at the shore, the sound soothing. After all the noise at the bar and then the bright lights at the diner, it’s good to be outside in the clean ocean air. To stare off into the distance and think not particularly deep thoughts. My feet hurt and my head is tired, but the company is lovely. He has the hem of his jeans rolled up, toes digging into