up against the counter while he puts the kettle on to boil. He doesn’t bother with coffee for himself, and I know he’s already had his one cup for the day as evidenced by the empty mug in the sink. I watch him in silence, admiring the way his T-shirt pulls across the muscles of his back, his trim waist and his fantastic ass in his jeans. I flush with desire, which seems more pervasive and consuming than it ever has before. I think this may be because Beck and I are very different to each other this very morning. Right now, he knows almost everything, and he didn’t run.
He took care of me and continues to do so right now as he makes my tea.
When he has it prepared with just a small splash of skim milk, he turns and hands it to me. “What do you want to do today?”
It’s a given he’s not going in to work. I know he’s not going to leave my side until he fully understands everything about me, why I came into his life, and what my agenda is. I also know, deep down, he’s not prepared to handle what the fallout will mean as far as JT is concerned. I expect Beck’s emotions are going to be bubbling with unexpressed fury by the time I’m done, and I brace myself that I’ll need to control him so he doesn’t act out rashly.
I know enough about Beck to know his relationship with JT is over, and I’m worried about the fallout regarding The Sugar Bowl. While bringing JT down is still on my agenda, I also feel an overwhelming need to make sure Beck is protected when it all shakes out.
“We should talk,” I tell him before blowing on my tea to cool it.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I need to know everything.”
Chapter 6
Beck
I need to know everything. Every last sordid detail so I can truly understand Sela and there will be no more walls and secrets between us. I need to hear the absolute truth, and then I need to move quickly to make things right.
Still, my stomach rolls with anxiety, as I know what I’m getting ready to hear is probably going to destroy me. The pain I bore for Caroline was different. I was her rock . . . the pillar of strength she used to get through her ordeal.
Sela’s done most of that without me. While it’s obvious she has an agenda with regard to JT, shit got ripped open wide yesterday and I know she’s hurting again. Not only because of what happened to her, but mostly because of the callous way in which I handled it.
Turning from me, Sela walks into the living room. She puts her cup of tea on the coffee table and sits on one end of the white suede couch, curling her feet up underneath of her. Legs bare, her breasts outlined against my T-shirt that dips low from the V-cut, she looks stunningly sexy. Yet I feel terrible for looking at her that way. I have no right, really.
Not right at this moment.
I follow her into the living room and she watches me as I round the couch. But rather than sit next to her, or even on the opposite end, I walk over to the window again. Tucking my hands into my pockets, I stare out over the bay, and I find comfort in the distance, which is odd, I know.
My internal instincts push me to walk over, pick Sela up, and settle her on my lap. I want to wrap my arms around her, open my ears, and let her pour her heart out in the safety of my embrace.
Yet I need these few feet between us complete with a coffee table barrier. Because although I want to wrap myself around her so she knows she’ll never get hurt again, I’ve also got a rumbling vibration of violence settling deep in the pit of my stomach now that I know she’s getting ready to lay it all out.
I turn my head over my shoulder and look at her. She smiles at me in understanding, leans forward, and pulls her cup of tea into her hands. When she curls it in toward her chest to hold the warmth against her, she murmurs, “Where do you want me to start?”
My heart cramps as I turn to face her fully. I rock up onto my toes, rock backward in a move of nervous