Or my eyes from feasting on his obscenely handsome face. Or my body from becoming hypersensitive to every part of him that’s touching me.
His soft hazel eyes shimmer with happiness. I can’t fathom why it blankets my worry right now. All I know is that I feel I know Becker Hunt so much more than I did an hour ago, and he made that happen.
‘I’m not immoral, princess.’ He chastely kisses my cheek, making an over-the-top noise about it, too. ‘I’m a fucking saint.’
I smile, and it is beyond my ability to hold back. It’s also beyond my ability to break free of his arms as he carries me to Gloria. ‘Saint Becker?’ I ask, letting him lower me to my feet and open the door. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’ I slip in and pull my belt across, then jump when Becker virtually throws himself across the bonnet of the car like a stuntman, his shoulder meeting the metal first and the rest of his body following fluidly in an expert roll. He lands lightly on his feet on the driver’s side of the car and brings two fingers up to his lips. I shake my head in dismay when he blows across the tops of them before holstering his imaginary gun and strutting to the door, opening it swiftly and falling into his seat.
He starts the engine and makes Gloria roar in delight. ‘Did I tell you about the time I skydived off the Burj Khalifa?’
‘Really?’ I gasp sarcastically, and he grins. I shouldn’t humour him when he’s being so reckless. Becker Hunt is pretty damn hard to dislike when he’s being a total twat. When he’s all playful, daring, and roguish, it’s impossible. He’s a maverick for sure. Today has proven that. The risks he’s taken are reckless, but I’ve no doubt his plot has been deeply thought through. He’s spirited too, just like his grandad said. Wild and audacious. Passionate and loving. Sex appeal exudes from every pore of his gorgeous body, and his face is so handsome it should be classified as dangerous. Which it is. I can attest to that.
But setting all those silent summaries aside, I really should be asking myself something. Something important.
What does his grand gesture mean?
Chapter 22
I’m surprised when Becker pulls off the country road into a pub car park and declares we need to eat. I don’t argue. Apparently, being an accomplice to a con artist builds up quite an appetite.
We chat non-stop over dinner about Rome, the couple of years Becker spent there studying Italian Renaissance art, and I listen in awe and envy. We touch briefly on me, and I find myself shutting down, wondering what my straight-laced father and all his junk would make of what I’ve been involved in today. I should be back at his shop trying to keep his memory alive, not getting myself caught up in con jobs. Because that’s exactly what it is. Illegal.
It seems that Becker detects my mental torment at that point, because he coolly diverts the conversation, sending my nagging conscience sailing into the distance with his animated stories from his days in Paris, Madrid, Buenos Aires, Moscow . . .
The list goes on and on. He’s been everywhere, and he talks with passion about each and every place. I could listen to him for ever. There’s been only playful banter, no pokes or . . . I stop my direction of thought immediately. There have been pokes. Lots of them, but both of us have bounced them right back on a grin or a laugh. It’s different today. I don’t know what is different, or why, but there’s been a huge shift in our relationship, and I can’t help but think it’s for the best. I’ve come to love the Hunt Corporation, my sense of belonging, my job, Mrs Potts and Mr H, and not even the events of today has made that waver, and that really is crazy.
I feel revitalised, and I can’t take that away from myself. Becker Hunt is thrilling and daring, and it feels so good to be thrilling and daring with him. I just need to get past those moments of rhapsody whenever Becker touches me or gets too close. I can do that. To maintain this exhilarating, belonging, and purposeful feeling within me, I can do that.
I should do that.
Can I do that?
The ride home from the pub goes too fast, assisted by Becker actually driving too fast. The evening