Wild Open Hearts (Bluewater Billionaires) - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,51

the most brazen sincerity I’d ever seen on his face. It stole my breath away.

“I think…” I paused, wanting to get the words right, “I think in this world we get to love whatever we want as passionately as we want. Even if it doesn’t fit. Our time on this earth is too precious not to live with our hearts wide open.”

“Even if that hurts?” he asked.

I wanted to ask more about his background—because I wasn’t sure if he had received any true open-hearted love as a kid.

“Maybe we look for other people who can love us like that,” I said. “Or animals.”

I yanked off my hair tie, letting the braided strands be tugged free by the ocean breeze. A batch of wind swept them up and I giggled, attempting to free my face from my curls.

“You have something. Stuck in your hair.” Beck’s deep voice was rougher than normal.

“Can you get it?”

He reached forward, the tips of his fingers alighting in my hair. They swept through the strands, searching. “It’s a flower.”

A tiny white flower was crushed between his fingers. “A gift,” I said. “From the universe.”

His throat worked. I could see him contemplating—and if the thought was making a move on me, I wanted him to know I was wide, wide, wide open.

“That felt good,” I said. “Your fingers. Can you keep going?”

I tilted my neck.

“I can,” Beck said. He slid those fingers through my hair, immediately scratching at the base of my scalp. I let out a moan that was practically pornographic.

We both went absolutely still.

“I love head massages,” I said, voice breathy. “Keep going.”

I was leaning against him now, eyes fluttering. I knew he would; his whole persona screamed I will protect you. And I liked that about him, liked that I felt comfortable asking for what I wanted without shame, that he’d give it to me, effortlessly.

Beck’s expression was dreamy, fingers sifting, stroking, scratching. His palm landed on my neck and he squeezed, massaging the tension there. I purred. He growled—I heard it, right below the sound of the waves.

“You take a lot of girls to Dean’s?” I managed to ask. “It’s quite the romantic destination. Peanuts. Stu’s scowl. High-class beverages.”

“No,” he said. “I haven’t taken any women anywhere for a long time, Luna.”

His thumb swept around my throat, landed on my pulse point. Caressed it.

“How about you?” he asked. “You must take a lot of your yoga boyfriends to your spin classes or whatever.”

“Excuse me,” I laughed. “I take them to my hot pilates classes and then to a quick bongo session.”

“Carrot, right?”

“They’re all named Carrot, yes.” I was still grinning, body relaxed and unbearably aroused by Beck’s handiwork. I tilted my head forward shamelessly, and he put a second hand into my hair. Worked those fingers through. Beneath the veil of my hair, I bit my lip, swallowed a sigh. Tried not to focus on the outline of the incredibly huge erection in his jeans.

He gathered all of my hair off to one side—no easy feat. Gave it the gentlest tug—but it sent a spike of lust between my legs. I complied, fully lifting my head. His face was inches from my own.

“Do gorgeous women drinking whiskey really make you blush?” I whispered, staring at his mouth.

“More than blush,” he said. “Nervous.”

This man.

“Good nervous?” I asked.

One big hand left my hair, cupped my face. His thumb swiped across my lower lip and I tasted heat and salt, sugary mango.

“The best kind of nervous,” he said.

Beck was going to kiss me. I could feel it, wanted it so very badly. His thumb on my lip was the sweetest pressure. We were both frozen, suspended. Balancing on the edge of what felt very much like my destiny.

His thumb left my lip. Both hands left my hair. Beck sat all the way up, knee separating from mine. With a grimace, he finished his beer and placed it back on the picnic table.

“I should, uh… probably get you home,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

I struggled to arrange my features to look neutral and not hurt.

Beck had pulled away from me.

“That works,” I managed, clearing my throat. “I live in Bluewater. Do you know where that is?”

He nodded like I was proving a point. “Of course. I can take you there.”

I finished my beer, throat parched, thoughts racing toward figuring out what I had done wrong. Sure, kissing the man whose nonprofit I was supposed to be helping probably wasn’t the best idea—it was a complication—but I was