Chapter Fifteen

Annabel

Beau composes himself before he answers the call, but judging by the fire in his eyes, it’s a near thing. “Bennett,” he says, and his voice is so mild that if I was on the other end of the line, I’d have no inkling that anything was wrong. Jesus. This man is a consummate professional, but I’m not sure it’s limited to the hotel business. You don’t need this much of a poker face, this much self-control, to manage hotels—even if they are fancy boutique ones like the Pearl.

I let myself steal one glance at the front of his pants, mainly to keep my mind off the desire pooling between my legs. I’m not the only one who’s been left hanging in the most awful way.

“Yes, absolutely,” he says, his eyes focused somewhere behind me.

I move my head to draw his attention. Does that make me an asshole? Maybe it makes me playful. But I’m rightfully pissed off that this phone call has interrupted us in the middle of the hottest kiss I’ve ever experienced in all my years of bouncing between cities, meeting men at bars, at jobs . . .

Beau looks at me with narrowed eyes, his jaw working. “I always make personal visits, Edgar, and I’m happy to do so again if you have concerns.” Then he rakes his gaze down every inch of me. I swear, my skin heats under his look, and he’s not even touching me.

He should be touching me.

That kiss was like jumping from the tallest diving board at the pool three towns over from Patriot. It was such a pain in the ass to go there that sometimes, when the weather was so hot that neither one of us could stand it, Mom would spring for a room at the Wagon Wheel Inn. Unlike the Pearl, you never knew what you were going to get when you opened the door. It didn’t matter. We’d spend every possible hour at the pool. That sensation of finally hitting the clear, sparkling surface of the water is what I felt when Beau finally kissed me.

I’m in it now.

Hesitation has never been my thing, and men like Beau—rich, he must be rich and tightly wound—have never been at the top of my list. Not that they would ever look at me, either. But all that is over. There’s no going back now, and my stomach turns over with giddy anticipation.

I step closer to him. Close enough to reach out and run my fingertips over the smooth fabric of his tie. It reminds me of costumes, of Bethany waiting downstairs in the costume shop. “Take your time,” she’d said when I asked her if she minded waiting. She’d given me a conspiratorial grin. “You know,” she’d murmured, “Beau Bennett isn’t exactly a mystery man.” I’ll have to ask her about that later.

“Hang up,” I whisper to Beau, but he lifts his eyes away from me when I say it.

“That’s fine,” he says into the phone. “I’ll have more for you tomorrow.” He keeps his lips pressed into a thin line until he’s made sure to disconnect the call. “I apologize,” he says, his voice dropping into a register that emits pure sex.

Bethany, I remind myself. I’m committed to my job, and that should come before Beau.

Should . . .

But he steps toward me and drapes his arm around my waist, and Jesus, he tastes good. Like mints and money. I can admit, secretly, that it’s totally intoxicating. We’ve never discussed how much money he makes—how awkward would that be?—but the fabric of his suits alone tells me it’s a lot.

I’m not thinking about the suit, except the way the fabric crushes in my fistfuls of his expensive lapels. His hands are on my waist and then running down my back, strong, commanding. There are advantages to the business type, I’m realizing now, and one of them is that it’s made Beau into a man. So what if he’s almost infuriatingly considerate? So what if he plans everything before he does it? He’s in the room with me right now, isn’t he?

I’m about to slide my hands under those lapels and tear his jacket away from him when the buzzing starts again. It’s not a fun buzz, either. It’s insistent. Obnoxious. Beau tenses under my grip. “Oh, for God’s sake—”

He yanks the phone from his pocket and answers it without looking. “Bennett,” he says, a sharp edge to his voice that’s barely tempered. Then he rolls his eyes. “West, what do you want? I’m—” He raises his eyes to the ceiling in what looks like a plea for deliverance. “Three weekends. Isn’t that nice. What are you going to do during the week? Right, yes, obviously.” There’s a pause. Beau runs his hand over the curve of my waist. He’s distracted, and honestly, that’s not the best way to start a sexy romp. “No. I’ll talk to you later.” He disconnects the call and sighs heavily.

“Let’s go,” I say into the pause.

“Go?” He looks at me like I might be crazy. “Go where?” So he’s forgotten about Bethany, too. A satisfied warmth spreads across my chest. Bethany is a gorgeous blonde girl with the perfect face to play Juliet. Or Julie. Whoever. The fact that he doesn’t remember her makes me feel oddly full of myself.

“Away from the Pearl,” I say. It’s the best thing for him. Every time I see him here, he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I heard the condensed version of his life’s story after our date. I know that the last few years have been one heavy deliberation after the next, though I don’t see why hotel chains warrant so much energy.

The man needs a shake-up, and I’m the perfect person to give it to him.

In what little time we have.