Okay, I don’t think I can eat another bite.” I push my plate away and take a deep breath, grateful my dress is flowy since I’m currently sporting a food baby. “I’m completely stuffed.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say completely stuffed.” Beck wiggles his eyebrows at me as he wipes his face with a napkin.

This man.

Our plan for seating was simple. We were going to check out the seating chart and scan the tables to see if any guests didn’t show up, but unfortunately for us, everyone came, most likely because Del and Tiffany are the cutest couple ever.

So when we couldn’t find any seating, Beck decided on the next best thing: bar-height tables on the porch of the famous house. This is going to sound super corny, and I know some may roll their eyes at me, but to be standing here, under the stars, in a romantic setting, on the same rock Hemingway once stood on, feels magical, like all the words are floating around me, ready to be grabbed and put on paper.

I’m inspired.

I’m enamored.

I’m spending my last night in Key West throwing caution to the wind and soaking every last moment up.

“How good are you at dancing?” Beck asks as the DJ starts playing a Bruno Mars song.

“Depends. How good are you at dancing?” I eye him up and down. His chest peeks through the undone buttons of his shirt. His pants are tight enough for me to see every deliciously defined part of his lower half. There is no hiding his robust form. When I opened my hotel door to him earlier, I kept trying to pinch myself to see if this was all a dream, but when I didn’t wake up, I knew this was reality, a strange yet exciting reality.

Tossing his napkin on his plate, he says, “Back in Malibu, I like to go to an underground salsa club a few times a month.” Color me surprised at this little revelation.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. I’ve got moves, Saucy. The question is, do you?”

Of course he’s a good dancer. Why wouldn’t he be? He seems to be good at everything he does, even storytelling. “Let me guess, you sing like Harry Styles, cook like Emeril Lagasse, and model professionally on the side like David Beckham as well.”

He takes my hand in his and brings me closer to him. “I don’t know about the modeling thing, but I’m a damn good cook when I want to be, and if you put me in front of a microphone I’ll sing you one hell of a song.”

“Figures.”

He chuckles and drags me to the dance floor just in time for the start of Shout. Classic wedding song, and even though it’s overplayed most of the time, I still have no problem dancing to it, or singing for that matter. Beck takes no time in moving around me, using me as his own dancing prop, spinning me around, twirling me into his body and then out. When the music picks up, so does his dancing, as well as mine as I try to keep up with him.

Jumping up and down, arms in the air, he’s yelling “shout” along with everyone else, and it’s as if everything around me slows down and my entire focus is on Beck as he brings the crowd to the dance floor, singing his heart out and directing the wedding party to get low to the ground. Oh hell. He’s too much. Too adorable. Too sexy. Too . . . everything.

I was right. He’s going to be a difficult one to forget.

“A little bit louder now, a little bit louder now.” Beck is waving his arms now. “Hey-aye-aye-aye.” Mid jump, his eyes connect with mine. His eyes are bright with mischief. His grin widens, his small dimples peek out just for me. His gaze stays on mine, amidst the jumping and the singing, and he holds me captive. Hell if my heart doesn’t flip right then and there.

I’m in trouble.

* * *

Ten songs later, Beck has yet to leave the dance floor, and has now become the life of the party. There have been at least three dance circles I’ve participated in and held my own with Beck, who has been eye-fucking me ever since I started to really lay the moves on him. The sexual tension between us, the small touches, the heavy breathing is suffocating the dance floor. The way his eyes blaze when he catches a glimpse of the lace panties I have under my dress, or when his eyes focus on the low-cut V of my dress; there is a fire roaring between us ready to explode.

“This is for all my sexy singles and couples out there. Let me see your moves,” the DJ says in a low, Barry White voice. The beginning of Havana by Camila Cabello starts to play and Beck immediately turns toward me. He’s a few feet away, so when we make eye contact, he motions with his finger to come closer, the motion like a tractor beam pulling me in. It’s sexy, slow, and seductive, just the song to skyrocket my libido into overdrive. Beck is moving toward me, focused on getting me into his arms.

Determined.

Without a second thought, Beck grabs both my hands and wraps them around his neck as he starts moving his hips and mine to the beat of the song, our bodies connected, our pelvises rubbing, grinding. Thankfully we’re at a wedding where people like to dance, so we’re not the only couple on the dance floor, but we’re definitely dancing more seductively than others. Just when I start to move in time with Beck, he turns me around, my back to his chest, and splays his hand across my stomach, his head dipping over my shoulder, his lips right next to my ear.

“This dress . . . you’re fucking killing me, Rylee.” Moving his hand to my side, he slips it under the fabric that’s covering my breasts and presses his hot palm against my equally hot skin, his thumb inches below my bare breasts.

“Beck . . . careful,” I whisper, unsure if he can hear me or not.

“My heart is in Havana . . .” the music plays. Beck’s hips slowly undulate with mine, his pelvis rubbing against my ass, and that’s when I feel him.

God, he feels good, but what feels even better is the way Beck’s thumb barely grazes my bare breast.

“Mmm,” I moan, resting my head on his shoulder and reaching behind me to grip his neck. “God, you’re good.”

He kisses the side of my head, his scruff rough, the way I like it. “Let me show you how good I am, Rylee.”

The hand that’s not pressing against my stomach travels to the opening of the slit and runs up to my hipbone where he starts to play with that special spot again. I suck in a large gulp of air and flip around so I’m facing him. I grip his cheeks and bring his mouth to mine, lightly pressing a kiss against his lips but pulling away before he can deepen it.

“Fuck, Rylee. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” I respond breathlessly. “What are you doing? I can’t breathe when I’m near you, let alone concentrate on anything other than the way you’re touching me.”

“I need you,” he mutters, his voice so low, I almost didn’t hear him.

“You two need to go back to the hotel before you start humping on the dance floor,” Chris says. “Everyone is fucking staring, even Tiffany and Del.”

The interruption shocks me out of the lust-filled haze.

“Shit.” Beck takes a deep breath and looks around. From the guilty look in his eyes, I know Chris is telling the truth. I’m mortified. “Time to go, Saucy. The father of the bride is pointing at us.”

“Are we about to get kicked out?”

“Looks like it. Let’s book it.”

Giggling, I let Beck take my hand and guide me out the back, past the pool, through a little garden where a few of the six-toed cats are hanging out, around the house and out the gate. Looking behind us, Beck must spot someone because he says, “Hurry up, Saucy. Seems like they called in the brigade on us.”

I run as fast as I can in my heels, hand in hand with Beck, along the streets toward our hotel, past the southernmost point of the United States, and right into our resort. When we slow down, we both struggle to catch our breath. Beck takes a second to scan behind us for any followers.

“Are we clear?”

“Looks like it.” Beck lets out a long breath and then chuckles. “Damn, Rylee, you almost got us caught.”

“Me?” I point to my chest. “How was that my fault?”

Beck looks me up and down. “I can’t be held accountable for what you do with your hands and mouth. You made me forget everything and everybody around us. So basically, it’s your fault I didn’t get any dessert. That cake looked damn good, too.”

“There is no way I’m letting you blame this on me.” I walk across the parking lot, toward the ocean where our rooms reside.

“Face it, Rylee. You made the moves, you have to pay the consequences.”

I shake my head, humor in my smile. “You’re delusional.”

As I climb the steps to our second-floor rooms, I feel Beck hot on my tail. It’s impossible not to feel him so close to me because his presence is larger than life.

When I reach my room, I turn toward Beck to find his gaze set on mine, his body thrumming with need. “Are you going to bed, Rylee?” His voice washes over me like an exciting chill, and goosebumps prickle over my skin.

“I was thinking about it.”

He steps forward and brings his hand to my cheek where he cups my face. “Are you really going to sleep?”

I nod, biting down on my bottom lip. Hating that I can’t be bolder, that I let my nerves and brain take over.

“Okay.” He presses a light kiss against my head, and although the gesture is simple, very Beck, it touches me deeply. It’s a kiss that says I treasure you and I want to be treasured. I want to be treasured by him. “Have a good night.”

And before I can even understand what’s happening, Beck’s entering his hotel room, leaving me speechless.

What just happened?

Did I misread the entire night?

I mean, the sexual innuendo, the touching, the light kisses here and there . . . were they all for nothing?

More confused than ever, I open my hotel door and set down my clutch. I look in the mirror. Hair’s all in place, maybe a little flatter than earlier this evening, but still looking good. I smile, showing off my teeth and make sure there is nothing in them. I test my breath and everything seems on the up and up, so why the hell is Beck in his room and I’m in mine?

Turning toward my bed, I sneer at it. Even though it looks very welcoming, all cushy and pillowy, I have no desire to rest my head on it right now. Instead, I head to the balcony to listen to the ocean. I need something to calm my racing nerves.

I open the sliding glass door and I’m hit by the humidity of the night. I should be used to the weather after dancing for at least an hour in it, but it feels more stifling now than ever, even with the ocean breeze kicking up.

Sighing, I go to sit in my chair when I hear, “I thought you were going to sleep.”

Startled, I leap in place and find Beck leaning against his balcony wall, shirtless, pants partially undone. So, so sexy.

“God, you scared me.”

He pushes off from his spot and walks to the railing that splits our sections where he grips the black metal. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He licks his lips and stares at mine. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Didn’t even try.”

“And why’s that?” He’s fishing. This is so much harder than I thought, but I try to express myself like I’ve never had before.

“Because, I thought my night would end differently.”

Effortlessly, Beck hops over the railing and leans against it, still keeping his distance. Arms crossed over his chest, his pecs bulging like I’ve never seen before, he asks, “And how did you see your night ending? I’m assuming not being chased by angry wedding guests.”

“Not really.” Still in my heels, I toe the ground and say, “Was kind of hoping this guy I can’t seem to stay away from would ask to spend a little more time with me before I leave in the morning.”

“Hmm.” Beck scratches the side of his jaw. “And this guy you speak of, do I know him?”

Why is he making this so goddamn difficult? I swear I can read his thoughts through his intense stare. He’s going to force me to say it.

Taking a deep breath, I close the space between us and gently run my fingers up his chest. His chest isn’t devoid of hair, but what he does have is trimmed almost all the way down so it has the feeling of stubble. I like it . . . a lot. For some reason it’s sexier than a completely bare chest, especially with how strong he is. He’s all male, and I love the way he reacts to my touch.

“What would a night in your bed feel like?” I ask him, my legs shaking underneath me.

His eyes sharpen, and the corners of his mouth lift. “A night in my bed?” He pulls me in even closer by my hips and brushes my hair over my shoulder, his hand cupping the back of my neck, his thumb making slow circles along my tendons. “Demanding, relentless . . . endless. Do you feel this, Rylee, this pull between us, the pull you’ve been fighting ever since you met me? If you step foot in my room, it’s going to combust. I won’t be gentle. I won’t be able to hold back, at least not the first time.”

I take an audible breath when his hand makes contact with the straps of my dress and he starts to loosen them.

“Beck . . .”

“Tell me to stop and I will, but I swear to God, Rylee, if you say yes, I’m going to fuck you until morning.”

This night will go down as the best night of my life.

“Fuck me.”

A bear-like groan pops out of Beck’s mouth as he hops back over the railing and then reaches for me, sweeping me up into his arms.

Oh hello.

When Beck walks us into his room, he shuts the sliding glass door, lowers me to my feet, then spins me and gently pushes me against the door, my hands pressing against the cool barrier.

He undoes the back of my dress, and in one swift movement, the garment falls to the ground, leaving me in nothing but my lace panties and heels.

Beck presses his hand against my lower back and talks to me softly. “Fuck, Rylee. I’ve been waiting too damn long to see what your tits look like pressed against this window. I’ve envisioned fucking you against it, hearing you moan my name until you come, then”—he trails his fingers down my ass—“I would take you against the bed, your hands gripping the headboard, your tits bouncing with each and every thrust I steal from you. But all of this can wait because right now, I need to know what you taste like.”

Hooking his fingers in my panties, he pulls then pushes them down my legs until they hit the floor as well. I kick them away along with my dress and stand there naked, waiting for Beck.

I feel him retreat for a second before he comes back and gently kicks my feet wider. He crouches behind me, his hands on my ass, when he pops my hips out and squats beneath me.

Oh God, this . . . it’s so much . . .

I’ve never wanted something as much as I want Beck now. I need him now.