Chapter Ten
After hanging up on her mother and then ditching the sequined monstrosity, McKenna changed outfits three times in under two minutes. Going to Beckett’s might not be the smartest move, but dammit she was riled up right now. Listening to her parents’ lectures always drove her in the opposite direction to what they’d intended. Why should she feel guilty for being who she was?
And that comment about Gage…
Oh, it made her see red. She hastily wiped off her hot-pink lipstick and replaced it with a tinted lip balm, then wound her purple hair into a fat bun on top of her head. Nothing could be done about the heavy eye makeup without taking the whole thing off and starting again. So the smudgy black shadow and false lashes would have to stay.
“Why do you even care?” She rolled her eyes as she shut the door on her apartment and headed to Beckett’s place. “You know they’ll never come around.”
She glanced at the numbers on Beckett’s door and swallowed. Right now, she had bigger problems to deal with, namely the fact that her body started humming at the thought of seeing him again.
Shit. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
“You’re a big girl. You can totally restrain yourself.”
Ugh. Why couldn’t he be awkward and dowdy and on the unappealing side of the introvert spectrum? And why the hell did a guy like him even need to be chasing an ex-girlfriend?
Ex fiancée, remember? He was going to marry this woman and he wants her back. That means he’s not interested in you.
Thinking about Sherri was like having a bucket of ice water tipped all over her. McKenna couldn’t help the little ball of resentment unfurling in her stomach. What the hell was so special about Sherri, anyway? What did she have that McKenna didn’t?
Oh yeah. McKenna knew exactly what Sherri had—family money. And that wasn’t something McKenna would ever allow to be a factor in her love life.
She glanced down the hallway back to her apartment. Maybe she should stay in and forget about sexy Beckett and his frozen desserts. But he had mentioned a family dinner. Which meant he’d seen his sister. Maybe he’d have the inside info on whether or not she was going to get the wedding gig.
Sucking in a breath, she knocked and then pushed on his front door. “Hello?”
“In the kitchen,” he called out.
She found him retrieving a small tub from his freezer. Unlike her, he hadn’t changed out of his original clothes. Except for his feet—where a pair of leather boots had been a moment ago he now wore socks. They were bright yellow and had cacti all over them.
“I like your socks,” she said, leaning against his kitchen counter.
“They’re obnoxious.” He popped the lid on the ice cream. “But Kayla bought them for me and she made me promise I’d wear them to dinner.”
“Did she choose them because she thinks you’re prickly?”
He looked up and shot her a perplexed expression. “You two are scary similar.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re prickly.”
He dug an ice cream scoop into the creamy dessert, which looked to be vanilla with some kind of chocolate and caramel swirls. “What do you think I am, then?”
Hmm. How to handle this question without being too honest? “Umm…”
“Is this the first time you’ve ever been speechless?” A crooked grin lit up his face. “Should I get in touch with the people who do the Guinness Book of World Records?”
“Oh, so now you’re chatty.” She rolled her eyes. “Funny, I didn’t know you were such a joker.”
“I’m not, usually.” He handed her a bowl of ice cream with two generous scoops.
“So…” She followed him out of the kitchen and into the lounge area of his apartment. When he dropped down onto the couch, she took a spot at the other end, wriggling back into the corner to remind herself to keep her distance. “I don’t suppose you got the inside scoop about how I did at the trial?”
“Kayla said she was impressed.”
“And?”
“She has one more trial.”
“Oh.” She tried not to be disappointed. But it wasn’t easy, considering her parents had gotten particularly stuck into her earlier that evening. Even the sequined dress hadn’t been able to distract them. She wasn’t sure which parent was worse—her mother, who constantly told her that working in retail was only acceptable if you were studying for a future career. Or her father, who’d interrupted her so many times she’d started to wonder if maybe she was in some kind of Sixth Sense situation.
When she’d tried to tell them about her business, not one of them engaged. As far as the Prescotts were concerned, the arts were for people who didn’t take life seriously. And, given her website wasn’t garnering many hits, let alone conversions, she needed to land this makeup job.
“I told her I thought you were very good,” Beckett said.
“You did?” She smiled in spite of her down mood. “Was that because of my ‘fringy things’?”
“Yes. And your sparkly things.” He pointed to her eyes. “I notice them.”
Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes and she blinked them away—horrified that his simple comment might cause her to break down. How was it that this man, whom she barely knew and who’d only made noises at her in the beginning, was more supportive than her own family?
He’s getting something out of it. You’re helping him get his ex back.
Well, she was supposed to be doing that. “Thanks,” she said, looking down into her bowl.
“Do you like the ice cream? I try not to eat a lot of crap, but this is my weakness.” He nudged her with his cactus sock-covered foot. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
McKenna drew a cross on her heart with one finger. “I promise.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Beckett put his ice cream down and reached for a laptop sitting on the coffee table. “I made something for you.”
A tiny little seed of warmth unfurled in her chest. “You did?”
He tapped at the keyboard, his long fingers flying. “Yeah, I had a look at your website when you gave me the card for Kayla. And it’s not very well designed.”
“That’s probably because I cobbled it together myself.” She spooned a mouthful of ice cream between her lips. “I work magic on faces, not on screens.”
Beckett didn’t reply, but a second later the page loaded and McKenna gasped. Instead of her old, basic website with the black banner and a stock image of a few makeup brushes with the pink font that she never could seem to get 100 percent clear, her name jumped out in a pretty, silver font.
The background was black with small purple dots. Edgy, yet still girlie. Exactly like her business cards. A large image on the front showed one of McKenna’s first brides—a friend of a friend who’d kindly given her a chance last year. Then it changed to another photo, this time of McKenna herself with her eyes cast down, revealing a subtle smoky eye in shades of mauve and soft pink.
“You made this for me?” she asked in disbelief.
Beckett nodded. He wasn’t quite smiling, but his eyes were soft and she now knew that meant he was happy. “Your old site didn’t have the best navigation and the design wasn’t mobile friendly. This one will adjust the size according to the device. I also built in a private section for your clients to log in where they can fill in a form with all the information you need to do their makeup trial. I probably didn’t get all the fields right, but I can help you update them.”
McKenna’s mouth hung open. She’d looked into getting a professional site made up before, so she knew that to hire someone to do this would have cost her a few thousand dollars. Given the business cards had almost blown her budget, fees for a web designer weren’t something she could even consider right now.
“Even if Kayla doesn’t hire you, I know you’ll find more work,” he said. “And all businesses need a proper website.”
“Thank you.” For once she didn’t have anything else to say. Emotion clogged the back of her throat. It was such a sweet gesture and, like Beckett, so practical. So thoughtful.
To her complete horror, McKenna burst into tears. The whole day had been a shambles—crappy, rude customers at work followed by dinner with her crappy, rude family. Gage had come by the CAM-Ready Cosmetics counter with his new girlfriend to treat her to some makeup. Ugh, it was like he was showing off a prize poodle. Fucking gag.
And the one person who really had no reason to be kind to her was Beckett. And here he was, feeding her ice cream, building her a website, and being adorably sweet. Gah! Why did he have to be attached to someone else?
“I’m sorry, I just…” She hiccupped. “It’s been a long day. My parents think I’m a failure and my brother’s snotty girlfriend made a crack about my dress and I’m scared I’m going to be stuck working at the department store forever and everyone thinks I’m stupid. I’m not stupid.”
Seriously, where was a muzzle when she needed it? But the words continued to flow out of her in some attempt at cathartic release.
“I hate that they’re all trying to fit me into this box that isn’t me. Why can’t they just accept me as I am?” Her face felt as though it was burning from the inside out. Beckett must think she was crazy. “I don’t want to change.”
When she looked up, her cheeks were damp and she was sure her makeup had smudged. Thankfully, she’d worn a waterproof mascara since crying after a family dinner wasn’t exactly the most uncommon occurrence. She wasn’t sad, more frustrated. Incensed, even.
Maybe it’s because you think they’re right, deep down? You are stupid. You can’t pick the right men, you can’t get your career off the ground. You’re stuck and stagnant and you make bad decisions.
Beckett’s expression was impossible to read, as usual. He closed his laptop and stashed it away, and then he turned to her with cool blue eyes focused intently on her face.
God, he must think that she was some hysterical crybaby.
McKenna went to leave but he leaned forward, his large, capable hands taking the bowl of ice cream from her and placing it on the coffee table next to his.
What she wouldn’t give to have those hands on her—caressing her, learning her. Reassuring her.
“Some people aren’t meant to fit into a box,” he said.
The tears threatened again, but she fought them back. There was still time to get out of here with the last of her dignity intact. It might only be a shred, but it was hers and she needed it. She held his gaze for a moment before attempting to stand. But Beckett’s hand reached for hers and she stilled. Frozen.
“If they can’t see what a kind and creative person you are, then fuck ’em.”
McKenna blinked. She hadn’t ever heard Beckett swear before, and it took her by surprise. But now that she looked closer, his expression wasn’t so hard to read after all. His eyes were like blue fire—shimmering and flickering with intensity. His mouth pressed into a hard line, his jaw ticking with effort. And his fingers wrapped around her wrist, burning through the thin fabric of her top.
He was angry. For her.
No one had ever been angry on her behalf before.
Her breath stuck in her throat. “Fuck ’em?”
“Fuck ’em.”
He was closer now. When had that happened? While she was crying into her ice cream? The couch suddenly seemed small, like it was pushing them together.
“Maybe they’re right,” she said, a lump clogging her throat. “Maybe I am wasting my potential.”
They hadn’t said that exactly, but the message had been clear. Though whether it was because they thought her capable of more or because they simply couldn’t conceive that someone who shared their DNA wasn’t a genius, McKenna wasn’t sure.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
I want to kiss you.
No. Wrong answer.
But the thought hovered and tendrils of desire wound through her. Her breath hissed out between her lips like a silent yes. She wanted him. Badly.
“I…” She shook her head, trying to see through the fog. But it didn’t work. “I…”
She shifted on the couch, digging her knees into the soft, comfortable cushions so that she was closer to him. Her head and heart couldn’t align, the mixed signals clashing until it was all white noise.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, reaching her hand out to touch his face. His skin was soft, cleanly shaven. And damn he smelled incredible—like cologne and fresh cotton. “Or maybe I do.”
“McKenna.” His breath was warm against her palm, and she brushed her fingertip over the corner of his mouth.
He was still holding her other hand captive, like her touch had frozen him solid. But he wasn’t retreating, wasn’t backing away. Maybe he wanted it, too…?
The force with which his lips crashed down on hers took her by surprise, but she yielded. Quickly. Completely. He threaded one hand into the hair at the back of her head, cupping her skull. It was incredibly intimate. Possessive. He pushed his tongue between her lips and she almost groaned when it made contact with her own.
He was soft and hard. Demanding and coaxing. Perfect.
“God, Beckett.” She leaned into him, struggling to balance as the couch shifted.
He pulled her into his lap, her knees digging into the cushions on either side of his couch. Something pressed against her hip—a cushion. He dug it out and tossed it onto the floor. There was nothing now but the two of them, lined up front to front. The contact sent her heartbeat skyrocketing and she flattened her palms on his chest, moving them up and down so she could feel every ridge of muscle. When she caught the hem of his jumper, sliding her palm over bare skin, he rocked against her.
Holy smokes the man could kiss. She’d expected it to be good—dreamed that it would be hot. But this was something else entirely. Something so right, a feeling of completeness wound through her. Settling her.
Unsettling her.
Smooth skin rubbed against her neck as he nuzzled her. “You smell like cake.”
His arm snaked around her waist, drawing her closer still, as she tipped her face to him. The coaxing of his lips had her humming with pleasure, but that soft sound turned to a gasp when he rolled his hips against that sweet spot between her legs. He was hard as a rock and the knowledge that she had him so turned on shot through her like a bullet.
Instinctively, she reached down and brushed her fingers along the length of him. The hard ridge of his cock strained against his jeans. Holy freaking crap. Mr. Whopper had nothing on Beckett Walsh.
Her fingertip toyed with the tab of his silver zipper, hovering as her head and heart duked it out. Well, her head and her lady-parts, more accurately. Turns out self-imposed celibacy was a lot harder than McKenna had anticipated. No pun intended.
The sound of “Sexy and I Know It” blasted into the air and McKenna jumped, startled. Only one person had that song assigned as their ringtone: Emery.
What the hell are you doing? Kissing a guy who’s supposed to be engaged is not part of the plan. Doesn’t matter if he’s the best kisser of all time who also happens to be hung like a freaking donkey…
“Oh God,” she muttered, shaking her head. “We should not be doing this.”
She pushed back, scrambling to get off Beckett, who was looking just as shell-shocked as she felt. He didn’t say a thing. That stoic, impersonal expression was back. His mask.
“I’m sorry, I…” She pushed up off the couch and bumped into the coffee table, wincing as the wood smacked her shin. “I should go.”
For a moment it looked as though he might try to stop her. He rose from the couch, his sandy hair a mess from where her fingers had threaded and tugged and gripped it. But those blue eyes were no longer fire, they were hard and smooth and impenetrable as stone. His lips parted, but he snapped them shut, making a noise of acknowledgment instead. Great, so they were back to the grunting thing again.
What a bloody disaster. Unsure what to say, she turned on her heel and headed for the front door.
The only way you’re going to get over this guy is to make sure his ex comes back. Starting tomorrow, Operation Self-Love is on hold. Operation Get Beckett Engaged Again is priority number one.