Fall Into Temptation (Blue Moon Book #2)(14)

“Five seconds with my kids and you’ve got them swearing and lying,” Gianna said accusingly. “I’m putting you in time out.”

Evan looked like he was going to argue the “my kids” statement, but held his tongue.

“Mama, Bucket’s too big for time out,” Rora argued.

“You’re never too big for time out,” Gianna said, grabbing Beckett’s arm and pulling him down the hall toward the farmhouse’s front door.

She waited until they were out of earshot of everyone else. “I’m really sorry about this. I had no idea my dad was bringing us here or that you’d be here. He just said he had a surprise.”

“Surprise, I’m moving in with someone.” Beckett snorted.

“They’re moving in together?” Gianna’s eyebrows shot up.

“I guess he didn’t get to that part of the surprise yet.” He took a long pull on the bottle.

“That seems kind of fast,” she frowned.

“They’ve been dating for six months,” Beckett grumbled. “We’ve only known for three. And that’s only because we caught him trying to sneak out of her bedroom one morning.”

Gianna bit her lip. “I’m trying not to laugh because I can see you’re upset by it. But …”

Beckett pictured Franklin’s pajama-covered legs flailing off of the porch roof. “It was a tiny bit funny,” he conceded.

“If I’m getting my signals correctly, you’re not happy about their relationship.”

He wasn’t happy with the way Gianna was looking up at him. She was standing too close to him. Those warm sea green eyes looked into him, her full lips parted just the slightest bit. A fiery tendril had escaped her hair tie to hang down her throat. He didn’t realize until it was too late that his fingers were tucking the wayward curl behind her ear and then brushing down the graceful line of her neck.

He felt her pulse rate ratchet up under the pads of his fingers. Her skin was warm, smooth under his touch. Her lips, the color of the pinkest rose parted even further. Under her spell, Beckett leaned down, leaned in until he could feel her breath on him. He brushed a thumb over her lower lip as he skimmed his hand over her jaw and neck. Soft, smooth, so alive.

Those stunning green eyes were heavy, her breath shallow.

An inch apart, swamped in her scent of soap and lavender, Beckett was lost.

A shout of laughter from the kitchen tore them apart.

Gianna sagged down on the bottom step. “I feel like I’m hyperventilating,” she gasped.

Beckett bent at the waist and braced his hands on his knees. “There’s not a milliliter of blood in my head right now.”

“Forbidden fruit,” Gianna said, fanning her flushed cheeks.

“Huh?”

“I want you because I can’t have you, leading me to almost devour your face with our families fifteen feet away.”

“Pretty sure I would have done the devouring,” Beckett countered.

“Not helping.” Gianna rose and straightened her clothing that didn’t need straightening. “We can totally fight this, right?”

“Totally,” Beckett shook his head.

“You’re shaking your head.”

“What?”

Gianna pointed at him. “You’re not nodding ‘yes.’ You’re shaking your head ‘no.’”

Beckett frowned. “Sorry. I’m just …”

“Yeah, me too,” she said, agreeing with his unspoken words.

Beckett leaned back against the front door, willing his erection to go away and his heart rate to return to normal. “Your kids are great,” he said, changing the subject.

“Don’t be sweet. I can’t resist sweet,” Gianna warned him.

“Your kids are monsters and I hate your face.”

Gianna laughed. “I hate your face, too. Your gorgeous, sexy face.”

“Gianna,” he warned her.

“I’m going to go make my monsters wash their hands. Are you staying for dinner?” She looked … hopeful.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Good.”





7





The Pierces assembled in the dining room, absorbing Gia and her family into their ranks. The dining table held all of them, including the late arrival of willowy Joey, who seemed to be the focus of the youngest Pierce’s attention.

Gia devoured her helping of lasagna, admiring her father’s vegetarian spin on one of her favorite family recipes. She had few childhood memories that weren’t steeped in fresh basil and simmering tomato sauce.

While she and her sisters were growing up, Franklin Merrill was running two families: his daughters and his restaurants. Gia and her sisters had spent their formative years in restaurant kitchens. Gia had been waitressing herself through a bachelor’s degree in plant sciences when she met Paul Decker, the sexy, charming, free-spirited musician.

It had been her twenty-first birthday. Paul was playing in the band at the bar where she and her girlfriends were ordering girlie drinks. She noticed him noticing her and when the band took five, he took her number.

Six years, one unplanned pregnancy, and an unfinished college degree later, Gia was older and wiser. Or at least wise enough to know that the handsome mayor seated across from her was off limits.