Black Ties and White Lies(21)

Beck removes his hands from over my head, but his feet stay planted in the same place. Keeping eye contact with me, he deftly undoes the top button of his button-up. I expect him to stop there, but he doesn’t. Once the top one is undone, he pops the button from the next hole as well. After three buttons are undone, I can see the splatter of his blond chest hair.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, half-panicked as I watch him all too closely. Even as my gaze is focused solely on his fingers as they continue to undo each button, I feel Beck’s gaze watching me intently. “I’m starving. And sorry to disappoint, I have no apron. Can’t get this shirt dirty. So I’ll just have to…” He leaves the rest of what he was going to say up to the imagination as he quickly untucks his shirt and undoes the last button.

And holy hell, seeing Beck stand in his kitchen with an undone button-up and his abs on display might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

I don’t know where to look first. There’s the fire in Beck’s eyes. I swear they burn so brightly with desire that it makes my body feel hot all over. There’s also the ripple of muscles in front of me. I’d barely have to lift my hand and I’d be reminded of what his abs feel like underneath my touch.

When Beck rolls his lips together as he stares at my own mouth, I’m lost in the lust of the moment.

I want to feel him underneath my touch more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

I’m about to act on impulse when he makes the decision for me. He leans in, letting his nose brush against my jawline.

Holy fuck. My breath is mixing with Beck’s breath.

Are we going to kiss? To fuck? God, I want it so bad even after telling him days ago that we could never cross the line.

Right now, I want to say screw the line and have Beck screw me.

“Margo,” he breathes, his hand coming to rest next to my head. I have to steady myself by doing the only logical option, placing my hands against his hard abdomen. As soon as my skin connects with his, I feel his muscles clench underneath my fingertips.

I didn’t know someone could feel so hard and warm and intoxicating.

Maybe he’s right. I’m tempted to beg him to fuck me.

“Yes?” I pant.

Beck leans in even closer, lining his lips right next to my ear. A featherlight kiss is pressed against my cheekbone before he speaks. “I need in the fridge.”

It takes a moment for my brain to process his words, but as soon as it does, it feels like cold water has been thrown on me.

And then I get the hell away from him.





Regret.

It lingers all around me as I watch Margo dart across the kitchen.

There’s the regret of allowing myself to almost kiss her, to discover what she tastes like.

And then the regret of knowing she would’ve let me kiss her and I didn’t.

Her words from that dingy conference room still ring in my head. I don’t know if she wants it. I don’t want her backing out of the deal before it’s barely even begun. So I stopped myself, even when every fiber of my being wanted to lift her onto the countertop and have my way with her.

“Margo.” I sigh, missing the warmth of her hands against me a little too much. Now, with my shirt open, it feels too cold without her touch.

She doesn’t bother to look at me. I can’t say I blame her. For a few seconds, she allowed herself to be vulnerable and gave me a glimpse of the lust in her eyes. Instead of waving a white flag and fueling the simmering fire between us, I threw a bucket of cold water on us and doused the flames. She’s embarrassed. I don’t have to look at her face to know it.

“Look,” I begin.

Her spine straightens as she grabs the handle of her suitcase. She talks to the windows, not my face, when she speaks up. “Could you point me to where I’ll be sleeping?” she asks. She tries hard to mask the shakiness in her words, but I catch it.

My palms run down my pants. I take a step toward her. “Sure. Let me walk you there and grab your bags.”

When she looks over her shoulder, the embarrassment is masked with anger. “No. Just tell me where I’m sleeping, and I'll find it.”

I clear my throat, pointing toward the lofted upstairs. It wasn’t my intention to piss her off. Or maybe it was. Fuck, I really don’t know when it comes to her. “No.” When I reach her, I pry her fingers from the handle. She aims a dirty look my way but I don’t pay it any attention.

“I’ll do it,” she hisses. “Just tell me where I’m sleeping.”

Ignoring her, I head toward the staircase. As soon as I reach the bottom step, I lift her bags and begin to take the stairs two at a time. When I make it to the top, I look down to find her staring up at me from the bottom. Her hands are on her hips in an annoyed position, her lips pursed.

“You can come up here and choose which room you want, or I can choose for you. Make me wait too long and I’ll choose the worst one.”

Whatever she mutters under her breath, I don’t catch it. Even though she’s clearly annoyed, she does come up the stairs. Stopping in front of me, her eyes roam over the landing. Through the glass banister, you can see down to the lower floor. There’s a sitting area up here. I couldn’t begin to remember the last time someone actually sat there, but it looks nice.

She yanks her suitcase from my grasp, almost falling backward from the exertion. Looking me in the eye with an angry gleam in her own, she blows hair from her face. “This has to be one of the most expensive penthouses in Manhattan”—she rolls her eyes—“even the worst room here is a luxury compared to what us common people are used to.”