Sultry in Stilettos Read online

  As they got closer to the grassy hills, Beckett veered hard to the right. The car slowed as they hit the grass. He aimed right for the center hill, then let the steering wheel go. With his other arm, he reached for Roberto. “Here, grab my other hand. I have to pull you in before we land this bitch!” he shouted.

  But Roberto shook his head from side to side. “Can’t, let go.” The Italian’s eyes locked on Beckett. Beckett knew the look of someone who knew they were about to die. He’d seen it on his mother before she passed away. He wasn’t going to let someone else die on his watch. If Roberto wasn’t going to take his other arm, then Beckett had no choice but to pull him in with his one arm.

  Beckett checked their distance to the hill—about thirty feet. Wrapping his right hand around the brace bar, he gritted his teeth. Fifteen feet. He made sure his knees were at a ninety degree angle. Ten feet. He ignored the pain in his shoulder, held his breath, and yanked. Five feet. A foot to go, and Beckett slammed his teeth together, pulling with everything he had.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ricca tapped an impatient foot as she watched Beckett sleep. She pretty much hadn’t left his side since Mexico. Right after the crash, everything had been so chaotic. When the distress call had come, she’d wanted to be with the first responders, but she’d had to stay behind and do some PR of the, No, we don’t know what possibly could have happened variety. And the, Of course we’re sending out best responders to the scene, dance. And the pat-pat, rub-rub with Lila.

  When the medical team had brought Beckett and Roberto back, she’d been nearly as sick with worry as Lila was. Seeing Beckett on that stretcher made her forget how angry she was at him for kissing her. For challenging her. In that moment, she didn’t care about their confused relationship. She’d only wanted him to be okay. He could have been killed in that crash.

  The Ambulance had taken both Beckett and Roberto to the local hospital, and Roberto had been airlifted back to San Diego, though by the looks of him, he’d be fine. No need to risk any other mishaps by keeping him in Mexico any longer. Beckett appeared to be fine as well. Well, mostly fine. He’d dislocated his shoulder and had a mild concussion. But from what she could understand of the rapid fire Spanish the med team had prattled at her, he was lucky to have survived and would be fine.

  They’d sedated him and put him on a flight back home. Now, as she watched his chest rise and fall, she thought about what she’d say to him. Of all the irresponsible things—to let a client drive when they were unfamiliar with the terrain. Serena had insisted that Roberto would be fine, and Beckett had acquiesced because they’d had no choice. But honestly, Ricca thought he should have fought harder. Roberto had no business driving a course that dangerous. And he hadn’t even covered the first rule of safety—to check all harnesses. But Beckett had been there. Why hadn’t he checked?

  She scrubbed her hands down her face. She needed a break. For the last four days, she had taken shifts with Caleb, Micha, and Jaya to watch over him and see if he needed any help. Lila and Roberto had even called several times to see how he was doing. Roberto felt terrible and kept going on about how Beckett had saved his life.

  Tears pricked Ricca’s eyes, and she rapidly blinked them away. No point crying for a man who didn’t want her. No point watching the pot either. She’d finish cooking dinner, then get back home and finish up the preliminaries for the next fantasy for Lila and Roberto. While still a little shaken, Roberto was just as enthusiastic about all the fantasies. In particular, he wanted Lila’s first to be over the top romantic. Ricca just hoped Lila’s would be far less adventurous than Roberto’s had been.

  Standing up and stretching her legs, Ricca snuck one last look at Beckett’s sleeping form. He could have died. A small shudder stole up her back. He could have died, and she’d never told him how she felt. No, don’t be an idiot. Just because she was playing Florence Nightingale for him didn’t mean he had dirty nurse fantasies about her.

  Padding into his kitchen, she stirred the curry on the stove. He loved curry. The food should last him a couple of days till he could cook on his own. Who was she kidding? She loved cooking for him, taking care of him. Oh fantastic. She’d turned into a Stepford wife. Too smothering, just like Charles had said.

  “Get a grip, Ricca,” she mumbled to herself.

  With no desire to commune with her own thoughts, she turned the CD player in the kitchen on to low. The smooth calypso sounds on Beckett’s iPod made her smile. She’d turned him onto some new artists. For a moment, she let the soft music flow into her soul.

  With little effort, she slipped into a mild dance as she cooked. No matter the lies she told herself, she was happy Beckett was going to be okay—fool that he was. She had to be careful though. They’d both already crossed the line of friendship. At some point, they’d have to look at the whys of what they both had done if they wanted to stay friends. But today wasn’t the day for that. Once he was back at work, they could sort it out. She would handle whatever he said to her better than she’d handled him in college.

  The pang of the memory snapped her backward in time. The one time she’d ever thought there could be something between them. Of course she’d been delusional. Swim stars didn’t chase after plump, homely Trini girls. But Beckett had seemed different. Like now, he’d been more Jaya’s friend, but he’d had a couple of classes with Ricca. He always made it a point to sit with her, partner with her for projects. And he’d been sweet and charming—just like now.

  After she’d driven his too-drunk ass home from a party once, he’d mumbled something about her being so beautiful. Unsure of how to respond to something like that, she’d sat there in the driver’s side of the car, letting it idle, while he stared at her. “I don’t believe you. There are a million women out there. There’s nothing special about me.”

  Drunkenly, he smiled at her. “You’re not listening. I think you’re beautiful.”

  And drunk. He’d been very drunk. She knew better than to believe mumblings from a drunken fraternity boy. But a small part of her had hoped and wanted to believe. “Okay, you want me to believe you? Say it again when you’re sober.” They’d pinky sworn a deal and made a study date for the next night.

  Ricca shook her head. She’d been so over the moon that she hadn’t paid attention. Guys like Beckett didn’t go out with girls like her. When she’d gone to the fraternity house to meet him, he’d been talking about her with his fraternity brothers. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear his brother Colin Fray say, “Seriously, the short chubby one? Why not one of her friends? The one with the legs and all that hair. Now, she’s hot. And thin.”

  Beckett had been initially silent, but then said, “Ease up, Fray. She’s a friend. And she’s nice.” He’d paused then and added, “And she’s not chubby. She’s….” His voice trailed off. “She’s a good girl.”

  Colin had laughed. “Well, we know you don’t like good girls.”

  Beckett’s response had said it all. “That’s the truth.”

  She’d gotten it wrong then. What she’d construed as him coming on to her was nothing of the sort. She was his friend. That was it. At least he’d sort of stepped up for her when that moron Fray had called her chubby.

  But after that night, Ricca had vowed to stop chasing after something she couldn’t have and focus on what she could attain. She was funny and smart and a whole bunch of other adjectives her mother would be proud of. Hot didn’t have to be one of them. Until now—when she’d traded who she was to get noticed.

  ****

  Beckett woke to the sounds of the islands. He smiled to himself. Ricca. She’d come to take care of him again. He’d told her she didn’t need to, but she’d given him one of her determined looks, and he’d shut up. Besides Trinidadian food was one of his favorites. Short of Ricca’s mother Kelan’s cooking, this would be heaven.

  Careful of his left arm, he rolled himself into a sitting position and readjusted his sling. He didn’t really need it anymore, but the doc had
wanted him to wear it as a precautionary measure. According to the white coats, he‘d been lucky to survive the crash with only a dislocated shoulder and concussion. Roberto had been even luckier. Just bumps and bruises.

  What Beckett wanted to know was how the hell it had happened. He knew he should have checked the car himself. There were very few times he was OCD—usually checking over his cars was one of them. But he’d let the client change his mind. Once Roberto had insisted on driving and Serena had backed him, it had all gone to shit. Serena had insisted that the hired pit crew would do the final checks.

  Beckett groaned. Lesson learned the hard and bumpy way—always check your own equipment. If Roberto wanted to BASE jump or anything else, Beckett was going to be the one doing safety checks. He couldn’t have another accident like this endangering the client. Or getting in the way of the job.

  Feeling sluggish, he shuffled into the kitchen. Immediately, his body jerked to attention. Ricca was dancing around, singing and winding her hips to some calypso reggae song he didn’t recognize. The way her leggings hugged her ass and her muscular legs made his eyes cross. Her fitted, button-down stopped just past her waist, revealing a tantalizing strip of flesh for his viewing pleasure. Her cinnamon-brown skin glowed.

  The heavy bass beats dropped in the song, and she ticked her hips like he’d seen some women do at a dancehall reggae concert he’d gone to once. His mouth went dry as he stared in wonder at the perfect isolation of her hips. Liquid heat rushed under his skin. Vaguely, he wondered if that was his body’s way of telling him to take another pain pill. But he doubted it. As she stirred and tossed a pinch of something into the pot, she did a little body roll. The groan was out of his mouth before he could control it.

  She whipped around with a gasp. “Jesus, Beckett. What the hell are you doing up?” Her hands flew to her face. “Shoot, did I wake you up? I thought the music was low enough. I’m sorry.”

  He grinned at her flustered state. “No, it’s cool. It’s time I stopped loafing around anyway.” He indicated the stove. “What’s cooking? It smells awesome.” Absently, he rubbed his stomach.

  “My mother’s chicken curry.”

  When she turned around to stir, he bit back another curse. She looked so beautiful standing in his kitchen. He’d never had this. The women he dated couldn’t even find the kitchen, let alone the stove to make homemade anything. They all would likely swear that the magic food fairies brought them dinner in restaurants. Not one of them actually cooked. Watching Ricca cook was sexy as hell.

  She gave him a half smile. “What are you staring at?”

  “You.”

  She blinked, then tucking her hair behind her ears, moved around him to the island. “So, um. I see you’re feeling better. You think you’ll be making it to work tomorrow?”

  Warmth spread through his chest. “So you’re saying you miss me?”

  Ricca’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “Uhm, well, despite your injuries, we still have a Master Fantasy to complete. Just because you’ve been lazing about, doesn’t mean the rest of us have. We need you to pull your weight.”

  He knew what she was doing—attempting to deflect. Just like she had the other night. She’d come onto him, but when he’d reciprocated, she’d run off like a scared butterfly.

  “Go on, admit it, you miss me.” He stepped into her space.

  Ricca took a step back and cleared her throat. When she spoke, her voice was husky. “Maybe a little.” She lowered her voice, then added, “I was worried about you. You really scared the shit out of me. You could have died.”

  He frowned. “I know.” He took another step toward her, not sure what he wanted the end result to be. Who the hell was he kidding? He wanted her on his island naked and laid out like a buffet.

  She coughed and took another step back until she pressed right up against the island. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “Don’t scare me like that again, okay? I don’t think my heart could take it.”

  “That’s a deal.” He glanced around his kitchen. It was spotless. She’d cleaned up after him too. She’d taken care of him. Like she always did—for everyone. “You’ve been cooking and cleaning.”

  She nodded. “You know me. It keeps me calm. I know you’re fine, but I figured you could use some food in the freezer.” She shrugged. “You know, something that isn’t takeout. And I just wanted, you know—”

  “Ricca,” he interrupted. “I’d like to kiss you now, if you’d shut up for a minute.” Of all the times to have no plan. All he knew was he wanted to taste her. To feel her soft lips under his again. Feel her breath as she sighed and opened for him.

  He angled his head and realized how small she was when she wasn’t wearing those towering heels of hers. He brushed her lips softly with his, before wrapping his right arm around her waist and hauling her up against him, then settling her on the island.

  Her eyes went wide. “Beckett, your arm. You have to be careful not to reinjure yourself.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t care. I just want to—” He lost all rational thought when she wiggled against him. A low growl rumbled in his chest. “I’ve been dying to do this again since last week.”

  She parted her lips, and he was lost.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Unprepared didn’t even cut it. Ricca had kissed Beckett exactly three times and not one compared to this. His kiss was gentle and undemanding. He stroked her cheekbone with his thumb as he held her in place. The man knew how to kiss. His tongue was a gentle explorer testing the waters. Trying to coax hers to come and play. Beckett stepped between her parted thighs and dragged her body closer to his.

  Wanting to be careful of his arm, she returned his kisses tentatively, only softly meeting his tongue with hers. He took it slow as if they had all the time in the world to get this one kiss right. He paused and leaned his forehead to hers. “Ricca.” His voice was a pitch lower than usual. “I want you to kiss me back. I need you to. His breath was warm and tickled her lips.

  “I am,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “I’m not backing off. I’m not going anywhere. Just kiss me back. Even if it’s just for tonight.“

  His words caressed her. The blood rushing in her head made it hard to think. She wanted him—had always wanted him. Even if this was a fluke and she had no idea where it was going, for once she was going to live in the moment.

  Angling her head back, she met his eyes. All she saw was desire, some concern, and impatience. He was waiting for her answer. He wouldn’t kiss her again unless she initiated. Gathering all the moxy she had, she did what she’d wanted to do for years.

  When their lips fused, she wound her hands in his hair and held him in place. His responding rumble filled her with feminine power. Her whole body melted into him as he yanked her closer. His body radiated heat like a hellish inferno, and all she wanted to do was bring him closer to her.

  Beckett abruptly took a step away, and a low whimper escaped her lips before she could imprison it. His lips quirked into a smile. “Relax. I just want to remove this thing so I can touch you.” He quickly removed the snaps of the sling and tossed it with his good arm. “There, that’s better.”

  He stepped back between her legs, and Ricca could have cried with the relief of having him close again. He smelled like rain and leather.

  His next kiss wasn’t gentle. He cupped one hand behind her head and devoured her. As his other hand snaked under her top, tracing a line over the exposed skin, her core heated, and all she wanted to do was wrap her legs around him and not let go.

  Never pausing the assault on her lips, his fingers wove into her hair and massaged her scalp. It instantly relaxed her and at the same time sent electric shocks to her center. He traced several circles over her belly button before teasing a path to her breast.

  When he stroked a thumb over her breast, Ricca cried out. Her hips rotated against the bulging hardness in his sweats. They moved in a persistent rhythm she couldn’t control. All she knew w
as she wanted to feel that length of him sliding into her, helping her overheat from the inside.

  Beckett fisted his hands into her hair and tugged gently. The mild sting sent shudders down her spine.

  Harsh breaths tore out of his chest, and he muttered a low “Fuuuck!” As his breathing grew more ragged. “Damn it, Ricca, you’re going to have to stop doing that. I don’t want this to end before we even get—”

  This time it was Ricca who shut him up by dragging his lips back to hers. She didn’t stop moving her hips. If this was some insane fantasy, she wanted to get as much of him as she could before she came back to her senses.

  They matched each other in intensity. She scratched his back; he bit her lip. She tugged his T-shirt over his head; he nearly popped the buttons on her shirt trying to get it off. When he encountered her tank top, he growled. When he slipped a hand between them and stroked her aching core through her leggings, she moaned.

  His good hand fumbled with her bra clasp, and she had to giggle. “I thought you were supposed to be good with your hands.”

  His low chuckle as he nuzzled her throat made her tingle from head to toe. “You’ll have to forgive me. I seem to have lost all the blood in my fingertips. It’s all traveled south. I can’t think straight. And I certainly can’t figure out this complicated thing.”

  “Here, let me.” Ricca reached around her back and unhooked the strap. “It’s a bra and tank combination.” Removing her hands through the straps, she held the tank in place above her breasts. Was she really going to do this? Have sex with Beckett in the middle of his kitchen? Hell yes. And if she was lucky, in the living room, in his bed, and maybe the shower too.

  He caught her hands and shook his head. “No, don’t cover up. God, Ricca, I’ve been dreaming about you for so long. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the Westhorpe Gala. I just want to see you. All I care about is making you feel good.”