Page 118 of Double Puck

"I value you."

He shakes his head, reaching for his bag again.

"Beck. Look at me." He doesn't. I keep going anyway, because I've already jumped off this cliff and the only way through is down. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You want to know why I couldn't tell you? Really why? Because I was scared, Beck. I was terrified of losing the first man I've ever loved."

His hand stops on the handle.

He turns around slowly, and those bright blue eyes find mine, and for once in his life, Beck Morrison is speechless.

"Y-you love me?"

I open my mouth to answer.

But I never get the chance.

Beck crosses the room and kisses me, and before I can even say another word, we're falling backward onto the bed.

Chapter 18

Darcy

We hit the mattress and Beck kisses me like the argument is still in his mouth.

My gasp disappears against his lips, his weight pressing me into the mattress, the lights of the Strip glowing across the ceiling through the open curtains.

"You can't just say that," he mutters against my jaw, kissing his way down my throat. "You can't just drop that on a man mid-argument."

"I panicked. You were winning the argument."

"You panicked into loving me?"

"Apparently."

He laughs into my collarbone, and it vibrates through my whole chest.

I realize we've somehow gone from screaming at each other to… this… in under a minute. Which is either very healthy, or grounds for couples therapy. Possibly both. Poppy's going to need a bigger chocolate bowl.

Beck's fingers find the zipper at my back and drag it down slowly, like he has all night, like he didn't just tell me there is a meeting with another team that neither of us is mentioning.

My dress slides off my shoulders and he kisses every inch of skin as it appears. My shoulder, the curve of my breast, the dip of my waist. He peels the fabric away like he's unwrapping something he's not sure he deserves.

That's the part that breaks my heart a little.

Because Beck Morrison should never look at anything like he doesn't deserve it.

This man has been through so much, and after watching him for weeks now, I think he deserves the world.

I reach for his shirt and he rises up on his knees, ripping it over his head in one motion, and God. Those abs. Those fucking abs. The lamp on the sidetable helps highlight every cut ridge of him, all that tension and muscle and hurt wrapped in golden skin.

He leans forward again, kissing me deeply and I drag my nails down his stomach just to feel him shiver.

"Christ, Darce," he breathes. "I can't stay mad at you. Not when you make me feel like this."

"Good." I trace the line of muscle beneath my fingertips, watching his stomach tighten and flex. "Because you being mad at me was really inconvenient. I had a whole evening planned."

"An evening planned?" His voice drops, turning rough as my hand slides lower. "Is this the assessment version or the improvised version?"

"What's the improved version?"