“That’s not very fair,” I say, removing my hand from his jeans. “I think you enjoyed that way too much when I wanted to get you back for all those times you tickled me.”
He chuckles, sounding exhausted but content. “You want me to show you the secret spot?”
“I tried everywhere.” I pout.
“Not everywhere.”
When my brows lower in confusion, he sits up, slides me off his lap, then leans over to unlace his boot. After he gets it off, he removes his sock, grabs my hand, and sketches my fingers up and down the bottom of his foot. Then he lets out the girliest giggle I’ve ever heard. I trace my fingers up the arch of his foot again and again until he begs for mercy.
After we’re done messing around, he changes into his pajamas while I put on one of his shirts. Then we lie down in his bed together with his arms around me, our legs tangled.
Safe.
Safe.
Safe.
I keep reminding myself of this as my thoughts try to drift to my future. To my past. To the now. All of which Beck knows about.
He knows me and didn’t run. He saw the ugly and still wants it.
I thought I lost him, and while it hurt, I still picked myself up.
Everything will be okay.
Once step at a time. Don’t panic.
“Just breathe, princess,” he whispers, his lips brushing the top of my head. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“I feel like I need to get up and do something,” I admit. “Fix the problems.”
“We will,” he says. “Tomorrow.”
There he goes with the “we” again.
I like the sound of it.
Probably too much.
Maybe it’s not so bad as long as there’s still a me and him between the we.
I take a deep breath and then another. “What do we do now?”
“Now, we get some sleep,” he says, pulling me closer.
I’m a little terrified to close my eyes, knowing tomorrow I’ll have to face everything: moving, getting a new job, figuring out a new plan. But as I lay in his arms with him stroking his fingers up and down my back, calmness overcomes me enough that my eyes shut.
I fall asleep faster than I have in years.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Beck
I wake up the next morning with Willow’s head resting on my chest, my knee tucked between her legs, and my phone ringing insanely. I make no move to answer it, not wanting to ruin this peaceful moment that managed to carry all the way from last night.
When the damn thing refuses to shut the fuck up, I give up and collect it off my nightstand. When Dad flashes across the screen, I grimace.
“Who is it?” Willow asks, looking up at me.
“My dad.” I reject the call, toss the phone down, and pull her close until her body is flush with mine.
“What do you think he wants?” she asks through a yawn.
For me to come to the office. I hesitate to tell her, knowing she’ll worry, and that’s the last thing she needs right now.
Sensing my tension, she lifts her head and blinks down at me, her hair tickling my face. “What did he do?”
I slip my hands around her waist, urging her to lie back down. “Nothing he hasn’t done before.”
“Beck …” she warns. “I know when you’re lying.”
“Oh, you do, do you? Then tell me if I’m lying right now,” I say, letting my fingers sneak under the shirt she’s wearing. “I want to put my fingers inside you again and watch you moan.”
Her cheeks flush, but her gaze never wavers from mine. “Don’t try to distract me. Tell me what he did.”
I trace my fingers back and forth across her waist, paying extra attention to that diamond in her belly button. “You really want me to tell you instead of doing this?”
Her lips part, but no words leave her mouth as I trail my fingers down between her legs. Right as I’m about to slip them inside her, she captures my hand.
“We can do that later,” she says breathlessly. “Right now, I want to know what your dad’s done to you. I can tell he’s done something.”
“Oh, fine.” I sulk, hoping that will win her over, but apparently, my baby blue-eyed charm doesn’t work on her. All she does is give me a tolerant look. “He blackmailed me into working at his firm.”
She pushes back to look down at me. “Blackmailed?”
I sigh and give her a recap of what happened. I also tell her about the files I found on his computer. When she asks if she can see the files, I hand over my phone.
She slips out of the covers, giving me a great view of her long legs as she stretches out and rests against the headboard. She starts searching through files, growing more intrigued with each one.
“I’m pretty sure he’s committing some tax fraud,” she remarks, examining the screen closely. “At least, he did this year.”