Arianne Bang. Bang. Bang. What’s that loud noise? I’m semi-conscious, no longer sle eping, but not quite awake. Bang. Bang. Bang. Please. Stop. “Arianne, it’s Beckett.” Beckett? I peel open my dry, sticky eyes. My head. Ouch. After several long seconds of panting through the pain, the agony subsides long enough for me to move. I try to sit up, but the room is spinning. God, please make it stop. I try again. I sit up on the bed, disoriented. My clothes are sitting in a condemning puddle of mess on the floor. What the hell? I always hang-up my clothes. Without fail. Bang. Bang. Bang. The noise rattles my brain, jarring a flood of memories. My muddled brain sparks to life, as I struggle to piece together the previous night. Oh, yeah. Thanks for nothing, Phoebe. Bang. Bang. Bang. “Arianne, are you in there? Are you hurt?” Shit. I push the sheet off my body and pull on a t-shirt as I waddle to the door. Dear God. My stomach feels like a sinking ship. I grip the doorframe to avoid face planting, my st ep unstable. “Open up or I’ll call the police.” “I’m coming.” My voice is so hoarse. Serves me right for throwing caution to the wind. When I open the door, blue-eyes squint at me, then they widen. The sexy man standing before me takes me in, and chuckles. “What’s so funny?” Am I slurring my words? “You,” Beckett says. “Your morning hair is wild.” Freaked out, I try to tame it, but it’s a losing battle. “And your t-shirt.” He points at my chest. My eyes follow his finger. Great. “‘Where the hell is Prince Charming? That douchebag is severely late.’” Beckett reads out loud. “No one was supposed to see that,” I say. “Did you get fucked over by the greatest animator of all time from the grave?” He’s still laughing. I give him a onceover. Of course, he has to look fucking hot. So far, I’ve only seen him wearing pristine bespoke suits or a dangerously sexy black-on-black look. This is a d eparture... one I approve of. Beckett is wearing a fitted white t-shirt that exposes his full-sleeve of colorful tattoos. His forearms are so. . . defined. My eyes travel to his legs. His muscles are so thick. I’m sure his casual outfit cost a fortune. He’s sporting fitted dark wash jeans and navy suede leather-trimmed sneakers with a bronze tag on the tongue that reads the name of an Italian designer. He has such impeccable taste and style. I have no doubt this man’s mouthwatering body is a combination of great genes, a kickass personal trainer, and hours of dedication at the gym, but damn. Our eyes lock, our gazes lingering on one another for several beats. A sly grin lifts the side of his mouth. “You’re done with your inspection?”
“You drove all the way here before heading to the office to wake me from my sle ep, make fun of me, and give me attitude?” “No.” “Why are you here, then?” “Germany. Remember?” I blink. And blink. Huh? “We have a flight to catch.” “That’s tomorrow—” My eyes widen in horror, as a panic attack threatens. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Did I oversle ep? What time is it? I’m so sorry.” “Calm down. It’s okay,” Beckett says. “I got here early. I thought we could enjoy a nice breakfast at one of my favorite eateries before heading to the airport, but judging by the look of things, we’ll be cutting it short.” “Shit, shit, shit.” How did I allow this to happen? “I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer,” Beckett says. I’m dumbfounded. “I tried numerous times.” I must’ve been passed out cold not to hear my phone ring. And why didn’t my alarm wake me? “This is so unlike me,” I say. “I’m always early. Without fail. I can’t believe we’re going to miss our flight because I can’t hold my liquor.” Beckett st eps inside my apartment and closes the door. He places his hands on my shoulders. “It’s a private jet. The plane leaves when I say so. I can always get the pilot to schedule a later takeoff time, if needs be.” “Still.” I shake my head. This is so embarrassing. “I blame Phoebe and Oscar for forcing me to party like there’s no tomorrow. Here we are tomorrow, and I’m not so sure it was a great idea. I also blame the overflowing, expensive champagne and the hours of feverish salsa dancing—” “Who was your dance partner?” I cock an eyebrow at his slicing tone. “Jealous?” “It d epends who you were dancing with. I might have to rearrange someone’s face.” “I was with my bestie.” He stares at me long and hard. “I swear. I’m telling you the truth. I really was with her.” “No guys?” “Just her boyfriend.” He cocks a brow. “No one else?” I roll my eyes, but secretly I’m tickled pink. “Beckett, we don’t have time for this. I’m a hot mess and it feels like there’s a construction crew jackhammering in my head.” I bring a hand to my temple. “Glad to hear you had fun and you weren’t—” he doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he settles for, “It sounds like you had fun.” Huh? That didn’t make any sense. “That’s not what you were going to say.” “Never mind,” he says. There’s something about the way he’s studying me. I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s nothing, but it sure feels like something. Your system is soaked in booze. So is your brain. My mind is still fuzzy and my stomach is seesawing as if I was on a yacht in the middle of a raging storm. “My night of fun and partying is no excuse for my unprofessionalism,” I say. “Do you still have to pack?” “God, no. I packed on Sunday. I still have a few items to stuff in my carry-on.”
His eyes widened. “You packed three days in advance?” “Always.” “I always pack last-minute. Case in point, I packed a new set of clothes at one o’clock in the morning when I got back from Nashville. Same when I flew out first thing yesterday morning for the day-long business trip.” “Don’t let the new look fool you. I’m still a control freak.” “Noted.” He chuckles. “How long will it take you to get ready?” “A quick shower, hair and makeup, and then it’s a question of jumping into an outfit. Twenty minutes?” “I’ll be outside in the car.” “You don’t want to stay?” I can’t hide my disappointment. “I’m going to do a quick pit stop. I’ll be back before you know it.” “Okay.” He drops a soft kiss against my forehead. I love it when he does that. I close my eyes, relishing the contact and his closeness. The touch of his lips heats me from head to toe after going without since Monday. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed him. “If we had more time...”—his fingers pull at the hem of my t-shirt —“I’d want to know if you sle ep with or without panties.” Beckett slips a finger between my pussy lips, and I fold over. “You wild child. You sle ep commando.” Amusement coats Beckett’s voice. I never did until you corrupted me that night in my bathroom. “Too bad I can’t do anything about it.” Can you come from just a touch? Because I swear, I just did. “Thank you,” I tell the chauffeur as he reaches for my luggage and drops it in the trunk. “My pleasure,” he says. He opens the door behind the driver’s seat. “Thank you.” I slide into the car. Beckett grabs my attention. He’s sporting a wide grin and holding up two large jugs with handles. I remove my designer diva sunglasses and furrow my eyebrows before meeting his gaze. I freeze. I’ve never seen Beckett’s eyes under the sunlight before. His eyes are arresting. As blue as the ocean. As mesmerizing, too. Of all the pantie-melting hunks walking the planet, Beckett Christensen is the sexiest man ever. I point at the jugs. “Breakfast?” “So much more than breakfast,” he says. “These are lifesavers. A Love Your Liver smoothie to start.” He lifts the glass jug holding a green liquid to eye level. “And a Post-Party Pick-Me-Up smoothie because its creamy, coconutty sweetness, goes down easy and coats your stomach.” He lifts the pink one. “That’s so thoughtful of you.” “Been there. Done that. I have the t-shirt, poster, Mp3 download, CD, and vinyl LP.” I laugh. “In other words, I knew where to go to get you a fix,” he says. “Tonics + Elixirs is the place to score much-needed liquid medicine food for latenight partiers.” “You’re the sweetest.” “I aim to please.” He hands me the green smoothie. “Thank you,” I say. When the car starts to move, my queasy stomach churns. Oh, God. I place a hand against it, willing it to settle. It’s to no avail. No more champagne. Ever. “You okay?” The concern in his eyes is touching. “Yes, thank you for asking.” “The champagne hit
you harder than expected?” “Yes. I’m sure I’ll be fine with a few sips of this.” I lift the smoothie. “What about you?” I latch my lips around the straw. This tastes way better than it looks. “There’ll be plenty to eat during the flight, but since I’m starved even after a blueberry and peanut butter smoothie, we’ll make a pit stop on the way as we head to Van Nuys Airport.” “Okay.” “You clean up nice, kiddo,” he says, leaning forward and dropping a kiss against my exposed shoulders. I giggle at the unexpected tickle of his lips against my skin. “This might come as a shock, but I always travel in a suit.” He pulls back. “No shit.” His huge grin lets me know he’s making fun of me. “I always like to arrive at my destination ready” “What if you’re going away for a fun time?” “I tend to wear something...” I hesitate. “A lot more put together than this.” I wave a finger at my body. “What you’re wearing is put together. Nicely, too.” “A dress and sandals aren’t my calling card,” I say. “Same with this.” I point at my head. As the minutes were ticking by and the embarrassment over my tardiness was weighing heavy on me, I panicked and grabbed an offshoulder navy-blue maxi dress. It has a pretty ruffle running at the front and practical pockets. I paired it with low wedge silver sandals. I bunched up my wet hair in a bun at the top of my head, gave myself a two-minute face and I was out the door. “Is this Andrea’s doing?” I shake my head. “Between being rushed and being a little shaky on my feet from last night’s drinking, I didn’t think I would be steady enough to slip into a pair of pants or jeans.” Beckett laughs. “The dress looks amazing on you. And it’s easy access for me.” He drops another kiss on my shoulder. “Are you going to kiss my shoulders the whole flight to Germany?” Not that I’d object. “It’s also easy access for other things.” His eyes drop to my lap. A heated blush cre eps up my cheeks.