Arianne fter getting the Chance-slash-Mariah mess off my chest, I had great expectations for the rest of the flight but I k ept dozing off. I fought it as much as I could, but I gave in. My body was in desperate need of rest. Too much boozing and too much wild partying will do that to a girl who tends to color within the lines. Speaking of fucking mess, I didn’t expect to open up like that. Other than my mom and Phoebe, no one knows of my humiliating story. I never told Easton why I hightailed it out of Silicon Valley in such a rush, but the day Chance’s company got bought out for a ridiculous amount, Easton sent me a short text message that spoke volumes. Easton: The asshole fucked you over, didn’t he? I responded with a simple yes. Easton promised he’d back me up financially to go after what was rightfully mine. I passed, to his chagrin. Fighting Chance was only going to end up killing me inside. The idea of seeing him and Mariah together as a couple was too nauseating. I pray karma will be a bitch when it comes to them. Arriving in Europe on a private jet is different from arriving on a commercial flight, even when flying business class. The luxury treatment of traveling with a billionaire extends to the mode of transportation when we land—the chauffeured Bentley is a classy touch. The short ride from the Hannover-Langenhagen Airport into Wedemark is dedicated to soaking up the German countryside. Even though I lived on this continent for two years, I never made it to Germany. Now, I wonder why. On the flight over, Beckett mentioned Valerie tried to get us a room in one of the handful of hotels, but since we’re last minute, we lucked out. At least, she was able to book us rooms in a quaint inn. “Guten tag und herzlich willkommen. Good afternoon and welcome to the Lindelglück Gasthaus,” a smiling blue-eyed blonde with noticeable silver streaks says. “Guten tag und herzlich willkommen,” Beckett says and I follow suit. “You speak German?” The woman smiles. “Oh, God, no.” Beckett chuckles. “So far, those are the only words I’ve mastered.” “Same here,” I say. “We had a crash course on the flight over here,” Beckett says. “Thanks for not making fun of us, even if we butchered your language.” The woman laughs. “I speak English. So, we are okay,” she says with a pronounced accent. “My name is Astrid, and you are?” “Beckett Christensen and this is—” “Herzliche Glückwünsche! Congratulations on your wedding. We have the nuptial suite ready for you. You’re going to love it.” All cohesive thought comes to a screeching halt. “The nuptial suite?” Beckett’s voice goes up by several octaves. “Yes,” Astrid says. “Love... so exciting and new...” She clasps her hands in prayer under her chin and sighs. “I still remember when I married my Günter—my prince—at twenty-three. Thirty wonderful years later... we’re still in love.” Another long sigh.
She’s so busy reliving her life story, she’s oblivious to the way Beckett is staring at her in disbelief. I’m sure I’m sporting the same shocked expression on my face. She leans forward, a proud smile stretching her lips. “Do you want to know the secret to a long marriage?” Beckett and I are still speechless when she continues. “Tattoos,” Astrid says as her eyes lower to Beckett’s colorful forearms. “Husband and wife tattoos, to be precise. He has my name etched on his chest. I have his on my...” When Astrid slaps her plump ass, both Beckett and I flinch in surprise. “I have Astrid + Günter on the right cheek.” Slap. “And Für Immer on the left.” Slap. “That translates to Forever in English. My husband loves it... especially when the love making happens.” She giggles. TMI. “He has Forever tattooed here.” She points to her hipbone. “When I’m giving him... you know...” She purses her lips. “I can see it.” We’re passing through town. That is way more than we need to know about Astrid and Günter. Seriously, on a scale from one to ten of overshare, that was a solid three thousand. Beckett and I are still rooted in silence. “If you want, I can direct you to the shop. Gestempelt is close by. It means stamped.” Lady, you might want to start with must-see local landmarks first. “I’m sorry, Astrid, but we have a problem.” Beckett finds his voice. I’m still searching for mine. Astrid’s lips pull down in a frown. “A problem?” “Yes,” Beckett says. “As in, you might’ve made a mistake.” “At the Lindelglück Gasthaus, we do not make mistakes.” She shakes her head with a small smile. “We only give top service.” I think Beckett offended her. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but in this case, there’s a mistake,” Beckett says. “Burst my butt hole?” Astrid’s eyes widen with indignation. “No, no, no. I am married. And happy. I told you about the tattoos.” She adjusts her glasses. Something got lost in translation. “It is not good for you to say that in front of your new wife. Your marriage will not last, sir,” she says, her drawn-on eyebrows furrowing, and her finger wagging in disapproval. “Yes, I am sexy for my age.” She caresses the sides of her body from her ample bosom to her wide hips. “But your offer is not right.” She shakes her head vigorously. “You, sir, will not burst my butt hole. Günter will not like that.” I can’t ke ep it together. Laughter erupts from me. I turn around so Astrid doesn’t see me. My whole body shakes and tears stream down my face. Once I find my composure, I turn around. “I said burst your bubble—Forget it.” Beckett waves it off. “What you need to focus on, Astrid, is the fact there’s been a mistake.” To contain another outburst, I bite against my lower lip because who knows what else will get lost in translation. “No, no, no.” Astrid shakes her head. “No mistake.” Beckett lets out a frustrated sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose before speaking again. “Astrid, perhaps you might want to double check the
reservation. I’m Beckett Christensen and this is Arianne Buchanan. We’re here on a two-day business trip and we should have two s eparate rooms reserved.” “You’re not here on your honeymoon?” “No,” Beckett says. “Ah. You are not married to her?” “We’re not married.” Beckett’s voice rises. Astrid nods. “You are sure, sir?” “If I were married to Arianne, I’d remember.” And why am I seeing images of me walking down the aisle in a beautiful flowy princess-like white dress to the soft sound of Pachelbel’s Canon in D to a waiting dashing Beckett Christensen clad in a bespoke tuxedo? I can even hear the church bells. ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, in the presence of God and these witnesses, to join in matrimony—’ You’re losing it. “Ah.” Astrid’s go-to word pulls me out of my reverie. She types like a mad woman on her keyboard. “Hmmm...” She’s not as certain as she was a few minutes ago. “You are not Berg Christiansen and Arielle Bohannon Christiansen?” “I’m afraid you have us confused,” Beckett says. “Ah.” I’m starting to understand when she says that, it’s a precursor to bad news. Astrid frowns before typing on her computer some more. She’s sweating bullets. “The Lindelglück Gasthaus does make mistakes after all,” Beckett says. Astrid glances up, smoothes her hair, gathers the front of her blouse, and fans herself as if the temperature in the room is unbearable. She goes back to her research, her fingers flying on the keyboard. It’s pretty comical. “We’re not in your system?” Beckett doesn’t hide his annoyance. She types with more zeal. “Ah.” Bad news is coming. “It is a busy time of year here with the popular annual Bier und Käse Fest.” I got the fest part, but not the rest. “What’s that?” “The beer and cheese pairing festival. People come from all over the country.” She says that like it should be obvious to us. “What does that mean for us?” Beckett’s face radiates confusion. “This is not the big city, sir,” she says. “I see here you have a lastminute reservation.” “So?” Beckett says. “We have you as coming tomorrow,” Astrid says. “That’s not possible,” Beckett says. “My executive assistant is on top of things. Are you saying we have a gala in a few hours and nowhere to shower or change?” “We will accommodate you, sir,” Astrid says. “It is just that... we only have three rooms left. The nuptial suite—” “We’re. Not. Married.” “Yes, yes, sir.” Astrid nods. “The only accommodation we have left is the Familienhöhle.” That was German to me. I knit my eyebrows. “The what?” “The Familienhöhle offers a stunning view of the area—” “What’s the catch?” Beckett cuts to the chase. Astrid frowns. “Catch?” “You’re hiding something,” Beckett says. “What is the Familienhöhle?” “We are talking about two adjacent rooms with a Jack and Jill bathroom—” Beckett’s fist hits the desk. “We’ll take them.” Astrid twists her lips. “One of the Familienhöhle rooms is undergoing extensive renovation. A few days ago, we r epainted the walls and refinished the wood floors. The paint is dry, but... there’s no furniture at the moment.”
Beckett switches his stance and hooks a fits at his waist. “So, you have one room left other than the nuptial suite, which is booked?” “With only one bed,” Astrid says. “I would offer a folding bed, but with the Bier und Käse Fest... we don’t have any left.” Beckett exhales a breath. “So, one room and only one bed?” “Yes.” Wait? We’re sle eping in the same bed? “I must warn you, sir—” “What now?” Beckett’s snappy tone causes Astrid to cringe. She r epositions her glasses. “The rooms aren’t big, and not everyone adjusts to the ceiling slant.” “It’s not like we have any other choice, Astrid.” Beckett puts an end to the most awkward check-in of my life. “Hey, roomie,” Beckett says. “Hey, you.” Neither of us moves, our eyes fixed on one another from across the Jack and Jill bathroom. The Familienhöhle, located in the attic of the inn, is top choice amongst parents traveling with teenagers. The slanted roof may be whimsical and picturesque from the outside, but walking around hunched over isn’t all that charming. Upon Beckett’s request, Astrid brought up an extra luggage rack, which she placed in the room that’s being renovated. That way Beckett can change there. Still not sure how the hell we’re going to deal with this crazy sle eping arrangement. One bed... Maybe Berg Christiansen and Arielle Bohannon-Christiansen won’t show up. I push the thought from my mind and focus on the Adonis god standing across from me. Unable to contain myself, my gaze wanders down Beckett’s sculpted torso without an ounce of shame until it rests on the white towel wrapped around his waist. It’s set low enough to offer a peek of his lip-smacking V. Even his feet are sexy. Beckett’s half naked body is on full, carnal display. My pussy muscles clench in appreciation. Every part of me yearns. When I lift my gaze to his again, his lips pull up into a knowing smile, before he returns the favor. He traces his eyes up and down the length of my body, his gaze so searing, it’s as real as a caress against my skin—trailing down my neck, over my chest, down my stomach, my legs and up again until he stops right between my thighs. I bite off a moan. Like him, a white towel wrapped around my chest acts as a shield. “Figures we’d meet here,” he says. “Seems like we have a thing for bathrooms.” We laugh. Beckett pushes off the doorframe he’s leaning against and crosses the bathroom in a few short st eps. The sexual tension between us is palpable. “Now, Mr. Christensen behave, or else we’ll be late.” “I ke ep telling myself that, Miss Buchanan, but looking at you...” His burning gaze travels across my body once more. “I wouldn’t mind being late.”
My heart pounds hard against my ribcage. “Beckett.” “I’ll be good. For now.” Our living arrangement makes it that much harder to behave. “Do you want to use the shower first?” “Who says we can’t take one together?” His gaze is dark and feral. He cups my face in his hands, pinning me in place. “I haven’t kissed you in two days.” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond. He leans down and takes ownership of my mouth. I lose track of everything. I can’t even remember which continent I’m on. The kiss is hard, insistent, forceful. I kiss him back with as much fervor, my arms wrapping around his neck. He sucks my lower lip into his mouth, bites down hard enough to force a surprised gasp out of me. I part my lips so our tongues tangle together in a wild fiery dance. I could kiss this man all day, every day. If I were willing to be honest with myself, I’d admit I want our illicit encounters to become more. But there’s no point in hoping for a notorious bad boy bachelor to change his ways for a girl like me. “Come on, let’s take a quick shower together,” Beckett says against my mouth. I should protest, but my mind is too busy relishing his closeness. He trails his tongue along my neck, his hands sliding down my back, groping my ass, causing my pussy to clench. I arch my hips, eagerly rubbing my tummy against the hard length of his massive cock. God, I’m soaking wet. A delicious pulsating twinge shoots from my bellybutton straight down to my clit. I go at it like a bitch in heat. The sensation is pure bliss. I need this. “Weren’t you the one telling me to behave a minute ago?” His voice is as low as gravel, as smoky as the finest whiskey. He yanks the towel from around his waist and tosses it to the floor. Mine is next. I bring my hands to my breasts to cover them. “I’ve enjoyed it all before,” he says. “Come on.” He pulls me by the hand. An assertive man is a huge turn on. “By taking a shower together, we’re being earth-conscious and ecofriendly. Imagine all the water we’ll conserve,” he says. I giggle like a silly girl. “Not to mention, I can do a better job than you can washing your back.” “Do I get to wash your back?” “Baby, you can wash any part of me you want... with a sponge or your tongue. I’m easy.” Tempting offer.