Let It Be Me, Becky Wade [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

the chin during fighting horses felt like the least he could do.

All day Leah had told herself not to concede too much time or mental energy to her upcoming visit to Sebastian’s house. It was merely an engagement on her calendar that promised to be diverting. Nothing more.

However, the commonsense self-talk hadn’t stopped her from going through the same time-consuming process she’d taken when preparing for dinner out with Sebastian. Long shower. Makeup. Time styling her hair into tousled waves. She dressed carefully in an orange V-neck sweater, gray capri pants, and silver flats.

All this made her feel, sheepishly, like an animal undertaking elaborate mating rituals when said animal had heretofore been too smart for elaborate mating rituals.

She parked in front of his house, then carried the miniature plastic disco ball she’d purchased up the walkway. The lawn, she noted, looked to have been expertly mowed.

If a stranger were to approach this house or study Sebastian’s career, they might assume that he’d lived a charmed life, that he’d had every advantage handed to him. When, in fact, the opposite was true.

He opened his front door before she had a chance to knock and surveyed her with eyes both piercing and warm. His black hair was combed starkly into place. The severity of his slate-colored crewneck shirt and low-slung jeans emphasized the rugged planes of his body.

“You’re wearing the necklace I gave you,” he said.

“I am.” Where was her brain? Why couldn’t she think of anything to say? “I . . . realize that some of the demands I conveyed last night may have been challenging to meet.” She lifted the disco ball. “I brought this in order to save my reputation as a low-maintenance dinner guest.”

“Very clever.”

She followed him into the kitchen, where he gestured to an identical disco ball already sitting on the island. She laughed. “Did you buy yours at Riverside Drugstore?”

“Yeah. You realize, right, that these matching disco balls represent our perfection for each other?”

“No.” She set her ball next to his. “They simply represent that we both pay attention to detail—a conclusion anyone could reach based on our academic records.”

He punched a command into his phone and the song “With or Without You” flowed from unseen speakers.

“1980s music,” she noted.

He pointed out the rest of his preparations. “Grapes.” Several small triangular bunches of grapes rested on a plate. “Cheesecake from Tart Bakery. Can you tell that the thermostat’s set to sixty-nine?”

“Oh yes. I’d recognize this temperature anywhere.”

“Anything else I can do to please you?” He gave a wolfish smile.

“No. These are exactly the conditions I require when cooking dinner.”

He’d already set out some of the items needed for enchiladas. Groceries. A baking pan. A mixing bowl. “I printed out a recipe,” he said.

“An easy one?”

“I challenge you to find an easy recipe for chicken, white cheese enchiladas with a salsa verde sour cream sauce.”

“‘Let’s keep a little optimism here.’ That’s a—”

“Han Solo quote.” He held her gaze. “I memorized his twenty most famous lines in order to impress you.”

It was the best night he’d had . . . ever?

The only night that could compete with it was the previous night.

They’d cooked together and eaten at the table he never used when he was here alone. After the sun set, he’d lit a fire in the fireplace that anchored the sitting area on the far side of the kitchen. The windows surrounding the space let in views of his backyard.

They were currently sitting on the sofa, finishing slices of cheesecake.

The necklace he’d given her swung forward as she leaned toward the coffee table to collect another bite. When she sat upright, it settled back into a new position against her pale, creamy skin.

He was in serious trouble.

Be mine, he kept thinking every time he noticed her lips, her profile, her almond-shaped eyes surrounded by thick lashes. Be mine.

Just like the first time he’d met her, he had a powerful desire to keep her with him.

Experience had matured Leah Montgomery. She wasn’t shallow or wrapped up in things that didn’t matter. She made him feel sharply alive, and she also stilled the part of him that was usually grasping and discontent.

“Good?” he asked once she’d finished her cheesecake.

“Unbelievably good.”

“Ready for the disco balls?”

“I am if you are.”

He set the disco balls on the coffee table, turned them both on, then dimmed the overhead lights. Colored dots danced across the walls, across the front of her sweater, across her unforgettable features.

Leah stood, a look of wonder on her face.

It might be that she’d been so consumed with providing for herself and her brother that there hadn’t been much room in her life for things as impractical as disco balls. There hadn’t been much room in his life for them, either.

He opened his playlist, hit Air Supply’s “All Out of Love,” and quickly added four more slow songs to the queue before setting his phone to the side.

When he drew her body against his, satisfaction slid through him, fast and sure, like a knife through a strawberry. Their chemistry was strong enough to bulldoze trees and houses. Strong enough to bulldoze him.

They swayed together. When the final strains drifted away, their motion continued as they waited for the next song to begin.

“This is what I imagine the very best high school prom would be like,” she said.

“I wouldn’t know. I never went to any dances in middle school or high school.”

“Neither did I.” The next song started. “Last night and tonight . . . they almost feel like too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“Embarrassingly self-indulgent.”

He grunted. “I bought dinner ingredients at a grocery store, dessert at a bakery, and an inexpensive disco ball at a drugstore. Expect more indulgence than this in the future.”

“What future? This is a non-date.”

“Right. But I plan to take you on more of these.”

“Non-dates, by nature, do not merit the assumption of more.”

“It’s not nice to joke about non-dates.”

She looked into his eyes to show him that she was not joking.

“Leah,” he growled. “Why don’t you want