Her entire body goes still and rigid for a moment, a low groan bubbling up and spilling free as her hips jerk with her orgasm.

When she goes boneless, I slide back on the mattress, taking her with me as I stretch out along the comforter. Dillion straddles my hips and settles over my erection, hot and wet and right damn well there. Our mouths connect, and we swallow each other’s desperate sounds. I slap blindly on the nightstand table, find the drawer, and pull it open.

Dillion breaks the kiss long enough to lean over and grab a condom. She sits back, tears it open, rolls it on, and rises up. Her gaze lifts to mine, and she sinks down. I grip her hips, the sensation too much and not enough.

She exhales a long, slow breath when her ass meets my thighs and rolls her hips, murmuring, “So good.”

Her palms smooth up my chest and come to rest on my pecs. She leans in and sucks my bottom lip between hers, then whispers, “I want you on top of me.”

I flip us over and settle in the cradle of her hips. Her legs wrap around my waist, feet hooking at the center of my back. And then I start to move, finding a slow rhythm that allows me to stay deep, at least at first. Soon the slow grind shifts, and with every Yes and Please and Harder and Just like that, don’t stop I gain momentum, the bed creaking, headboard hitting the wall with each thrust. Something falls to the floor, a piece of art maybe, and for a moment Dillion cranes to look over my shoulder before she decides it doesn’t matter and goes back to rolling her hips.

The orgasm sneaks up on me, rising up and crashing down like a tidal wave. I drop down, trying not to put my full weight on her, and nuzzle into her neck. We’re both sweaty and panting and, judging from the feel of Dillion, basically boneless.

Eventually I push up on my arm so I can see her face. Her eyes are soft and glassy, cheeks flushed, curls spread out over my pillow in a sandy wave. She looks beautiful and like this is exactly where she belongs.

“Stay the night?”

CHAPTER 15

THE SECRETS OF BEE

Dillion

I must hesitate a beat too long before answering, because Van’s deliciously gorgeous face goes from open to shuttered in a heartbeat. “Unless you don’t want to.” He starts to roll off me, and I stop him by squeezing my feet, hooked behind his back. He’s still very much filling me up, and I feel residual aftershocks every so often, my muscles clenching below the waist, the orgasm slow to wane.

“I want to stay.” I glance over his shoulder at the place where the picture was hanging, the single nailhead a pinprick. “But if more things fall off the walls in the middle of the night, I’m probably going back to my place.”

His smile returns, and he barks out a laugh. “You think Bee is haunting us? That picture fell because I was plowing you into the mattress so hard the bed frame probably left dents in the drywall.” He stretches out, hips pressing into mine as he skims the top of the headboard and shows me his white, powdery fingertips. “See?”

I fling my hand out in the opposite direction. “Yeah, but it fell off the wall on the other side of the room.”

“You didn’t seem too bothered by it when it happened.”

“I was four hard thrusts away from an orgasm—a meteor could’ve been heading straight for us, and I maybe would have tried to roll us out of the way, but otherwise I was focused on the goal.”

Van kisses the end of my nose and rolls off me. He’s definitely an excellent lover. Attentive, demanding, entirely in control, and yet incredibly patient and unhurried.

I shiver at the loss of body heat, and Van slides off the bed. He tugs the sheets down on his side and pats the mattress, and I roll into his spot, sliding my legs under the quilt that was most definitely made by Bee.

“I’ll be right back.” He pulls it up to my chin and disappears down the hall.

I glance around the room, really taking in the space. I’ve been in Bee’s place plenty of times over the years, but mostly in her kitchen or living room. A couple of times I changed light bulbs for her in her bedroom, but this room I’ve only seen in passing on the way to the bathroom.

I picture a teenage Van sleeping in here, the one who came to buy hot dogs at the food truck, back before life took us in different directions and then threw us both curveballs that forced our paths to cross again.

He returns a minute later, still totally naked but now holding two glasses of water. He sets one on the nightstand and hands the other one to me. I sit up, the quilt falling to my waist, and his gaze moves over me in a slow, heated sweep. I like the way he looks at me, as though he’s hungry and I’m exactly what he needs.

After a few seconds he gives his head a quick shake and turns to the dresser. He finds a pair of boxer briefs and tugs them up his thighs, covering his glorious, sculpted butt. He also grabs a T-shirt. “Want this?”

“Sure. Thanks.” I hold my hands up in a catcher’s pose, and he tosses it to me.

It’s a college T-shirt, the logo faded and the fabric soft from wear. I pull it over my head and inhale the scent of Van’s laundry detergent mixed with the familiar smell of Bee’s clove and citrus candles. He crosses over to the end of the bed, a furrow forming between his brows.

Bending, he picks up the picture that fell off the wall thanks to our aggressive sex. “What the heck,” he mutters.

I set my mostly empty glass on the nightstand and lean forward so I can see what he sees.

The framed picture shows the lake, taken before all the monster cottages and homes went up. But that’s not what has Van looking all confused. It’s the confetti of twenty-dollar bills scattered across the floor, along with the ones clutched in his fist.

He waves the stack around. “Is this real?”

“It’s likely, yeah.” I consider all the things I know about Bee and her unconventional way of managing her finances.

The furrow in Van’s brow deepens. “Why don’t you look surprised?”

“Because it’s pretty typical of Bee to hide money in places people aren’t likely to look. Have you started cleaning out any of the rooms in the house?” A pang of worry hits me, because it would be awful if he’s been throwing stuff out in here without realizing there might be treasure hiding inside.

“No. I’ve been focusing my efforts on the garage.”

My shoulders come down from my ears. “Okay. Phew. That’s good.”

“I don’t get it. Why is that good?”

“It’s better if I show you.”

“Show me what?”

I roll out of his bed and hold out my hand. “Come with me.”

He laces his fingers with mine, still clutching the stack of money in his other hand.

We pad down the hall together, to the living room. I stop in front of the hutch, coated in a layer of dust that tells me it likely hasn’t been touched since Bee passed. She dusted every day when I was a teenager.

I pick up an old canister. It’s metal and dented, with a lid on it. Something from another era that held candies. I let go of Van’s hand so I can open it and then peek inside. I lift the piece of paper and reveal a roll of bills, secured with an elastic band, and hold it out to Van.

His eyes flare as he takes it from me, tipping the can over and catching the roll in his palm. A one-dollar bill is wrapped around the outside, but I unfold the note on top and show him the number 5,001 scrawled in Bee’s familiar writing.