Beck unzips my dress tantalizingly, sliding his hands along the newly revealed skin. He hums with approval when he realizes I’m not wearing a bra, and I gasp when he begins playing with my breasts. He whispers in my ear again, and I’m cracked open. I’m weightless and thoughtless as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.

I roll over on my side, splayed across the leather surface like a jellyfish. My limbs certainly feel gelatinous.

“Do you have food?” I ask Beck when I can move again.

“Not any you’ll like,” he replies. All I can see is his white teeth gleaming as he leans forward and licks my nipple. One palm slides down my stomach, and I decide food can wait.

My stomach rumbles loudly, and Beck pauses. He lets out a half-laugh, half-sigh.

“I’ll see what I have.” He sits up and heads into the bedroom, flicking on lights as he goes.

He returns in a pair of athletic shorts and tosses me a t-shirt, which I pull on. I follow him into the kitchen, perching on one of the four stools that line the marble countertop.

“What have you got?”

Beck strolls over to the fridge and opens the door, leaning against the edge. It’s disturbingly domestic and surprisingly sexy. He grabs a few plastic containers and slides them down the counter to me. “Here you go. They’re all labeled.”

I grab one and tilt it upward. Salmon and rice—pass. “Do you have ice cream?”

He studies me.

I grin. “You do.”

Beck reaches out and snags the prepared meals, sticking them back in the fridge and replacing them with a cardboard carton from the freezer.

“I knew it!” I crow.

“It’s plain chocolate. I don’t think Germany sells mint chocolate chip,” Beck informs me as he pulls out spoons.

I have to swallow a few times before I can manage to say, “I knew I liked it here.”

Beck takes a seat beside me, and we eat spoonfuls of ice cream in companionable silence. My phone rings a couple minutes later, shattering the peace. I slide off the stool to grab it out of the clutch I abandoned on the floor alongside my dress.

It’s Hallie. I silence it and return to my seat next to Beck. He doesn’t ask, but I feel obligated to say, “My sister. I’m avoiding her calls.”

“How come?” No judgment.

“I’m supposed to pick out my bridesmaid dress.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“I don’t know.” It’s bullshit, and Beck knows it.

“Do it now,” he suggests.

“Right now?”

He nods.

“I would need another drink for that to happen.”