The Hotter You Burn (26 page)

“Certainly. After we have the most amazing sex of your life.”

Incorrigible male. “I don't put out on first dates.” Instead of stopping at the very room under discussion, he dragged her out of the inn. The sun was in the process of setting, the big ball of fire turning the sky into a canvas lit up with different shades of pink, purple and gold.

As they strolled down the sidewalk, realization hit. “Wait,” Harlow said. “Where are we going?”

“On our date, of course.”

She dug in her heels. “We can't go on our date right now. I'm wearing scrubs.”

“It's not my problem you decided to dress down for the occasion.”

Note to self: when Beck goes to war, he fights dirty.
“As I'm sure you know, a girl is more likely to fall for a man's seduction if she's feeling sexy.”

“Since you've already decided not to put out, that hardly matters in your case.” He paused in front of Two Farms, peering down at her with sizzling hunger he couldn't quite contain. Voice low and husky, he said, “Have I told you yet how
sexy
you are right now?”

“Incorrigible,” she muttered.

“Just desperate for you.” He lowered his head, feeding her the kiss every girl dreamed of receiving, deep and intense, as if he'd never tasted anything so sweet and he had no intention of ever stopping. But just as she reached for him—
so weak, not even trying to resist
—he pulled away to lead her inside, leaving her panting, reeling.

“Table for two in back. Preferably a shadowed corner so no one will be able to see what I'm doing with my hands,” he told the hostess, a girl in her early twenties who stood there staring at him for several long, embarrassing moments.

Know how she feels.
Harlow tapped the girl on the shoulder and in a stage whisper, said, “He has gas.” She shrugged then, as if to say,
What can you do?

The girl withered with disappointment. “This way, y'all.”

Beck tapped Harlow's butt cheek as they followed, whispering, “Really, darling? You went with noxious odors?”

His next tap had a bit more bite, and she giggled like the carefree girl she'd never before been.

Several of the patrons noticed Beck and waved him over. He pretended not to notice.

The hostess motioned to a small round booth in the corner. Harlow slid to the center, and Beck moved in close beside her; they accepted their menus. Though Harlow had lived in Strawberry Valley all her life, she'd eaten here only once, with Brook Lynn and the girls. She remembered nothing about the food.

Beck's heavy arm wound around her shoulders. “I'm sure you're dying to know how my dates usually go and lucky for you, I'm going to tell you. I order for both of us, I ask questions about your past, and then we go back to your place or mine.”

“Mostly yours,” she grumbled.

“But that isn't how this date will go down.”

Insulted, she gasped out, “Well, why not? And just so you know, this date is now shaping up to be the opposite of awesome and I will share my review with all the women in town.”

The waitress was close in age to the hostess and arrived with an overbright smile, doing her best to keep her distance while still being heard. “What can I get you guys to drink?” It was clear she'd pulled down the collar of her shirt and pushed up her boobs to accentuate her massive cleavage.

Beck's attention went straight to her eyes. “We'll start with your best red. We'll have today's special, whatever it is, and other than the delivery of each item, assume we're fine and stay away.”

The girl appeared relieved as she ambled off. Harlow couldn't believe Beck had been so rude to a female. He hadn't even laced his words with innuendo.

Did he have a fever?

“I thought you weren't ordering for me,” Harlow said.

Beck cupped the back of her neck, a possessive action she loved, toying with her hair. “Here's how this evening is going to go. I'm placing my balls in your court, and yes, I hope you take that several ways. You can question me about my past, and I will answer truthfully, no matter how personal you get. You may continue until the end of the meal, when I will take over.”

Unrestricted access to his past? Even for a limited time? Yes, please. “I agree to your terms. But you only get to ask me one question a day.” That way, he would have something new to look forward to—other than sex.

“Two questions.”

“Zero.”

His lips quirked at the corners. “All right. One question a day.”

Excitement and anticipation built to a crescendo as the waitress rushed back over with the wine. Harlow confiscated the bottle and shooed her away. As soon as she and Beck were alone, she let the red gush into the glasses and decided to start with easy questions to warm him up a bit.

“What's your favorite color?”

He kissed the top of her eyelid. “Since meeting you? Ocean-water blue.”

I may be putting out, after all.
“Favorite food.”

“You.”

Heat spilled over her cheeks. “Beck.”

“What? I said I'd be honest.”

“Then you should have gone with pie.”

“Baby, you're sweeter than pie, and that's a fact.”

Moving on, before she took his mouth with her own. “What's your favorite memory?”

“Being inside you.” He swirled his wine before tossing it back.

“One-track mind,” she said, and tsk-tsked. Also a dangerously bone-melting answer, just not the kind of info she was looking for. “Worst memory. And if you say losing me, I will probably kiss you, and then I will definitely slap you.”

“A warning like that is also known as encouragement,” he said with a wink. But he set his glass aside and drained hers.

“The memory's that bad, huh?”

When his fingers laced with hers, she felt a tremor flow through him.

“Beck,” she said. “Whatever it is, I won't judge you, I promise.”

His lips lifted in a humorless smile. He leaned into her, saying quietly, “I'm sure you heard the rumors about Jase. He went to prison for beating a guy to death when we were eighteen...but here's what you don't know. I was with him when it happened. I was part of it.”

The pronouncement didn't exactly shock her, but it did give her pause. Sweet, flirtatious, helpful Beck had beaten a guy to death? “Why? I mean I heard Jase defended a girl's honor.”

“He did. We all did. We had a friend. Tessa. Jase and I loved her like a sister. West
loved
her. One night she went to a party, and a guy assaulted her.”

Harlow's scars began to ache in sympathy. “I'm so sorry.”

“We went after the guy, beat him and just didn't stop. He died from his injuries. Jase took full responsibility. Nine years behind bars. I could have come forward at any time to alleviate his burden, but never did.”

“Why?”

“The three of us, we've always lived by a code—do whatever's asked by the others, no questions. For the longest time, we had no one to rely on but each other. We each knew loss and regret and needed someone we could count on no matter what.”

Her mother had been the one she counted on, supporting her through the worst of times. She understood the need.

“You suffered your own punishment, I'm sure. Violence of any kind leaves a mark, whether on the skin or in the soul.”

Beck squeezed her hand, almost hard enough to bruise. “What you endured hurts me in a way I never imagined possible. You did not deserve what was done to you.”

The waitress arrived with their dinner, piping-hot bowls of chicken and dumplings. Delightful scents combined with perfect harmony: bread yeast, sweet vegetables and the cream in the sauce.

“Is what I did a deal breaker?” Beck asked as soon as the girl was out of earshot.

Was it? He'd committed the crime as a teenager. Eighteen, old enough to know better. But what if he held
her
crimes against her? She hadn't killed anyone physically, but she'd certainly killed a few spirits.

“No,” she said and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Eat, Harlow. Please.” He caressed her cheek. “You've lost weight.”

Weight she couldn't afford to lose. She took a bite, then another, then paused as she recalled the clock on their conversation. “You still wrestle with guilt over the crime,” she said, a statement, not a question. “And over Jase. Right?”

“Yes.”

Learning about his past was helping her connect the dots to his present—and his future. Maybe he didn't think he deserved a happily-ever-after.

“Do you—” He pushed her bowl closer to her, and she took another bite before finishing her question. “Do you think you'll ever get married?”

“There was a time I would have said no. Now? I won't rule out the possibility.”

It was progress. More than she'd dreamed, considering he hoped to protect a fragile heart that had been battered and bruised countless times as he was taken from foster homes he'd come to love. As Jase was taken from him, and he couldn't allow himself to help.

“Do you want kids?” When she'd imagined herself married to Prince Charming, she'd also imagined a brood of rug rats.

But if she didn't end up with the right man, that dream family would simply fall apart, wouldn't it?

“I never wanted kids with a one-night stand, but again, I won't rule out the possibility any longer.” He arched a brow. “Deal breaker?”

“No.” As much has she loved him, she wasn't sure anything would be a deal breaker.

He smiled at her.

She swallowed the last bite of her meal and opened her mouth to ask her next question.

“Sorry, baby, but it's too late. You're done eating. It's my turn now.”

Well, crap. She should have eaten slower. “Ask your one question,” she said.

“For the information I crave, we need to be alone.” He leaned into her and nibbled on her earlobe. “Let's go back to the inn.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

B
ECK
 
MADE
 
A
 
PALLET
on the floor.

Harlow demanded to know his question again and again, but he said, “In a minute,” every time. Under her watchful gaze, he slowly stripped to his underwear.

“Those muscles don't fight fair,” she grumbled.

“And you think those legs of yours do?” He got as comfortable as possible, considering desire burned in his bones.

She snuggled comfortably in bed and switched off the lamp, throwing shadows over the room.

“While you're up there on that cold, hard bed, I'm down here on these soft-as-silk sheets.” Silk, sandpaper—whatever. “It's like you're punishing yourself when I only want to pamper you.”

“Nice try,
Becky
, but I'm not buying the bull you're selling.”

He covered his smile, realized she couldn't see him and let it stretch wide. “Becky? That's the nickname I get?”

“Hate it?” Relish dripped from her tone.

“Darling, it's absolutely perfect. Come down here and let your good friend Becky keep you safe all night.”

She snorted. “Ask your question already. I'm about to fall asleep.”

With darkness surrounding them, he kept his voice whisper-soft, almost like smoke. “What's your dirtiest fantasy?”

The rustle of covers. He couldn't see her, but he could easily imagine she'd just rolled to her side in an effort to assuage the ache between her legs—one only he could end.

“I like to fantasize about you and me...”

Just like that. Hard. As. A. Rock. He stroked his length up, down. “Go on.”

“We're in one of the rooms here at the inn...and I'm wet, throbbing...”

“What do I do?” he croaked.

“You slowly...sweetly...make the bed for me.”

He barked out a laugh. “Evil woman. I said
dirtiest
fantasy.”

“You've seen these sheets. You know they're filthy. Besides, watching you clean would be total girl porn.”

“Me doing
anything
should be Harlow porn.”

“It is. It really is. You're my fantasy. But what's Beck porn?”

Anything Harlow, and that was the honest truth. She moved, and he hardened. She breathed—hell, she looked at him or entered a room, and he wanted her. Just her. Just to be near her like this. She eased something inside him, as if the missing part of his life had finally been found.

And maybe—maybe this time he could keep her. She hadn't run when he'd confessed his greatest sin.

“Did you enjoy your first official date with me?” he asked, choosing not to answer her last question.

“I did. You were charming—”

“I'm always charming.”

“And witty. And what do you mean, always charming? You most certainly are
not
.”

“Hey, it's not my fault you're unable to recognize charm every time it bites you.”

“Ha!”

He blew her a kiss, even though she couldn't see him. “Go on to sleep, Harlow. Get some rest.”
You're going to need it.

Covers rustled again. “Beck?” she whispered.

“Yes, Harlow.”

“I'm glad you're here.”

“Me, too.” Though it took him hours to fall asleep, when he did, he was smiling.

* * *

T
HE
 
NEXT
 
DAY
 
began poorly. Beck woke up to find Harlow had already taken off, crushing his need to kiss her goodbye.

Mood souring by the second, he dressed in his usual suit and tie and, before heading to the office, stopped to talk to Carol about Scott and Tawny. He learned the two had already checked out—saving their lives—and asked that any new customers be turned away, as Beck would be paying double for every room. The less Harlow had to do, the more energy she would have for other activities.

At work, he watched the clock, waiting for time to tick by and cursing its ability to slow to a crawl.

By 5:03 p.m., he was certain Harlow had finished with her chores. But why hadn't she called him?

“You should be embarrassed,” West said, plopping into the chair in front of his desk.

“Why?”

“You're even more of a goner than Jase, and I'm pretty sure his balls have shriveled up and died.”

“They most certainly have not,” Jase said. “I know, because they are currently hanging in Brook Lynn's trophy case.”

Beck leaned back and folded his hands over his middle. “You're one to talk, Westley.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“There's a certain sassy blonde you like to stare at... This ringing any bells for you?”

West glowered at him. “Don't be ridiculous. I don't want Jessie Kay.”

“Keep lying to yourself. Maybe one day you'll even believe it.”

Eyes narrowing, West said, “If I wanted Jessie Kay, I wouldn't be on the prowl for my next relationship, now, would I?”

When West decided to “be in a relationship” he always picked a woman he found attractive but didn't actually enjoy being around. Jessie Kay seemed to fit the bill. Why not go for
her
?

“Anyone particular in mind?” Beck asked.

“No one I'm willing to discuss.”

“Too bad. Where's she from? Strawberry Valley or the city?”

West glowered. “The city. Why?”

“Curiosity.” If West decided the girl was the one—and continued with his date-and-dump pattern—he'd have her moved to Strawberry Valley by the end of their first month together. But this time, Beck suspected there would be more to the relationship than usual. Like keeping Jessie Kay at a distance.

Beck glanced at the clock—5:08 p.m. Harlow had a second job, damn it, and as her boss, he deserved a little consideration.

He jumped to his feet. “I'm sorry, but I have to go. We'll continue this conversation after you've made up your mind...between the girl in the city and the one you
really
want here in Strawberry Valley.”

West hurled anatomically impossible curses at him as he stalked from the office.

Beck didn't bother with his car, just barreled down the street on foot. Mr. Porter and Mr. Rodriguez were playing checkers, as usual, and called out a greeting.

“Going back for your girl?” Mr. Porter gave him a thumbs-up. “Good for you, son. Good for you.”

“Make sure you take her flowers. The ladies love them some flowers,” Mr. Rodriguez said.

Right. Beck backtracked, buying a bouquet from the florist a few streets over. But when he reached the inn at last, he found no sign of Harlow. He watched TV for an hour...two. He paced their room for an eternity. Finally, he caved and texted Harlow—
where are U???
—but he never received a reply.

He was just about to hunt her down when a knock sounded at the door. “Room service,” a woman called, and he nearly came out of his skin when he recognized her voice.

He practically ripped the door from its hinges. Finally he could breathe. She stood with one arm anchored overhead, the other on her hip. Gorgeous girl. She grinned, making everything right in his world.

He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her in for a swift kiss—swift because she walked away from him.

“Thank you for the best greeting ever,” she said.

“I brought you flowers.”

She whirled, her eyes wide. “Flowers? Again?”

Thank you, Mr. Rodriguez.
“Again.” He lifted the bouquet from the nightstand and passed it to her.

As she sniffed the petals, her eyes closed and a smile lifted the corners of her lips. An expression he would kill to see again. Every day. He walked to her, almost in a trance, but she must have sensed his intention to take her in his arms, because she backed away.

“Oh, no, you don't. I'm starved,” she said. “Order room service while I shower?”

“You don't want to go out on another date?”

“I'm too tired. Besides,” she said with a wink, “I like having you all to myself.”

He clasped his chest, just over his heart. “You're killing me, baby. You know that, don't you?”

“Oh! You'll be happy to know I finished a few sketches while I was on my break.” She withdrew a stack of napkins from her pocket.

Grateful for the distraction, he studied each one, utterly blown away by her talent as usual. “This one looks like Kenna. And this one looks like Brook Lynn.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I can change them, but I just thought—”

“No. They're perfect.
You're
perfect.”

As she shut herself in the bathroom, their gazes remained locked until the last possible second, the moment charged with heat and grit.

He shook with the force of his need for her, nearly ready to say to hell with it, storm the door and take her up against the shower wall.

Her way. Do it her way.
Too important to mess up.

He'd calmed by the time the food arrived. But when Harlow emerged from the bathroom on a cloud of fragrant steam, wearing one of his T-shirts and a pair of panties, his greatest temptation and his fiercest torment, he just about creamed his damn jeans.

After she ate, they settled on the bed to watch TV. Beck was careful not to touch her, his control simply too fragile.

Hours passed, but he wasn't certain which programs played on the screen. Need had him by the throat. Or the balls. He hated it. He loved it. And when he could take it no more, he made his pallet on the floor and lay down.

“You ready for your next question?”

“I am,” she said, switching off the TV and lamp, shrouding the room in darkness.

“What's your favorite thing about me?”

“I'd have to go with...your mustache. It's practically a recreational vehicle in this town.”

“I hate to be the one to break this devastating news to you, baby, but I don't actually have a mustache.”

“Well, you've got the shadow of one, and there have been a few times I've felt the prickle of it.” A tremor of need shook her voice. “I liked it,” she whispered.

Hunger became starvation, and it required all of his considerable strength to remain on the floor. He liked her playful side. He liked her sense of humor. Even celibate—
whimper
—he was happy as long as he was with her.

“Beck,” she whispered.

“Yes, baby.”

“My favorite thing about you is your heart. It's softer than I ever realized, and I treasure it.”

* * *

“W
HAT
 
DID
 
YOU
want to be when you grew up?” Beck asked. This was their third nightly session, and again, he'd looked forward to it all day, watching the clock, cursing it. Only one thing had distracted him, and only for a short time. The call from West. The guy had gone on a date with his potential relationship from the city, but decided against going further with her for a reason that had nothing to do with Jessie Kay, he'd insisted when Beck pressed the issue.

Please.

From the nightstand, a lamp glowed, allowing him to watch Harlow atop the bed. She rolled toward him, a lock of midnight hair hanging over the side of the bed, teasing him. “You'll laugh, but...”

“Tell me.” He had to know. Every. Little. Detail.

“I wanted to be a trophy wife. But only because a life of leisure sounded way cooler than the things my friends wanted to be,” she rushed to add. “Doctor? Blood is gross. Reporter? Hounding family members of someone who just died? Never! And if you say ‘what friends,' I'll smother you with one of my pillows. I had a posse back then.”

“A posse, huh? Did you often ride off into the sunset together?”

He hadn't laughed, but she launched one of those pillows anyway, smacking him in the face. “I had it all figured out. I would paint during the day while my very rich, very good-looking husband worked at his office. He owned the company and even the building, of course, and everyone feared him. Except me, because even though he was a bear, he was putty in my hands.”

“Of course.”

“Our chef would prepare dinner,” she continued, “and the maids would clean up after us.”

All doable. He would enjoy making her dreams come true. “And now?” He stuffed the pillow under his head.

“Now I absolutely do
not
want to be a trophy wife. I told you. I like earning my own way.”

“I bet I could change your mind.”

“You wanting to pamper me, Becky?”

“Desperately. If only you'd let me...”

Silence stretched, and tension grew.

“What about you?” she asked, a hitch in her breath.

“I'd make an
amazing
trophy wife.”

She snorted. “I mean, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

He could have refused to answer. This wasn't about him. But when had he ever been able to resist her? “For a while, I dreamed of being a cop. I was going to bust some serious caps and take some names. Then I was arrested for theft, then assault, and that dream died real fast.”

“What'd you steal?”

“Food, mostly. My fosters at the time were big on taking the checks they got for keeping me around, but not on feeding me.”

She extended her arm, offering her hand. As he reached up to twine their fingers, she said, “I hate that you weren't treated fairly.”

“I turned out all right.”

“But you are not without wounds.”

“None of us are,” he said. “But for the first time in my life, I think I'm healing.”

* * *

“T
ELL
 
ME
 
MORE
about your parents,” Beck said the next night.