The Hotter You Burn (28 page)

“Hey,” she said with a frown.

“But you are the most entertaining person I've ever met and everything I learn about you makes me lo—like you more.” No damn way he'd almost dropped the
L
bomb.

“That's good,” she said, “because I'd rather die than give up that part of our relationship.”

He reached over, cupped her leg just above her knee where the dress had ridden up to reveal a mile of succulent thigh. “Our relationship means a lot to me, too, baby.”

Moonlight glinted off crystalline blue irises he couldn't help but fall in.

Honk.

A flash of another car's lights. Driving. Right.

“You just said the
R
word without vomiting. I'm impressed,” she said. “But you mentioned fears of your own.”

He nodded. “The more you come to mean to me, the more I'm certain I'm going to lose you, and I hate it. If you leave me, Harlow...”

“Now you're thinking the worst of me. You won't lose me, Beck. I'm yours for the taking.” She unbuckled again and leaned over to nibble on his ear. “Pull over, and let me prove it.”

He let go of her knee to grip the wheel, his knuckles soon bleaching of color. “Are you sure?”

He could feel her nod against his skin. “I want you, and I don't want to wait.”

He whipped the car to the side of the road, edged deeper into the trees. When the engine died, the dash lights faded, darkness sweeping over them. Their deep, panting breaths filled the car, a fine film already rising over the windows.

“I can't ever get enough of you.” He lifted her over the console, and as she straddled his waist, he said, “I want you so much I probably need therapy.”

“How about immersion therapy?” She rubbed against him, pulling a ragged groan from him. “Get inside me. I've been so empty without you.”

He was already hard as a rock, but her words careened him toward the edge, affecting him more intensely than the touch of any other woman. “I don't want you empty, baby.” He wedged a hand inside her panties and found her hot and damp. Perfect.

She tugged at his fly, the heat of her palm meeting his swollen flesh. He could only rasp out a tattered, “I want you on the pill
soon
.”

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

He shucked his jeans to his knees and yanked down the top of her dress, freeing her breasts. He tore at her panties, saying, “I'll buy you new ones.” As he thrust a finger deep inside her, he crashed his mouth into her. Fire raged in his blood, flickered over his skin.

Desire shouldn't be this ferocious, this consuming. He'd always been able to walk away at any time, naked or not, inside a woman or not. But he couldn't walk away this time, didn't want to. He had to get inside Harlow, had to fill her, brand her, lay siege to her. Lay claim. His life depended on it.

In the shadows, her eyes glittered like diamonds as she pulled away to say, “Where's the condom?”

“Pocket.”

Next thing he knew, she was digging inside it. A moment after that, the sound of foil being ripped masked his panting breaths. She arched back long enough to roll the latex down his swollen length, every touch propelling him to a new level of need.

He gripped her hair, stilled despite the agony, and peered into her eyes. “We're together officially, Harlow. Say it.”

Melting over him, she nipped at his bottom lip. “We're together. Now...always.”

“Always,” he echoed, and gripped her hips, placed her at his erection's tip, and thrust up while she drove down on him. There was a moment of sweet relief, her inner walls clenching him with wet heat, and he knew he was finally where he belonged. But the relief didn't last long, the relentless madness coming back to haunt them both.

“Beck.” She dug her nails into his scalp and kissed him, hard and dirty, taking his mouth the way he was taking her body—laying claim.

He swallowed her moans, her sweet little purrs that sounded both pained and carnal. Bracing her knees wider at his waist, she took control of the rhythm, hard and fast, using him for her pleasure, and he loved it. Loved the feel of her. Loved the strawberries-and-cream smell of her. Loved—his mind shied away from his next thought, even as his body edged ever closer to satisfaction because of it.

Refusing to go off first, he worked his hand between them. When he reached her drenched center, he pressed. She cried out, began to rub in seeking circles against him, just to get closer. And when up and down failed to do a good enough job, she rotated her hips left and right, the pressure on his swollen shaft absolute perfection.

“Beck...faster...”

“That's it, baby. That's the way.” Harder and harder he pressed against her.

What began as a little tremor soon swept through her like an avalanche. She came, shouting his name, and with a roar, he followed her over the edge, pouring his climax into the condom.

He wasn't sure how long they quaked together, or how long passed before they calmed, but he cherished every second. He held her so tightly he was almost afraid he was hurting her. Almost.

“That was...”

“Only the beginning,” he finished for her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

G
OING
 
DAYS
 
WITHOUT
 
physical intimacy with Beck, all because Harlow had feared their relationship would fall apart afterward, had been stupid. Beck was right. They had to trust each other, and they had to share with each other. They wouldn't survive otherwise.

After their explosive encounter in the car, he drove her to the farmhouse. He led her into his private bathroom, where they showered, cuddled in bed together, and talked in hushed, secret tones.

“Since you can't ride my nonexistent mustache everywhere,” he said, “what kind of car would you like? And don't tell me a car is too expensive a gift to—”

“Please. I like gifts. Gimme. But a car is a car. I don't care what kind.”

He made a noise of disbelief. “A car is not a car, Miss Glass. You take that back right now.”

“Never!” She squealed when he tickled her, finally admitting, “I don't even have a driver's license.”

“What?” he demanded, and she shrugged.

“I had one, but I let it expire in high school and never got it renewed.”

“You have a reason to get it renewed now.”

And the funds, apparently. “True, but I haven't driven in years. I'll endanger the entire town.”

“Just means you need to practice. You can drive us to the Berryween Festival.”

“You'll be placing your life in my hands.”

His eyelids grew heavy, hooding the dark, carnal gaze underneath. “Baby, there's no place else I'd rather be.”

She curled around him, resting her head on his shoulder, drawing little hearts over, well, his heart. “I'll keep you safe. I was only in, like, six fender benders back then, and only, like, five of them were my fault.”

He chuckled, his warm breath tickling the top of her head. “I'm feeling safer already. I'm also thinking I should give you a bumper car instead of the key to my Jag.”

“No take-backs,” she said. “You offered the Jag, so I'm driving it. I've developed a need for speed.”

“In the past two minutes?”

She nipped at his nipple. “Seems like forever.”

He cupped her bottom and squeezed. “Careful. You keep that up, and you'll find yourself flat on your back, Beck Jr. deep inside you.”

“You mean the Baconator?”

He barked out a laugh. “You've named my penis the Baconator?”

“What? I like bacon.”

“Well, I'm naming your breasts Strawberry Pie and Strawberry Shortcake.” Rolling her to her back, he cupped the strawberry twins, licked one nipple, then the other. “Hey, girls. Did you miss me?”

Moaning, Harlow ran her fingers through his hair. “They missed you
so
much.”

“Good. Wrap your legs around me, and I'll give them a more intimate hello,” he said, and when she stiffened suddenly, he lifted his head. “What's wrong?”

Habit urged her to say the typical, “Nothing. I'm fine.” But if she trusted him, she would share with him. “I've heard you say that very thing to other women.”

His brow furrowed with confusion. “How do you know?”

“When I was camping on my—your—land, I would come to see the house every night and there you'd be. And it doesn't bother me anymore, it really doesn't. I don't know why I reacted that way. I'm sorry.”

He peered at her for a long while, his expression intense but unreadable. Finally he said, “Wrap your legs around me, Harlow.”

She did—without stiffening—fitting her body around his, placing her core right against his massive erection. His hiss of breath blended with her deliciously agonized gasp.

“Do you know what I remember about those women?”

She shook her head, not sure she really wanted to know the answer.

“Nothing. And do you know what I'll always remember about you?”

Melting into the mattress while somehow dissolving into him, she scraped her nails down the plane of his back and said, “Tell me.”

“Absolutely everything.”

He gently pinched her chin between his fingers, making sure her gaze remained on him, perhaps wanting her to know, to see, that he meant what he said with his entire being.

He loves me. He has to love me
. But as screwed up as his life had been, he might not recognize the emotion.

Harlow smiled up at him. “I believe you. Now shut up and earn some points of your own. You win ten for every orgasm you give me.”

Those eyes of melted butterscotch glimmered. “I won't be satisfied until I've received fifty points, so get ready, because I'm not going to stop until I've hit my goal—and even then it's iffy.”

* * *

T
HE
 
NEXT
 
MORNING
 
dawned dark and hazy, rain clouds smeared across the sky, fat and gray, creating the perfect atmosphere for a spooktacular festival. Tents—also known as graveyards—were set up all along Main, offering food and games, everything from Brain Smash to Pin the Guts on the Zombie.

Harlow, grateful to be alive after driving a car for the first time in years—so slowly half the town honked at her and Beck asked if she'd taken lessons from the good people at the senior citizen home—sipped a sweet tea and leaned against Beck as they strolled down the street. He had his arm around her, proud to be with her no matter how many incredulous stares they received.

When she'd woken up, he'd had two costumes laid out. A sexy lion for her—fake ears with a thick, blond mane, a scrap of faux fur over her breasts and a short skirt complete with a long, curling tail—and a sexy jungle safari lion tamer for him.

When she wobbled on her faux-fur high-heel boots, he laughed and said, “Trouble walking on your own, baby? I
did
earn eighty points, after all.”

“Only because I graded on a curve.” But he'd definitely be earning more points today. His costume consisted of a sleeveless orange hunter's jacket over a bare chest, ripped jeans and combat boots. Oh, and she couldn't forget the whip draped over his shoulders.

“No, you had to give me double points for those last two—”

She slapped a hand over his mouth. “Don't you dare say it. Besides, you shouldn't gloat. I earned three
hundred
points for those last two...you knows.”

He plucked her hand away and smiled so tenderly she almost melted. “That you did.”

She glanced around to distract herself from his sexiness. People and kids dressed as everything from a zombie clown to a snow queen crowded inside different tents. Red and black balloons stretched from buildings on the left to buildings on the right, forming an arch in the center. Though the street had been blocked off to vehicular traffic, an old-timey green truck inched along the center, the current Miss Strawberry Valley standing in back, dressed as a sexy strawberry and waving.

Well over a decade had passed since Harlow had actually attended the festival. As a teenager she'd been too “cool,” and as an adult she probably would have been stuffed in the dunk tank. Oh, how times had changed. She soaked up every moment of this.

“Harlow! Harlow! Over here!” Brook Lynn called. She wore a flesh-colored bodysuit with strategically placed fig leaves. She waved from inside the You've Got It Coming booth, a crowd stretching out a mile long to buy bowls of casserole, different sandwiches and slices of pie.

Harlow waved back. Jase, Jessie Kay and Daphne were working inside the booth, as well, and when they heard her name they glanced up to smile at her. Jase wore a similiar flesh-colored bodysuit with a single fig leaf between his legs, and oh wow, he looked good. His muscles stretched the suit's fabric, making it ripple.

Jessie Kay had come as a sexy zombified version of
Alice in Wonderland
, and Daphne as a sexy Harpy with glittery wings.

As Harlow acknowledged each of them, so happy she could burst, Jessie Kay called, “If you're hungry, get over here. I promise not to spit in your food.”

“No, thanks. I'm good for now.” Besides, if she cut to the front of the line, the crowd of ax murderers and skeletons would mob her. Ever since she'd started working at the inn, they'd been more tolerant of her. Maybe because they'd had closure...or because they'd gotten to spoon-feed her a little of her own medicine. Whatever it was, she would take it over being the town pariah. But there were just some things she dare not risk.

West, who flanked Harlow's other side, mumbled, “That woman is a menace.”

“Who? Jessie Kay?”

“As if there's anyone else even half as dangerous.”

Dangerous? “She's awesome,” Harlow snapped, defending her friend. “One of the best people I know.”

Beck kissed Harlow's temple. “He's just bitter because he hasn't been able to get into her pants yet.”

“Watch your mouth,” West said. His tone was firm, but not so firm she worried they'd break out in fisticuffs anytime soon.

Beck held up his hands in surrender. “How are things going with your relationship search, my man?”

“You're finally ready to settle down?” Harlow asked. “Well, make sure any girl you date knows you have no taste and wouldn't recognize perfect girlfriend material if she bit you. Oh, who am I kidding? She'll figure it out on her own after a few minutes in your presence.”

Beck laughed.

“You guys annoy me,” West grumbled.

Carol Mathis, dressed as a vampire's bride, ambled past Harlow and nodded, publicly acknowledging her presence. Dottie, looking gorgeous in a pink sequin gown with teardrops painted under her eyes, kept pace beside her mother. She smiled and waved, and Harlow eagerly returned the greeting.

When Dottie disappeared around a corner, Harlow's gaze collided with Scott. He stood across the street, dressed as a cowboy, watching her from the Dead Again booth.

Beck stiffened, gritting out, “I swear that man wants me to help him.”

“He isn't cursing at me. I'd say he's backed off,” she said.

“Doesn't matter if he's backed off or not,” West said. He'd gone all out with his pimp costume, wearing a rainbow-colored faux-fur coat and bell-bottoms, even carrying a gold cane. “He still looked at another man's property, and that's a crime deserving of torture.”

With the bitter twinge in his voice, he sounded as if he knew a little something about that.

“Property?” she said.

“I prefer the word
toy
,” Beck said, and nipped at her ear. “Let me play with you.”

Tawny and Charlene bounded over. Both women wore lingerie. Or scraps of material trying to pass themselves off as lingerie. They each held a gourmet corn dog from Brook Lynn's booth, and Harlow made a mental note: next stop, Brook Lynn's booth, whether the town revolted or not.
I want
.

“Hi, Beck. Hi, West,” Tawny said, her gaze locked on Beck. She twirled a lock of pale hair between her fingers and licked at the tip of her corn dog.

If she gave that tasty treat a blow job, Harlow might just go nuclear.

“You're looking good, Beck,” Charlene said. She was a young, newly divorced brunette who'd once helped Harlow terrorize the town, becoming the new queen bee when Harlow retired.

“Gotta say, you are absolutely adorable as a pussycat tamer,” Charlene added, shooting Harlow a gleeful smirk. “You can wrangle me anytime. Again.”

Tawny nodded enthusiastically. “I second that.”

Harlow stiffened.

Beck offered the pair a cold but gorgeous smile and they preened happily, not seeming to realize the danger zone they'd entered. “Have you guys met my girlfriend, Harlow? Nowadays I spend all my time with my girlfriend, Harlow.” Just for good measure, he added, “My girlfriend—Harlow.”

“Hi. I'm his girlfriend. Harlow,” she said with a little wave.

Tawny bared her teeth in a scowl
.

“Harlow Glass,” a voice boomed. Scott's voice. She turned, right along with Beck and West. “No one wants you here. Go home.”

Beck vibrated with barely suppressed violence as Scott, who'd said his piece, tipped his hat and ambled off.

“I'm fine,” she told Beck. Her boyfriend. “He's not worth ruining our day.”

“You're not worth it, either,” Tawny said, now radiating smug satisfaction, “but that hasn't stopped you from ruining ours.”

West smiled a seducer's smile—one Harlow had never seen him use before, and oh, wow, it might possibly have beaten Beck's for World's Most Devastating. The girls certainly weren't immune. They released dreamy sighs and instinctively stepped closer to the man.

“Ladies,” he said. “We don't know each other well enough, and that's a mighty shame. Though I do recall introducing my tongue to yours, Charlene, when we were drunk—or was that you making my head spin?” He stepped toward them, widening his arms to snake around both their waists, the beefcake in a bitch-sandwich. Taking one for the team? “Why don't we start with you two telling me every detail about your childhoods and end with your crush on me,” he said, drawing them away.

Charlene went eagerly, while Tawny threw a devious glance at Harlow before heading off.

Beck didn't say another word and neither did Harlow, who was too afraid she'd start cussing.

A lady keeps the corridors of her lips clean
, her mother used to say.

Not feeling so ladylike now, Momma
. Her claws were out, and they were hungry for blood.

A Ferris wheel had been erected down the street, the first the town had ever had. There was a line almost as long as the one at Brook Lynn's booth, but Beck bypassed it without apology. Not that anyone seemed to care. He even received several pats on the shoulder.

“Best festival yet,” someone said.