The Hotter You Burn (12 page)

“You okay over there?” he asked. “You look a little flushed.”

“I'm fine,” she said, breathless. “Just fine.”

“You lying again?”

“No.”

“My Spidy senses tell me otherwise.”

“You're Superlover, remember? You have X-ray vision, not overdeveloped senses. But what if I
was
lying? What would you do then?” The impish side of her had to know.

He shifted, resting at a higher incline, his legs open and bent at the knees, creating the perfect cradle for her. “Let me show you,” he said and wagged a finger at her. “Come here.”

Self-preservation forced her to reply, “No way.”

“Come here,” he insisted. “Please, Harlow.”

Please...

Her limbs acted the traitor, moving without her brain's permission. She set down her brush and stepped out from behind the easel. When she was halfway across the room, she realized what was happening and stopped.

Suspicious, she asked, “What are you going to do to me?”

He smiled slowly. “Everything I've been dying to do.”

Red alert! He clearly planned to give her a night of pleasure...only, true to form, he would end things in the morning.

“If you'd rather keep working, fine,” he said. “Let my body be your canvas and your tongue the brush.”

So blatant. Anger flared, a halogen lamp in the forest of her conflicted emotions.
He really does want me. Me! But he will still discard me.

Would he fire her afterward?

Her nails dug into her palms. Was this the routine he used on every woman? Hook her with a little romance, line her up with a slight baring of his soul, then sink her by convincing her to touch him?

Bastard! He needed to be taught a lesson.

Welcome to Miss Glass's classroom.

“You know, Beckham,” she said with a sunny smile, wishing she could think up a more original nickname—and maybe one that insulted rather than praised, “I can think of a few things I'd like you to do for me.” As she finished the journey to his side, being sure to sway her hips, raw hunger gleamed in his eyes, the green flecks brighter than ever. It threw her, made her stumble.

This is a game to him... Of course it's just a game.

She sat at the edge of the bed and cupped his hand in hers. Tingles, heat. She ignored both.

He went still, the pulse in his neck quickening. She fought the urge to lean over and lick it—an urge she'd never before entertained. In high school, the hickey had been something of a specialty for her, but it had never been about passion. She'd simply marked the guys as her property.

“Your hands are placed awkwardly,” she said, getting back to business. “This is what you should
always
do with them.” She folded one of his fingers, then another, another and another, leaving only one. The middle one. “Yes, that's right. I want you to go screw yourself!”

His gaze jerked up to hers and narrowed.

“I know what you're doing,” she said. “You're lining me up to be your next one-and-done, and I won't stand for it.”

“Now, now, dumpling. You're hurting my feelings.”

“As if you actually have any feelings!” She slapped at his chest. “But guess what? I do. And you want to know what isn't nice? Using a girl for sex and ignoring her afterward!”

When she drew back her elbow to deliver another strike, he caught her wrist. He didn't grin, he didn't smirk, just flashed raw desire at her. “You want the sex, too. Admit it.”

At least he'd dropped the pretense. “I admit to nothing.”

“Back to that, are we?” He tugged her forward, at the same time swinging her around. She hit the mattress and bounced, Beck moving over her. “First, I wouldn't ignore you afterward. We'd remain friendly. Second, if I took these fingers,” he said, waving them in her face, “even the one you seemed to favor, and tunneled them under your shorts...your panties...I'd find you wet. Wouldn't I.”

The bastard didn't even pose it as a question.

“No!”
You'd find me soaking.
“Don't you dare do it. I... I want someone else.”

“West?” He shook his head, adamant. “I know that's what you think, baby, but you're wrong. You want me.”

She'd figured out she didn't really want West, thank you, but she wasn't going to give Beck the satisfaction of admitting the truth aloud. Well, not the full truth, anyway.

“I want a dream man, and you're not him.”

Far from angered, he said silkily, “Tell me about him, then,” while tracing his knuckles over the curve of her cheek.

Fighting to gain control of her treacherous body, she lashed out. “For starters, he's interested in marriage, not a fling.”

Beck laughed. Actually laughed. “And you think West is the marrying kind?”

“Why wouldn't I think so? He hasn't been banging his way through the female population.”

Low blow. He flinched, his good humor gone in a blink. “You are not a Victorian maiden, Harlow. You don't have to get married to have sex.”

“You're right. I don't have to, but I want to. Or at the very least, I want to know I'm on that path before I take such a big step. I want to be part of a family again.”

The scowl he flashed was dark and lethal. “Have you
practiced
before marriage?”

“That's none of your business,” she muttered.

“I'll take that to mean
very little
.”

“Or a whole hell of a lot.” Or not at all. Whatever.

“And you think you want your family to include West?” he said. “Fine. Come on, then. Let's get this over with so we can move on.” He stood, pulled on his shirt and buttoned it halfway up his chest before yanking her to her feet. He held on tight as he tugged her toward the door.

“Where are we going?”

“To the house. Friend that I am, I'm going to help you get to know West better.”

Had his voice hitched there at the end? Or was that wishful thinking on her part? “I don't need your help.”

“You do, or you'd already have nailed him down.”

“There's nothing wrong with taking things slow.”

“But there's everything wrong with procrastinating. Just remember,” he said, continuing to drag her through the night as crickets sang and locusts buzzed, “this was what
you
asked for.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

B
ECK
 
HAD
 
OVERPLAYED
 
his hand tonight, but there was no going back now. He had to continue playing or he had to fold, and he wasn't even close to being ready to fold. Harlow was a sickness, and bedding her was the only cure. If the only way to win her was to show her just how mistaken she was about West, then so be it.

He hauled her to the porch, moonlight and lamplight spilling over her, paying her delicate features nothing but tribute. Just then she was a woman who'd stepped straight from his sweetest dreams—and his worst nightmares. Someone who changed the rules of the game. She was lovely, almost ethereal, and her eyes the only glimpse of morning sky. Endless, fathomless. Breathtaking. His gut twisted with a sharp blend of anger and desire.

“I hope you're ready for this,” he said. He sure wasn't. He opened the door, heard voices streaming from the kitchen and wound an arm around Harlow's waist, just in case she considered bolting. The way she fit him...

“I don't have to be ready. I'm not going along with it.” She contradicted her words by snuggling against him, as if starved for contact, and damn it, need for her burned away his anger.

He had to have her. Soon. This was the way.

The dogs were asleep in the living room, though Sparkles—Brook Lynn's shadow—woke up at the thump of his boots on the wood floors and lifted his head, his ears twitching. He gave Beck the evil eye.

“Keep moving,” he told Harlow. The mutt from hell might decide it was time for dinner. Or time to pee on his shoes again.

Conversations ceased as their grand entrance was noticed.

“Hi, Harlow,” Daphne said. “It's good to see you again.”

“Thank you,” Harlow said, trembling against him. “You, too.”

“Uncle Beck! Guess what?” Hope, Jase's nine-year-old daughter, bounced in her seat, her pigtails swinging back and forth. “We played Monopoly, and I won.”

“Only because you're a tyrant,” West said with affection. His features darkened as he focused on Jessie Kay. “And you're a sore loser.”

“Because I refused to stay at your hotel and risk a flea infestation?”

“I stayed at yours even though there's no telling what
I'll
come down with.”

Jessie Kay hissed at him.

“And that's our cue to leave. Go get your dog, Hope.” Daphne placed an empty glass in the sink, saying to Harlow, “Steve, the hellion—I mean, the prince—used to live with Jase, but Hope can't stand to be parted from him, even though he hates me.”

“All dogs hate you,” Beck reminded her.

“This is true.”

“But, Mah-mah.” Hope stomped her foot. “Uncle Beck just got here, and he brought a friend, so—”

“Steve,” Daphne insisted. “Now.”

“Fine.” Hope pushed to her feet. “But I'm adding this to my growing list of your grievances.”

Jase clasped the little girl's hand and kissed her knuckles. “Don't forget you promised to spend the day with Brook Lynn and me tomorrow.”

“Only babies forget, and I'm not a baby,” she groused.

“But you
are
tired, hence the reason you're more prickly than a porcupine,” Brook Lynn said.

“That's
not
an insult,” Hope proclaimed as Daphne escorted her from the kitchen. “Porcupines are cute.”

Jessie Kay stood. “Well. That's my cue to leave, too.” She leaned down to kiss Brook Lynn on the cheek. “See you later, sis. Jase, give it to her good tonight.” She scowled at West, then quickly averted her gaze. When she walked by Beck, she patted his cheek.

West faked a yawn. “Well. I've scheduled an early bedtime tonight and—”

“Stay,” Beck said before looking at Jase and motioning to the exit with a tilt of his chin.

Jase took the hint and helped Brook Lynn to her feet. “All right, time to pay your rent, angel. I haven't forgotten how many times I let you spend the night in my hotels.”

“Let me? You charged me double!”

“Yes, but all the money bought you was time. You still have to pay interest.”

Brook Lynn chuckled huskily and waved before following Jase out of the kitchen, calling, “Night, guys.”

“Night,” everyone returned.

Finally. West, Harlow and Beck were alone.

Beck leaned down to whisper into Harlow's ear, “Go ahead. Show him your best.” He gave her a little push toward the table.

“Someone clue me in,” West said. “What's going on?”

“I'm leaving, that's what,” Harlow said. Determined words, snotty tone. She attempted to wrench herself from Beck's grip.

“Oh, no.” Beck merely tightened his hold. “We're going to have a glass of sweet tea while you two crazy kids get to know each other better.”

Harlow anchored her hands on her hips. “You know what? You're right. We
are
going to get to know each other. But your presence is unnecessary, Beck. Leave.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“We don't need—”

He cut her off, whispering, “If you and West get married and live happily ever after, you'll have to get used to having me around.”

She snapped her mouth shut, then lifted her chin and grumbled, “That's a very sad point.” She flashed a too-bright smile at West and eased into the chair Jase had vacated. “I'm game if you are.”

Beck vibrated with irritation as he carried a pitcher of tea and three glasses to the table and settled between the pair. “My girl here has certain ideas about the kind of man she wants to end up with,” he explained, “and I'd like to know if the two of you are compatible.”

Understanding dawned on West's features, a smile nearly breaking free. He cleared his throat and donned his most uncaring expression. “Sure. Whatever.”

Beck poured the tea, handed out the glasses, and Harlow clutched hers as if it were a lifeline.

“Kick us off, sweet pea,” he said. “Tell my good buddy Lincoln—that's his first name, in case you didn't know—a little about yourself.”

“Well.” There was a slight tremor in her voice. “I'm twenty-six, and I've never been married.”

“Would you like a medal?” West muttered, while staring down at his cell phone, playing one of the games he'd created.

She glared at Beck, but he merely arched a brow.

Don't make plans with men you don't know.

“Yes, actually, I
would
like a medal, considering I'm hot but don't realize it, which makes me even hotter.” The tremor had vanished, the snotty attitude firmly in its place. “It's a miracle no one's snatched me up. But then, most men are idiots, so...”

West smiled, realized his mistake, and glowered at his screen.

Beck braced elbows on the table. “You're suggesting outward beauty is all that matters.”

“Hardly. My personality is hot, too. But Beck, darling.” Sugary-sweet tone now. Too sweet. “You aren't part of this get-to-know-you session, even though you insist on being a total third wheel, so do us all a favor and zip your stupid lips.”

Then, she dismissed him. Looking to West, she traced her fingertips over the collar of her shirt, so feminine Beck's every masculine instinct growled, hungry for the next meal. “So. Lincoln. How old are you?”

West played the video game a little longer before deigning to answer. “I'm twenty-eight, but I've got the stamina of an eighty-year-old coma victim. Horrible lover. Even worse cuddler.”

“Well, those skills can be taught,” she said, reaching over to caress his shoulder. “Anyway, you're quite young to be so successful. It's impressive.”

It
was
impressive. Beck wasn't sure where he would have ended up without the guy.

West shrugged. “I work hard,” he said, then added, “probably too hard. I tend to ignore the people in my life. Especially women.”

“Well, I understand how taxing such a busy work schedule can be, and I commend you for it.” She gave his shoulder another caress, and Beck almost jerked the two apart. “I hope the lucky ladies in your life are as understanding as I am.”

“I guess,” West said and shrugged again.

“Wow, just look at these muscles, West. You are amazingly strong, aren't you?” She cast another narrowed glance Beck's way, presumably to make sure he was watching as she scooted her chair closer to West's. “You know,” she said, the tip of her finger toying with the rim of West's glass. When she caught a bead of condensation, she brought it to her lips and sucked, causing Beck's groin to twitch behind his zipper. “I have a skill of my own, but it's quite naughty.”

West glanced up, phone forgotten. “Do tell.”

“Yes. Do.” Beck simmered with renewed anger—even more desire. He smoothed a lock of hair from Harlow's face. One touch, but he was greedy for more.

Her breath caught, but she leaned away from him, getting closer and closer to West, until her mouth was poised at the shell of his ear. In a husky voice low enough to be considered a whisper but loud enough for Beck to overhear, she said, “I'm
super
good at parking.”

Stick a fork in me. I'm done
. Done with the conversation. Done with watching the object of his obsession doing her rock-solid best to arouse another male. “West doesn't need to hear about that. Let's go—”

“Even boys from two counties over dreamed of making out with me in the backseat of their trucks,” she continued with an effortless sensuality. “I'm very bendy.”

Beck slammed his glass on the table, tea sloshing over the sides of the rim. “Harlow here is looking to settle down forever,” he barked. “She thinks you'd make an awesome groom.”

“Marriage?” West sneered with distaste. “Me? Hell, no. Never.”

“He's all for others tying the knot, but when it comes to himself he thinks
The Newlywed
Game
should be called the Dig Your Own Grave game,” Beck explained, relaxing now that the conversation had taken a new direction.

Harlow unveiled a brittle smile. “Maybe you just haven't met the right person, Lincoln. You don't mind if I call you Lincoln, do you?”

“Call me whatever you like, but I
have
met the right person.” His voice cracked. “She died.” He stood, his chair skidding behind him, and strode out of the kitchen.

Harlow rounded on Beck, all hint of supple, willing female gone. “I hope you're happy with yourself. You did this.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” The words were nothing more than a hiss. “You wanted me to know I can't win the affections of anyone else, that I'm stuck with you, destined to be your newest conquest.”

“Stuck with me?” he snarled.

“Yeah, that's right. You aren't the prize you think you are, Beck Ockley, but maybe West is. Maybe he's worth fighting for. Maybe, unlike you, he has a heart and the ability to care for someone other than himself.”

“I have a heart. I care.”

She didn't seem to hear him, plowing ahead. “You know, there are plenty of guys in town. Why focus all my efforts on just one? I'm sure
lots
of guys would like a chance to get to know the new me. I can bring them back to my RV—”

“
My
RV.”

“—and practice being married, just the way you suggested.”

Beck would burn the RV to ash first.

Too far gone to fight his sense of possession, he hooked his foot around the bottom of her chair and forced her chair closer, closer still. Their thighs touched, and she gasped, perhaps at the force he'd used, perhaps with a desire of her own.

He grabbed her by the waist and easily hefted her onto the table, on his feet and between her legs a second later, glaring down at her.

“I want you, and it's past time I showed you how much. You'll keep your sweet ass
parked
on this table and you'll show
me
your skills. Me. No one else.” And then his hand was cupping the back of her neck, drawing her forward.

* * *

W
HAT
 
THE
 
HECK
 
was happening?

The question echoed inside Harlow's mind as Beck smashed his mouth against hers. She lost her breath, shook with need, desire and heat, so much heat. Two seconds ago, she'd wanted to lash out at him for his part in tonight's debacle. Now? She just wanted to melt into his arms.

The mint-and-sugar taste of him tantalized her, and she instantly craved more. Her head swam, their tongues dueling, and even though she clutched at his shirt for balance, she still felt off-kilter.
Been so long since I've been the center of a guy's world, but never like this.

He worked her mouth expertly, the pressure fierce but not stinging, as if she were a treasure he wanted to enjoy and protect at the same time. His fingers curled through locks of her hair, angling her head, allowing him to take her mouth even deeper.

Pleasure burned through her, nerve endings she'd never known she possessed coming alive with sensation. Her blood fizzed in her veins, and sitting still became impossible. She ran her hands up the strength of his chest, around his back, desperate to touch more of him, greedy for it.

She felt knots of tension as hard as rock and dug her nails in deep, urging him closer to her. His chest brushed against hers, creating the most delicious friction, sending waves of heat deep in her belly.

“Beck.”

He bit at her bottom lip, and like that, a kiss she'd already considered wild spun completely out of control, tearing through any resistance she might have still harbored. He caressed his hands down the ridges of her spine and cupped her rear. When he squeezed her, skin to blistering skin, she realized the hem of her dress had ridden up.