The Hotter You Burn (22 page)

“You like that?” He came up on his knees, pressed her other leg to the side and up, opening her completely. He thrust.

“Beck!”

His thumb found her sweet spot and circled, circled. Pleasure crested inside her. So close. Almost there. His thumb pressed with more force. Yes! Satisfaction hit, and hit hard. She screamed, utterly consumed by ecstasy.

“Look at you,” he said, and he sounded awed—a little feral. “Look at you, baby.” And then his pounding thrusts came faster, so much faster, the tether to his control finally frayed beyond repair.

He was wild, almost brutal, and she loved it. Loved looking at
him
. Loved being the object of his passion. His eyes glittered wildly, the tension in him clearly mounting. His lips were red and swollen from her kisses. He was a fantasy without equal. And he was hers.

“Harlow,” he cried out, surging in one last time. He gripped her hips with delicious, bruising strength, the tension gradually fading from his features as he came.

He collapsed over her, quickly rolling to his side so that he wouldn't crush her. Without his strength to hold her, her body was too weak to wrap around him and she, too, collapsed against the mattress. They lay there for a long while, facing each other, the ragged sound of their breathing filling her ears.

“That was...” she said.

“World-changing?”

“Merely okay,” she finished, trying not to smile.

He gave her bottom a light tap. “If you aren't careful, Miss Glass, I'll start again, and I won't stop until I've made you admit the truth.”

“No, no,” she said with mock horror. “Anything but that.” Then she chewed on her bottom lip. “
Will
we do it again?”

“Definitely.”

“When?”

“Impatient?”

“Yes!”

“You'll be sore.”

“I don't care.”

He smoothed the hair from her cheeks, only to gaze at his hand and stop, as if the appendage had done something it shouldn't have. A flash of fear crossed his face before he donned a blank mask. He rose from the bed, disposed of the condom.

“What's wrong?” she asked, worry chasing away her languid satisfaction. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, no longer quite so relaxed with her nudity.

He climbed in next to her and turned her, drawing her back to his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, one of his legs fitting between hers. “Round two will have to wait. I'm tired, and I need a nap. Go to sleep. We'll work out all the details when we wake up.”

Details? “What details?”

He kissed the shell of her ear. “We'll discuss them when we wake up. Now go to sleep.”

But after that, how could she?

CHAPTER TWENTY

B
ECK
'
S
 
WORDS
 
PLAGUED
 
Harlow every minute of naptime. They plagued her while the two of them ate dinner alone in the kitchen and Beck hand-fed her. While they climbed back into bed and watched TV. While they made love again. While Beck slept peacefully.

By the time morning arrived, the fog of desire had faded, her thoughts clearer than they'd been in a long time—since meeting him, in fact.

We'll work out all the details in the morning
, he'd said. And before making such sweet love to her, he'd said,
If it's the only way I can have you, that's the way it'll be
.

It—meaning commitment.

Realization
hurt
. Beck hadn't jumped into this relationship with her because he loved her or even liked her. He hadn't even committed because he couldn't stand the thought of being without her. He'd done it because it was the only way he could sleep with her.

In other words, he felt as if she'd backed him into a corner.

What kind of future would they have if he felt trapped by her? What would happen when he came to resent her for it? When, not if. Sharp thorns of bitterness would set in, that's what, and each would be aimed at her. Hatred would soon follow. Could she really do that to him? Could she really do it to
herself
?

She and Beck had been doomed before they'd started, hadn't they?

But if she left him, if she walked away, she would be fanning the flames of his fears. Could she really do
that
?

They needed to talk.

She carefully extricated herself from his embrace and padded into the bathroom, trying not to panic as she brushed her teeth, dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of his sweatpants.

“Harlow?” Beck's voice, tinged with upset. Because she wasn't beside him?

Hope bloomed, the only rose in a deadly winter.
Please, please want me the way that I want you.

She schooled her features to reveal only calm, then opened the bathroom door. “I'm here.”

He'd thrown his legs over the side of the bed, but at her greeting, his head jerked in her direction, his upset fading. He was breathtakingly naked, his muscled chest on display, his impressive lower half hidden by the sheet they'd shared.

He smiled at her, a wicked invitation to experience round three. His hair lay in total disarray, the golden tips gleaming in the morning light. His stubble was slightly denser, and her skin already ached for its tickle.

“I think it's clear I hadn't planned to wake up alone in this bed,” he said.

Do it, before you chicken out.
“Does it make you happy to think about a future with me, Beck?”

His smile dimmed a little. “First, I'm seriously thinking about considering giving you a spanking. Afterward I'll show you where I wanted you to be when I opened my eyes—and what I wanted you to be doing.”

Her stomach knotted and cramped. “Please. Answer my question.”

The smile faded completely, and he rubbed his chest. “Why do a Q and A when there are so many other things we could be doing? Better things.”

Let's try this another way. “Last night, you mentioned going over details we hadn't yet covered. What details?”

He patted the mattress beside him. “The only detail I'm concerned about right now is your distance. Get over here.”

“What details?” she insisted.

“And your clothes,” he continued as if she hadn't spoken. “Take them off.”

“Beck. I'm begging you.”

He stood, looking like a warrior of old, ready to claim the spoils of battle.

Claim
me.

“I'm going to chalk this up to your inexperience,” he said, gripping the base of his erection, “but men like sex first thing in the morning, and I'm going to prove it.”

She almost went to him. It would have been easier and far more pleasurable. “Do you feel trapped?” she asked point-blank.

A muscle jumped beneath eyes gone wild. He closed the distance, framed her face with his big hands. “Why are you doing this?”

Not an answer. “I have a right to know.”

“I committed myself to you, didn't I?”

“Yes, but only because it was the sole way you could sleep with me.”

The muscle beneath his eye jumped even faster. “And you can't be happy with what I'm offering?”

“What
are
you offering, Beck? You've never said. Marriage sometime in the future?”

His lips pursed, and his hands fell away from her. “I'm offering here, now. And tomorrow. Which, by the way, is more than I've ever offered anyone.”

“But what about the day after tomorrow?”

He rubbed at his chest. “I don't know.”

The flames of hope were dying, one after the other. “You're telling me we're doing this on a trial basis? That's the detail you wanted me to know, isn't it?”

Almost defiantly he snapped, “Every relationship operates on a trial basis, Harlow. No one ever knows if theirs will be forever, especially in the beginning.”

“But they know what they're willing to give and what they'll continue to withhold.” She drew in a breath. “Does it make you happy to think about a future with me?” she asked again.

“Enough. Let's—”

“Does it?”

“You don't want me to answer that, baby.”

“I do. I really, really do.”

“Very well.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “When I envision the future, I see doom and gloom. That's it. That's all I've ever seen.”

Confirmation of her worst fear—it was worse than taking a bullet to the heart.

Her choice was simple: lose him now or lose him later. Rip the bandage off or let the wound underneath fester.

Can't break down. Not here, not now.
“I want you with every fiber of my being, but I won't stay with a man who feels like I've trapped him, who sees only doom and gloom with me. You'll come to resent me.”

“Don't do this,” he said, and in that moment, there was something scary about him. As if the shutters were coming down, blocking her out. “You know what?” He laughed with bitterness rather than humor. “Part of me expected this. You had me, and now you don't want me anymore.”

“Part of you
expected
this? Is that why you felt comfortable enough to ‘commit' to me?” she sneered, using air quotes. Her own fears and pain were making her ugly right now, but she didn't care. “Because you were so sure I'd leave you and you wouldn't have to be with me for long?”

“Stop. Just stop.” His tone was dark, dangerous. “Let's close our mouths before one of us says something we'll never be able to take back. We'll go to work and cool off.”

She shook her head. “I'm not going anywhere until you answer my other question. Do. You. Feel. Trapped?”

“Harlow.”

“Do you?” she screeched.

“Yes,” he snarled, glaring at her. “Are
you
happy now? I'm in a cage, and you put me there. But I don't want you with another man, and I will do anything to ensure you're mine. Even this.”

Even this.
He's destroying me, piece by piece.
“Well.”
Head up, blink back tears.
“I wish that were enough for me, but it's not.”

He flinched as if she'd hit him. “You mean
I'm
not enough for you.”

“No, that's not what I mean.”

He stormed over, latched on to her upper arms and shook her. “You aren't leaving me, Harlow. I won't let you.”

“I...am,” she said, fighting sobs. They brewed in her chest, frantic to escape.
Have to get out of here.
Now. She lurched from his grip.

Glaring at her, he swiped up her dress, her shoes and held on to them, as if they were the only reasons she hadn't run yet. “Don't you dare do this.”

“I have to. Don't you see? I'm not going to trap you. I'm not going to doom you. I'd rather you hate me while free than resent me while caged.”

He took a step toward her, his nostrils flaring as he breathed, his chest heaving. “If you walk out that door, we're done. You can pack your things and get the hell out of the RV, off my land.”

A stream of tears burned her cheeks. “I don't want to do this.”

“Then don't. Stay here.”

“But I have to,” she finished, and walked out of the room.

* * *

H
ARLOW
 
HOPED
B
ECK
 
would realize she was worth any risk, that she offered happiness rather than gloom, but he was a man, and that particular species could be as dumb as a box of rocks. So, of course he never came came to the RV, and by the evening, she was forced to pack her meager belongings.

She prayed he needed more time, even daydreamed about him showing up after she secured a room at the Strawberry Inn—for double the usual rate, since the owner hated her and apparently had a “bitch” fee—but he never did that, either.

In the ensuing days, she left her room only to apply for jobs. Style Me Tender and Swat Team 8 weren't bringing in enough revenue to justify a new hire, and Two Farms and Strawberries and More grocery—both of which had advertised for help—had turned her down flat.

As the days continued to pass, her savings began to dwindle. She realized she had a choice to make. Stay another week at the inn, without food, before finding a new place to set up camp, or find a new place to set up camp now and eat for a few more weeks. She opted for the latter and finally found a place on Dane Michaelson's two-hundred-and-fifty-acre ranch.

She had to spend precious money buying a new tent, which sucked because sleeping on the hard nylon floor after basking in the decadence of the RV for so long truly drove home the depths to which she'd fallen from grace. Once again she had to boil pond water to drink and wash with an outdoor hose.

But really, the times she would spot Beck in town with a beautiful woman on his arm, and he would look right through her, those were the times that hurt most. He'd written her out of his life completely. Just. Like. That.

If he could dismiss her so easily, she was better off without him... And yet still she cried herself to sleep every night. And when a cold front blustered in, her tears actually froze on her cheeks. She ended up spending the rest of her earnings on a sleeping bag, a wool coat and flannel socks.

If she wanted to eat again, she'd have to set traps or find a job, and fast, but only one other place was hiring. The inn she'd vacated needed another maid. Would Carol Mathis, the owner, be willing to give her a chance?

Harlow made the hour-long walk to Main Street, noting multiple Happy Halloween signs and posters for the upcoming Berryween Fall Festival. Soon the entire city would be transformed into a spook-lovers' paradise. Booths would be erected, each one decorated with some type of haunted theme. Games would be played, food would be sold and devoured. She wondered if Beck would bring a date, maybe even win the stupid woman a stupid stuffed teddy bear.

Tears filled Harlow's eyes.

And, oh, crap! There were Brook Lynn and Jessie Kay, out delivering breakfast sandwiches to the locals. Her stomach performed eager, hungry flips, paining her. She darted into a shadowed alley. The girls had asked Virgil and Mr. Rodriguez about her—she'd heard them—but she wasn't ready to talk to them. Maybe they'd curse her, maybe they'd support her. Either way, she was still too raw to deal.

She wished she could pour her emotions into her art, but she'd left her paints behind.

A waft of smoke billowed in her direction and tickled her throat. Coughing, she turned and met the gaze of Daniel Porter, who was in the process of stubbing out his cigarette.

“Harlow Glass,” he said with a nod.

“Daniel. Uh, hi.” The last time she'd seen him, she'd been a drunken mess. “You're looking well.”

He didn't offer the requisite “You, too,” even though it would have been polite. And she wasn't hurt by that. Not anymore. Because of Beck, she'd been introduced to true pain. A snub like this? Not even a blip.

Though Daniel had been in town for several weeks, he'd continued to cut his dark hair military-short, and even in the shadows his features appeared chiseled from stone. His shoulders were broad, his chest ripped underneath the tightness of his shirt, and he had several tattoos peeking out from the sleeves.

“Look, I'm glad I ran into you,” she said. “I'd like to apologize for my behavior as a kid. You were—are—a beautiful human being, and I had no right to say otherwise.” He'd had a problem with acne, but who hadn't back then? “It's not like I'm perfect or have any right to judge. You should see my chest. I have so many scars I make Frankenstein look pretty.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Sure. I'll take a look at your chest.”

She sputtered, and a smile teased the corners of his mouth.

“You finally score that Beck guy or what?”

“Yeah, I did, but it didn't do me any good.” Did Daniel actually care or was he asking because he'd heard about Jessie Kay's night with Beck? “I didn't steal him from Jessie Kay, if that's what you're implying. They were already over when I met him.”

He went still. “What do you mean? Did she date him?”

Oh, crap. No one had told him? “I'm, uh, not going to comment. Jessie Kay is my friend, she's said so a couple of times now, and—” Crap, crap, crap. His expression was only growing darker.

“You'll have to excuse me.” He stormed away.

What have I done?

She wanted so badly to call Jessie Kay, but she'd left her phone in the RV, knowing she wouldn't be able to afford the monthly payments. A quick peek revealed the Dillon sisters were gone. Dang it! She raced to the inn.