The Hotter You Burn (8 page)

“You're putting me in the middle of a shit storm, my friend. You know that, right?”

“I do, and I'm sorry.” He hated asking Jase for
anything
. “I'm also grateful.”

“Hey, I wasn't complaining,” Jase said with a grin. “I like make-up sex.”

“Then I guess you owe me.”

Jase snorted and strode from the room. Right on time. The faint pitter-patter of bare feet echoed from the wood floor. Harlow rounded the corner—and Beck reacted as if he'd just been kicked in the gut.

Her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt, a nervous gesture. For what he had planned, she should be
very
nervous.

Wet hair clung to her neck and arms. Her white T-shirt was damp in spots, revealing the outline of her lacy crimson bra. He'd had to guess her size: small, but perfect.

He couldn't wait to get the little plums in his hands.

The shorts she wore had been cut from his most comfortable sweatpants, revealing mile-long legs that would wrap around his waist and hold on tight till the end of the ride.

“Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the couch.

She shifted from one foot to the other, remaining in place. “Beck, I don't want to talk about my past.”

“Then you won't.” Again he motioned to the couch. “Sit. Please.”

Frowning, she walked over and eased down. He settled in the chair across from her, wanting distance, hell, needing it to clear his head. But it didn't help. Her scent had changed subtly, the strawberries now dusted with sandalwood, saturating the air, filling his nose, going straight to his head—and his groin.

“Whether you want to or not, we
are
going to talk about your future. You, Harlow Glass, work for WOH Industries, effective immediately.” Yet another change. Too much, too fast, like everything else about her, and enough to make his head spin. But there was no better way to take care of her and keep her close.

“Wait.” She shook her head, as if she were certain she'd misheard him. “Come again.”

“Your talent is incomparable. Which is why—”

“But you've only seen my ruined murals. How do you know my talent is incomparable?”

“I can't believe you have to ask. While your superpower is painting, mine is X-ray vision. I saw beneath the splatters to the bones of the picture.” And, okay, there were photos of her amazing work in the box. “May I continue now?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip and nodded.

“You are going to design the sets and characters West uses in his games. You'll do it on paper, which he will then scan digitally. An RV will be delivered to my front yard later today, and you will live in it. A signing bonus for your services, one I would give to anyone I hired.” Probably. “We don't always work normal hours.”

“But...but...you haven't even seen my résumé. Which, to be fair, I submitted to one of your assistants when you first opened up shop here.”

“The assistant stayed long enough to hire a receptionist from Strawberry Valley, not an artist. And I don't need to see your résumé. Your work speaks for itself.” When she continued to gape at him, he decided to forge ahead. “Say thank you, but don't make the mistake of thinking your job will be easy. You will be at our beck and call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If we want you to draw a character sketch at two in the morning, you will.”

“Do you even
need
an artist on staff?”

“Yes. West works way too much, and constantly recruiting freelancers takes a ton of time. This will take a major burden off his shoulders.”

“So why haven't you hired an artist before today?”

Rather than admitting the truth—new hires usually gave him hives—he said, “Maybe I hadn't found the right slave. I mean, the right
person
yet.”

Her lips twitched at the corners, as he'd intended.

Then the slam of a car door registered, and she stiffened. “Expecting company?”

“Just Jessie Kay.”

The color drained from Harlow's cheeks. “She's going to be
so
mad I'm here. I should probably sneak out the back before you're forced to break up a catfight.”

“First, I would never break up a catfight. I would watch it. Second, don't be silly. This isn't her house, and you're my guest. She'll deal.”

The awe she leveled at him made him uncomfortable—and hot as hell.

Jessie Kay stopped to glare at Harlow, then at Beck. Then she beat feet to the kitchen, calling, “Brook Lynn. Let's get to cookin' before I put a brick through a window.”

The stiffness gradually abandoned Harlow. “Well. That went better than I expected.”

A shirtless, sweaty West charged out of the workout room, and there was no need to guess why. He'd hoped to catch a glance of Jessie Kay.

West was like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet around that girl. Problem was, he refused to buy a ticket to the meal.

Upon first arriving in Strawberry Valley, Beck had asked her out, slept with her, and when they parted on friendly terms, she ended up hooking up with Jase. Another one-time deal, but the damage had been done. To West, whose attraction to her had only developed after Beck and Jase's association with her, the statute of limitations would never run out. She was forever off-limits.

“Hi, West,” Harlow said, smiling and waving at the guy. “We haven't been officially introduced. I'm Harlow Glass, and I would love a chance to get to know you. Join me? I'm certain Beck was just about to leave.”

Excuse me?
“I wasn't.”

She flushed but didn't rescind her flirtatious invitation.

West glanced between them before smiling and walking over. “Well. This should be interesting.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

H
ARLOW
 
PRETENDED
 
TO
 
sink more comfortably into the couch as West eased beside Beck. Meanwhile, she wasn't freaking comfortable. This might just be the most nerve-racking experience of her life. The man she wanted to want was side by side with the man she shouldn't want, the first watching her with amusement she didn't understand, the other with an angry glower she didn't appreciate.

Trying to dredge up the confidence she'd had before the scarring incident, she batted her lashes at West. According to the seduction book, she had to be bold, and she couldn't be afraid to show interest. She had to let the object of her affections know he had a chance with her, and just how far she would go to be with him.

“Tell me about yourself,” she said with a forced smile. “I'm interested in every detail, and I would enjoy nothing more than sitting here and listening.”

Beck gave his friend's shoulder a hard shove. “All right. You are now officially dismissed.”

West leaned back, crossing his arms at his middle and an ankle over a knee. “Why would I leave? My schedule is wide-open right now, and I've got a past to unveil.”

Beck ran his tongue over his teeth and focused more intently on Harlow. “A new company policy has just been instated. No flirting with the staff. Ever.”

“But I wasn't flirting.”
Trying
to flirt would be a more accurate description. “Learning about my new employer will give me an idea about what to expect on the job.” The one at WOH now, and later the one as West's (possible) forever girlfriend.

“Since it's for the job
I
just hired you for...” Beck shifted, his knee brushing against hers, making her gasp. “How about I tell you all about
me
?”

“You? Talk about yourself?” Her breathless tone embarrassed her, but she continued anyway. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“Yes, Beck,” West said, no longer fighting the smile. “Go ahead and tell us all about your life. We are figuratively
dying
of curiosity.”

A soft animallike growl rose from Beck, the intensity of it baffling her. “Aren't you needed elsewhere, Westley?”

What was his deal? He was acting like a jealous boyfriend who'd—

She fought another gasp, this one steeped in shock.
Was
he jealous?

No. No, of course not. As a one-and-done man, such an emotion was beneath him. Right?

“Schedule's wide-open, remember?” West rubbed his hands together. “Start with your first memory as a child and end with your secret crush on—”

“Go.” Beck pointed toward the door.

“Me,” West finished with an outright laugh. He tried to cover the sound with a cough, then glanced at his wristwatch. “Well. I might have overstated my availability.” He cleared his throat and stood, already walking away. “I think I hear— What's that, Jase?” he called, though no one had said anything. “You need me? No problem. I'm on my way.” He paused in the doorway to wink at Harlow. “We'll have to do this again sometime.”

“Yes, please.” Had it been love at first sight? No. Was it a romance in the making? Maybe. As far as first interactions went, it wasn't the worst she'd ever had.
Go, me!

Beck peered at her for a long while, silent and brooding. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

“No, actually, I don't.” He would just rat her out to West, maybe even warn him away.

The purr of a very large engine registered, followed by the sound of crunching gravel. Through the crack in the curtains, she caught a glimpse of a brand-new, luxurious RV. Beck had been dead serious about the signing bonus.

Tides of excitement boosted her to her feet. “That's really mine? No matter what?”

“Are you accepting my job offer?”

And see her dream of becoming a paid artist come true at last? “Yes!”

He slowly unfolded from his seat, towering over her, both menacing and protective. “Then it's yours. No matter what.”

“Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you, Beck.” She wanted to hug him. She wanted to climb him like a mountain. She settled for patting his shoulder. “I will be forever grateful.”

His gaze locked with hers, flames practically dancing in those golden irises. “I don't want your gratitude, Harlow.”

The rough tone of his voice made her breath catch. She waited, staring up at him as her heart drummed out of control, but he never told her what he
did
want.

* * *

H
ARLOW
 
MARVELED
.
In a single day, her world had been dumped upside down and turned inside out. Again.

After months of sleeping in a patchwork tent, she'd finally slept in a real bed, utter softness enveloping her. She'd taken a hot shower in a bathroom all her own, lingering until the steam died out. She'd eaten her fill anytime a hunger pang hit, and had drunk a tall glass of juice anytime her mouth went dry.

Life was suddenly, amazingly perfect, and in the bright light of the new morning, sprawled in her new bed in her new RV, she laughed. The queen-size bed consumed the back of the vehicle, the sheets a decadent caress against her skin. No more fearing the coming winter, warmed by old clothes, ratty blankets others had discarded, fires she'd started, and finicky rays of the sun.

A brand-new cell phone rested on the nightstand. An actual phone with apps and everything. The fridge was fully stocked, even though she'd devoured enough food to feed an army.

She lacked only one thing. Someone to share her good fortune.

She imagined Beck lying beside her, his strong arms embracing her, his warm breath tickling her hair, and tendrils of electric heat curled around her. Silly Harlow. He might be her benefactor, but there was no white knight lurking underneath his beautiful he-slut shell. He was temporary. She was forever.

“Knock, knock,” the male in question said as he entered the RV
without
knocking. “Rise and shine, thornbush.”

“Thornbush?” She sat up, not bothering to clutch the comforter to her chest. She'd fallen asleep with her clothes on, for which she was suddenly grateful. Seeing him set off a chain reaction of sensations inside her. Tingles along her flesh, a conflagration in her veins, both stealing the air from her lungs.

“I'm trying out different nicknames until I find the one that works for you,” he said with a shrug.

“What's wrong with the usual
honey
and
sweetheart
?”

“They don't fit you.”

Wow. Okay. Talk about a major punch in the gut. But she sucked it up and offered him the brightest smile she could manage.

He rolled his eyes. “It's a good thing. You're memorable. The others were not.”

Oh.

“Well, here's an idea,” she said in an effort to mask her delight. “Try
Harlow
. It's easy. Say it with me, Harrr-looow.”

“Hayyy-booow.”

She giggled. He laughed, then held out two paper coffee cups, the scent of caffeine, sugar and cream wafting from the rims. “You want one?”

“Yes!”

He placed both on the granite countertop in the small kitchenette. Just out of her reach. A clear incentive to “rise and shine.”

“You are a cruel, cruel man.”

“I do what I must.” He propped his shoulder against the frame of the open doorway, looking inhumanly beautiful in a dark pin-striped suit, his hair brushed back from his face, a slight glint of stubble on his jaw.

My heartbeat is not quickening. My blood is cooling, not growing hotter.

“This is your first day working for me,” he said.

“You mean for WOH Industries.”

“No. I mean me.” He arched a brow, daring her to contradict him a second time. “Are you nervous?”

“Hardly.”

“You should be. Your boss will yell at you if you're late.”

“You're my boss
and
my ride.”

“Exactly. I'm always late.”

There would be no understanding him today. Noted.

“Before we head off, I should probably go over the ground rules.” He didn't give her a chance to respond. “At the office, I'll call you Miss Glass. You will call me Mr. Ockley.” A gleam of mirth brightened his expression, somehow doing the impossible and making him more beautiful. “Or you may call me
sir
. Yes, definitely go with
sir
.”

“No way. We are not part of an erotica novel,” she said.

“Erotica, hmm?” His grin was wide, devastating. “Tell sir all about the naughty things you've read.”

She laughed, trying not to be utterly enchanted by him. “Well, just last night I read about the mating habits of penquins. Did you know they have—”

“Way to ruin the sparks we had going.”

“We had sparks?” she asked, just to be contrary.

“Get dressed,” he said. “Or not. Yeah, probably not. We've got a big day, and I could use a little eye candy as inspiration.”

For a moment, she wanted to bask in the glow of his praise. He considered her eye candy? Then she remembered he hadn't seen her scars. “I'll ignore your early start at sexual harassment and get dressed just as soon as you exit my bedroom.”

“Why? You don't have anything I haven't seen before.”

“Actually, I do,” she said, throwing a pillow at him. It thudded against the wide expanse of his chest and fell harmlessly to the floor. He laughed, the sound as beautiful as the rest of him. “For all you know, my
anything
is better than any other you've seen.” It wasn't. It soooo wasn't. She was so scarred even a man of his nondiscriminating taste would be sickened.

“You think so?” His gaze dropped to her chest. “Show me.” A croak. But was it a demand—or a plea?

Desire mingled with panic, and she gulped. “Not even if you begged me.”

“I've never begged before.” His voice went low, husky. “But there's a first time for everything, isn't there?”

The air between them began to thicken, becoming heavier, making it harder for her to breathe, a sensation she was getting used to. She ached. She craved what only he seemed capable of giving her.

She'd made a tactical error, she realized. She'd challenged a playboy. “Just...get out,” she managed. “Please.”

His gaze roved over her slowly, heating, hotter and hotter. “Are you sure that's what you want?”

No. “Please,” she repeated.

“Very well. I'll allow you to retreat. This time.” He stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

B
ECK
 
GRABBED
 
A
 
beer from Harlow's fridge. He hadn't slept, so, technically this morning was merely an extension of last night. He took a long, deep swig while glaring at the cubbies and shelves. He saw his favorite beer. His favorite sandwich meat. His favorite cheeses. He hadn't known what she liked, and he'd refused to leave the thing empty, even for a day. Now a sense of possession rose.
My food, her fridge. Our stuff
.
Together
.

He banged his fist into the door. He didn't need this.

He remembered Harlow's reaction to seeing the items. She hadn't cared about name brands or that he'd made sure each of the four food groups properly represented. She had rejoiced over the simple fact that she would be eating. Period. And it had broken his freaking heart.

So. Yeah. Alcohol goggles had never sounded like a better idea. He took another swig of the beer. The situation with Harlow grew more complicated by the second, and something had to give. Soon. He'd been building to this point for a while, a man who hated change on the brink of one he couldn't stop—didn't want to stop. He was a pressure cooker set to explode any day...minute...second...

That happened, and he would be on her. But what accompanied an explosion of any kind? Destruction. Old habits would die hard.

There were so many things he wanted to do to and with her. One night would never be enough.

Despite what most people thought, his one-night stands weren't just about sex. Or even his own brand of therapy. For a little while, he wasn't a piece of trash easily left behind; he was a man worth begging for. A man without a past, without faults or failures. And when he left, he was a fantasy worth remembering.

What would he be to Harlow? Heartbreak?

He drained the rest of the beer and tossed the glass bottle in the recycling bin with more force than he'd intended. Normally he could take or leave a woman. If one didn't want him, fine. Another soon came along. But he couldn't leave Harlow, despite the complications. Despite the torment of
this
. He wanted her too desperately. Wanted her even though she'd given him no real encouragement.

But damn if she hadn't given West plenty.

When she'd flirted with his friend, every muscle in Beck's body had tensed. His blood had morphed into fuel, a lit match dropped inside his veins. Hello, wildfire. He'd nearly started a fight. Over nothing.

West's interrogation this morning hadn't helped.

“Why was your girl trying to interview me?” his friend had asked. “And for what position?”

Jase had been there, too. He'd grinned. “Did she ask you to name your biggest weakness?”

“You mean my inability not to be awesome?” Beck had quipped. “No. Because she didn't ask
me
anything. She asked West. I have no idea why.” Was she attracted to the guy?

Well, too bad. Beck had found her first. She belonged to him.

Damn it. He could have her, but he would not claim her.

Harlow exited the bedroom looking fresh, adorable and young in a plain white T-shirt and jean skirt. Last night he'd burned her tent and collected her meager possessions from the campsite, feeling like an ass for throwing out everything that had been in the house when he and the others first moved in. Everything but the photos. The items had been hers, all she'd had left from her childhood, and he'd thoughtlessly had them destroyed at the city dump.