The Hotter You Burn (9 page)

“What do you think?” she asked.

“You are...”
Stunning, worth anything, worth everything.
“You'll do.” Worth anything? Everything? Hell, no.

“Not exactly office-appropriate, I know,” she said, smoothing the sides of the denim. “But it's the best I've got.”

Her unease gutted him. This amazing woman should only ever be confident and assured. And damn it, he needed to find a way to detach from her. Fast.

“Like I said, you'll do.”

She frowned at him. “For an incurable flirt who always has a kind word for the women in his life, you kind of suck right now.”

She was right. Flirt was his default, compliments his currency. He should be doling out praise rather than insulting her while staring at her with hopeless longing, but he simply couldn't quite manage it. If she smiled at him, if she laughed, her face would light up. Bye-bye, what little remained of his control.

“Come on. Let's go.” He preferred to be inside the office well before eight, when the rest of the town came alive and accosting him on the sidewalk became a sport.

The ten-minute drive passed in silence, and he was glad. He used the time to calm the hell down.

Cora, the receptionist, sat at her desk in the lobby and smiled when she spotted him. “Good morning, Mr. Ockley.”

“Morning, Cora. This is—”

The older woman hissed. “I know who she is. She's the bully who caused many of my students to cry.”

Cora was a former schoolteacher, with the index finger from hell. Whenever she pointed it in your direction, you felt the flames rise up and lick at your feet. “Now, Cora,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” Harlow interjected, stepping forward on her own. “I regret my childhood actions every day, and I hope you'll give me a chance to prove I'm a different person now.”

Beck liked that she made no excuses. She copped to her wrongdoing and accepted full responsibility.

Cora wasn't so easily convinced. “Time will tell, Miss Glass. Time will tell.”

“I agree.”

He draped his arm around Harlow's waist in a show of support, but immediately regretted the decision. She fit him perfectly. Too perfectly. “If you need us, we'll be in my office.” Beck led her through the building, saying, “What do you think of West's nerdatory?”

“The walls are beige,” Harlow said, and he barked out a laugh.

He should have known she'd focus on the lack of color.

Once he had her settled on the couch in his office, and himself behind the desk, he said, “Why were you a bully as a kid?”

Up went her chin, a stubborn action he recognized and was coming to hate. But she also rubbed her fingers over her stomach, as if tracing a familiar pattern. “Maybe I was born rotten to the core.”

On to her tricks now, he shook his head. “I had Jase ask around. Also, I've seen pictures of you when you were little.” No reason to lie, every reason not to. There was a shaky trust building between them, and a single untruth would cause it to crumble. “Once upon a time, you were a sweetheart with sad eyes.”

“Pictures?” She blinked as realization struck. “You found my box. In my—your—closet.”

“Yes.”

“But...why didn't you throw them away, like everything else?”

He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “Maybe I hoped I'd find a nude of adult Harlow.”

The prettiest pink brightened her cheeks. “Yes, well, I'm sure the people in town gave Jase an earful about all the times I
wasn't
such a sweetheart.”

“They did, but I don't care about what you once did, only why. I have an interesting childhood myself.”

In a small voice, she said, “Really?”

Hoping she would soften if she knew a little about him, he admitted, “I ran away from several foster homes. I was involved in multiple fights and a few other unsavory exploits. I left a trail of broken hearts in my wake.”

She opened her mouth, closed it. Opened, closed. “You were in foster care?”

“Yes. Now, what happened to you?”

Plucking at the hem of her skirt, she said, “Nothing original, really. My dad called me names, and I called other people names.”

The thought of little Harlow subjected to verbal and mental abuse enraged him. “Your dad is gone now?”

“Yes.”

Too bad. Beck would have enjoyed dishing his own brand of abuse. “Why did you
stop
being a bully?”

She looked away, licked her lips. “What do you want me to do first, boss?”

Damn it, he'd pushed too soon for too much. What would it take to get her to open up? And why did he even care? It wasn't as if he had to know her secrets to enjoy her delectable little body.

“Just sit there and look pretty while I get some work done,” he grumbled, focusing on his computer screen and the thousand emails waiting to be answered. “I haven't seen the set or character descriptions on the latest game contract.”

He was able to block Harlow out...until she shifted on the couch. Her jean skirt rode higher up her thighs.
Such lovely thighs.
He was going to love trailing his tongue up, up from her knees to the edge of the denim. With a slight push of his fingers, his tongue would be able to complete the journey and find—

“Beck,” she said, breathless. “Whatever you're thinking about...”

He was staring at her, he realized, gripping the edge of his desk, seething with the need to pull the blinds over the glass walls and dive on her. “You'd like it. Ask nicely, and I'll show you.”

The building's front door opened, sunlight pouring inside along with Mark and Kimberly of S&S Financial. Right. His eight-o'clock meeting. A welcome distraction.

“Never mind.” The company had only recently signed up as a client, and now Beck had to explain the operating systems more thoroughly.

“Mr. Ockley.” Cora's voice spilled from the speakerphone. “Mr. Timberlane and Miss Potus are here to see you.”

He picked up the phone. “Send them back.”

As the pair made their way to his office, Harlow asked, “Should I step outside?”

No longer have her within reach? “You need to familiarize yourself with the inner workings of the business. Stay and take mental notes.”

“Yes, sir.” Her ocean-water gaze lingered on Mark as he entered, and Beck tensed, a curse brewing at the back of his throat...until she turned her attention to Kimberly, giving the young woman a once-over, abject longing overtaking her expression. She looked herself over, too, and plucked at a bit of lint on her T-shirt.

Beck's heart melted at the self-conscious gesture. She outshone the other woman by miles, but she had no idea.

Mark cleared his throat.

The meeting. Right. Beck stood, walked around the desk, and shook hands with both. “Good to see you again.”

Kimberly smiled sweetly. But then, everything about her was sweet. She'd reminded him of sugar since the moment they'd met, kind to everyone she encountered. He'd thought about asking her out, but was now glad he hadn't. He was coming to realize he preferred his women with a little spice.

Harlow stood. Kimberly nodded a welcome at her, and Mark arched a brow in question.

“Our newest hire,” Beck explained. “She'll be listening in, learning the ropes. Don't hesitate to stop and ask her to repeat everything we've said.”

Harlow paled, and Beck had to swallow a laugh.

“Nice to meet you both,” she croaked.

Everyone took their seats, and for over an hour Beck explained the ins and outs of West's newest program. He wondered what Harlow thought of everything, watching her more than he watched his associates, but her expression gave nothing away.

“Please, don't take this the wrong way,” Kimberly said, smoothing a strand of hair in place, “but I'm a little lost. There's so much information to take in.”

“I know, which is why it would be best if one of you spent the week in Strawberry Valley.” Most companies like his would send an employee to train those at S&S Financial, but that wasn't the way Beck worked. The change in his routine on top of the change in his location would finally push him over the edge. “I can train you more thoroughly.”

Kimberly nodded. “Thank you. I would be happy to stay.”

“Wonderful.” He looked again at Harlow. Her nails dug into the arms of the couch, her knuckles bleaching of color as she glared daggers at Kimberly.

She was angry?

Impossible. The emotion made zero sense. He would be training Kimberly, nothing more. But to train her, he would have to spend time with her. Was Harlow jealous?

Beck's head spun. He'd never been with a woman long enough for her to feel threatened by another potential conquest, or for her to view him as a prize worth coveting long-term. The thought of Harlow determined to win him...it intoxicated him, playing havoc with an already primed body.

This couldn't be the right reaction. This kind of intensity couldn't be normal. He swiped up a pen and drummed it against his thigh. Or, hell, maybe it
was
normal. Jase certainly couldn't function without Brook Lynn. To be fair, however, Jase was in love.

Love. Alarm bells suddenly clanged. Beck wanted Harlow, but he'd be damned if he allowed himself to fall for her. To need her or anyone. Need was nothing but a barbed cage. It trapped you, cutting you into bleeding shreds anytime you tried to escape it.

I've got to get out of here.
He pushed to his feet, his chair skidding behind him. “I'll show you to the Strawberry Inn,” he said to Kimberly. “Miss Glass will stay here and type up notes detailing everything we've discussed.”

“I will?” Harlow cleared her throat, nodded. “I mean, I will. Yes.”

He offered a hand to Kimberly. “Shall we?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She cupped her fingers around his and stood.

He led her and Mark out of the office and felt a prickle at the back of his neck. He turned to glance back at Harlow; he just couldn't stop himself.

Their gazes met, the moment utterly electric. A shock to his system, one he experienced bone-deep. Holding on to Kimberly suddenly felt wrong. Racing to Harlow's side seemed like a good idea. But he didn't release the redhead, and he didn't return to Harlow.

Leaving was for the best. If he didn't protect himself from a potential loss, who would?

CHAPTER EIGHT

W
HAT
 
A
 
DAY
. Harlow paced the confines of her RV, desperate for some kind of distraction, finding none. Her mind returned to Beck again and again, tormenting her.

He'd left the office that morning and had stayed gone for over three hours. Judging by the way his arm had easily slipped around the elegant Kimberly's waist on the way out the door, Harlow could guess what the two had done once the hooker—uh, lady—had a room at the inn.

Not that Harlow cared who Beck did. The bastard!

After she'd typed up her notes about what had been said during the meeting—blah blah firewall and blah blah HTML blah blah—she'd spent the remainder of her time writing letters to West, per the seduction book's instructions. And, okay, yes, she'd also brooded, growing angrier by the second. How dare Beck abandon her on her first day at work!

At least he'd returned with food. Cartons of beef stroganoff from Two Farms, the only “fine dining” experience in town, said its owner, and only its owner. And though Harlow had searched for wrinkles in Beck's clothes and lipstick stains on his skin—a good employee made her sure boss always looked presentable—she hadn't found either, and some of her tension had drained. But only some, and only for a few seconds.

“Do you have to be such a flirt?” she'd burst out, immediately wishing she'd kept her mouth closed. It was just, right before he'd left, he'd peered at her
 
as if he couldn't wait another second to get inside her. But he'd still walked off with Kimberly clinging to his arm.

“I didn't flirt with Kimberly. I businessed her. And yes, I just used
businessed
as a verb. I'm brilliant like that.” He'd flattened his hands on the desk and leaned toward Harlow, aggressive and almost angry, as if
she
had done something wrong. “Do you need another example of what
is
flirting?”

Indignation had struck. “Keep your example to yourself. I know where it's been.”

He'd glowered at her. “Careful, sweetheart. You sound jealous.”

“Your mom is jealous,” she'd snapped. Like a child. But he'd called her
sweetheart
. What happened to her special nicknames?

Eyes narrowing, he'd flicked his tongue over an incisor. “You're seriously going with a mom joke right now? You need to get laid, Harlow.”

She'd gasped at his crudeness.

“But here's the good news,” he'd added. “I'm willing to help you out.”

It was the first full-on let's-have-sex advance he'd ever made toward her, and she'd sputtered in response, “Get over yourself! You've been crowdsourced far too often for my taste. Besides, I told you. I want a relationship.”

“A relationship?” Beck had scoffed. “You mean extended pain and suffering?”

“Because pain and suffering is all I bring to the table?” She'd thrown her notes on his desk, gathered her letters and lunch and stomped out of the office. And okay, yes, she'd abandoned ship at midpoint her first day on the job. Not exactly appropriate employee behavior. She sucked as bad as Beck.

The whole way home, she'd wondered why she'd been so upset with him. He'd done nothing wrong. Not really. He was her boss. Her friend. The only friend she had. They weren't boyfriend and girlfriend, and she had no right to castigate him for his life choices, no matter how bad they were.

Her fingers twitched, and suddenly she
ached
to pick up a brush, to pour her emotions into her art. In the past, no matter her riotous state of mind, the task of creating something from nothing had soothed her. But she had no supplies. Only pen and paper. The papers on which she'd written her letters to West. Whatever. They would do.

She sat at the kitchenette, flipped a page to its blank side, and grabbed a pen. As she allowed her imagination to guide her, she wasn't sure what she was drawing...until she recognized the square curve of Beck's jaw.

Made sense, she supposed. He was a beautiful subject and in the past few days—despite her better judgment—he'd taken over her thoughts and utterly consumed her desires.

When she finished, she surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye. Not to pat herself on the back, but yeah, she was totally going to pat herself on the back. She'd nailed every detail. From the fall of his hair, to the arch of his brow, to the fiery, determined expression he revealed whenever his affability was stripped away.

A knock sounded at her door, startling her. She jolted upright, thrusting the incriminating picture behind her back.

“Harlow?” Brook Lynn called. “You in there?”

Not Beck, she realized, releasing a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.
I'm not disappointed.

“Just a minute.” She stuffed the picture in a cabinet and hurried to the door, opening it to sunlight—and more than just Brook Lynn. Jessie Kay and Daphne, the woman Jase used to date, flanked the girl's sides. All three women held multiple bags of...clothing?

“Hobo chic might be good for a Saturday-night barbecue, or not—yeah, probably not—but it definitely isn't good for the office.” Jessie Kay pushed her way inside, forcing Harlow to back up or be mowed down. “It's time for a makeover, Dillon style.”

Hobo chic?
I'll cut a bitch!

Whoa. Calm down.
Why was she so defensive? Jessie Kay was right. The only way Harlow would be further from office-appropriate would be if she took Beck's suggestion and showed more skin.

Wait. Backtracking. They'd come to help her?

Harlow flattened a hand over her heart, touched in a way she wasn't sure she could articulate.

The others followed Jessie Kay in.

“Beck told us not to go inside,” Brook Lynn said to her sister. “To just hand over the clothes and leave.”

“Beck ain't my boss. Not that he couldn't be for the discount price of a million dollars a year.”

“That's quite some discount,” Daphne said. “Last week it was two million.”

“Economy,” Jessie Kay said, as if the single word explained everything. “By the way.” She focused on Harlow with laser-sharp intensity. “Dillon style means by force if necessary, so do yourself a favor and get to moving.”

Brook Lynn hit her sister on the arm. “Rude!”

“The way she's keeping us waiting?” Jessie Kay said with a nod. “I
know
.”

The disdain Harlow heard caused her spine to stiffen. The trio might be here to help her, but they weren't here willingly. “If you're going to insult me,” she said, a little of her old spirit returning, “you can leave.”

“We're not here to cause trouble, I promise.” Daphne, a beautiful brunette with kind eyes and a welcoming demeanor, smiled at her. “We haven't been introduced. I'm—”

“Oh, I know who you are.” The mother of Jase's nine-year-old daughter. For weeks, all anyone in town had talked about was how she'd run out on Jase without telling him she was pregnant, how he'd only found out about his child recently. But Daphne had since done everything she could to right the wrongs of her past, and she'd succeeded, which was why Harlow admired her. “I'm happy to meet you. And, uh, was Beck the one who picked the clothing you brought?” Would she find nothing but bras and panties in the bags?

“He sure was. Adamant about it, too,” the brunette added. “But he had to run, and I'm glad. Ever since Jase mentioned you've been hanging out with Beck, I've been desperate to chat with you.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised. “Me?” In a “see the bully up close” kind of way, or in a “let's become friends” way?

Daphne's head tilted to the side, her brow furrowing with confusion. “Why not you?”

Harlow struggled to form a proper response.
Shall I count the ways?
“For starters, I've been likened to the devil.”

“It's true,” Jessie Kay said. “I know because I have likened her to the devil.”

“Well.” Brook Lynn cleared her throat. “How about our Mighty Stallions, huh? I hear our illustrious high school is going to take State this year.”

“How'd you meet Beck?” Daphne asked Harlow, ignoring the sisters.

Jessie Kay hiked a thumb in Harlow's direction. “She's been camping in the woods by the house. Which isn't as amazing as it sounds. Even I could survive in the wild...with credit cards, a bag of feminine products and a bottle of painkillers.”

Brook Lynn rolled her eyes. “Yes. You're a true survivalist. Now that introductions are over, let's get down to business. How about you start trying on these clothes?”

An excuse to lock herself in the bedroom, take a moment to collect her thoughts and get her emotions under control? Yes! She snatched up the bags, along with the letters she'd left on the counter, glanced nervously at the unlocked cabinet holding her picture of Beck and retreated. Curious, she dumped the contents on her bed. Not a bra or pair of panties in sight. Just dress suits, summer dresses, purses, jewelry and shoes. Everything in her size.

Her hands trembled as she stroked soft cashmere, softer silk and the prettiest patterns she'd ever seen. Most of the items were different shades of blue—to highlight her eyes?—though several boasted ribbons of pink.

Why would Beck do this for her? Especially after the way she'd acted today?

“We want to see,” Brook Lynn called.

Harlow stripped, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and cringing. It was like looking at Frankenstein's sister. Her numerous scars were pink, jagged and unavoidable, each forming a square with grafted skin inside. The damage stretched from her collarbone to her waist, and to say it was ugly would be kind. Her soul mate, whoever he was, would have to fall for her personality first and learn to live with the rest of her.

Trembling now, she donned the prettiest of the summer dresses; it was of Grecian design with spaghetti straps, a plunging neckline and pleats falling from a cinched waist. In front, the skirt hit just above her knees, but in back, the long, sheer train flowed to her ankles. Never had she felt so feminine, not even back in her heyday, and yet there was no way she'd ever wear the dress in public. Too many of her scars showed.

Feminine instincts screamed in protest as she changed into the most modest of her choices. A dress with capped sleeves and a scooped neck. At least the azure material clung to her curves.

She placed her hand on the knob, noticed she wasn't trembling as badly and perked up. The girls might have been coerced into helping her, but they were here, and they weren't setting the place on fire. Hope filled her as she exited the bedroom, her step lighter than it had been in years.

* * *

T
HAT
 
NIGHT
, B
ECK
 
sat in his new chair—a plush black leather beast he'd had delivered and placed by the window in his bedroom. He peered outside. The moon was high and round, but also eerie as clouds swept past, obscuring the stars, offering no light to illuminate the RV parked in the front yard.

What did Harlow think of the clothing he'd purchased for her? What did she favor? What did she have on right this very second?

He would not be finding out.

I want a relationship
, she'd shouted at him earlier today.

He squeezed the arms of the chair. She wanted the one thing he couldn't give her. And with the dreaded
R
word now in play, his desire for her should have cooled at last. Commit to one person? Trust one person to stick with him through even the worst of times? Hell, no. Never. But his desire
hadn't
cooled. It clawed at his insides even more diligently, desperate to be let off its leash.

He should have made a play for Kimberly. She might be too nice, and his tastes might run toward spicy, but she was a woman and they could have had fun. He could have experienced a moment of pleasure without drama or worry. Instead, he'd politely kissed her knuckles and left her at her hotel door. His body, the traitor, wasn't interested in a substitute for Harlow. Which made no damn sense!

Part of him hated the black-haired witch for doing this to him, for making him feel twisted up and wrung out. Turmoil sucked ass. He'd had enough of it in his childhood.

And damn it! He should have cut Harlow out of his life the first time he'd experienced a blip of unease. He should have done everything in his power to return to the way things used to be. The way he needed them to be. His life had been fine without her. Easy and uncomplicated, just the way he liked.

But he hadn't cut her out, and he now had a new reality. One where his every mood revolved around a woman he craved more than water to drink. It scared the hell out of him. It unnerved and panicked him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could go on like this.

With a grunt, he kicked the wall in front of him, leaving a crack behind. Harlow had changed more than his desires. She'd changed his oldest rule: don't do anything to draw the attention of law enforcement. While she'd tried on her new clothes, he'd finally paid a visit to Scott Cameron, and the conversation had nearly ended in assault and battery.

“Stay away from Harlow Glass,” Beck had said the moment the guy opened his front door. They were roughly the same height, though Beck had him by at least fifty pounds of muscle—and a whole hell of a lot of skill. Cameron knew it, probably noticed the scars on his knuckles as he stroked two fingers over his jaw. “You don't, and I'll make you regret it.”

Cameron had sneered at him. “You chasing after her now, city boy?”

“She works for me, and I protect what's mine. I saw the way you pushed her, and if it happens again, you won't be walking away. You may not even be crawling.”