"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
BECK 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 adde
d, "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.
*
WHAT 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.
"You feel so good, Harlow."
He'd said her name rather than a silly endearment, and somehow that was ten thousand times sweeter. He'd just made it clear he knew the woman he held in his arms. He knew who he kissed as if his life depended on it.
"More," she demanded. "Please, more."
"I'll take care of you." He tilted her back and nipped his way along her jaw. He licked and sucked on her neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He laved at her hammering pulse, and she nearly shot off the table. The heat of his mouth on her skin...the wet...
Moaning, purring, she tunneled her fingers through his hair to hold him in place.
"The sounds you make...they're killing me, baby."
Only fair, since parts of her were dying brutal deaths, as well. The loneliness. The heartbreak. The guilt and shame for a past she couldn't redo. Here, now, there was only Beck. And his mouth. And his hands. She existed for pleasure, his pleasure, aching to the point of pain.
Led only by instinct, she had no finesse, no defense as she grabbed hold of his belt and pulled him forward, arching her hips. The long, hard length of him ground into the apex of her thighs, and she gave another low, needy moan.
"You said you'd...take care... Beck, please."
This time, she didn't have to urge him physically. He ground against her again and again, every point of contact making her gasp and plead for more. If he decided to rip away her panties and take her here and now, she would let him. It didn't matter that anyone could walk in on them. Didn't matter that they'd had no discussion about what this would mean, or how this would change the foundation of their relationship. She'd reached a place of no...yes, yes...like that...there!
He rocked into her harder, faster, causing the table to inch backward, banging into the wall. One of the pictures rattled, threatening to fall.
"Wrap your legs around me," Beck commanded.
The words yanked her out of the moment. He'd said them before--wrap your legs around me--but not to her... To another woman. To Tawny the night Harlow had broken into his house.
One and done.
She was about to give herself to a man who'd made no promises beyond tonight.
It mattered, she thought, cold realization slapping her. This night would mean something to her, but it would be one night in a long line of nights for him. She would want more--always more--but he would be finished with her. One and done. No excepti
ons. She would have to watch him move on to his next conquest.
Harlow pushed against his chest. He was too strong to budge, but he did lift his head. In the light, his eyes were molten gold, his lips pink, moist and kiss-swollen, and as the tension she'd felt in him revealed fine lines around his eyes, he'd never looked more devastatingly beautiful. A warrior straight from battle, determined to enjoy his prize.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "No. We can't do this."
"We can."
"We shouldn't."
"You want me. I want you. I don't see a problem."
He wouldn't, would he? "You never see a problem, Beck. Not with anyone. And that's a problem for me."
Releasing her as if she'd just sprouted horns and fangs, he ran his tongue over his teeth. A cry of disappointment bubbled in her chest, but she swallowed it back.
"I don't want to have a one-night stand with you," she whispered, wishing she would stop trembling. West wasn't the man for her and never would be--she got that--but neither was Beck, even though he drew her with invisible chains, and oh, crap, the urge to curl into a ball and sob bombarded her.
"We'll enjoy ourselves, Harlow. That I can promise you."
"I know. But to taste what you have to offer and then have it taken away? No," she said, shaking her head. I've lost too much already. "Give me forever, or give me nothing."
He gazed at her with longing.
He gazed at her with terror.
He gazed at her with fury.
He backed a step away, and the nerve endings he'd awakened within her stopped singing, suddenly screaming in protest. They hadn't gotten nearly enough of him. She hadn't gotten enough.
His features shuttered, hiding his emotions. "I don't know what I can give you, but however long we last, it won't be forever. The future is too unpredictable."
"Then it's nothing," she said, tears welling. There was a part of her, deep inside, shouting for her to girl-up and fight for him. Walking away would be easy. Emotionally gut-wrenching, but easy. And really, "easy" would be her only reward. Fighting for him would be difficult, but the potential for payoff would be far greater. But the potential for hurt and failure, losing what little she'd gained in her life... It scared her to the bone.
"It's not enough," she said.
He laughed bitterly. "That's the thing, sweet. I never am."