Читать книгу The Hotter You Burn - Gena Showalter - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTHE NEXT DAY, Beck had a meeting in Oklahoma City. He decided to use the opportunity to find a new distraction.
He’d tossed and turned all night, his mind a volcano of activity. He knew he wasn’t good enough for long-term anything with anybody, but Harlow had taken it to a whole other level by refusing to be seen in public with him. She’d actually run away from him.
He wished he’d never seen the photos of her, wished he’d never spied her across the road yesterday, looking adorable with dirt streaked on her cheeks and arms, her hair so black it gleamed blue in the sunlight, her skin rosy, the smattering of freckles more evident than usual. She’d been fan-freaking-tastically adorable. A Country Girl Gone Wild fantasy he hadn’t known he’d had.
Her white shirt had been so thin, so damp with perspiration, he’d seen the outline of her bra. A sensible white cotton somehow sexier than red lace just because it nestled against her. It hadn’t helped when her nipples puckered before his eyes.
Desire for her had come swift and sharp, strong enough to make him crazy, to make him pant like a dog. His mouth had watered at the thought of tasting her, and his hands had itched to touch her. If she’d given him any encouragement at all, he would have gladly spent the rest of the day feasting on her.
But she hadn’t encouraged him, and now he was glad. Harlow Glass was nothing like the women he usually pursued; she wasn’t looking for a good time, and she wouldn’t go quietly in the morning. She’d already expressed curiosity about his past and would have demanded stories about his childhood as soon as she’d told stories about her own.
She was a complication he didn’t need, so, he’d find someone else. Easily. And he’d do it today.
The pencil in his hand snapped in half.
Dane Michaelson’s newest assistant... Sarah? Samantha? Whatever. She rushed over to pick up the pieces and give him a new one. He looked her over. She was understated but pretty, with brown hair and piercing green eyes. Not that it mattered. A woman was a woman. And he could have this one. She would take him however she could get him, and for the few hours he spent between her legs, he could fool himself into believing everything was okay. No thoughts. No problems. No worries, he reminded himself. Only pleasure.
He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Good. This was good. This was familiar.
“That will be all, Sasha,” Dane said. “Thank you.”
She sauntered out of the office, casting Beck a final peek over her shoulder. He winked at her.
“You surprise me. Flirting? At a business meeting?” Dane sat across from him, relaxed behind an elaborate desk constructed from salvaged wood. For a billionaire oil tycoon, he was absurdly young. Twenty-eight, Beck’s age. They’d known each other for...what? Close to six years now? Though they’d merely traded phone calls up until recently.
The guy had grown up in Strawberry Valley and even though he’d moved to the big, bad city for a number of years, he’d never been able to cut ties with his hometown, even tattooing his arms with wild strawberries.
“And now you ignore me,” Dane muttered. “We’ve been sitting in silence for a full ten minutes. You want to tell me about the new security program or not? That is the reason you’re here, isn’t it?”
“We both know you’re going to buy it no matter what I say. West does quality work and you won’t find a better system anywhere else.”
“Can we at least pretend to negotiate?”
“No. I’d rather talk about Harlow Glass. Do you know her?” Damn it. What happened to washing his hands of her?
What the hell made her so special? Yes, he’d seen pictures of her during childhood. Yes, he had an insane need to know more about the girl she’d been and the woman she’d become. But this seeming obsession with her did not fit his character.
“Know?” Dane said. “No. Know of? Yes. She went from shy and sugar-sweet to barbwire-mean overnight, eventually becoming the meanest girl in elementary school.” He worked his jaw. “She used to make Kenna cry.”
Kenna, Dane’s fiancée, was as tough as nails, so it was hard to imagine her breaking down, and equally hard to imagine Harlow the wannabe stripper as a school-yard terror. But then, most people probably didn’t look at him and see a murderer.
Dane eyed him thoughtfully. “Why the interest in her?”
“She and I have unfinished business.” He offered no more, his feelings too personal—too raw. “What else do you know about her?”
“Not much. I once overhead Kenna and Brook Lynn talking about her, and from what I gathered, she dropped out of public school her junior year in favor of being homeschooled and after that, she rarely left her house.” Dane leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen against the edge of his desk. “I must admit, your curiosity surprises me more than anything else.”
“Why?”
“For the first time in our history, you’ve turned a business meeting into a personal gabfest.”
He had, hadn’t he? Damn it! It was a small change, but a change nonetheless.
He adjusted his tie before standing a little too swiftly. “All right. Meeting adjourned. I’ll tell West you want his new program as soon as possible, and you’ll be paying full asking price.”
“You could at least give me the friendship discount.”
“Full asking price is the friendship discount. Everyone else will have to pay double.” He strode out of the office before he did something stupid, like ask more questions about Harlow.
The assistant spotted him and leaped to her feet, smoothing her skirt. “Leaving so soon, Mr. Ockley?”
Not just the perfect distraction, he decided, but the perfect means to an end. Harlow wasn’t anything special to him, and she wouldn’t usher in any more changes; he would prove it. “Now that my eyes are on you,” he said, leaning against the counter in front of her, “leaving is the last thing on my mind.”
She batted her lashes at him, playfully twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “Thank you. I’m flattered.”
“Then I’m pleased.” But was he? He’d said the words by rote, with a definite lack of enthusiasm. Where was his enjoyment? His sense of victory?
Or was this yet another change to place at Harlow’s door?
“Will you have dinner with me?” he asked, his hands fisting.
Green eyes widened, a cherry-red mouth forming a small O. “I... Yes. When?”
“How about tonight? The sooner I see you again the better.” That he meant with every fiber of his being.
She practically hummed with excitement as she rattled off her digits.
“I’ll be counting the minutes.”
By the time Beck made it home, the farmhouse was empty. West was at the office, while Brook Lynn and Jase were out delivering sandwiches for her catering business, You’ve Got It Coming.
Beck threw his briefcase on his bedroom floor and sank into the chair in front of his desk, where pictures of Harlow were scattered. He went still. Sad ocean-water eyes stared up at him, holding his gaze captive, silently beseeching him to help...to save. His gut knotted. He was no one’s savior. He was too screwed up.
Look at him. He bounced from moment to moment without any thought for the future. He broke into a sweat at the mere thought of commitment. He had an all-consuming hatred for change. His first sexual experience had been with a married maternal figure. He’d helped kill a man in a fistfight, and then allowed his best friend to rot in prison for nine years.
Beck anchored his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his upraised hands. Clearly he needed someone to save him.
As if he could be saved.
But...maybe it wasn’t too late for Harlow. While he wasn’t a savior, there were things even a guy like him could do to help. Like set her up financially, maybe even move her into the city where she wouldn’t be reviled at every turn. And bonus for him: she would be out of sight, out of mind.
Yes. He picked up the landline and started making calls, putting the wheels in motion to set up a trust in Harlow’s name, telling his real estate agent what kind of home to search for in Oklahoma City. Then he called West.
“You in front of a computer?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.
“Are you a top contender for banging the most women in any given year?”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Work your magic and tell me how Harlow Glass has been making money.” To survive as long as she had, she had to be bringing in a little cash from somewhere.
“All right.” Fingers click-clacked over a keyboard, one minute bleeding into another. “Okay, this is strange.”
“What?”
“My superpower is finding information—nice trust you’re setting up for her, by the way—but I can’t locate Harlow’s place of employment. Or where she’s been staying. She has no known address and hasn’t paid taxes. She has zero credit cards and no checking account. She doesn’t have a tag registered for a vehicle.”
Damn. “Thanks, West.”
“Anytime, my man. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“No worries. Just...do me a solid and keep digging.” He hung up, mind racing. Where the hell was Harlow staying? How was she getting around? How was she eating?
The answer to that last one seemed an unequivocal she wasn’t, and for a moment, his vision went black, rage boiling to the surface. No one should have to live that way, and whether Harlow liked it or not, he wasn’t going to stand for it in her case.
* * *
LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Beck was ready for a straitjacket and a padded room. They’d make a nice vacation. Harlow hadn’t shown up to work on the garden that morning, and he’d had no luck finding her in town. He’d asked around, but no one had seen her. A couple of people had offered to round up a lynch mob and go hunting for her, and he’d had to curb the urge to respond with his fists. She seemed to have disappeared into the ether.
Now he racked the balls on one of the most expensive pool tables ever made, the outer shell a limited edition 1965 Shelby GT 350. Normally he took great care with every inch of it. My precious. Today, he wanted to rip out the felt and pull the metal and wood apart piece by piece.
His date with Sandra...Sally?...could have made a Worst Ever list. He’d thought about Harlow all evening, wondering where she was and what she was doing. Frustrated with the lack of answers, he’d turned up the heat with S girl until she’d practically begged him to stay the night at her place. There was no better distraction than sex, but as she’d undressed, his mind had returned to Harlow yet again. He’d thought of the nice steak dinner he’d just enjoyed and wondered if she’d had any dinner at all.
Little surprise he’d failed to get an erection while a beautiful woman writhed on his lap.
He’d left without doing the deed, and the humiliation still lingered.
“Your turn,” Jase said, snapping fingers in front of his face.
Beck swiped up his cue and nearly broke the wood in two, so tight was his grip.
“Careful. What’s with you?”
“I’m fine.” No way he’d dump his problems in Jase’s lap. The guy had carried too many burdens for too long. Beck would die before he added another.
“Don’t lie. Not to us.”
The statement came from West, who rose from the bench press Jase had installed earlier in the week. Though he’d built a workout room in the back of the house, more and more equipment was migrating into other areas of the house, allowing anyone in the mood to exercise to spend time with those who weren’t.
Dark locks of hair were plastered to West’s face, and he used the shirt he’d discarded to wipe his brow. Sweat dripped down the ropes of muscle and sinew in his chest, bypassing his only tattoo: the name Tessa etched over his heart.
He snatched the cue from Beck. “Bad boys don’t get to play the greatest game ever invented.”
At six-two—two inches taller than Beck—West was his staunchest competition in the meat market. Not that they’d ever competed. West only dated for two months out of the year, picking one female and staying with her the entire time, only to dump her for some made-up reason when the clock zeroed out.
He had his reasons, so Beck didn’t fault him. “Okay, all right.” Beck held up his hands, palms out. “You got me. I’m not fine, but I will be. There’s no need to worry.”
“We’ll worry if we want to worry,” Jase said. “We haven’t seen you this worked up since you went parking with Kara Bradburry in the tenth grade.”
West barked out a laugh. “Dude. You were so nervous, shaking so hard, you couldn’t even unhook her bra.”
At the time, his only experience had come from a woman more than twice Kara’s age, who’d told him what to do every step of the way.
Great. Now he needed a drink.
He grabbed a beer from the minifridge and downed half. “Like you guys did any better with your dates.” Back then, the three of them had seen nothing wrong with semipublic make-out sessions, because they were teenagers and teenagers were stupid, the males most of all; they had two brains and the one down south usually made the most important life decisions. It went something like: Her. Her. Not her—fine, she’ll do.
West lined up a shot and with his gaze on Beck, sank a solid in the corner pocket. “Let me guess. This is about Harlow Glass.”
Just the mention of her name proved last night’s limp-wood experience had been an anomaly, and it pissed him off as much as it relieved him.
“She’s pretty,” Jase said, his tone conversational.
Pretty? Like calling an ocean a puddle. “She’s gorgeous.”
West straightened and grinned. A genuine grin, and it was good to see. The past few weeks had been rough for him, the anniversary of Tessa’s death taking a toll. “Are you about to wax poetic about Harlow? Because I don’t have bad poetry penciled into my schedule.”
West lived by the clock, and if he had his way, he would die by it, too.
“I wax poetic about nothing,” Beck said. “Except pie. And cake. Maybe cookies in a pinch, but that’s only on a case-by-case basis. Anything with raisins should be stuffed in a box and delivered to hell with Return to Sender stamped over the top.”
Jase snickered. “How’s this for poetry? ‘Roses are red, violets are blue. Beck wants Harlow, I know this to be true.’”
Beck, in the process of lifting the bottle to his mouth, went still, nearly swept away by a tide of shock. Jase hadn’t cracked a joke in damn near forever, and until that moment, Beck hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the playful side of his friend.
“Beck, my man,” Jase said, frowning at him. “Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of mythical creature. Not after I told you to let go of the past. I have.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I freaking love you, that’s all.” Beck set his beer aside and swiped his cue from West. He lined up his own shot...and like a loser, failed to sink a solid. Usually he could win the game blindfolded with both hands tied behind his back.
Yes, he was that good.
“I freaking love you, too.” Jase patted him on the shoulder before going for one of the only remaining stripes. “But I still want you to admit you’re into Harlow.”
Guy didn’t know his own strength and nearly pounded Beck into the floor, but damn if Beck didn’t adore every second of it, the affectionate gesture somehow drilling through all kinds of dark emotion.
“I’m into her, okay,” he said. “Happy now? I’m curious and concerned about her. I can’t get her out of my head.”
“Well, that’s new,” West said.
“You’re telling me. But she wants nothing to do with me.”
“Dude. You sound just like Jase when he first met Brook Lynn.” West hit another shot and of course, two solids flew into their slots. “You’re all ‘woe is me’ with zero nut power. Just suck it up and make a play for her. She’ll fold. They always do.”
Maybe. But then what? He would casually mention he planned to finance the rest of her life, before walking away from her? He would forget her like all the others and move on to his next conquest, his next moment?
That was where things got tricky. He didn’t want to forget her. He wanted to hang around her, wanted the right to check on her anytime the urge hit, to make sure she had everything she needed... Damn it, he wanted the right to protect her.
Protect someone other than himself? Please.
The ache in his chest returned, a pesky fly he couldn’t kill. He wanted her to have what he never would: a happily-ever-after. But as he well knew, money and security could only do so much. Women like her usually wanted more. They dreamed of falling in love, connecting emotionally as well as physically. Something he’d never done and wasn’t even sure he could do.
He saluted his friends with the beer bottle, then drained the contents.
Jase took pity on him and changed the subject. “You’ll be pleased to know Brook Lynn has claimed responsibility for the soccer banquet.”
“We’re in good hands, then.” The best. For the past eight years, Beck and West had financed and coached a soccer team for underprivileged kids, always ending a season with a big blowout celebration. While they loved the interaction, they hated the planning.
“Brook Lynn is pretty much a unicorn at the end of a double rainbow,” West said. “And since we’re on the subject of parties, I should warn you. I got a call from Charlene Burns. She’s in charge of the annual Berryween Festival, some kind of Strawberry Valley play on Halloween. She asked us to set up a booth.”
“For?” Beck asked.
“Kissing. And if not that, anything we want.”
“Someone doesn’t know us very well,” Jase said. “Otherwise she would have given us a ten-page list of restrictions. To start.”
“I told Charlene we wouldn’t be setting up our own booth, but we would be happy to pay for all the booths,” West said, “as long as You’ve Got It Coming is allowed to cater the event exclusively.”
Jase gave West a pat—drill—on the shoulder. “Good man.”
West tried to play it cool, but his ear-to-ear smile gave him away. “You’re just now noticing? You kind of suck.”
The front door creaked open and closed, a patter of footsteps soon following. “Jase?” Brook Lynn called.
His friend lit up so brightly Beck actually had to look away. “Back here, angel.”
The footsteps quickened, and Jase moved forward. The couple met in the doorway, their arms winding around each other automatically. Beck and West shared a moment of unspoken envy, but also of contentment. Jase deserved this kind of happiness and it was amazing to see.
“Finished with your breakfast deliveries?” Jase asked her.
“Finally. We had eleven more than usual.”
“Word is spreading.”
A part of Beck hated the resounding success she’d made of her business. The more she worked, the less time she had to bake for him. Like another casserole named Just for the Halibut. Mine! A selfish mentality, sure, but anyone who’d ever tasted her food would understand.
If only Harlow could bake...
What the hell did that matter?
“By the way,” Brook Lynn said, peeking around Jase. “I saw Harlow Glass in town.”
Beck lost all interest in the game. Not that he’d had any to begin with. “Where is she?”
“Well, well. I thought you might be interested,” she said and shook her head. “I just hoped I was wrong, that you’d—”
Beck spoke over her with a clipped “Where?”
“She was snooping around the library.”
The library again? He raced out of the game room, grabbed his wallet and called, “I’ll be back in a bit.” He didn’t need keys. His car had a push-button start, which activated with his thumbprint.
His friends’ laughter followed him all the way outside, but he didn’t care. He drove so fast he left skid marks on the road, breaking speed records as lush trees, rolling hills and wild strawberry patches whizzed past, nothing but a blur. Only when he reached the town square did he slow to a crawl. Pedestrians strolled along sidewalks, and kids too young for school played chase underneath a large red-and-white-striped umbrella.
Everyone who spotted him smiled and waved, and it did something odd to his insides.
He parked in back of the library, the lot empty. There was no sign of Harlow. If she’d already taken off...well, he might just tear the town apart looking for her. He stormed around to the front—and finally felt as if he could breathe.
She stood at the door, muttering to herself. “I can do this. I can. I have lady balls, and they’re big. Huge.”
He fought a grin. Lady balls?
She hadn’t yet noticed him, so he took a moment to drink her in. The gleam of her dark hair. The glow of her skin, now scrubbed free of dirt, revealing more freckles for him to count...to trace with his tongue. But her cheeks had hollowed a bit, he noticed with a frown. Had she eaten today?
There went what remained of his amusement. She wore another too-thin shirt, and a pair of jean shorts too big for her, bagged low on her waist. Her sandals were frayed at the buckles.
Just how poor was she?
“Harlow,” he said, loving the taste of her name.
Nothing. No reaction from her.
“I can do this,” she muttered.
He closed the distance, ghosted his knuckles over the heated satin of her cheekbone. A mistake. Not only because she gasped and swung toward him, one of her palms fluttering to her chest while the other extended to push him away, but because the contact jacked him up. Made him desperate for another touch. Any touch, as long as it came from her.
Her panic morphed into consternation as his identity clicked. “Beck.” She took a minute to control her accelerated breathing. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here? I’ve come to continue my study on the art of seduction.”
“Please.” Those gorgeous baby blues seemed to cut through a veneer he’d worked years to perfect, reaching the black soul he would have done anything to cleanse. “You’re already an expert, and you know it.”
“So you’ve succumbed to my charms already?” A man could hope.
“Me? Succumb to you? Never!” She flicked her hair over her shoulder, saying defiantly, “You’re like a brother to me.”
Careful to moderate his tone, he said, “Is that why you ran from me yesterday?” He even managed to adopt an indulgent expression as he leaned his shoulder against the doorpost. “Because I’m like a stepbrother you can’t stop dreaming about?”
A pretty blush bloomed in her cheeks and even extended down her neck, under her collar. A blush like that gave him ideas. Bad, bad ideas. “I didn’t run from you,” she admitted, “but from what was going to happen once I passed through those doors.”
Relief drove him to reach for her. He couldn’t have stopped the action if he’d tried—Have to touch her. He twined their fingers, the feel of her skin tantalizing and teasing him. Though she resisted at first, she soon stilled, a tangible spark erupting between them, burrowing into him, whirring through him. He shuddered with awareness and unwittingly erased what remained of her personal space, needing to be closer to her on the most primitive level. To take from her. To give to her.
“Beck?” she whispered, suddenly panting. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t know. He couldn’t seem to control his reactions to her, his body burning for hers.
Frustrated by her—and himself—he released her and stepped back. “You had a shift at the Bungalow last night? Is that why you didn’t come over this morning?”
She rubbed at her wrist, as if she could still feel him there, and it only made him want to touch her longer, harder. “Uh, yep. That’s right. Had trouble with one of the regulars.”
“He get grabby during one of your famous bump-and-grinds?”
“Yeah. Thankfully the bouncers kicked him out before he ever made contact.”
At least she was sticking to her story. “I promise to keep my hands to myself...at least for a little while...if you’ve changed your mind and want to give me that lap dance.”
“Sorry, but I still plan to garden for you. After I learn how to garden.”
“Why not research in the privacy of your own home, on a computer? You do have a computer, don’t you? Or at least a phone with internet access.” Tell me the truth, sweetheart. For once.
“Maybe I just prefer the old-fashioned way. Did you ever think of that?”
A supposition rather than a lie. I’m on to you now, honey. “Let’s go inside, then.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “The librarian hates me for something I did as a teenager.”
“Ah. Fixing public relations problems just happens to be my specialty.” He flung his arm over her shoulders, ignored the rightness of having her softness pressed against his hardness once again and urged her forward. “Give me five minutes, and she’ll love you.”
“Impossible,” Harlow said, but this time she allowed him to lead her past the door.
He felt the sweet intensity of her gaze lingering on his profile, and like everything else about her, it affected him deeply. “What will you give me if I succeed?”
“My eternal gratitude.”
“Well, that’s certainly a good start.”
The room was small and crammed with dozens of shelves. The scent of old books and dust assailed him as a short, round woman with silver streaks in her slicked-back hair walked around the checkout desk with the precision of a military commander. Glasses hung around her neck, bouncing with her every step.
“Harlow Glass.” Her features pinched with displeasure. “You are not welcome here. You’ve been told repeatedly not to darken—”
“Ms. Cavanaugh,” Beck said, reading the name tag pinned to the collar of her dress. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you.” He claimed her hand, kissed her knuckles. “Had I known a woman such as yourself guarded these precious tomes, I would have come much sooner.”
“Yes. Well.” She cleared her throat and returned her attention to Harlow. “You know you’re not supposed to—”
“I hope you don’t mind our intrusion, but Harlow hoped to take a moment of your valuable time and sincerely apologize for any and all trouble she once caused you,” he interjected smoothly. “As a woman who values knowledge, I know you’ll be interested in hearing what she has to say.”
Different emotions played over the older woman’s features, but in the end she nodded stiffly. “Very well. Speak.”
Harlow did just that. “I am so, so sorry for organizing a Students Against Stupid Books protest ten years ago. Someone caught me reading a romance novel, and I was embarrassed. The protest was my way of earning cool points, but I felt like I needed to shower on the inside the entire time, especially while the books were burning. Books are awesome. Go books!”
Students Against Stupid Books? Dude.
“Yes, well. Time will prove all truths,” Ms. Cavanaugh said, the starch staying with her.
“That it will.” Beck gave her knuckles another kiss. “Harlow, honey, why don’t you tell Ms. Cavanaugh about the books you’d like to read and treasure.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Ms. Cavanaugh placed her glasses on the bridge of her nose and stared up at him. “As Harlow is aware, she is forever banned from having a library card. I cannot change our policies. No card, no books.”
“I understand,” Beck said with an indulgent smile, “which is why we’ll put the books on my card. After I fill out the proper paperwork, of course.”
Several beats of silence passed before the librarian gave another stiff nod. “I hope you know what you’re doing, young man.”
As she walked away, Harlow peered up at him, wide-eyed with awe. “Beck,” she whispered, and threw her arms around him, hugging him.
He didn’t hug her back, not at first. The softness of her breasts pressed against his chest, and an instant blast of heat suffused him, his entire body practically going up in flames.
“Thank you. You’re the best. Thank you,” she repeated.
Slowly he wound his arms around her and held on tight, probably too tight, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Anytime, sweetheart.” The hoarseness of his tone embarrassed him. When he began to tremble like a puss, he knew he had to end the contact. He set her away with a swift, almost jarring movement and cleared his throat.
A bell tinkled over the door, saving him from having to come up with an excuse for his behavior, and a feminine voice suddenly called out, “Beck! You’re really here.” An attractive brunette strolled toward him, grinning. “I noticed your car out back and came in to say hi.”
How did he know her?
Well, one guess. “Hey, pretty.” He winked, reassured as he sank back into an old habit.
Harlow snorted. “While we’re here, you might want to check out a few books on the consequences of he-sluttery.”
“You mean extreme fun and temporary pleasure?”
Her mouth curled with distaste. “When it comes to matters of the heart, the only thing you should want to be temporary is an STD.”
Deep down, he’d known she would balk at anything fleeting. Now he had to bite the inside of his cheek to combat a blistering surge of something akin to disappointment.
The brunette reached him, scowling at Harlow before schooling her features and raking her nails down his tie. “A few weeks ago you asked me out. Do you remember?”
“Do you really think I could forget?” he replied smoothly, still drawing a blank.
She shook her head, relieved, and said, “At the time, I told you no, but I’ve regretted it ever since.”
The words jogged his memory. That’s right. She’d played hard to get, turning him down flat, and he’d moved on to someone else. No harm, no foul.
“You two deserve each other. I hope you’re happy...temporarily.” Harlow kept her attention squarely on Beck, glaring daggers at him. “Meanwhile, I’ll be outside. I’ll give you ten minutes to get your card and whatever books you want me to follow while tending your garden, and then I’m gone. I have places to be.”
He didn’t want her to leave, didn’t want her out of his sight, but he said, “If you want to leave, leave. I won’t stop you.” Not now, not ever.
As he spoke, the brunette linked her arm through his, a clear attempt to stake a claim. He almost shook off her hold, but the feeling was so new, so unexpected—so different—he locked his limbs in place.
Harlow looked from him to the girl, the girl to him, the severity he’d noticed in the later-childhood pictures soon masking her features. “Forget the books, and screw you,” she spat, turning toward the door. “Screw you both.”
He knew. In that moment, he knew beyond any doubt. She liked him, and not as a brother. Jealousy was the only reason she would lash out this sharply.
“Harlow,” he called.
“What?” she snapped.
“Stay close. I’ll be coming for you.”
