Of course, that's when her fears had peeked out of the mire, and she'd ruined everything. The sooner she slept with him, the sooner their relationship focused on sex rather than intimacy. Their late-night chats would end. The quiet moments of teasing and learning--the moments she craved with every fiber of her being--would be gone forever.
When he emerged from the bathroom, he wore a white T-shirt and dark ripped jeans. He looked so young and beautiful, a model fresh off the runway.
"I'm happy to report I have the next two days off," she said, toying with the hem of her shirt.
He ran a towel through his hair, his gaze landing anywhere but on her. "I heard."
Nervousness mule-kicked her stomach. He hadn't been this standoffish since they'd called off their breakup. "You've been spending more and more time here, helping me clean rooms--" a fact that still thrilled her "--so why don't we go to your office this morning? You can get caught up and I can finish my sketches."
Still he didn't face her. "Good idea."
"Afterward, I'll have to go to Brook Lynn and Jessie Kay's house to finally paint the mural I owe them."
"Not a problem."
Short and sweet answers were not his style, and it made her even more nervous. She hesitated for a moment. "Tomorrow is the Berryween Festival. Would you like to... I don't know...go with me, even though I don't have a costume?"
"Sure." He sat at the edge of the bed and pulled on his shoes.
How enthusiastic he hadn't sounded.
She showered and, wanting to look her best, dressed in one of the summer dresses Beck had returned to her. The ice-blue beauty with a deep V-neck and flirty skirt. She forwent a sweater, despite the cooler temperature, no longer concerned by her scars. She was what she was, and Beck liked her--but he didn't give her the usual heated once-over, didn't speak to her as he escorted her to the office, and it made her nervous. He didn't even speak to her as he worked or afterward when he drove her to Brook Lynn's house.
"What's wrong?" Brook Lynn asked when she entered.
At last Beck focused on her, watching her intently, waiting for her answer.
She merely offered a half smile. Won't lie, but won't admit the truth, either. "Did you get all the paints and brushes from the RV?"
"I sure did. Well, Jase did," Brook Lynn said. "We have a system. I want, he procures."
Jase, who sat on the couch in the living room, flipping channels on the TV, nodded. "Through any means necessary."
Brook Lynn beamed. "I'm awarding you ten points for giving the perfect response."
"I think I deserve twenty," he said.
"Then I'll have to deduct five for silly thinking."
He snorted.
"What does he do with these points?" Harlow asked in a whisper.
The feisty blonde waggled her brows, and something deep inside Harlow contracted. Sex. Of course. But that kind of game was okay for them to play, because Jase loved Brook Lynn with all his heart, and he wouldn't allow the romance to die just because they were intimate.
"Come on. I'll show you where I want the mural." Brook Lynn led her into the hallway, where the borders had already been taped and the floor covered in plastic. "Now you can tell me what's wrong," she said, moving in front of Harlow.
"Well, for starters, I'm a mess," she admitted softly. "I told Beck I wanted to stop having sex while we got to know each other better, but everything I learn makes me like and admire him more, and I love him so much but don't want to tell him and scare him away, and I don't want to lose him, but what if I sleep with him like I really want to do, I mean really, really want to do, but I lose him anyway because we stop snuggling and talking, and all we can think about is sex, and what if--"
Brook Lynn slapped her hand over Harlow's mouth. "Oh, wow. I would introduce you to Run On Sentence, but I see you've already met." Her hand fell away and she said, "That guy is crazy about you. But, no, you can't control what he does, feels or thinks. You can only control what you do. If you really love him that much, don't let fear make your choices for you. It's only ruining the time you have together. Start actually living. Otherwise you'll look back and wonder why you didn't enjoy the time you did have together. And physical intimacy doesn't preclude emotional intimacy. Not when true, heartfelt emotions are involved. Have a little trust in the man. And yourself! You won't let the snuggles and talking end."
"That's actually a good point."
"Duh. That's the only kind I have."
Bottom line: Harlow had to stop making her choices based on how she assumed Beck would react and start making the right choices for herself.
"Okay," she said with a nod. "All right. I'm going to go for it, and if everything blows up in my face, I'll blame you and seek revenge. Now get lost so I can paint your mural and then seduce the man of my dreams."
*
BECK SHIFTED ON the couch for the thousandth time. Harlow had been painting for several hours, and he missed her the way he would have missed a hand, as if she had somehow become a necessary part of him. Maybe she had. Hell, she definitely had.
"Women adore romance," Brook Lynn suddenly announced. She and Jase were on the couch as well, cuddling together in the far corner, their dog asleep in Brook Lynn's lap. "Did you know that, Beck?"
"Since I'm pretty sure I've dated more of them than you have, I'm going to go with yes."
"You haven't dated and you haven't romanced. You've screwed. Do you get what I'm saying?" she asked.
"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."
"Being romantic means cuddling. Sharing secrets."
He looked to Jase and sighed. "Where is she going with this?"
His friend shrugged. "Got me. I'm not a detective for the mysteries of women. I'd have more luck as a unicorn wrangler."
Brook Lynn slapped Beck's shoulder. "Just stop and think. You're known as the one-and-done man. Now, while you aren't sleeping with your girlfriend, you're romancing her. But what happens when you start sleeping with her again? The romance goes away. At least in her mind, it does."
Well, well. Harlow had clearly confided in Brook Lynn. He liked that she had a friend, but did not like the fact that she hadn't told him. Instead, she'd pulled away last night, choosing to be alone with her fears while stoking his.
And okay. He hadn't confided his fears to her, either. Instead, he'd internalized his hurt and snapped answers at her all day.
"Do you still feel like you're being kept in a cage?" Brook Lynn asked.
"Cage?" Jase asked.
"Still harping on the cage." Beck heaved a weighty sigh. "Perhaps it's time for you to get over it, considering you were never actually invited inside it."
"Who's in a cage?" Jase demanded.
"Besides, maybe I've been a good little schoolboy," Beck said, ignoring his friend. "Maybe I've learned a lesson."
"What? That feelings aren't so bad?" she asked.
"Hardly. If I'm going to feel, I have to make damn sure she does, too."
Brook Lynn leveled an evil grin on him. "I'm looking forward to the day you realize your cage has been filled with all of us all along." Before he could reply, she added, "Now I'm changing the subject, and you're letting me. Are you going to the Berryween Festival tomorrow?"
"Yes." His next official date with Harlow.
"Jase and I are going as Adam and Eve. What about you and Harlow?"
"We're going as Beck and Harlow."
Brook Lynn snorted. "Be serious."
"I am."
Horrified, she said, "Wow. I know you guys are new to town and everything, and you have no idea how things actually work around here, but seriously. I had no idea you sucked such giant donkey balls."
Beck glared at his friend. "Are you going to let your woman talk to me that way?"
"Yes" was Jase's only response.
Laughing, Brook Lynn kissed the guy on the mouth. "I love you."
"Not as much as I love you."
Beck's chest constricted with some unnameable emotion. Disgust--h
ad to be disgust. "Let's shut up and watch TV."
"Let's!" With a bubbliness that irritated him, Brook Lynn clapped and said, "I've been storing episodes of The Walking Dead. We can marathon, and I can teach you how to survive the coming apocalypse."
*
ANOTHER FEW HOURS passed before Harlow finally rounded the corner. Beck had to shake his head to clear away images of blood and gore from the TV show, and the clenching he'd experienced earlier returned, only worse, his heart curling up like a fist and banging against his ribs. Definitely wasn't because of disgust. Splatters of paint marred Harlow's lashes, arms and clothes, her skin flushed a lovely rose.
Her gaze skittered to him, an almost shy smile lighting her face.
"All done?" he asked.
"I am. Want to see?"
"Me! Me!" Brook Lynn jumped to her feet and clapped, waking the dog. Sparkles barked as his mommy rushed forward and grabbed Harlow's wrist. "I do!"
"The paint is still wet. You can look, but don't touch," Harlow said.
Currently the story of my life.
Brook Lynn raced past her and into the hall, where she squealed like a little girl who'd just found the present of her dreams underneath the Christmas tree.
Harlow, who'd remained in place, released a relieved breath, twin spots of pleasure darkening her cheeks. "I wasn't sure she'd like it. I mean, I know she asked for zombies on the wall, but I thought she'd realize her horrible mistake when she spotted all the blood and guts."
Jase smiled, his affection clear. "My girl is weird."
"You're just jealous I have a plan for the zombie apocalypse and you don't," Brook Lynn called. "Now I have the perfect wall for practicing expert slaying techniques."
"You're right, angel. I'm jealous," Jase called back. "Twenty more points?"
Harlow met Beck's gaze as he straightened. Her pupils expanded as she took a step toward him. "You ready to go?"
He held out his hand and, without a moment's hesitation, she twined her fingers with his.
He nodded to his friend on the way out, then helped Harlow into the car. Night had long since fallen, the moon half-hidden by clouds with no stars in sight.
Trees whizzed by as he sped down the road. "We need to talk, baby."
"I know," she replied softly.
"We haven't been honest with each other, and it's putting a strain on us both."
"You've lied to me?"
"No. Absolutely not." He frowned at her. "You should know better."
Her shoulders hunched in, and she rubbed at her face. "You're right. I'm sorry."
Better. "If this relationship is going to work, you have to tell me when you're scared about something. And I have to tell you the same. We have to rely on each other, Harlow, not on outside parties."
"Yes. You're right, again." She peered down at her hands, twisting the fabric of her skirt. "I wanted to be with you last night, so badly I nearly couldn't breathe."
"Why did you stop me?" He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it.
"I was so afraid we'd have sex and the talking and sharing I've come to love so much would stop. And I worry the lack will be the death knell of our relationship."
"In case you haven't noticed," he said, tenderness welling in his chest, "I've enjoyed the talking and sharing, too."
"Really?"
"Really. You are ridiculous and weird, frustrating and challenging."
"Hey," she said with a frown.
"But you are the most entertaining person I've ever met and everything I learn about you makes me lo--like you more." No damn way he'd almost dropped the L bomb.
"That's good," she said, "because I'd rather die than give up that part of our relationship."
He reached over, cupped her leg just above her knee where the dress had ridden up to reveal a mile of succulent thigh. "Our relationship means a lot to me, too, baby."
Moonlight glinted off crystalline blue irises he couldn't help but fall in.
Honk.
A flash of another car's lights. Driving. Right.
"You just said the R word without vomiting. I'm impressed," she said. "But you mentioned fears of your own."
He nodded. "The more you come to mean to me, the more I'm certain I'm going to lose you, and I hate it. If you leave me, Harlow..."
"Now you're thinking the worst of me. You won't lose me, Beck. I'm yours for the taking." She unbuckled again and leaned over to nibble on his ear. "Pull over, and let me prove it."
He let go of her knee to grip the wheel, his knuckles soon bleaching of color. "Are you sure?"
He could feel her nod against his skin. "I want you, and I don't want to wait."
He whipped the car to the side of the road, edged deeper into the trees. When the engine died, the dash lights faded, darkness sweeping over them. Their deep, panting breaths filled the car, a fine film already rising over the windows.
"I can't ever get enough of you." He lifted her over the console, and as she straddled his waist, he said, "I want you so much I probably need therapy."
"How about immersion therapy?" She rubbed against him, pulling a ragged groan from him. "Get inside me. I've been so empty without you."
He was already hard as a rock, but her words careened him toward the edge, affecting him more intensely than the touch of any other woman. "I don't want you empty, baby." He wedged a hand inside her panties and found her hot and damp. Perfect.
She tugged at his fly, the heat of her palm meeting his swollen flesh. He could only rasp out a tattered, "I want you on the pill soon."
"Yes. Tomorrow."
He shucked his jeans to his knees and yanked down the top of her dress, freeing her breasts. He tore at her panties, saying, "I'll buy you new ones." As he thrust a finger deep inside her, he crashed his mouth into her. Fire raged in his blood, flickered over his skin.
Desire shouldn't be this ferocious, this consuming. He'd always been able to walk away at any time, naked or not, inside a woman or not. But he couldn't walk away this time, didn't want to. He had to get inside Harlow, had to fill her, brand her, lay siege to her. Lay claim. His life depended on it.
In the shadows, her eyes glittered like diamonds as she pulled away to say, "Where's the condom?"
"Pocket."
Next thing he knew, she was digging inside it. A moment after that, the sound of foil being ripped masked his panting breaths. She arched back long enough to roll the latex down his swollen length, every touch propelling him to a new level of need.
He gripped her hair, stilled despite the agony, and peered into her eyes. "We're together officially, Harlow. Say it."
Melting over him, she nipped at his bottom lip. "We're together. Now...always."
"Always," he echoed, and gripped her hips, placed her at his erection's tip, and thrust up while she drove down on him. There was a moment of sweet relief, her inner walls clenching him with wet heat, and he knew he was finally where he belonged. But the relief didn't last long, the relentless madness coming back to haunt them both.
"Beck." She dug her nails into his scalp and kissed him, hard and dirty, taking his mouth the way he was taking her body--laying claim.
He swallowed her moans, her sweet little purrs that sounded both pained and carnal. Bracing her knees wider at his waist, she took control of the rhythm, hard and fast, using him for her pleasure, and he loved it. Loved the feel of her. Loved the strawberries-and-cream smell of her. Loved--his mind shied away from his next thought, even as his body edged ever closer to satisfaction because of it.
Refusing to go off first, he worked his hand between them. When he reached her drenched center, he pressed. She cried out, began to rub in seeking circles against him, just to get closer. And when up and down failed to do a good enough job, she rotated her hips left and right, the pressure on his swollen shaft absolute perfection.
"Beck...faster..."
"That's it, baby. That's the way." Harder and harder he pressed against her.
What began as a little
tremor soon swept through her like an avalanche. She came, shouting his name, and with a roar, he followed her over the edge, pouring his climax into the condom.
He wasn't sure how long they quaked together, or how long passed before they calmed, but he cherished every second. He held her so tightly he was almost afraid he was hurting her. Almost.
"That was..."
"Only the beginning," he finished for her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
GOING DAYS WITHOUT physical intimacy with Beck, all because Harlow had feared their relationship would fall apart afterward, had been stupid. Beck was right. They had to trust each other, and they had to share with each other. They wouldn't survive otherwise.
After their explosive encounter in the car, he drove her to the farmhouse. He led her into his private bathroom, where they showered, cuddled in bed together, and talked in hushed, secret tones.
"Since you can't ride my nonexistent mustache everywhere," he said, "what kind of car would you like? And don't tell me a car is too expensive a gift to--"
"Please. I like gifts. Gimme. But a car is a car. I don't care what kind."
He made a noise of disbelief. "A car is not a car, Miss Glass. You take that back right now."
"Never!" She squealed when he tickled her, finally admitting, "I don't even have a driver's license."
"What?" he demanded, and she shrugged.
"I had one, but I let it expire in high school and never got it renewed."
"You have a reason to get it renewed now."
And the funds, apparently. "True, but I haven't driven in years. I'll endanger the entire town."
"Just means you need to practice. You can drive us to the Berryween Festival."
"You'll be placing your life in my hands."
His eyelids grew heavy, hooding the dark, carnal gaze underneath. "Baby, there's no place else I'd rather be."
She curled around him, resting her head on his shoulder, drawing little hearts over, well, his heart. "I'll keep you safe. I was only in, like, six fender benders back then, and only, like, five of them were my fault."
He chuckled, his warm breath tickling the top of her head. "I'm feeling safer already. I'm also thinking I should give you a bumper car instead of the key to my Jag."
"No take-backs," she said. "You offered the Jag, so I'm driving it. I've developed a need for speed."