"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.
*
BECK 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.
"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
WHAT 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 spe
nt 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.