The Hotter You Burn (17 page)

She stumbled back as if he'd kicked her, the color draining from her face, leaving her pale and waxen. “You and Brook Lynn think...” A wealth of hurt peered at him as she floundered for a response. “You want me to be with someone else? Already?”

Never!
he almost snarled. He hated the thought of her with someone else, and there was a good chance the guy would end up in the hospital before all was said and done. “I want you happy. You deserve to be happy. This is for the best.”

Hurt gave way to anger. “Whose best?”

“Well, it sure the hell isn't mine,” he shouted, then immediately hung his head in shame. He had no right to yell at her. Blame rested on his shoulders, and his alone. “I'm sorry.”

“Stuff your sorry.” She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

No. No way in hell was he leaving her like this. “If you don't want another man, don't be with another man. But—”

“Out!”

He shook his head, desperate to get through to her. “I'm not leaving until you give me what you promised. Your secret.”

“I'm not telling you anything,” she spat.

“You promised.”

“That was before I knew your plan to pawn me off on someone else.”

Ripped apart inside, he said, “If I could commit, it would be with you, Harlow. I've never wanted a woman the way I want you, but I'm just not hardwired that way. I can't do a relationship, I don't want a family. You still want those things—right?”

She was silent for a moment. Slowly, she nodded.

Her agreement wasn't a surprise, but was still somehow a blow he hadn't been prepared to take. “Like I said, I can't give those things to you.” He hated those words. They were final. The end of this, whatever it was. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her to forget he'd said anything.

But he didn't. Love and lose. It was the story of his life. Even if he could love her, he couldn't stand to lose her.

Harlow opened her mouth, closed it. Silent, she studied his features for a long while. Whatever she saw removed the starch from her shoulders.

“Do you think you'll cheat on me?” she asked.

“No! I know I wouldn't. I know the toll infidelity takes on everyone involved, and I will never be a part of it. But I won't put myself in a position to be responsible for someone else's happiness.”

“I'm responsible for my own happiness.”

She said that, probably even believed it, but he would one day do something to upset her, and she would regret being with him. She would leave him. “Your secret,” he insisted.

“You never want to talk about anything else,” she snapped.

“Tell me what happened to you, and I'll stop asking.”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“No!”

“Damn it, Harlow. Tell me! You owe me.”

She glared at him, her chest rising and falling so quickly he feared she would faint. “You really want to know? Fine! Someone threw gasoline on me and lit a match.”

She'd been
set on fire
? “Harlow,” he said, her name nothing but a broken whisper. He reached for her.

“No! Keep your sympathy,” she spat, jolting back. “I don't want it.”

“Too bad. Your stupid pride can't comfort you—but I can.”

“You? How can you comfort me, Beck? Right now, you're my tormentor.”

He bit back a curse. “Tell me who hurt you.” He would find the guy. The girl. Whoever. What happened after that, happened.

The anger drained from her, and she wrapped her arms around her middle. “My mom and I went shopping in Dallas. I always wanted to shop back then. Had to keep up appearances, you know.” She gave a bitter laugh. “If I wasn't the best, I wasn't happy. But I wasn't happy, anyway. I was rude to everyone that day, as usual. The salesgirls. Our waiter when we had lunch. Even my mom. It was as we were walking back to our car. The sidewalk was so crowded. People were everywhere, and someone bumped into me, knocking me back. I felt a splash of something wet, then a searing pain on my stomach. I fell backward and rammed into someone else and was pushed farther back, getting lost in the crowd, the burning only growing worse. Then people started shouting and running all around me. My mom tried to get to me, but there were too many in the way. I fell, and people ran over me, crushing me, but they put out the flames, at least.”

“Did you see who did it?”

“No, but I can guess. Someone I'd wronged that day.”

Not good enough. He wanted a name, and if it took him the rest of his life, he'd get one. There were ways. “Tell me what happened next.”

“The crowd cleared and my mom finally reached me. She had worked with Dr. Vargus for years, Strawberry Valley's only doctor up until two years ago when Dr. Chastain came along. The two got me patched up as best they could and set me up with a specialist to do the skin grafts. We decided not to talk to the police because Mom feared I would be crucified, told I deserved it. Because I did.”

“No,” he said, furious on her behalf. “You didn't.”

Maybe she suspected just how close he was to yanking her against him, because she moved to the door, twisted the knob. “Now you know my secret. You can go.”

“Harlow—”

“I won't be going into work today. I'm taking the day off.”

“Fine, but you're not quitting.” They weren't together, but he still couldn't stand the thought of losing her. Not yet.

Not ever.

“I didn't say I was quitting, just that I was taking a day off.”

“Okay. All right.” He owed her that much, at least. “But I want you to carry your phone everywhere you go. Before you argue, don't. You may not be at the office, but you'll still be on call.”

“Fine.”

“And we
are
going to finish this conversation.”

“You mean the one where you tell me you'll be setting me up with other guys?” Her voice held a thousand notes of bitterness, one of fury and countless of hurt.

He ground his teeth, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes.”

“Great. I can't wait. Now get the hell out.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

H
ARLOW
 
GATHERED
 
HER
 
paints and trudged the short distance to her childhood home. With Beck and West at the office, and Jase off somewhere with Brook Lynn, the place was empty. She was certain her key would fail, that she'd have resort to tossing a rock through a window, but she decided to give it a try anyway.
Click.

Shocked, some of her anger draining—this had to mean something, right?—she headed straight to her old room, which was saturated with a scent she now recognized as Beck's. An-n-nd back came her anger. Her emotions were clearly in turmoil, and she desperately needed an outlet. The few canvases she had in the RV weren't enough. Nor was the RV itself.

She covered the floor and all the furniture with plastic, dragged in the stepladder she found in the hall closet and squeezed the desired paints onto her palette.

Shaking with the need to create, she worked her brush furiously over the walls.

Whatever the dark slashing lines ended up becoming, Beck would surely hate it, just because it was different. Not that she cared. The alternative to painting was staking him to an anthill. Before staking herself! She'd abandoned her rules for one night—one hour—in his arms. And yes, he'd pleasured her in ways she hadn't known were possible. His kiss, expert. His touch, masterful. His body, tailor-made for hers. She'd been lost, adrift, and he'd been her only anchor. Breathing had mattered only because she'd shared his breath.

And then, the ecstasy and agony she'd experienced when he'd kissed her scars... He'd been so reverent, so adoring, had even called her a treasure. But all along he'd planned to gift wrap her for another man.

With a screech, she threw a glob of black paint at the wall.

He'd said,
If I could commit, it would be with you. I've never wanted a woman the way I want you. But I'm just not hardwired that way.

Then and now, the words popped the balloon of her fury, leaving only confusion. Why did he believe he couldn't commit? Did he not realize he had
already
committed to her? At least in part. He could have ditched her at any time, but again and again he'd cared for her. And hadn't he admitted to missing her when she wasn't with him?

Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to be with her for more than a night. Maybe he was just afraid to put a label on it. He had attachment issues in spades, after all. And why not? Throughout the course of his life, he'd lost everyone and everything he'd ever loved. Except for West and Jase, of course, but he might not realize just how deeply his commitment to them ran. Might only disdain commitment in the romantic sense.

Tears welled in her eyes, a sense of hopelessness driving her to throw another glob of paint. Stability still mattered to her, would always matter to her, and she wasn't going to get it from Beck. But what he'd said was true. Pride wouldn't comfort her. Pride wouldn't keep her warm at night, or pleasure her so sweetly.

To be with him, she might have to sacrifice her dreams and definitely put her pride on the line. She'd have to fight for him, and fight dirty. She'd also have to watch him date other women while she pretended to go along with his silly plan to date other men. She shuddered with distaste.

I want him. Only him. I maybe even...

Her mind shied away from the
L
word. Love was all-consuming, all-encompassing, an action just as much as an emotion. Love gave rather than took, placing another's needs above her own.

A strange buzzing noise drew her attention, and she frowned as she looked around. A red light flashed in the corner of her cell phone. Since Beck had gifted her with it, she'd only used it for research, but she'd had one before her mother died. She knew a text had just come in.

As she climbed down the stepladder and backed away from the wall, she surveyed what she'd created so far. A midnight sky with a full blood moon. Thick purple-tinted clouds rippled, and she could almost feel the vibration of thunder. Several bolts of lightning glowed ominously.

Not bad. Even with the chaotic black holes she'd unintentionally crafted.

She cleaned her hands with a rag and grabbed her phone, her jaw clenching as she read the screen.

Baby: What did 1 ocean say 2 another ocean?

Beck must have programmed in the nickname, the jerk. Seeing it caused tears to return to her eyes. This man amused her, challenged her on a level she hadn't known she needed, and whether he would admit it or not, he utterly adored her. She couldn't give him up. She just couldn't.

Decision made. She would fight for him, whatever the cost.

As a heavy weight lifted from her shoulders, she typed,
What?

Baby: Nothing, they just waved

Her lips twitched.

Her: Ugh! The cheese!

Baby: Don't B such a beach

She laughed out loud.

Baby: U just LOL'd. Don't deny it.

She spun around, making sure he hadn't sneaked into the room.

Her: I laughed at U, not w/U

Baby: Harsh. Hey, would U rather get UR foot stuck in a bear trap or invite me over 4 din 2night?

“That depends,” she told the phone. “Are you going to try to set me up with another man while we're together?”

But she typed:
Sure, come over. I've decided 2 get on board w/UR plan.

Just not the way you hope
, she silently added.

She waited one minute, two, but he never replied.
Don't like my ready agreement, Mr. Ockley?

A girl could hope. And Harlow did. It was the only life raft in the middle of a great and terrible storm.

She added:

Here R my requirements 4 my new man. 1) SV resident 2) Employed 3) Honest 4) Kind 5) Hates beige

Again, there was no response.

So she continued:

Oh, & 1 more thing. Any date U set up, U have 2 attend. Alone. I don't like strangers. U'll B my bodyguard.

Smiling, she set the phone aside and approached the only wall she hadn't yet covered with paint. Perhaps it was time to create a sunny summer day.

* * *

“B
ECK
.”

Jase's voice wrenched Beck out of the dark mire of his thoughts, and he glanced up. “What?”

Jase and West occupied the seats in front of his desk. They'd seen him this morning, soon after he'd left Harlow's RV to call a private investigator he'd used in the past. His determination to find out who'd hurt her hadn't lessened. He'd been stomping around the house, cursing under his breath, and they had followed him to work to do some sort of intervention.

“At least he looks human again,” West said. “Or he did, for a few minutes. Now he's back to beast mode.”

Beck set his phone aside and tried not to think of Harlow's last round of texts. Tried...and failed miserably.

She'd already forgotten the pleasure Beck had given her.

She expected him to watch another man seduce her—and not end up in jail? The pencil snapped in his hand, and he tossed the pieces across the room.

“And we've lost him again,” Jase muttered.

Beck ran a hand through his hair, gritting out, “Thanks to Brook Lynn, I've got to find Harlow a date.”

“
That's
what this is about?” West exclaimed. “Dude. Just tell Brook Lynn no.”

Jase gave him a pitying smile. “You want to tell her no, fine. But she'll just take matters into her own hands.”

Beck leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “I won't tell her no. Harlow wants a husband, and I want her happy.”

“The way I hear it, she wants a commitment from you,” Jase said, “but that doesn't necessarily mean marriage.”

“What's your beef with marriage, anyway?” West asked, clearly forgetting his own beef with it. “We all know marriage for the sake of marriage never works, but two people who care for each other can succeed at anything.”

“Uh, that's not actually true,” Beck said. West had cared about Tessa, and Tessa had cared about West, but he'd still lost her.

Beck had never believed the accident report. Loss of control due to rain? No. He'd seen the hopeless despair in Tessa's eyes when she'd left the apartment he and West shared. His friend had gotten high and forgotten to throw her a GED party, and she'd finally snapped, driving her car into a street lamp. Hadn't helped that she'd never recovered from her assault. She'd often talked about needing a break from the misery. A cry for help neither of them had heeded.

Why set himself up for similar pain?

“I don't want to talk about this,” he said.

Jase picked up one of the photos Beck had framed and brought to work. One of a young Harlow sitting in a tire swing, smiling at whoever held the camera. Her mother, most likely. “I'm the ex-con, but you two have a way of making me feel like a shining star of mental health.”

“Anything for you,” West said, patting him on the back.

“Just shut up and help me pick a man for Harlow.” Beck gripped the arms of his chair with so much force he expected the entire thing to crumble. Right now, the only hope he had of returning to the life he'd once known was losing interest in her, and the only way to make that happen was to follow through with Brook Lynn's plan. “Only the best for her.”

He hated this, but he would do it right. And in the end, Beck wasn't the best. Not for her, not for anyone. He simply wasn't enough.

“What about Mark Timberlane of S&S?” West splayed his arms, all
meet your solution
. “He runs his own company, makes a ton of money and is recently divorced.”

Can't shake the life out of my friend for doing what I asked
. “He's not the one.”

Jase unveiled a slow grin. “Please. Do tell.”

“Did you not hear West? Mark is recently divorced. He didn't fight to keep his marriage together, which means he has no real sticking power. Therefore he's not the one for Harlow. Next.”

“What about the new guy who hired me to do the video game?” West suggested. “He saw some of Harlow's sketches and had a mindgasm.”

“No.” Beck had spent a lot of time with the guy, coaxing him into choosing West rather than some other computer genius. “He's indecisive.”

“And that's a hard limit for Harlow?” Jase laughed outright. “Face it, my man, you don't want her with anyone but yourself.”

Beck leaped to his feet, his hands curling into fists. The urge to punch a hole in the wall was strong, overwhelming, and what the hell was he doing? He eased back down, the answer pretty plain.

“What about Dorian Oliver?” Dorian didn't live in Strawberry Valley, but he met Harlow's other criteria.

West whistled. “The guy's perfect for
anyone
. If I swung that way, I'd be all over him.”

“I remember Dorian.” Jase cracked his knuckles. “Keep him away from Brook Lynn. Women look at him and experience that, what's it called, insta-love.”

True, but he wasn't a player. Like West, he was choosey. But unlike the pair of them, he preferred commitment. He'd married his high school sweetheart and would still be with her if she hadn't died from cancer.

Beck had spent a summer with him years ago, both of them fostered by the same family. They'd liked each other from minute one and had kept in touch over the years.

Fighting the urge to throw his phone across the office, Beck picked it up and made the call.

* * *

H
ARLOW
 
EXPECTED
B
ECK
 
to come knocking at her door. Not because she'd agreed to spend the evening with him, but because of what she'd done to his bedroom walls. When the entrance swung open, however, he wasn't glowering at her. He smiled and held out a bouquet of pink and white flowers.

“For you.”

What the...? “Uh, thank you?” Trying to coax her from her earlier upset? She accepted the gift, a sweet scent teasing her nose. “What are they for?”

“Do I need a reason?”

Yes!
But she nibbled on her bottom lip and shook her head.

“They reminded me of you,” he said then. “Soft and pretty, delicate and dewy.”

Killing me.
“Have you not been home?”

“No, why?”

“Well, uh... I kind of painted my—
your
bedroom walls.”

He frowned. “Kind of?”

“Fine.
Definitely
painted.”

“Why would you do that? I liked my room the way it was.”

“So? You'll like it better now.”

“I won't.”

“Well, you can suck it,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

The frown morphed into a scowl. “Grab your paints. If you have to work all night, you'll work all night, but those walls will be beige by morning.”

“Not even in your dreams. You were willing to keep the mural when you first moved in.”

“But now I'm used to beige.”

Frustrating man. “We'll talk about the walls tomorrow.”

“Harlow—”

“Brook Lynn came by, saw what I'd done, and asked if I'd paint a mural at her house.” A zombie mural, of all things, for easier target practice. “
She
knows talent when she sees it.”

“Did you tell her no, you already have a job?”

“Please. I said yes so fast I broke records. I will work for food.”

He went still, sniffed the air. “Do you have a pie in there, Harlow?”

“No,” she said, and his shoulders drooped with disappointment. “I have
two
pies. I haven't painted the mural yet, but I demanded an advance.”

He pushed his way inside, a drug dog on the trail of the biggest bust of his career. “Blueberry and apple. Good girl.”