The Hotter You Burn

by Gena Showalter

  Her fingers twitched, and suddenly she ached to pick up a brush, to pour her emotions into her art. In the past, no matter her riotous state of mind, the task of creating something from nothing had soothed her. But she had no supplies. Only pen and paper. The papers on which she'd written her letters to West. Whatever. They would do.

  She sat at the kitchenette, flipped a page to its blank side, and grabbed a pen. As she allowed her imagination to guide her, she wasn't sure what she was drawing...until she recognized the square curve of Beck's jaw.

  Made sense, she supposed. He was a beautiful subject and in the past few days--despite her better judgment--he'd taken over her thoughts and utterly consumed her desires.

  When she finished, she surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye. Not to pat herself on the back, but yeah, she was totally going to pat herself on the back. She'd nailed every detail. From the fall of his hair, to the arch of his brow, to the fiery, determined expression he revealed whenever his affability was stripped away.

  A knock sounded at her door, startling her. She jolted upright, thrusting the incriminating picture behind her back.

  "Harlow?" Brook Lynn called. "You in there?"

  Not Beck, she realized, releasing a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. I'm not disappointed.

  "Just a minute." She stuffed the picture in a cabinet and hurried to the door, opening it to sunlight--and more than just Brook Lynn. Jessie Kay and Daphne, the woman Jase used to date, flanked the girl's sides. All three women held multiple bags of...clothing?

  "Hobo chic might be good for a Saturday-night barbecue, or not--yeah, probably not--but it definitely isn't good for the office." Jessie Kay pushed her way inside, forcing Harlow to back up or be mowed down. "It's time for a makeover, Dillon style."

  Hobo chic? I'll cut a bitch!

  Whoa. Calm down. Why was she so defensive? Jessie Kay was right. The only way Harlow would be further from office-appropriate would be if she took Beck's suggestion and showed more skin.

  Wait. Backtracking. They'd come to help her?

  Harlow flattened a hand over her heart, touched in a way she wasn't sure she could articulate.

  The others followed Jessie Kay in.

  "Beck told us not to go inside," Brook Lynn said to her sister. "To just hand over the clothes and leave."

  "Beck ain't my boss. Not that he couldn't be for the discount price of a million dollars a year."

  "That's quite some discount," Daphne said. "Last week it was two million."

  "Economy," Jessie Kay said, as if the single word explained everything. "By the way." She focused on Harlow with laser-sharp intensity. "Dillon style means by force if necessary, so do yourself a favor and get to moving."

  Brook Lynn hit her sister on the arm. "Rude!"

  "The way she's keeping us waiting?" Jessie Kay said with a nod. "I know."

  The disdain Harlow heard caused her spine to stiffen. The trio might be here to help her, but they weren't here willingly. "If you're going to insult me," she said, a little of her old spirit returning, "you can leave."

  "We're not here to cause trouble, I promise." Daphne, a beautiful brunette with kind eyes and a welcoming demeanor, smiled at her. "We haven't been introduced. I'm--"

  "Oh, I know who you are." The mother of Jase's nine-year-old daughter. For weeks, all anyone in town had talked about was how she'd run out on Jase without telling him she was pregnant, how he'd only found out about his child recently. But Daphne had since done everything she could to right the wrongs of her past, and she'd succeeded, which was why Harlow admired her. "I'm happy to meet you. And, uh, was Beck the one who picked the clothing you brought?" Would she find nothing but bras and panties in the bags?

  "He sure was. Adamant about it, too," the brunette added. "But he had to run, and I'm glad. Ever since Jase mentioned you've been hanging out with Beck, I've been desperate to chat with you."

  "Really?" she asked, surprised. "Me?" In a "see the bully up close" kind of way, or in a "let's become friends" way?

  Daphne's head tilted to the side, her brow furrowing with confusion. "Why not you?"

  Harlow struggled to form a proper response. Shall I count the ways? "For starters, I've been likened to the devil."

  "It's true," Jessie Kay said. "I know because I have likened her to the devil."

  "Well." Brook Lynn cleared her throat. "How about our Mighty Stallions, huh? I hear our illustrious high school is going to take State this year."

  "How'd you meet Beck?" Daphne asked Harlow, ignoring the sisters.

  Jessie Kay hiked a thumb in Harlow's direction. "She's been camping in the woods by the house. Which isn't as amazing as it sounds. Even I could survive in the wild...with credit cards, a bag of feminine products and a bottle of painkillers."

  Brook Lynn rolled her eyes. "Yes. You're a true survivalist. Now that introductions are over, let's get down to business. How about you start trying on these clothes?"

  An excuse to lock herself in the bedroom, take a moment to collect her thoughts and get her emotions under control? Yes! She snatched up the bags, along with the letters she'd left on the counter, glanced nervously at the unlocked cabinet holding her picture of Beck and retreated. Curious, she dumped the contents on her bed. Not a bra or pair of panties in sight. Just dress suits, summer dresses, purses, jewelry and shoes. Everything in her size.

  Her hands trembled as she stroked soft cashmere, softer silk and the prettiest patterns she'd ever seen. Most of the items were different shades of blue--to highlight her eyes?--though several boasted ribbons of pink.

  Why would Beck do this for her? Especially after the way she'd acted today?

  "We want to see," Brook Lynn called.

  Harlow stripped, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and cringing. It was like looking at Frankenstein's sister. Her numerous scars were pink, jagged and unavoidable, each forming a square with grafted skin inside. The damage stretched from her collarbone to her waist, and to say it was ugly would be kind. Her soul mate, whoever he was, would have to fall for her personality first and learn to live with the rest of her.

  Trembling now, she donned the prettiest of the summer dresses; it was of Grecian design with spaghetti straps, a plunging neckline and pleats falling from a cinched waist. In front, the skirt hit just above her knees, but in back, the long, sheer train flowed to her ankles. Never had she felt so feminine, not even back in her heyday, and yet there was no way she'd ever wear the dress in public. Too many of her scars showed.

  Feminine instincts screamed in protest as she changed into the most modest of her choices. A dress with capped sleeves and a scooped neck. At least the azure material clung to her curves.

  She placed her hand on the knob, noticed she wasn't trembling as badly and perked up. The girls might have been coerced into helping her, but they were here, and they weren't setting the place on fire. Hope filled her as she exited the bedroom, her step lighter than it had been in years.

  *

  THAT NIGHT, BECK sat in his new chair--a plush black leather beast he'd had delivered and placed by the window in his bedroom. He peered outside. The moon was high and round, but also eerie as clouds swept past, obscuring the stars, offering no light to illuminate the RV parked in the front yard.

  What did Harlow think of the clothing he'd purchased for her? What did she favor? What did she have on right this very second?

  He would not be finding out.

  I want a relationship, she'd shouted at him earlier today.

  He squeezed the arms of the chair. She wanted the one thing he couldn't give her. And with the dreaded R word now in play, his desire for her should have cooled at last. Commit to one person? Trust one person to stick with him through even the worst of times? Hell, no. Never. But his desire hadn't cooled. It clawed at his insides even more diligently, desperate to be let off its leash.

  He should have made a play for Kimberly. She might be too nice, and his tastes might run toward spicy, but she was a
woman and they could have had fun. He could have experienced a moment of pleasure without drama or worry. Instead, he'd politely kissed her knuckles and left her at her hotel door. His body, the traitor, wasn't interested in a substitute for Harlow. Which made no damn sense!

  Part of him hated the black-haired witch for doing this to him, for making him feel twisted up and wrung out. Turmoil sucked ass. He'd had enough of it in his childhood.

  And damn it! He should have cut Harlow out of his life the first time he'd experienced a blip of unease. He should have done everything in his power to return to the way things used to be. The way he needed them to be. His life had been fine without her. Easy and uncomplicated, just the way he liked.

  But he hadn't cut her out, and he now had a new reality. One where his every mood revolved around a woman he craved more than water to drink. It scared the hell out of him. It unnerved and panicked him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could go on like this.

  With a grunt, he kicked the wall in front of him, leaving a crack behind. Harlow had changed more than his desires. She'd changed his oldest rule: don't do anything to draw the attention of law enforcement. While she'd tried on her new clothes, he'd finally paid a visit to Scott Cameron, and the conversation had nearly ended in assault and battery.

  "Stay away from Harlow Glass," Beck had said the moment the guy opened his front door. They were roughly the same height, though Beck had him by at least fifty pounds of muscle--and a whole hell of a lot of skill. Cameron knew it, probably noticed the scars on his knuckles as he stroked two fingers over his jaw. "You don't, and I'll make you regret it."

  Cameron had sneered at him. "You chasing after her now, city boy?"

  "She works for me, and I protect what's mine. I saw the way you pushed her, and if it happens again, you won't be walking away. You may not even be crawling."

  Cameron had narrowed his eyes. "If you live in the Glass house, you shouldn't throw stones. I'm no woman beater, but if ever there was one in need of a good flogging, it's that one. She only wants the guys she can't have. But you think you're different because you want her so bad, and I get it. Just like I get that you're not really here to warn me about my behavior. You just want an open playing field."

  "What I want doesn't matter right now. Only what you do in the future."

  "Man to man, I'll give it to you straight. She's poison, and she'll ruin your life."

  "Man to man-child, your bitterness is showing. You need to get over the past, and you need to do it fast." The past only served as an anchor, dragging you down, down, and only when it was too late did you realize you were drowning. Wasn't that what Jase had tried to tell him every time he'd urged Beck to move on? To let go of his guilt and shame and grab on to hope...to the future. "What she did to you, she did a long time ago. She's not the same person."

  Cameron had laughed. "You're a goner, there's no question about that. When you get the Glass Pass, don't say I didn't warn you." He'd shut the door in Beck's face.

  He'd nearly ripped that thing from its hinges to get to the guy. Harlow deserved a flogging? Them be fightin' words. But as much as Beck protected what was his, she wasn't his--not really--so he'd walked away.

  He downed the rest of his beer in a single gulp, his mind jumping to another incident. A few weeks ago, Jase had had too much to drink and prattled on and on about the difference between sex and making love. How making love was an expression of deep and abiding affection, that it meant something, that it was an act of importance with an extreme emotional payoff.

  Leaves you vulnerable in the best way, Jase had added. You adore the woman you're with. She's your partner, that one special person, and she adores you right back.

  If that one special person had the power to drive you insane, then Harlow was certainly Beck's. But for every healthy relationship like Jase mentioned, there were a thousand terrible examples. Could someone like Beck really be one of the few lucky ones?

  Was it worth trying, just for the chance to be as happy as Jase?

  A hard rap at his door. "Beck," West called. "You got a moment?"

  For his friends? "Always." He switched on the lamp next to him and set the empty bottle aside. "What's up?"

  West entered, wearing his new favorite attire. A pair of sweatpants. He'd been working out again. Trying to keep his mind off a certain blonde? He eased onto the edge of the bed, saying, "I've been thinking about your girl."

  "She's not my girl." But the words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Did he want her to be?

  "Stop lying to yourself. You would give up your left nut for a taste of her and you know it," West said.

  "You're right. I would." Staying away from her hadn't done him a bit of good. Maybe it was time to give in and go to her.

  "Well, that's a start."

  He noticed the wrinkled-up piece of paper in his friend's hand. "Whatcha got?"

  Tension radiated from West as he said, "Before I show you, you need to know I haven't encouraged her."

  Beck went still. No. Damn it. No! If West claimed to have interest in Harlow...

  I won't be able to walk away.

  "Jessie Kay went snooping through her things and gave this to her sister, who gave it to Jase, who gave it to me." West held out the paper. "Now I'm giving it to you."

  Beck snatched it up and fell back into his chair. He unfolded it and found an etching of his face. A very lifelike rendering.

  Harlow had drawn this, no doubt about it. And the expression she'd chosen to render? The one he'd thrown at her while they were in his office, when he'd had to fight to remain in his seat, hungry for a taste of her.

  Satisfaction filled him, and he grinned.

  Then West said, "Turn it over."

  He obeyed and discovered a letter. As he read, he lost his grin, a low growl rising from his chest.

  My dearest West. Meeting you has the potential to be the greatest thing to ever happen to me. You seem to be a man of unparalleled sexiness character, and I'd love the chance to get to know you better. How about dinner a movie coffee? Yours Talk soon, Harlow

  Rage unlike anything he'd ever known consumed him. She desired West.

  "I'll meet with her, but only to tell her I'm not interested," West assured him.

  Can't force the one you want to want you back. Can't convince a woman determined to leave you to stick around. The reminders grounded him, even as they reopened wounds that had only just begun to heal.

  "Wouldn't matter to me if you were interested," he managed to grit out. "You deserve to be happy."

  "I won't be. Not with her."

  He said that now. But if Harlow came after him with all she had, West would eventually give in. She wasn't the kind of woman a man could resist for long.

  Beck almost kicked the wall again. Not grounded, after all.

  West stood, patted him on the shoulder. "I love you, man, and I would never do anything to upset you."

  "I love you, too. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

  Unconvinced, his friend said, "Nothing is more important to me than your happiness. You stood by me when I was nothing but a junkie. You supported me every time I tried to get clean and cheered me on when I finally found the strength. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

  Beck stared into his friend's concerned gaze a minute longer, certain the guy had romanticized their past. Help? Him? No. Then he cut the tension with an insolent shrug. "Right now I'm going to need you to get lost. If you think a mug this gorgeous happens naturally, you're wrong. I need my beauty z's."

  West lingered as if he had more to say, sighed, then finally left, quietly shutting the door behind him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SLEEP NEVER CAME. Beck tossed and turned for hours before finally giving up, climbing out of bed with a dark curse and dressing. He had to get out of here.

  He drove without a destination in mind, ending up in the city, at his favorite hotel bar. He drank way too much whiskey and flirted with every woman who approache
d him. His go-to type of woman. The kind he'd always preferred. Easy and fun. No muss, no fuss. But after a while, the strangest thing happened. The women began to irritate him. They coyly played with locks of his hair while leaning into him to give him a whiff of too much perfume and a glance at ample cleavage. Predators determined to use him for his goods and services.

  Eventually he became gruff and rude, and they scattered. Good riddance!

  He threw back a few more shots of whiskey before acquiring a room. He sobered by morning and called West to mention he wouldn't be making it into the office. Then he phoned a woman he'd once hired to try to get Jase out of prison early. A woman he'd never slept with, putting business first.

  Patricia, a thirty-five-year-old defense attorney, had always seemed as leery of commitment as he was. She wouldn't make him feel as if he teetered on the brink of collapse. She wouldn't demand a relationship, and she wouldn't make him feel as if his entire world was careening out of control.

  Harlow wanted West. Fine. She could have him. Beck wouldn't stand in her way. He would return to his old ways. What he preferred.

  He picked Patricia up at her condo in the heart of Oklahoma City. Her walls were beige, and seeing them made him want to put a fist through them. But he merely flirted as they ate dinner at Mickey Mantle's, keeping things nice and light. Afterward they walked through Bricktown. Gold, pink and purple lights shone from multiple buildings, reflecting off the canal as ducks swam past. The air was cool, the perfect temperature, but missing the scent of wild strawberries.

  The scent of home, as necessary as his heart or his lungs.

  When had that happened? At first, he'd hated the inherent sweetness and had actually missed the smell of car exhaust, clashing perfumes and colognes.

  "Whoa there, tiger. Your grip is crushing me." Patricia shook free of his hold, then withdrew an electric cigarette from her purse. She took a drag, vapor wafting on the breeze. "Something wrong?"

  Get it together. "I'm with you. What could possibly be wrong?" How easily those words would have fallen from his lips in the past. Tonight? He cringed inside.

  Patricia studied him, her eyes shrewd. "I know you're only telling me what you think I want to hear, but that's okay. I like what I'm hearing." She straightened his tie, and he almost backed away--like a puss--as if even that much contact was a betrayal to Harlow. "Let's go back to my place and forget the rest of the world exists."