The Hotter You Burn

by Gena Showalter

  He couldn't have her without committing to her. He had to have her, but he couldn't commit to her. It was the surest way to lose her forever. Already she suspected he wasn't good enough or stable enough for her. And when she realized she was right, that he wasn't, nothing he did or said would convince her to stay with him.

  If he even wanted her to stay with him.

  Damn it! If he made it through the banquet without punching a wall, he'd consider it a win. He shouldn't be thinking about her. Shouldn't care that she'd ended things before they'd even begun. He could move on, finally go back to the way things were. But he didn't want to go back. Somehow she'd become his new normal. And oh, shit, he was going to punch a wall.

  Jase stepped to his side, stopping him, and handed him a glass of champagne. "You look like you could use it."

  "This, and about a thousand more."

  "Still upset about Tawny?"

  Tawny. Apparently the curvy blonde had been coming to the house ever since their date, plaguing Jase with questions. Has Beck been seeing other women? Has Beck ever been in love? How does Beck feel about kids?

  Yes. No. And girl, please. Kids were not in his future and never would be. He'd even considered getting snipped--still might do it.

  "No. I'm over it." He'd sat down with Tawny and had a gentle heart-to-heart, telling her they weren't a couple and they weren't ever going to be a couple. As he'd spoken, she'd tried to crawl into his lap and stuff her hand down his pants.

  He'd had to get stern, telling her they weren't having sex again, either, and he'd been clear about that from the beginning.

  When she'd left, close to tears, Beck had drained a beer before tossing the bottle against the wall and watching it shatter.

  "Then what has your panties in such a twist?" Jase asked.

  Beck would still rather cut off both his nuts than dump his problems in Jase's lap. "I'm fine."

  Jase frowned at him.

  "I'll be fine," he corrected.

  Brook Lynn arrived and cuddled into the big guy's side, smiling at Beck with saccharine sweetness. "Did I tell you I saw Harlow today? Whatever you're doing, keep it up. She looks miserable."

  The words were a knife to the gut. "When did you become so vicious?" When did he?

  He'd been an ass to Harlow today. And why? Because she hadn't given him what he wanted?

  Well, he hadn't given her what she wanted, either, yet she'd remained civil. "I don't want Harlow miserable."

  Brook Lynn studied him more intently than he liked. "So...you'd like to see her happy, settled?"

  "Yes." She deserved to be happy and settled, to have her dreams of having a husband and family come true. The permanence Beck couldn't offer.

  Can't...or won't?

  His hand fisted.

  "Good. I was testing you, and you just passed." Brook Lynn beamed up at him. "I have the best idea. You and I are going to work together to find her the perfect man. We'll start with your friends, of course, guys you trust who can give her what she needs."

  A growl rose from deep inside Beck's chest, lingering in his throat before trying to push free of his mouth. Find Harlow another man? Not in this lifetime.

  Brook Lynn nibbled on her bottom lip. "Are you upset? You look upset. You did say you wanted her happy, right? I didn't misunderstand, did I?"

  "You didn't." Each word felt as if it'd been yanked through a meat grinder.

  "Good. She wants a nice, stable guy. Who doesn't? She's certain stability will make her happiest, and I agree. So think about those friends of yours, like I said, and figure out who will be a good match for her. We'll discuss your choices tomorrow." With that, Brook Lynn pulled Jase onto the dance floor.

  Beck rubbed at his chest to ward off the sudden ache. A waiter passed with a tray of champagne glasses. He drained the one he had and replaced it with a new one, draining it, too.

  From across the room, West spotted him and soon worked his way over, offering Beck another glass.

  Beck grabbed it so fast the liquid swished over the rim. "Thanks," he muttered, and the champagne went down the hatch in a single gulp. He tended to panic anytime his friend was in possession of alcohol. His gateway.

  "Repay me by getting out there and doing your thing."

  "What's my thing?" he asked, desperate to forget Brook Lynn's "best" idea.

  "What do you think? Dancing with the single mothers."

  In other words, flirting. For once, he wasn't in the mood. "I'd need the entire bottle of alcohol for that."

  "Why? You're usually the belle of the ball."

  "Not tonight."

  "Because you're intimidated by me in my tux? Good to know. But one of the single moms brought her sister, and I've decided I want her. I need you to step up to the plate and take one for the team, intimidated or not."

  The words I want her weren't shocking coming from West. Beck had heard something similar from the guy once a year for the past eight years. The very reason he could predict the outcome. West would win the girl--he always did. He would spend all kinds of time with her, dote on her and lavish her with gifts. Then he would dump her in exactly two months, for some made-up reason, and hate himself for months to come.

  "Which one?" Beck asked. He wasn't going to watch passively. Not this time. He could barely keep himself afloat right now and wasn't willing to risk another spiral for West, another woman brokenhearted.

  West pointed to a pretty thirtysomething with a short cap of blond hair and blue eyes. "Her."

  "Sorry, my man, but I saw her earlier. Now I call dibs."

  West almost looked relieved. "What about Harlow?"

  The ache in his chest deepened. "What about her? We're friends, that's all."

  "Friends with benefits?"

  "Just friends." Even if I miss her the way I'd miss a limb. "The blonde--"

  "Don't worry about it. She's yours." West patted his shoulder. "I won't stand in your way."

  He'd known that would be West's reaction. Just as he'd known if West asked him, he would have backed off the blonde without a fight, despite his misgivings about how the guy's plans would play out.

  Beck grabbed two more glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and drained them. After that, the evening passed in a bit of a blur. He ate when dinner was served, gave a speech praising every member of the team. He flirted and danced with Donna... Dana? Whoever. West's blonde. She was an ER nurse, newly divorced with no kids, and she was looking to add a little spice to her life.

  "If you're still looking," he said, "does that mean you haven't found it with me?"

  Her smile was wide, playful. "Not yet."

  "But because you're such a sweet girl, you're willing to let me keep trying?"

  "I'm a giver like that."

  "Then I better bring my A game."

  She chuckled. "You mean you actually have a B game?"

  "And a C game. But I only play that way when I'm really desperate."

  "You mean you aren't desperate for me?" She pretended to pout.

  "Honey, I bypassed desperate and went straight into drooling when you walked through the door." The words came easily to him, as usual, but fell from his tongue hollowly. He used to enjoy this kind of bantering, the tease before the big show. Now he wasn't sure when he'd ever been more miserable.

  Donna/Dana ran her fingers through his hair, and he almost pulled away. He remembered how Harlow had done the same last night. How his scalp had tingled and his blood had heated. How she'd looked when she'd done it. As if she were drunk on pleasure...on him. As if he were something special, not just a random guy she might enjoy.

  "Tell me about yourself," Donna/Dana said.

  "And bore you to death? No way. I'd rather hear about you."

  As she prattled on, his mind drifted in a direction he didn't want it to go. Brook Lynn expected him to find a guy for Harlow. A lover. A potential husband. Could he actually do it? Should he?

  Committed women were invisible to him. He'd never forgotten the shame he'd
felt with Carol, the foster mom, knowing she was cheating on her husband with him. His guilt had only grown over the years as he'd watched one family after another crumble because of infidelity.

  Maybe...maybe the answer to all his problems was doing exactly what Brook Lynn requested. If Harlow got serious with another man--Beck swallowed a curse--his craving her might finally go away.

  "Beck?" Donna/Dana said, nuzzling his cheek. "You still with me?"

  He stepped back, widening the distance between them, and kissed her knuckles. "Do you really think there's anywhere else I'd rather be?"

  "Well, I certainly hope not."

  More and more families left the party until only West, Jase and a sleepy Brook Lynn remained.

  "I'm driving your car, Beck," West said. "How do you want the rest of this night to go down?"

  He looked at Jase, who was holding Brook Lynn so close, so tight. Brook Lynn leaned against her man, knowing he would protect her with his life. He looked at West, who was willing to drive him and Donna/Dana to her place, then wait in the car so he would have a ride when he finished. Even willing to drive him and Donna/Dana to their place--where Harlow would get a front-row seat to the show. He looked at Donna/Dana, who was smiling up at him, as tipsy as he was, probably willing to do anything he asked. She wouldn't stop him before he got her clothes off, his body on fire for her, and ask for more than he could possibly give.

  West nudged his arm. "So what's it gonna be?"

  *

  HARLOW HAD SPENT an entire evening on her cell phone, using up data to research problems abandoned kids could have later in life, until she thought she'd pegged Beck. Severe detachment disorder. Having lost everything he loved time and time again, he'd learned to stay distanced from everything and everyone.

  Her heart had ached for him as she'd fallen into bed to sleep like the dead, only to be awoken by--

  Bang, bang, bang. "Open up, Harlow."

  That.

  Eyes burning, she donned her robe and stumbled to the door of the RV. From a nightmare of Beck plowing his way through a parade of women to Beck standing at her door in the flesh--in the middle of the night.

  Bang, bang. "You have two seconds to show yourself, then I'm kicking my way in."

  "I'm coming, I'm coming. Hold your horses." She opened the door--and gasped. A small patch of light glowed from the porch lamp and washed over Beck. He was in a tux. A gorgeous, wealthy man almost too fine to touch, like something out of a magazine. His dark hair stuck out in spikes, and his eyes simmered with fire and determination.

  "Fool woman." His lips were compressed into a thin line, his words slurred. "I could be a stranger here to murder you."

  "Are you drunk?"

  "Only a 3.65 on the Richter scale...or maybe a 6.53... What does that matter?" He barreled his way inside, gently pushing her back. He closed the door with a kick of his leg. "You gotta protect yourself better, popsicle."

  New nicknames. A thrill to hear when she shouldn't have cared. "What are you doing here? It's, like, two in the morning."

  He nodded as if she'd just made his point for him. "It's two in the morning, and you work for me. I told you there would be times I'd want you to draw in the middle of the night."

  "So you want me to draw?" she asked, stepping back to give herself breathing room. His nearness bothered her, made her ache for what she'd had before--what she could never have again. His mouth and hands on her, his body grinding against hers.

  "No, I don't want you to draw. Don't be ridiculous. I want to talk, to tell you what Brook Lynn and I decided." His gaze raked over her, everything about him suddenly relaxing. He leaned back, bracing himself against the wall, and smiled over at her, slow and wicked. The devastating smile she could not resist. "I want to take those nightclothes to dinner and then I want to take them off you."

  She shivered. "They...uh, they aren't hungry."

  "Doesn't matter. You should have worn something else." He stepped toward her. "You're making me forget why I'm here."

  Careful. He would make her forget her reservations. "You and Brook Lynn decided...what?"

  He stopped, a flash of rage in his eyes, quickly gone. "Let's not talk about that right now." He started up again, prowling toward her, backing her against the kitchen counter. Heat radiated off him, and a whimper escaped her. "I missed you tonight. I wanted you with me, hated that you weren't."

  Could he hear the swift pound of her heart? "Where were you?"

  "A banquet for the soccer team West and I coach. Shhhh, don't tell." He placed a finger over her lips, and she fought the urge to lick him, relief and desire pouring through her. "Women go crazy when they find out."

  No kidding. She just happened to be one of them. "I already knew you coached underprivileged kids. I've been handling bits and pieces of your business, remember?" Like fielding calls from moms who suddenly couldn't recall when the next practice happened to be, even though it fell on the same day every week. "Did the kids have a good time?"

  "The best. And I sent Donna/Dana away. I didn't want her."

  "Donna/Dana?"

  He nodded. "She would have slept with me and wouldn't have asked for more."

  Jealousy delivered a strong kick to her insides, but it was followed by the sweet caress of surprise. He'd nixed a potentially easy bedmate--while drunk--to come be with Harlow, who was as far from easy as could be?

  "Go on," she urged, melting against him.

  "I'd rather enjoy you while I can." He nuzzled his nose against her jawline and played with the lapels of her robe. The silk brushed against her flushed skin, tickling her. "I'm sorry I was so rude to you. You've got me tied in so many knots I'm not myself anymore." He nipped at her ear. "And damn me, but I'm starting to think that's a good thing."

  Her already weak knees threatened to buckle. She would have fallen, but he caught her and set her on the counter. His big hands settled on her bare thighs. Her robe was short, but seated as she was, it was micromini.

  He pushed her legs apart and stood firmly between them, as if he had every right to be there. "You are so beautiful." His gaze remained on his fingers as they continued to trail up and down those lapels. With every upward glide, he parted the material even more.

  She wasn't nude underneath, but she might as well have been. She wore only a tank and a pair of panties. Little protection against such potent desire. "I'm not. Beautiful, I mean. I'm really not." She didn't want him to see how not-beautiful she really was, but she couldn't bring herself to stop him from exposing a bit more of her skin. Not yet.

  "You are more mysterious than the Voynich Manuscript, you know that?" he said. "Maybe that's how you've managed to keep me hooked. I want to solve the puzzle you've created."

  "You like puzzles?"

  "I never have before."

  "But you want to solve me?"

  He didn't seem to hear her, his gaze on her shoulders and the robe about to fall. "Such pretty skin."

  Stomach twisting, she covered herself at last. "Why don't we watch TV, hmm?" She motioned to the only television set--in the bedroom.

  "I'd rather watch you." As he clasped her ankle and lifted her bare foot, she gasped, only to moan when he began to massage spots she hadn't known were tender. "Tell me the last time you went on a date."

  "In high school." Once she'd healed from her injuries and realized no one in town would ever forgive her, she'd spent all her time at the farmhouse, transcribing medical documents for her mom, whose eyesight had deteriorated over the years. Unfortunately, Harlow hadn't been able to keep the job after her mom died, unable to admit she'd done any past work without putting all of her mom's contributions in question.

  "As I suspected," Beck said, "which means the bar is set pretty low."

  "Definitely. High school boys are pigs."

  He pressed deeper into her arch, dragging another moan out of her. "What's your longest relationship?"

  "Only a few weeks." She eyed him warily. "I used to move from boy to boy, depending on wh
o wasn't paying any attention to me. If the one I wanted had a girlfriend, well, he soon didn't."

  "There were boys who didn't pay attention to you?"

  "Only the smart ones," she said, surprised by his takeaway from her speech.

  "But you changed. What changed you?" he asked softly, pushing for answers, always pushing.

  Argh! Her body temperature dropped from white-hot to bone-cold, and she pulled away from him. He let her, taking hold of her other foot. "I should have known you'd circle back to the Incident yet again."

  "The incident. Meaning a single circumstance. Tell me," he said.

  "No. I don't want to talk about it."

  "Have you ever talked about it? Or have you let it fester?"

  She pressed her lips together, refusing to reply to even that. If she gave the slightest bit, he would take more and more until she had nothing left.

  "What if I tell you a secret about me?" he asked. "Something I've never told anyone else."

  In a snap, desperation hit her. She would do anything to learn more about him--even an exchange. "Yes. Okay. Tell me a secret, and I will tell you about the Incident. But only the bare minimum facts."

  He snorted and shook his head. "As if I'll give my secret away so cheaply. You'll tell me every detail."

  "Five details for five of your secrets."

  "Ten details, two secrets."

  "Four details, four secrets," she countered.

  "Twelve details, no secrets," he insisted.

  Her eyes narrowed. "Tell me all your secrets and I'll tell you one of mine."

  "You'll tell me everything about it?"

  "Everything," she agreed with a sigh.

  His smile stretched wide. "You've got yourself a deal, baby."

  He hit a particularly tender area, and she released another moan, her back arching, her breasts straining against her top.

  "That feels... Oh... Oh!"

  Voice nothing but mist and seduction, he said, "I could make you feel even better...all over. If only you'd let me."

  Desire thrummed, more insistent, until she teetered on the brink of ultimate surrender.

  This flower is dead...

  With what little willpower she could scrounge up, she pulled her foot from his grip and crossed her arms over her chest, hiding the twin beads trying to play peekaboo. "You go first," she muttered. "All your secrets."

  "And let you welsh?"

  She gave him the look most of her teachers had given her over the years. Authoritative yet pitying. "And let you tell me lame secrets about your sexcapades?"