The Hotter You Burn (20 page)

His phone buzzed, and he swiped up the device, grateful for the distraction of the text—until he found a picture of Harlow attached. As the image burned past his retinas and into his brain, he jumped to his feet. His sweet little hag was sitting in Dorian's lap, and the rat bastard was smiling.

The caption underneath read,
Lok Beck! Loooook what I fond! A nice slice of jucy man meet!!!!!!!!

The typos were adorable, and he hated himself for thinking so. This was not a humorous situation. Harlow was ruining her future, settling for momentary pleasure with a guy who wasn't right for her.

R U drunk?
he typed.

Her: Only a 9.99. Or maybe 9.99.

Him: Where R U?

As he waited for her reply, he studied the picture in more depth, not allowing himself to focus on Dorian or Harlow, only on the things around them. A wall with wooden slats. A picture of two crumbling white farmhouses tilted on its side. He'd seen that picture before... Where, where...

Two Farms.

His phone buzzed again.

There's a party in my pants. Want 2 come? <— See what I did there???????

An animal growl rose from deep in his chest. If Dorian touched Harlow while she was in this aroused, drunken state, his hands would end up in Beck's trophy case.

He made his way to West's bedroom, the door already open. “I need you to come with me to Two Farms.”

“Why?” West glanced up from the motherboard he was building from scratch. He often worked from home and thankfully today was one of those days.

“Harlow's drunk, and Dorian's taking advantage of her.”

Rather than appearing enraged on Harlow's behalf, West looked to be fighting a grin. “He's never been the type to take advantage of a drunk woman. If she's had more than a single glass of something, he'll back off.”

Beck whipped out his phone and showed his friend the picture. “Does this look like he's backing off?”

“Fine.” West glanced at the calendar app displayed on his phone, resting beside the computer parts. “I can spare half an hour. Just give me a minute to dress.” He stood, and for the first time Beck noticed the guy wore only a pair of boxer briefs.

Minute after minute passed, his friend searching for the perfect pair of jeans. Beck snapped, “I'd like to leave sometime this year.”

“Which is why I'm hurrying.” West held up two shirts, one all black, the other black with the words Boyfriend Material scripted over the center. “What am I in the mood to wear?” he wondered aloud.

“Dude. I'm seriously about to take away your man card.”

“That's fine. I've got two.”

Beck grabbed the shirt with text, tossed it on the floor and wiped his shoes on it. “This one's dirty. Wear the one in your hand.”

“Well, well. Someone's certainly cranky today.”

Someone had an ass-kicking to deliver.

A buzz sounded from West's desk. Beck walked over and swiped up his friend's phone, just in case Dorian had decided to circumvent Beck. Maybe ask for a condom. When he saw a message from Jessie Kay, he tossed the phone at West.

“You might want to see this.”

West peered down at the screen, features tightening with anger as he studied the pictures the girl had sent. One of her and Daniel Porter, and one of her and Dorian Oliver. The text read,
Need an honest unbiased opinion. Which 1 should I choose????

“Let's go.” West was already striding toward the door.

Now that was more like it.

As they settled in Beck's car, another text from Harlow came in. He almost couldn't bring himself to look. Almost.

GUSS WHATTTT? Dori—that's wat I cal him now—scarred Scott away 4 me. He's may new hero. I ow him. What should I giv him???? Do U kno if he liks cherries?

Beck put the pedal to the metal.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A
LL
 
HELL
 
BROKE
 
LOOSE
.

Harlow and her whiskey sisters had indeed drunk straight from the bottle, and after they'd finished the good stuff, they'd turned to the hard, cheap stuff. They'd talked and laughed too loud and almost gotten kicked out of Two Farms. Then, about an hour ago, Dorian arrived and Jessie Kay explained the
life or death
plan—make Beck wish he were dead—or you know, married.

Dorian had taken a page from Beck's playbook and given Mr. Calbert, the owner, a wad of cash to rent the restaurant for the rest of the day, and the other patrons were escorted out. Except for the superadorable Daniel Porter, whom Jessie Kay had texted and asked to join them.

“It's been five whole minutes,” Brook Lynn said. “Time for another picture. Kenna! Camera!”

Ever obedient, Harlow posed on Dorian's lap yet again while Kenna snapped more pictures and Dorian told her all about his double date with Beck.

“I'm serious,” Dorian said. “The guy had zero interest in his girl and talked about his ‘little hag' all night.”

“That's cool, I guess.” If
cool
was the new word for
awesome
. She couldn't even bring herself to be offended by the nickname.

“Okay, y'all. I've got a brilliant idea about digital strip poker,” Jessie Kay called, motioning to Harlow's phone. “Tell Beck all about it, so he can tell West.”

Harlow started typing as Jessie Kay explained the rules.

I'm gona get nakid.

That should cover all the details right? Send.

“Now,” Harlow said to Dorian. “Tell me more. About the date, about Beck, about everything.” Was the room spinning?

Holding her up to prevent her from falling, Dorian said, “If you want him, he's yours, and even if he's loath to admit it—even to himself—he'll be the best damn boyfriend you've ever had. I remember the way he used to look at couples who were clearly in love. He wanted what they had, just couldn't admit it then, either. Stick it out, and he'll realize the truth. Growing up in the system can really mess you up. He just needs to heal.”

Yeah, but how much time? Would she end up broken in the process?

Maybe, but wounds could be kissed better.

“You Strawberry Valley girls must be addictive,” Dorian remarked, peering at Jessie Kay, who was now dancing around the room. “I've been warned away from the Dillon sisters.”

“Jase is gaga over Brook Lynn, but who told you to stay away from Jessie Kay?”

The front door burst open before he could reply, and Beck and West came storming into Two Farms like avenging angels. Harlow's heart kicked into a frenzied beat. The plan had actually worked? Beck scanned the room and when his gaze landed on her, he closed in.

Meanwhile, West marched over to Jessie Kay.

“Showtime.” Dorian helped Harlow stand.

The swiftness of the action caused her stomach to lurch. “Curses! I think I'm going to be sick.”

Beck reached her a second later and gently extracted her from his friend. “Time to go. Now.”

Sick could wait. The man of her dreams was here! She threw her arms around him and tried to climb him like a mountain.

He held on to her while lecturing Dorian. The words were lost to her, a strange buzz in her ears. Beck anchored her against him and petted her hair, and she must have passed out after a few minutes, held so comfortingly in his embrace, because the next thing she knew she was floating... No, she was being tossed here and there in the deep end of an ocean. Her stomach gave another lurch, and she moaned.

Floating again...a hard jostle.

“Don't worry, baby,” Beck said. “I've got you.”

She was on her knees in a cornfield, she realized. Beck held on to her hair as she leaned over and threw up every drop of liquid she'd consumed that day, and maybe five days prior. When she finished, darkness descended over her mind and she was floating again...cool clouds settling beneath her, a chilled wet cloth wiping over her brow, her mouth.

“Beck,” she moaned.

“I told you. I'm here. I'll always be here for you.”

With those words echoing in her mind, soothing her in a way nothing else could have, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

G
ROANING
, H
ARLOW
 
HISSED
at the sunlight streaming in through the window.

Was she sick?

Oh...crap. She was worse, she thought, memories from last night downloading straight into her brain. She was still alive.

“Here. Take these.”

Beck's voice, but it was far too loud. Slowly she turned her head toward him. He stood at the edge of the bed.
His
bed. He held out two white pills and a glass of water.

Why was he being so nice to her? “Thanks,” she muttered, swallowing the pills and a gulp of ice-cold water. Her stomach protested at first but soon settled down.

He set the glass on the nightstand and eased beside her. “We need to talk.”

“I know. I'm sorry about yesterday and Dorian and—”

“Harlow,” he said, stopping her with a finger pressed against her lips. “What are you apologizing for? I'm thinking about making whiskey a necessary part of your diet. Do you have any idea how handsy you get?”

Wait. “You're not mad at me?”

A flicker of pain in eyes now dark with regret. “If I were mad, would I have called every guy I know to throw a party in your honor?”

Wait. What? “A party?”

“In your honor.”

“With every guy you know in attendance?”

His fingers curled around the comforter, pulling so tight he nearly ripped the material. “We're still on the hunt for your forever man, aren't we?”

It was like taking a knife to the gut. Or a hammer to the head.

He still planned to set her up with someone else.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she blinked them away. “When is the party set to begin?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “In just a few hours.”

The hard lump growing in her throat nearly cut off her airway. “How did you get everyone to agree so quickly?” And why the hurry?

“I was owed a few favors.”

And he'd decided to call them in—to get rid of her sooner rather than later.
 
“Well, then. A party we shall have,” she said, trying to sound excited, sounding hollow instead.

He offered her a bright smile, but for once, it lacked any kind of light. “Great,” he said. “I made it a lunch event rather than a dinner one, so we can spend the evening talking about your impression of the guys.”

“Great,” she echoed. “Unless I decide to go home with someone.”

He went stiff as a board. “You will not put out on the first date.”

“Like you can really stop me.”

Ignoring her words, he said, “I went shopping in your RV and picked out a dress, brought it and all your makeup over. You can get ready here.”

“Thanks. A girl couldn't ask for a better friend.”

“We
are
friends.” He reached out, ghosted his knuckles along her jaw.

The touch, slight though it was, blindsided her, as always, sending electric pulses arcing through her, making her ache and burn. When would his effect on her fade?

“Friends,” she agreed.

Staring at her intently, he said softly, “I want to be more, Harlow. You know that. But I'm not a forever guy.”

“Why?” Need made her desperate, and desperation made her reckless. “Why do you give so little of yourself?”

He smiled his most indulgent smile, and it made little parts of her die inside, but as she stared at him, she began to notice a brittle edge to the expression. “Honey, I give the best part of me.”

“No. No.” She banged a fist against the bed. “Stop deflecting. Stop charming. You're breaking my heart. The least you can do is tell me the truth.”

All at once, it was as if a light inside him died out, his eyes suddenly a never-ending pit of darkness. “I'm...messed up.”

“So am I!”

“Harlow,” he said, voice raw, almost guttural. “You don't understand.”

“No, I don't. We could be happy together. You just have to give us a chance.”

“Harlow.” He combed his fingers through her hair, urging her forward, hugging her close to his chest as if she were precious, and in that moment, that second, she fell totally and completely in love with him. The knowledge shone brighter than the sun, sending shadows of the past fleeing.

She loved him. Loved his kindness and the complexity of his personality. She loved the way he looked at her, his dark eyes a little wild, a lot hungry. She loved the way he held her.

And maybe—maybe he'd fallen in love with her, and just hadn't realized it. He'd spent more time with her than any other woman. He enjoyed being with her, and he did everything in his power to take care of her. He was jealous of Dorian and had come to her rescue.

“We can be messed up together,” she said, realizing then she would never give up, would never let him go. He belonged with her, and she belonged with him. That wasn't going to change—a fact that should please him.

“What if I give you everything,” he said, “and it isn't enough?
I
am not enough. What if you leave me anyway?”

Lightbulb! He had attachment issues, yes, but he also feared rejection. He'd faced it with his dad, probably even countless families who'd overlooked him in favor of adopting some other kid, maybe even from the kids at the many different schools he'd attended.

“I wouldn't leave you,” she said.
I can't. I love you.
Would the admission scare him further?

His features, still infinitely tender, were torturous to behold. “The future is more unstable than dynamite, baby.”

“Yes, but you can't live your life by what-if.”

“I can spend my life
preparing
for what-if.” His grip tightened on her before he let go and stood. “Sometimes suspecting the outcome is better than knowing what actually happens.”

“No. That's the coward's way, Beck, and you'll never find satisfaction living that way, only discontent.” No peace, only worry.

A hardening around his eyes. “Maybe, but there have been times discontent has been my only friend.”

“Well, good news. This change won't hurt you, it'll only help you.”
I will give you everything. I will prove once and for all you are the one I want—the one I will always want.

She would have to step out of her comfort zone without the aid of whiskey, but the potential payoff would make any momentary discomfort worth it. This man, and the life they could have together, was worth everything.

“Harlow—”

“No. Don't say anything.” He'd only hurt her, dig the knife a little deeper, and he needed time to think about all she'd said. She stood and kissed his cheek. “Get out of here so I can shower. I've got a heart to win.”
Yours.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. He cupped her shoulders, holding on so tight she'd wear the bruises for days. But then he let go, and she missed his strength. He left the room without another word, shutting the door softly behind him.

Harlow barricaded herself in the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth—twice—and showered. When she emerged, she found the clothes Beck had picked out for her hanging on the back of the door. He must have brought them in while she'd sudsed up, because they hadn't been there when she'd entered.

Sly Beck. The glass stall had been so fogged with steam she'd missed him—but she'd bet he'd gotten a nice sneak peek at her.

Silly
Beck. He'd made her next play that much easier.

The dress he'd brought was one she hadn't yet worn. The low bustline would reveal the top edge of her scars, but maybe it wouldn't matter. The white lace would cling to her curves.

Something she liked about Beck—even when he hoped to foist her off on other men he didn't actually want her to be with, he still helped her look her best.

She dried her hair, applied her makeup. Just as she was putting on the finishing touches, the doorbell rang.

She sucked in a breath. The guests had already begun to arrive.

Now or never.

A knock sounded at the door. “You ready, baby?”

As I'll ever be
. She raised her chin and opened the door. Beck stood before her, showered and dressed in a sexy black T-shirt and jeans, and her mouth watered. He was casual sophistication, the man every other longed to be. The one every woman desired. As he looked her over, his gaze heated, blazed, the very air around them blistering.

Slowly she turned for him. “What do you think?”

“You are so beautiful,” he said, voice ragged. He cupped the back of her neck and dragged her close, so close, and held her against his chest. “You are too beautiful for anyone here.”

She gripped the sides of his belt loops. “Tell me something, Beck.”

“Anything.” He looked at her as if he breathed for her alone. As if his heart couldn't take its next beat without her. As if he cherished her.

Tremors swept through her. “Did you see what's underneath this dress while you were in the bathroom?”

“It's all I've been able to think about,” he admitted.

It was a baby step, but a step nonetheless. “It's not too late to send everyone home.” She rose on her tiptoes, brushed the tip of her nose against his. Even with her hooker heels, she needed a boost.

A predatory glimmer in his eyes. “I need you to pick someone else. You have to pick someone else.” Again his tone was ragged, quelling the hurt his words would have otherwise caused. “Pick him today.”