Original Heartbreakers: The Hotter You Burn Part 23

"I'll do it. I'll pour them out." She held them over the sink.

"Do it, and things will get ugly. I won't be responsible for my actions."

"Oh, yeah?" She placed her thumb over the tops, shook the bottles and, as his eyes widened, sprayed him with the exploding liquid.

When the fizz ran out, he licked the drops from his mouth. "Well, now," he said, his tone even. "I guess things are gonna get ugly." And then he advanced.

He easily confiscated the beers and repeated her actions, shaking them and spraying her with what remained. Laughing hysterically, Harlow tried to escape. He merely backed her into a corner, dropped the bottles and held her in place with one hand while switching on the sink faucet with the other. He doused her from head to toe with water, and after she'd screamed and laughed in outrage, he stepped back to study his handiwork, nodding with satisfaction.

When he focused on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his satisfaction dovetailed into white-hot desire. "Your nipples are hard." Husky voice, a little slurred, as if the beer had gone to his head.

Her amus.e.m.e.nt died, and she began to pant. "Look away."

"I can't." He planted his palms on the cabinets beside her temples, caging her in. Counter behind her, aroused male in front of her. "Say yes, and I'll lick you clean from head to toe."

Her mouth went dry, and her knees shook. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. A moment of pleasure awaited her...but only a moment.

He'd just set her up with another man; she had to resist him. "No," she whispered. "My date..."

Fury clouded his eyes before he spun away from her. "Your date. Right."

"You did this, Beck. You. No one else."

"You should thank me. He's Mr. Perfect. Everything I'm not."

"What does that mean?"

"Doesn't mean a d.a.m.n thing."

Feeling sad for him-for them-she sighed and said, "I think that's the problem. It never does with you."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

BECK PEERED UP at the ceiling of his bedroom, morning light seeping through the crack in the window curtains. He'd spent the night tossing and turning, missing the feel of Harlow in his arms.

After they'd cleaned the RV, he'd returned to the farmhouse to shower and change. The need to go back, to make things right with her, had been strong, but he'd somehow resisted. The girl was turning him inside out-which was the very reason he had to continue on this current path.

Except, tired and grumpy, he thought, What the h.e.l.l? He brushed his teeth, changed and made his way to the RV. Since she had no problem using her key to invade his house, he had no problem using his key to invade hers. He quietly made his way inside and found her in the bed. She lay curled on her side, her face toward his, a beam of light spotlighting her, turning her into the real Sleeping Beauty. He reached for her, caught himself just before contact and swallowed a curse.

He gathered everything he needed to cook his famous morning-after breakfast, and as the bacon began to sizzle, she sat up like a zombie rising from the grave. At his laugh, her eyes snapped open.

Utterly adorable-and d.a.m.n it, he had to look away. His body was strung tighter than a bow. Any more pressure and he would snap.

"Beck?"

"The one and only."

"What are you doing here?"

"Cooking. I hope you're hungry, princess."

"For bacon? Always. But I'd rather have you," she grumbled.

He had to grip the counter to remain in place. "Your date is tonight, remember?"

"What!" she gasped out. "How could I remember when you never told me? So soon?"

"Why not?" The longer he put it off, the crazier it would make him.

"Just... Screw you." The patter of footsteps. The slam of the bathroom door.

"Not a morning person," he called. "Got it."

She emerged as he finished loading two plates with eggs, bacon of course, hash browns, pancakes and more bacon. They sat across from each other at the small table, and he pushed her plate in front of her.

"Well, well," she said. "I didn't sleep with you, but I get the blow-off breakfast anyway. Is it my birthday?"

"Technically, you have slept with me. Though I'm not sure why I keep coming back. I had to spend that night listening to you snore-"

"I do not snore!"

"Honey, you sound like a freight train."

"You are such a liar." She threw a fork at him. "Tell me you're a liar!"

"And actually become a liar? No. You're welcome, by the way. For my exalted presence and the breakfast. When is your birthday, anyway?"

"December third."

"That's coming in fast."

She shrugged before admitting softly, "It'll be my first birthday without my mom."

h.e.l.lo, ache. I missed you. "Well, it'll be your first birthday with me, you lucky girl, and I hereby vow to make it the best one of your life."

Looking more vulnerable by the second, she said, "Just how are you going to do that?"

He grinned slowly. "Are you thinking naughty thoughts, Miss Gla.s.s? Wanting me to give you something personal?"

"Oh, shut up and let me eat," she said, grabbing another fork.

"Uh, uh, uh." He s.n.a.t.c.hed the plate away from her. "Not until you tell me what you want for your birthday."

"Gimme that food before you get stabbed."

"Tell me."

"A wedding ring. How about that?"

Brat. "I'd be willing to give you a practice wedding night." He set the food in front of her, saying in falsetto, "'Thank you, Beck. You look so handsome this morning, Beck.'"

Harlow dug into her food, ignoring him.

"'Why, Beck Joseph Ockley,'" he continued in his impression of her, "'you always have the best ideas.'"

Harlow glanced up. "Your middle name is Joseph?"

"Yep. What's yours?"

"Adrianne."

He'd had a forkful of eggs on the way to his mouth, paused, then slowly lowered the utensil. "Did you say... Adrianne?"

"Yes." She chomped into a piece of bacon. "Why?"

"Well, I had no idea your initials were HAG."

Horrorified, she gasped out, "Don't you dare call me hag."

He smirked at her. Was there any woman more adorable?

Dorian would go crazy for her.

Good humor suddenly gone, Beck attacked his food with a vengeance. When he finished, he felt sick, but he stood, carried his plate to the sink.

Without looking at her, he said, "Your date will be here at seven. Be ready."

"Don't worry, I will. And I'll wear something s.e.xy. One of the racier dresses you gave me."

He barely contained his scowl. "One of the immodest ones you refuse to wear for me?"

"Definitely."

"Great." Either she was more confident now, or she simply hoped to torture Beck. "I'll wear a suit."

"As my bodyguard, it'd be more appropriate for you to wear camo."

"Hag, it won't matter what I'm wearing. If I decide to take out your date, he'll never see me coming."

AFTER BECK TOOK OFF, Harlow called for reinforcements. To her surprise and delight, Brook Lynn and Jessie Kay showed up at five to help her get ready for her three-person date-slash-torture session.

"By the time we're done with you," Jessie Kay said, "Beck is gonna wish he'd lost his p.e.n.i.s in a tragic bull-riding accident."

"Let's hope." Like a harem girl within the pages of a romance novel, Harlow was buffed, waxed and oiled, her hair curled and coiffed. Despite her earlier bravado, she pulled a cashmere sweater over the revealing sheath dress she selected, hiding her scars.

When the girls finished with her, she twirled in front of the full-length mirror she'd had installed in the bedroom, pleased with how she'd turned out. The icy color of the dress brought out the blue in her eyes, and even her hair. Three healthy meals a day had added a natural rosy tint to her skin and blessed her with the feminine curves she'd always envied in others.

"If he can do more than drool," Jessie Kay added, "he's a stronger man than I am."

Brook Lynn rolled her eyes. "As if there's ever been a stronger man than you."

"This is true."

Harlow would have given anything to be part of their family. They had such an easy camaraderie. They supported each other, loved each other, no matter what.

Brook Lynn glanced down at her vibrating phone and sighed. "That's Jase again. He says I'm needed home stat. I swear, ever since he learned Dorian Oliver is coming to town, he's been freaking out."

"I should probably stay here," Jessie Kay said. "You know, as Harlow's moral compa.s.s."

"You are not inviting yourself on tonight's date-or into Dorian's pants," Brook Lynn told her. "And if you're a moral compa.s.s, I fear for the world."

"What about you and Daniel Porter?" Harlow asked.

Jessie Kay looked to the floor, hiding her eyes. "We're still dating, but not exclusive. He just got home from a yearlong military tour and isn't ready to commit."

Ugh. He might not be ready, but Jessie Kay surely was. Been there, living that. Harlow reached over and squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry."

"It is what it is. The story of my life."

"You two are depressing." Brook Lynn tugged her sister to the door. "Come on, let's go before you make Harlow cry a river."

They were gone a few seconds later, and Harlow wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on her thighs. This was her first date as an adult woman. Why had she insisted Beck come along? Now she had to rebuff this Dorian guy without looking as if she were rebuffing him, while encouraging Beck without looking as if she were encouraging him.

Easy.

A hard rap exploded at the door, making her gasp. It was six forty-five, and Beck had never been early for anything. She figured the girls had forgotten something and had come back to get it, her smile of welcome fading as the door swung open to reveal Beck dressed in a pin-striped suit, as promised, looking gorgeous and sophisticated and totally out of her league.

A man she'd never met stood next to him, Brook Lynn and Jessie Kay hovering in the background, gaping at him. Jessie Kay even fanned herself and pretended to faint.

Beck whistled with appreciation. "Lord have mercy, hag. You've fried my brain. I can't even stay mad at you for desecrating my bedroom walls."

"Hag?" the stranger asked.

"A nickname that will likely get some part of Beck removed in the near future," she said. "And I did not desecrate his walls. I made them better. They were beige."

Stranger laughed, and she would have sworn fairies wept. "I think I'll stick with Harlow, then." He extended his hand. "I'm Dorian Oliver."

As they shook, she took his measure. He topped out at six foot, an inch shorter than Beck. He had a lion's mane of pale hair, his eyes a startling mix of smoke and sunset, and his face...

His features were the most symmetrically perfect she'd ever seen. "I want to sketch you," she blurted out.