“I’ve never begged before.” His voice went low, husky. “But there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”
The air between them began to thicken, becoming heavier, making it harder for her to breathe, a sensation she was getting used to. She ached. She craved what only he seemed capable of giving her.
She’d made a tactical error, she realized. She’d challenged a playboy. “Just...get out,” she managed. “Please.”
His gaze roved over her slowly, heating, hotter and hotter. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
No. “Please,” she repeated.
“Very well. I’ll allow you to retreat. This time.” He stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
* * *
BECK GRABBED A beer from Harlow’s fridge. He hadn’t slept, so, technically this morning was merely an extension of last night. He took a long, deep swig while glaring at the cubbies and shelves. He saw his favorite beer. His favorite sandwich meat. His favorite cheeses. He hadn’t known what she liked, and he’d refused to leave the thing empty, even for a day. Now a sense of possession rose. My food, her fridge. Our stuff. Together.
He banged his fist into the door. He didn’t need this.
He remembered Harlow’s reaction to seeing the items. She hadn’t cared about name brands or that he’d made sure each of the four food groups properly represented. She had rejoiced over the simple fact that she would be eating. Period. And it had broken his freaking heart.
So. Yeah. Alcohol goggles had never sounded like a better idea. He took another swig of the beer. The situation with Harlow grew more complicated by the second, and something had to give. Soon. He’d been building to this point for a while, a man who hated change on the brink of one he couldn’t stop—didn’t want to stop. He was a pressure cooker set to explode any day...minute...second...
That happened, and he would be on her. But what accompanied an explosion of any kind? Destruction. Old habits would die hard.
There were so many things he wanted to do to and with her. One night would never be enough.
Despite what most people thought, his one-night stands weren’t just about sex. Or even his own brand of therapy. For a little while, he wasn’t a piece of trash easily left behind; he was a man worth begging for. A man without a past, without faults or failures. And when he left, he was a fantasy worth remembering.
What would he be to Harlow? Heartbreak?
He drained the rest of the beer and tossed the glass bottle in the recycling bin with more force than he’d intended. Normally he could take or leave a woman. If one didn’t want him, fine. Another soon came along. But he couldn’t leave Harlow, despite the complications. Despite the torment of this. He wanted her too desperately. Wanted her even though she’d given him no real encouragement.
But damn if she hadn’t given West plenty.
When she’d flirted with his friend, every muscle in Beck’s body had tensed. His blood had morphed into fuel, a lit match dropped inside his veins. Hello, wildfire. He’d nearly started a fight. Over nothing.
West’s interrogation this morning hadn’t helped.
“Why was your girl trying to interview me?” his friend had asked. “And for what position?”
Jase had been there, too. He’d grinned. “Did she ask you to name your biggest weakness?”
“You mean my inability not to be awesome?” Beck had quipped. “No. Because she didn’t ask me anything. She asked West. I have no idea why.” Was she attracted to the guy?
Well, too bad. Beck had found her first. She belonged to him.
Damn it. He could have her, but he would not claim her.
Harlow exited the bedroom looking fresh, adorable and young in a plain white T-shirt and jean skirt. Last night he’d burned her tent and collected her meager possessions from the campsite, feeling like an ass for throwing out everything that had been in the house when he and the others first moved in. Everything but the photos. The items had been hers, all she’d had left from her childhood, and he’d thoughtlessly had them destroyed at the city dump.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“You are...” Stunning, worth anything, worth everything. “You’ll do.” Worth anything? Everything? Hell, no.
“Not exactly office-appropriate, I know,” she said, smoothing the sides of the denim. “But it’s the best I’ve got.”
Her unease gutted him. This amazing woman should only ever be confident and assured. And damn it, he needed to find a way to detach from her. Fast.
“Like I said, you’ll do.”
She frowned at him. “For an incurable flirt who always has a kind word for the women in his life, you kind of suck right now.”
She was right. Flirt was his default, compliments his currency. He should be doling out praise rather than insulting her while staring at her with hopeless longing, but he simply couldn’t quite manage it. If she smiled at him, if she laughed, her face would light up. Bye-bye, what little remained of his control.
“Come on. Let’s go.” He preferred to be inside the office well before eight, when the rest of the town came alive and accosting him on the sidewalk became a sport.
The ten-minute drive passed in silence, and he was glad. He used the time to calm the hell down.
Cora, the receptionist, sat at her desk in the lobby and smiled when she spotted him. “Good morning, Mr. Ockley.”
“Morning, Cora. This is—”