The Hotter You Burn

“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 who 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.