The Hotter You Burn

The need to comfort him, to make up for the traumas of his past, smoldered beneath it, vibrant and undeniable, an obsession, an addiction without end.

This amazing warrior wasn’t a he-slut, she realized. He was a man trying to survive the hand he’d been dealt. How dare she judge him? How dare she make him feel bad for his choices?

She’d handled things poorly with him before, but she wouldn’t this time. Denying him—denying them both—had been the wrong way to go. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted another, so why not have him? Why not enjoy him?

Afterward, if the worst happened and he cut her loose, well, the worst happened. She would have tried for happily-ever-after. She would deal.

“Beck,” she whispered, and rubbed her nose along his jawline. “You are one of the best things to ever happen to me, too, and I want to be with you.”

He went still, even seemed to stop breathing. “I’m not the best, I’m the worst. You don’t.”

“You are the best. And I do. I really do. Let me prove it.” Fighting past her shyness, she placed her palm between his legs and stroked up...down, and oh, wow, he was big and hard and perfect. So amazingly perfect.

He sucked in a breath. “Harlow.”

Her name on his lips never failed to enchant her. “Please, Beck.”

A groan that did not sound human sprang from him. “Yes, beauty. I’ll give you what you need. What I need.” He cupped her breasts and despite the robe and tank, the effect he had on her had to be obvious. “I’ll give you...” He frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone else.” He stumbled back, out of reach.

“Someone else?” Her brow furrowed with confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not what you need. You said so.”

Her blood cooled, the words she’d once uttered in haste now coming back to bite her. “You are.”

“No. I decided I’m going to do whatever is necessary to make sure you’re happy.” He stumbled to the fridge to grab a beer.

“Uh, are you sure you need that?”

“Never been surer.” He popped the top and drained the contents. And he did seem steadier as he placed the bottle on the counter, removed his jacket. He tugged off his tie as well, and unfastened the first three buttons on his shirt, as if the material choked him.

“Is the heat on?” he asked. “Why is the heat on in the middle of summer?”

“It’s not on.”

Three more buttons.

“Are you feverish?” His lips had burned so sweetly. She flattened her hand over his forehead, his skin as hot as his lips, but it wasn’t clammy or sickly.

He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing, but all too soon that golden gaze was back on her and narrowing. “I’m tired,” he said, and he sure sounded it. “I should go to bed.”

Though her body shouted in protest, her mind sighed in relief. They desperately needed to discuss what had just happened—about what she wanted to happen still—but it would be better if he were sober.

“All right. I’ll walk you home.”

He shook his head. “Don’t want to leave. Not yet. You suggested we watch TV, remember?” He linked their fingers and led her into the bedroom. A short journey, and yet an eternity seemed to pass. He settled atop the mattress.

He’s in my bed. Trembling, she drew the comforter over him. “Forget the TV and get some rest.”

“Stay with me.” He caught her hand, tugging her beside him.

He’s in my bed—with me. Her mind had trouble processing the extraordinary event. Women all over the world experienced the wondrous phenomenon of being held like this, but Harlow never had. It was a first, and it took only a second to realize she did not want it to be an only. The heat of him cocooned her, buffering her from the world that had once been so cold to her. His strength anchored her, his hard planes offering resting places for her soft curves. His intoxicating champagne scent fused with her natural fragrance—became their scent.

“Tell me your secret.” His warm breath fanned over her forehead. “I have to know more about you. It’s a compulsion. A necessity.”

“Not now.” She would ruin the moment.

“Please, shortcake.”

“I... I’ll tell you in the morning.” When the alcohol was out of his system. “All right?”

“You promise?”

She drew in a deep breath, held it. Exhaled slowly. “I promise.”

He kissed her temple. “Sleep, then.”

She didn’t want to fall asleep. She wanted to stay awake and enjoy the feel of being held, almost cherished. But his arms tightened around her, intractable steel bands, as if, in this vulnerable moment, he feared losing her, and it didn’t take her long to drift away with a smile.

Whether he’d admitted it to himself or not, she mattered to him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HARLOW BLINKED UNTIL the fuzz cleared from her eyes, her bedroom coming into view. All was as she’d left it, save for the man’s shirt and tie hanging from the edge of the curtain rod over the window.

What—

Something shifted on the bed, warm breath fanning her neck. She stiffened, slowly turned her head—and came face-to-face with a sleeping Beck.

Beck!

That’s right. He’d come over in the middle of the night, wanting but not wanting her to draw a picture. He’d crawled into bed and pulled her beside him, holding her close. His arm was still draped over her middle, his lashes casting spiky shadows over his cheeks.