“And do all the heavy lifting myself?” Beck shook his head. “No. We do this together.”
Sweat beaded over her brow and upper lip, even dripped down her nape, which was odd since ice crystals had sprouted inside her veins. “I’m just... I’m not going in there. Okay?”
“What, you don’t want to be seen with me?” He arched a brow at her. “What if I promise to make it worth your while?”
He didn’t understand. A guy like him, so blessed in every area of his life, would never understand.
She backed away from him, saying, “I’m sorry, Beck, but I just remembered I’m needed at work. Private party.” She turned and rushed away, never looking back.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEXT DAY, Beck had a meeting in Oklahoma City. He decided to use the opportunity to find a new distraction.
He’d tossed and turned all night, his mind a volcano of activity. He knew he wasn’t good enough for long-term anything with anybody, but Harlow had taken it to a whole other level by refusing to be seen in public with him. She’d actually run away from him.
He wished he’d never seen the photos of her, wished he’d never spied her across the road yesterday, looking adorable with dirt streaked on her cheeks and arms, her hair so black it gleamed blue in the sunlight, her skin rosy, the smattering of freckles more evident than usual. She’d been fan-freaking-tastically adorable. A Country Girl Gone Wild fantasy he hadn’t known he’d had.
Her white shirt had been so thin, so damp with perspiration, he’d seen the outline of her bra. A sensible white cotton somehow sexier than red lace just because it nestled against her. It hadn’t helped when her nipples puckered before his eyes.
Desire for her had come swift and sharp, strong enough to make him crazy, to make him pant like a dog. His mouth had watered at the thought of tasting her, and his hands had itched to touch her. If she’d given him any encouragement at all, he would have gladly spent the rest of the day feasting on her.
But she hadn’t encouraged him, and now he was glad. Harlow Glass was nothing like the women he usually pursued; she wasn’t looking for a good time, and she wouldn’t go quietly in the morning. She’d already expressed curiosity about his past and would have demanded stories about his childhood as soon as she’d told stories about her own.
She was a complication he didn’t need, so, he’d find someone else. Easily. And he’d do it today.
The pencil in his hand snapped in half.
Dane Michaelson’s newest assistant... Sarah? Samantha? Whatever. She rushed over to pick up the pieces and give him a new one. He looked her over. She was understated but pretty, with brown hair and piercing green eyes. Not that it mattered. A woman was a woman. And he could have this one. She would take him however she could get him, and for the few hours he spent between her legs, he could fool himself into believing everything was okay. No thoughts. No problems. No worries, he reminded himself. Only pleasure.
He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Good. This was good. This was familiar.
“That will be all, Sasha,” Dane said. “Thank you.”
She sauntered out of the office, casting Beck a final peek over her shoulder. He winked at her.
“You surprise me. Flirting? At a business meeting?” Dane sat across from him, relaxed behind an elaborate desk constructed from salvaged wood. For a billionaire oil tycoon, he was absurdly young. Twenty-eight, Beck’s age. They’d known each other for...what? Close to six years now? Though they’d merely traded phone calls up until recently.
The guy had grown up in Strawberry Valley and even though he’d moved to the big, bad city for a number of years, he’d never been able to cut ties with his hometown, even tattooing his arms with wild strawberries.
“And now you ignore me,” Dane muttered. “We’ve been sitting in silence for a full ten minutes. You want to tell me about the new security program or not? That is the reason you’re here, isn’t it?”
“We both know you’re going to buy it no matter what I say. West does quality work and you won’t find a better system anywhere else.”
“Can we at least pretend to negotiate?”
“No. I’d rather talk about Harlow Glass. Do you know her?” Damn it. What happened to washing his hands of her?
What the hell made her so special? Yes, he’d seen pictures of her during childhood. Yes, he had an insane need to know more about the girl she’d been and the woman she’d become. But this seeming obsession with her did not fit his character.
“Know?” Dane said. “No. Know of? Yes. She went from shy and sugar-sweet to barbwire-mean overnight, eventually becoming the meanest girl in elementary school.” He worked his jaw. “She used to make Kenna cry.”
Kenna, Dane’s fiancée, was as tough as nails, so it was hard to imagine her breaking down, and equally hard to imagine Harlow the wannabe stripper as a school-yard terror. But then, most people probably didn’t look at him and see a murderer.
Dane eyed him thoughtfully. “Why the interest in her?”
“She and I have unfinished business.” He offered no more, his feelings too personal—too raw. “What else do you know about her?”
“Not much. I once overhead Kenna and Brook Lynn talking about her, and from what I gathered, she dropped out of public school her junior year in favor of being homeschooled and after that, she rarely left her house.” Dane leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen against the edge of his desk. “I must admit, your curiosity surprises me more than anything else.”