Bastard! He needed to be taught a lesson.
Welcome to Miss Glass’s classroom.
“You know, Beckham,” she said with a sunny smile, wishing she could think up a more original nickname—and maybe one that insulted rather than praised, “I can think of a few things I’d like you to do for me.” As she finished the journey to his side, being sure to sway her hips, raw hunger gleamed in his eyes, the green flecks brighter than ever. It threw her, made her stumble.
This is a game to him... Of course it’s just a game.
She sat at the edge of the bed and cupped his hand in hers. Tingles, heat. She ignored both.
He went still, the pulse in his neck quickening. She fought the urge to lean over and lick it—an urge she’d never before entertained. In high school, the hickey had been something of a specialty for her, but it had never been about passion. She’d simply marked the guys as her property.
“Your hands are placed awkwardly,” she said, getting back to business. “This is what you should always do with them.” She folded one of his fingers, then another, another and another, leaving only one. The middle one. “Yes, that’s right. I want you to go screw yourself!”
His gaze jerked up to hers and narrowed.
“I know what you’re doing,” she said. “You’re lining me up to be your next one-and-done, and I won’t stand for it.”
“Now, now, dumpling. You’re hurting my feelings.”
“As if you actually have any feelings!” She slapped at his chest. “But guess what? I do. And you want to know what isn’t nice? Using a girl for sex and ignoring her afterward!”
When she drew back her elbow to deliver another strike, he caught her wrist. He didn’t grin, he didn’t smirk, just flashed raw desire at her. “You want the sex, too. Admit it.”
At least he’d dropped the pretense. “I admit to nothing.”
“Back to that, are we?” He tugged her forward, at the same time swinging her around. She hit the mattress and bounced, Beck moving over her. “First, I wouldn’t ignore you afterward. We’d remain friendly. Second, if I took these fingers,” he said, waving them in her face, “even the one you seemed to favor, and tunneled them under your shorts...your panties...I’d find you wet. Wouldn’t I.”
The bastard didn’t even pose it as a question.
“No!” You’d find me soaking. “Don’t you dare do it. I... I want someone else.”
“West?” He shook his head, adamant. “I know that’s what you think, baby, but you’re wrong. You want me.”
She’d figured out she didn’t really want West, thank you, but she wasn’t going to give Beck the satisfaction of admitting the truth aloud. Well, not the full truth, anyway.
“I want a dream man, and you’re not him.”
Far from angered, he said silkily, “Tell me about him, then,” while tracing his knuckles over the curve of her cheek.
Fighting to gain control of her treacherous body, she lashed out. “For starters, he’s interested in marriage, not a fling.”
Beck laughed. Actually laughed. “And you think West is the marrying kind?”
“Why wouldn’t I think so? He hasn’t been banging his way through the female population.”
Low blow. He flinched, his good humor gone in a blink. “You are not a Victorian maiden, Harlow. You don’t have to get married to have sex.”
“You’re right. I don’t have to, but I want to. Or at the very least, I want to know I’m on that path before I take such a big step. I want to be part of a family again.”
The scowl he flashed was dark and lethal. “Have you practiced before marriage?”
“That’s none of your business,” she muttered.
“I’ll take that to mean very little.”
“Or a whole hell of a lot.” Or not at all. Whatever.
“And you think you want your family to include West?” he said. “Fine. Come on, then. Let’s get this over with so we can move on.” He stood, pulled on his shirt and buttoned it halfway up his chest before yanking her to her feet. He held on tight as he tugged her toward the door.
“Where are we going?”
“To the house. Friend that I am, I’m going to help you get to know West better.”
Had his voice hitched there at the end? Or was that wishful thinking on her part? “I don’t need your help.”
“You do, or you’d already have nailed him down.”
“There’s nothing wrong with taking things slow.”
“But there’s everything wrong with procrastinating. Just remember,” he said, continuing to drag her through the night as crickets sang and locusts buzzed, “this was what you asked for.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BECK HAD OVERPLAYED his hand tonight, but there was no going back now. He had to continue playing or he had to fold, and he wasn’t even close to being ready to fold. Harlow was a sickness, and bedding her was the only cure. If the only way to win her was to show her just how mistaken she was about West, then so be it.
He hauled her to the porch, moonlight and lamplight spilling over her, paying her delicate features nothing but tribute. Just then she was a woman who’d stepped straight from his sweetest dreams—and his worst nightmares. Someone who changed the rules of the game. She was lovely, almost ethereal, and her eyes the only glimpse of morning sky. Endless, fathomless. Breathtaking. His gut twisted with a sharp blend of anger and desire.