“For the information I crave, we need to be alone.” He leaned into her and nibbled on her earlobe. “Let’s go back to the inn.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BECK MADE A PALLET on the floor.
Harlow demanded to know his question again and again, but he said, “In a minute,” every time. Under her watchful gaze, he slowly stripped to his underwear.
“Those muscles don’t fight fair,” she grumbled.
“And you think those legs of yours do?” He got as comfortable as possible, considering desire burned in his bones.
She snuggled comfortably in bed and switched off the lamp, throwing shadows over the room.
“While you’re up there on that cold, hard bed, I’m down here on these soft-as-silk sheets.” Silk, sandpaper—whatever. “It’s like you’re punishing yourself when I only want to pamper you.”
“Nice try, Becky, but I’m not buying the bull you’re selling.”
He covered his smile, realized she couldn’t see him and let it stretch wide. “Becky? That’s the nickname I get?”
“Hate it?” Relish dripped from her tone.
“Darling, it’s absolutely perfect. Come down here and let your good friend Becky keep you safe all night.”
She snorted. “Ask your question already. I’m about to fall asleep.”
With darkness surrounding them, he kept his voice whisper-soft, almost like smoke. “What’s your dirtiest fantasy?”
The rustle of covers. He couldn’t see her, but he could easily imagine she’d just rolled to her side in an effort to assuage the ache between her legs—one only he could end.
“I like to fantasize about you and me...”
Just like that. Hard. As. A. Rock. He stroked his length up, down. “Go on.”
“We’re in one of the rooms here at the inn...and I’m wet, throbbing...”
“What do I do?” he croaked.
“You slowly...sweetly...make the bed for me.”
He barked out a laugh. “Evil woman. I said dirtiest fantasy.”
“You’ve seen these sheets. You know they’re filthy. Besides, watching you clean would be total girl porn.”
“Me doing anything should be Harlow porn.”
“It is. It really is. You’re my fantasy. But what’s Beck porn?”
Anything Harlow, and that was the honest truth. She moved, and he hardened. She breathed—hell, she looked at him or entered a room, and he wanted her. Just her. Just to be near her like this. She eased something inside him, as if the missing part of his life had finally been found.
And maybe—maybe this time he could keep her. She hadn’t run when he’d confessed his greatest sin.
“Did you enjoy your first official date with me?” he asked, choosing not to answer her last question.
“I did. You were charming—”
“I’m always charming.”
“And witty. And what do you mean, always charming? You most certainly are not.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re unable to recognize charm every time it bites you.”
“Ha!”
He blew her a kiss, even though she couldn’t see him. “Go on to sleep, Harlow. Get some rest.” You’re going to need it.
Covers rustled again. “Beck?” she whispered.
“Yes, Harlow.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.” Though it took him hours to fall asleep, when he did, he was smiling.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY began poorly. Beck woke up to find Harlow had already taken off, crushing his need to kiss her goodbye.
Mood souring by the second, he dressed in his usual suit and tie and, before heading to the office, stopped to talk to Carol about Scott and Tawny. He learned the two had already checked out—saving their lives—and asked that any new customers be turned away, as Beck would be paying double for every room. The less Harlow had to do, the more energy she would have for other activities.
At work, he watched the clock, waiting for time to tick by and cursing its ability to slow to a crawl.
By 5:03 p.m., he was certain Harlow had finished with her chores. But why hadn’t she called him?
“You should be embarrassed,” West said, plopping into the chair in front of his desk.
“Why?”
“You’re even more of a goner than Jase, and I’m pretty sure his balls have shriveled up and died.”
“They most certainly have not,” Jase said. “I know, because they are currently hanging in Brook Lynn’s trophy case.”
Beck leaned back and folded his hands over his middle. “You’re one to talk, Westley.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There’s a certain sassy blonde you like to stare at... This ringing any bells for you?”
West glowered at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want Jessie Kay.”
“Keep lying to yourself. Maybe one day you’ll even believe it.”
Eyes narrowing, West said, “If I wanted Jessie Kay, I wouldn’t be on the prowl for my next relationship, now, would I?”
When West decided to “be in a relationship” he always picked a woman he found attractive but didn’t actually enjoy being around. Jessie Kay seemed to fit the bill. Why not go for her?
“Anyone particular in mind?” Beck asked.
“No one I’m willing to discuss.”