Part 19 (1/2)
”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 ma.s.sage 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 doc.u.ments 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 relations.h.i.+p?”
”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.
”But you changed. What changed you?” he asked softly, pus.h.i.+ng for answers, always pus.h.i.+ng.
Argh! Her body temperature dropped from white-hot to bone-cold, and she pulled away from him. He let her, taking hold of her other foot. ”I should have known you'd circle back to the Incident yet again.”
”The incident. Meaning a single circ.u.mstance. Tell me,” he said.
”No. I don't want to talk about it.”
”Have you ever talked about it? Or have you let it fester?”
She pressed her lips together, refusing to reply to even that. If she gave the slightest bit, he would take more and more until she had nothing left.
”What if I tell you a secret about me?” he asked. ”Something I've never told anyone else.”
In a snap, desperation hit her. She would do anything to learn more about him-even an exchange. ”Yes. Okay. Tell me a secret, and I will tell you about the Incident. But only the bare minimum facts.”
He snorted and shook his head. ”As if I'll give my secret away so cheaply. You'll tell me every detail.”
”Five details for five of your secrets.”
”Ten details, two secrets.”
”Four details, four secrets,” she countered.
”Twelve details, no secrets,” he insisted.
Her eyes narrowed. ”Tell me all your secrets and I'll tell you one of mine.”
”You'll tell me everything about it?”
”Everything,” she agreed with a sigh.
His smile stretched wide. ”You've got yourself a deal, baby.”
He hit a particularly tender area, and she released another moan, her back arching, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s straining against her top.
”That feels... Oh... Oh!”
Voice nothing but mist and seduction, he said, ”I could make you feel even better...all over. If only you'd let me.”
Desire thrummed, more insistent, until she teetered on the brink of ultimate surrender.
This flower is dead...
With what little willpower she could scrounge up, she pulled her foot from his grip and crossed her arms over her chest, hiding the twin beads trying to play peekaboo. ”You go first,” she muttered. ”All your secrets.”
”And let you welsh?”
She gave him the look most of her teachers had given her over the years. Authoritative yet pitying. ”And let you tell me lame secrets about your s.e.xcapades?”
”Well, well. Miss Gla.s.s certainly has my number. In more ways than one.” For one drawn-out moment, all he did was stare at her lips. ”First secret. As a teenager, I was arrested twice.”
”How naughty of you.” An outlaw who lived by no rules but his own. She should have guessed.
And oh, wow, my romance-novel roots are showing.
Gaze intense, studying her every nuance, he slipped his fingers up her calves, played a game of tickle and retreat at her knees. ”Once for theft, and once for beating the c.r.a.p out of a guy, though there should have been dozens more arrests after that. I needed money, so I fought men twice my size and age. Anyone others were willing to pay to see beat down.”
”That's good info to have,” she said, aching all over, ”but hardly your best-kept secrets. I'm sure Jase and West know.”
”You're right. They do.” He rubbed his jaw, and she heard the light sc.r.a.pe of stubble. ”You don't want to know about my s.e.xual conquests, and you don't want to know about my record. What do you want to know?”
Hands itching for contact, any contact, she plucked at the collar of his s.h.i.+rt. ”Tell me about one of the worst foster homes you lived in.”
He stiffened, and several moments ticked by in silence. This was it-the moment of truth. If he deflected, she'd know he wasn't ready for this. If he didn't, well, he would surprise her.
He surprised her.
”There are several to choose from,” he said. ”There was one... The dad had a problem with his temper and knew how to hide bruises. He hit me, whipped me with branches and paddles. Sometimes just looking him in the eye set him off.”
Bile rose, swift and sure. ”Oh, baby.” She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight, offering all the comfort she could. ”I'm so sorry.” At first, he remained stiff. Second by second, he relaxed until he was hugging her back, holding on so tight she'd wear the bruises tomorrow, but she didn't care, loved being his lifeline.
”There was another foster home,” he whispered. ”A worse one. The mother would sneak into my room at night...”
The sickness intensified, a blistering burn. ”How old were you?”