Part 23 (1/2)
”I'll do it. I'll pour them out.” She held them over the sink.
”Do it, and things will get ugly. I won't be responsible for my actions.”
”Oh, yeah?” She placed her thumb over the tops, shook the bottles and, as his eyes widened, sprayed him with the exploding liquid.
When the fizz ran out, he licked the drops from his mouth. ”Well, now,” he said, his tone even. ”I guess things are gonna get ugly.” And then he advanced.
He easily confiscated the beers and repeated her actions, shaking them and spraying her with what remained. Laughing hysterically, Harlow tried to escape. He merely backed her into a corner, dropped the bottles and held her in place with one hand while switching on the sink faucet with the other. He doused her from head to toe with water, and after she'd screamed and laughed in outrage, he stepped back to study his handiwork, nodding with satisfaction.
When he focused on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his satisfaction dovetailed into white-hot desire. ”Your nipples are hard.” Husky voice, a little slurred, as if the beer had gone to his head.
Her amus.e.m.e.nt died, and she began to pant. ”Look away.”
”I can't.” He planted his palms on the cabinets beside her temples, caging her in. Counter behind her, aroused male in front of her. ”Say yes, and I'll lick you clean from head to toe.”
Her mouth went dry, and her knees shook. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. A moment of pleasure awaited her...but only a moment.
He'd just set her up with another man; she had to resist him. ”No,” she whispered. ”My date...”
Fury clouded his eyes before he spun away from her. ”Your date. Right.”
”You did this, Beck. You. No one else.”
”You should thank me. He's Mr. Perfect. Everything I'm not.”
”What does that mean?”
”Doesn't mean a d.a.m.n thing.”
Feeling sad for him-for them-she sighed and said, ”I think that's the problem. It never does with you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
BECK PEERED UP at the ceiling of his bedroom, morning light seeping through the crack in the window curtains. He'd spent the night tossing and turning, missing the feel of Harlow in his arms.
After they'd cleaned the RV, he'd returned to the farmhouse to shower and change. The need to go back, to make things right with her, had been strong, but he'd somehow resisted. The girl was turning him inside out-which was the very reason he had to continue on this current path.
Except, tired and grumpy, he thought, What the h.e.l.l? He brushed his teeth, changed and made his way to the RV. Since she had no problem using her key to invade his house, he had no problem using his key to invade hers. He quietly made his way inside and found her in the bed. She lay curled on her side, her face toward his, a beam of light spotlighting her, turning her into the real Sleeping Beauty. He reached for her, caught himself just before contact and swallowed a curse.
He gathered everything he needed to cook his famous morning-after breakfast, and as the bacon began to sizzle, she sat up like a zombie rising from the grave. At his laugh, her eyes snapped open.
Utterly adorable-and d.a.m.n it, he had to look away. His body was strung tighter than a bow. Any more pressure and he would snap.
”Beck?”
”The one and only.”
”What are you doing here?”
”Cooking. I hope you're hungry, princess.”
”For bacon? Always. But I'd rather have you,” she grumbled.
He had to grip the counter to remain in place. ”Your date is tonight, remember?”
”What!” she gasped out. ”How could I remember when you never told me? So soon?”
”Why not?” The longer he put it off, the crazier it would make him.
”Just... Screw you.” The patter of footsteps. The slam of the bathroom door.
”Not a morning person,” he called. ”Got it.”
She emerged as he finished loading two plates with eggs, bacon of course, hash browns, pancakes and more bacon. They sat across from each other at the small table, and he pushed her plate in front of her.
”Well, well,” she said. ”I didn't sleep with you, but I get the blow-off breakfast anyway. Is it my birthday?”
”Technically, you have slept with me. Though I'm not sure why I keep coming back. I had to spend that night listening to you snore-”
”I do not snore!”
”Honey, you sound like a freight train.”
”You are such a liar.” She threw a fork at him. ”Tell me you're a liar!”
”And actually become a liar? No. You're welcome, by the way. For my exalted presence and the breakfast. When is your birthday, anyway?”
”December third.”
”That's coming in fast.”
She shrugged before admitting softly, ”It'll be my first birthday without my mom.”
h.e.l.lo, ache. I missed you. ”Well, it'll be your first birthday with me, you lucky girl, and I hereby vow to make it the best one of your life.”
Looking more vulnerable by the second, she said, ”Just how are you going to do that?”
He grinned slowly. ”Are you thinking naughty thoughts, Miss Gla.s.s? Wanting me to give you something personal?”
”Oh, shut up and let me eat,” she said, grabbing another fork.
”Uh, uh, uh.” He s.n.a.t.c.hed the plate away from her. ”Not until you tell me what you want for your birthday.”
”Gimme that food before you get stabbed.”
”Tell me.”