The air between them began to thicken, becoming heavier, making it harder for her to breathe, a sensation she was getting used to. She ached. She craved what only he seemed capable of giving her.

She'd made a tactical error, she realized. She'd challenged a playboy. "Just...get out," she managed. "Please."

His gaze roved over her slowly, heating, hotter and hotter. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

No. "Please," she repeated.

"Very well. I'll allow you to retreat. This time." He stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

BECK GRABBED A beer from Harlow's fridge. He hadn't slept, so, technically this morning was merely an extension of last night. He took a long, deep swig while glaring at the cubbies and shelves. He saw his favorite beer. His favorite sandwich meat. His favorite cheeses. He hadn't known what she liked, and he'd refused to leave the thing empty, even for a day. Now a sense of possession rose. My food, her fridge. Our stuff. Together.

He banged his fist into the door. He didn't need this.

He remembered Harlow's reaction to seeing the items. She hadn't cared about name brands or that he'd made sure each of the four food groups properly represented. She had rejoiced over the simple fact that she would be eating. Period. And it had broken his freaking heart.

So. Yeah. Alcohol goggles had never sounded like a better idea. He took another swig of the beer. The situation with Harlow grew more complicated by the second, and something had to give. Soon. He'd been building to this point for a while, a man who hated change on the brink of one he couldn't stop-didn't want to stop. He was a pressure cooker set to explode any day...minute...second...

That happened, and he would be on her. But what accompanied an explosion of any kind? Destruction. Old habits would die hard.

There were so many things he wanted to do to and with her. One night would never be enough.

Despite what most people thought, his one-night stands weren't just about s.e.x. Or even his own brand of therapy. For a little while, he wasn't a piece of trash easily left behind; he was a man worth begging for. A man without a past, without faults or failures. And when he left, he was a fantasy worth remembering.

What would he be to Harlow? Heartbreak?

He drained the rest of the beer and tossed the gla.s.s bottle in the recycling bin with more force than he'd intended. Normally he could take or leave a woman. If one didn't want him, fine. Another soon came along. But he couldn't leave Harlow, despite the complications. Despite the torment of this. He wanted her too desperately. Wanted her even though she'd given him no real encouragement.

But d.a.m.n if she hadn't given West plenty.

When she'd flirted with his friend, every muscle in Beck's body had tensed. His blood had morphed into fuel, a lit match dropped inside his veins. h.e.l.lo, wildfire. He'd nearly started a fight. Over nothing.

West's interrogation this morning hadn't helped.

"Why was your girl trying to interview me?" his friend had asked. "And for what position?"

Jase had been there, too. He'd grinned. "Did she ask you to name your biggest weakness?"

"You mean my inability not to be awesome?" Beck had quipped. "No. Because she didn't ask me anything. She asked West. I have no idea why." Was she attracted to the guy?

Well, too bad. Beck had found her first. She belonged to him.

d.a.m.n it. He could have her, but he would not claim her.

Harlow exited the bedroom looking fresh, adorable and young in a plain white T-shirt and jean skirt. Last night he'd burned her tent and collected her meager possessions from the campsite, feeling like an a.s.s for throwing out everything that had been in the house when he and the others first moved in. Everything but the photos. The items had been hers, all she'd had left from her childhood, and he'd thoughtlessly had them destroyed at the city dump.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"You are..." Stunning, worth anything, worth everything. "You'll do." Worth anything? Everything? h.e.l.l, no.

"Not exactly office-appropriate, I know," she said, smoothing the sides of the denim. "But it's the best I've got."

Her unease gutted him. This amazing woman should only ever be confident and a.s.sured. And d.a.m.n it, he needed to find a way to detach from her. Fast.

"Like I said, you'll do."

She frowned at him. "For an incurable flirt who always has a kind word for the women in his life, you kind of suck right now."

She was right. Flirt was his default, compliments his currency. He should be doling out praise rather than insulting her while staring at her with hopeless longing, but he simply couldn't quite manage it. If she smiled at him, if she laughed, her face would light up. Bye-bye, what little remained of his control.

"Come on. Let's go." He preferred to be inside the office well before eight, when the rest of the town came alive and accosting him on the sidewalk became a sport.

The ten-minute drive pa.s.sed in silence, and he was glad. He used the time to calm the h.e.l.l down.

Cora, the receptionist, sat at her desk in the lobby and smiled when she spotted him. "Good morning, Mr. Ockley."

"Morning, Cora. This is-"

The older woman hissed. "I know who she is. She's the bully who caused many of my students to cry."

Cora was a former schoolteacher, with the index finger from h.e.l.l. Whenever she pointed it in your direction, you felt the flames rise up and lick at your feet. "Now, Cora," he said.

"I'm sorry," Harlow interjected, stepping forward on her own. "I regret my childhood actions every day, and I hope you'll give me a chance to prove I'm a different person now."

Beck liked that she made no excuses. She copped to her wrongdoing and accepted full responsibility.

Cora wasn't so easily convinced. "Time will tell, Miss Gla.s.s. Time will tell."

"I agree."

He draped his arm around Harlow's waist in a show of support, but immediately regretted the decision. She fit him perfectly. Too perfectly. "If you need us, we'll be in my office." Beck led her through the building, saying, "What do you think of West's nerdatory?"

"The walls are beige," Harlow said, and he barked out a laugh.

He should have known she'd focus on the lack of color.

Once he had her settled on the couch in his office, and himself behind the desk, he said, "Why were you a bully as a kid?"

Up went her chin, a stubborn action he recognized and was coming to hate. But she also rubbed her fingers over her stomach, as if tracing a familiar pattern. "Maybe I was born rotten to the core."

On to her tricks now, he shook his head. "I had Jase ask around. Also, I've seen pictures of you when you were little." No reason to lie, every reason not to. There was a shaky trust building between them, and a single untruth would cause it to crumble. "Once upon a time, you were a sweetheart with sad eyes."

"Pictures?" She blinked as realization struck. "You found my box. In my-your-closet."

"Yes."

"But...why didn't you throw them away, like everything else?"

He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. "Maybe I hoped I'd find a nude of adult Harlow."

The prettiest pink brightened her cheeks. "Yes, well, I'm sure the people in town gave Jase an earful about all the times I wasn't such a sweetheart."

"They did, but I don't care about what you once did, only why. I have an interesting childhood myself."

In a small voice, she said, "Really?"

Hoping she would soften if she knew a little about him, he admitted, "I ran away from several foster homes. I was involved in multiple fights and a few other unsavory exploits. I left a trail of broken hearts in my wake."

She opened her mouth, closed it. Opened, closed. "You were in foster care?"

"Yes. Now, what happened to you?"

Plucking at the hem of her skirt, she said, "Nothing original, really. My dad called me names, and I called other people names."

The thought of little Harlow subjected to verbal and mental abuse enraged him. "Your dad is gone now?"

"Yes."

Too bad. Beck would have enjoyed dishing his own brand of abuse. "Why did you stop being a bully?"

She looked away, licked her lips. "What do you want me to do first, boss?"

d.a.m.n it, he'd pushed too soon for too much. What would it take to get her to open up? And why did he even care? It wasn't as if he had to know her secrets to enjoy her delectable little body.

"Just sit there and look pretty while I get some work done," he grumbled, focusing on his computer screen and the thousand emails waiting to be answered. "I haven't seen the set or character descriptions on the latest game contract."

He was able to block Harlow out...until she shifted on the couch. Her jean skirt rode higher up her thighs. Such lovely thighs. He was going to love trailing his tongue up, up from her knees to the edge of the denim. With a slight push of his fingers, his tongue would be able to complete the journey and find- "Beck," she said, breathless. "Whatever you're thinking about..."

He was staring at her, he realized, gripping the edge of his desk, seething with the need to pull the blinds over the gla.s.s walls and dive on her. "You'd like it. Ask nicely, and I'll show you."

The building's front door opened, sunlight pouring inside along with Mark and Kimberly of S&S Financial. Right. His eight-o'clock meeting. A welcome distraction.

"Never mind." The company had only recently signed up as a client, and now Beck had to explain the operating systems more thoroughly.

"Mr. Ockley." Cora's voice spilled from the speakerphone. "Mr. Timberlane and Miss Potus are here to see you."

He picked up the phone. "Send them back."

As the pair made their way to his office, Harlow asked, "Should I step outside?"

No longer have her within reach? "You need to familiarize yourself with the inner workings of the business. Stay and take mental notes."

"Yes, sir." Her ocean-water gaze lingered on Mark as he entered, and Beck tensed, a curse brewing at the back of his throat...until she turned her attention to Kimberly, giving the young woman a once-over, abject longing overtaking her expression. She looked herself over, too, and plucked at a bit of lint on her T-shirt.

Beck's heart melted at the self-conscious gesture. She outshone the other woman by miles, but she had no idea.

Mark cleared his throat.

The meeting. Right. Beck stood, walked around the desk, and shook hands with both. "Good to see you again."

Kimberly smiled sweetly. But then, everything about her was sweet. She'd reminded him of sugar since the moment they'd met, kind to everyone she encountered. He'd thought about asking her out, but was now glad he hadn't. He was coming to realize he preferred his women with a little spice.

Harlow stood. Kimberly nodded a welcome at her, and Mark arched a brow in question.

"Our newest hire," Beck explained. "She'll be listening in, learning the ropes. Don't hesitate to stop and ask her to repeat everything we've said."

Harlow paled, and Beck had to swallow a laugh.

"Nice to meet you both," she croaked.

Everyone took their seats, and for over an hour Beck explained the ins and outs of West's newest program. He wondered what Harlow thought of everything, watching her more than he watched his a.s.sociates, but her expression gave nothing away.

"Please, don't take this the wrong way," Kimberly said, smoothing a strand of hair in place, "but I'm a little lost. There's so much information to take in."

"I know, which is why it would be best if one of you spent the week in Strawberry Valley." Most companies like his would send an employee to train those at S&S Financial, but that wasn't the way Beck worked. The change in his routine on top of the change in his location would finally push him over the edge. "I can train you more thoroughly."

Kimberly nodded. "Thank you. I would be happy to stay."

"Wonderful." He looked again at Harlow. Her nails dug into the arms of the couch, her knuckles bleaching of color as she glared daggers at Kimberly.

She was angry?

Impossible. The emotion made zero sense. He would be training Kimberly, nothing more. But to train her, he would have to spend time with her. Was Harlow jealous?

Beck's head spun. He'd never been with a woman long enough for her to feel threatened by another potential conquest, or for her to view him as a prize worth coveting long-term. The thought of Harlow determined to win him...it intoxicated him, playing havoc with an already primed body.

This couldn't be the right reaction. This kind of intensity couldn't be normal. He swiped up a pen and drummed it against his thigh. Or, h.e.l.l, maybe it was normal. Jase certainly couldn't function without Brook Lynn. To be fair, however, Jase was in love.

Love. Alarm bells suddenly clanged. Beck wanted Harlow, but he'd be d.a.m.ned if he allowed himself to fall for her. To need her or anyone. Need was nothing but a barbed cage. It trapped you, cutting you into bleeding shreds anytime you tried to escape it.

I've got to get out of here. He pushed to his feet, his chair skidding behind him. "I'll show you to the Strawberry Inn," he said to Kimberly. "Miss Gla.s.s will stay here and type up notes detailing everything we've discussed."

"I will?" Harlow cleared her throat, nodded. "I mean, I will. Yes."

He offered a hand to Kimberly. "Shall we?"

"Yes. Thank you." She cupped her fingers around his and stood.

He led her and Mark out of the office and felt a p.r.i.c.kle at the back of his neck. He turned to glance back at Harlow; he just couldn't stop himself.

Their gazes met, the moment utterly electric. A shock to his system, one he experienced bone-deep. Holding on to Kimberly suddenly felt wrong. Racing to Harlow's side seemed like a good idea. But he didn't release the redhead, and he didn't return to Harlow.

Leaving was for the best. If he didn't protect himself from a potential loss, who would?