"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 s.e.x."

"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 h.e.l.l 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 b.u.t.toned 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.

"I hope you're ready for this," he said. He sure wasn't. He opened the door, heard voices streaming from the kitchen and wound an arm around Harlow's waist, just in case she considered bolting. The way she fit him...

"I don't have to be ready. I'm not going along with it." She contradicted her words by snuggling against him, as if starved for contact, and d.a.m.n it, need for her burned away his anger.

He had to have her. Soon. This was the way.

The dogs were asleep in the living room, though Sparkles-Brook Lynn's shadow-woke up at the thump of his boots on the wood floors and lifted his head, his ears twitching. He gave Beck the evil eye.

"Keep moving," he told Harlow. The mutt from h.e.l.l might decide it was time for dinner. Or time to pee on his shoes again.

Conversations ceased as their grand entrance was noticed.

"Hi, Harlow," Daphne said. "It's good to see you again."

"Thank you," Harlow said, trembling against him. "You, too."

"Uncle Beck! Guess what?" Hope, Jase's nine-year-old daughter, bounced in her seat, her pigtails swinging back and forth. "We played Monopoly, and I won."

"Only because you're a tyrant," West said with affection. His features darkened as he focused on Jessie Kay. "And you're a sore loser."

"Because I refused to stay at your hotel and risk a flea infestation?"

"I stayed at yours even though there's no telling what I'll come down with."

Jessie Kay hissed at him.

"And that's our cue to leave. Go get your dog, Hope." Daphne placed an empty gla.s.s in the sink, saying to Harlow, "Steve, the h.e.l.lion-I mean, the prince-used to live with Jase, but Hope can't stand to be parted from him, even though he hates me."

"All dogs hate you," Beck reminded her.

"This is true."

"But, Mah-mah." Hope stomped her foot. "Uncle Beck just got here, and he brought a friend, so-"

"Steve," Daphne insisted. "Now."

"Fine." Hope pushed to her feet. "But I'm adding this to my growing list of your grievances."

Jase clasped the little girl's hand and kissed her knuckles. "Don't forget you promised to spend the day with Brook Lynn and me tomorrow."

"Only babies forget, and I'm not a baby," she groused.

"But you are tired, hence the reason you're more p.r.i.c.kly than a porcupine," Brook Lynn said.

"That's not an insult," Hope proclaimed as Daphne escorted her from the kitchen. "Porcupines are cute."

Jessie Kay stood. "Well. That's my cue to leave, too." She leaned down to kiss Brook Lynn on the cheek. "See you later, sis. Jase, give it to her good tonight." She scowled at West, then quickly averted her gaze. When she walked by Beck, she patted his cheek.

West faked a yawn. "Well. I've scheduled an early bedtime tonight and-"

"Stay," Beck said before looking at Jase and motioning to the exit with a tilt of his chin.

Jase took the hint and helped Brook Lynn to her feet. "All right, time to pay your rent, angel. I haven't forgotten how many times I let you spend the night in my hotels."

"Let me? You charged me double!"

"Yes, but all the money bought you was time. You still have to pay interest."

Brook Lynn chuckled huskily and waved before following Jase out of the kitchen, calling, "Night, guys."

"Night," everyone returned.

Finally. West, Harlow and Beck were alone.

Beck leaned down to whisper into Harlow's ear, "Go ahead. Show him your best." He gave her a little push toward the table.

"Someone clue me in," West said. "What's going on?"

"I'm leaving, that's what," Harlow said. Determined words, snotty tone. She attempted to wrench herself from Beck's grip.

"Oh, no." Beck merely tightened his hold. "We're going to have a gla.s.s of sweet tea while you two crazy kids get to know each other better."

Harlow anch.o.r.ed her hands on her hips. "You know what? You're right. We are going to get to know each other. But your presence is unnecessary, Beck. Leave."

"Not gonna happen."

"We don't need-"

He cut her off, whispering, "If you and West get married and live happily ever after, you'll have to get used to having me around."

She snapped her mouth shut, then lifted her chin and grumbled, "That's a very sad point." She flashed a too-bright smile at West and eased into the chair Jase had vacated. "I'm game if you are."

Beck vibrated with irritation as he carried a pitcher of tea and three gla.s.ses to the table and settled between the pair. "My girl here has certain ideas about the kind of man she wants to end up with," he explained, "and I'd like to know if the two of you are compatible."

Understanding dawned on West's features, a smile nearly breaking free. He cleared his throat and donned his most uncaring expression. "Sure. Whatever."

Beck poured the tea, handed out the gla.s.ses, and Harlow clutched hers as if it were a lifeline.

"Kick us off, sweet pea," he said. "Tell my good buddy Lincoln-that's his first name, in case you didn't know-a little about yourself."

"Well." There was a slight tremor in her voice. "I'm twenty-six, and I've never been married."

"Would you like a medal?" West muttered, while staring down at his cell phone, playing one of the games he'd created.

She glared at Beck, but he merely arched a brow.

Don't make plans with men you don't know.

"Yes, actually, I would like a medal, considering I'm hot but don't realize it, which makes me even hotter." The tremor had vanished, the snotty att.i.tude firmly in its place. "It's a miracle no one's s.n.a.t.c.hed me up. But then, most men are idiots, so..."

West smiled, realized his mistake, and glowered at his screen.

Beck braced elbows on the table. "You're suggesting outward beauty is all that matters."

"Hardly. My personality is hot, too. But Beck, darling." Sugary-sweet tone now. Too sweet. "You aren't part of this get-to-know-you session, even though you insist on being a total third wheel, so do us all a favor and zip your stupid lips."

Then, she dismissed him. Looking to West, she traced her fingertips over the collar of her shirt, so feminine Beck's every masculine instinct growled, hungry for the next meal. "So. Lincoln. How old are you?"

West played the video game a little longer before deigning to answer. "I'm twenty-eight, but I've got the stamina of an eighty-year-old coma victim. Horrible lover. Even worse cuddler."

"Well, those skills can be taught," she said, reaching over to caress his shoulder. "Anyway, you're quite young to be so successful. It's impressive."

It was impressive. Beck wasn't sure where he would have ended up without the guy.

West shrugged. "I work hard," he said, then added, "probably too hard. I tend to ignore the people in my life. Especially women."

"Well, I understand how taxing such a busy work schedule can be, and I commend you for it." She gave his shoulder another caress, and Beck almost jerked the two apart. "I hope the lucky ladies in your life are as understanding as I am."

"I guess," West said and shrugged again.

"Wow, just look at these muscles, West. You are amazingly strong, aren't you?" She cast another narrowed glance Beck's way, presumably to make sure he was watching as she scooted her chair closer to West's. "You know," she said, the tip of her finger toying with the rim of West's gla.s.s. When she caught a bead of condensation, she brought it to her lips and sucked, causing Beck's groin to twitch behind his zipper. "I have a skill of my own, but it's quite naughty."

West glanced up, phone forgotten. "Do tell."

"Yes. Do." Beck simmered with renewed anger-even more desire. He smoothed a lock of hair from Harlow's face. One touch, but he was greedy for more.

Her breath caught, but she leaned away from him, getting closer and closer to West, until her mouth was poised at the sh.e.l.l of his ear. In a husky voice low enough to be considered a whisper but loud enough for Beck to overhear, she said, "I'm super good at parking."

Stick a fork in me. I'm done. Done with the conversation. Done with watching the object of his obsession doing her rock-solid best to arouse another male. "West doesn't need to hear about that. Let's go-"

"Even boys from two counties over dreamed of making out with me in the backseat of their trucks," she continued with an effortless sensuality. "I'm very bendy."

Beck slammed his gla.s.s on the table, tea sloshing over the sides of the rim. "Harlow here is looking to settle down forever," he barked. "She thinks you'd make an awesome groom."

"Marriage?" West sneered with distaste. "Me? h.e.l.l, no. Never."

"He's all for others tying the knot, but when it comes to himself he thinks The Newlywed Game should be called the Dig Your Own Grave game," Beck explained, relaxing now that the conversation had taken a new direction.

Harlow unveiled a brittle smile. "Maybe you just haven't met the right person, Lincoln. You don't mind if I call you Lincoln, do you?"

"Call me whatever you like, but I have met the right person." His voice cracked. "She died." He stood, his chair skidding behind him, and strode out of the kitchen.

Harlow rounded on Beck, all hint of supple, willing female gone. "I hope you're happy with yourself. You did this."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." The words were nothing more than a hiss. "You wanted me to know I can't win the affections of anyone else, that I'm stuck with you, destined to be your newest conquest."

"Stuck with me?" he snarled.

"Yeah, that's right. You aren't the prize you think you are, Beck Ockley, but maybe West is. Maybe he's worth fighting for. Maybe, unlike you, he has a heart and the ability to care for someone other than himself."