"Make sure you take her flowers. The ladies love them some flowers," Mr. Rodriguez said.

Right. Beck backtracked, buying a bouquet from the florist a few streets over. But when he reached the inn at last, he found no sign of Harlow. He watched TV for an hour...two. He paced their room for an eternity. Finally, he caved and texted Harlow-where are U???-but he never received a reply.

He was just about to hunt her down when a knock sounded at the door. "Room service," a woman called, and he nearly came out of his skin when he recognized her voice.

He practically ripped the door from its hinges. Finally he could breathe. She stood with one arm anch.o.r.ed overhead, the other on her hip. Gorgeous girl. She grinned, making everything right in his world.

He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her in for a swift kiss-swift because she walked away from him.

"Thank you for the best greeting ever," she said.

"I brought you flowers."

She whirled, her eyes wide. "Flowers? Again?"

Thank you, Mr. Rodriguez. "Again." He lifted the bouquet from the nightstand and pa.s.sed it to her.

As she sniffed the petals, her eyes closed and a smile lifted the corners of her lips. An expression he would kill to see again. Every day. He walked to her, almost in a trance, but she must have sensed his intention to take her in his arms, because she backed away.

"Oh, no, you don't. I'm starved," she said. "Order room service while I shower?"

"You don't want to go out on another date?"

"I'm too tired. Besides," she said with a wink, "I like having you all to myself."

He clasped his chest, just over his heart. "You're killing me, baby. You know that, don't you?"

"Oh! You'll be happy to know I finished a few sketches while I was on my break." She withdrew a stack of napkins from her pocket.

Grateful for the distraction, he studied each one, utterly blown away by her talent as usual. "This one looks like Kenna. And this one looks like Brook Lynn."

"I know. I'm sorry. I can change them, but I just thought-"

"No. They're perfect. You're perfect."

As she shut herself in the bathroom, their gazes remained locked until the last possible second, the moment charged with heat and grit.

He shook with the force of his need for her, nearly ready to say to h.e.l.l with it, storm the door and take her up against the shower wall.

Her way. Do it her way. Too important to mess up.

He'd calmed by the time the food arrived. But when Harlow emerged from the bathroom on a cloud of fragrant steam, wearing one of his T-shirts and a pair of panties, his greatest temptation and his fiercest torment, he just about creamed his d.a.m.n jeans.

After she ate, they settled on the bed to watch TV. Beck was careful not to touch her, his control simply too fragile.

Hours pa.s.sed, but he wasn't certain which programs played on the screen. Need had him by the throat. Or the b.a.l.l.s. He hated it. He loved it. And when he could take it no more, he made his pallet on the floor and lay down.

"You ready for your next question?"

"I am," she said, switching off the TV and lamp, shrouding the room in darkness.

"What's your favorite thing about me?"

"I'd have to go with...your mustache. It's practically a recreational vehicle in this town."

"I hate to be the one to break this devastating news to you, baby, but I don't actually have a mustache."

"Well, you've got the shadow of one, and there have been a few times I've felt the p.r.i.c.kle of it." A tremor of need shook her voice. "I liked it," she whispered.

Hunger became starvation, and it required all of his considerable strength to remain on the floor. He liked her playful side. He liked her sense of humor. Even celibate-whimper-he was happy as long as he was with her.

"Beck," she whispered.

"Yes, baby."

"My favorite thing about you is your heart. It's softer than I ever realized, and I treasure it."

"WHAT DID YOU want to be when you grew up?" Beck asked. This was their third nightly session, and again, he'd looked forward to it all day, watching the clock, cursing it. Only one thing had distracted him, and only for a short time. The call from West. The guy had gone on a date with his potential relationship from the city, but decided against going further with her for a reason that had nothing to do with Jessie Kay, he'd insisted when Beck pressed the issue.

Please.

From the nightstand, a lamp glowed, allowing him to watch Harlow atop the bed. She rolled toward him, a lock of midnight hair hanging over the side of the bed, teasing him. "You'll laugh, but..."

"Tell me." He had to know. Every. Little. Detail.

"I wanted to be a trophy wife. But only because a life of leisure sounded way cooler than the things my friends wanted to be," she rushed to add. "Doctor? Blood is gross. Reporter? Hounding family members of someone who just died? Never! And if you say 'what friends,' I'll smother you with one of my pillows. I had a posse back then."

"A posse, huh? Did you often ride off into the sunset together?"

He hadn't laughed, but she launched one of those pillows anyway, smacking him in the face. "I had it all figured out. I would paint during the day while my very rich, very good-looking husband worked at his office. He owned the company and even the building, of course, and everyone feared him. Except me, because even though he was a bear, he was putty in my hands."

"Of course."

"Our chef would prepare dinner," she continued, "and the maids would clean up after us."

All doable. He would enjoy making her dreams come true. "And now?" He stuffed the pillow under his head.

"Now I absolutely do not want to be a trophy wife. I told you. I like earning my own way."

"I bet I could change your mind."

"You wanting to pamper me, Becky?"

"Desperately. If only you'd let me..."

Silence stretched, and tension grew.

"What about you?" she asked, a hitch in her breath.

"I'd make an amazing trophy wife."

She snorted. "I mean, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

He could have refused to answer. This wasn't about him. But when had he ever been able to resist her? "For a while, I dreamed of being a cop. I was going to bust some serious caps and take some names. Then I was arrested for theft, then a.s.sault, and that dream died real fast."

"What'd you steal?"

"Food, mostly. My fosters at the time were big on taking the checks they got for keeping me around, but not on feeding me."

She extended her arm, offering her hand. As he reached up to twine their fingers, she said, "I hate that you weren't treated fairly."

"I turned out all right."

"But you are not without wounds."

"None of us are," he said. "But for the first time in my life, I think I'm healing."

"TELL ME MORE about your parents," Beck said the next night.

Miracle of miracles, Harlow had made a pallet next to his with zero prompting from him. They faced each other, were basically curled into each other, and he'd never been so pleased with so little. But he wanted more. He needed it. As close as she was to him, so close he breathed in the soft fragrance of her skin every time he inhaled, his hands fisted because he remembered all too well the silky feel of her hair tangled between his fingers.

He missed her so bad he hurt physically.

Unwilling to leave her this morning, he'd blown off work. Well, his own. He'd accompanied Harlow, stepping in and helping her with ch.o.r.es. He'd teased her and laughed with her, even scolded her. She worked too long and too hard, refusing to slow down, and he'd quickly gotten tired of people coming to the inn just to humiliate her. And since he'd taken over most of the rooms, the would-be patrons had holed up in the lobby and dining hall and Carol had demanded Harlow clean both.

His temper had nearly snapped. Would have, if Harlow hadn't stormed to the register where Carol was helping an out-of-town guest, yelling, "Enough! I'll clean, but I won't entertain. Not without a significant pay increase. So unless you want to triple my check or fire me, I'm done for the day!"

Her confidence had grown by leaps and bounds, and Beck liked to think he'd had a positive influence on her. While Carol wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, she recognized a moneymaker when she saw one, and she hadn't fired Harlow. The girl brought in too much business with or without the personal cleaning entertainment.

And Harlow, well, despite the setbacks, she truly seemed to enjoy her life. As she'd worked today, she'd teased him right back, and he cherished every second.

"You were cuddled when you were sick, I'm a.s.suming," he said now.

"Yes," she said. "My mom was the best. She loved me, and I was never in doubt of that."

"Did she know you were the town bully?" he asked carefully, not wanting to raise her hackles.

"Yeah. My dad knew, too, and he'd yell at me for it anytime a teacher or parent would complain, but that would only make me lash out worse."

"He was a hypocrite."

"Yes, but I thought his attention, any attention, was better than the times he ignored me."

Poor Harlow. She'd been adrift, conflicted and in turmoil. Beck knew the feelings well. He'd felt them every time his dad had dropped him off at one of his aunt's houses, saying he'd call, but never calling, saying he'd be back soon, but never showing up. Meanwhile, his uncles had enjoyed playing ball with his cousins.

"Even though my dad was a deadbeat, I loved him almost as much as I hated him," he said. "I always hoped the guy would change his mind about giving me up and rescue me from the system. At least, I hoped the first year...a little the second...but by the third I knew the truth. I would never see my father again."

Harlow patted his hand, her gaze holding him captive, what should have been a gesture of comfort sending pulses of pleasure along his already-sensitized nerve endings. His entire body vibrated with need.

"I hate what you went through," she said, "but I love that you understand me."

"Trust me, baby, I understand." And he did. He enjoyed sharing his past with her, which surprised him, but he also enjoyed her empathy, touched by how much she actually cared. It was something he wasn't used to getting from anyone other than Jase and West, but it was something he craved almost as much as her luscious little body.

His fingertip grazed her palm, and she sucked in a breath. "Beck..." Need drenched her voice, reminding him of all the other times she'd whispered his name, breathed it straight into his ear, shouted it. If she scooted closer, or, h.e.l.l, if she so much as drew in a shaky breath, he would know all the waiting had agonized her, too. He would be on her in a blink- She scooted closer.

"Harlow." He swooped in, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, tasting, owning-being owned. His control burned out, and as she clung to him, he rolled her to her back, pinning her down with his weight.

He'd been starved for her and wanted his hands everywhere at once. He cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s first, kneaded the plump flesh and ghosted his thumbs over the distended peaks of her nipples. "Missed these perfect little beauties."

Moaning, she raked her nails along his scalp. "Feels so good, Beck."

He stroked his way to her a.s.s, cupping her there, jerking her against his erection. The friction maddened him. "I'm going to take you hard, baby. It's been too long."

"Yes...yes..."

He yanked off her shirt, then his own. A single tug broke the front clasp of her bra. He dived back down for another soul-burning kiss-but the cool air must have roused her from the pa.s.sionate frenzy because she stiffened.

"Wait. What are we doing?" She rolled away from him, panting. "We can't have s.e.x. Not yet."

He swallowed a roar. For a while, only the sound of their breathing could be heard, but as time pa.s.sed at a crawl, the intense ache between his legs gradually faded.

The one in his chest did not.

He could not resist her, and yet she seemed to have no trouble resisting him. No relationship could survive such an unsteady foundation.

Once again, the future did not look bright.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

DOTTIE CAME KNOCKING on Harlow's door bright and early the next morning, offering to give her the entire weekend off.

"Why?" she asked, hearing Beck rustle around behind her. As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the bathroom door closed with a soft snicker.

Something was wrong with him. He'd tossed and turned all night and snapped at her when she'd wished him a good morning. "Well, tomorrow no extra services will be offered so that the staff can attend the Berryween Festival. I'm going as a toddler with a tiara. Basically I'll be wearing a formal gown and throwing lots of fits. How about you?"

"Oh, uh, I'm not sure I'm going." And she wouldn't pout about it. First she hadn't had the money to waste on a costume, and now it was too late to buy one, everything sold out. "But why give me today off?"

"My way of saying thank you for giving me private time with Daniel."