“Sorry,” she said, “but I work better alone.”
“You only think so because you’ve never worked with me. Come on.” He looped an arm over her shoulders and urged her forward, the contact almost too much to her touch-starved senses. The handful of women they passed peered at him with longing, then glared at Harlow, but he didn’t seem to notice. “When we finish at the library, we’ll grab lunch and you’ll tell me all about your childhood.”
“You’ll be bored.”
“I’ll be riveted, guaranteed. You’re an incredibly interesting subject, Miss Glass.”
A line. Surely. Just to be contrary, she said, “Should I start with my first period?”
“See?” The low, gravelly tone had returned. He squeezed her tighter, and she just couldn’t help herself; she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I’m already foaming-at-the-mouth eager for the details.”
“Only fair to warn you. My childhood will make you cry. And if it doesn’t, you need prayer.”
“That bad, huh?”
Worse. “Will you tell me about your childhood?”
“Does my childhood include stories about you?” he asked good-naturedly.
There he went, deflecting. “Maybe it does. For all I know, you’re the boy who visited Strawberry Valley every summer and spent his nights peeping inside my bedroom window.”
“Hardly. I never would have been content to remain outside. I would have climbed in. And yes, you would have invited me. I would have made sure of it.”
“So sure of yourself.” She tsk-tsked despite her breathlessness. “I was an ice queen. I would have ignored you.”
“I was a blowtorch. I would have melted you.”
She snort-laughed, then sighed. He’s charming me too easily. “If you want to know about my childhood, fine.” The thought of food was too heady to resist. “As long as I get to pick where we eat and you pay for everything.” Besides the sandwich he’d given her yesterday, she’d only eaten what she’d managed to forage—two pecans the squirrels left behind.
He ran his fingers up and down her arm, saying, “You’re not even going to make a token play for the check?”
Ignore the earth-shattering tingles. Ignore the delicious burn. “Are you kidding? Never!”
He chuckled, and a moment later they reached the library, a little red-and-white building in the center of town. A set of cement stairs led to French doors, and four columns held up a wraparound parapet. An American flag flew proudly at one side while the town banner flew on the other, the latter showcasing a bloom with white petals and a bright yellow center.
“Wait.” A flare of panic overshadowed her good humor as Beck tried to escort her inside. She dug in her heels. “I need a moment to prepare myself.”
“For what?”
For what would surely be a humiliating experience. One he would witness.
Oh, crap! She tore away from his grip. The thought of being subjected to people’s ire in front of this perfect man was simply too much to bear. “I’ll wait out here. You go in and get the books, okay? Then we’ll eat.”
“And do all the heavy lifting myself?” Beck shook his head. “No. We do this together.”
Sweat beaded over her brow and upper lip, even dripped down her nape, which was odd since ice crystals had sprouted inside her veins. “I’m just... I’m not going in there. Okay?”
“What, you don’t want to be seen with me?” He arched a brow at her. “What if I promise to make it worth your while?”
He didn’t understand. A guy like him, so blessed in every area of his life, would never understand.
She backed away from him, saying, “I’m sorry, Beck, but I just remembered I’m needed at work. Private party.” She turned and rushed away, never looking back.
THE NEXT DAY, Beck had a meeting in Oklahoma City. He decided to use the opportunity to find a new distraction.
He’d tossed and turned all night, his mind a volcano of activity. He knew he wasn’t good enough for long-term anything with anybody, but Harlow had taken it to a whole other level by refusing to be seen in public with him. She’d actually run away from him.
He wished he’d never seen the photos of her, wished he’d never spied her across the road yesterday, looking adorable with dirt streaked on her cheeks and arms, her hair so black it gleamed blue in the sunlight, her skin rosy, the smattering of freckles more evident than usual. She’d been fan-freaking-tastically adorable. A Country Girl Gone Wild fantasy he hadn’t known he’d had.
Her white shirt had been so thin, so damp with perspiration, he’d seen the outline of her bra. A sensible white cotton somehow sexier than red lace just because it nestled against her. It hadn’t helped when her nipples puckered before his eyes.
Desire for her had come swift and sharp, strong enough to make him crazy, to make him pant like a dog. His mouth had watered at the thought of tasting her, and his hands had itched to touch her. If she’d given him any encouragement at all, he would have gladly spent the rest of the day feasting on her.
But she hadn’t encouraged him, and now he was glad. Harlow Glass was nothing like the women he usually pursued; she wasn’t looking for a good time, and she wouldn’t go quietly in the morning. She’d already expressed curiosity about his past and would have demanded stories about his childhood as soon as she’d told stories about her own.
She was a complication he didn’t need, so, he’d find someone else. Easily. And he’d do it today.
The pencil in his hand snapped in half.
Dane Michaelson’s newest assistant... Sarah? Samantha? Whatever. She rushed over to pick up the pieces and give him a new one. He looked her over. She was understated but pretty, with brown hair and piercing green eyes. Not that it mattered. A woman was a woman. And he could have this one. She would take him however she could get him, and for the few hours he spent between her legs, he could fool himself into believing everything was okay. No thoughts. No problems. No worries, he reminded himself. Only pleasure.
He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Good. This was good. This was familiar.
“That will be all, Sasha,” Dane said. “Thank you.”
She sauntered out of the office, casting Beck a final peek over her shoulder. He winked at her.
“You surprise me. Flirting? At a business meeting?” Dane sat across from him, relaxed behind an elaborate desk constructed from salvaged wood. For a billionaire oil tycoon, he was absurdly young. Twenty-eight, Beck’s age. They’d known each other for...what? Close to six years now? Though they’d merely traded phone calls up until recently.
The guy had grown up in Strawberry Valley and even though he’d moved to the big, bad city for a number of years, he’d never been able to cut ties with his hometown, even tattooing his arms with wild strawberries.
“And now you ignore me,” Dane muttered. “We’ve been sitting in silence for a full ten minutes. You want to tell me about the new security program or not? That is the reason you’re here, isn’t it?”
“We both know you’re going to buy it no matter what I say. West does quality work and you won’t find a better system anywhere