Moving with him had been a no-brainer for Beck, despite the challenges. Being without his friend for so long had been bad enough, but he and West owed Jase more than they could ever repay. And really, that debt was the reason Beck had never complained when Jase renovated the ramshackle farmhouse. The reason he grinned as his surroundings were altered bit by bit.
“I should be going,” Harlow announced.
Beck focused on her. “Nice try, honey, but we still have unfinished business. How did you get inside the house?” He hadn’t seen a single sign of forced entry. Not that he’d been paying much attention before or after he’d chased her down.
“Well...I kind of have a key.” She plucked at an invisible piece of lint on her shirt, adding, “Is now a bad time to mention I don’t like the repairs you’ve made on the house?”
“You do not have a key. Jase changed the locks our first day here.” The guy was distrustful of strangers. They all were. They’d learned to be.
“Well...he may or may not have left the new keys on the porch while he ran to the backyard to get his tools.”
And she’d just happened to be nearby, watching? And none of them had noticed? “As of tomorrow, your key won’t work.”
A flash of fury in her ocean-blues, quickly extinguished by defeat. She put her chin down and hunched her shoulders, the same pose she’d struck in so many of the pictures. “Yeah. I figured.”
Damn it. His chest began to ache. How many knocks had this girl taken in her young life?
And why did he even care? Yes, her pictures had intrigued him. Yes, she was hot as hell. But devoting so much time and energy to one woman wasn’t his MO.
“If you were hungry, why didn’t you come to the door and ask us for food?”
She went ramrod straight. “I didn’t—I don’t—need your help.”
Ah. Pride. The downfall of so many. He’d once tried to convince himself he didn’t need anyone, either, that he was fine on his own. Meanwhile, anytime he’d spotted a happy family, he’d felt as though he were being run over by a car.
“You did—you do—need my help, or you wouldn’t be here.” As she glared at him, he added, “How’d you lose the house, anyway?”
“That’s none of your business,” she stated flatly.
“You blew through your mother’s insurance money. Got it.” The day of the purchase, the broker had prattled on about the Glass bully losing her mom earlier in the year and refusing to lower herself by getting a job. Beck had only half listened at the time and had regretted it with every fiber of his being since finding the box of photos. Now he tried to dredge up any other information he might have heard without any luck. “What are you, Harlow Glass?”
Her lips pursed, drawing his gaze and holding it hostage. Those lips were better than the pictures had promised. Plump and red, the kind every man fantasized about devouring...and being devoured by. She shifted from foot to foot, more nervous now than when she’d first arrived.
“What do you mean? What am I? What kind of question is that?”
“The legit kind. What do you do for a living? Are you a life coach? Accountant? Underwear model?” He looked her over, careful to avoid the dangerous beauty of her face—but the rest of her proved just as detrimental to his mental health. “Femme fatale?”
“I’m not a heartbreaker, that’s for sure. Not like some people I’ve recently met.”
“Meaning me?”
“Yes, you,” she said with a nod. “Who else? You’ve never dated the same woman twice. Not since you’ve been here, at least.”
Or ever. “So?” Yes, he slept around. But why not? Sex felt good and for a few hours, he could drown himself in pleasure. No thoughts. No problems. No worries. His version of therapy.
“So. I wasn’t finished. You’ve got a woman in your bedroom right this second, but you’re still out here—” she waved her arm around the kitchen “—flirting with me.”
“This isn’t flirting, sweetheart. This is an interrogation.”
“Ha! An interrogation implies I’m being threatened, but the only part of me currently in any danger is my mouth. You’re staring.”
Was he? “Am I scaring you...or exciting you?”
Her eyes widened. “N-neither.”
A stutter. Adorable. “Let’s find out how you react to actual flirting.” He prowled his way around the counter.
She stepped back, once, twice, and would have again but the stove stopped her retreat. A sense of triumph overtook him as he placed his hands at her sides, caging her. He leaned in and brushed the tip of his nose against hers, the heady scent of strawberries and pecans teasing him. “If every guy you’ve ever met hasn’t looked at your lips with animal hunger,” he said, his voice low and husky with need he couldn’t hide, “I’d be shocked.”
She traced her fingertips over the lips in question, the action so inherently sensual, so damned innocent, he would have given anything to corrupt... To steal a taste.
Tit for tat, one dessert for another.
“Prepare to be shocked,” she whispered.
“Foolish men.” Up close, he could see little details the pictures had missed. The curl in her midnight lashes. The smattering of freckles on her nose. The rose-colored flush under her cheeks. “But let’s get to the heart of the matter, honey. You owe me, and not just for the food. For the mental anguish I’ve suffered.”