been staring up, she realized, and heâd easily guessed the direction of her thoughts. âYes. The day of my momâs funeral.â
âIâm sorry for your loss. Iâm also sorry you did what you did. I liked the images and hoped to preserve them, but youâd made sure nothing could be salvaged.â
The words shocked her. âYou actually liked my art?â
â
You
painted them?â
âWell, yeah. Why so surprised?â
He paid no heed to her question, saying, âYour talent is amazing, honey.â
âThank you.â Glowing at his praise, Harlow took in the rest of the bedroom. âI never would have guessed you were a fan. I mean, you decided to go with beige walls.â
âYou donât like beige?â
âBeige is boring.â
âThe house I lived in before this one had beige walls.â
âAnd now you canât live with a little color?â
A flash of annoyance in those golden eyes, quickly replaced with the flirtatious glint she was so used to seeing. âDid you see my sheets? Theyâre blue.â
Will not look at the bed.
âWhy donât you take a shower and relax?â he said. âThere are towels in the cabinet by the tub and clean clothes next to the sink. And, honey? If you crawl out the window, I will hunt you down. You wonât like what happens afterward.â He paused, smiled slowly, wickedly. âOr maybe youâll like it a little too much.â
How embarrassing. He knew the effect he had on her. âBeckââ
âShower.â He shut the door, sealing her inside.
Fine. She made her way into the bathroom. Once upon a time, the walls had been tiled in pink, her favorite color. Now everything was white, black and chrome: sleek and sexy for a modern man. But the changes didnât bother her so much anymore. Maybe because they reminded her of Beck.
She brushed her teeth once, twice for good measure, then stripped and stepped under the hot spray of the shower. Steam filled the air, the scent of Beckâmasculine and sultryâjoining it as she shampooed and conditioned her hair. Sheâd gotten used to cold showers, having to sneak them from the outdoor hoses of nearby homes after the owners sped off to work, and sheâd come to prefer them. At least, thatâs what sheâd told herself. Here, now, she admitted sheâd only been fooling herself, trying to make herself feel better about her situation.
While the water continued to rain on her, she settled on the stallâs black-and-white floor. Would Beck want to chat with her when she finished? Yeah. Would he kick her off the land for good?
He had every right to do so, but...but... Hot tears scalded her eyes. Why couldnât things go her way for once? Just once?
* * *
B ECK Â PACED Â IN Â the living room, trying not to picture Harlow naked, soap and water trickling over miles of delectable skin he would sell his soul to touch. Trying, and failing. He wanted his hands on her, doing things. Bad things. Sweet things. Making her squirm and gasp and beg for more. Always more.
The desires were heightened, just like his reactions to her. But then, anger heâd rarely ever allowed himself to feel had burned away what remained of his restraint. Harlow lived as she did to punish herself, whether she realized it or not, and that crap ended today.
From now on, she would know only pleasure.
For the first time in his life, he craved a specific woman, and no one else would do until his desires for her were sated. Another change, one that bothered him, but not enough to stop him. He wanted her, she wanted him, and so he would have her.
âShe here?â Jase asked as he entered the room.
âYeah. Did you find out what crimes she supposedly committed as a teen?â Last night, after a little prompting from Beck, Jase had done his bro-duty and questioned his girlfriend in-depth about Harlowâs
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