Slow Burn

Chapter 20

The sun is strong above, the ground uneven beneath my feet, and I steal a glance at Becks wandering slowly beside me. I’m still trying to process how I ended up here and how Becks showed up at my house, told me I was going with him, and then dared to call my bluff.

And of course being the stubborn, pigheaded, “don’t you dare tell me what to do” woman that I am … I caved.

Fucking caved like a whipped woman, but the funny thing was that in the whole exchange with Becks on my doorstep, not once did I think of the biopsy or the pending results. Not one single time because I was so busy trying not to get lost in him.

So when he told me to go inside, change my outfit, and grab an extra pair of clothes, I didn’t ask any questions. I turned and grabbed my things, and hopped into his truck to find a pile of fur and thumping tail that I couldn’t help but smile at.

Yep. I wasn’t fooling myself, either. When I climbed into his car, I hoped like hell that wherever the Beckstination we were going to, there would be a requirement of a lot fewer clothes and a lot more of Becks. Naked. On me. In me.

I pull myself back to the present. To the expanse of land that holds Becks’s parents’ old but absolutely gorgeous farmhouse. To the barn with its horses and the brace of ducks driving his dog, Rex, crazy when they walk near him and then fly up onto a loft area, where he can’t reach. I take in the field of long grass we are walking through, but mostly it’s the simplicity of it all—clean air, bad cell reception, the sparkling water of the pond ahead in the distance—that I savor.

This is what I expected of Beckett Daniels the night I was at his condo and thought he didn’t fit: laid back, simplistic in needs and in what impresses him. I glance over at him and question his nonchalance. The silence between us may be comfortable, but the sexual tension is so goddamn charged, I fear that if someone lit a match, the space between us would catch fire.

And then I wonder what his point is in bringing me here today, besides calling my bluff. I know that there’s more to it, that he must have an ulterior motive in taking a drive to clear his head, as he so kindly explained. The small talk we made on the way here after I decided not to be angry at him anymore has been less than informative about his state of mind … so I’m just trying to figure out what gives here.

Because the thing that needs to give more than anything right now is the zipper of his damn shorts.

Rex comes bounding up and distracts me as Becks takes his ball and throws it ahead of us, where it gets lost in the grass. I sigh with a shake of my head, finally deciding to break the silence of our walk. “Oh, Becks, what is this between us, huh? You are so not my type.” I don’t mean the comment as an insult but rather just an observation, and I realize what it sounds like the minute it’s out of my mouth.

I see him nod his head in acknowledgment of my comment. “Is that another one of those rules of yours?” he asks, amusement woven in his tone. I laugh aloud at the reminder of my bumbling rules, which I couldn’t even think of the last time he called me on the spot.

We walk a bit more, my head trying to recollect my rules because sure as fuck I know I’m breaking about five of them right now being here with him.

“Seriously, Haddie,” he says, and reaches out and takes my hand in his, our first physical connection since we left my house and my body hums anew with his touch. “What’s your type? Dante?”

And the way he says Dante’s name—like an insignificant and yet irritating blip on the radar—has me fighting the smirk on my lips. I keep my head down, watching my Converse move over the dusty earth beneath me, when he squeezes my hand to inform me he’s waiting for an answer. A part of me wants to change the subject, make this conversation easier since it seems I just keep hurting him, but at the same time, I find I want to tell him. Maybe if I do, he’ll realize he’s not my type and then will back off and stop pushing for things I want with him but can’t give.

“Yes. No,” I tell him, and then my feet falter as I begin to explain. I stop for a moment and just look out at the vast field and trees beyond us, not sure where exactly I should go with this answer. “Shit, I usually go for the rebel. The one who has the least stability and does everything unexpected. Everything opposite of you.”

He snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “Well, then you sure don’t know me very well, now, do you?” I slide a glance over at him, trying to figure out if he’s being serious or joking, but he cuts off the moment when he continues. “Besides, Colton is off the market.”

“Well, Colton only has eyes for Rylee, so I would have never even attempted that route,” I respond immediately, a little irritated at his assumption I would have made a play for Colton. “Besides, there are plenty more out there.” And it feels weird to be having this conversation with him when I’m holding his hand.

“So you like getting your heart broken, then?” He tugs my hand so that I’m forced to face him. There is amusement in his smile but something a tad more intense in his eyes, and I can’t seem to get a read on it.

“That just comes with the territory.” I lift my eyebrows to reinforce my answer.

“Well, maybe you need to relocate and claim some new space, then.” His eyes dare me now, taunt me to ask what space that might be. And damn I know where I want it to be, but I just tug my hand from his and start to wander away from him, grabbing a wildflower here and there and silently playing “He loves me. He loves me not” as I pick the petals off.

He loves me.

I hear his footsteps behind me, but I keep walking, wandering over to the shade of a tree where there is a small clearing. I sit down and prop my hands behind me. Becks steps in front of me, and I’m forced to look up at him. And of course when I do, I’m treated to the sight of his bare abs and chest—he must have taken his shirt off as he followed me—and I’d be lying to myself if I denied the fact that my mouth falls a bit lax.

I recover quickly, mad at myself for my ridiculous reaction, and avert my attention elsewhere. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen him naked before so why does just the sight of his sweat-misted bare chest make my stomach feel like it’s flip-flopping?

Becks tosses his shirt down beside me and stands there for a beat while I look anywhere but at him before he sits down beside me with a loud exhale of breath. Warning bells go off in my head, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s going to make me talk, or if he’s going to make me want him more and then deny me, or if he’s going to give me what I want and I’m not going to be able to walk away again and save the both of us.

He loves me not.

I refuse to glance over at him as he makes himself comfortable. He stretches his long legs out in front of us and reclines back on his elbows as I focus on everything around us but don’t really see anything. Besides the whispering of the wind through the grass and the squawk of a bird, a comfortable silence ensconces us. And I’m more than okay with that because right now he’s too damn close, and I’m strung so goddamn tight that I’d give anything to push away the words I know he’s going to speak. All I want to do is take him right here in this field. Climb on top of his body and lose myself in him so that he can help me clear everything momentarily from my head.

He loves me.

“We can sit here all day, you know,” he says while I remain silent, trying to figure where he’s headed with this.

“Mm-hmm. It’s nice. Is this why you brought me out here, to sit in an empty field and do nothing but relax?”

I keep my eyes focused ahead, but I know he’s smiling because I can hear it in his voice when he speaks next. “We could be doing a whole lot more than relaxing, but that’s up to you now, isn’t it?”

He loves me not.

I fight the urge to whip my head his way to figure out what he’s talking about. Hoping that fucking me into next week is what he’s talking about. “How’s that?” I ask with a whole lot of uninterest, which I really don’t feel.

I hear him shift, and he moves to sit cross-legged in front of me so that I have no option but to look at him. I can’t avoid him really, and hell if his proximity doesn’t have my nerve endings standing on end, begging for him to touch me.

He loves me.

“Let’s be completely clear on something,” he says, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he pauses to make sure that I am one hundred percent paying attention right now. And I most definitely am. “I’d really like to lay you down and take you every way possible right now.” I begin to talk, to tell him I’m game, but the warning look in his eyes stops me. “Fuck you so good and hard you feel it in your dreams so that even if you try to run afterward, you can’t forget me …”

I swear my body shudders at the challenge he issues, the wanton woman in me silently begging him to do just that.

“… and I will.” He chuckles, the sound strained with need. I watch with nonchalance as he reaches out between my legs, my eyes locked on the progress of his hands until they’re hidden by the hem of my skirt. Even though I know it’s coming, I still suck in a sharp breath when I feel his fingers rub ever so gently against my seam. The barrier of my panties makes the muted feeling almost more intense because it’s the hint of what he can do to me that has the ache unfurling and coiling so tight, my body tenses, my back arching, my mouth dropping open.

He loves me not.

“Sweet Haddie, did you get yourself off? Did you slide your fingers right here, part yourself, and think of me?” His voice is deep and mesmerizing, a seductive sound against the whisper of nature around us. My body hums from his words, desire swelling against the stroke of his finger.

His chuckle hits my ears, but I’m lost in thought because he withdraws his fingers now that my panties are damp with my arousal. “Ah, baby, you’re so ready, so desperate. I know you listened. I know you didn’t make yourself come. And I want to relieve that ache for you so damn bad”—his voice trails off as he inhales a steadying breath—“but not until you talk and tell me what’s going on here between us. I need answers, Haddie.”

He loves me.

And of course, the riot of desire coursing through me gets doused by those words. I break my gaze from his, looking down at a ladybug that has ventured onto the hem of my skirt. It’s so much easier to look there than it is to tell him I just can’t do this. “Becks …” His name is a familiar sigh on my lips, and I try again to find the words I need. “It’s complicated, and I just don’t have an answer for you right now.”

“Don’t or can’t?”

I clench my jaw at his words, cursing myself for walking into that one. I keep my eyes trained on the ladybug, uncomfortable and yet comforted by his presence all at the same time.

And I realize I have no more petals left.

Damn.

I need to pick another one to get the answer I want.

“Can’t, then,” he muses. “Okay, so what is it you want from me, Haddie?”

My eyes flash to his instantly, my nipples tighten, and my libido begins to hum with the silent temptation at my fingertips. “I want you to fuck me so hard, I have no choice but to remember who I am. Break me down so that I can find me again.” I’ve never spoken more honest words before, nor had I intended to reveal so much. I know they sound just about as crass as his comment moments before, but frankly, I’m not looking for romance right now. I’m looking for exactly what I said, but now that I’ve spoken, an uneasiness filters in with his silence.

I hear his shocked exhale at my blatant response. Confusion flits through his eyes, and he angles his head and stares so deep within me that when I begin to avert my eyes, he brings his hands up to the sides of my face and holds it so that I have no option but to look at him.

“Uh-huh. You think you can actually say something like that to me and I’m not going to make you explain what’s behind it? We’d better do some talking because you’re making me hard with a comment like that. And you keep making me go back on promises I’ve made to myself … and, City, if I can’t trust promises to myself, then I can’t make promises to anyone else….” He shifts some and adjusts himself within his shorts with a pained groan. “So either you start talking or you might just have to sit there silently while I take care of myself because fuck, woman, you’re not giving me many options at this point.”

Is he for real? He would really make me sit here and watch him get off rather than let me help him? He’s that goddamn stubborn?

We sit in silence as I try to hide the answers in my eyes and the desire apparent in my nipples pressing through the thin fabric of my tank top. He nods his head in measured acknowledgment—of what, I’m not sure—before a ghost of a smile traces over his mouth.

“Keep those eyes of yours looking at me like that, Montgomery, and you’re going to be in a whole world of hurt.”

“I am?” I snort, trying to play off the fact that every part of my body is angling toward him to be touched.

“Yup, it’s a bitch wanting something so bad, you’re weeping,” he says, his eyes flitting down to where he’s dampened my panties and then back up to mine, a cocky-as-hell smirk playing over his lips.

He wants to play this game? Bring it on. “Nah, I’m a ‘grab life by the balls’ kinda girl … so if I, uh, want something,” I say, repeating the same response he’s giving me, eyes trailing down to his erection pressing against the seam of his shorts and then back up, “I just take what I want.”

“And what is it you want?” He leans back on his hands, his arms bracing himself as he toys with me.

I work my tongue in my mouth as I fight my own smirk and the need coursing through me. “You.”

“Hmm,” he says. “Well, City, that there poses quite the problem because, one, I brought you here to talk. Just to talk.” He pushes himself up so that he leans forward, his face dangerously, temptingly close to mine. “And, two, since I brought you out here with only that intention, I didn’t bring a condom. No glove, no love.” He shrugs, a victorious smirk transforming his face from arrogant to playful.

And fuck the man is gorgeous in whatever role he’s playing. I sag inwardly at his statement, needing his touch like I need my next breath since he has me primed with his verbal-and-taunting foreplay. Then I realize that he could very well be playing me.

Time to call his bluff. He won’t touch me without a condom? I love that he’s that respectful of me, but hell if I don’t want to be disrespected right now.

“That one of your rules too?” I ask with a lift of my chin and a challenge in my eyes.

“Mm-hmm.”

I can see him trying to figure out where I’m going with this. See the cogs of his mind turning to why I’d be questioning a rule that’s a no-brainer. I bring a hand to my throat and trail my finger slowly down between my breasts like it’s a move I do every day. I watch his eyes follow, take note of his Adam’s apple bobbing in response, and figure I’ll go in with the coup de grâce and see if I can’t make him take my own bait.

“Well, I like rules too, you know … and one of mine is that I take my pill regularly, get tested regularly.” I wet my bottom lip and love that I see his mouth part in reaction. “Nothing like the feeling of skin on skin, right?”

His eyes flash to mine, and there’s an audible sharp intake of air before he controls his response to seem blasé. “The Pill, huh?”

“Yep, the Pill and a clean bill of health. You?”

“Am I on the Pill? No.” he laughs out, breaking the momentary sexual tension sparking between us like a live circuit.

“Cute. Very cute, but I was referring to your bill of health.”

He angles his head and stares at me, all joking aside because this is a serious answer. “Clean as a whistle.”

“Well, I don’t know about whistles, but I’m sure you’ve got something else I can blow on.” My smile is smarmy, and I love watching his eyes widen at my audacity.

“Goddamn it, Haddie,” he swears under his breath. I see him angle closer into me, see his resolve weakening, his eyes scrunched and a sigh escaping, and then just as quickly, he reins it back in and pulls away from me. “Well played, well played … but as much as I want you to blow that something else, I’ve got my list of rules.”

“I like a man who sticks to his principles … who likes to remain in control,” I tease, enjoying torturing him after my damn libido has been a slave to his orders over the past week, “but I was born to break rules in order to get what I want.” I tilt my head and purse my lips, staring at him, waiting for his reaction, and every part of me wants desperately for him to take my shoulders, push me back, and have his way with me.

“Well, I guess this is going to be a test of wills … seeing which one of us will prevail.” He raises his eyebrows and leans back on his hands, making the point neither of us is going to get what he or she wants unless one of us caves.

We stare at each other for a few minutes, both of us trying to figure out how to manipulate the situation to achieve our goals when he twists his lips and nods his head. “Okay, City … you want sex, and I want answers, so I have a proposition.” I just raise an eyebrow at him because I’m thankful he is trying to add some levity to the moment—he only calls me that nickname when we are being playful. “For every question I ask you that you refuse to answer or lie about, you have to remove a piece of clothing and vice versa. See, I’ve already given you a head start,” he says, pointing to his shirt lying on the ground beside me. “You have a few more lies to give than I do before you’re naked.”

His proposition is interesting, to say the least, and I’m so focused on the fact that I have three lies until he is completely naked that I don’t think everything through. Like who gets to be the judge of if I’m lying or not. All I’m thinking about is how much Becks has primed my pump and left me without release. “And what? The person who is naked first loses? What does the winner get?”

That low, seductive chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Winner gets to decide just what to do next.”

Thank sweet fuck for that because this girl is ready to be taken here in this empty field. Talk about wanting the clichéd with reckless abandon…. If this isn’t the perfectly painted picture of it, I’m not sure what is.

“You up for it?” His eyes taunt me, and his smirk goads me even though I’m already game.

“The question that needs to be asked is, are you up for it?” I smirk at him.

“City, you know I’m up for anything with you.” He works his tongue in his cheek. “I’ll even let you go first.”

“I don’t want you claiming I cheated now when you’re naked and I’m—” I stop myself, not wanting to play my cards about what I want too quickly because if I tell him I have a strong desire to take him in my mouth and taste him, I have a feeling he’ll lie on purpose. Then again, we’re both in this sexually frustrated state partially because of him, so I’m not sure he’ll give in that easy.

And the problem is, if I lie, I fear he’ll build me to a frenzy and then walk away again to prove his goddamn point when in fact it is his point I want in me.

“I go first, huh? Don’t answer that,” I correct myself, realizing I almost just wasted a question on him. His grin spreads wide as he just nods his head for me to continue. “Who is Deena?”

“Deena who?,” he replies like he doesn’t know anyone by that name. And as much as I love the idea that he’s acting like she’s insignificant to him, I raise my eyebrows, wanting the answer. He sighs in resignation. “Deena is a girl I dated in high school.”

I buy his response, even though I suddenly want to follow it up with another question, but he’s already started to ask me something. “Look at us and our D questions…. Is there anything going on between you and Dante?”

I begin to lie—to tell him there’s nothing—but correct myself as I count my pieces of clothing. “Dante is an ex who once upon a time I thought was the one. Until he up and disappeared one day. I have a weak spot for him, yes. Have we kissed since he’s been staying with me? Yes. Do I want him back? No. Does he want more? Possibly. Do I want to sleep with him? No.” And I don’t know why I’ve laid all of that out there. Maybe I want to warn Becks away by telling him that Dante and I have a history, have kissed, but when I look at Becks, he is grinning from ear to ear.

“What?” I ask him when he just laughs.

“Well, you answered all of that for me, and I only had to use one question, so thank you. That lets me get to the important questions quicker,” he says, running a hand through his hair as I curse my wordy-ass self.

He reaches out and begins to lift up the hem of my shirt, and I bat his hand away as he starts to lift it over my head. “Stop! I answered you!”

He just keeps pulling it up, and as I continue to stop him, I turn my head back to find his mouth on mine. The fight goes right out of me when the warmth of his lips and his tongue delve to touch mine softly. An unhindered moan falls around us, and I’m not sure if it’s from him or me because I’m so completely mesmerized, my body completely lax and yet so very eager to respond to any request he gives me.

I come back to reality when he draws back from the kiss and pulls my shirt over my head, distraction one hundred percent effective. “You lie,” he murmurs, and I’m so captivated by him right now, I don’t care that my shirt’s off or that he thinks I’ve lied because all I can focus on is his presence before me. “You want to sleep with Dante still. You just don’t want to admit it. He’s your past. He may be complicated, but since he’s your past, he can easily help you forget whatever it is you seem to be running from just as easily as I can. And the thing is, with him, you know he’s not going to be there in the morning or on the day after … and that’s quite appealing to you, whereas you fear that with me. You love your no strings, and yet you won’t cut the ties they have that hold you to whatever it is that makes you run away and remain alone.”

I suck in a broken breath as he speaks with such raw honesty about the things I feel, and it scares me that he can see inside me so well. And even worse, if he sees that truth, what else is he seeing that I don’t want him to? Shit just got real, real quick, and I didn’t want it to.

I swallow over the lump in my throat and deny him any reaction to his commentary, hoping that will save my sanity some if I just move on. It’s my turn to ask a question, and of all the things that I want to ask him, I can’t get my mind off the exotic Deena. I need to know if he slept with her the other day after he left me at the farmers’ market. I don’t know why. If he did, was he comparing us? Was he thinking how much less complicated she is than me? I don’t want to waste my question on this, but I can’t pull my head elsewhere.

“Did you sleep with Deena?”

He gives me a puzzled look and then says, “No. I can’t believe you’d wonder about that or waste a question on it. Don’t you get she could never hold a candle to you?”

His words warm parts deep inside me that I don’t want warmed, and I realize how stupid this game is immediately. How he’s an open frickin’ book to my volumes of closed ones.

I shift to stand up, wanting to change the topic and end this game right here, right now before he gets any closer to things I don’t want him near.

“Nice try,” he says, shifting us back so that I am flat on my back and he’s sitting astride my waist with my hands cuffed at my sides. We seem to keep ending up in this position.

And hell if I’m going to complain.

“What’s wrong, Haddie? Was that answer a little too real for you? Did you realize that we are, and you can’t handle it once again, so you want to bolt?” He leans down and hovers over me as the truth in his words hit my ears. “Guess what. I have the only car keys. We’re not going anywhere or doing anything until you give it a chance.”

I stop moving beneath him, let the anger burn out when I hear the emotion in his voice. There are so many things I want to say to him, to explain to him, but the fear and its ever-constant presence are the dam preventing any deluge of truths.

“Haddie …,” he says, and I wonder what it is he sees right now as he looks at me. Does he see the fear—the scared little girl needing someone but afraid to get too close—or does he see the confident woman who’s playing a game with his heart?

I wonder which one I’d see if I were in his shoes. Because neither one is attractive or admirable.

He leans forward and rests his forehead on mine, my eyes drifting closed with our lips barely touching. “I’m not going to make you talk. I could never force you to when whatever it is that puts the look in your eyes you have right now breaks my heart.” He pauses for a beat, and I’m not sure if he does so for him or for me, but I appreciate it. It gives me time to try to clear the look from my eyes and inflate my lungs since he just robbed them of all air. “Give us today. Forget whatever it is that’s making you push me away over and over again, and give us a chance. We’re good together…. Can’t you see that? Push whatever it is aside, and if after today you still want to fight against this connection we have, then I say go ahead. Walk away without your goddamn strings tied tight because I know you won’t.”

I don’t even realize that I’m holding my breath again or that my body has gone completely lax from his words. My mind skips and homes in on the key words he’s speaking, unable to fully process the generosity behind them because all I can focus on is my own desperation, which they evoke. I want this. I want a chance not to think and feel and fear, and yet I know the chance to do that will only lead to the ties I fear are already there. The ones he’s already tying into double knots so I can’t walk away.

I want the ability to feel, to think, to hope without the fear tingeing the edges. Even if for a day. I want to give myself this one thing, give us this even though I know how selfish it is.

He mistakes my silence for discord and continues. “Whatever this is between us is worth a shot, Haddie. You’re worth it. I just want you to give me the chance to prove I’m not going to hurt you. I just wish you’d let me in to show you that I mean it.”