Slow Burn

Chapter 8

I look down at the picture on my iPad and laugh. Maddie has texted me a picture of Danny with barrettes and clips in his hair. At least our time together today left her in a good mood. And with a smile.

My own widens as I think of what a resilient little girl she is and the fun we had this afternoon. And I try to take the little bits of peace I found spending time with her and apply it toward fulfilling another promise I made to Lex. Making the company we were going to start together become a reality.

And not only a reality, but the best damn promotional company out there.

I’m running through details in my mind as I unbuckle my seat belt. I need my phone like I need to breathe right now. It has everything in it—my to-dos, names of the VIPs to commit to memory, the schedule of events—everything. And I need everything to make sure I pull off this first of three events for a huge potential client without any glitches.

I blow out a breath in exasperation, check the clock again to make sure time’s not standing still as I sit here waiting in the parking lot where Becks’s text indicated to meet him. But who am I kidding? It’s not that I’m pissed at the timing but more unsure what it’s going to be like between us. Awkward? Normal?

It’s a bitch when you can’t see the strings, but they’re still tying you up in their invisible web. But the bigger question is, what is wrong with me? Why do I care so much?

I’m trying to ignore the questions that are whirling in my mind on an endless reel when I look up just in time to see his SUV pull into the parking lot. “Well, hal-e-fucking-lu-jah,” I mutter, annoyed at myself for the thrill racing through me because I get to see Becks again.

And that in itself is a huge problem. But it’s a problem I don’t have time to delve into any deeper if I plan on being ready for the event and the setup on time.

He pulls up beside me and my stomach flip-flops when I look over at him through our car windows. His head is angled down, looking at something in his lap, wraparound sunglasses covering his eyes, and I study the line of his profile as I wait for him to look over at me. Finally, he finishes whatever he’s concentrating on in his lap and glances my way before getting out.

My heart quickens as I exit my car, and fuck me sideways because I don’t want it to quicken. And I don’t want that sudden ache between my thighs.

I walk to the back of our cars just as he does. And of course his presence—the sight of him, the scent of his cologne, that easy way he moves—has every one of my senses on high alert. He leans his shoulder against the back of his car, arms folded across his chest and my cell phone fisted in his hand. His eyes are hidden behind his tinted lenses, but I can feel them scrape their way over my body, despite his impassive expression.

He purses his lips as we stand in a silent standoff, each of us trying to figure out how the other is going to react. And the problem is, I’m supposed to be unaffected by him, but hell if my eyes don’t keep wandering to that mouth of his, thinking of the incredible things it is capable of doing.

Suck it up, Had. It was a one-off thing. Time to be a big girl and lock and load the chastity belt.

“Hey, there.”

“Haddie.” He nods his head at me and says nothing further. This behavior is so unlike the Becks I know that I’m at a loss trying to figure out how to play this. I’m sure he has questions about Dante answering the phone, but in all reality, it’s none of his damn business. If it makes anyone look bad, then it’s me, and frankly that might be for the best in order for him to knock this shit off.

Whatever.

I hold his phone out to him, and he takes it, his fingers grazing over mine—that cataclysmic current shocking up my arm at his touch. I pull back immediately and curse myself for it because it’s impossible for him not to notice my reaction. And my curse is also for being affected once again by the one person I don’t want to be affected by. More than that, though, is the fact that Becks has refolded his arms across his chest and has still not given me back my phone. Or shown the slightest reaction to our connection. What the hell?

“Are you pissed at me?”

He looks at me a moment longer, head angled to the side. “Nope,” he says as he pushes off the car and stands to full height. “I just have to keep repeating them in my head.”

What? I’m lost here. “Repeating what in your head?”

“My rules.” One side of his lips curl up, a smarmy smirk playing over his mouth. I want to tell him to take his sunglasses off so I can look in his eyes, so I can see that easy-go-lucky Becks I know, not this arrogant, closed-off guy standing in front of me. I shake my head because I’ve never seen this side of him, and, well, it’s kind of hot.

Damn it! Just what I don’t need to be thinking right now. Don’t need to be seeing right now: Becks in this light.

“Your rules?”

“Yep,” he reaffirms with a measured nod, and just keeps looking at me. I’m about to ask him what exactly those rules are when he continues. “Rule number one: Don’t sleep with friends…. It just seems to complicate things.”

I can see him fighting the full-blown smirk on his face, and the quip is off my tongue before I can stop it. “Well, it seems you already broke that rule, Country.” I fight the urge to step into him. Hating the potent mixture of need, attraction, irritation, and irrefutable lust that’s vibrating within me.

And then he gives me that flippant, smart-ass quirk of his brows above his hidden eyes. “Yep, and look where that got me.”

“Well, it’s not like we’re exactly friends.” What the hell is that supposed to mean, Haddie? My God, I’m losing it. Fricking losing it.

“We’re not friends?” The mocking tone in how he makes the statement pisses me off, pushes my buttons as I glance down to my phone still in his hand. He takes a step closer to me. I retreat one step, but my back bumps against the back of his vehicle. He takes another, the space between us receding. With the angle of the sun, I can just barely make out his eyes through his lenses, and they meet mine with an amused curiosity.

I swallow down the sudden lump in my throat from his nearness, my pulse erratic and the words that are always on a constant flow from my brain to my mouth a faltered jumble on my tongue. What the hell does Becks have on me? It’s like some stupid hold I can’t crawl out from under.

He raises his eyebrows again in a gesture denoting he’s waiting, and in a move that is so unlike the sure-footed woman I am, I force words out that don’t make any sense. “No, not friends … we’re kind of like family.”

Becks throws his head back and laughs loud and free, an almost palpable release of tension, before he lowers his head back down to look at me. He shakes his head back and forth, bemusement on his face. “City … that’s a whole lot of fucked-up after what we did the other night, but strangely, I follow your logic.”

And for the first time, I see the Becks I know come through. The boyish smirk that tells me I got to him. That my comment knocked the attitude back and relaxed him some. “So, rules, huh?”

Now that Becks is back in slow-and-easy mode, I feel a little bit more stability beneath my feet. He throws me when he shifts gears and goes all alpha on me. Definitely hot but at the same time confusing as fuck.

He just gives me a measured nod again and glances down at my hand held out for my cell phone before disregarding it and looking back at me with his lips pursed in a lopsided smirk. He’s not giving in until I keep talking. And that’s fine. I can talk until the fricking cows come home, but he’s making it difficult the way he keeps getting closer and closer, the space between us dwindling, the air around us feeling as if it’s becoming scarce.

Fuck a duck. Get a grip, Had. Chastity belt, chastity belt, I repeat to myself, trying to infuse some of my own humor into the situation to calm the nerves I never get but that are suddenly running rampant.

“It’s okay. I get it,” I say with a nod, and I’m not quite sure if I’m talking to myself about why I’m suddenly on edge or to Becks about the need for rules. I breathe out a sigh, readjusting my thought process off of him. Onto him. And damn if my dirty mind doesn’t conjure up images of me on him. Riding him. Jesus, I need to get my head back into this thing—out of the gutter. I try to shake those thoughts. My head clears, but my thighs clench as his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, completely oblivious to my thoughts.

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, letting me struggle with my response. He reaches out, and I think he’s going to give me my phone and put me out of the unfamiliar tongue-tied misery I’m in, but no such luck.

His finger grazes my cheek as he pulls a strand of hair off my face. My breath hitches and my pulse races, but I bat his hand away, his touch on my skin giving me just the wake-up call I need. “I have rules of my own, you know….” I mean to sound like a petulant child, but the words come out in a breathy exhale.

That knowing smirk of his grows even wider. Irks me more than it should, because I shouldn’t care. I don’t care. But my libido sure as hell does.

“You do, do you?”

Mr. I-always-talk-a-lot is now being stingy with words? I can beat him at this game, no problem. “Yep.”

“Yep? That’s all you’re going to give me?” He chuckles as he takes the final step to close the distance, reaching up to raise his sunglasses to the top of his head. His aqua eyes blink from the sun for a moment before finding mine at the same time my breasts brush against the firmness of his chest.

And damn. What was I going to say? I can’t remember because I feel his breath feather over my lips, and a chill breaks out over my skin despite the warm weather. “Yep?” he taunts again, drawing the word out in a long breath, and for a minute, I’m relieved to know that he is just as affected as I am.

“Mm-hmm.” It’s all I can manage, desire increasing with each passing second.

“And they are?” he prompts as he leans in closer, our connection even stronger now.

“Lots of them,” I say in a whoosh of air, my mind not comprehending my lack of wit because everything I am concentrating on seems to be centered around the apex of my thighs. Ache. Need. Desire.

He does that closemouthed laugh again. “I dare you to name one right now.” His breath feathers over my lips, the warmth of it a tantalizing taunt to my unsated need. I know he asked me a question, but hell if my synapses are firing efficiently right now. Thoughts of that mouth of his on me, tasting me, obliterate all coherent thoughts. He leans in closer, my breath unsteady now and my eyes drifting closed in anticipation of his kiss.

A kiss I don’t want.

Do want.

Just give it to me, Becks.

“Do you want something, Had?” he murmurs, his lips so close, I can feel their movement as he talks.

Every nerve in my body is attuned to him: his body pressed against mine, his scent, his energy. I give my second “Mm-hmm” in a matter of minutes and mentally chastise myself, tell myself to quit being so pathetic. Guys have always been a dime a dozen to me … so why does Becks seem like that million-dollar check I can’t wait to cash?

“Gonna have to do better than that in order to get what you want.” His taunting tone calls to me, breaks through my mental haze, and ignites the desire that’s already smoldering.

“No strings,” I whisper, hoping that now that I’ve said it, I can get a taste of him—get what I want—but the minute I say it, the heat of his body is gone. My eyes flash open, lips fall apart. What the …?

“Nice try, City, but I’m already well aware of that rule,” Becks says as he lowers his sunglasses back down over his eyes with one hand while the other places my phone in my hand. He takes a few steps away from me, smirk still owning his mouth, but I can see his arousal as crystal clear as the sky above me. And hell if he hasn’t flipped me on like a fucking switch and is leaving me high and dry without giving me the electricity needed to light me up.

I go to say his name, mouth opening and closing a few times before I just give up and shut it.

We stare at each other a moment longer, my sexual frustration obvious and his point made with a victorious grin before he nods at me. “Good luck with your client tonight,” he says, and then disappears around the driver’s side of the car. I step over to the back of my car as I hear his engine rev before he pulls forward through the open spot in front of him and leaves.

And I stand there for a moment longer, my body amped up on adrenaline and my desire for him a mixture of necessity and damnation.

Well played, Daniels. Well played.

Hell, if strings aren’t looking pretty damn appealing right now. I want to tie him up, get my fill of him, and then leave him bound up with need like he just did to me.