woman she’d seen him with.
She’d watched Beck perform this same routine many times before, only with different women, in different locations. The porch. The backyard. Even on the roof.
No one had ever turned him down.
He cupped Tawny’s rear and commanded in a husky growl, “Wrap your legs around me.”
Tawny complied, as they all complied, and Beck turned toward the couch, away from Harlow.
Sweet relief swept through her. In the home stretch now... Just a couple more minutes... And oh, crap, the sugary aroma of the pie ruthlessly taunted her.
Ever the traitor, Harlow’s stomach chose that moment to rumble.
It was enough.
Beck’s head snapped in her direction, his body going taut. He set Tawny on her feet and stepped in front of her, acting as her shield.
The gesture of protection proved hotter than the kiss.
Recognition lit his features. “You,” he said, and he sounded awed rather than angry.
Confused, Harlow blinked at him. “Me?” He knew her?
“What are you doing inside my house?”
My house! But Harlow didn’t stick around to correct him. Nothing would placate him or save her stupid hide, so she bolted around him, remaining just out of reach as she headed for the door, yanked it open and at last soared outside.
“Hey!” Beck called. “Stop.”
She quickened her pace, aiming for the bank of trees ahead: a giant oak, several mature pecans and two magnolias in full bloom. Locusts buzzed. Grasshoppers sang. Birds squawked. The three created a macabre soundtrack as the familiar scent of wild strawberries and dewy roses lodged in her throat, forming a hard lump.
Almost there... Just a little farther...
While the fifty-two-acre spread had come with a greenhouse, a small dairy, two barns, three work sheds and multiple vegetable gardens Harlow had tried and failed to tend, there was a shadowed section in back filled with gnarled trees, sharp sandburs and crunchy brushwood where snakes and scorpions liked to nest. A section none of the guys had ever dared venture. It would have been the perfect place to hide if she hadn’t set up camp there.
Once she passed the embankment, she veered in the opposite direction, whizzing by the towering oak she used to climb...the weeping willow where she’d experienced her first kiss...the tire swing her father had made during one of his rare moments of affection.
“Stop,” Beck commanded. “Now.”
He sounded close, too close, but he didn’t sound winded. She clutched the pie closer—try to take it from me, I dare you—and glanced back. Crap! He was almost on her. She picked up the pace...until several burs lodged in her heels, causing sharp spikes of pain to slow her down. Any second now, Beck would overtake—
Hard hands snaked around her waist, two hundred pounds of muscle bearing down on her. As she fell, the pie went flying.
“Noooo!” she shouted.
Impact emptied her lungs. Tears welled in her eyes, but she wiped the droplets away with a shaky hand, a whimper escaping when she spotted the dark blueberry splatters now streaming across rock and dirt, the crust now sprinkled with dirt.
“Pie killer!” Hello, dark side. “If there’s any justice in the world, you will fry for this.”
“Really? That’s what you say to me?” He sat on his haunches, freeing her from the bulk of his weight.
“You tackled me. I should sue you for everything you own.”
“Yes, please do so. Meanwhile, I’ll press charges for trespassing. Now tell me what you were doing with my pie.”
My pie! She’d stolen it fair and square. But the trespassing reminder sobered her. “If you think about things like a reasonable adult, you’ll see your crime is worse. Your actions led to the painful death of an innocent dessert.” Now she would go hungry for yet another night.
Her stomach, the whore, grumbled in protest.
“The pie was going to die one way or another tonight. I just assumed my mouth would be the weapon of mass destruction, not a dirty little thief determined to blame someone else.”
He stood, then surprised her by offering her a helping hand. A trick, surely. She declined by pushing to her feet under her own steam. Besides, she’d seen some of the places those hands had been. And, really, she didn’t need to know what they felt like. If they were callused and rough...hot enough to make her burn and quiver the way Tawny and countless others had.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Why not tell him the truth? He had only to ask the townsfolk about her to hear a thousand stories detailing her reign of terror in high school. Perhaps some kind soul would even mention the time a poll was pinned to the corkboard in the town square: “If given a choice, who would you rather torture? The devil or Harlow Glass?”
Harlow had won by a landslide.
“I’m Harlow Glass, and I used to live here.”
His gaze raked over her once, then again far more slowly. “I’m honored. Harlow Glass in the flesh. A sighting rarer than Bigfoot.”
How did he know? It wasn’t as if he’d ever had a reason to look for her.
And oh, wow. His voice. He’d pumped up the smoke, making it even better than before, captivating and temping, sending cascades of pleasure rippling through her.
Danger! Danger! She widened the distance between them.
“Oh, no, you don’t. We’re going back to the house.” He waved her forward.
Stay strong. “How cute. You made a funny.”
His expression hardened, promising severe consequences if she refused him a second time, and yet his tenor softened, no longer quite so menacing. “My apologies for not being clear, sweetheart. You’re coming with me, and that’s that.”
“No, that’s not that. I have no desire to watch another mouth-to-mouth sesh with Tawny. Let’s just conclude our business here.”
The smile he unveiled lacked any sort of humor, and yet it utterly devastated her senses, leaving her reeling. “You have two options. One—we discuss the theft and destruction of my pie within the privacy of my home, and just how you’re going to make it up to me. Or two—I call Sheriff Lintz.”
Dang it! He had her by the lady balls, and he knew it. “Look. You could waterboard me, but I still won’t confess—”
“Good to know I have your permission to waterboard.”
“—to a crime, so why don’t I say I’m sorry for interrupting your evening, and we call it good?”
“Does
