“He sure was. Adamant about it, too,” the brunette added. “But he had to run, and I’m glad. Ever since Jase mentioned you’ve been hanging out with Beck, I’ve been desperate to chat with you.”
“Really?” she asked, surprised. “Me?” In a “see the bully up close” kind of way, or in a “let’s become friends” way?
Daphne’s head tilted to the side, her brow furrowing with confusion. “Why not you?”
Harlow struggled to form a proper response. Shall I count the ways? “For starters, I’ve been likened to the devil.”
“It’s true,” Jessie Kay said. “I know because I have likened her to the devil.”
“Well.” Brook Lynn cleared her throat. “How about our Mighty Stallions, huh? I hear our illustrious high school is going to take State this year.”
“How’d you meet Beck?” Daphne asked Harlow, ignoring the sisters.
Jessie Kay hiked a thumb in Harlow’s direction. “She’s been camping in the woods by the house. Which isn’t as amazing as it sounds. Even I could survive in the wild...with credit cards, a bag of feminine products and a bottle of painkillers.”
Brook Lynn rolled her eyes. “Yes. You’re a true survivalist. Now that introductions are over, let’s get down to business. How about you start trying on these clothes?”
An excuse to lock herself in the bedroom, take a moment to collect her thoughts and get her emotions under control? Yes! She snatched up the bags, along with the letters she’d left on the counter, glanced nervously at the unlocked cabinet holding her picture of Beck and retreated. Curious, she dumped the contents on her bed. Not a bra or pair of panties in sight. Just dress suits, summer dresses, purses, jewelry and shoes. Everything in her size.
Her hands trembled as she stroked soft cashmere, softer silk and the prettiest patterns she’d ever seen. Most of the items were different shades of blue—to highlight her eyes?—though several boasted ribbons of pink.
Why would Beck do this for her? Especially after the way she’d acted today?
“We want to see,” Brook Lynn called.
Harlow stripped, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and cringing. It was like looking at Frankenstein’s sister. Her numerous scars were pink, jagged and unavoidable, each forming a square with grafted skin inside. The damage stretched from her collarbone to her waist, and to say it was ugly would be kind. Her soul mate, whoever he was, would have to fall for her personality first and learn to live with the rest of her.
Trembling now, she donned the prettiest of the summer dresses; it was of Grecian design with spaghetti straps, a plunging neckline and pleats falling from a cinched waist. In front, the skirt hit just above her knees, but in back, the long, sheer train flowed to her ankles. Never had she felt so feminine, not even back in her heyday, and yet there was no way she’d ever wear the dress in public. Too many of her scars showed.
Feminine instincts screamed in protest as she changed into the most modest of her choices. A dress with capped sleeves and a scooped neck. At least the azure material clung to her curves.
She placed her hand on the knob, noticed she wasn’t trembling as badly and perked up. The girls might have been coerced into helping her, but they were here, and they weren’t setting the place on fire. Hope filled her as she exited the bedroom, her step lighter than it had been in years.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, BECK sat in his new chair—a plush black leather beast he’d had delivered and placed by the window in his bedroom. He peered outside. The moon was high and round, but also eerie as clouds swept past, obscuring the stars, offering no light to illuminate the RV parked in the front yard.
What did Harlow think of the clothing he’d purchased for her? What did she favor? What did she have on right this very second?
He would not be finding out.
I want a relationship, she’d shouted at him earlier today.
He squeezed the arms of the chair. She wanted the one thing he couldn’t give her. And with the dreaded R word now in play, his desire for her should have cooled at last. Commit to one person? Trust one person to stick with him through even the worst of times? Hell, no. Never. But his desire hadn’t cooled. It clawed at his insides even more diligently, desperate to be let off its leash.
He should have made a play for Kimberly. She might be too nice, and his tastes might run toward spicy, but she was a woman and they could have had fun. He could have experienced a moment of pleasure without drama or worry. Instead, he’d politely kissed her knuckles and left her at her hotel door. His body, the traitor, wasn’t interested in a substitute for Harlow. Which made no damn sense!
Part of him hated the black-haired witch for doing this to him, for making him feel twisted up and wrung out. Turmoil sucked ass. He’d had enough of it in his childhood.
And damn it! He should have cut Harlow out of his life the first time he’d experienced a blip of unease. He should have done everything in his power to return to the way things used to be. The way he needed them to be. His life had been fine without her. Easy and uncomplicated, just the way he liked.
But he hadn’t cut her out, and he now had a new reality. One where his every mood revolved around a woman he craved more than water to drink. It scared the hell out of him. It unnerved and panicked him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on like this.
With a grunt, he kicked the wall in front of him, leaving a crack behind. Harlow had changed more than his desires. She’d changed his oldest rule: don’t do anything to draw the attention of law enforcement. While she’d tried on her new clothes, he’d finally paid a visit to Scott Cameron, and the conversation had nearly ended in assault and battery.