He’d known that would be West’s reaction. Just as he’d known if West asked him, he would have backed off the blonde without a fight, despite his misgivings about how the guy’s plans would play out.
Beck grabbed two more glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and drained them. After that, the evening passed in a bit of a blur. He ate when dinner was served, gave a speech praising every member of the team. He flirted and danced with Donna... Dana? Whoever. West’s blonde. She was an ER nurse, newly divorced with no kids, and she was looking to add a little spice to her life.
“If you’re still looking,” he said, “does that mean you haven’t found it with me?”
Her smile was wide, playful. “Not yet.”
“But because you’re such a sweet girl, you’re willing to let me keep trying?”
“I’m a giver like that.”
“Then I better bring my A game.”
She chuckled. “You mean you actually have a B game?”
“And a C game. But I only play that way when I’m really desperate.”
“You mean you aren’t desperate for me?” She pretended to pout.
“Honey, I bypassed desperate and went straight into drooling when you walked through the door.” The words came easily to him, as usual, but fell from his tongue hollowly. He used to enjoy this kind of bantering, the tease before the big show. Now he wasn’t sure when he’d ever been more miserable.
Donna/Dana ran her fingers through his hair, and he almost pulled away. He remembered how Harlow had done the same last night. How his scalp had tingled and his blood had heated. How she’d looked when she’d done it. As if she were drunk on pleasure...on him. As if he were something special, not just a random guy she might enjoy.
“Tell me about yourself,” Donna/Dana said.
“And bore you to death? No way. I’d rather hear about you.”
As she prattled on, his mind drifted in a direction he didn’t want it to go. Brook Lynn expected him to find a guy for Harlow. A lover. A potential husband. Could he actually do it? Should he?
Committed women were invisible to him. He’d never forgotten the shame he’d felt with Carol, the foster mom, knowing she was cheating on her husband with him. His guilt had only grown over the years as he’d watched one family after another crumble because of infidelity.
Maybe...maybe the answer to all his problems was doing exactly what Brook Lynn requested. If Harlow got serious with another man—Beck swallowed a curse—his craving her might finally go away.
“Beck?” Donna/Dana said, nuzzling his cheek. “You still with me?”
He stepped back, widening the distance between them, and kissed her knuckles. “Do you really think there’s anywhere else I’d rather be?”
“Well, I certainly hope not.”
More and more families left the party until only West, Jase and a sleepy Brook Lynn remained.
“I’m driving your car, Beck,” West said. “How do you want the rest of this night to go down?”
He looked at Jase, who was holding Brook Lynn so close, so tight. Brook Lynn leaned against her man, knowing he would protect her with his life. He looked at West, who was willing to drive him and Donna/Dana to her place, then wait in the car so he would have a ride when he finished. Even willing to drive him and Donna/Dana to their place—where Harlow would get a front-row seat to the show. He looked at Donna/Dana, who was smiling up at him, as tipsy as he was, probably willing to do anything he asked. She wouldn’t stop him before he got her clothes off, his body on fire for her, and ask for more than he could possibly give.
West nudged his arm. “So what’s it gonna be?”
* * *
HARLOW HAD SPENT an entire evening on her cell phone, using up data to research problems abandoned kids could have later in life, until she thought she’d pegged Beck. Severe detachment disorder. Having lost everything he loved time and time again, he’d learned to stay distanced from everything and everyone.
Her heart had ached for him as she’d fallen into bed to sleep like the dead, only to be awoken by—
Bang, bang, bang. “Open up, Harlow.”
That.
Eyes burning, she donned her robe and stumbled to the door of the RV. From a nightmare of Beck plowing his way through a parade of women to Beck standing at her door in the flesh—in the middle of the night.
Bang, bang. “You have two seconds to show yourself, then I’m kicking my way in.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming. Hold your horses.” She opened the door—and gasped. A small patch of light glowed from the porch lamp and washed over Beck. He was in a tux. A gorgeous, wealthy man almost too fine to touch, like something out of a magazine. His dark hair stuck out in spikes, and his eyes simmered with fire and determination.
“Fool woman.” His lips were compressed into a thin line, his words slurred. “I could be a stranger here to murder you.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Only a 3.65 on the Richter scale...or maybe a 6.53... What does that matter?” He barreled his way inside, gently pushing her back. He closed the door with a kick of his leg. “You gotta protect yourself better, popsicle.”
New nicknames. A thrill to hear when she shouldn’t have cared. “What are you doing here? It’s, like, two in the morning.”
He nodded as if she’d just made his point for him. “It’s two in the morning, and you work for me. I told you there would be times I’d want you to draw in the middle of the night.”