He gathered everything he needed to cook his famous morning-after breakfast, and as the bacon began to sizzle, she sat up like a zombie rising from the grave. At his laugh, her eyes snapped open.
Utterly adorable—and damn it, he had to look away. His body was strung tighter than a bow. Any more pressure and he would snap.
“Beck?”
“The one and only.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Cooking. I hope you’re hungry, princess.”
“For bacon? Always. But I’d rather have you,” she grumbled.
He had to grip the counter to remain in place. “Your date is tonight, remember?”
“What!” she gasped out. “How could I remember when you never told me? So soon?”
“Why not?” The longer he put it off, the crazier it would make him.
“Just... Screw you.” The patter of footsteps. The slam of the bathroom door.
“Not a morning person,” he called. “Got it.”
She emerged as he finished loading two plates with eggs, bacon of course, hash browns, pancakes and more bacon. They sat across from each other at the small table, and he pushed her plate in front of her.
“Well, well,” she said. “I didn’t sleep with you, but I get the blow-off breakfast anyway. Is it my birthday?”
“Technically, you have slept with me. Though I’m not sure why I keep coming back. I had to spend that night listening to you snore—”
“I do not snore!”
“Honey, you sound like a freight train.”
“You are such a liar.” She threw a fork at him. “Tell me you’re a liar!”
“And actually become a liar? No. You’re welcome, by the way. For my exalted presence and the breakfast. When is your birthday, anyway?”
“December third.”
“That’s coming in fast.”
She shrugged before admitting softly, “It’ll be my first birthday without my mom.”
Hello, ache. I missed you. “Well, it’ll be your first birthday with me, you lucky girl, and I hereby vow to make it the best one of your life.”
Looking more vulnerable by the second, she said, “Just how are you going to do that?”
He grinned slowly. “Are you thinking naughty thoughts, Miss Glass? Wanting me to give you something personal?”
“Oh, shut up and let me eat,” she said, grabbing another fork.
“Uh, uh, uh.” He snatched the plate away from her. “Not until you tell me what you want for your birthday.”
“Gimme that food before you get stabbed.”
“Tell me.”
“A wedding ring. How about that?”
Brat. “I’d be willing to give you a practice wedding night.” He set the food in front of her, saying in falsetto, “‘Thank you, Beck. You look so handsome this morning, Beck.’”
Harlow dug into her food, ignoring him.
“‘Why, Beck Joseph Ockley,’” he continued in his impression of her, “‘you always have the best ideas.’”
Harlow glanced up. “Your middle name is Joseph?”
“Yep. What’s yours?”
“Adrianne.”
He’d had a forkful of eggs on the way to his mouth, paused, then slowly lowered the utensil. “Did you say... Adrianne?”
“Yes.” She chomped into a piece of bacon. “Why?”
“Well, I had no idea your initials were HAG.”
Horrorified, she gasped out, “Don’t you dare call me hag.”
He smirked at her. Was there any woman more adorable?
Dorian would go crazy for her.
Good humor suddenly gone, Beck attacked his food with a vengeance. When he finished, he felt sick, but he stood, carried his plate to the sink.
Without looking at her, he said, “Your date will be here at seven. Be ready.”
“Don’t worry, I will. And I’ll wear something sexy. One of the racier dresses you gave me.”
He barely contained his scowl. “One of the immodest ones you refuse to wear for me?”
“Definitely.”
“Great.” Either she was more confident now, or she simply hoped to torture Beck. “I’ll wear a suit.”
“As my bodyguard, it’d be more appropriate for you to wear camo.”
“Hag, it won’t matter what I’m wearing. If I decide to take out your date, he’ll never see me coming.”
* * *
AFTER BECK TOOK OFF, Harlow called for reinforcements. To her surprise and delight, Brook Lynn and Jessie Kay showed up at five to help her get ready for her three-person date-slash-torture session.
“By the time we’re done with you,” Jessie Kay said, “Beck is gonna wish he’d lost his penis in a tragic bull-riding accident.”
“Let’s hope.” Like a harem girl within the pages of a romance novel, Harlow was buffed, waxed and oiled, her hair curled and coiffed. Despite her earlier bravado, she pulled a cashmere sweater over the revealing sheath dress she selected, hiding her scars.
When the girls finished with her, she twirled in front of the full-length mirror she’d had installed in the bedroom, pleased with how she’d turned out. The icy color of the dress brought out the blue in her eyes, and even her hair. Three healthy meals a day had added a natural rosy tint to her skin and blessed her with the feminine curves she’d always envied in others.