by T. I. Lowe
“The entire class thinks I’ve killed you off.” Beck crosses his arms.
“I’m alive. Sort of… At least Nadine can win the bet.”
“What bet?”
“The one where you either murder me or lay claim to me. She bet you’d kill me off.”
Jack reaches his hand over the back of the couch and strokes my hair. “Darlin’, I’ve got some business to attend to tonight. You want me to come back afterwards?” His dark eyes look so sad.
And that’s my fault, too. I called him while waiting at the airport for my flight and poured my heart out about the weekend and then being fired. I take another sip of bourbon hoping it will help me produce a smile for my concerned friend. I fail at that, too.
I pat his hand. “No. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” He glances at Beck and then back to me.
“Yeppers,” I say in a singsong voice, sounding nothing like I feel.
After giving me one last look of sympathy, Jack leaves.
“You can go, too. I’m fine.” I shoo Beck with a flick of my wrist but he remains rooted in place.
“What’s got you hiding this time?”
“Got fired from not only my publisher, but also my agent.” That email greeted me this morning. Maxine terminated our contract as well. Good riddance.
“Freelance writers have agents and publishers?”
“No, but a ghost writer does.” I take another small sip and offer him the bottle. He takes it but doesn’t drink any.
“I’m not following. You’re a ghost writer?” He gives the bottle a sniff and grimaces before holding it to his side.
“Was. Roselyn got sloppy and screwed it all up.” The bourbon is already warming my tongue and this tidbit slips right out.
Beck studies the bookshelf thoughtfully as I ramble on about Roselyn morphing into a spoiled diva.
Glancing over the edge of the couch at the books, I mutter, “We pulled it off for seven bestsellers. Guess that’s enough.” I wiggle my fingers, beckoning the bottle back, but he opens the French door and chunks it outside. “Why’d you do that for? That was top shelf!”
He ignores my rant and slams the door shut as realization dawns on his handsome face. “You’re the Roselyn Scott?”
“No. I’m Harper Blume, the loser not good enough to be the face representing her stories.”
“Who’s telling you that garbage?” His brows pinch severely.
“My life holds the truth. I’ve seen it.”
Beck shakes his head and steps closer. “Then you’re not looking at life clearly.”
I have nothing for a comeback, so my lips become mute.
“Let’s clear a few things up for you, Blume.” He points to the bookshelf. “I’ve read each one of those books. Now that I know the woman I’m falling for is the author, I’m half-tempted to tie you up somewhere and steal your computer so I can read those stories you’ve been working on all summer.” He crouches down in front of me. “I’m a little embarrassed to admit this, but I actually get a newsletter letting me know about all of the upcoming book releases.”
I snicker, not believing what I’m hearing. “You got a thing for Roselyn Scott?”
“No. I’ve got a thing for your stories.” He shakes his head. “You can’t possibly think you’re a loser.”
“Whatever,” I deflect with my childish word of choice. I ease off the floor to try for an escape, but Beck catches me by the arm and spins my body to face him.
“Sass and snark won’t work this time, so listen up.”
Oh great. The drill sergeant has showed up.
“I’m star-struck, but it doesn’t surprise me. You are one rare gem.”
I try wiggling away from him, but Beck’s massive arms lock me against him.
“You’re beautiful. Inside where it counts the most, but you got it in spades on the outside.”
I stumble over the declaration with my lips working up to smart off, but he moves on.
“Aren’t you a southern lady?”
“Well, I’m definitely southern, but the lady part is debatable.”
“Either way, I know you’ve been taught some manners. And this is one you need to get through your gorgeous hard head—you are to say ‘thank you’ when someone compliments you. It’s offensive if you don’t.”
My mouth remains sealed, thinking he’s just saying those pretty words to appease me.
“Harper, take the compliment,” he demands, sounding downright mad.
I’m stubborn to a fault and stay silent. Sure, he looks sincere with those turquoise eyes coasting my face in some type of reverence, but I refuse to believe it.
“Stop hiding,” he grits out, giving my body a subtle shake. “Let me see you.”
I lean away and cross my arms. “I’m right in front of you.”
“You know what I mean… I allowed you to see me… to touch me and my scars. You owe me and I’m ready to collect.”
“I’m not ready to pay up,” I blurt, panicking.
His expression hardens. “No room for negotiation.”
Before I can rebuke, I find myself slung over his shoulder with him stalking toward my bedroom. Flustered, I slap at his back to no avail.
“Whoa! I’m not ready!”
Ignoring my protest, Beck sets me down in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and brushes off the pile of clothes that curtain it. This reveals a red-faced woman with a menacing man towering behind her. The dire quiet of the room is peppered with our heavy breaths. Mine from being rattled. His from anger, or maybe something else. I’m not sure. Whatever the cause, it’s freaking heated is all I know.
Having my fill of this tense standoff, I go to sidestep but he cages me in with his arms. “Beck,” I warn, but he ignores me again.
“Shirt. Off. Now.” His mouth sets into a firm line, reaffirming his stance on no negotiations.
“What? No way in—”
A stuttered gasp escapes my mouth as the fabric rents apart and cool air tickles my back. Beck tosses the ruined nightshirt to the side, leaving me in only a pair of pale-blue boyshorts and a matching bra.
“You ruined my shirt!” I try turning around to slap him, but he firmly holds me in front of the mirror.
“Look at yourself,” he demands, voice low and raspy.
With no other choice but to obey, I direct my eyes to meet my reflection. Not liking what is before me, I redirect to his reflection and get lost in the deep pools of intense blue locked to mine.
“Such a pale green, those eyes. Never have I seen such a shade before you.” His finger traces underneath each eye. “From the first day you glared at me, I’ve wanted nothing more than to solve the mystery you keep hidden in them.” He leans down, heating the shell of my ear with his gravelly words. “I’m getting close.”
Not believing his appealing words, my lips pout out to protest and catch his attention.
“And these lips have made my blood boil even before I saw them for the first time. I was tempted several times that week to call you back just to hear you get riled up. Then that morning on the beach, when you pouted out that bottom lip at the end of class to sass, it was all I could do not to lean over and bite it.” His thumb traces over my lip before giving it a slight pinch.
I can do nothing but stand still and watch Beck explore me in the mirror, trying not to dwell on the fact that I’m on full display in nothing but my underwear. Thankfully, it’s a modestly cut set. His fingertips coast down both sides of my neck, so I follow them, instead of my meager attire. The touch leaves a trail of tingles in its wake.
“This graceful yet strong neck… I don’t know whether I want to make out with it or ring it most days.”
I glance away from his fingers on my neck to his face in the mirror, finding no playfulness in his expression. Eyes focused and mouth set severely in concentration.
His hands keep moving south, along my sides before rounding to my belly. They come to a rest against my lower abdomen. It’s the o
ne spot on my body I loathe the most. After all of my hard work it still refuses to correct itself. My eyes close to block out the regret.
“Open your eyes, Harper.”
I disregard his request and keep them sealed.
“I said open them. Now.” There’s that ornery authority again.
I finally open them to give Beck a solid glare but soften with finding longing reflecting in his gaze.
Swallowing, I croak, “There’s nothing to see here but nasty stretchmarks.” I tap his hands.
He suddenly flips his right hand and traps mine underneath, making me touch my skin.
“What do you feel?” His right hand moves mine in sync with his left, causing us both to glide over my belly.
“Ugliness.” My answer is immediate and from the severe shake of his head, wrong.
“This softness… This heated skin… Makes my lips burn to experience it against them.”
“Enough, Beck.”
Beck ignores me and moves our hands over to the curve of my hips. “Lush, the way a woman should be.”
“But it wasn’t intended for her to have these ugly grooves marring her skin.”
“You’re not just any woman, Harper.” His fingers trace one of the silvery lines etched along my hipbone. “This holds testament to your tenacity to overcome obesity. It’s a badge of your strength.”
“I could gain it all back.” Confessing my biggest fear sends a new wave of fear through my body, producing a slight tremble to set in.
He shakes his head again, but accompanies it this time with a wry smile. “You’re too mean to let that happen.”
“Maybe so.” My chin juts out as I lock my eyes with his through our reflection.
He says nothing, as though he’s waiting for something, but I don’t know what to give him. The silence stretches with him scrutinizing me and with me wanting to keep hiding from him.
“I fight depression.” Another confession comes from out of nowhere. It’s like his unwavering search is extracting every one of my insecurities in one fell swoop. I almost add that I’ve turned to drinking to combat it, but clamp my lips together.
“I know,” he whispers. “You don’t hide as well as you think you do. I see you, Harper. It’s time you see, too.”
My eyes begin to sting, so I try sniffing it away, but I’m about to lose the battle. “It’s an ugly sight.” Tears well and spill, reflecting the shame and disappointment I hold against myself.
“You’re seeing yourself all wrong.” He releases my hips and wipes the tears away.
“Inner darkness and outer scars… I’m seeing right.”
“From that inner darkness comes some wicked creativity.” He nudges me to scoot over a bit. “Stay right there.” Swiftly, his shirt hits the floor. “What do you think of my body?”
My focus glides down the entire length of his chiseled chest and back to his somber face. “Perfection,” I comment, because he is.
“And my scars?” He drops his shoulder so that we can see the phoenix in the mirror.
“I want to take them on as my own. I want to steal the painful memories caused by them, so they can never hurt you again,” I admit, but am stunned that I did.
He lifts a brow in challenge as he hauls me back in front of him and pulls me firmly against his chest. “It’s how I feel about yours, but more importantly, that’s how God feels. He wants to take away the pain behind your scars.”
Suddenly, the ache and pressure becomes overwhelming and sends me gasping for each breath.
“I think I need some fresh air.” I step from his grasp and redress in a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie, needing to cover up what he’s made me feel.
Beck quietly puts his shirt back on and leans against the wall. He’s said enough, but his body language is speaking volumes.
Not wanting to hear any more, I hurry outside and slump over the deck railing and rest my chin on top of my hands. A long time passes with only the rushing of the tide to focus on. The moon gives off just enough illumination to highlight each wave rolling in. I try timing my breaths with the melody it’s making. The sound of the door opening and closing interrupts the progress. I don’t turn to acknowledge him, but am soon engulfed in his warmth.
“Will you talk to me about what happened this weekend?” Beck asks as he pulls my back against his chest and hooks an arm around my waist.
I’m relieved he’s changing the subject, but not happy with the subject either. “What if I don’t want to talk about it?”
The only response is his lips exploring the back of my neck. His teeth take a nip every so often, sending a tingle to shimmy along my spine. I try to squirm out of his hold, but Beck’s hands are like vice grips.
“Babe, you need to get still so we can talk right now. Tell me.”
Taking a fortifying breath, I begin. “We were to sign with a new publisher this summer. I agreed to pen four more books for the Breakers Series, which seemed like a piece of cake. We’ve been doing it for seven years now. Me writing them and Roselyn being the front woman. I always send her the first draft so she can study the characters and storyline for the press junkets.”
“What happened?” he mumbles before kissing behind my ear.
My shoulder draws up as a shiver seizes me. “For some reason, Roselyn blew off this last book. Not reading it. Not preparing for the junkets. I think the publisher was already suspicious back in June at the last book release party. I should have known right then.”
“Your publisher didn’t know about the ghost writing deal?”
“No. My agent, Maxine, has always been adamant we keep it a secret. I even had to make Jack sign a confidentiality agreement. She’s always paid me through her agency.”
“Let’s back up for a minute. Explain to me what insane reason it is you’re ghost writing in the first place.”
“I moved here about ten years ago. Alone. I became a recluse, spent most of my days writing and eating my loneliness away. By the time I had the first three books written, I got antsy to share them. I worked up enough nerve to send out about a dozen query letters and Maxine was the first to respond. Naïve and impatient, I went with her.” My voice trails off, not wanting to talk about it.
“And?” he murmurs while massaging my shoulders.
I shrug, not wanting to share the most embarrassing part. I just want to get lost in his touch and do just that until his hand stills.
“Tell me, Harper.”
“Maxine wanted me to fly out to New York to sign the contract. By that time, I was at my heaviest and I had stopped leaving the house almost altogether. It became crippling to even make a quick run to the grocery store.”
“Harper—”
I brush his hands away and he complies by resting them on my hips. “Maxine flew here and took one look at me… Told me to hold tight, that she had a plan. The rest is history.”
Beck tugs at me until I turn to face him. “Where was Jack when all this went down? I thought you two were tight.”
I reach over and try smoothing the severe crease on his forehead. “Don’t go blaming Jack. He didn’t move here until a little more than five years ago. We hadn’t seen each other in about a decade before that. And let me tell you one thing, he put his foot down the moment he saw me. Made me start taking care of myself and has been pushing me out of the house with every chance he gets.”
“He’s fine with your drinking habit?” Beck looks at me skeptically.
“I don’t have a drinking habit,” I spit out, not liking his accusation. “Jack gets ahold of me if he thinks I’m indulging too much. So no worries there. He’s my best friend and always will be.”
“What’s he say about you ghost writing?”
“That’s the only sore spot between us. He’s been at me for years now to end it. Says I should have represented my work from the very beginning.”
“He’s right about that.”
I shrug. “Looks like the argument is moot now, considering I’m unemployed.”
>
“You’ll figure it out.” Leaning down he covers my lips with his and effectively takes my mind off of my career problems, the drinking habit I don’t have, and the dark holes I’m unable to fill. Well, he’s managing that last part fairly well at the moment…
We kiss with me cocooned in Beck’s embrace until we’re both fighting for air.
“I’m… not ready for more than this,” I say when he presses against me.
“I know. This is enough.” He pulls me over to the lounge chair and reclines it all the way back and points to it before disappearing inside. Before I can settle into the chair, he’s back with a quilt and spreads it over me.
It’s sweet and tender, but tears spring to my eyes when he climbs in beside me and asks, “Harper, will you please hold me.”
This giant of a man with such a big alpha male ego has just asked me to hold him. And I can think of nothing I’d rather do. His arms circle around my torso, holding me like a teddy bear. We fall asleep with his head resting on my chest and my arms holding him in place.
*****
This is bad. Very, very bad. Waking up alone has been my norm for the past twenty-eight years, so why does it make my insides pinch this morning? The encounters with Beck keep feeling like dreams that happen in the dark of night and only leave remnants scattering away at sunrise.
Sometime during the dark hours, Beck carried me to bed and left me there even though I asked him not to. He said I was too tempting and it was in the best interest of my virtue he not climb into my bed. It was gentlemanly, but my wayward-self wanted him to not be.
A muffled noise from somewhere in the house draws my attention away from my musings. Smiling, I hop out of bed and make a quick detour to the bathroom to take care of my breath and other needs.
I walk around the corner and freeze in my tracks with finding Beck sitting at one end of the kitchen island in only a pair of boxers and his T-shirt while Jack is at the other end in designer jeans and a dark polo. Their rigid body language shouts out a warning for me to turn tail and go back to bed.
Before I can, Beck grouches out, “Is it necessary for him to have a key to your house?” A look of pure irritation paints over his handsome face.