Protesting too much, baby? “I hate to break it to you, Mr. Ockley, but you aren’t the boss of me.”

“Actually, Miss Glass, I am. You work for me. Basically, I own your soul.”

She gave him another smack in the chest. “I mean you’re not the boss of my personal life.”

“How dare you.” He caught her wrist and, with a firm tug, pulled her across his body and tickled her under her arms. “I’m the boss of your personal life. Say it.”

“No,” she managed as she laughed uncontrollably. “Never!”

“Say it.”

“Stop...stop...please stop.” She flung herself to the other side of the bed, but he just followed her over, the tickling more intense. “I’m going to pee my pants!”

“That will be embarrassing for you. What are the magic words?”

“You’re...you’re in charge...”

The tickling instantly stopped. “Of?”

Harlow’s chest heaved, and she struggled to catch her breath. “You’re in charge of...of...” When finally she felt capable of movement, she dived to the floor, calling, “You’re in charge of nothing!”

A mock growl left him, and he stood. “You’ll pay for that, dumpling.”

She scrambled to her feet and backed away from him. Struggling not to laugh all over again, she held out her hands to ward him off, but he just kept coming. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the second pie. The apple. The one he hadn’t yet tasted.

She swiped it up, saying, “Come any closer and the pie gets trashed!”

Abject horror shone from his face. “That’s taking things too far, Harlow Glass. Too far!”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.” Gently she returned the pie to the counter, blew it an apology kiss, and then used her hands to form the letter T. “Time out.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t call a time out, not in matters of love and war.”

“Shows what you know. I just did.” She walked to the fridge, thought for a moment, and grabbed two of Beck’s beers, popping the tops and turning to face him. “Time in. Come any closer, and the beers get trashed.”

He barked out a laugh, but quickly blanked his features. “Not my favorite beers,” he said, rubbing his chin with two fingers. “Anything but my favorite beers... But I just can’t seem to stay away from you.” One step, two...he approached her.

“I’ll do it. I’ll pour them out.” She held them over the sink.

“Do it, and things will get ugly. I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Oh, yeah?” She placed her thumb over the tops, shook the bottles and, as his eyes widened, sprayed him with the exploding liquid.

When the fizz ran out, he licked the drops from his mouth. “Well, now,” he said, his tone even. “I guess things are gonna get ugly.” And then he advanced.

He easily confiscated the beers and repeated her actions, shaking them and spraying her with what remained. Laughing hysterically, Harlow tried to escape. He merely backed her into a corner, dropped the bottles and held her in place with one hand while switching on the sink faucet with the other. He doused her from head to toe with water, and after she’d screamed and laughed in outrage, he stepped back to study his handiwork, nodding with satisfaction.

When he focused on her breasts, his satisfaction dovetailed into white-hot desire. “Your nipples are hard.” Husky voice, a little slurred, as if the beer had gone to his head.

Her amusement died, and she began to pant. “Look away.”

“I can’t.” He planted his palms on the cabinets beside her temples, caging her in. Counter behind her, aroused male in front of her. “Say yes, and I’ll lick you clean from head to toe.”

Her mouth went dry, and her knees shook. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. A moment of pleasure awaited her...but only a moment.

He’d just set her up with another man; she had to resist him. “No,” she whispered. “My date...”

Fury clouded his eyes before he spun away from her. “Your date. Right.”

“You did this, Beck. You. No one else.”

“You should thank me. He’s Mr. Perfect. Everything I’m not.”

“What does that mean?”

“Doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

Feeling sad for him—for them—she sighed and said, “I think that’s the problem. It never does with you.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

BECK PEERED UP at the ceiling of his bedroom, morning light seeping through the crack in the window curtains. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, missing the feel of Harlow in his arms.

After they’d cleaned the RV, he’d returned to the farmhouse to shower and change. The need to go back, to make things right with her, had been strong, but he’d somehow resisted. The girl was turning him inside out—which was the very reason he had to continue on this current path.

Except, tired and grumpy, he thought, What the hell? He brushed his teeth, changed and made his way to the RV. Since she had no problem using her key to invade his house, he had no problem using his key to invade hers. He quietly made his way inside and found her in the bed. She lay curled on her side, her face toward his, a beam of light spotlighting her, turning her into the real Sleeping Beauty. He reached for her, caught himself just before contact and swallowed a curse.