The Hotter You Burn. Gena Showalter
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“Now that you’ve got me here,” a woman said, breathless with longing, “what are you going to do to me?”
Too late! Fear settled like thousand-pound boulders in Harlow’s feet, and she wrenched to a halt in the hallway, blood rushing from her head, her lungs hemorrhaging air as if survival had just become enemy one.
Tawny Ferguson walked backward. If she looked to the left, she would see a wild-eyed Harlow, pie in hand. Don’t look left. Please, please, don’t look left.
Beck slowly, leisurely prowled after the girl, radiating sultry heat and a carnal, predator-prey determination. He pinned Tawny’s hands over her head, saying, “I’m going to do whatever I want.”
Tawny arched her hips, rubbing against him. “Should I be afraid?”
“Honey, you should be grateful.”
The sensual impact of his voice sent heated shivers through Harlow’s veins, and she hated them almost as much as she loved them.
He leaned down, his mouth hovering over Tawny’s to tease her with what was to come. “You’re going to like every second of our time together. That I promise you.”
Tawny quivered, a woman on the verge of ecstasy. “Oh, I know I’ll like it. But what happens afterward?”
Crickets.
He stiffened, even as he nuzzled his nose along the line of her jaw. “Afterward, you’ll be so weak in the knees you’ll have to crawl home.”
Tawny giggled. “No, I meant relationship-wise. I know your reputation as the one-night-stand king. Will you still want me in the morning?”
A moment rife with tension as Beck cupped her chin to ensure she wasn’t able to look away from him. “I told you. I’ve never offered anyone more than a single night. There will never be an exception.”
“But why?” Tawny asked with a pout, even as she played with his zipper. “I’d make a very...good...exception.” With every word she uttered, she opened those metal teeth another inch.
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, making it a cold, bitter thing. “A girl like you should have a happily-ever-after with a man carrying far less baggage.”
“I don’t mind baggage.”
“Doesn’t matter one way or the other.” He ground against her, distracting her. “All that matters right now is whether or not you want me.”
Tawny moaned, her eyes closing. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
No, no, don’t stop, don’t you dare—a slap of harsh reality brought Harlow back to her senses. While Tawny—and even Harlow—had lost sight of everything but Beck, he’d had no problem retaining his wits. He’d deflected masterfully. And she should know. She’d done the same in high school. Multiple teachers and counselors had pulled her aside to ask a single question.
Why do you insult your peers?
Her reply? I’m not insulting them. I’m helping them by pointing out flaws in need of work.
Meanwhile, a dirty secret had festered deep inside her. The insults she dished—and they were indeed insults—were nothing compared to the words her father hurled at her.
The only thing you’re good at, little girl, is making my day worse.
She cringed even now.
One day, a switch had just sort of flipped inside her, and she’d lashed out at a friend, making the girl cry. It was then Harlow realized she could affect the emotions of others, and with the realization had come power. Soon, verbally knocking down her peers had become the only thing capable of making her feel better about herself...for a little while, at least. Because that feeling of power had been nothing but an illusion, a house of cards kicked down daily by guilt and sadness, in constant need of rebuilding.
True power came not from tearing others down but from building them up.
“Beck,” Tawny said, “let me have you. Tonight...and tomorrow.”
“Once is for the best.” The flatness of his tone caused Harlow to blink in surprise. No matter whom she’d heard him speak with—male, female, young or old—she’d only ever heard him tease and flirt. “Trust me.”
“But—”
“Once or nothing,” he said, every inch of him intractable steel. “Your choice. Decide now, or I’ll decide for you and take you home.”
If Tawny continued to push for more, would he truly do as threatened? Principles before pleasure, no matter how warped those principles might be?
The starch dissolved from the girl’s shoulders, and she sighed, defeated. “Once.”
As a reward, Beck tilted her head the way he wanted it and dived in for a scorching, earth-shattering kiss. Tawny melted against him, clutching his shirt, wrinkling the black cotton. Harlow almost covered her eyes. Almost. She had lost the ability to move, much less to breathe. Beck clearly knew what he was doing, and oh, he was hot. Licking, sucking...his hands doing delicious things to a woman who already sounded on the verge of orgasm.
A surprising ache throbbed low in Harlow’s belly.
Beck and Tawny created a perfect study of passion: seductive, erotic and wanton. The very thing missing from her own life. But then, the man had created a perfect study of passion with every woman she’d seen him with.
She’d watched Beck perform this same routine many times before, only with different women, in different locations. The porch. The backyard. Even on the roof.
No one had ever turned him down.
He cupped Tawny’s rear and commanded in a husky growl, “Wrap your legs around me.”
Tawny complied, as they all complied, and Beck turned toward the couch, away from Harlow.
Sweet relief swept through her. In the home stretch now... Just a couple more minutes... And oh, crap, the sugary aroma of the pie ruthlessly taunted her.
Ever the traitor, Harlow’s stomach chose that moment to rumble.
It was enough.
Beck’s head snapped in her direction, his body going taut. He set Tawny on her feet and stepped in front of her, acting as her shield.
The gesture of protection proved hotter than the kiss.
Recognition lit his features. “You,” he said, and he sounded awed rather than angry.
Confused, Harlow blinked at him. “Me?” He knew her?
“What are you doing inside my house?”
My house! But Harlow didn’t stick around to correct him. Nothing would placate him or save her stupid hide, so she bolted around him, remaining just out of reach as she headed for the door, yanked it open and at last soared outside.
“Hey!” Beck called. “Stop.”
She quickened her pace, aiming for the bank of trees ahead: a giant oak, several mature pecans and two magnolias in full bloom. Locusts buzzed. Grasshoppers sang. Birds squawked. The three created a macabre soundtrack as the familiar scent of wild strawberries and dewy roses lodged in her throat, forming a hard lump.
Almost there... Just a little farther...
While the fifty-two-acre spread had come with a greenhouse, a small dairy, two barns, three work sheds and multiple vegetable gardens Harlow had tried and failed to tend, there was a shadowed section in back filled with gnarled trees, sharp sandburs and crunchy brushwood where snakes and scorpions liked to nest. A section none of the guys had ever dared venture. It would have been the perfect place to hide if she hadn’t set up camp there.
Once