The Hotter You Burn. Gena Showalter
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overtook him as he placed his hands at her sides, caging her. He leaned in and brushed the tip of his nose against hers, the heady scent of strawberries and pecans teasing him. “If every guy you’ve ever met hasn’t looked at your lips with animal hunger,” he said, his voice low and husky with need he couldn’t hide, “I’d be shocked.”
She traced her fingertips over the lips in question, the action so inherently sensual, so damned innocent, he would have given anything to corrupt... To steal a taste.
Tit for tat, one dessert for another.
“Prepare to be shocked,” she whispered.
“Foolish men.” Up close, he could see little details the pictures had missed. The curl in her midnight lashes. The smattering of freckles on her nose. The rose-colored flush under her cheeks. “But let’s get to the heart of the matter, honey. You owe me, and not just for the food. For the mental anguish I’ve suffered.”
“Mental anguish,” she echoed.
“That’s right.” He leaned forward the barest inch, drawn by a force he could not control, and his chest brushed against hers.
She inhaled sharply, exhaled fast and shallow, an instinctive action born of awareness, and just like that, he was as rigid as steel.
“A part of me died with that pie,” he said, caressing the side of his nose against hers.
“Died.” Another echo.
“Mmm.” His lips hovered just short of kissing hers, their breaths intermingling, and damn. How was not touching this woman more carnal than getting another naked? “I asked what you are because I need to know how I can devise a sufficient payment. Do you know how painful it is to crave something with every fiber of your being? To want it more than you want water to drink?”
“I do.” She melted into him, all her softness fusing to his aching hardness. “I really, really do.”
How close was she to surrender?
He cut back a curse. The answer didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. She wasn’t here for sex, and what she’d said before was true. Another woman waited in his bedroom. While he had the morals of an alley cat, he refused to make out with one female while another waited in his bed. It was a line he never wanted to cross.
Back on track. “That’s how badly I want...the pie.”
Horrified realization dawned, and she pushed him away. A puny action, but he willingly stepped back.
“Thanks for the taste of your flirting,” she said with a sneer, “but as you can see, it left a foul taste in my mouth.”
No. She’d gotten lost in the moment. Hell, he’d gotten lost in the moment.
She opened her mouth, closed it. “Look. I’m sorry I stole your pie. Okay? I guess... Well, I was resentful. You’re living in my house, where I’m supposed to be, and I just... I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“I accept your apology.”
“Great. I guess I’ll be going now.” She attempted to circle him, but he stretched out an arm, stopping her.
“You’ll find all the ingredients in the fridge and pantry, and the dishes in the cabinets beside the sink.”
She sputtered for a moment. “Forgiveness shouldn’t come with strings.”
“I’m giving you a chance to put words into action, to prove you mean what you say and help ease the pain of my loss.”
“Fine.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll bake for you.”
Sexiest. Phrase. Ever. “You can start with a pie and finish with a cake, a dozen cookies and cupcakes.”
“Wow, that’s quite a bit of interest.”
“Did I mention I’m feeling quite a bit of pain?”
She glared daggers at him. “I hope you like your pies, cakes, cookies and cupcakes with char. I’ve never baked a dessert I haven’t burned.”
“You can’t be that bad.”
“Want to bet?” Her hips swayed seductively as she ambled to the far side of the kitchen and pointed to a smear of black on the fan over the oven, the one thing Jase had yet to replace. “What has two thumbs and ruins everything she touches?” She hiked her thumbs at her chest. “This girl.”
Well, hell. “Forget baking. What do you suggest you do to balance the scales?”
She twirled a strand of her hair and said, “I can... I don’t know... Garden? I couldn’t help but notice the disgraceful appearance of the roses.”
“Neither could we. When we moved in.” For weeks the guys had bugged him to hire a landscaper, a task he was responsible for rather than Jase because he expected everything from mowing to weed pulling to be done a certain way—his way—or done again. But he’d put off the hire, not wanting to deal with the chaos of yet another new person in his life.
But...as Harlow tended the overgrown rosebushes out back, he could stealthily question her about her past, assuage his curiosity about her and finally move on. Moving on was familiar. He liked familiar.
“All right,” he said, punctuating the words with a nod. “You can start tomorrow morning. Unless you have a job I don’t know about?”
“I don’t. I’ll be here bright and early.”
His suspicious nature came out swinging. “How do you pay rent? For that matter, where do you rent?”
A flash of panic, quickly gone. “Look. It’s late. I’m exhausted.” She peered longingly at the exit. “I need to leave. Okay?”
Not okay. Alarm bells clanged inside his head. “Where are you living, Harlow?”
“Well, you see, when I said I didn’t have a job, I meant I didn’t have a job I was proud of.” She laughed almost manically. “I’m, uh, well... I’m a stripper. Yep, that’s right. I take off my clothes and dance on a pole for a living, and I make lots of money. Tons of money. So much. I have the most amazing apartment. In the city. Right by the strip club. Where I work.”
“What’s the name of the strip club?”
“Boobie Bungalow,” she offered without missing a beat, more confident in her story now.
He nearly choked on his tongue. Liar, Liar.
“What?” She glowered at him. “It’s very exclusive.”
“I should know. I’m a very exclusive man, and I’ve been there.”
“You have?” she squeaked.
“I have.” Clients sometimes preferred to do business while doling out singles. “I don’t remember seeing you, and you’re not the kind of woman I’d forget.”
“Well, uh, I just started.”
He offered his most innocent grin before going in for the kill. “I have an idea. Why don’t we work off your debt another way? You come over tomorrow, as planned, but rather than gardening, you’ll give me a lap dance.”
The color drained from her cheeks as she pulled at the collar of her shirt. “No. I’ve got my heart set on gardening.”
“You’re sure? I can score you afterward, give you pointers on how to do a better job next time.”
“Very sure.”
He released an exaggerated sigh. “All right. But if you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
“But if you do, my answer is yes.” He escorted her to the front door. “Until tomorrow, Harlow Glass.”
She gulped. “Until tomorrow,