Gena Showalter - The Hotter You Burn

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 she passed the embankment, she veered in the opposite direction, whizzing by the towering oak she used to climb...the weeping willow where she’d experienced her first kiss...the tire swing her father had made during one of his rare moments of affection.

“Stop,” Beck commanded. “Now.”

He sounded close, too close, but he didn’t sound winded. She clutched the pie closer— try to take it from me, I dare you— and glanced back. Crap! He was almost on her. She picked up the pace...until several burs lodged in her heels, causing sharp spikes of pain to slow her down. Any second now, Beck would overtake—

Hard hands snaked around her waist, two hundred pounds of muscle bearing down on her. As she fell, the pie went flying.

“Noooo!” she shouted.

Impact emptied her lungs. Tears welled in her eyes, but she wiped the droplets away with a shaky hand, a whimper escaping when she spotted the dark blueberry splatters now streaming across rock and dirt, the crust now sprinkled with dirt.

“Pie killer!” Hello, dark side. “If there’s any justice in the world, you will fry for this.”

“Really? That’s what you say to me?” He sat on his haunches, freeing her from the bulk of his weight.

“You tackled me. I should sue you for everything you own.”

“Yes, please do so. Meanwhile, I’ll press charges for trespassing. Now tell me what you were doing with my pie.”

My pie! She’d stolen it fair and square. But the trespassing reminder sobered her. “If you think about things like a reasonable adult, you’ll see your crime is worse. Your actions led to the painful death of an innocent dessert.” Now she would go hungry for yet another night.

Her stomach, the whore, grumbled in protest.

“The pie was going to die one way or another tonight. I just assumed my mouth would be the weapon of mass destruction, not a dirty little thief determined to blame someone else.”

He stood, then surprised her by offering her a helping hand. A trick, surely. She declined by pushing to her feet under her own steam. Besides, she’d seen some of the places those hands had been. And, really, she didn’t need to know what they felt like. If they were callused and rough...hot enough to make her burn and quiver the way Tawny and countless others had.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Why not tell him the truth? He had only to ask the townsfolk about her to hear a thousand stories detailing her reign of terror in high school. Perhaps some kind soul would even mention the time a poll was pinned to the corkboard in the town square: “If given a choice, who would you rather torture? The devil or Harlow Glass?”

Harlow had won by a landslide.

“I’m Harlow Glass, and I used to live here.”

His gaze raked over her once, then again far more slowly. “I’m honored. Harlow Glass in the flesh. A sighting rarer than Bigfoot.”

How did he know? It wasn’t as if he’d ever had a reason to look for her.

And oh, wow. His voice. He’d pumped up the smoke, making it even better than before, captivating and temping, sending cascades of pleasure rippling through her.

Danger! Danger! She widened the distance between them.

“Oh, no, you don’t. We’re going back to the house.” He waved her forward.

Stay strong. “How cute. You made a funny.”

His expression hardened, promising severe consequences if she refused him a second time, and yet his tenor softened, no longer quite so menacing. “My apologies for not being clear, sweetheart. You’re coming with me, and that’s that.”