Gena Showalter - The Hotter You Burn

New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter is back with another sizzling Original Heartbreakers story featuring an irresistible charmer about to meet his match…

Beck Ockley lives by a single rule: one and done. The millionaire playboy knows the pain of loss and will do anything to avoid another. He moved to the small town of Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma, expecting more of the same—time with the only two friends he trusts, work…and lots of pleasure. What he never could have predicted was that a vulnerable Southern beauty would sneak past his defenses.

Harlow Glass is determined to rebuild her life. The reformed bully has lost everyone and everything she loved, and she’s paid the ultimate price for her checkered past. Now she wants commitment, the only thing Beck refuses to give. As their chemistry blazes white-hot, he’ll either have to break her heart…or surrender his own.

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter

“Showalter…rocks me every time!”

—Sylvia Day, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Showalter writes fun, sexy characters you fall in love with!”

—Lori Foster, New York Times bestselling author

“Sassy, smart characters and an expertly woven, unconventional plot, The Closer You Come showcases

Gena Showalter in all her shining talent.”

—Kristan Higgins, New York Times bestselling author

“Showalter makes romance sizzle on every page!”

—Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author

“Emotional, heart-tugging, kept me turning the pages!”

—Carly Phillips, New York Times bestselling author

“With compelling stories and memorable characters, Gena Showalter never fails to dazzle.”

—Jeaniene Frost, New York Times bestselling author

“The Showalter name on a book means guaranteed entertainment.”

—RT Book Reviews

“The versatile Showalter…once again shows that she can blend humor and poignancy while keeping readers entertained from start to finish.”

—Booklist on Catch a Mate

The Hotter You Burn

Gena Showalter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book would not be what it is without my amazing editor, Emily Ohanjanians, who once again went above and beyond, pointing me in the right direction anytime I lost my way. Thank you! I thank God, the giver of all good things, for bringing you into my life.

A huge shout out to the magnificent Katie McGarry—an author I admire and adore—who spent precious time on the phone with me, helping me with my research (any mistakes are my own). You are a treasure!

A special thank you to these fantastic ladies and authors: Lori Foster, Carly Phillips, Jill Shalvis and Kristan Higgins. You guys rock on so many levels!

And to all the wonderful folks at Harlequin Books for taking a chance on this series I’ve been foaming at the mouth eager to write.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Extract

Recipe

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

HARLOW GLASS STOOD on the porch of a hundred-year-old farmhouse that had more character than most people, waning daylight wrapping the structure in its loving embrace. Exterior walls once covered in chipped cream-colored paint that revealed crumbling, weathered wood now boasted new slats of paneling and a fresh coat. The broken seal on the bay window had been replaced, no more sheets of moisture collecting between the panes. Ivy used to climb all the way to the roof, but every stalk had been cut down.

She scanned the driveway. No cars.

She listened at the door. No suspicious sounds.

A smile stretched from ear to ear. After months of bad luck, something had finally worked in her favor.

Here’s hoping it lasted.

Trembling, she inserted her key in the door lock. Hinges whined as the thick, wooden entrance brushed open, homey scents—fresh bread, vanilla and some kind of caramelized fruit—wafting out and making her mouth water. Her empty stomach grumbled and twisted painfully.

“Hello,” she called.

No one cried out a startled rebuke.

She shut the door with more confidence and entered the living room, breathing a sigh of relief. I’m ba-ack.

Her childhood home creaked out a welcome, and for a moment, one of her favorite memories played at the forefront of her mind: Martha Glass pushing the sofa to a new angle, while Harlow straddled one of the arms, pretending to ride a bucking bronco. Her dad hadn’t been home to sneer insults, thank God— you’re pathetic, you’re stupid, you’re such a disappointment —so a relaxed, almost giddy atmosphere had pervaded.

But the cherished recollection withered against the depressing heat of realization. This might be Harlow’s childhood home, but it no longer belonged to her; technically she’d just committed breaking and entering. But only technically! She’d just...well, after all the work that had been done, she’d needed an inside look at the place. And if a few items of food happened to leave with her, she’d be doing the new owners a favor, saving them from nasty fat grams.

“You’re welcome, everyone,” she muttered.

The owners were the newest residents of Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma. Bachelors she’d watched from a distance for weeks. Lincoln West, the one she’d dubbed Most Intelligent. Beck Ockley—Most Beautiful. And Jase Hollister—Most Fierce. Men she’d never spoken to and never wanted to speak to, really. In Harlow’s heart, the house still belonged to her, would always belong to her, making the guys the trespassers. She had been born here, and if all went according to her life plan, she would die here. Just hopefully not today.

This was her first time inside the house since the bank had kicked her out roughly seven months ago. Spinning slowly, she drank in the only love still part of her life. Too many changes. Gone were the scuffed, stained wood floors, the “imperfections” sanded away.

What was wrong with a few flaws? In a home, or even in a person, flaws proclaimed, “Life happened here.”

The wallpaper had been peeled, Sheetrock repaired and painted the color of a caramel latte. Once decrepit crown molding and wainscoting gleamed with new life. There were a few feminine touches here and there to save the place from being a total man cave—throw pillows, bowls of potpourri and lace doilies—but she missed the cat portraits her mother had hung, random displays of china, knitting baskets, porcelain dolls and the gaudy lamps that once rested on lace-covered side tables.