The Hotter You Burn (The Original Heartbreakers 2)

“Now,” he said. “Where were we?”

Your skin against mine... “Uh, I was telling you how I ruined your rosebushes this morning—by accident!—and how I’m headed to the library to learn how to fix them. You were in the process of forgiving me.”

“Hold up a sec.” He darted in front of her.

Unprepared, she slammed into his powerful chest and ricocheted backward. His arms wrapped around her to cage her and hold her steady.

“Whoa. I’ve got you.”

Her every pulse point suddenly leaped, and as she peered up at him, the rest of the world vanished, every second revolving around Beck alone. Her chest pressed against his, her breath coming faster and shallower, as if the air between them had somehow thickened.

“You okay?” he asked, the gleam in his eyes anything but concerned. Instead, the hot and dark thing she’d felt earlier was now reflected back to her.

“No. I mean yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

His hand swept up, up, his fingers soon toying with the hairs at her nape, tickling. “I think you mean yes, Beck, you make everything better.”

She shivered and grabbed a handful of his shirt. The hard line of his body shifted subtly but definitely, ensuring he consumed what remained of her personal space. He stared at her lips...

Did he desire her?

She wanted him to desire her.

No. No. He wasn’t the man for her, wasn’t steady or reliable. Fortifying her resolve, she stepped away from him, and in an instant, the world crashed back into focus. She sucked in a mouthful of strawberry-scented air, only then realizing she’d been breathing in the man’s heady musk—a musk that had clearly drugged her.

He shook his head and frowned. “Let’s backtrack. You ruined my roses?”

“Yes. So now you know my newest crime. You should return to your meeting. Don’t let me keep you.”

Beck, ever the ladies’ man, winked at her. “Why would I want to have lunch with business associates when I can pore through dusty old books and learn how to garden with the cutest little pie stealer in town?”

Said without a crumb of resentment. Said with relish. Had he truly forgiven her? Did he actually want to spend time with her? Excitement bloomed—only to be dashed by disappointment. He had a knack for making every woman he met feel special, and she couldn’t forget again.

“Sorry,” she said, “but I work better alone.”

“You only think so because you’ve never worked with me. Come on.” He looped an arm over her shoulders and urged her forward, the contact almost too much to her touch-starved senses. The handful of women they passed peered at him with longing, then glared at Harlow, but he didn’t seem to notice. “When we finish at the library, we’ll grab lunch and you’ll tell me all about your childhood.”

“You’ll be bored.”

“I’ll be riveted, guaranteed. You’re an incredibly interesting subject, Miss Glass.”

A line. Surely. Just to be contrary, she said, “Should I start with my first period?”

“See?” The low, gravelly tone had returned. He squeezed her tighter, and she just couldn’t help herself; she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I’m already foaming-at-the-mouth eager for the details.”

“Only fair to warn you. My childhood will make you cry. And if it doesn’t, you need prayer.”

“That bad, huh?”

Worse. “Will you tell me about your childhood?”

“Does my childhood include stories about you?” he asked good-naturedly.

There he went, deflecting. “Maybe it does. For all I know, you’re the boy who visited Strawberry Valley every summer and spent his nights peeping inside my bedroom window.”

“Hardly. I never would have been content to remain outside. I would have climbed in. And yes, you would have invited me. I would have made sure of it.”

“So sure of yourself.” She tsk-tsked despite her breathlessness. “I was an ice queen. I would have ignored you.”

“I was a blowtorch. I would have melted you.”

She snort-laughed, then sighed. He’s charming me too easily. “If you want to know about my childhood, fine.” The thought of food was too heady to resist. “As long as I get to pick where we eat and you pay for everything.” Besides the sandwich he’d given her yesterday, she’d only eaten what she’d managed to forage—two pecans the squirrels left behind.

He ran his fingers up and down her arm, saying, “You’re not even going to make a token play for the check?”

Ignore the earth-shattering tingles. Ignore the delicious burn. “Are you kidding? Never!”

He chuckled, and a moment later they reached the library, a little red-and-white building in the center of town. A set of cement stairs led to French doors, and four columns held up a wraparound parapet. An American flag flew proudly at one side while the town banner flew on the other, the latter showcasing a bloom with white petals and a bright yellow center.

“Wait.” A flare of panic overshadowed her good humor as Beck tried to escort her inside. She dug in her heels. “I need a moment to prepare myself.”

“For what?”

For what would surely be a humiliating experience. One he would witness.

Oh, crap! She tore away from his grip. The thought of being subjected to people’s ire in front of this perfect man was simply too much to bear. “I’ll wait out here. You go in and get the books, okay? Then we’ll eat.”