The Hotter You Burn (The Original Heartbreakers 2)

To Harlow, it sounded like a little slice of heaven. Who cared about the money? If Kenna’s fiancé refused to pay, Harlow had organs she could sell on the black market. Sisters? Yes, please. “I’m in!”

* * *

BECK REALIZED HE’D come full circle. Once again he was seated at the window in his bedroom, peering out at Harlow’s RV. He’d gone to see her about an hour ago, pulled by an invisible chain he couldn’t cut, but she hadn’t answered the door. He’d let himself in like the concerned neighbor he was and discovered she wasn’t ignoring him; she just wasn’t at home.

It was the middle of the day, which was intolerable. She had work to do, damn it. Where was she, and who was she with?

He’d stayed away from her far too long, and it had affected him physically. As he’d already realized, she’d become his new normal, which meant he couldn’t sleep without her in his arms. He couldn’t eat, his stomach tied in too many knots. Not even Brook Lynn’s pie had tempted him.

He’d handled things poorly. Harlow was his friend, and he never should have run out on her after her big confession. But he’d been so surprised...so turned on. So possessive, wanting to be the first and only man to have her. He’d almost signed on for forever, picked her up and carried her to his bed.

A bed he’d shared with too many women to count.

He’d known from the beginning she deserved far better than he had to offer, but that thought had cinched it. She was untouched, pure...and he was tainted.

Despite the red flashing through his vision, he knew he had to find her another guy faster than originally planned. Like, tomorrow. Committed women were invisible to him, he reminded himself. His attraction to Harlow would finally fade. He needed it to fade. He couldn’t go on like this.

So. It was time to take things to the next level. No more dates for Harlow. Instead, he would set up a party and invite every bachelor he knew, and she would then speed-date each and every one; at the end of the night, she would pick her favorite.

He would invite everyone but Dorian.

Yesterday Beck had set up a double date for the two of them, thinking his friend needed to be consoled by another woman. Consoled, not distracted so that he’d stay away from Harlow. But Beck had been a major asshole all night and scared both women away.

His phone buzzed, and he swiped up the device, grateful for the distraction of the text—until he found a picture of Harlow attached. As the image burned past his retinas and into his brain, he jumped to his feet. His sweet little hag was sitting in Dorian’s lap, and the rat bastard was smiling.

The caption underneath read, Lok Beck! Loooook what I fond! A nice slice of jucy man meet!!!!!!!!

The typos were adorable, and he hated himself for thinking so. This was not a humorous situation. Harlow was ruining her future, settling for momentary pleasure with a guy who wasn’t right for her.

R U drunk? he typed.

Her: Only a 9.99. Or maybe 9.99.

Him: Where R U?

As he waited for her reply, he studied the picture in more depth, not allowing himself to focus on Dorian or Harlow, only on the things around them. A wall with wooden slats. A picture of two crumbling white farmhouses tilted on its side. He’d seen that picture before... Where, where...

Two Farms.

His phone buzzed again.

There’s a party in my pants. Want 2 come?