The Hotter You Burn (The Original Heartbreakers 2)

“Since you can’t ride my nonexistent mustache everywhere,” he said, “what kind of car would you like? And don’t tell me a car is too expensive a gift to—”

“Please. I like gifts. Gimme. But a car is a car. I don’t care what kind.”

He made a noise of disbelief. “A car is not a car, Miss Glass. You take that back right now.”

“Never!” She squealed when he tickled her, finally admitting, “I don’t even have a driver’s license.”

“What?” he demanded, and she shrugged.

“I had one, but I let it expire in high school and never got it renewed.”

“You have a reason to get it renewed now.”

And the funds, apparently. “True, but I haven’t driven in years. I’ll endanger the entire town.”

“Just means you need to practice. You can drive us to the Berryween Festival.”

“You’ll be placing your life in my hands.”

His eyelids grew heavy, hooding the dark, carnal gaze underneath. “Baby, there’s no place else I’d rather be.”

She curled around him, resting her head on his shoulder, drawing little hearts over, well, his heart. “I’ll keep you safe. I was only in, like, six fender benders back then, and only, like, five of them were my fault.”

He chuckled, his warm breath tickling the top of her head. “I’m feeling safer already. I’m also thinking I should give you a bumper car instead of the key to my Jag.”

“No take-backs,” she said. “You offered the Jag, so I’m driving it. I’ve developed a need for speed.”

“In the past two minutes?”

She nipped at his nipple. “Seems like forever.”

He cupped her bottom and squeezed. “Careful. You keep that up, and you’ll find yourself flat on your back, Beck Jr. deep inside you.”

“You mean the Baconator?”

He barked out a laugh. “You’ve named my penis the Baconator?”

“What? I like bacon.”

“Well, I’m naming your breasts Strawberry Pie and Strawberry Shortcake.” Rolling her to her back, he cupped the strawberry twins, licked one nipple, then the other. “Hey, girls. Did you miss me?”

Moaning, Harlow ran her fingers through his hair. “They missed you so much.”

“Good. Wrap your legs around me, and I’ll give them a more intimate hello,” he said, and when she stiffened suddenly, he lifted his head. “What’s wrong?”

Habit urged her to say the typical, “Nothing. I’m fine.” But if she trusted him, she would share with him. “I’ve heard you say that very thing to other women.”

His brow furrowed with confusion. “How do you know?”

“When I was camping on my—your—land, I would come to see the house every night and there you’d be. And it doesn’t bother me anymore, it really doesn’t. I don’t know why I reacted that way. I’m sorry.”

He peered at her for a long while, his expression intense but unreadable. Finally he said, “Wrap your legs around me, Harlow.”

She did—without stiffening—fitting her body around his, placing her core right against his massive erection. His hiss of breath blended with her deliciously agonized gasp.

“Do you know what I remember about those women?”

She shook her head, not sure she really wanted to know the answer.

“Nothing. And do you know what I’ll always remember about you?”

Melting into the mattress while somehow dissolving into him, she scraped her nails down the plane of his back and said, “Tell me.”

“Absolutely everything.”

He gently pinched her chin between his fingers, making sure her gaze remained on him, perhaps wanting her to know, to see, that he meant what he said with his entire being.

He loves me. He has to love me. But as screwed up as his life had been, he might not recognize the emotion.

Harlow smiled up at him. “I believe you. Now shut up and earn some points of your own. You win ten for every orgasm you give me.”

Those eyes of melted butterscotch glimmered. “I won’t be satisfied until I’ve received fifty points, so get ready, because I’m not going to stop until I’ve hit my goal—and even then it’s iffy.”

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING dawned dark and hazy, rain clouds smeared across the sky, fat and gray, creating the perfect atmosphere for a spooktacular festival. Tents—also known as graveyards—were set up all along Main, offering food and games, everything from Brain Smash to Pin the Guts on the Zombie.

Harlow, grateful to be alive after driving a car for the first time in years—so slowly half the town honked at her and Beck asked if she’d taken lessons from the good people at the senior citizen home—sipped a sweet tea and leaned against Beck as they strolled down the street. He had his arm around her, proud to be with her no matter how many incredulous stares they received.

When she’d woken up, he’d had two costumes laid out. A sexy lion for her—fake ears with a thick, blond mane, a scrap of faux fur over her breasts and a short skirt complete with a long, curling tail—and a sexy jungle safari lion tamer for him.

When she wobbled on her faux-fur high-heel boots, he laughed and said, “Trouble walking on your own, baby? I did earn eighty points, after all.”

“Only because I graded on a curve.” But he’d definitely be earning more points today. His costume consisted of a sleeveless orange hunter’s jacket over a bare chest, ripped jeans and combat boots. Oh, and she couldn’t forget the whip draped over his shoulders.