The Hotter You Burn (The Original Heartbreakers 2)

Beck offered the pair a cold but gorgeous smile and they preened happily, not seeming to realize the danger zone they’d entered. “Have you guys met my girlfriend, Harlow? Nowadays I spend all my time with my girlfriend, Harlow.” Just for good measure, he added, “My girlfriend—Harlow.”

“Hi. I’m his girlfriend. Harlow,” she said with a little wave.

Tawny bared her teeth in a scowl.

“Harlow Glass,” a voice boomed. Scott’s voice. She turned, right along with Beck and West. “No one wants you here. Go home.”

Beck vibrated with barely suppressed violence as Scott, who’d said his piece, tipped his hat and ambled off.

“I’m fine,” she told Beck. Her boyfriend. “He’s not worth ruining our day.”

“You’re not worth it, either,” Tawny said, now radiating smug satisfaction, “but that hasn’t stopped you from ruining ours.”

West smiled a seducer’s smile—one Harlow had never seen him use before, and oh, wow, it might possibly have beaten Beck’s for World’s Most Devastating. The girls certainly weren’t immune. They released dreamy sighs and instinctively stepped closer to the man.

“Ladies,” he said. “We don’t know each other well enough, and that’s a mighty shame. Though I do recall introducing my tongue to yours, Charlene, when we were drunk—or was that you making my head spin?” He stepped toward them, widening his arms to snake around both their waists, the beefcake in a bitch-sandwich. Taking one for the team? “Why don’t we start with you two telling me every detail about your childhoods and end with your crush on me,” he said, drawing them away.

Charlene went eagerly, while Tawny threw a devious glance at Harlow before heading off.

Beck didn’t say another word and neither did Harlow, who was too afraid she’d start cussing.

A lady keeps the corridors of her lips clean, her mother used to say.

Not feeling so ladylike now, Momma. Her claws were out, and they were hungry for blood.

A Ferris wheel had been erected down the street, the first the town had ever had. There was a line almost as long as the one at Brook Lynn’s booth, but Beck bypassed it without apology. Not that anyone seemed to care. He even received several pats on the shoulder.

“Best festival yet,” someone said.

“You sure know how to give good festival,” someone else said.

That’s right. He, West and Jase had paid for everything. No wonder no one minded that he’d cut the line.

“We’re next,” he told Sunny Day, who stood at the front collecting money.

“Is that so?” With oil money to burn, and a temper legendary in five states, Sunny wasn’t one to give in easily.

“That’s so. How much?”

The piercing in her nose gleamed, a diamond shiny even without the help of the sun. “Twenty. Each.”

“The sign says five dollars a ride,” Harlow pointed out.

She smacked her gum. “Take it or leave it.”

“We’ll take it.”

Harlow finished off her sweet tea with three big gulps, and oh, gross! Tea leaves must have settled at the bottom of the cup, because the drink left a bitter aftertaste for the first time.

Beck threw the cup in the trash, then dug two twenties from his pocket. Sunny pocketed the cash, unabashed. Never mind the festival’s profits were supposed to help add a gymnasium to Strawberry High.

With a few button pushes, the wheel soon came to a stop.

“Everyone but Mayor Trueman and his assistant,” Sunny said, using air quotes, “can stay put.”

The mayor was not the most liked person in town nowadays. A few days ago, word about his affair with his “assistant” spread, devastating his wife.

Beck dragged Harlow to the empty cart, ensured her tail was out of the way before buckling in, and then waited until they were in the air to speak.

“I can’t change my past,” he said as the wheel started its slow ascent and Harlow had no means of escape.

“I know.” She peered out at the town; the higher they lifted the more she saw. Sweeping hills, flat plains, fields of wheat, cotton trees shedding the small white blooms, valleys with strawberry vines drying out for the cold months ahead.

“You can’t change yours, either.”

“I know that, too.” The air smelled so fresh up here. The dew of coming rain dampened her skin. A cool breeze blustered past and she shivered. With Beck, run-ins like this would happen again and again. Women would always throw themselves at him. Always desire him.

“Talk to me.” Beck drew her firmly against his side, shielding her from the worst of the wind. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

A thousand different things. Upset. Remorse. Regret. Resignation. Determination. But at the forefront? “Jealousy,” she admitted. “You’re mine, and yet they know intimate details about you. They probably discuss you, and even hope to get you back into bed again.”

He kissed her temple, lingering over her skin. “They will never succeed. I’ve had a taste of you, love, and I am utterly addicted.”

Love. The endearment rocked her, as precious as it was life changing. Did he mean it the way she prayed he did? Did he actually love her as she’d suspected?

“I know we discussed this, but I need to hear the answer again. Do you ever compare me to them?” she asked.

“All the time.” At her outraged gasp, he laughed. “They lose. Always.”