The Hotter You Burn by Gena Showalter Page A

past.
    â€œTypical bully stuff. Called people awful names, made fun of them, made them cry. Stole boyfriends from other girls, only to dump the guys soon after. Everything stopped halfway through her junior year when she dropped out.”
    â€œWhy, exactly, did she drop out?”
    â€œBrook Lynn didn’t know. No one does, apparently.”
    Something must have happened to her. Kids didn’t just drop out for grins and giggles. Especially the ones who ruled the school with an iron fist.
    â€œYou want me to hire someone to look into what happened to her?” Jase asked.
    â€œAlready done.” He’d made the call last night.
    â€œYeah, but your people aren’t my people. My guys will look places yours don’t even know about.”
    Illegal places. “I don’t want to go there.” He trusted Jase, but he didn’t want Harlow brought to anyone else’s attention. “But thank you.”
    â€œNot a problem. Just let me know if you change your mind.”
    â€œWill do.” Pipes whined, signaling the shower had just been shut off. He had to tamp down his excitement. “I know Jessie Kay is on her way over to help Brook Lynn with her sandwiches, but have your girl call her and tell her to cage the rage. No name-calling. No insulting.” Seeing the way Jessie Kay and Sunny had gone for Harlow’s throat yesterday had sharpened his shiny new protective instincts into razors. “If Jessie Kay can’t manage civil, she needs to stay away from Harlow.”
    â€œYou’re putting me in the middle of a shit storm, my friend. You know that, right?”
    â€œI do, and I’m sorry.” He hated asking Jase for
anything
. “I’m also grateful.”
    â€œHey, I wasn’t complaining,” Jase said with a grin. “I like make-up sex.”
    â€œThen I guess you owe me.”
    Jase snorted and strode from the room. Right on time. The faint pitter-patter of bare feet echoed from the wood floor. Harlow rounded the corner—and Beck reacted as if he’d just been kicked in the gut.
    Her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt, a nervous gesture. For what he had planned, she should be
very
nervous.
    Wet hair clung to her neck and arms. Her white T-shirt was damp in spots, revealing the outline of her lacy crimson bra. He’d had to guess her size: small, but perfect.
    He couldn’t wait to get the little plums in his hands.
    The shorts she wore had been cut from his most comfortable sweatpants, revealing mile-long legs that would wrap around his waist and hold on tight till the end of the ride.
    â€œHave a seat,” he said, motioning to the couch.
    She shifted from one foot to the other, remaining in place. “Beck, I don’t want to talk about my past.”
    â€œThen you won’t.” Again he motioned to the couch. “Sit. Please.”
    Frowning, she walked over and eased down. He settled in the chair across from her, wanting distance, hell, needing it to clear his head. But it didn’t help. Her scent had changed subtly, the strawberries now dusted with sandalwood, saturating the air, filling his nose, going straight to his head—and his groin.
    â€œWhether you want to or not, we
are
going to talk about your future. You, Harlow Glass, work for WOH Industries, effective immediately.” Yet another change. Too much, too fast, like everything else about her, and enough to make his head spin. But there was no better way to take care of her and keep her close.
    â€œWait.” She shook her head, as if she were certain she’d misheard him. “Come again.”
    â€œYour talent is incomparable. Which is why—”
    â€œBut you’ve only seen my ruined murals. How do you know my talent is incomparable?”
    â€œI can’t believe you have to ask. While your superpower is painting, mine is X-ray vision. I saw beneath the splatters to the bones of the picture.” And, okay,