The Hotter You Burn
The Original
Heartbreakers #2
By Gena
Showalter
New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter is
back with a sizzling Original Heartbreakers tale featuring a troubled playboy
and the woman he can’t resist…
Beck Ockley is ruthless in the boardroom...and the
bedroom. He's never been with the same woman twice, and vows he never will.
With a past as twisted as his, meaningless sex keeps the demons at bay. His
motto: One and done. No harm, no foul.
Harlow Glass is the most hated girl in town. The
beautiful artist is penniless, jobless and homeless. When she sneaks into
Beck's home—her ancestral estate—for food, she's shocked by his early
return...and her immediate, sizzling and intense attraction to him.
For the first time in Beck's life, he can't get a woman
out of his mind. All too soon, friendship blooms into obsession and he'll have
to break her heart...or surrender his own.
$7.99 U.S./$8.99 CAN.
ISBN-13: 978-0-373-77969-7
ON SALE 7/28/15
Pre-Order Links
* IBOOKS * KOBO * INDIE BOUND *
***If
you pre-order your copy of THE HOTTER YOU BURN by Gena Showalter by July 27,
you will be entered to win 1 of 4 prizing opportunities! So why wait?
Click here to visit Gena’s website with all the details.
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Excerpt
“I’m leaving,
that’s what,” Harlow said. Determined words, snotty tone. She attempted to
wrench herself from Beck’s grip.
“Oh, no.” Beck
merely tightened his hold. “We’re going to have a glass of sweet tea while you
two crazy kids get to know each other better.”
Harlow anchored her
hands on her hips. “You know what? You’re right. We are
going to get to know each other. But your presence is unnecessary, Beck.
Leave.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“We don’t need—”
He cut her off,
whispering, “If you and West get married and live happily ever after, you’ll
have to get used to having me around.”
She snapped her
mouth shut, then lifted her chin and grumbled, “That’s a very sad point.” She
flashed a too-bright smile at West and eased into the chair Jase had vacated.
“I’m game if you are.”
Beck vibrated with
irritation as he carried a pitcher of tea and three glasses to the table and
settled between the pair. “My girl here has certain ideas about the kind of man
she wants to end up with,” he explained, “and I’d like to know if the two of
you are compatible.”
Understanding
dawned on West’s features, a smile nearly breaking free. He cleared his throat
and donned his most uncaring expression. “Sure. Whatever.”
Beck poured the
tea, handed out the glasses, and Harlow clutched hers as if it were a lifeline.
“Kick us off, sweet
pea,” he said. “Tell my good buddy Lincoln—that’s his first name, in case you
didn’t know—a little about yourself.”
“Well.” There was a
slight tremor in her voice. “I’m twenty-six, and I’ve never been married.”
“Would you like a
medal?” West muttered, while staring down at his cell phone, playing one of the
games he’d created.
She glared at Beck,
but he merely arched a brow.
Don’t make plans with men you don’t know.
“Yes, actually, I would
like a medal, considering I’m hot but don’t realize it, which makes me even
hotter.” The tremor had vanished, the snotty attitude firmly in its place.
“It’s a miracle no one’s snatched me up. But then, most men are idiots, so…”
West smiled,
realized his mistake, and glowered at his screen.
Beck braced elbows
on the table. “You’re suggesting outward beauty is all that matters.”
“Hardly. My
personality is hot, too. But Beck, darling.” Sugary-sweet tone now. Too sweet.
“You aren’t part of this get-to-know-you session, even though you insist on
being a total third wheel, so do us all a favor and zip your stupid lips.”
Then, she dismissed
him. Looking to West, she traced her fingertips over the collar of her shirt,
so feminine Beck’s every masculine instinct growled, hungry for the next meal.
“So. Lincoln. How old are you?”
West played the
video game a little longer before deigning to answer. “I’m twenty-eight, but
I’ve got the stamina of an eighty-year-old coma victim. Horrible lover. Even
worse cuddler.”
“Well, those skills
can be taught,” she said, reaching over to caress his shoulder. “Anyway, you’re
quite young to be so successful. It’s impressive.”
It was
impressive. Beck wasn’t sure where he would have ended up without the guy.
West shrugged. “I
work hard,” he said, then added, “probably too hard. I tend to ignore the
people in my life. Especially women.”
“Well, I understand
how taxing such a busy work schedule can be, and I commend you for it.” She
gave his shoulder another caress, and Beck almost jerked the two apart. “I hope
the lucky ladies in your life are as understanding as I am.”
“I guess,” West
said and shrugged again.
“Wow, just look at
these muscles, West. You are amazingly strong, aren’t you?” She cast another
narrowed glance Beck’s way, presumably to make sure he was watching as she
scooted her chair closer to West’s. “You know,” she said, the tip of her finger
toying with the rim of West’s glass. When she caught a bead of condensation,
she brought it to her lips and sucked, causing Beck’s groin to twitch behind
his zipper. “I have a skill of my own, but it’s quite naughty.”
West glanced up,
phone forgotten. “Do tell.”
“Yes. Do.” Beck
simmered with renewed anger—even more desire. He smoothed a lock of hair from
Harlow’s face. One touch, but he was greedy for more.
Her breath caught,
but she leaned away from him, getting closer and closer to West, until her
mouth was poised at the shell of his ear. In a husky voice low enough to be
considered a whisper but loud enough for Beck to overhear, she said, “I’m super
good at parking.”
Stick
a fork in me. I’m done. Done with the conversation. Done with
watching the object of his obsession doing her rock-solid best to arouse
another male. “West doesn’t need to hear about that. Let’s go—”
“Even boys from two
counties over dreamed of making out with me in the backseat of their trucks,” she
continued with an effortless sensuality. “I’m very bendy.”
Beck slammed his
glass on the table, tea sloshing over the sides of the rim. “Harlow here is
looking to settle down forever,” he barked. “She thinks you’d make an awesome
groom.”
“Marriage?” West
sneered with distaste. “Me? Hell, no. Never.”
“He’s all for
others tying the knot, but when it comes to himself he thinks the Newlywed
Game
should be called the Dig Your Own Grave game,” Beck explained, relaxing now
that the conversation had taken a new direction.
Harlow unveiled a
brittle smile. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right person, Lincoln. You don’t
mind if I call you Lincoln, do you?”
“Call me whatever
you like, but I have met the right person.” His voice
cracked. “She died.” He stood, his chair skidding behind him, and strode out of
the kitchen.
Harlow rounded on
Beck, all hint of supple, willing female gone. “I hope you’re happy with
yourself. You did this.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” The
words were nothing more than a hiss. “You wanted me to know I can’t win the
affections of anyone else, that I’m stuck with you, destined to be your newest
conquest.”
“Stuck with me?” he
snarled.
“Yeah, that’s
right. You aren’t the prize you think you are, Beck Ockley, but maybe West is.
Maybe he’s worth fighting for. Maybe, unlike you, he has a heart and the
ability to care for someone other than himself.”
“I have a heart. I
care.”
She didn’t seem to
hear him, plowing ahead. “You know, there are plenty of guys in town. Why focus
all my efforts on just one? I’m sure lots of guys would like a
chance to get to know the new me. I can bring them back to my RV—”
“My
RV.”
“—and practice
being married, just the way you suggested.”
Beck would burn the
RV to ash first.
Too far gone to
fight his sense of possession, he hooked his foot around the bottom of her
chair and forced her chair closer, closer still. Their thighs touched, and she
gasped, perhaps at the force he’d used, perhaps with a desire of her own.
He grabbed her by
the waist and easily hefted her onto the table, on his feet and between her
legs a second later, glaring down at her.
“I want you, and
it’s past time I showed you how much. You’ll keep your sweet ass parked
on this table and you’ll show me your skills. Me. No one
else.” And then his hand was cupping the back of her neck, drawing her forward.
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Q&A With GENA
Q:
Harlow’s scars affect her overall body image- how important was that for you to
write?
GS:
Everyone I’ve ever known has wanted to change something about their body.
Different hair, different shape, different height. Some things are easy
fixes. In elementary school, I was called Mustache Girl. And I only
wish I was kidding. Thankfully, though, I learned wax is my friend.
I was also called Casper for the glaringly whitish hue of my skin—and an
assortment of other names—and I in turn called other kids hateful names.
That’s why, on some level, I think everyone can relate to Harlow’s
plight. I wanted to show different is beautiful.
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ABOUT GENA SHOWALTER
Gena Showalter is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author whose
works have appeared in Cosmopolitan and
Seventeen magazines, as well as Entertainment Weekly. Her novel Red Handed has been optioned by Sony
Television. Critics have called her books “sizzling page-turners” and “utterly
spellbinding stories,” while Showalter herself has been called “a star on the
rise.” Her mix of humor, danger and wickedly hot sex provides wildly sensual
page-turners sure to enthrall.
Social Media Links
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