Free The Hotter You Burn by Gena Showalter

veneer he’d worked years to perfect, reaching the black soul he would have done anything to cleanse. “You’re already an expert, and you know it.”
    â€œSo you’ve succumbed to my charms already?” A man could hope.
    â€œMe? Succumb to you? Never!” She flicked her hair over her shoulder, saying defiantly, “You’re like a brother to me.”
    Careful to moderate his tone, he said, “Is that why you ran from me yesterday?” He even managed to adopt an indulgent expression as he leaned his shoulder against the doorpost. “Because I’m like a stepbrother you can’t stop dreaming about?”
    A pretty blush bloomed in her cheeks and even extended down her neck, under her collar. A blush like that gave him ideas. Bad, bad ideas. “I didn’t run from you,” she admitted, “but from what was going to happen once I passed through those doors.”
    Relief drove him to reach for her. He couldn’t have stopped the action if he’d tried—
Have to touch her
. He twined their fingers, the feel of her skin tantalizing and teasing him. Though she resisted at first, she soon stilled, a tangible spark erupting between them, burrowing into him, whirring through him. He shuddered with awareness and unwittingly erased what remained of her personal space, needing to be closer to her on the most primitive level. To take from her. To give to her.
    â€œBeck?” she whispered, suddenly panting. “What are you doing?”
    He didn’t know. He couldn’t seem to control his reactions to her, his body burning for hers.
    Frustrated by her—and himself—he released her and stepped back. “You had a shift at the Bungalow last night? Is that why you didn’t come over this morning?”
    She rubbed at her wrist, as if she could still feel him there, and it only made him want to touch her longer, harder. “Uh, yep. That’s right. Had trouble with one of the regulars.”
    â€œHe get grabby during one of your famous bump-and-grinds?”
    â€œYeah. Thankfully the bouncers kicked him out before he ever made contact.”
    At least she was sticking to her story. “I promise to keep my hands to myself...at least for a little while...if you’ve changed your mind and want to give me that lap dance.”
    â€œSorry, but I still plan to garden for you. After I
learn
how to garden.”
    â€œWhy not research in the privacy of your own home, on a computer? You do have a computer, don’t you? Or at least a phone with internet access.”
Tell me the truth, sweetheart. For once.
    â€œMaybe I just prefer the old-fashioned way. Did you ever think of that?”
    A supposition rather than a lie.
I’m on to you now, honey.
“Let’s go inside, then.”
    She nibbled on her bottom lip. “The librarian hates me for something I did as a teenager.”
    â€œAh. Fixing public relations problems just happens to be my specialty.” He flung his arm over her shoulders, ignored the rightness of having her softness pressed against his hardness once again and urged her forward. “Give me five minutes, and she’ll love you.”
    â€œImpossible,” Harlow said, but this time she allowed him to lead her past the door.
    He felt the sweet intensity of her gaze lingering on his profile, and like everything else about her, it affected him deeply. “What will you give me if I succeed?”
    â€œMy eternal gratitude.”
    â€œWell, that’s certainly a good start.”
    The room was small and crammed with dozens of shelves. The scent of old books and dust assailed him as a short, round woman with silver streaks in her slicked-back hair walked around the checkout desk with the precision of a military commander. Glasses hung around her neck, bouncing with her every step.
    â€œHarlow Glass.” Her features pinched with displeasure. “You are not welcome here. You’ve