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Her fingers lingered on his chin, almost absently stroking along his jaw. “You didn’t shave.”
“I didn’t want to keep you waiting too long.” He glanced toward where Cody Mallehan stood at the bar. His team member and friend lifted his beer mug in a salute. “It looks like I was nearly too late.”
“He said you were,” she admitted as she glanced at the bar, too.
“He would,” he said. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
“He is good-looking,” she murmured as she continued to look toward the bar and Cody.
Was she actually attracted to his friend? When Wyatt had found them in the booth at the back of the bar, she’d been acting all ice queen again.
“I thought he was bothering you,” Wyatt said.
“So that’s why you kissed me?” she asked. “To get rid of him?”
“Of course.” But he nearly choked on the lie. He should have ordered a beer when he’d walked in; then he would have had something to wash it down with and something to cool off the desire still burning inside him. He had kissed her because he’d wanted to since she’d slapped him earlier. And now, after kissing her once, he wanted to kiss her again.
And more...
He wanted to do more than kiss her.
God, he needed a drink. He had no more than entertained the thought than a beer appeared at his elbow. He glanced up at the bartender who’d brought it over. Since Wyatt was a regular, the guy had probably known what he wanted. He reached for his wallet.
But the bartender shook his head. “Cody sent it over. He said you won this round.” He slid a drink toward her, too. “And here’s the club soda you ordered.” He headed back toward the bar.
“Cody’s not the only one who thinks he’s God’s gift,” Fiona murmured. “You two have some kind of rivalry over women?”
“Over most things,” Wyatt admitted. “We work together.”
“Then thank you,” she said, “for getting rid of him. I kept inadvertently encouraging him.”
“Breathing is all the encouragement Cody needs to hit on a woman,” Wyatt said. “But why does it matter that he works with me?”
Because she was interested in him?
She had kissed him back. Hadn’t she? He’d been so into her—into tasting and feeling and exploring her mouth that he hadn’t noticed if he’d been the only one feeling it. Feeling the desire. The passion...
She shuddered as if revolted. “I would never date a firefighter.”
Pride stinging, he asked, “Why not?” Not that he wanted to date her. He didn’t actually date, anyway.
“Too great a risk.”
And that was why he didn’t want to date her or women like her who considered his career too dangerous. He wanted the women who were attracted to the excitement and glamor of his job. And there were always plenty of them around. Not tonight, though.
He glanced around the bar and noticed it was men only. Where the hell were all the women?
“I’m taking off,” Cody said as he stopped by their booth again. “This place is dead tonight. Everybody’s at that new club opening across town.”
Everybody except the regulars who worked in the immediate area.
“Why aren’t you?” Wyatt asked.
Cody shrugged. “They’re focusing on bringing in the female clientele.”
“I repeat—why aren’t you?”
“They’re using male strippers to do that.” Cody shuddered as Fiona had only moments earlier—with pure revulsion.
“Can’t stand the competition?” Wyatt teased.
The other man shrugged. “I already lost once tonight.” He glanced wistfully at Fiona. “It was nice meeting you.”
She lifted her glass. “Thanks for the drink, but I prefer the club soda.”
Cody pointed to Wyatt’s glass. “I wouldn’t have too many of those. Captain Zimmer has that feeling.”
Wyatt nodded. “I know. He’s all tense and edgy.”
“A fire’s gotta be getting started,” Cody said. “Somewhere...”
A fire was, but it was inside Wyatt, a burning desire for a certain redhead.
“It’s too cold around here. So it’s gotta be out west,” Cody said—almost hopefully. Travel was likely the part Cody enjoyed most about being a Hotshot. Probably because the guy was rarely able to stay in one place for very long. “I’m going back to the firehouse to check in with him.” He nodded at Fiona again before turning away.
She looked a little wistful as she watched Cody walk out of the bar.
Something tightened Wyatt’s stomach muscles into a knot again, but it wasn’t desire this time. It was something that Wyatt didn’t recognize because he’d never felt it before—at least not until he’d caught Braden watching her walk away earlier. Jealousy?
“He’s gone,” she said.
“Yeah...”
She shoved against his side. “You can move to the other side of the booth.”
It would have been the smart thing to do—to get some distance between them so that he stopped torturing himself with her closeness, with her heat...
And Wyatt always did the smart thing. That was why his job wasn’t overly dangerous. Like all of the forest service firefighters on the specialized team called Hotshots, he was well trained, and he knew what he was doing. The same went for Wyatt’s personal life—he knew what he was doing and never got into a situation that would put his heart or his livelihood at risk. But he didn’t move. In fact he leaned a little closer to her, his lips nearly brushing her ear. She smelled fresh and flowery, and he breathed in her scent like he breathed in air.
“It’s loud in here,” he pointed out. The bartender must have turned up the jukebox; Wyatt would have to make sure to leave him a tip. “We’ll have to shout if I move across the table.” As he spoke, his lips did brush over her ear.
And she shuddered. He didn’t think it was with revulsion this time. No. He wasn’t the only one who’d felt the desire.
“It is loud in here,” she agreed.
He grinned. Obviously, she didn’t want him to move, either.
But then she continued, “Too loud to talk.”
“We could go to my place,” he offered. “It’s close.” And he was an idiot for suggesting it. What had happened to his usual sense of self-preservation?
She shook her head, and the lock of hair that had escaped that tight knot on the back of her head brushed across his jaw. He shuddered now as his body reacted to the touch of silk against his skin.
He should have been relieved that she’d refused his offer—that she realized what a bad idea it was, too. But disappointment slowed his racing pulse. “I thought you wanted to talk about Matt.”
A little line formed between her reddish brows. “I do. I want to talk about his crazy idea to quit college and become a firefighter.”
He tilted his head and furrowed his brow—as if he was having trouble hearing her. “Crazy what?” he asked.
“Decision to become a firefighter,” she said. “And not just any firefighter, he wants to become a Hotshot.”
That was crazy. Seriously crazy. “We do need to talk,” he said. “But we can’t do it here.”
She leaned closer now—as if she hadn’t heard him that clearly, either. Her brow furrowed again, and he could see the indecision in her green eyes. “I really want to talk...”
“So come home with me,” he urged her. The urgency was all his, clamoring inside him with that desire. “Come home with me...”
4 (#ulink_b8264fd2-aa4b-5597-9937-05012821bf65)
“HE WANTED ME to go home with him.” Outrage coursed through Fiona as she raised her voice loud enough to be heard over the blaring music that pulsed throughout the new club. Were there no quiet places left in the usually sleepy town?
Tammy leaned across the glass and neon bar to wave down the bartender with a twenty, like all the other women vying for drinks. She turned back to remark, “Maybe you should have.”
Fiona gasped—though she shouldn’t have been surprised. Tammy never turned down an opportunity to enjoy herself. And she would have enjoyed herself with Wyatt Andrews.
Fiona might have—if she’d been able to forget who and what he was and just focus on all those sleek muscles and his lips...
They’d tasted of decadence and had been as intoxicating as the drink his friend had bought her. What would they have felt like on other parts of her body?
She shook her head—shaking off Tammy’s suggestion and her own temptation. And she had been tempted—so tempted that instead of thinking to suggest a quieter place to talk, she’d made an excuse and hurried from the loud bar to a louder bar. “That’s crazy...”
As crazy as her coming here—to a nightclub full of tipsy women drooling over male strippers. But she’d wanted to vent to her friend about what a jerk Wyatt Andrews was, and Tammy had already been pulling into the parking lot of this place. Her friend was dressed in a bright yellow dress—meant to draw the attention of every man in the place. Unfortunately for Tammy, the crowd was predominantly female.
If Wyatt had wanted just a hookup for the night, he should have come here—instead of meeting her at the neighborhood bar. Maybe he had only intended to talk to her. But then why hadn’t he suggested a quiet coffee shop? Why his home?
The bartender took Tammy’s twenty, but the pretty brunette shook her head to refuse a drink. She only wanted change. Moments later she victoriously held up her handful of dollars. With her free hand, she grabbed Fiona’s and tugged her along as she headed toward the dance floor.
The place was all neon and glittering black surfaces and glass. It glowed with bright colors—which made Tammy blend in while Fiona, still dressed in the beige suit from work, stood out.
She tried to dig in her heels and stop Tammy from dragging her along. But her friend was freakishly strong. Or Fiona was a wimp. She was going with Tammy whether she wanted to or not. And she didn’t want to.
At all.
She had been more tempted to go home with Wyatt Andrews. He may have just wanted to talk. These guys wanted tips and seemed willing to do anything—or anyone—in order to get them.
Men danced among all the women on the floor. Or they danced around them, gyrating and pulling off their costumes as they did. The women danced with the male strippers and clapped and cheered. Some laughed, some giggled and shrieked.
Fiona watched in disgust. This might be other women’s fantasies, but to her, and the life insurance agent in her, it was a bad joke. All those good-looking men were dressed as the most hazardous professions—police officers, marines, navy SEALS, race car drivers, construction workers, FBI agents and, of course, firemen.
Tammy danced with the firefighter, and as she did, she slid dollar bills into the waistband of the pants hanging low on his lean hips. Of course, he wore no shirt, just suspenders stretched over his waxed and shiny chest. He wasn’t nearly as muscular as Wyatt. But then he wasn’t a real firefighter. He wasn’t Wyatt. While he swiveled his hips for Tammy, he winked at Fiona. He was probably only flirting because he wanted money from her, too. Why had Wyatt flirted with her? Just to mess with her?
Eventually, Tammy ran out of dollar bills and tugged Fiona’s hand to pull her back to the bar. “This time I actually need a drink,” she said, fanning herself. “You?”
Fiona already felt as if she’d had too much to drink, even though she’d only taken a sip of that gin and tonic. Why else hadn’t she slapped Wyatt Andrews for kissing her as boldly as he had? Why had she thought about, for just that fleeting moment, going home with him?
Because of Matthew. She needed to talk to Wyatt about her brother.
“Red wine?” Tammy asked.
Fiona shook her head. “Nothing.”
“You don’t have to work in the morning,” Tammy reminded her. “Which is another reason you should have gone home with the hunky firefighter.”
Just because tomorrow was Saturday didn’t mean she wasn’t working. She liked going in when the office was closed so she could catch up without interruptions.
“You haven’t met Wyatt,” Fiona reminded her. “And that guy on the dance floor is not a real firefighter.”
“So Wyatt isn’t hunky?”
She couldn’t lie, so she just pretended not to hear her friend. The music was loud...
But Tammy knew her too well and laughed. “You need to get some, girl.”
“I’m seeing Howard.”
Tammy laughed again. “Like I said, you need to get some.”
“I would never get involved with a man like Wyatt Andrews.” She was not her mother’s daughter. She would not go for excitement over substance. For fleeting over forever...
Both of her mother’s husbands had been on that dance floor. Not the real men. They were dead. But their professions had been represented. Fiona’s father had been a race car driver—albeit just dirt tracks—and Matthew’s had been a rock star wannabe in a band that had done more drugs than gigs. The hazards of both those jobs had killed them. Speed had killed her father; he had been driving too fast when he’d hit the wall. And heroin had killed Matthew’s; the wannabe rock star had been living too fast.
Now the brunette shook her head. “You don’t have to get involved with him. You could just enjoy him.”
“What’s to enjoy?” Fiona asked. But she knew—she had enjoyed that kiss. She shouldn’t have, though. She shouldn’t have forgotten what he was really like. “He’s arrogant and obnoxious. And he’s going to get my brother killed.”
“That’s why you should have gone home with him,” Tammy said.
She gasped in shock over her friend’s remark.
Tammy winked. “Maybe you could have convinced him to refuse Matt a recommendation. Hell, if you’re really good, maybe you could convince him to tear up the application altogether.”
“What are you suggesting?”
Tammy shrugged. “Hey, you know my motto—work what your mama gave you...” She wriggled her ass as she made the comment.
Fiona’s mother hadn’t given her many physical attributes. Except for some of her delicate facial features, she looked more like her father’s family—like her paternal grandmother. But Fiona was afraid that her mother might have passed along her bad taste in men. Why else had Fiona been so attracted to a man like Wyatt Andrews? To a Hotshot?
The first time Matthew had mentioned his mentor to her, Fiona had looked up the definition of a Hotshot. He was like the soldier on the front line. He was the one who got closest to the blaze. While other people battled it from above, in helicopters and planes dumping water on it. The Hotshots were the ones on the ground trying to starve the fire to extinguish it.
