Her polite, albeit strained, smile faltered, but she pulled it together with a subtly deep breath that not-so-subtly pushed her breasts against her blouse, straining the buttons. “If there’s anything else you need…”
She let the words trail off, like she couldn’t bear to finish the offer, and he had to bury his nose in the musty book to hide his grin.
There was something else he needed all right.
And when she realized what he had in mind, Caitlin Tyler wouldn’t know what hit her.
…
Caitlin was going to kill Lt. Shane Hendricks. It had been four hours. Four hours of him pleasantly turning pages through musty old medieval childbirth manuals and feminist essays. They should have been the least of all topics interesting to a Neanderthal who thought he was God’s gift, but a few stolen peeks through the stacks assured her he was, in fact, reading. Either that or taking the joke too far, but the steady shift of his eyes across the page indicated otherwise. Irritation waged war against pride. He wanted her to throw him out.
Which meant she had to tolerate his existence.
If only that was all she did.
She tried, hard, to focus on inventory, but—worst pun ever not intended—the man was on fire. He’d been hot enough in his bulky work jacket, which was beyond not fair. If she wore something that thick and drab, she’d look like she was caught in a burlap sack. But on him, it was rugged.
Without it, no less so.
She feared the lack of clothing between them. Whatever fire retardant gear he’d worn the day before had been a sufficient barrier—one suggestive enough of that God’s gift hero complex thing he had going on. The one that left him smirking at her while she almost died on a bridge. And again in a fire.
The one that made her want to keep her distance.
Today, though, she wanted to climb onto his lap and slide down the fire pole. She didn’t know if the firehouse had one, but she knew the fire guy did.
Damn him.
It had been too long since she’d had sex. The last time had been a rebound thing with a guy who volunteered shelving books at the library. It was so cute it was almost book-worthy, but sixty seconds of frantic-on-his-part missionary on a well-worn carpet in the reference section hadn’t been hot. No orgasm to show for the rug burn. Not cool. And then the guy wouldn’t quit calling.
Guys like Shane, on the other hand, rarely bothered to call at all.
So maybe he had a thing going for him.
A thing other than sinful hotness.
She must have sighed, because at that moment her heart did the swoony thing, he glanced up and somehow managed to meet her eyes through the narrow view she had of him between volumes lined on the metal shelves. She blinked and jerked away, only to realize she’d just arranged a half dozen gardening books in a section on international politics.
“Private Sex Advice to Women,” he said, making her jump.
This was ridiculous. It was her store. Maybe it hadn’t burned down because of him, or at least the rest of his shift had handled it while he goaded her, but that didn’t give him an unlimited open-door policy.
“I’m not interested in your advice,” she muttered.
“It’s a book,” he said. “So far you’ve given me childbirth, feminism, and sex. Is there a message here?”
Yes, yes there was. A message not to hang out in her store.
“An ABZ of Love.” The sound of flipping pages cracked the silence. “Hey, did you know alcohol can provide a form of substitute for a reasonably harmonious sex life?”
“You’re not getting me drunk,” she said, though she made a note to research if that might be true. As if a bottle of anything could compare to the smallest touch from a guy like him.
“I don’t recall offering,” he told her. His tone could have been teasing, though she didn’t know him well enough to make that call. All she knew was that her face was on fire, and it would just have to burn because there was no way she was putting in another call to the fire department, even if he clearly wasn’t on duty at the moment. “But,” he added, “if it’s a substitute for sex, and you’re refusing it, does that mean you’ve found other forms of self-plea—”
“Stop. Enough.” God, she hoped he was only there until she gave in, because otherwise she was about to make a huge fool of herself. Again. “I’ll do one thing. One. One non-sexual, non-alcoholic thing on what is absolutely not going to be a date, and then we’re done.”
She’d managed to emerge from the stacks before spitting out the entire sentence, which meant she had an unobstructed view of his infuriatingly cocky grin when he closed the book.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Five
If Shane felt the tiniest bit guilty for low-key stalking to get his definitely-not-a-date with Caitlin, that feeling vanished the next night when he saw her. And it shouldn’t have, at least not in the conventional sense. She wasn’t dressed to kill, so to speak, but she slayed him anyway. She’d traded her proper skirt and button-up shirt for a pair of tight polka-dot leggings that hugged every curve, all phenomenally on display when the breeze hit her just right, but modesty reigned with an oversize shirt that offered no hint of the cleavage he’d noticed through her misbuttoned blouse. A pair of ankle boots evened the odds by a few inches, but the clunky heels were more cute than sexy.
Especially with her hair up and slender neck begging for the heat of his mouth.
She hadn’t given him her address, and he hadn’t reminded her how easily he could obtain it on his own. Instead, she’d agreed to meet him, and he’d made sure he was there first. Convenient, because he might have slipped into horny teenager territory when she walked up, splayed tips of her hair bouncing away from that messy bun, as carefree as he’d ever seen anyone.
Let alone someone he’d met clinging to a bridge.
He’d gotten a kick out of riling her earlier, but now it was him feeling off-balance, while she stunned. And he definitely needed the benefit of the table blocking his lap from her view. Despite which, he stood to greet her.
A couple of guys called his name. He replied with an absent wave of his hand, not taking his eyes off her.
“You showed,” he said when she stopped in front of him.
Her eyes glittered with amusement. Or maybe resignation. “It’s not like you were going to let me off the hook if I didn’t. This is happening under false pretenses.”
His lips quirked. “Why is that?”
“I don’t date.”
He wondered what she left unspoken. The why. The reason he’d become an exception. Not that it mattered, though. He was moving to Denver in two weeks. More like twelve days now, not that he counted. “I’m not looking for someone to date, so I say that makes me the perfect person to show you around.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Because I’m remarkably capable of reading a map.”
“Until there’s a bridge to cross.”
She flushed and threw him an adorably dirty look. At which point he realized she must have actually crossed the bridge, unless she bought new clothes and conjured that freshly-showered, soapy smell out of thin air. “I do have to thank you for that,” she said. “Although it can’t be good for your ego to know the lengths to which a woman will go to get away from you.”
“And yet here you are.”
“And for what purpose? Are you going to teach me to stop, drop, and roll?”
“There are laws against teaching those lessons in public,” he said, taking advantage of her surprise by touching her arm, guiding her away from the square toward the park wedged between the city and the mountains. It seemed mostly a way to make use of the craggy, undevelopable land at the city’s edge, though it had turned into one of the most frequented hotspots. This section was narrow, with just a feeder trail that wove along the downtown district, providing a bit of green reprieve that was especially popular midday. “But if you want to go somewhere private, I’d be glad to help you with your moves.”
She blinked. “Tell me that line doesn’t work. Please tell me it has never worked.”
“You say that like I need lines.” Yeah, so he’d made that sound bad, but there was a degree of truth there. Which had to be why he liked her so much.
Her steps slowed as they neared a trailhead. “I’m not going in there.”
He gave her credit for street smarts, assuming that was the reason behind her refusal. Heading into the loosely-knit woods with a near-stranger definitely deserved second thought, but he didn’t hear dubious regret. He heard fear. “Why not?”
“Because you just offered to take me somewhere private, and now you’re trying to lead me into the woods.” She threw the excuse out like a jab, but he detected a hint of worry behind it.
“I’m not taking you in the woods to roll around in the dirt.” He paused. “At least not until you ask.”
“Yeah, that’ll happen. But seriously, I actually cannot go in there.”
He looked from her to the seemingly innocuous trail and back. Maybe she was less worried about him than he thought. “I don’t smell smoke, and we’re on solid ground, and it’s not even humid, so water can’t be the problem. Why can’t you go?”
She worried her lip, and that confidence—or was it just bravado?—slipped a notch. “It’s dark in there.”
He blinked. Though it wasn’t late, the sun had already dipped behind the mountaintops, leaving the sky streaked with color. The woods were shadowy, maybe, but not anything close to blackout conditions. “Dark?”
She raised her shoulders, straightening her spine. “Yes.”
He studied her, realizing how thin that bravado actually was. “You’re afraid of the dark?”
“Maybe.” Her voice wavered, but her chin jutted in defiance.
He sighed. So they were going to do this thing again, where she got annoyed with him to hide her own fears.
In just a couple of cumulative hours of acquaintance, they had that routine down. But this time he saw the vulnerability behind the front. Pushing her dinged at his conscience, but he also knew it got results.
“Walk with me,” he said, hoping his sincerity got through to her. “It’s a walk. And I promise not to leave you alone out there.”
He saw the wheels turning. And the sinking sun reflected in the greenest eyes he’d ever seen, making him want more than anything for her to agree. “No bridges?” she finally asked.
He ignored that question, and for good reason. Instead, he said, “Isn’t the dark the best time to cross a bridge?”
For someone who was afraid of pretty much everything, she sure managed to skewer him with a look.
“Fine,” he said. “I brought you here because there’s a bridge. But it’s not that big. You have my word I won’t make you cross it if you don’t want to.”
“You want me to cross a bridge in the dark?” He couldn’t tell if she was more skeptical or worried. Frankly, he didn’t blame her for either. Or himself for being intrigued. He worked with men who ran toward danger, and this woman not only avoided it, she’d invented it.
He should be going in the absolute opposite direction.
Instead, he said, “There’s a creek and a sunset. If we start walking now, that is.”
He was absolutely convinced she was going to walk, straight back out of the park, but instead she met his eyes and hit him with an utterly charming smile.
One that scared the hell out of him.
“Okay,” she finally said. “You’re on.”
…
Caitlin had long realized she had a few quirks, but having to lay them all out in quick succession to the hot fire guy made them feel more ridiculous than they ever had before. She could probably explain that she’d been with her family when their truck was swept away by a flash flood, that boiling, churning water would never be okay, and that she’d probably never see a black sky and not remember that horrible night, but that’d be revealing more than she ever shared. With anyone.
She wanted to be more irritated with Shane than she was. He’d coerced her into meeting him, and then chose something he knew terrified her. Hell, the whole town probably knew about her and bridges by now. Between her determination to lay low and the fact that her store wasn’t yet open, she’d at least managed to avoid having it thrown in her face. Mostly.
The Uber driver who’d shuttled her across the bridge that morning had mentioned an incident, eyebrows raised as he glanced in the rearview mirror, but she just smiled and nodded her agreement that it was, indeed, a good thing traffic was moving that day.
Shane had been there, though. He’d seen her panic.
And his idea of a gathering spot had been a bridge.
She sighed, inadvertently drawing his attention, obliterating her determination to stay brutal. She hated her fears, and hated even more that she’d wound up revealing them to hero guy. He ran into burning buildings. She hyperventilated when her air conditioner smoked.
“I love these mountains when the sun sets,” he said, and she realized he’d left her to her inner turmoil, forcing her to grudgingly respect that he hadn’t thrown her failings back out there. But unlike every other woman he professed to knowing, she didn’t swoon when he opened his mouth. Maybe he’d finally figured that out.
Despite a suspicion that he was dropping yet another cliché on her—sunsets and walks on the beach were the ones to end them all—she followed his gaze, and her breath caught at the colors skimming the mountaintops. “Wow,” she murmured.
“It never gets old,” he said. “There’s not a day it doesn’t take my breath.”
She’d always loved sunsets but didn’t think that was much of a guy thing. “Are you from here?”
“Nope. Denver. My mom moved the family here after my dad died, but I can’t say it ever felt like home. The mountains remind me of there, though.”
“I’m sorry about your father,” she said.
“I think of him when the sun turns the snow up there orange and yellow.”
She wasn’t sure what to say, and he didn’t seem to expect a response. They settled into an amicable silence. The trail wound through relatively flat, relatively sparse woods, and she was grateful for the turns that made walking side-by-side a less obvious proposition. Though the alternatives kind of sucked. There was no way she’d walk ahead of him, where he might possibly sneak up on her from behind, which left her watching him.
Muscle shouldn’t look so good beneath a loose-fitting T-shirt.
The man probably didn’t have an ounce of fat on his body, but he wasn’t some overly bulked up gym worshiper. He definitely worked out but didn’t have those stupid squared off muscles that couldn’t get out of their own way. Nope, he was long and lean and perfect for sliding between sheets.
Which was where her mind was when she walked into his back.
“Sorry,” she said, righting her glasses rather than looking at him. Then she heard the rush of water and glanced past him to see a terrifying expanse of footbridge, and she gawked. Directly at him, probably looking stupid as hell. “This is a nothing bridge?”
It wasn’t crazy high, and the water beneath it didn’t rage, but it definitely flowed several feet below. She couldn’t fathom why he thought this a good idea, but she had two guesses: mockery, or torture. And she’d believe either.
But he didn’t look all proud of himself, like he’d set her up. “You’ve made it across worse,” he said. “Besides, I can tell you in official capacity that you can’t live in the bookstore, because it’s against code, and this is one fear you’re definitely going to need to get past if you’re going to live here. So, you’re welcome. Now come on.”
She stared in absolute disbelief. “This is you doing me a favor?”
“Yes, minus the sirens and the guys in the ambulance and the fact we had to drag out the boat.” His humor softened, and she almost expected him to say something sweet. Instead, he said, “You afraid?”
She glared at him. “Yes, I’m afraid.”
“Good. Face it. Head on.”
“I am facing it. And now I’d like to face the other direction.”
“Fine. Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes.”
She stared at him a long time before finally doing as he asked. Immediately after which she was hoisted off the ground and carried. Somewhere. She didn’t dare look, though the clomp of his feet across wood suggested the damned bridge. On the bridge and in his arms. There wasn’t anything romantic about the way he lifted her, but she still felt all tingly and a lot less concerned with her predicament than she should have been.
He set her down. Not on firm ground, she noticed when she dared to look at her feet, but on the bridge. The gaps between the planks were enough to see water. The warm-and-fuzzies fled.
She bit back a scream, but then thought twice about it. Why not scream? Someone would find her. Perhaps someone a little less sadistic, though at this point she wasn’t sure which was worse—that he’d taken her to yet another bridge, or that her thoughts were still stuck on the way his touch made her feel.
“Look at me,” he said.
She did, and ten pounds of tension left her shoulders when his melted-chocolate gaze touched hers.
“You’ve done this before, and over much worse,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
What if she was more worried about him than the bridge? What then? She didn’t ask. Instead, she said, “You promised you wouldn’t make me.” Weak defense, but she had to throw something out there. No way she would let these electrical squiggles in her chest go unchecked.
“And I still won’t,” he said, yet he made no move to rescue her. “There’s no depth to that water. Depending on the rocks, maybe knee deep at most. You’re not going to drown.”
“I thought you could drown in a teaspoon of water.”
He smiled, and she immediately thought of a toothpaste commercial. “Hey,” he said. “I’m FD. No way I’d risk my reputation over a teaspoon of water.”
Her Sexy Challenge (Firefighters of Station 1) Page 4
