by Jill Shalvis
“What about Toni?” Brad asked, keeping his tone casual.
“Good news and bad news.” Jim grinned. “And you’re gonna owe me.”
“Fine. Good news first.”
“She doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
Whoa. That wasn’t good news-that was freakin’ excellent news.
“Not only that,” Jim continued, “but apparently she hasn’t had one for a while. Like six months.”
Brad’s eyes narrowed. “She told me she was involved.”
“Right. Obviously to blow you off. Which leads to the bad news.”
“Which is…?”
“She doesn’t like firefighters.”
Brad frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She. Doesn’t. Like. Firefighters. What part don’t you get?”
Great. Was she another woman who couldn’t handle the danger his job entailed? As soon as the question entered his mind, something told him the answer was no. Whereas Sandy had turned out to be a needy, clingy sort of woman, Toni struck him as very confident. And far too independent and smart to be unreasonable about a man’s job involving some danger. There had to be another reason. “Why doesn’t she like firefighters?”
“Don’t know.” Jim shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say she probably got her heart broken by one, but who knows? Who can figure out women?”
“How do you know all this?”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Because I’m thirty years old and in spite of knowing a lot of them, women are impossible to understand.”
This time Brad rolled his eyes. “I mean, how do you know she doesn’t have a boyfriend or like firefighters?”
“Oh. Bobby T told me,” Jim said, referring to the bartender at Breezes, one of Santa Rey’s most popular beachfront bars. Since Bobby’s last name contained about seventeen letters and was completely unpronounceable, especially after a couple of beers, he was simply Bobby T. “Toni and that gal who works with her went to the bar last night and had one of those long, boring, involved chick chats. Since business was slow, Bobby couldn’t help but overhear bits and pieces. They even drew him into the convo a few times. I saw him this morning before I came on duty and he told me. And now I’m telling you. Figured you’d want to know, especially if you plan to make a move. Once word of this gets out, guys’ll be all over Toni like wet on water.”
A sensation that felt exactly like jealousy rippled through Brad. “Right. Except, in case it’s escaped your notice, I’m a firefighter.”
“Uh-huh.” Jim pointed his spatula at the ladder truck. “Yeah, the big shiny red truck kinda gave it away. But I doubt that’s gonna stop you. You’ve been panting after this woman for three months. Keeping your distance because you thought she was involved. Now you know she’s not.”
“I haven’t been panting,” Brad felt compelled to object. “Breathing heavy, maybe.”
“Panting,” Jim insisted. “Dude, I’ve known you since tenth grade and I’ve never seen you so…I don’t even know the word to describe it, about a woman. Discombobulated. Stupefied. Like a deer in the headlights.” Jim shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. I’m thinkin’ this could only lead to trouble.”
Brad knew what Jim meant by trouble-a serious entanglement. But who said anything had to be serious? He grinned. “Trouble is my middle name.”
“Like hell.” Jim’s smile turned downright evil. “It’s Theodore.”
Damn. There were definitely disadvantages to having friends for years. Brad shot Jim a glare meant to deep-fry him on the spot. “Those will be interesting last words, should you make the mistake of repeating them.” His nickname at the station was already embarrassing enough. He didn’t need a derivative of Teddy Bear or some such cutesy crap to live down. “Don’t you have eggs and toast to burn?”
Jim lifted his hands in an exaggerated backing-off gesture. “Yup. You wanna stay for breakfast?”
“Tempting as that sounds, I’m gonna blast outta here.” He nodded toward the guys polishing the truck. “Don’t poison those poor boys.”
“Are you kidding? They’d eat tire treads if I poured melted cheese on them.”
“Do you know how to melt cheese?”
“Sure. That’s what blowtorches are for.”
Brad wasn’t sure Jim was kidding. “Good thing we’re fully equipped with fire extinguishers.” He clapped his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Hope your shift’s quieter than mine was.”
“Enjoy your days off. Got any plans?”
“Since Christmas is next week, figured I’d better start shopping.”
Jim laughed. “Bet I know where you’re going first.”
Brad chuckled. “Oh, yeah. Got me some flowers to buy. Wish me luck.”
“I wish you luck, dude. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”
Maybe he would. But he was determined. He didn’t fear going after what he wanted-no one had ever given him anything so he’d been doing that his entire life. And he wanted Toni Rizzo-in a way he hadn’t wanted any woman in a long time. Yeah, he wanted her. Naked. In his bed. Under him. Over him. Putting out the damn fire she’d lit in him the moment he’d seen her.
Yet he wanted something more. Wanted to get to know her. He didn’t have any doubt they’d get along in bed, but he also wanted to know if they’d get along outside the bedroom, something he hadn’t been interested in finding out about a woman for a very long time. He couldn’t explain it, it didn’t make sense, but there it was. So in-his-face he couldn’t deny it. She was at the top of his Christmas list. At the bottom, too. And everywhere in between. And now that he knew she wasn’t taken, there was nothing to stop him.
Well, except her crazy aversion to firefighters. But he had every intention of changing her mind.
After all, how difficult could that be?
2
T ONI R IZZO stood behind the long granite counter at Blooming Pails and deftly worked sprigs of mistletoe, poinsettia, red and white roses and fragrant pine into the two dozen centerpieces she was putting together for this evening’s Wilson/Mayberry wedding. Nothing like December nuptials to boost business, which was precisely what she needed. Only three months remained until the bank’s first six-month evaluation, and she had to make damn sure her revenues showed growth. The loan she’d taken out to open the shop included a clause that she was subject to a twice-yearly review for the first two years. If sales were maintained or grew each quarter, she kept her low interest rate. If she failed to maintain or increase sales, her interest rate would go up. Which would put a financial strain on her fledgling business she simply couldn’t afford-one that could result in her losing Blooming Pails and everything she’d worked so hard for.
So far, sales had been decent for the holiday season, but it was an active time of year for any business and she needed her sales to be much better than merely decent. This month was do-or-die time to generate enough revenues to keep that interest rate down. She had to cultivate customers to keep the sales up after the holidays were over. Because if her business failed, she’d find herself right back where she’d been three years ago-out of work, her career in tatters, and being smothered by her well-meaning but overwhelming family who were relentless in their quest to drag her ass back home and into the family business. That alone was incentive enough to make sure Blooming Pails succeeded. The fifty-mile buffer she’d put between herself and the fam when she moved to Santa Rey had saved her sanity. She had every intention of keeping her ass right here, and working that ass off in her shop.
She shot a quick downward look over her shoulder and grimaced. Yeah-if only it were possible to actually work her ass off. Of course, even if she ever managed to-and in her twenty-eight years she hadn’t managed-her mother would whip up a few trays of antipasto and lasagna to put some meat on her bones. And if her mother failed, Nana Rose would take up the banner. Her grandmother would fix her eyeballs on Toni with what she called the Stare of Death and command, “Eat, Antonia. Mangia. Men do not like women who look lik
e pencils.”
Thanks to the Rizzo boobs and butt, which had been passed down through generations of Rizzo women, along with the wildly curly hair from which her surname was derived, she’d never know if Nana Rose’s statement was true.
Not that she currently gave a rat’s ass about what men liked. Hell, no. Men were, in a word, pains in the ass. Okay, so that was four words, but still. After freeing herself from her last disastrous romantic entanglement, she’d sworn off the male species. Someday, after she’d gotten Blooming Pails off the ground and the shop didn’t require all her attention, then she’d consider dipping her toe back into the shark-infested dating waters. But even then only if she met someone worthy of her attention. Someone who accepted her as she was-flaws and all. Who didn’t cheat. Who had some integrity. Who made her laugh. Whom she wanted to share her life with.
“Good luck with that,” she muttered.
But for now, she had zero time for a man. Blooming Pails required all her focus and tender loving care. Unfortunately Blooming Pails didn’t keep her warm at night, and after six dateless, sexless months she was feeling definite twinges of loneliness. Not to mention sexual frustration. Sexual frustration that became more acute with each passing day.
She glanced out the window and caught sight of a young couple across the street walking a puppy on a leash. The small dog yipped and ran in circles, chasing its tail, then rolled over for a belly rub. When the laughing couple crouched down, the puppy jumped into the woman’s arms and covered her chin with exuberant kisses.
“If only that adorable, loving, amusing dog came in a man,” Toni said with sigh.
Yup, she should just forget about men and get herself a dog.
Just then her attention was caught by a familiar figure striding past her window. A tall familiar figure with broad shoulders, sun-streaked golden-brown hair and a killer smile. And just as it always did when Brad Griffin came by, her pulse skipped a beat. Which was really annoying since a skipping pulse was the last thing she wanted around him. Yeah, he was good-looking-okay, great-looking-but it didn’t matter. Even if she had time for a man-which she didn’t-he was a firefighter and she absolutely wasn’t having any of that. Bitterness welled in her throat and she pressed her lips together. Never again.
The first time she’d seen him, on Blooming Pails’s opening day, she’d nearly swallowed her tongue. Standing in a shaft of dazzling sunlight, biting into one of the homemade cannoli she’d put out to tempt customers, was the personification of her every sexual fantasy. Yowza. Big, strong and utterly gorgeous, he looked like a cross between a sun god and one of those beautifully rugged guys who populated men’s cologne ads. Everything female in her had snapped to attention and in a heartbeat she fell in lust. She might not have time for a relationship, but she could carve out a few minutes to relieve her sexual drought with this guy.
But then she’d noticed the emblem on the T-shirt which stretched across his broad chest. The T-shirt bearing the words Ocean Harbor Beach Fire Department. And she’d deflated like a popped balloon. How freakin’ unfair was it that the first guy in months to give her a jolt-and a freakin’ lightning-bolt jolt it had been-was a firefighter? Just to be sure, she’d casually asked him while she wrapped up the bouquet he ordered, hoping he’d tell her the shirt belonged to a friend or he’d bought it secondhand and he was an accountant. A waiter. A mechanic. Anything but a firefighter.
But he’d confirmed his occupation. And sealed his fate, at least as far as she was concerned. Even though her hormones screamed in protest, there was no way she’d act on that spark of attraction. When he’d given her the bouquet she’d just wrapped and asked her to dinner-and okay, it was a romantic gesture that from anyone else would have worked-she’d claimed she was involved. Which wasn’t a lie. Exactly. She was involved. With her new business. Settling into this new town. Keeping her busybody family at arm’s length.
She’d hoped her claim, along with her cool demeanor, would deter him, but he came in every week. And each time her pulse annoyingly jumped through hoops. He was always friendly and talkative and amusing and subtly flirtatious and way too tempting and she wished like hell he’d go away. On each visit he purchased something, either flowers or a plant, although it was clear he barely knew the difference between a daisy and a rose. Obviously he either had one woman in his life who really liked flowers or a bunch of different women. Given his good looks and the number of beach babes populating the boardwalk, she’d bet on a bunch of different women.
And now here he was again. Walking by her window. She hoped he was just taking a stroll, enjoying the lovely day. Maybe he wouldn’t come in-
The door opened, announcing his presence with a tinkling of the Christmas bells she’d attached to the top of the jamb along with mistletoe. Damn. And she couldn’t fob him off on Jayne as her assistant was running an errand. Maybe she’d return soon and Toni could perform the Brad pass-off. For now, however, she’d have to deal with him.
Their gazes met and her stupid pulse performed a somersault. Crap. Why did he have to be so attractive?
He’s not merely attractive, her suddenly alert hormones informed her. He is steaming hot.
Okay, fine. Steaming hot. Lots of men were steaming hot. Didn’t they litter those men’s cologne ads? Yes, they did. So what was it about this one that got under her skin? Maybe she was allergic to him. She instantly brightened. That’s all this was-a pesky allergy. One antihistamine and she’d be cured.
It’ll take more than an allergy pill to purge this guy from your system, her talkative hormones whispered. And he hasn’t even touched you. Or kissed you.
Touched her…kissed her…
An image popped into her mind, of him walking toward her. Not stopping or slowing down, just wrapping those strong arms around her, picking her up and still walking, until her back hit the wall. Settling his beautiful mouth on hers. His tongue slipping past her lips. His hard, muscular body pressing against her-
“’Morning, gorgeous.”
The deep masculine voice yanked Toni from her sensual reverie and she blinked. And realized he’d walked to the counter. And that now only the three-foot-wide slab of granite-and a dozen centerpieces-separated them. Three feet and a bunch of flowers she could easily reach across. Or jump over.
Heat rushed into her face and she inwardly winced. Great. Now she’d look blotchy. Annoyance-at herself for her runaway thoughts and at him for looking so damn tempting-skittered through her. A good dose of irritation followed, thanks to the way her heart sped up because he’d called her gorgeous. He undoubtedly called every woman that. It irked her no end that she wasn’t as immune to such meaningless flattery as she’d thought.
“Good morning,” she said, looking down, partly to keep from staring at him, partly to hide the flame scorching her cheeks. She stabbed pine into the centerpiece in front of her with far more force than necessary.
“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “You look sorta…flushed.”
Her head jerked up at that. Their gazes collided and she found herself staring into his beautiful, ocean-colored eyes, the sort you could drown in while trying to figure out if they were more green or blue.
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice laced with a hint of challenge, daring him to disagree.
Instead he nodded. Then grinned. “You sure are.”
That damn grin crinkled the corners of those beautiful eyes and annoyingly seemed to peel away several layers of muscle from her legs.
“It’s just the reflection of all these red leaves and decorations and lights,” she said, waving her hand to encompass the store.
His gaze followed her hand, pausing on the Christmas tree set in the window. “Pretty tree,” he said. “Is that a new addition?”
“It’s been there for the past two weeks.”
He returned his attention to her and smiled. Whoa. The grin was pretty damn great, but the full smile was potent with a capital P. Warm, flirty and intimate all at the same tim
e. Another few layers of strength fled her knees without a backward glance. She stabbed in another piece of pine and pretended she didn’t feel it.
“Guess I was too busy looking at you to notice,” he said. “What are all those little red envelopes hanging on it?”
For an answer she handed him a flyer from the pile on the end of the counter. “The Twelve Steamy Nights of Christmas,” he read. His gaze flicked back up to hers. “Sounds promising.”
“It’s for charity,” she said quickly, groaning inwardly as the words poured from her like a flood-a curse that occurred whenever she was nervous. And dammit, he made her nervous. “Each envelope contains a gift for a…sensual night out.” Crap. Her tongue had tripped on the word sensual. “Local restaurants have donated meal cards, shops in the area gave gift cards, that sort of thing. For a twenty-five-dollar donation, you can pick any envelope you want. All the proceeds go to local charities.”
He nodded. “Very nice. Your idea?”
“Yes. It seemed a good way to introduce myself and Blooming Pails to the community and do some good at the same time.” Which was absolutely true-although the full truth was that after six months with zero sex, the idea was also inspired by her own deep desire for a steamy, sensual Christmas gift. But since nothing remotely resembling sexy, steamy, sensual-all those lovely S words-hovered in her immediate future, she’d just live vicariously through her customers.
“Great idea. Lots of folks need help, especially this time of year. A fire last night in Ocean Harbor Beach left a family homeless.”
Toni’s stomach clenched. “I’m sorry to hear that. Anyone hurt?”
“No, but they lost everything.”
“If they’re still alive, they didn’t lose anything that really matters.”
