He's No Angel (Heaven Can Wait Book 1)

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  Unfortunately Dave’s words had proven correct. While she’d been polite, Emma Heely definitely hadn’t caught any of the flirtatious balls he’d tossed to her that day, or any of the other dozen times he’d been compelled to visit the library in the four weeks since she’d knocked him flat. In fact, it was pretty clear that she went out of her way to avoid him. Any other time he would have shrugged it off and moved on. After all, it wasn’t as if there weren’t lots of other women on the planet, many of them eager to hook up with firemen. And really, until he’d stepped into the library and temporarily lost his marbles, getting involved with a woman for more than a short (like three to four hour) duration wasn’t anywhere on his radar. He’d uprooted his entire life and moved to this small town in search of peace and quiet, and in his experience, those two things were not synonymous with a relationship.

  Still, while a relationship hadn’t been on his radar, he also couldn’t deny those frequent feelings of envy toward Dave and Matt. They made having a wife, and in Dave’s case a baby on the way as well, seem like something really great, as opposed to something to avoid at all costs. Liam figured he’d find The One someday, but certainly not any time soon. In the meanwhile, he’d just hook up with whoever caught his interest, a plan that had worked out great. Until he’d walked into the London library and been knocked off his feet by a Pooh quoting, buttoned-up, book goddess.

  Emma Heely. He could only shake his head in complete bafflement. She wasn’t his type at all. She was clearly a brainiac while he’d barely squeaked through high school and two years of community college. He’d excelled at his EMT and firefighting classes, but other than that, a great student he was not.

  Yet none of that seemed to matter as there was just no shrugging off his reaction to her. Good thing he liked a challenge.

  Still, the slow approach he’d taken for the last month hadn’t worked at all, so he figured he had nothing to lose by stepping things up.

  “I’m not going to the library,” he said. Not a lie. He was going to the florist first-- then the library.

  “Hitting up the florist first, huh?”

  Damn. Dave clearly knew him too well. Plus, while there were a lot of advantages to living in a small town, it was damn near impossible to keep anything on the down low. “What makes you think that?”

  “Oh, you know how sisters chat about everything-- Ruthie’s working at Buds and Blooms this morning. She mentioned to Melanie that you’d placed an order for pick-up.” Dave’s expression turned quizzical. “What I want to know is what the heck are pee-wees? Tiny flowers?”

  “Peonies. Not pee-wees. Peonies.” Liam shook his head. “How is it that Melanie hasn’t tossed you out on your ass?”

  “That whole hot sex thing. I’m great in the sack. So what the heck are peonies?”

  “Google it. Then buy your wife some. Bet it would make her happy. And you know what they say about a happy wife.”

  “Sure do. I’m on it. Right after I finish burning these hash browns. Hey-- good luck with Emma. You’re gonna need it.”

  “Thanks.” And yeah, based on his lack of success so far he was going to need it.

  He left the firehouse and crossed the parking lot to his pick-up. After tossing his duffle onto the passenger seat, he headed toward Buds and Blooms.

  Time to put Operation Emma into action.

  Chapter Three

  “Emma honey, that hunka-hunka burnin’ fireman Liam Gallagher who’s all ablaze for you just pulled into the parking lot.”

  Emma Heely’s head jerked up from her study of the spread sheet on her computer screen. Barbara Davis, her admin, stood in the doorway to Emma’s office, regarding Emma over the edge of her bifocals, her bright blue eyes gleaming with delight. Born and raised in London, Barb had worked at the library since the day it had opened forty-three years ago. The upside to that was she was fabulous at her job-- the best admin Emma had ever had, which made Emma’s job as library director much easier. Barb knew everything that went on in London, especially within the confines of the library.

  The downside was that she knew everything that went on in London, especially within the confines of the library. And she wasn’t in the least bit shy about sharing her observations and opinions regarding those goings-on.

  Like that Liam Gallagher had just arrived. And that he was “all ablaze” for Emma.

  Liam Gallagher. Emma’s lips pursed in annoyance even as her heart gave a crazy lurch, one she immediately put down to irritation. Of course it was irritation. And nothing more. Because he was irritating. Him and his gorgeous hazel eyes that looked either blue or green or even golden brown depending on what he was wearing. Him and his chiseled features and perfect lips, not to mention the can’t-stop-staring way he filled out jeans and a T-shirt, and his knee-wilting smile. No man had a right to be that attractive. At least no man she had zero intention of involving herself with. Ever. In any way.

  She was done with men. Done, done, done. Well, at least temporarily. Common sense and statistics indicated that someday she’d dip her toes back in the treacherous waters of the dating pool, but since statistics also showed that women who’d suffered a bad break-up more often than not dated the same type of man again, she was determined to be extra cautious. No way was she going to fall victim to that particular statistic. Which meant avoiding firemen as if they harbored E-coli. Especially firemen who looked like they’d just wrapped up a GQ photo spread. Been there, done that, never again.

  But ignoring Liam Gallagher was no easy task. Not only was he ridiculously attractive, he seemed hell-bent on flirting with her. Which she found pretty baffling. A guy who looked like him probably had supermodels trailing after him, so why was he flirting with her? A supermodel she most definitely was not. No doubt Liam was just like her fireman ex. Brian had flirted with every woman who crossed his path, including her. Unfortunately, instead of listening to her better judgment which had smartly pointed out that hunky guys rarely went for nerdy women, at least not in any meaningful way, she’d stupidly responded.

  Big mistake.

  Before Brian came along, she’d dated mostly geeks and nerds. Not because she was only attracted to geeks and nerds-- hey, what woman didn’t lust over a gorgeous hunk?-- but because the geeks and nerds were pretty much the only ones interested in her. The closest she’d ever come to dating anyone even remotely athletic had been in high school when she’d gone to homecoming with Melvin Schnettiker, a member of the junior varsity bowling team. A hunk magnet she definitely was not. So when handsome, heroic firefighter Brian Mitchell had asked her out, Emma had been stunned. And flattered. And had fallen hard and fast. And had her heart stomped flat. She hadn’t known better then. But she sure did now. Which meant she had every intention of avoiding Liam Gallagher-- who was even more attractive than her ex-- as much as possible.

  The first time Liam had flirted with her, the day she’d met him, she’d wondered if she’d misread his signals. After all, she didn’t exactly excel at the art of flirtation. But there was no mistaking it when he’d visited the library the next day. Since then she’d made certain she was very busy whenever he came in-- on the phone, in a meeting, at the copying machine. And okay, fine, she’d even hid out in the ladies room one time. It was called self-preservation. And since he was now back again, those self-preservation instincts were on high alert.

  Schooling her features into the cool, professional mask she’d perfected years ago, Emma asked Barb, “Have you finished printing out the flyers for next month’s after school programs?”

  Barb planted her hands on her ample hips. “Honey, didn’t you hear what I said? Liam Gallagher-- ”

  “Is in the parking lot. Yes, I heard. I just don’t know what that has to do with me.”

  “Bless your heart. Of course you do. That man is smitten with a capital ‘s.’ Why this is the third time this week alone he’s been in here.”

  Emma pursed her lips. She’d attended graduate school in North Carolina so she knew darn well wh
at “bless your heart” meant. It was a nice, southern way of saying You’re Queen of the Dipshits. “There are lots of people who come to the library three times a week.”

  “Of course there are,” Barb agreed. “This is a wonderful place. Always has been. And it’s even better since you took the helm. But none of those other people are coming in just to see you. I didn’t fall off the turnip trunk yesterday so don’t try to tell me you haven’t noticed the way that man looks at you. Like you’re banana puddin’ and he’s just dying for some dessert.”

  Oh, she’d noticed all right. It was enough to make any woman with a pulse break into a sweat. Which was why she’d taken to escaping to her office (or, um, the ladies room) whenever he came in. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now about those flyers-- ”

  “It’s enough to throw me right back into menopausal hot flashes,” Barb continued as if Emma hadn’t spoken. “I swear if a man looked at me like that I’d drag him off to the nearest no-tell motel and have my wicked way with him. Even better if it was on a Wednesday so I could get the senior citizen discount.”

  Emma smothered the laugh that rose in her throat and forced herself to look stern. “Too Much Information, Barb. Seriously, TMI. Let’s stay focused on work-- ”

  “He’s carrying a box.” Barb shot her a knowing look. “A big box.”

  Over the past three months since she’d moved to London to take the director position, Emma had learned many things about the workings of a small town public library which differed greatly from her previous experiences at a big city library. One of those things had been the quirks of her staff. Her previous staff hadn’t called her honey or greeted her with hugs or brought her loaves of homemade cornbread or offered to help her plant herbs in her garden. That was just the way things were done in this small southern town.

  And she’d also learned that once Barb got started on a topic, she was like a hound dog with a bone. She wasn’t going to let go until she’d chewed it to bits.

  Emma knew Barb meant well. The older woman was warm and generous and treated everyone who walked into the library as if they were treasured family members, including Emma. In truth, Barb was like the kind, motherly mom Emma had never had and always wanted, and so long as the subject wasn’t Emma’s love life, it was all good. Unfortunately, Barb’s latest obsession was none other than Emma’s love life, or lack thereof. Such a conversation never would have flown at Emma’s last library, but things were different here in London.

  Deciding this chat would end faster if she just went with the flow rather than trying to swim upstream, she said, “A big box? Maybe it’s a donation of supplies from the firehouse.”

  “It’s not that kind of box. It’s a florist’s box.” Barb’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Honey, he’s bringing you flowers!”

  Emma frowned. “Why on earth would he do that?”

  Barb looked toward the ceiling. “For a smart girl you ask the silliest questions. Why, he’s courting you, of course. Isn’t it romantic?”

  “Actually, no. It’s… unwelcome. And a waste of his time. So I hope you’re wrong.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m never wrong about matters of the heart. I can smell romance like a cat can smell tuna. I’m known here in London as the Kiss Whisperer. You and that handsome young man are, without a doubt, fated to kiss.” She shot Emma a saucy wink. “And a whole lot more.”

  To her chagrin, heat flooded Emma’s face. Great. She hated when she blushed. While some women flushed a pretty pink and looked adorable, Emma turned a horrible mottled scarlet that made her look like she’d been stricken by the measles. Definitely not cute.

  “Well, this time you’re wrong,” Emma said in her most repressive librarian tone. “Nothing’s going to happen between me and him. Nothing.”

  “Pshaw. Why, you haven’t been on a single date since you moved to London. You’re practically a recluse and you’re much too young and pretty for that kind of nonsense. Listen to me, honey. Just because your last beau broke your heart doesn’t mean all men are the south end of a horse. You need to give another man a chance. Like Liam Gallagher. And don’t hold it against him that he’s a fireman. One rotten apple doesn’t mean the whole bushel is bad.”

  Emma mentally kicked herself for telling Barb about her prior relationship. At the end of Emma’s first week of work, Barb had invited her over for a home cooked meal. They’d ended up chatting non-stop and before they’d even made it halfway through dinner, Emma had felt as if she’d known Barb her entire life. Emma hadn’t meant to confess her heartbreak over Brian, but something about Barb just made words fall from Emma’s mouth. The tale had somehow slipped out right after Barb had shared the story of how her forty-year marriage had ended three years prior when her husband left her for one of his co-workers.

  Barb crossed to Emma’s desk and hitched one hip onto the edge. “I care about you, honey. I want to see you happy.”

  Emma reached out and patted Barb’s hand. “I know. And I appreciate your concern. But I’m fine. I just don’t need or want a man cluttering up my life right now.” Right. Especially another fireman. One who no doubt had a mile-long trail of broken hearts strewn behind him.

  “Oh, yes, I’ll agree that men are big clutterer-uppers,” Barb said, nodding. “And Lord knows they can be big pains in the patootey at times, but really they just can’t help it. It’s in their DNA. As my mama used to say, ‘If it has tires or testicles, it’s gonna give you trouble.’” Barb glanced over her shoulder. “And speaking of testicles, he just came through the front door.”

  Emma nearly swallowed her tongue. “We were not speaking of testicles,” she hissed.

  Barb looked at her in surprise. “Well of course we weren’t, honey, any more than we were talking about tires. We’re talking about men.”

  “Fine. The point is I’m swamped this morning and don’t want to see any men.”

  “Don’t worry, honey. You get back to work. I’ll take care of him.”

  “Thank you.”

  Barb blew her a kiss then left the office, closing the door the behind her. Emma heaved a relieved breath and rolled her shoulders to relax some of the tension tightening her muscles. She’d just returned her attention to her spread sheet when she heard the murmur of voices outside the door, one unmistakably Barb’s and the other unmistakably male. Barb laughed then a knock sounded. Before Emma could answer, the door swung open and Barb stood in the doorway, her face creased in a huge smile.

  “Liam Gallagher is here to see you, Emma,” Barb said in a voice that dripped with more butter and sugar than pecan pie, her expression the personification of innocence. Emma treated her to her very best milk-curdling glare, but it bounced off Barb like shrapnel off an armored tank.

  “Go right on in, honey,” Barb said to Liam, stepping from the doorway to give him room. “I’ll get on those flyers you needed, Emma. And I’ll hold your calls so you’re not disturbed. Y’all have a nice chat, ya hear?”

  Before Emma could so much as blink, Liam Gallagher, all 6’4”, brown-haired, hazel-eyed gorgeous inches of him, crossed the threshold. Barb, who Emma could have cheerfully banished to Siberia, waggled her fingers at Emma behind Liam’s broad back then closed the door. After shooting the door a scowl that, if scowls could scorch wood would have rendered Emma’s door blackened and emitting smoke, she turned her attention to her unwanted guest.

  Her office was small and he seemed to take up ninety-nine percent of it. And clearly he breathed too much because it felt like he used up all the oxygen as well. Since she wasn’t quite ready to look into his eyes, she focused instead on the long, white, glossy rectangular florist box cradled in his arms. Or at least she tried to focus on the box, but unfortunately her eyeballs were momentarily distracted by those big strong arms. She zeroed in on the bit of tattoo visible beneath the edge of his T-shirt’s sleeve. To her horror her fingers actually twitched with the desire to pull up that sleeve and take a closer look. Her horror multiplied with the realization tha
t she’d get a much better look if he just took off his shirt.

  She ripped her gaze away from his skin and centered her attention on the box he held. It was tied with a pale pink ribbon and topped with an enormous matching bow. Darn it, pink was her favorite color. And double darn it, she loved flowers.

  “Good morning, Emma.”

  Her gaze jerked up and collided with his at those softly spoken words. Unlike their past encounters when he’d looked at her with teasing, flirtatious warmth, he now regarded her through very serious eyes that looked almost smoky gray today thanks to his black T-shirt. Her inner voice instructed her to stand. To walk to the door. To tell him she was busy, make some excuse about a meeting. To escort him out of her office then close-- and lock-- the door behind him.

  Instead she sat, pinned in place by those eyes, and apparently struck dumb by them as well. Not exactly a moment of shining brilliance.

  He moved forward, stopping when he stood directly in front of her desk. She planted her feet firmly on the floor to fight the urge to give her wheeled chair a mighty shove backwards. Good thing, because all that would have accomplished was crashing into the bookcase behind her.

  He looked about to speak, but then he frowned and peered at her with a quizzical expression. “Are you okay, Emma? You look… flushed.”

  She barely stifled a groan. Clearly she was still blushing and therefore looked like she harbored an infectious disease. Perfect. At least the question jerked her from her mute stupor. “I’m fine, Mr. Gallagher. It’s merely warm in here. Is there something I can do for you? I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time-- ”

  “Actually, yes, you can do several things for me.” He gave her a smile that she’d bet her last dollar made panties melt like ice cream in a blast furnace. “First, you can call me Liam. Mr. Gallagher is my dad. Or my brother. Also belonged to my grandpa. So that name’s pretty well taken.”