Temptation

by Robin Covington

  “The last thing I need is a little action.” Out of the corner of my eye, I spied the director of the fire department and Liam Conner, my record label president, headed over towards the stage. “I need to behave myself until my new contract is signed.”

  I had a lot of people who depended on my not fucking this up and I owed it to them. Romance—temporary or otherwise—shouldn’t be on my agenda. And I had other shit to figure out. Life for me was complicated and I didn’t have the energy or time to figure out how to fit someone new into the mix.

  In spite of my best efforts, my eyes wandered over to where Max was standing by the stage. Was he waiting for me? Our eyes connected and suddenly my skin was tingly, hot, and too tight. Needing to move and break the tension, I stood up next to Bridget, rubbed my damp hands on my dress, and averted my eyes. Hell, I’d played two sold–out shows at Madison Square Garden—I could handle the hot local firefighter.

  “The label is breathing down my neck to prove that I’m not going to go off the deep–end again. I’ve got a shit–load of my own money invested in a tour that starts in a month and a number of people who depend upon me for their paycheck.” I eyeballed my best friend and drove my point home. “I don’t have time for a relationship.”

  Bridget scoffed and gave me a slow, knowing smile. “Who said anything about a relationship? I was just talking about sex.”

  I stood there as Bridget sauntered away, unable to get in the last word unless I yelled or chased her down. I wasn’t running in these heels. “Damn. I hate it when she does that.”

  “Does what?”

  Startled, I whirled around too quickly and lost my balance, but a strong hand grabbed my arm just in time to keep me from falling over. My hands grasped the torso in front of me—a hard, muscular, male torso. I knew who it was before I looked up.

  “Whoa. Steady there.” Max’s voice was filled with concern and I bit my lip at the sexy, deep tone. If he ever gave up firefighting, he could do phone sex. Just for me. I would pay a lot of money for that.

  I was staring at him and couldn’t stop. His face was finely chiseled along the cheekbones—the skin a golden olive tone. His black hair was cut short and stubble shadowed his strong jaw. I wondered how it would feel against the tender skin of my face, my breasts…

  “You okay?” His brows were scrunched together in worry, his hands tightening their grip on my arms.

  I was… lusting… ogling… wondering what you look like under that uniform… “Fine.” Once again, the telltale hot flash crawled up my skin and I knew I was blushing. I eased his hands off my body, bit back a groan at the loss of his touch, and stepped back. I laughed and gestured towards my shoes. “I’m okay. These shoes…”

  He looked down at my high–heeled sandals and back up at me—a smile tugging at his mouth. Damn, this man was so fine and I know what I’m talking about. Prince Harry, George Clooney, Johnny Depp—I’ve met them all—and they’d never made me feel like this.

  “So, you hate when who does what?” he asked.

  “That was…” About you having sex with me. “Um… nothing.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and glanced over at the Director finalizing all the stuff on the podium. Turning back to me, he offered me his hand with a full, sexy smile that curled my toes. “We haven’t actually met. I’m Max Butler.”

  His accent was movie–star southern, thick but not country–twangy like mine and I responded in my best “Scarlett O’Hara” impression as I took his hand, “My hero!” and giggled as a blush crept up his neck. Jesus, he needed to stop being so damn cute.

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “I’m Kit.” I tugged at my hand but he held it fast. My pulse was thrumming underneath his fingers and I wondered if he could feel it.

  His voice was soft. “I know.”

  I looked around the room and noticed that we were starting to attract attention and, while I liked holding hands with the big, hot guy, this was not the focus I needed right now. The “good girl” plan required by my label didn’t encourage public displays of affection—unless they were arranged by my publicist. I tugged a little harder and he dropped it, raising his own to rake it through his hair, giving it a slightly tousled effect. Probably what he would look like when he first woke in the morning—all drowsy and rumpled.

  Damn Bridget and her suggestions. Now that I had it in my head, I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting to X–rated fantasies of Max.

  His voice pulled me back to the present. “… I have something for you.”

  I blinked several times, trying to focus on his words and not the way his jaw was covered by the beginning of the sexiest dark stubble. “I’m sorry. What?”

  Max’s eyes twinkled mischievously and I wondered if he knew where my thoughts had drifted.

  “I have something for you. The brass wanted me to present it to you at the ceremony but I get the feeling that you wouldn’t want an audience for your reunion.”

  I was now thoroughly confused, craning my neck to watch him as he walked behind the stage, leaned over and picked something off the floor. When he straightened, I saw what he had in his hand and my heart did a somersault, the bottom fell out of my stomach and the tears that would ruin my hour–long makeup job threatened to do their worst.

  My guitar case. Jolene.

  “Oh!” I slapped my shaking hand over my mouth and resisted the urge to knock over the three people in between me and Max and my baby. He sauntered over, holding her as gently as you would a baby, before placing the case on a chair.

  “The case got a little wet from the sprinklers, but I checked her out and she sounds fine. No signs of warping or any damage.”

  I couldn’t speak. What the hell could I say to even touch what I was feeling at the moment? This instrument was more than a bunch of wood and wire. It was the one link I had to my life before Nashville and the girl who existed back then.

  “Oh, my God. Thank you,” I managed to whisper over the tightness that had overtaken my throat. I blinked hard and fast, willing myself not to give in to the tears that this moment probably deserved. But I was a professional pretender and, while I didn’t think I would mind showing my hand to the man who’d witnessed my panic attack four floors above the ground, I wouldn’t do it in front of all these people. All these strangers. “This is the kindest thing…”

  I leaned over and opened the case and hovered over her. I always did this, savored the moment just before I touched her for the first time. This guitar was more important to me than any lover, our connection elemental, and I respected the hell out of it. She’d gotten my ass off the street and made it possible for me to take care of the people important to me.

  And with the songs I’d been writing lately, she was going to help me get back on top.

  “We were told that the building and its contents were a total loss. We already filed a claim for the insurance,” I said, finding my voice. I closed my fingers around her neck, cradled her body, and lifted her out of the case. The wood was cool but it would soon warm up to my body temperature, an extension of me in every way. I threw the strap over my neck and felt myself exhale down to my marrow. “I never thought I’d see her again. Jolene belonged to my grandpa.”

  “A Martin 1944 D–28.”

  I looked up at Max, not even trying to hide the surprise on my face. “You know guitars?”

  “A little. My Grandpa Butler loves them and I absorbed a little over the years.”

  I experimented with a soft strum, testing the sound. She sounded wonderful. “You play?”

  “Doesn’t everybody who was raised in this town?” He was quick to add, “Not well enough to do justice to this beautiful lady.”

  He reached out to touch me, his long fingers stroking the neck with a reverence that told me he understood how special she was. He brushed my hand and I closed my fingers over his, giving them a squeeze that didn’t even come close to expressing my thanks.

  Max raised his eyes from my guitar to look a
t me and I caught my breath at the connection that arced between us. It was like Jolene was a conduit for all the untapped, raw interest we had in each other. I knew then that my attraction wasn’t one–sided. If I wanted it, all I had to do was reach out and take it. Max would meet me more than half way.

  Someone bumped into me from behind and I snapped back to the present. The room was even more crowded than before and people were watching us. I closed my eyes, centering my emotions and putting on my game face. When I opened them again, Max was starting at me, confusion clouding his eyes.

  He started to speak, but the sight of the Director taking the podium signaled that the ceremony was about to begin. I reluctantly put Jolene away and tucked her case behind the stage. We took our seats next to each other on the dais and listened while Director Bates praised his firefighters for their bravery and dedication to the people of Nashville. I wholeheartedly agreed; their bravery have saved me from an untimely death, but I couldn’t focus because right now I felt really, really alive.

  Max was sitting close enough for me to feel the heat pouring off his body and it kept my senses on high alert. I shifted in my seat to ease the tension building in my belly.

  Maybe Bridget was right. It had been too long.

  Finally, we stood up so I could present Max with his commendation. Next to me, he stood at attention as the Director read aloud the account of his brave actions the night he’d saved me from the fire. Max looked tense, uncomfortable; as if he disliked all of the attention. I put it in the column of one more thing I liked about him.

  The Director finished his recitation and turned to me, handing over the ribbon to pin on Max’s chest. I reached up to do my duty, but hit a snag right away—he was too tall for me to reach comfortably without having my skirt ride up and show the whole world my assets. He looked confused by the delay until I motioned for him to lean down a little—a move that caused a ripple of laughter in the crowd and a small smile to form on Max’s lips and soften his features.

  Tearing my eyes away from his face, I focused on the task at hand and murmured so only he could hear, “Thank you for saving my life.” My hands were shaky with emotion as I struggled to get the ribbon pinned on his chest.

  “Well, I couldn’t let you die in a bathroom, now could I?”

  I laughed softly. “No, I guess you couldn’t.”

  Finished with his ribbon, I rested my hands on his chest and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

  Under my hands, his chest constricted with his swift intake of breath at the moment my lips touched his skin. I inhaled deeply, soaking in his scent of cedar wood, citrus, and warm male while the blood pounded in my ears and my skin grew warmer. Pulling away, we both exhaled slowly as our eyes locked in a heated exchange of shock and desire.

  There was no mistaking the look of desire in his eyes, and I’m sure it matched the one in my own. I wanted him with jaw–clenching intensity and the part of me that was all woman unfurled after being packed away for so long. I might as well have been back on that fire escape, because this felt just as dangerous. More dangerous.

  Behind me, the gathered paparazzi began to call out above the murmuring of the crowd.

  “Give him a real kiss, Kit!”

  “Is that how you thank a hero?”

  “Kiss him!”

  At the sound of their voices, I glanced over my shoulder. Everyone was smiling encouragingly; the press wanted the photo, the other firefighters were cheering on their boy.

  I looked back at Max for his opinion.

  A smirk pulled at the edge of his lips. “I did save your life.”

  I narrowed my eyes, not really mad at the suggestion. “That’s not fair.”

  He shrugged his shoulders the slightest bit and grinned. “Chicken?”

  Oh. Hell. No.

  Determined and rising to the bait, I lifted my face, slowly closing the distance between our mouths. This would be quick, fun and flirty, and over before it began.

  I had no fucking clue what I was talking about.

  The first press of our mouths was like being hooked up to a live wire. We both broke contact in surprise but quickly began again, the lure of such intense pleasure already addictive.

  I was the one who took it deeper, running my tongue along his, dipping inside to taste him. I couldn’t help myself; it was like putting my favorite dessert in front of me and saying that I could only have a sample. Good luck trying to stop me.

  Max groaned and grabbed my hips, his fingers lightly digging into my flesh—tugging me closer and turning the kiss hotter, wetter. His mouth slanted over mine and his tongue stroked past my lips, taking what he wanted and what I freely gave. My knees went weak, and I clutched the fabric of his uniform, holding him close as the kiss went on and on.

  The sound of whooping and clapping startled me and snapped me back to reality. This wasn’t good.

  I distanced myself from Max, only far enough away to end the kiss but not far enough to lose the physical contact of his hands on me. I was breathing hard, my breasts swollen under the tight dress, my lips tender and tingly. Max was panting, his face hard and eyes hot.

  Painfully aware of our audience and my management and label President glaring at me from the other end of the room, I tried to pull back further but Max shook his head, holding me in his grip.

  “We shouldn’t have done that,” I said.

  “Maybe not, but I want to do it again,” he answered, his smile intimate and naughty enough to make me shiver. “And I want to do more.”

  I sucked in a breath. I had thought the fire was dangerous, but I was wrong. Max was the thing I needed to worry about.

  “You’re no angel,” I whispered.

  “I’m glad you finally figured it out.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Max

  “I still can’t believe you kissed her.”

  I paused in my inventory of the truck equipment and shot a look over my shoulder towards Dean, who was leaning against the threshold of the open bay doors of the firehouse. It was a gorgeous early summer day and I was happy to take on a duty that let me enjoy the outdoors for a while. Turning back to my task, I replied. “Actually, she kissed me.”

  Dean scoffed. “Technically.”

  “No, not technically, asshole.”

  Dean laughed in my face, ignoring my shitty tone. “Well, you did kiss her back and I know I saw a little tongue action.”

  The sight of his waggling eyebrows made me laugh out loud. He wasn’t wrong. I’d seen the video of the kiss over and over, and sure enough, it was clear that the kiss was way more than a TV kiss peck of the lips. In fact, some commenters on YouTube said that it should be marked as inappropriate for people under eighteen. My mother had even called and lectured me on the types of kisses that were appropriate in a public forum.

  The Director had flagged me down after the press conference and chewed my ass about proper conduct in uniform, but it rolled right off my back since I could still taste Kit on my lips.

  I turned, crossed my arms, and leaned against the truck. “I wish everyone would stop talking about it. It was a little publicity stunt and it’ll never happen again.”

  “Frustrated much? Wishing that Kit would take that kiss a lot further?”

  “Fuck, yeah.” I wasn’t going to deny it. I wanted her and now that I’d gotten a sample of just how sweetly hot she was, my bad mood was directly related to the lack of opportunity to pursue it. “I haven’t heard from her since she was swept away by her management team right after the press conference. I don’t have her number to call her.”

  “You could call her manager,” Dean suggested. “I’m sure he’d be happy to organize your booty call.”

  “Fuck off.” I didn’t want to do that, but it looked like the joint PR events might not be happening after all. If I wanted my shot with Kit, calling her handler might be my only option. I’d give it another day. “At least the press stopped following me around.”

  “Is that one reporter still calling
you?”

  “The guy from the Daily Scoop?”

  “That the douchebag from the ceremony?”

  “Yeah. He somehow got my cell phone number and he’s even approached my mom at work. There’s no way in hell I’m going to give him a story, but he still keeps calling.” I curled my hands into fists; I’d made sure he’d gotten the message the last time he’d shown up in person. That dude could haul ass when he needed to and my six–feet–three–inches in his face was good motivation. “He threatened me the last phone call; told me that if I wasn’t part of the solution then he’d make it my problem and get the scoop on me, as well.”

  “You? What could he possibly have on you?” Dean asked.

  “Nothing. Even the last time I was hauled into the Captain’s office for fighting in a bar was old news. But, we both know the Director wouldn’t like any kind of bad publicity and it could screw up my chance at promotion.” I squinted into the sun shining into the firehouse, and counted down the six weeks until I could put in my request for a team leader position. At twenty–three, I was still junior to lots of the guys who would apply, and my chances weren’t great, but I needed to send a message that I wanted it. My interest would lead them to offer me lesser opportunities and that would make me more competitive the next time I applied. The politics of the job were not my strong point, but I was learning. Moving up in the ranks was determined by more than running into burning buildings. “All he wants is some dirt on her so he can get a byline, and he doesn’t care who he hurts to get it.”

  I’d lived in the Nashville my whole life and it didn’t take long to notice how the press constantly hounded the local celebrities. Yeah, they’d chosen a career in the public eye and it wasn’t as bad as what people talked about in Hollywood or New York, but there had to be limits. Being a fan, I’d followed Kit’s stories this past year and rooted for her to pull out of her tailspin. Her crash and burn had rivaled Britney—minus the extreme haircut—but she was clearly trying to get beyond that and all this guy wanted to do was tear her down for the price of daily tabloid cover price.