Hot Attraction

by Lisa Childs

  He sucked one nipple into his mouth while he teased the other with his thumb and forefinger—rolling it back and forth.

  She squirmed beneath him as she pulled at his clothes—dragging his shirt up, unbuttoning his fly. She was as desperate for him as he was for her.

  He stood up and finished undressing—except for the condom he rolled on. Then he joined her—joined with her—as he thrust inside her tight, wet heat. It felt amazing to be inside her, but he forced himself to pull out and enter her again, deeper this time.

  “Dawson!” Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails nipping into his skin. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss against the side of his neck, where his pulse pounded furiously. Her lips moved lower—down his chest. And she swiped her hot little tongue across one of his nipples.

  The woman drove him out of his mind. And he intended to do the same to her. He reached between them and stroked his thumb over her clit.

  She screamed now, the sound loud and intense as her body spasmed around him. She was coming…

  A few more deep thrusts and he joined her, shouting her name.

  “I’m not falling asleep tonight,” she said, as if warning him. Or giving herself a pep talk. “We’re going to actually talk.”

  He grinned. “Is that a challenge?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but he began to harden again inside her. If the only way to stop her questions was to make love to her, he’d have to make the sacrifice. He’d have to take one for the team…

  14

  SHE COULDN’T RUN a story without confirmation; her producer wouldn’t allow it. And her personal ethics wouldn’t, either. Dawson had given her nothing the night before—aside from hours upon hours of pleasure, of orgasms that had blown her mind and her body. She ached. Not just from what they’d done but because she wanted to do it again.

  He was gone, though. Like the times before, he’d slipped away without a word. She’d awakened alone. But that had been hours ago.

  She’d been working hard since then—working to get confirmation, to track down the story. The whole story.

  “I’m Avery Kincaid from Channel Five out of Chicago,” she said into her cell phone. She stood on her deck, where the reception was better. The lake shimmered in the sunlight.

  Northern Lakes really was a beautiful area.

  “Why are you calling me?” the woman asked on the other end. “Did I win something?”

  From what Avery had read, it looked as if the woman had lost more than most—twenty years ago when her husband had died. “I’m calling about Martin Spedoske,” she said.

  “Don’t you people ever let anything go?” the woman asked wearily. “He died so long ago…” Her voice cracked with emotion, though, as if the pain was still fresh.

  “I’m sorry,” Avery said sincerely. She couldn’t relate to the woman’s loss. But she remembered how scared she’d been when the boys had been trapped in the fire.

  “I should have known…” Mrs. Spedoske murmured “…that it would all get dredged up again because of him.” There was such bitterness in her voice.

  Over the years of her career, Avery had learned that was how some people handled loss or tragedy—or sometimes any adversity. With bitterness. They never got over the anger stage of grief. She could relate. She had been angry when the boys had been in the fire. If it had been deliberately set, she would be even angrier.

  “Him?” she asked.

  “My son.”

  She’d found the woman’s name in the dead Hotshot’s obituary, but there’d been no mention of his having a child. “Who is your son?”

  “Dawson Hess, of course,” she replied. “I thought that was why you were calling—to ask about Dawson.”

  Avery’s heart lurched as she realized this woman wasn’t the only one who’d suffered a loss. Dawson had, too. That was why he’d kept the scrapbook, why he’d memorialized a dead man. Her heart ached for the pain he’d endured as a kid. Was that a pain from which you ever recovered, though?

  “Yes, I am calling about Dawson,” Avery said. “I just needed to confirm the facts. Martin Spedoske was his stepfather?”

  “And his idol.”

  That explained why he’d kept the scrapbook—probably even why he’d become a Hotshot himself. He’d wanted to be a hero, like the hero he’d lost.

  She couldn’t imagine how his mother felt about his following in the footsteps of the husband she’d buried, though. Feeling the woman’s pain, Avery remarked, “It must have been hard for you when your son became a firefighter, too.”

  The woman sighed again, raggedly. “That was when I stopped talking to him,” she said. “And I won’t…”

  A pang struck Avery’s heart—a pang of sympathy for Dawson. His mother had disowned him over his career choice, over his desire to save lives. He wouldn’t have become a Hotshot—wouldn’t willingly have taken on such a risky occupation—if he wasn’t passionate about it. If it wasn’t everything to him…

  “I can understand that you’d worry, but…” Wasn’t Mrs. Spedoske being harsh? Her son needed her support. Her love.

  Her parents had always expressed their love for her and their pride. And all she did was report about heroes; she wasn’t one herself.

  The woman laughed but that, too, sounded bitter. “You can understand, but he can’t. He was there—when we lost Martin. He was there when the press wouldn’t leave us alone. He knows what I went through, the years of therapy. I even put him in counseling. Not that he would talk to the counselor…”

  Avery held in a snort. She wasn’t surprised that Dawson had refused to talk. Every time she’d asked him a question the night before, he’d kissed her…somewhere.

  Mrs. Spedoske continued, “Dawson doesn’t care about what he’s putting me through. I wanted him to become an accountant or engineer.”

  Either profession would have bored him out of his mind. “He doesn’t care that he makes me worry all the time,” she continued. “He doesn’t care about my feelings. I don’t think he ever did. He never understood why I had to talk to the press—how it keeps Martin alive for me. He refused to talk to the reporters. He refused to talk to the counselor.”

  Avery realized the woman had been through a lot, but so had Dawson. It sounded as if she cared only about her own pain, though, and not what her young son must have gone through. While she’d wallowed in what she’d lost, Dawson had moved forward alone, and he’d found a way to honor the man he’d idolized.

  Another pang struck Avery’s heart, but she wasn’t sure what this one was. Could it be love? She’d never felt it before. She’d never had time for love before. She didn’t have time now, either. She wasn’t at the point in her life—in her career—where she could fall now. She was probably going to lose her job if she didn’t come up with a big story.

  She was attracted to Dawson. She appreciated what he’d done for her nephews. She enjoyed making love with him. But it couldn’t be any more than that. They could never have a relationship. Their lives were too different.

  “I am grateful to your son,” Avery said. “If he hadn’t become a Hotshot, I would have lost my nephews. He saved them from a fire some weeks ago.”

  “I thought it was that other firefighter—the one whose parents Martin died trying to save.”

  “Wyatt Andrews found them,” she said. “But Dawson and another firefighter helped saved the kids and Wyatt.”

  The woman began to laugh—almost hysterically. “So that’s why you’re calling, Miss Kincaid from Channel Five in Chicago. There’s your story, huh? How Martin couldn’t save the parents but his stepson saved the boy?”

  Avery tensed as realization dawned. It was actually a great story—one every reporter would have covered had they known the facts. But Dawson didn’t want anyone knowing the facts.

  His aversion to reporters had no doubt started when his mother had forced him to talk to them because she’d wanted the attention.
Maybe that was why he was so willing to give Wyatt all the credit for the rescue.

  Avery wasn’t willing to let Dawson’s heroism go without acknowledgment. Even if she didn’t need a good story to get airtime, she would have run this one. Maybe Dawson would change his mind about reporters when he saw how she handled the story about him. He wouldn’t be the victim of the tragedy that he had been twenty years ago. He would be the hero.

  Her hero…

  *

  FRUSTRATION GNAWED AT DAWSON. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be with Avery. She would only be in town a couple more days. And he wanted to make certain she stayed safe. The only way to do that was to stay with her.

  But he was wedged into the back booth at the Filling Station, Cody on one side and Braden on the other. Wyatt sat across from them with Fiona beside him. Her brother, Matt, sat on the other side of her.

  “Didn’t think you’d be looking for an excuse to buy more beer,” Zimmer remarked to Wyatt, who filled his boss’s mug from the pitcher on the table.

  Dawson held his hand over his mug. He didn’t need any more beer. He needed Avery.

  Cody held his mug out for Wyatt to fill. “What is the excuse?” he asked.

  Fiona’s brother held up a mug. But Wyatt skipped over it. The kid was big, but he wasn’t twenty-one yet. Dawson was kind of surprised he’d joined them. After getting turned down for a firefighting job with the US Forest Service, Dawson had figured he’d be bitter. But he seemed happy with his decision to go back to school. Everything had worked out for the best.

  Matt grinned when his sister smacked his shoulder. And Dawson noticed the glitter of a diamond on her left hand. He knew what the occasion was even before Wyatt announced, “We’re engaged.”

  Cody shook his head. “That’s a terrible mistake.”

  Wyatt sputtered out some curse words as his face flushed with anger.

  And Cody laughed. “Not you. That’s probably the smartest thing you’ve done. Fiona, you’re making a terrible mistake. Why do you keep choosing this schmuck over me? He can’t even find his way out of the woods alone.”

  She laughed. “Like you would ever propose…”

  Cody sighed. “True. I’m not the marrying kind. So I guess I can understand your settling for the schmuck. Of course, that doesn’t mean we can’t have a hot affair.”

  Wyatt sputtered out some more insults, but he was grinning now.

  “Congratulations,” Braden said.

  And Dawson wondered how much that cost him. Their engagement probably reminded him of how recently his ex had remarried. He had to be bitter. The whole team was—for him.

  Dawson studied his friend’s grinning face. Wyatt looked like a man confident in the love of a good woman.

  Fiona O’Brien was an incredible woman. Beautiful. Smart. Empathetic. She understood why they’d chosen to be Hotshots—why it was important for them to help people. That hadn’t always been the case, though. She hadn’t been thrilled when her brother had applied, and she was probably hugely relieved his application had been rejected.

  “Congratulations,” Dawson said sincerely. He was happy for his friends—even as he knew he’d probably never find that happiness himself. Avery Kincaid wasn’t the kind of woman looking for a ring or even a serious relationship. She only wanted a story.

  Maybe it was good that he wasn’t with her, because every time he was it was harder to leave her. He had been attracted; now he was getting attached. Maybe he was even beginning to fall for her…

  “What’s the occasion?” a familiar voice asked.

  He glanced up to find Avery standing at the end of their booth. She was wearing one of her tight dresses—this one was a blue that nearly matched her eyes.

  Cody whistled. And Dawson reacted instinctively with an elbow to his friend’s ribs. Cody yowled.

  “You never learn,” Wyatt said with a pitying head shake, “to stop chasing after other guys’ women.”

  They thought Avery was his woman? That was ridiculous. She wasn’t the kind to belong to anyone but herself. Yet the idea gave him a momentary flash of pride and possessiveness. He’d never felt possessive before. Or jealous.

  He’d never felt a lot of things he now felt for Avery, though. His stomach lurched as fear overwhelmed him. Maybe he wasn’t just beginning to fall. Maybe he already had.

  “We’re celebrating our engagement,” Fiona said, her face glowing.

  Dawson shook his head. “You shouldn’t have told her. It’ll be all over the news now.” He said it as if he was teasing—even though he really wasn’t.

  Avery must have realized that because she glared at him. “I don’t report everything I hear,” she said. “Not unless I can substantiate it…”

  His stomach knotted at her ominous tone. What had she heard? What was she looking to substantiate?

  Wyatt held up his fiancée’s hand. “There’s your substantiation,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind the world knowing this amazing woman agreed to become my wife.”

  “When’s the wedding?” Avery asked.

  “Not until the off-season,” Wyatt replied. “I want to make sure we have a long honeymoon.”

  Fiona giggled, then blushed when her brother groaned in embarrassment.

  “Don’t put that in your report,” Matt implored her. “What are you doing in Northern Lakes? A follow-up on the fire?”

  Even though he hadn’t introduced them, everyone knew who Avery Kincaid was. Her face was famous. Her body was incredible. Dawson shifted in the tight confines of the booth.

  She gazed at Dawson, her stare as skewering as it had been the night before—before he’d distracted her with kisses and caresses…

  He wanted to make that sacrifice again. But he was trapped in the damn booth.

  “I have a couple of ideas,” she said. “A couple different angles I can cover.”

  “Thought it’d be old news by now,” Fiona said. “Nothing’s happened in weeks.”

  “The hot spots—” Matt began.

  “Are nothing unusual,” Dawson interrupted him. “That happens all the time.” When the fire hadn’t been completely extinguished. They had completely extinguished it.

  “Really?” she asked. “It’s been so many weeks since the fire started that you’d think it would be completely out by now.”

  It had been completely out days after it had started.

  “What makes you say that, Ms. Kincaid?” Braden asked. “Have you been researching fires?”

  “Not fires in general,” she replied.

  Just one in particular, Dawson thought. “This isn’t an interview,” he told her. “This is an engagement celebration.”

  “You’re welcome to join us,” Fiona said.

  Avery opened her mouth, but before she could either accept or decline the invitation, sirens pealed out from four cell phones.

  Wyatt cursed. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry—”

  Fiona cut off his apology with a kiss. “Go.”

  Braden and Cody rushed out of the booth, sweeping Dawson along with them. He hesitated briefly next to Avery. He didn’t expect a kiss. But he wanted one.

  She stared up at him, her gaze focused on his mouth—as if she was considering giving him one. But Cody had his arm, dragging him along toward the door.

  “We’ve got something hotter to fight than your reporter,” he said. “And I think Trent might be right. She could be more trouble than even you can handle.”

  Too bad he hadn’t realized that until it was too late. Until he was already in too deep with her…

  15

  AVERY’S HAND TREMBLED as she reached for the doorknob. She wasn’t afraid someone had walked in; she knew she had locked it. Her fear concerned the fire to which the Hotshots had just been called.

  Was it another arson fire?

  Or just another of the mysterious hot spots?

  She cared less about the actual fire, though, and more about the fact that Dawson was out there fighting it. She knew that
was his job—and he was good at it or her nephews wouldn’t be here. But still…

  It was a dangerous job. Just a few weeks before, a Hotshot had died out West when the fire had jumped and consumed him and the pickup he’d been driving. That could have been Dawson; they’d been out West this wildfire season. They had battled that very same blaze.

  The sound of an engine drew her attention away from her door. She glanced down her driveway. No lights shone. Nobody had turned off the street. It wouldn’t have been him, anyway.

  They couldn’t have put out the fire that quickly. And they would have stuck around—would have made sure it was completely out.

  As they’d done with the first forest fire.

  So how did it keep reigniting?

  She had researched fires, just as the superintendent had realized. But there was another subject that kept drawing more of her interest: Dawson.

  She’d learned so much about him—so much of what made him the hero he was. The hero the world deserved to know about…

  She unlocked the dead bolt. As she opened the door, it pushed a piece of paper across the hardwood floor.

  Had another note been shoved under her door?

  She should have been excited—hopeful that this would lead to the story she’d thought she would uncover in Northern Lakes. But irritation had a ragged sigh escaping her lips as she leaned down to pick it up. She had uncovered a story in Northern Lakes—one she had substantiated with that phone interview with Dawson’s mother. With what his friends had admitted he’d done the day of the fire…

  But Dawson didn’t want her to run a story about him. She wanted to respect his wishes, but she didn’t think he would be upset with her, with how she handled it. She would make everyone see how amazing he was.

  How could he be upset about that?

  And she would have an incredible story to present to her producer. One she was able to substantiate.

  Her note-sender was probably just some kook trying to claim responsibility for something even her sister considered an accident. She only had a few days left before she returned to Chicago, so she didn’t have time to investigate the arson claim the way she would need to. Given the amount of airtime the new reporter was getting, she couldn’t even wait until she returned to present her producer with Dawson’s story.