Red Hot

by Lisa Childs

  She just hadn’t been aware that she was…until she’d seen him, lifting weights—his naked arms and chest straining, muscles rippling, skin glistening with sweat. Her mouth dry again, she wondered where the drink was that she’d ordered when she’d walked in. And then it suddenly appeared on the table in front of her. She grabbed the glass and took a quick sip.

  And gasped as the fiery liquid burned her throat. This wasn’t the club soda she’d requested. It tasted more like gin than tonic water.

  Howard was talking—something about busy schedules or sticking to schedules. She barely heard him as she looked up to tell the waitress that the bartender had gotten her drink wrong. Since she hadn’t seen a waitress when she’d walked in, she’d given her order directly to him. But it wasn’t a waitress who stood beside the booth.

  It wasn’t Wyatt, either. This man was nearly as tall and muscular, though. But while Wyatt’s hair was dark and too long, this man’s was light and clipped short. His eyes were light, too, a pale green. Was he a waiter? A different bartender from the one she’d spoken to?

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  Howard thought she was talking to him. “You’ve already apologized,” he said. “I understand you need to talk to your brother. We’ll see each other next week.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Goodbye…”

  Howard had already clicked off the phone. She did the same and dropped her cell back into her purse.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again to the man leaning over her booth—over her. She raised her voice so that he would hear her. “But this isn’t the drink I ordered.”

  “I know,” he said as he slid into the booth to sit across from her. “I ordered this drink for you.” He held a frosted mug of beer, which he clinked against the glass she hadn’t realized she was still holding. “Cheers to the most beautiful woman in the place.”

  She glanced around and discovered that the only other woman had left. And despite herself, she laughed.

  He sucked in a breath. “Beautiful doesn’t even do you justice.”

  Oh, God, she’d inadvertently encouraged him. She pushed the drink toward him. “No, thank you,” she told him. For the drink and the compliment. “I’m waiting for someone.”

  “He’s too late.”

  She wondered what was keeping Wyatt, and that damn image flashed through her mind again—of him standing naked in the shower, water sluicing over his skin and muscles…

  Despite the sudden dryness in her throat, she didn’t reach for the glass again. The last thing she needed was alcohol. Her judgment was already impaired, or she wouldn’t keep thinking of Wyatt Andrews…naked.

  “He’ll be here soon,” she said. But she really had no idea. Maybe this was a joke—sending the woman he apparently considered frigid into a bar full of men.

  The guy sighed. “What a waste…” he remarked. “A woman like you waiting for an idiot like him.”

  “You don’t know who I’m waiting for,” she said. She considered Wyatt Andrews a lot of things: arrogant, reckless, insufferable. But he was no idiot.

  “He’s a fool for making a woman like you wait,” he said. “I would never do that to you.”

  She was tempted to laugh again. But she’d already encouraged this man too much. So she assumed the icy demeanor she used to dissuade men like him—the same demeanor she’d previously used with Wyatt Andrews. No wonder he’d thought she was frigid. Hopefully this man would, too.

  “You can keep your drink,” she said, pushing it closer to him. “And your opinion.”

  He laughed now and held up his hands. “To inspire so much loyalty in you, this must be some amazing guy you’re meeting.”

  “I am,” a deep voice said—too close to her ear—as Wyatt Andrews slid into the booth to sit next to her. His hard body, smelling shower fresh, pressed against her side. Shoulder against shoulder, hip and thigh against hip and thigh.

  Heat flashed through her. She was definitely not frigid. “There you are,” she murmured.

  Instead of taking the hint and leaving, the other man tipped back his head and laughed. “Wyatt. I should have known it was you she was waiting for.”

  “Why?” The question slipped out without her realizing it. But she wanted to know.

  The blond guy readily replied, “Who else would have staked a claim on the most beautiful woman in the bar?”

  “I’m the only woman,” she reminded him. “And Wyatt has no claim on me.”

  “Well, if that’s the case…” He pushed her drink across the narrow table.

  She’d inadvertently encouraged him again. Maybe that was why she didn’t protest when Wyatt slid his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer—as if it were possible for them to get any closer.

  No space separated their bodies.

  She could feel his heart beating against the side of her breast. It was beating fast and hard. Unfortunately so was hers.

  “Get lost, Cody,” he told the other man. “I apparently have to stake my claim.”

  She turned her face toward him, to protest his arrogance. But her lips barely opened before his mouth covered hers. Like his body, it was hot and sexy. He took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss, flicking his tongue inside her mouth.

  Heat rushed through her. It wasn’t anger. Or even embarrassment. It was desire.

  Did he feel it, too? He slid his lips across hers, back and forth, and dipped his tongue inside once more, stroking over hers. Teasing her.

  God, he was teasing her.

  She realized it when he pulled back, and his blue eyes glittered as he stared at her. She was the idiot—not Wyatt. She glanced across the table to the man who’d called him that. But the blond guy was gone.

  They were alone. And still much too close together.

  “Are you going to slap me again?” he asked, almost hopefully.

  So she lifted her hand to his face.

  *

  WYATT WAITED FOR the sting of her palm connecting with his skin. He needed a hard slap to snap him out of it—out of his gut-clenching desire for her. His body was hard and aching.

  But instead, her fingertips glided along his jaw. “You’d like that too much,” she said. “I did figure you for that S&M stuff.”

  “Not me,” he protested. “I’m into pleasure—not pain.” Being with her would certainly be pleasurable. She was so hot—so passionate. But being with her would also lead to pain—to commitments, to ultimatums.

  Her fingers lingered on his chin, almost absently stroking along his jaw. “You didn’t shave.”

  “I didn’t want to keep you waiting too long.” He glanced toward where Cody Mallehan stood at the bar. His team member and friend lifted his beer mug in a salute. “It looks like I was nearly too late.”

  “He said you were,” she admitted as she glanced at the bar, too.

  “He would,” he said. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

  “He is good-looking,” she murmured as she continued to look toward the bar and Cody.

  Was she actually attracted to his friend? When Wyatt had found them in the booth at the back of the bar, she’d been acting all ice queen again.

  “I thought he was bothering you,” Wyatt said.

  “So that’s why you kissed me?” she asked. “To get rid of him?”

  “Of course.” But he nearly choked on the lie. He should have ordered a beer when he’d walked in; then he would have had something to wash it down with and something to cool off the desire still burning inside him. He had kissed her because he’d wanted to since she’d slapped him earlier. And now, after kissing her once, he wanted to kiss her again.

  And more…

  He wanted to do more than kiss her.

  God, he needed a drink. He had no more than entertained the thought than a beer appeared at his elbow. He glanced up at the bartender who’d brought it over. Since Wyatt was a regular, the guy had probably known what he wanted. He reached for his wallet.

  But th
e bartender shook his head. “Cody sent it over. He said you won this round.” He slid a drink toward her, too. “And here’s the club soda you ordered.” He headed back toward the bar.

  “Cody’s not the only one who thinks he’s God’s gift,” Fiona murmured. “You two have some kind of rivalry over women?”

  “Over most things,” Wyatt admitted. “We work together.”

  “Then thank you,” she said, “for getting rid of him. I kept inadvertently encouraging him.”

  “Breathing is all the encouragement Cody needs to hit on a woman,” Wyatt said. “But why does it matter that he works with me?”

  Because she was interested in him?

  She had kissed him back. Hadn’t she? He’d been so into her—into tasting and feeling and exploring her mouth that he hadn’t noticed if he’d been the only one feeling it. Feeling the desire. The passion…

  She shuddered as if revolted. “I would never date a firefighter.”

  Pride stinging, he asked, “Why not?” Not that he wanted to date her. He didn’t actually date, anyway.

  “Too great a risk.”

  And that was why he didn’t want to date her or women like her who considered his career too dangerous. He wanted the women who were attracted to the excitement and glamor of his job. And there were always plenty of them around. Not tonight, though.

  He glanced around the bar and noticed it was men only. Where the hell were all the women?

  “I’m taking off,” Cody said as he stopped by their booth again. “This place is dead tonight. Everybody’s at that new club opening across town.”

  Everybody except the regulars who worked in the immediate area.

  “Why aren’t you?” Wyatt asked.

  Cody shrugged. “They’re focusing on bringing in the female clientele.”

  “I repeat—why aren’t you?”

  “They’re using male strippers to do that.” Cody shuddered as Fiona had only moments earlier—with pure revulsion.

  “Can’t stand the competition?” Wyatt teased.

  The other man shrugged. “I already lost once tonight.” He glanced wistfully at Fiona. “It was nice meeting you.”

  She lifted her glass. “Thanks for the drink, but I prefer the club soda.”

  Cody pointed to Wyatt’s glass. “I wouldn’t have too many of those. Captain Zimmer has that feeling.”

  Wyatt nodded. “I know. He’s all tense and edgy.”

  “A fire’s gotta be getting started,” Cody said. “Somewhere…”

  A fire was, but it was inside Wyatt, a burning desire for a certain redhead.

  “It’s too cold around here. So it’s gotta be out west,” Cody said—almost hopefully. Travel was likely the part Cody enjoyed most about being a Hotshot. Probably because the guy was rarely able to stay in one place for very long. “I’m going back to the firehouse to check in with him.” He nodded at Fiona again before turning away.

  She looked a little wistful as she watched Cody walk out of the bar.

  Something tightened Wyatt’s stomach muscles into a knot again, but it wasn’t desire this time. It was something that Wyatt didn’t recognize because he’d never felt it before—at least not until he’d caught Braden watching her walk away earlier. Jealousy?

  “He’s gone,” she said.

  “Yeah…”

  She shoved against his side. “You can move to the other side of the booth.”

  It would have been the smart thing to do—to get some distance between them so that he stopped torturing himself with her closeness, with her heat…

  And Wyatt always did the smart thing. That was why his job wasn’t overly dangerous. Like all of the forest service firefighters on the specialized team called Hotshots, he was well trained, and he knew what he was doing. The same went for Wyatt’s personal life—he knew what he was doing and never got into a situation that would put his heart or his livelihood at risk. But he didn’t move. In fact he leaned a little closer to her, his lips nearly brushing her ear. She smelled fresh and flowery, and he breathed in her scent like he breathed in air.

  “It’s loud in here,” he pointed out. The bartender must have turned up the jukebox; Wyatt would have to make sure to leave him a tip. “We’ll have to shout if I move across the table.” As he spoke, his lips did brush over her ear.

  And she shuddered. He didn’t think it was with revulsion this time. No. He wasn’t the only one who’d felt the desire.

  “It is loud in here,” she agreed.

  He grinned. Obviously, she didn’t want him to move, either.

  But then she continued, “Too loud to talk.”

  “We could go to my place,” he offered. “It’s close.” And he was an idiot for suggesting it. What had happened to his usual sense of self-preservation?

  She shook her head, and the lock of hair that had escaped that tight knot on the back of her head brushed across his jaw. He shuddered now as his body reacted to the touch of silk against his skin.

  He should have been relieved that she’d refused his offer—that she realized what a bad idea it was, too. But disappointment slowed his racing pulse. “I thought you wanted to talk about Matt.”

  A little line formed between her reddish brows. “I do. I want to talk about his crazy idea to quit college and become a firefighter.”

  He tilted his head and furrowed his brow—as if he was having trouble hearing her. “Crazy what?” he asked.

  “Decision to become a firefighter,” she said. “And not just any firefighter, he wants to become a Hotshot.”

  That was crazy. Seriously crazy. “We do need to talk,” he said. “But we can’t do it here.”

  She leaned closer now—as if she hadn’t heard him that clearly, either. Her brow furrowed again, and he could see the indecision in her green eyes. “I really want to talk…”

  “So come home with me,” he urged her. The urgency was all his, clamoring inside him with that desire. “Come home with me…”

  4

  “HE WANTED ME to go home with him.” Outrage coursed through Fiona as she raised her voice loud enough to be heard over the blaring music that pulsed throughout the new club. Were there no quiet places left in the usually sleepy town?

  Tammy leaned across the glass and neon bar to wave down the bartender with a twenty, like all the other women vying for drinks. She turned back to remark, “Maybe you should have.”

  Fiona gasped—though she shouldn’t have been surprised. Tammy never turned down an opportunity to enjoy herself. And she would have enjoyed herself with Wyatt Andrews.

  Fiona might have—if she’d been able to forget who and what he was and just focus on all those sleek muscles and his lips…

  They’d tasted of decadence and had been as intoxicating as the drink his friend had bought her. What would they have felt like on other parts of her body?

  She shook her head—shaking off Tammy’s suggestion and her own temptation. And she had been tempted—so tempted that instead of thinking to suggest a quieter place to talk, she’d made an excuse and hurried from the loud bar to a louder bar. “That’s crazy…”

  As crazy as her coming here—to a nightclub full of tipsy women drooling over male strippers. But she’d wanted to vent to her friend about what a jerk Wyatt Andrews was, and Tammy had already been pulling into the parking lot of this place. Her friend was dressed in a bright yellow dress—meant to draw the attention of every man in the place. Unfortunately for Tammy, the crowd was predominantly female.

  If Wyatt had wanted just a hookup for the night, he should have come here—instead of meeting her at the neighborhood bar. Maybe he had only intended to talk to her. But then why hadn’t he suggested a quiet coffee shop? Why his home?

  The bartender took Tammy’s twenty, but the pretty brunette shook her head to refuse a drink. She only wanted change. Moments later she victoriously held up her handful of dollars. With her free hand, she grabbed Fiona’s and tugged her along as she headed toward the dance floor.

/>   The place was all neon and glittering black surfaces and glass. It glowed with bright colors—which made Tammy blend in while Fiona, still dressed in the beige suit from work, stood out.

  She tried to dig in her heels and stop Tammy from dragging her along. But her friend was freakishly strong. Or Fiona was a wimp. She was going with Tammy whether she wanted to or not. And she didn’t want to.

  At all.

  She had been more tempted to go home with Wyatt Andrews. He may have just wanted to talk. These guys wanted tips and seemed willing to do anything—or anyone—in order to get them.

  Men danced among all the women on the floor. Or they danced around them, gyrating and pulling off their costumes as they did. The women danced with the male strippers and clapped and cheered. Some laughed, some giggled and shrieked.

  Fiona watched in disgust. This might be other women’s fantasies, but to her, and the life insurance agent in her, it was a bad joke. All those good-looking men were dressed as the most hazardous professions—police officers, marines, navy SEALS, race car drivers, construction workers, FBI agents and, of course, firemen.

  Tammy danced with the firefighter, and as she did, she slid dollar bills into the waistband of the pants hanging low on his lean hips. Of course, he wore no shirt, just suspenders stretched over his waxed and shiny chest. He wasn’t nearly as muscular as Wyatt. But then he wasn’t a real firefighter. He wasn’t Wyatt. While he swiveled his hips for Tammy, he winked at Fiona. He was probably only flirting because he wanted money from her, too. Why had Wyatt flirted with her? Just to mess with her?

  Eventually, Tammy ran out of dollar bills and tugged Fiona’s hand to pull her back to the bar. “This time I actually need a drink,” she said, fanning herself. “You?”

  Fiona already felt as if she’d had too much to drink, even though she’d only taken a sip of that gin and tonic. Why else hadn’t she slapped Wyatt Andrews for kissing her as boldly as he had? Why had she thought about, for just that fleeting moment, going home with him?

  Because of Matthew. She needed to talk to Wyatt about her brother.

  “Red wine?” Tammy asked.

  Fiona shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “You don’t have to work in the morning,” Tammy reminded her. “Which is another reason you should have gone home with the hunky firefighter.”