by Lisa Childs
Friday night dinner. An occasional after-dinner romp between the sheets. But those romps had never made her feel like Wyatt Andrews’s kisses had. She had never wanted Howard the way she wanted Wyatt.
What was wrong with her?
Howard was stable and safe. He was good-looking, too, in that sexy nerd kind of way she’d always found most attractive. She’d always preferred brain over brawn…until now.
Until Wyatt.
But then, he wasn’t just brawn. There was more to him than she’d realized. He had a psychology degree. Was he messing with her? Manipulating her?
Maybe. For Matthew, it was a risk she was willing to take. Because Wyatt was right. She couldn’t get through to her brother. He would never listen to her.
But he would listen to Wyatt. She just had to get Wyatt to tell her brother what she wanted him to hear. And he’d suggested the way she could get him to do that. By doing him… If not for that kiss, she might have thought he’d been joking. He had a warped sense of humor—warped toward naughtiness. But the way he’d kissed her…
She shivered at just the thought of his mouth moving over hers. What if she actually made love with him…
She shook her head, trying to get the image from her mind. It wouldn’t come to that. She wouldn’t let it. But it had already gone too far.
She pulled her car to the curb beside Howard’s house. Dread filled her. He had been so disappointed the night before when she’d forgotten their date. She hoped he wouldn’t be too upset over her ending their relationship.
She didn’t want to hurt him. He deserved better, though. He deserved a woman who wanted him the way she wanted Wyatt Andrews. She drew in a breath and braced herself to open the car door and confront him. But she’d only reached for the handle when she saw him.
Howard strode toward the front door of his tidy brick Colonial. But he wasn’t alone. His arm was wound tightly around the slender shoulders of the blonde woman at his side. He stopped at the door, but instead of opening it, he pulled the blonde up against him. His hands slid over her ass, pressing her into his hips. And he kissed her.
The woman linked her arms around his neck and kissed him back with passion and familiarity.
Fiona wasn’t jealous, but her mercurial temper ignited. She didn’t remember opening the car door. But she was suddenly standing on the sidewalk right in front of them. She cleared her throat of her anger and disgust. “Excuse me…”
Howard jumped and stumbled back from the woman. “What the hell—”
“Exactly,” Fiona said. “What the hell?”
“Who are you?” the woman asked.
And suddenly everything made sense. There was a reason she only saw Howard one night a week and it had nothing to do with his being too busy or her being too busy. It was the way he’d wanted it. It was the reason he hadn’t been able to reschedule their missed date to another night.
She held out her hand toward the blonde. “I’m Friday night. I’m assuming you’re Saturday?”
“Fiona,” Howard said, his voice sharp with disapproval and panic.
The woman’s eyes widened with sudden realization. “He sees you on Fridays?”
Fiona shook her head. “Not anymore. Maybe you can get both nights.” She turned away and headed back down the sidewalk toward her vehicle. That had been a hell of lot easier than she’d imagined. She should have been relieved. But she was still pissed.
At herself more than at him. She’d been a fool. Why hadn’t she ever questioned why he’d had so little time for her? Maybe because she hadn’t wanted more with him.
“Fiona,” he said. “Don’t go…”
She was already gone.
And apparently the blonde was leaving, too, because he called out, “Brenda, don’t go!”
Fiona swallowed a chuckle, more amused than angry now. Unfortunately, he probably had a Thursday and Sunday afternoon, too. So he wouldn’t be alone for long.
But then, maybe neither would she…
*
WYATT STEPPED INTO the Northern Lakes Fire Station and headed, feet dragging with reluctance, toward Braden’s office. After last night he’d be lucky if he still had a job. But he couldn’t avoid his boss any longer. He rapped his knuckles against the open door, as he had at Fiona’s office, and stepped inside. While Fiona’s office had been refined and elegant, Braden’s desk was heavy, dinged up and metal, which was rusting slightly. And the walls were cement blocks painted almost the gray of their original color.
“I checked the campsites in the national forest,” he said. “No sign of any fires…” Just like when Dawson had checked the night before. But he refrained from reminding his boss of that.
“Yet,” Braden murmured. “No signs yet.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a fire your sixth sense was warning you about,” Wyatt suggested. “Maybe it was last night…”
Braden glanced up and glared at him. But then his gaze focused on the bruise on Wyatt’s face and he chuckled.
“You don’t look much better,” Wyatt said. But maybe he shouldn’t have reminded him of the scratches on his arms and his neck from where the women had tried to tear off his T-shirt.
Too late. Braden winced and touched one of the angrier-looking gouges in his skin. “Yeah, going to that club—that was a great idea.”
“Not one of my better suggestions,” Wyatt admitted.
“You did it to check up on her.”
“Who?”
“Your friend’s sister,” Braden said, then wistfully added, “Fiona…”
Just the sound of her name had desire punching him like a blow to the gut.
“I didn’t know she’d be there.”
“Then it was just luck that we showed up when we did,” Braden skeptically remarked. “You rescued her from that guy at the bar.”
“Hey, don’t be jealous,” Wyatt teased. “I rescued you from those drunk women on the dance floor.”
Braden touched his scratches and winced again. “You took your time.”
“I couldn’t tell if you were enjoying it or not,” Wyatt admitted.
Braden glared at him.
“Hey, women were literally ripping off your clothes—what’s not to enjoy?”
The glare got sharper and more pointed.
Wyatt touched his chest, checking for a hole—because his boss was nearly boring one through him with that angry stare. “I already admitted it wasn’t my best idea.”
“Is Fiona?” Braden asked.
His heart started pounding harder and faster at just the sound of her name. “Is Fiona what?” But he knew…
“Your best idea?”
He couldn’t deny that he was attracted to her. Because he was, generally, an honest man, he shook his head. “No, she’s not.”
“You’re ignoring your own advice?”
“I probably would,” he admitted, “if the lady was interested. But she’s not.”
Braden’s mouth curved into a mocking grin.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Wyatt said. “I must be losing my mojo, huh? She’s not interested, and you’re the one whose clothes women are tearing off.” Acting befuddled and disappointed, he scratched his head. Well, he wasn’t actually acting disappointed. He was. About Fiona…
Not the women ripping off his clothes. He glanced at Braden’s scratches and shook his head again.
The captain pointed toward the doorway behind Wyatt. “I think someone’s looking for you…”
He heard the heels first, clicking against the cement floor. Braden must have heard them, too. Maybe the captain’s sense of hearing was as acute as his sixth sense about fires. Along with the click of her heels, there was the electronic beep of a cell phone announcing either a text, email or voice mail.
At least, his beeped for all of those messages. But it had been curiously quiet lately. He’d been harassing Braden to get back out there, but now Wyatt realized how long it had been since he’d dated anyone—or even hooked up with anyone.
Maybe
that was why he was so attracted to Fiona O’Brien. He’d just been suffering from female deprivation.
“You don’t know it’s her,” Wyatt said. He had made a false assumption the last time she’d come to the station, mistaking her for Braden returning to the workout room. But his quickening pulse told him that it was her—even before she came around the corner, the fluorescent lights making her red hair shimmer.
She didn’t see him; instead she was focused on her phone, probably reading a text. Whatever it said had that glint of anger flashing in her green eyes.
“What has Matt done now?” he asked.
“Matt?” Braden asked.
She slid her phone into her briefcase-style purse and looked up—at his boss instead of him. “Matthew Hamilton. He’s my brother. Don’t you know him? He applied to be a firefighter.”
Braden shot a significant glance at Wyatt. He recognized the name; he never forgot the name of an applicant.
Wyatt answered for him, “The captain can’t discuss candidates with anyone.”
She looked at him, then back at Braden, who nodded his head in confirmation. He couldn’t discuss candidates with anyone outside the team. Hell, he couldn’t even discuss the process with Wyatt since he wasn’t on the hiring committee. The application process had to be wrapping up soon, though. All decisions were usually made—rejection letters sent—before wildfire season officially began. So if Matt was going to become a firefighter, he probably would have received interview callbacks already. And if he had, he would have shared that news with Wyatt.
Wyatt should have explained to Fiona that she had nothing to worry about with her brother. But then she would have no reason to keep seeking him out.
And he liked that she’d come to see him again.
From inside her bag, her phone beeped again.
She glared at her purse as if it was responsible for the beeping.
“That’s not Matt,” Wyatt surmised. She wouldn’t be so irritated with her brother contacting her. He’d seen how much she loved him.
“It’s nothing,” she murmured. Forcing a smile, she focused on Braden again. At least he hoped she was forcing that smile, because it was entirely too bright, too beautiful, to be wasted on Braden. But then, she was apparently only flirting, because she nearly batted her lashes as she coyly asked, “You really can’t talk about my brother’s application?”
The captain’s eyes wide with appreciation for her beauty, he shook his head regretfully.
And that annoying twinge of jealousy struck Wyatt again.
Then Braden added, “Legally we can’t discuss applicants with anyone not involved in the hiring process.” He gave Wyatt a pointed stare—probably to remind him that he wasn’t involved in that process and had no business discussing an applicant with anyone for any reason.
“I should be involved,” Fiona said. “No one knows my brother better than I do.”
Wyatt knew the kid better than she did. Far better. He knew how strained their relationship was. And if she persisted, she was only going to strain it more—maybe to the breaking point.
He slid his hand around Fiona’s arm and turned her around. “You’re not going to harass the captain about Matt.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“It’s my job to protect the other members of my team,” Wyatt said.
Braden snorted and murmured, “You didn’t do that great a job last night…”
Ignoring his boss, Wyatt continued steering Fiona down the hall toward the exit.
She wriggled her arm free of his grasp. “Are you throwing me out?”
“I’m walking you out,” he said. “I’m a gentleman.”
She snorted now. “Yeah, right. Just earlier today you told me to sleep with you to take my brother out of the running for a Hotshot position.”
He was glad they’d stepped outside the door so Braden wouldn’t have overheard. Although, given the captain’s hearing, he might have. He hadn’t missed the sound of her heels at all. “I didn’t tell you that. There’s nothing you can do about Matt’s application.”
There was nothing she needed to do because Matt wasn’t going to qualify to become a firefighter, let alone a Hotshot. Wyatt had become his mentor for a reason—because the kid had gotten into trouble, and even though it had been as a juvenile, his record wasn’t sealed, and the felony automatically disqualified him as an applicant. Because he’d been Matt’s court-appointed mentor, Wyatt couldn’t tell Fiona about the trouble her brother had been in, though. And Braden had just reminded him that he couldn’t discuss the applicants with anyone. Wyatt might not get fired for crossing the line, but he didn’t want to put the team in jeopardy, either. If Matt thought they’d discussed him and sued…
“Then why did you tell me to do you?”
He chuckled. “I was kidding.” But that wasn’t entirely truthful.
He followed her toward her car—which was parked in the lot next to the department pickup.
“It was just a suggestion,” he said. “More of an offer…”
Her phone beeped again. Maybe it was another guy trying to get her attention. But she was here, with him.
“Is that why you came to see me?” he asked. “You decided to take me up on my offer?”
She glared at him—or maybe she was glaring at that phone. She grabbed it from her bag and pushed a button on the side of it. Before the screen went black as it powered off, he saw one of her texts.
“‘We never said we were exclusive,’” he read over her shoulder. “Ouch…”
“Excuse me,” she said, her face flushing either with anger over his presumptuousness or embarrassment at his finding out what had happened.
“Some dick cheated on you?”
“Howard,” she said his name bitterly.
“A Howard cheats?” he asked. “Sounds like an accountant…”
Her blush darkened to nearly the color of her hair. “He is an accountant.”
He laughed now. “An accountant cheats? Do the statistics support that conclusion?”
“My statistics are for mortality rates,” she clarified. “Not cheating.”
He reached out and fingered a strand of her fiery hair. “With your temper, I think cheating on you probably would lead to mortality.”
She shook her head and, inadvertently or maybe intentionally, tugged her hair free from his grasp. “He’s not worth prison time.”
“He’s not worth your time,” Wyatt readily agreed. “You probably figured him for a better risk, didn’t you?”
She sighed. “He’s right, though. We never said we were exclusive. I just assumed…”
Wyatt cursed. “Don’t make excuses for him. The guy’s an idiot. He had you—he shouldn’t have been seeing other women, too.”
She tilted her head and stared up at him.
“What?”
“I’m surprised you feel that way,” she said. “I didn’t figure you would be a proponent of exclusivity.”
“I’m not a proponent of commitment,” he clarified.
“What’s the difference?” she asked.
“Commitment is promising love, marriage and forever,” he said. And he couldn’t restrain the shudder that rippled through his body. “I can’t make a promise like that…”
She nodded. “Of course not. Why would you make a promise you wouldn’t be able to keep?”
“Why do you think I wouldn’t?”
“A man like you—a Hotshot—can’t promise anyone forever.”
“Not and also keep his job,” Wyatt murmured in agreement. “But exclusivity and commitment are different. While I won’t promise anyone forever, I will promise that while I’m sleeping—” he leaned closer, pressing his chest against her breasts “—with you, you’re the only one I’m sleeping with.”
“I’m not sleeping with you,” she said.
He allowed his disappointment to show. “And I thought that’s why you tracked me down at the firehouse. Again.”
She shook her head.
“I just wanted to talk about…” She glanced down at her phone, as if she expected it to ring even though she’d shut it off.
“Matt?” he prodded her. He suspected Howard was the one on her mind right now, though.
She nodded.
“Then come back to my place,” he suggested. “And we can talk.”
She stared up at him as if considering it.
He expected another rejection, so he was surprised when she nodded.
“I’ll show you where it is,” he offered. And he walked around to her passenger’s side. When she clicked the locks, he slid into the car next to her.
Her hand shook slightly as she reached for the ignition. “We’re just going to talk.”
“Sure,” he said. “But it’s okay if you want to use me to get back at Howard. I’ll make the supreme sacrifice—my body for your vengeance.”
He expected her to laugh or slap him. But she said nothing. Was she actually considering it?
7
“WHAT DID YOU EXPECT? Mirrors on the ceiling and black satin everywhere?”
Wyatt’s question drew Fiona’s attention away from her survey of his home. She knew she’d been openly staring because she was shocked.
“Or a gun rack and animal heads on the walls?”
She laughed. “Maybe. I expected it to be more than a block away from the fire station. Why did you have to ride with me?” She’d thought her car was big until he’d ridden in the passenger’s seat, his shoulder rubbing against hers over the console.
“I wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost.”
“It’s not like it’s out in the wilderness,” she said—which was what she’d expected. She hadn’t expected the little yellow bungalow behind the white picket fence. The walls inside were yellow and white, too. Yellow plaster and white bead board. “You’re a forest ranger. Aren’t you supposed to live in the forest?”
He chuckled. “I’m not Smokey Bear. I am a forest ranger, but this town is actually part of the national forest. So I’m assigned to this area as a firefighter.”
“But you travel all over…” That was part of what Matthew had said he found so exciting about the job. The travel. And the danger…
The women, too.
Fiona hadn’t realized there were firefighter groupies—until she’d seen the women go after the stripper dressed as a firefighter.
