CHAPTER ONE

 

 

AUSTIN

 

 

“Hey, We need that axe.” Our captain barked the order over the comm unit.

 

My fellow firefighter and friend who was working EMS today, Rex Stafford, stood at the ready as I moved toward the home, axe in hand. He and I had been through it all on this job. Knife-wielding drunks who took issue with being cut off in dive bars, his marriage after pretending to be his now wife’s boyfriend three years ago, my avoidance of matrimony, plus too many double shifts to count.

 

Not unlike tonight.

 

But this one felt different.

 

The call had come in just after nine-thirty p.m. A single-level residence in the older but well-maintained part of Pineville. No smoke was visible from the street, but I could smell it. We hustled to the front door; metal clanged against metal, boots thudded, and men spoke in the clipped language of all first responders.

 Rex checked the door for heat. I leaned as far as I could to look through the front window. Couldn’t see through the blinds. Not even a sliver of light. My partner had already checked the doorknob after verifying that the door was cool. I banged on the solid wooden door. The sound echoed on the other side. We waited for a response, but received one over the comm instead of from the homeowner.

“I can see smoke…backslider.” Static popped as Paxton, our lieutenant, relayed his update. The entry call belonged to the captain. Chop through the front door or break the glass? Either would feed the greedy fire what it wanted most—oxygen.

All signs pointed to someone being in bed at this hour on a weeknight, but was the bedroom in this home in the front or the rear? The familiar rush of adrenaline pulsed through my body. Tension, the good kind, the needed kind for this work fueled my senses and sharpened my awareness for all signs of danger. I was ready for whatever lay on the other side of the front door.

“Make an entry, front door.” The second the incident command’s order hit my radio, I entered the house.

“Pineville Fire and Rescue!” Smoke hung high. Zero flames. A female’s cries led me forward through the great room to an arched threshold leading into the kitchen. A dark-haired woman dressed in a mid-thigh length nightshirt stood before me. Outstretched arms flapped a towel toward the oven; inventive curses fell from her full lips. Smoke poured out of the oven.

Her delicate coughs increased, as did the swearing guaranteed to turn a granny’s ears red, continued from the curvy female. And oh hell, the material over her backside hugged her curves. I evaluated the scene even as inappropriate thoughts flashed into my head.

Dammit. Now was not the time to be fantasizing about a victim. It had never happened in all my twelve years as a firefighter, and here I was sporting a hard-on the size of an axe handle.

The goddess before me was too tempting by half. But I had a job to do. Shaking off the unexpected hit of lust, I shouted for an extinguisher. Then, as gently as possible, guided the now silent homeowner by the shoulders away from the open oven.

Her head whipped around to look at me. A flare of panic, then relief, filled her wide hazel eyes as she sagged against me. “I thought I had it out. But it sprang back to life.” Her high-pitched tone gave away the terror she must have been holding onto as she battled the small blaze on her own.

Paxton rushed in and put the fire out in a plume of chemicals. Pulling the too-sexy homeowner further back, she went limp against me. It shouldn’t be possible to feel her tempting curves through the thick material of my turnout gear, and yet it was as if I was scorched. Even more so than the interior of her now ruined oven.

I swung her up into my arms and carried her to the couch in the front room and covered her with the blanket bunched up in its corner. Controlled chaos surrounded us. I grabbed my walkie and spoke into it, “Send EMS to right of entry.” Her dark eyelashes fluttered, and her slow blinks met my assessing gaze.

The raven-haired beauty’s eyes were filled with confusion as she tried to sit up. “Hold up. You need to get checked out. That’s it. Just relax.” I guided her back down as gently as possible. Instant regret filled me as my gloved hand left a dark smudge on her pale pink nightshirt.

“Are you kidding me right now? I fainted?” She covered her eyes with her delicate hands and groaned. The throaty tone hit me square in the solar plexus, my dick twitched and I almost let out a matching groan. Thank God I’d covered her up. The memory of her full breasts, and the faint outline of dark circles of her areolas along with her puckered nipples would haunt my dreams later.

My hands finally free, I removed my mask and helmet. “It happens to the best of us.” I offered the woman what I hoped was a reassuring smile. Something that wouldn’t be taken the wrong way, like a leer that conveyed what I really felt: desire and an insistent need to know she was okay.

The next few minutes played out as Rex, my former partner when I also worked EMS, took her vitals before declaring her unharmed. She quietly watched us, but I could see intense interest in her expressive eyes. It was as if she were documenting every moment in her mind to be replayed later.

Man, I hope she wasn’t working on an angle for some kind of lawsuit against the city for a made-up offense. Yeah, how sick was I that in the same breath I lusted after this woman whose name I’d yet to learn while silently judging her as I created pure nonsense. Maybe my older sister was right. I was overly jaded and suspicious of people.

“So I’m okay?” Her voice, now calmer, more confident. “Then could I please go change into something, uh, more comfortable? And thank you. Both of you for your help.” Her gaze skipped over mine, a slight blush forming on her cheeks as she returned her focus to Rex.

Well, damn. Cupid, I mean Rex, had a calming effect that I’d always envied, but he was married with kids. He shouldn’t be giving off any I’m available pheromones or vibes and shit. I lost my train of thought as the beauty tossed off the blanket, stood and with a wiggle of her shoulders, her spine stiffened and she marched out of the room and down a short hallway.

It took every ounce of restraint not to watch her thinly covered backside walk away. But I did it, and because I did, I also saw the smirk riding Rex’s stupid face. “What? Don’t you have a report to fill out or something?”

The click of her door rang throughout the tiny home. That should have been my cue to leave.

But it wasn’t.

There was something about this woman compelling me to get to know her better.

To at least learn her name. Like an idiot, I hadn’t asked. Probably because the combination of lust and the terror of being discovered sporting a hard-on for a victim was a hundred percent unprofessional. Biting my tongue, I held back a sharp bark of frustration. Yeah, that would have been fun to explain away.

Cap would know her name. I’d figure out a way to ask without alerting him, or anyone discovering my actual interest was for our latest fire victim. But she was no victim, and I heard the guys chuckling over what they found inside the oven. The likely cause of all the smoke that prompted her neighbor to call 911. Some type of berry cobbler.

And my fellow firemen had left the scene and were probably grumbling about me not being outside, assisting in the wrap-up of the call. And why was I still inside? There was nothing left to do except for her to finish airing out the place and deal with replacing her now ruined oven.

“Oh, you’re still here? Do I need to sign something, or….?”

Shaking my head, I grinned at her choice of outfit. An oversized pale pink hoodie that hung to mid-thigh and a thick pair of matching sweatpants and white socks. It did the opposite of what she’d maybe hoped it would do compared to her earlier outfit. My palms and fingers itched to touch her again. And I wasn’t leaving until I got her phone number.

Whoa. That came out of nowhere. I didn’t understand it, nor have the time to analyze myself. I was good at making split-second decisions. A trait that served me well in this profession. “So, I uh, didn’t get your name earlier. For the report?”

She’d been looking at a spot over my head, her arms wrapped around her waist. At my question, she tucked a strand of hair that’d escaped her ponytail and nibbled on her bottom lip.

Jesus, just take me now. Holding back yet another groan, I cleared my throat. “I’m Lieutenant James, uh, Austin, by the way.” Then, like a freaking politician, I held out my hand. On second thought, it was the perfect move. I’d be able to feel her creamy skin against my calloused, work-roughened hand.

“Stassi.” She took my hand, her fingertips just brushing mine with the briefest of shakes. But it was enough. Stassi snatched back her hand immediately and cradled it in her other hand. Her eyes had gone wide, a startled look of confusion, maybe interest with a flash of lust on the tail end meeting my steady gaze. Hell, I could look at her all day. Night. But I’d never get the chance if I didn’t stop gawking at her like a hormone-riddled teenager.

“Um, you’re going to need a new oven. If you need, uh, any help with finding a good deal, I have a buddy who owns Pineville Electrical Supply. He has a warehouse on Third Street. Anyway, let me get your number, or uh, I’ll give you mine.”

“Why not just give me his number?” The corner of her mouth lifted as she waited for my response.

Yeah, that would make the most sense. But then I wouldn’t see this beauty again.

A loud, repeating chime filled the room. “Oh, that’s for my edits. I’m working on a deadline. That’s why I was baking the cobbler so late in the evening—it’s for my story—I needed to get it right since I’m well, not really a baker, and oh, I’m babbling. Sorry, must be the adrenaline, huh?”

Her face broke into a bright smile. “So, are we done?” Stassi’s question was far from rude; I doubt this woman had it in her.

Had I ever been dismissed so politely before?

“James, we’re leaving!” Paxton’s shout spurred me on.

“Yes, but let me give you my number. I’d uh be happy to connect you with a guy I know about replacing that oven and--”

“That’s it. Oh, it’s perfect, just what my story needs.”

“Huh?” Did she hit her head earlier, and I hadn’t realized? Shit, I was confused. And apparently not making the kind of impression I wanted.

“Sorry, sorry. When ideas hit, I get excited. I need to write it down now before it’s gone. Oh, how about you give me your phone and I’ll put my number in?”

Patting my chest, then my pants, I spread out my hands. “Yeah, we don’t carry our cells on a call, or at least we’re not supposed to.”

“Right, right? Of course you don’t. I’ll grab a pen. Hold on.” She went back down the hallway, speaking to herself as she did. Nothing she said made sense. Maybe I should get Rex back in here to do another eval? Then she was back and handing me a pen and a scrap of paper, and I assessed her eyes myself. Pupils were normal, her breathing as well. And just like that, as I stared into her face and accepted the items, I dismissed my concern.

Our fingers brushed. The contact sent sharp electrical spikes along my forearm and beyond. My touch lingered longer than necessary, and was that a flare of interest in her dark brown eyes? Rewarded with her indrawn breath, I stepped back and made a fist around the piece of paper.

“Thanks. I’ll, uh, be in touch.”

“Of course. I appreciate it. And sorry about before. I’m a writer. Romance books. There’s this one scene I’ve been struggling with and the solution suddenly hit me, you know. Anyway, I see that I’ve lost you. Anyway, let me know about that oven, and again, thank you and your crew so much.”

An awkward pause then another shout from Paxton. “You’re welcome.” With what I hoped was a smile that telegraphed my interest, I gave her a quick salute and left. Was that a sigh I heard right before I walked through the door? Jesus, I’ve saluted no one in my life, let alone a woman I’d be dreaming about later.

But was her sigh from mutual attraction or relief that I’d finally left?

Back in Engine 3, I wasn’t sure if stunned covered what I was feeling. Maybe being run over by a steamroller would be more accurate.

“Hey, is that her number?” Paxton let out a low whistle. “I wouldn’t want to be you when Hunter hears about this.”

“Why would Hunter care?” Our soon to be leaving captain wasn’t even working today.

“Dude, that was his sister. I wasn’t sure at first, but then I saw the last name on her mailbox. Anyway, she’s not even your usual type. Take my advice and lose that scrap of paper.”

Hunter’s sister? Fuck me.

Halfway back to the station after I’d had time to digest the news, I knew it didn’t matter. Stassi may not be my typical type; did I even have a type? And it really didn’t matter whose sister she was. The connection I felt was too strong to ignore.

But would it matter to her?