He’ll risk his life...just not his heart

Fiona O’Brien knows how to minimize risk...by never, ever falling for a guy in a hazardous job. And when her brother applies to become an elite Forest Service firefighter, Fiona hits the roof. She’ll do anything to keep him safe—even if it means using every sexy tool in her arsenal to seduce the one firefighter who can change her brother’s mind.

Hotshot Wyatt Andrews swore to avoid controlling women like Fiona. And he has no intention of intervening in her family business. Still, he can’t resist the fiery redhead with the deadly curves. Soon they’re engulfed in a blaze of lust that incinerates their self-control. They’re playing each other, but if they’re not careful they may both get burned.

“Do you ever take a risk?”

Fiona’s eyes widened as Wyatt stepped away from the doorjamb to close the distance between them. “What do you mean?”

“Do you ever drive over the speed limit? Accept a drink from a stranger?”

She shook her head so vehemently a strand of red hair slipped free of its tight knot.

“You don’t know what you’re missing...” He wanted to show her. He leaned a little closer—close enough to brush his mouth across hers.

Her breath shuddered out, warm and silky against his lips. And her thick lashes drifted down as her eyes closed. He deepened the kiss—as much as he could with a desk between them. He wanted to kick it aside, wanted nothing between his body and hers. He groaned at the thought.

And she jerked back as if she’d just awakened. Her chair creaked as it rolled her away from the desk—away from him. “I asked to meet with you just to talk,” she said.

He uttered a sigh of disappointment. “That’s too bad...”

Dear Reader,

While I have written for other Harlequin series, I’ve always been a fan of Blaze. So I’m thrilled to be writing my own Harlequin Blaze miniseries. Hotshots are the ultimate fire-fighting heroes. They’re the men and women on the front line, battling the blaze. The heroes of Hotshot Heroes are brave and strong and sexy as hell. How is a heroine to resist them?

Cautious insurance agent Fiona O’Brien does her best, but she can’t deny her red-hot attraction to Hotshot Wyatt Andrews. She resists her feelings, though, because she knows his profession is too dangerous. She won’t risk her heart on a man like him. She saw how devastated her mother was when her father and stepfather both lost their lives because of the chances they’d taken.

So no matter how attracted she is to Wyatt, she doesn’t intend to fall for him. But then a wildfire hits their town of Northern Lakes, Michigan, and she worries that it may be too late for her heart. Is it too late for Wyatt, too?

I hope you enjoy the exciting romance of Fiona and Wyatt!

Happy reading!

Lisa Childs

Red Hot

Lisa Childs

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Ever since LISA CHILDS read her first romance novel (a Harlequin story, of course) at age eleven, all she ever wanted was to be a romance writer. With over forty novels published with Harlequin, Lisa is living her dream. She is an award-winning, bestselling romance author. Lisa loves to hear from readers, who can contact her on Facebook, through her website, lisachilds.com, or her snail-mail address, PO Box 139, Marne, MI 49435.

To Andrew Ahearne—thank you for sharing your knowledge and past experience of the Forest Service Hotshots. Thank you, also, for making me believe that heroes are real!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

Extract

Copyright

1

“ARE YOU GOING to a fire?” the receptionist asked as Fiona O’Brien hurried past her desk in the blue and beige lobby of The Northern Lakes Insurance Agency.

Her briefcase swinging from her hand, she spun on a heel to turn back to Rita. “No, no fire...”

But her pulse was racing as if there was one. She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Unfortunately, the old adage about redheads had proven true in her case, no matter how hard she tried to control her temper.

“I am going to see a firefighter, though,” she admitted.

Rita arched a blond brow. “I would hope you’re seeing him for a date, but since your weekly delivery of insipid carnations came today, I know you’re still seeing the boring accountant.”

Fiona cursed. She’d forgotten her date with Howard—although she wasn’t certain how when they went to the same place on the same night at the same time every week. Actually, she did know how...

That damn firefighter.

“So do you have a business appointment with the firefighter?” Rita asked.

No. Wyatt Andrews had no idea she was coming to see him. Until the call she’d just taken, Fiona had had no idea and no desire to see Wyatt Andrews again, let alone talk to him. Not that she’d seen very much of him...

Six feet plus a few inches or more of muscle and arrogance and attitude. Black hair that was too long—like the stares from his brilliant blue eyes. Fortunately, she hadn’t seen him that often over the past four or five years.

Nor had she ever really talked to him.

“So it’s not business?” Rita prodded her.

Fiona shook her head and glared at the lock of hair that wriggled out of her bun to fall across her eyes. “There’s no way I would ever sell a life insurance policy to a firefighter. The risk is too great.”

Rita moved her thin shoulders in a shrug and casually remarked, “Everybody’s going to die someday.”

With her dyed blond hair and heavy makeup, the receptionist’s age was impossible to determine. So Fiona didn’t know if the other woman was too young or too old to care about death.

“But firefighting is a hazardous profession,” Fiona said. “According to the statistics, a firefighter is far more likely to die than say...an accountant.” And that was why she hadn’t ever really talked to Wyatt Andrews on the few occasions she’d seen him. She had learned to not waste her time or her attention on a man with a death wish.

“If you marry ol’ Howard, you might wish accountants died sooner,” Rita warned her, her pale blue eyes glinting with laughter. “He might bore you to death.”

Fiona would rather be bored than scared to death. And what her younger brother had told her moments earlier on the phone had scared her to death—or at least to outrage. She wasn’t mad at him, though. She knew who’d put that outrageous, dangerous idea in his head: Wyatt Andrews.

Since he had become her brother’s mentor six years ago, he’d had too much influence on Matthew’s life. Now he was even endangering Matthew’s life, or at the very least his future.

That was why she had to see Wyatt Andrews again. Why she had to have a real conversation with him. Her temper reignited, and she spun back toward the door.

But before Fiona could get away, Rita asked another question. “So if you’re not going to date him and you’re not going to sell him an insurance policy, why do you have to see this fireman?”

“To tell him to mind his own damn business!”

* * *

“ANYBODY EVER TELL you to mind your own damn business?”

Wyatt Andrews chuckled. Then he raised his hands, palms up, from the weights he’d been lifting. “Hey, it was just a suggestion!”

“That I need to get laid?”

Wyatt laughed harder at the outrage in his friend’s deep voice. Captain Braden Zimmer glared at him from across the firehouse workout room. It was all whitewashed cement block, no mirrors, no fancy mats. It was a serious room—because they had to be in serious shape. Their lives depended on it.

“You’re the one who admitted you’re all tense and edgy,” Wyatt reminded him.

A muscle twitched along Braden’s jaw, and he ran a hand over his brush-cut brown hair. It was still wet from his shower; he’d just finished working out when Wyatt had hit the gym. “Yeah, that’s the way I get when there’s a fire out there.”

“But there isn’t a fire.” At least not one big enough for the forest service’s elite unit of firefighters to have been called. Wildfire season hadn’t even officially started yet. So the Huron Hotshots twenty-member team wasn’t together yet. Just the firefighters who worked the off-season out of the Northern Lakes firehouse—he, Braden and a couple of other guys.

Braden glanced at the cell phone he clutched in one hand—probably checking for a missed call.

“The alarm would have gone off,” Wyatt pointed out.

“I sent Dawson out to check for smoldering campsites.”

“It’s too early for camping. Too cold at night...” He shivered at the thought.

“There are some die-hard campers,” Braden reminded him. “And they’re the ones who build the biggest fires.”

“If there was a big fire, Dawson would have called,” he pointed out.

Braden shrugged. “Maybe the fire’s just getting started...”

“Maybe you need something else to focus on besides your job,” Wyatt suggested. “Like a woman...”

Braden glared at him again. “That’s the last thing I need. And who the hell are you to talk? I don’t see you in a relationship.”

Wyatt shuddered. “God, no.”

A relationship was the last thing he wanted. Every guy he’d worked with who had settled down with a wife and kids had eventually left the job. Or in Braden’s case, the wife had left him.

“That’s the whole point, Captain,” he told Braden. During the off-season, Braden was the captain of the Northern Lakes Fire Department. During the wildfire season, the retired captain resumed his position in Northern Lakes with a team of new forest service firefighter recruits, and Braden became superintendent of the Huron Hotshots team. In both positions, Wyatt was his assistant—one of two for the Hotshots and the only assistant for Northern Lakes. He was his professional wingman. Maybe it was time to make that personal, too. “You just got divorced. You don’t want a relationship. You just want to have some fun.”

“Fun?” Braden snorted with derision.

“You must’ve been married too long if you don’t think sex is fun anymore.” Another reason Wyatt never intended to get serious with anyone. Serious equaled boring.

Braden gave him another look. It wasn’t a glare. It was more a pitying glance. Then he shook his head.

“What?” Wyatt asked. Nobody had ever pitied him before. Envied? Hell, yeah. Pitied? Never.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Braden told him.

And nobody had ever accused Wyatt of not knowing women. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” And he truly had no idea.

“Random sexual encounters don’t sound fun,” Braden explained. “They sound sad and empty.”

Wyatt laughed, but it echoed oddly in the weight room, sounding hollow and uncertain. It wasn’t as if Braden was getting to him. It wasn’t as if Wyatt was about to question the lifestyle he’d chosen. He shook off those niggling doubts and laughed harder.

“You’ve been out of the game too long,” Wyatt said. “You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be single.”

“Unfortunately I haven’t...” Braden sighed. “I’m going to my office to make some calls. See if there’s anything out there...”

He knew the captain was talking about fires. But he chose to be obtuse. “I’ll show you what’s out there,” he offered. “I’m going to finish a few more reps before I hit the showers. Then I’ll take you out on the town.” Not that the village of Northern Lakes was much of a town. It was a resort area, though, and quite the party town during tourist season. “And I’ll show you what you’ve been missing.”

Braden laughed now. “You’re the one who has no idea what you’ve been missing.” His laughter continued, growing fainter as he walked out of the weight room.

Wyatt didn’t get guys like Braden. The captain should have known better than anyone that the job and marriage didn’t mix. And now that it was over, Braden needed to just move on instead of dwelling on it. Wyatt had never had any problem walking away after spending some time with a woman. But he’d been careful to date the right kind of woman—the kind who only wanted a good time, too. He steered clear—very clear—of women who wanted commitment. Because commitments led to marriage and ultimatums and heartbreak.

He shuddered again. Then he focused on the weights, lifting with renewed energy. Braden wasn’t the only one who was feeling edgy. But at least Wyatt knew why he was. He’d been having some trouble finding those fun-loving girls. Of course, it wasn’t tourist season yet.

It had been a long winter with spring just breaking through now. But it was a dry spring, which was conducive to fires—especially west of where they were based in northeastern Michigan. The Hotshots traveled the US and Canada, dropping in where they were needed to fight fires. Just as there was a tourist season in Northern Lakes, there was also a fire season. Usually the first fires started out west, where it was driest.

Maybe Braden was right.

Maybe there was something out there, just getting started.

Over his grunts, he caught the sound of footsteps against the cement floor of the weight room. Maybe Braden had realized he was right.

“Sheesh,” he remarked without stopping his reps, “you must be super tense and edgy. You can’t even wait until I’m finished, you want to get laid so badly.”

He waited for Braden’s laugh. No matter how glum the guy had been since his wife had left him, that was no excuse for losing his sense of humor. And Wyatt was damn funny. He even uttered a laugh at his own joke.

But it echoed off the cement walls with that same weird hollow sound. While he had only been razzing his friend to get him out of the funk Braden had been in since his divorce, Wyatt knew his joke had fallen flat. He settled the bar onto the bench rest and sat up, ready to be serious. He was a good listener—which he’d proven to Braden plenty when the captain’s marital problems had begun.

He was also a good adviser when he wasn’t being a smart-ass. He had a bachelor’s degree in psychology and plenty of experience as a mentor for the county’s youth services division. “I’m—” He swallowed the apology he’d been about to make and nearly swallowed his tongue, as well.

Braden wasn’t the one who’d walked into the weight room. This person’s green-eyed glare was far more lethal than the captain’s. Fiona O’Brien stood before him—all fiery red hair and outrage.

“What the hell did you just say to me?” she demanded, her voice raspy with indignation.

He could have explained. He should have, really.

But on the few occasions he had seen Fiona O’Brien over the years, he’d never seen her like this. Oh, she’d glared at him before, but with more benign disdain—like a cat staring down at the puppy pissing on the carpet. Now her face was so flushed her freckles had disappeared into her complexion. And her body—which she insisted on concealing with businesslike suits—trembled with her temper. She’d always acted so cold and snobby around him that he hadn’t thought she was capable of such passion. And he’d considered her good looks wasted on an empty, emotionless shell.

He’d had no idea what she’d been hiding beneath that flawless, impervious surface...

“What did I say?” He paraphrased her question as he jumped up from the weight bench and closed the distance between them. She stepped back, stumbling slightly on her high heels.

She might have only been wearing the heels because she was petite and wanted the extra height. Or maybe she wore them because they made her legs look longer, toned and sexy as hell. The beige suit couldn’t hide her curves, either—not when the skirt was snug and ended above her knees.

Her eyes widened briefly in surprise at his nearness, but then narrowed in another glare. “You know what you said.”

“That you must be really tense and edgy,” he repeated the words he’d meant for his boss.

He should have pointed out that he’d had no way of knowing she was the one who’d walked into the weight room. He couldn’t imagine why she had stopped by the firehouse at all. She had never gone out of her way to speak to him those few times they’d previously met. So why had she driven across town to seek him out now?

He wanted to know that. But he couldn’t resist seeing just how much passion lurked beneath that beautiful surface. So he stepped closer to her as he said the rest, as if he meant the words for her, “You can’t even wait until I’m finished, you want to get laid so badly.”

His head snapped back as her hand connected—hard—with his face. His skin stung from the force of her slap. While she was petite, she packed a wallop. That wasn’t quite the way he’d wanted to test her passion. So he jerked her up against him and lowered his head.

2

FIONA LIFTED HER hand to slap him again. But he caught her wrist and jerked her more tightly against him. The heat and dampness of his sweat-slick bare chest penetrated her suit jacket and blouse, burning her skin.

Or was that just her anger?

She was flushed with it, trembling with it. And appalled by it. She had actually struck another human being. And if he hadn’t caught her wrist, she would have struck him again. A gasp of shock at her own behavior slipped through her lips.

His blue eyes widened as he stared down at her. His face was close to hers—so close that she’d been sure he was going to kiss her. But he abruptly released her and stepped back, so quickly that she swayed slightly on her heels before regaining her balance.

She trembled, probably from the force with which her heart pounded in her chest and her pulse raced. With anger. It could only be anger. She hadn’t actually wanted him to kiss her. He was beyond arrogant. He was obnoxious.

As if to prove it, he threw back his head and let out a loud laugh.

“I should have slapped you harder,” she remarked. He’d certainly deserved it.

Still laughing, he shook his head. “I wasn’t saying that to you.”

She gestured at the room, which was empty but for the two of them and all those weights and machines. “I’m the only one here.”

“But I didn’t know you were the one who’d walked in,” he said.

Her skin heated with embarrassment as she realized he spoke the truth. He’d been flat on his back on that bench, lifting the weight bar. He hadn’t even glanced up before he’d spoken. He must’ve just known someone had walked in because he’d heard her heels hitting the floor.

“You’re the last person I expected to show up here,” he continued.

So he had been expecting some other tense and edgy woman who couldn’t wait for him to finish before getting laid. Not that she was tense and edgy.

Well, she was—but with outrage, not desire. Her gaze kept slipping, though, down to his chest. To all those muscles, his skin glistening with sweat. A bead trickled from between his pecs and trailed over washboard abs to disappear into the waistband of his shorts.

Her throat suddenly very dry, she struggled to swallow. And to pull her gaze up—back to his face. But that wasn’t much better. His square jaw was dark with stubble, and his black hair, slick with moisture, clung to his muscled neck. Her fingers itched to touch his face again, but not to slap it. Then she met his eyes, saw the amusement there, and she reconsidered...slapping him.

“Why are you here, Fiona?” he asked, his mouth sliding into a slightly crooked, sexy-as-hell grin. Sounding almost hopeful, he added, “Are you feeling tense and edgy?”

She lifted her hand even though she had no intention of losing control enough to swing it. “Do you want me to slap you again?”

“Are you into that?” he asked and arched a black brow over one of those twinkling eyes. “I didn’t figure you for the S&M scene. Didn’t actually figure you for any scene. Didn’t think sex was your thing...”

She didn’t know what infuriated her more. That he’d thought about her and sex. Or that he’d thought about her not having sex. Ever.

She wasn’t frigid. Not at all...

At the moment—standing too close to his sweat-slick, musky-smelling body—she wished she was, though. Then she wouldn’t have noticed how muscular he was. Muscles bulged in his arms and chest and back. Did he spend all his time in the gym?

Or in some woman’s bed?

His gaze skimmed down her body to her high heels. “But now I can see the whole dominatrix thing.”

“I’m here because I’m mad,” she admitted. If only she could have controlled her temper long enough to realize that it was pointless to try to talk to a man like Wyatt Andrews. He was infuriating. “And you’re only making it worse.”

“We aren’t equipped to put out those kinds of fires here,” he remarked.

“Pointless,” she murmured as she spun on her heel to turn toward the door.

Long fingers wrapped around her arm, tightly enough that she jerked against his grasp as she tried to walk away.

“Wait, wait,” he said. “I can try to help. Why are you mad?”

“Because of you.”

He sighed. “I told you I didn’t realize you were the one who’d walked in—”

“No, I’m not mad about that.” Not anymore. Not now that she had calmed down enough to be rational. Of course he hadn’t known who’d walked in. Since she’d driven over here anyway, she might as well talk to him. She drew in a deep breath to brace herself and turned back around to face him. “I want to talk to you about my brother.”

His hand dropped from her arm and he stepped back. “Has he done something?”

“You know what he’s done,” she said. Since she was pretty sure it had been Wyatt’s idea, or at least his influence. “He’s dropped out of college in order to join the Forest Service Fire Department.”

“So why, exactly—” he spoke slowly, as if he were dealing with someone unstable “—are you mad at me?”

“Because he wants to become you.”

His mouth curved into that slightly crooked grin again. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

God, he was arrogant. But maybe he had a reason to be. He was sexy as hell—so sexy that women were apparently unable to wait to have sex with him.

“Pointless,” she murmured again. “I made a mistake coming here. I can’t reason with you.” She could barely reason with herself at the moment—his bare skin and rippling muscles were too distracting.

“I don’t know what you want to reason with me about,” he said, “but I’m willing to talk to you.”

Frustration gnawed at her. She had practiced her argument the entire drive across town. But now she could remember nothing of what she’d rehearsed.

“Let me shower first,” he said, “and change. I’ll meet you at the bar around the corner and you can reason with me.”

She doubted that. “Why?” she asked.

He arched the brow again. “Why what?”

“Why are you willing to talk to me?” She’d expected the arrogance and the argument. She hadn’t expected him to be open to reason or even to a conversation. “I thought you had a date.”

She swallowed a groan as she remembered that she had one. She had intended to call Howard on the drive across town to cancel their date. But then she’d gotten distracted rehearsing what she would say when she confronted Wyatt Andrews. All those words had left her mind the moment he’d made his suggestive comment.

He glanced to the doorway behind her and remarked, “Here’s my date now.”

So much for that conversation. She doubted he would pass up a sure thing to instead just talk to a woman he’d figured was frigid. She turned around to leave and to check out his date. But a man—as tall and muscular as Wyatt—blocked the doorway. He was the one who had directed her where to find Wyatt.

The man laughed. “You should be so lucky as to date me.”

Wyatt grinned. “You wouldn’t turn me down,” he said. “You’re so tense and edgy, you’d definitely go home with me at the end of the night.”

Both men laughed. But Fiona failed to see the humor. Her pulse quickened instead. Was Wyatt expecting her to go home with him at the end of the night?

“If you’re busy...” They could do this another night. That didn’t mean that he wouldn’t expect her to go home with him that night, too.

“Have you changed your mind about making me listen to reason?” Wyatt teased.

The other man laughed again—harder. “If he’s willing to listen to reason, you should take him up on that,” he advised. “And we didn’t actually have any plans. He’s just messing with me.”

Was he just messing with her, too? Probably. But she hadn’t driven across town to just yell at him. Or slap him. She’d wanted to talk to him—to get him to help her. His influence was why Matthew had dropped out of college; he was the only one who could get her brother to change his mind and get his life back on track.

“The bar around the corner?” she asked. “Which way?”

“To the right,” he said. “I’ll be there before you finish your first drink.”

She had no intention of drinking with him. And she definitely had no intention of going home with him.

She wanted only to talk.

But since she wasn’t going to see him with so few clothes on again, she couldn’t resist letting her gaze slip once more—over his chest and down his six-pack abs. She was definitely not drinking with him; she couldn’t risk losing control. And because she never risked losing control, she hadn’t built up a tolerance for alcohol. She was the proverbial lightweight when it came to drinking.

If she had too many drinks, she might go home with him. She jerked her attention away from all that naked flesh and muscle and turned toward the door.

“I’ll be there right after I hit the shower,” he promised.

And an image of him standing completely naked beneath a spray of water sprang to her mind. Her skin flushed again and heated more than it had with her temper. She quickened her step. Because of the heels, she couldn’t run. But she had the urge to run—and to keep running.

* * *

THE WOMAN HAD some ass, wriggling inside that snug skirt as she walked away. But Wyatt wasn’t the only one watching her leave. Braden actually craned his neck to stare as she turned outside the door and headed down the hall.

When she’d disappeared from sight entirely, the captain finally turned back to Wyatt and let out a low whistle. “I hate to admit it, but you might be right about me,” he said. “What bar are you meeting her at? The Filling Station?”

It was the only bar around the corner. But Wyatt wasn’t about to point that out to his boss. Feeling tense and edgy himself, he shook his head. “Not her.”

Braden whistled again. “It’s not like you to stake a claim. Thought you didn’t get attached...”

“I’m not,” he protested. “Not at all—especially not to Fiona.”

“Fiona...” Braden murmured wistfully. Or lustfully...

Hearing the lust, Wyatt smacked the other man’s shoulder. “Hey, she’s a friend’s sister, so she’s off-limits.” At least to him.

Braden snorted. “I’ve met the sister of every man on the team.”

Wyatt believed it. Braden was the kind of superintendent who made it a point to meet the families of all his team members...though for a couple of them the team was the only family they had. Wyatt’s parents had been killed when he was eleven. And another one of the guys—Cody Mallehan—had been an orphan, too.

Braden continued, “She is not related to any of them.”

“I have friends outside the team.” Because of the wives who had made them give up the jobs they had loved. But she wasn’t related to any of them, either. “She’s the sister of one of the kids I’ve been mentoring.”

Except that Matt wasn’t a kid anymore. So he should be able to make decisions without his sister’s interference. Even if those decisions were wrong, he needed to figure it out for himself—not have someone berate him for it. Matt had told Wyatt that Fiona was bossy and controlling, which was part of the reason why the half siblings weren’t close. The other part was that they hadn’t been raised together.

“Then she’s not off-limits to me,” Braden pointed out. “I think I will join you at the bar.”

Wyatt smacked him again—a little harder. “She’s off-limits to you, too.”

“I may have met most of the kids you mentor...”

Because Wyatt had brought them around the firehouse. He hoped he hadn’t inadvertently influenced Matt’s decision to try to join the Forest Service Fire Department.

“But I’m not friends with any of them,” Braden continued.

“That’s not why she’s off-limits to you,” Wyatt said. “She’s off-limits because she’s the type of woman you need to avoid.”

“What type is that?” Braden asked. “Sexy as sin?”

“The type that wants you to make a commitment and then gives you ultimatums or walks away,” Wyatt warned him. “And you’ve already had one of those.”

Braden sighed. “It’s not always the wife who gives the ultimatums, you know.”

Wyatt narrowed his eyes and studied his friend. “Do you want to talk?” he asked. “I can cancel with Fiona...” But his stomach muscles tightened, his gut clenching in protest.

Why? She was probably just going to yell at him. She had been pissed even before he’d made his inappropriate comments to her.

“Maybe you should,” Braden said.

So his friend was finally ready to talk—to really talk. He’d said some things before, when he and his wife had hit their rough patch. But he hadn’t explained the situation and how it had led to a divorce so quickly.

“I will if you want me to,” he offered. Selfishly he hoped that Braden didn’t want him to. “I’ll have to run over to the bar and let her know, though.” Since he didn’t have her number...

He’d known Matt for six years, but he’d barely ever seen or talked to the guy’s sister. As Matt had said, they weren’t close. So why was she so upset over his career aspirations?

“But then we can talk,” Wyatt said. “As long as you want...”

Braden laughed. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Well, I was just kidding about the sex earlier,” Wyatt joked. “You’re not my type.”

Braden smacked his shoulder now. “I’m just saying that maybe you need to take your own advice.”

He was a little sexually frustrated himself—more so since Fiona O’Brien had walked into the weight room and slapped him. And he’d touched her...

He might have kissed her if she hadn’t tried to hit him again. That had brought him to his senses. He had no business kissing a woman like Fiona, let alone having sex with her.

He shook his head. “No...”

“You’re warning me to steer clear of women like her,” Braden reminded him. “Maybe you should, too.”

Wyatt laughed. “But I’m in no danger of falling for her.” For any other woman, either, but most especially not a woman like Fiona. He wanted nothing to do with bossy and controlling.

“She’s beautiful and sexy,” Braden said. “Yeah, no danger at all...”

“No,” Wyatt said again.

But moments later he turned the water cold as he stepped into the shower. After that passionate encounter with her, after nearly giving in to the temptation to kiss her, he needed to cool off. But no matter how cold the water was, his skin was still hot. His blood still pumping fast and hard through his veins.

She was beautiful and sexy. But he had known plenty of women just as hot. And he hadn’t fallen for any of them.

He was not going to fall for Fiona O’Brien.

3

“WHERE ARE YOU?” Howard asked, his voice squeaking in her ear. Not that he had a squeaky voice. It must have been the bad cell reception and the noise in the bar that made his voice sound so whiny and petulant.

Fiona considered walking out to finish the call on the street. But then she would lose the booth she’d found in the back of the crowded bar. And she would have to walk past all those guys who’d whistled at her when she’d walked in. Since she was one of the only women in the place, she hadn’t been particularly flattered. The other woman was heavily muscled and tattooed and had also whistled at her.

She pressed her mouth against the phone and said, “I had to take a meeting.”

“In a bar?” he asked. And there was definitely petulance in his tone.

She couldn’t blame the cell reception. And she couldn’t blame him for being upset that she had canceled. She should have been flattered that he was so disappointed. But was he disappointed or merely irritated?

Of course, she hadn’t canceled until he was already on his way to the restaurant where they met every Friday night. A nice restaurant—not a place like this with a loud jukebox, louder patrons and peanuts crushed against the scarred wide-planked wooden floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But something’s come up with Matthew—”

“Your brother.” Now a sigh, one that sounded long-suffering, rattled the phone.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. Did she talk that much about Matthew?

Sure, she was worried about her brother; she had been worried about him pretty much since the day he was born. She’d only been six at the time, but she was the one who’d rushed to him every time he’d cried. She was the one who had been there for him...until she’d been taken away. After her stepfather’s death of a drug overdose, her paternal grandparents had decided her mother was unfit to raise their granddaughter. They’d sued her mother for custody of her and won—taking eleven-year-old Fiona away from her five-year-old brother.

Fiona wanted to be there for Matthew again. But he wouldn’t let her. Maybe he resented that she’d left him. That hadn’t been her choice, though. The judge hadn’t listened to what she’d wanted. And now Matthew wouldn’t listen to her, either. He only listened to Wyatt Andrews.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your meeting with him,” Howard said.

She opened her mouth to correct his misassumption that she was with Matthew. Would he be jealous over her meeting another man in a bar, though—even if it was just to talk about her brother?

But before she could say more, he continued, “I’ll see you next Friday.”

“Why not before?” she asked.

Wyatt hadn’t been talking to her when he’d been teasing about being edgy and tense. But he could have been.

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 the 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.”

Just because tomorrow was Saturday didn’t mean she wasn’t working. She liked going in when the office was closed so she could catch up without interruptions.

“You haven’t met Wyatt,” Fiona reminded her. “And that guy on the dance floor is not a real firefighter.”

“So Wyatt isn’t hunky?”

She couldn’t lie, so she just pretended not to hear her friend. The music was loud...

But Tammy knew her too well and laughed. “You need to get some, girl.”

“I’m seeing Howard.”

Tammy laughed again. “Like I said, you need to get some.”

“I would never get involved with a man like Wyatt Andrews.” She was not her mother’s daughter. She would not go for excitement over substance. For fleeting over forever...

Both of her mother’s husbands had been on that dance floor. Not the real men. They were dead. But their professions had been represented. Fiona’s father had been a race car driver—albeit just dirt tracks—and Matthew’s had been a rock star wannabe in a band that had done more drugs than gigs. The hazards of both those jobs had killed them. Speed had killed her father; he had been driving too fast when he’d hit the wall. And heroin had killed Matthew’s; the wannabe rock star had been living too fast.

Now the brunette shook her head. “You don’t have to get involved with him. You could just enjoy him.”

“What’s to enjoy?” Fiona asked. But she knew—she had enjoyed that kiss. She shouldn’t have, though. She shouldn’t have forgotten what he was really like. “He’s arrogant and obnoxious. And he’s going to get my brother killed.”

“That’s why you should have gone home with him,” Tammy said.

She gasped in shock over her friend’s remark.

Tammy winked. “Maybe you could have convinced him to refuse Matt a recommendation. Hell, if you’re really good, maybe you could convince him to tear up the application altogether.”

“What are you suggesting?”

Tammy shrugged. “Hey, you know my motto—work what your mama gave you...” She wriggled her ass as she made the comment.

Fiona’s mother hadn’t given her many physical attributes. Except for some of her delicate facial features, she looked more like her father’s family—like her paternal grandmother. But Fiona was afraid that her mother might have passed along her bad taste in men. Why else had Fiona been so attracted to a man like Wyatt Andrews? To a Hotshot?

The first time Matthew had mentioned his mentor to her, Fiona had looked up the definition of a Hotshot. He was like the soldier on the front line. He was the one who got closest to the blaze. While other people battled it from above, in helicopters and planes dumping water on it. The Hotshots were the ones on the ground trying to starve the fire to extinguish it.

Fiona asked her outrageous friend, “Are you suggesting I use sex to get what I want?”

Tammy laughed. “Don’t look so horrified. Women do it all the time.”

Fiona opened her mouth, but no words came out. She didn’t know if she was insulted for just herself or for all women. “I haven’t...”

Tammy leaned in and nudged her shoulder. “But since you’re such a prude, you wouldn’t have to actually have sex with him. Just make him think you would if he’d get Matt to change his mind about the whole firefighter thing and go back to college.”

Fiona tilted her head as she considered her friend’s suggestion. For Matt, she was tempted to try it. “There’s only one problem with your plan...”

Tammy arched a dark brow. “Yes?”

“What if he doesn’t want to have sex with me?”

Tammy snorted. “Why do you think he wanted you to go home with him? To play cards?”

“He said to talk.” And maybe that was all he had wanted to do, talk about Matt. But then she’d chickened out—because of that kiss, because of how it had made her feel.

Tammy snorted again. “If you believed that, you would have gone home with him.”

It wasn’t him she’d been concerned about, though. She’d worried that if they were alone at his place, that she might want to do more than talk. But that was crazy. No matter how sexy he was or how exciting his kiss, she didn’t want anything to do with a man like him.

But for Matthew...

She had to try to talk to Wyatt Andrews again. Had to convince him to help her change Matthew’s mind. And if talking to Wyatt didn’t work, maybe she would actually consider Tammy’s suggestion.

* * *

“WHO’S ALL TENSE and edgy now?” Braden teased Wyatt.

He shrugged, trying to ease the tension that kissing Fiona had wound tightly inside him. “It must be all your talk about a fire...”

Or a fiery redhead.

The grin slid off Braden’s face. “It’s out there...”

Wyatt didn’t doubt him. He could almost feel it himself now. “You have to get out there,” he said. “That’s why I brought you here.”

But he paused outside the door to the new club, reluctant to step inside. Cody was right; the place was packed. That was why he’d brought Braden here—because of all the women. Usually he would have been interested himself. But he doubted anyone inside the club could make his pulse race as Fiona had. If only she’d gone home with him.

But it was a good thing that she hadn’t. He didn’t need to get involved with a woman like her. He didn’t need bossy and controlling. He just needed a good time. Maybe he’d find one inside.

“We might as well check it out,” he told his boss.

The bouncer holding open the door gave him and Braden a quick once-over. “I thought all the dancers were already inside.”

“Dancers?” Braden repeated with confusion.

Wyatt hadn’t shared everything Cody had told him about the club opening. If his boss had known about the male strippers, he never would have agreed to check out the place.

Braden hadn’t gone many steps inside before he turned around and slammed into Wyatt. “This was a bad idea. I’m leaving.” But before he could get anywhere near the door, two women grabbed his arms and pulled him onto the dance floor.

Wyatt laughed at the look of horror on his friend’s face. Maybe he should have advised Braden to change out of the Huron Hotshots Firefighter T-shirt he was wearing with khakis. But the women would soon realize their mistake when they discovered that Braden couldn’t dance.

His boss was going to kill him. But at least Wyatt was getting a good laugh before he died.

If Wyatt bought him a drink, Braden might loosen up, and maybe after a few drinks he would forget that coming here had been Wyatt’s idea. He turned toward the bar. Despite the crowd around it, his gaze went immediately to the bright flame of her red hair.

It wasn’t Fiona. Not here...

But he couldn’t mistake that particular shade of red. Or the alabaster of her silky skin. She’d said she was going home, but she was here.

All her hair was loose and flowing around her shoulders now. And one of the dancers had strayed from the floor. Shirtless but for suspenders and yellow pants, the faux firefighter leaned close to her, trapping her between his naked chest and the bar.

Anger coursed through Wyatt along with a fresh flash of jealousy, a feeling he’d been unfamiliar with until tonight—until his friends had checked out Fiona. This man was no friend and definitely no firefighter.

Wyatt hurried over to her. His grip probably a little too hard, he grabbed the man’s shoulder and peeled him off her. The guy whirled toward him with a glare.

“What’s your problem?” the dancer asked.

Fiona was his problem.

But instead of admitting that, Wyatt asked his own question. “Aren’t you supposed to be out on the dance floor?”

“Break,” the guy replied. But he glanced nervously around before returning his attention to Fiona. “I have time for a drink.”

She shook her head. “I already said no.”

Ignoring Wyatt, the guy moved in on her again—thrusting his waxed chest in her face. “But—”

This time Wyatt grabbed him even harder and jerked him away from Fiona. Raising his voice to be heard above the din of conversation and the blare of the music, he shouted, “The lady said no.”

The dancer snorted. “Lady? There isn’t a lady in this place.”

Instinct and anger had Wyatt pulling back his fist to swing. But before he could, silky hands locked around his forearm. “Don’t...”

The dancer grinned. “You don’t want him to hurt my handsome face.”

She snorted now and said, “I don’t want him to hurt his hand.”

“I wouldn’t hurt my hand,” Wyatt assured her. Maybe Braden was right about him being the frustrated one now, because he really wanted to hit the jerk.

“I would tear you apart,” the man threatened, but he glanced around nervously—as if looking for backup.

Wyatt never had to look; he always knew his team had his back. But he didn’t need them now. He laughed at the other man’s claim, and Fiona’s grasp on his arm tightened. His skin heated and tingled beneath her silky touch, distracting him so much that he nearly missed the dancer winding up to swing. But he easily dodged the blow.

And the guy stumbled forward and almost fell. He’d obviously already had a drink, or several, himself. He hadn’t needed another.

Maybe he needed a slap upside the head to sober him up. But recognizing it wouldn’t be a fair fight, Wyatt stepped back, and unfortunately Fiona’s hands fell away from his arm.

All icy dominatrix, Fiona pointed the dancer back to the floor. “Break’s over...”

The guy shivered at her tone and turned away.

“Maybe I didn’t need to come to your rescue,” Wyatt mused.

She lifted her chin and glared at him. “I didn’t need rescuing.”

“Yet I keep finding you fighting off advances in bars,” he said. He gestured around at the bustling club. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m not,” she said, and turned to push her way through the crowd.

Wyatt followed, his gaze dropping to her ass wriggling inside that tight skirt as she hurried to the exit. “Sure looks like you...” He would know that ass anywhere.

She brushed past the bouncer as she stepped through the door. The man whistled in appreciation and nudged Wyatt’s shoulder. She glanced back to glare at them both before stalking across the parking lot. Wyatt lengthened his stride to keep pace with her. “You don’t have to follow me.”

“I have to make sure you make it safely to your car,” he said. “Don’t know who else might try to buy you a drink on your way there...”

She shook her head, and her hair flowed around her shoulders. “He didn’t want to buy me a drink,” she said, and her pale skin flushed with embarrassment. “He wanted me to buy him one.”

“He didn’t need any more.”

She nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“Thought you weren’t here,” he reminded her. “But now I understand why you wouldn’t come home with me—even though you claimed that you have to get up early in the morning.”

“I do.” She stopped beside a silver sedan and squeezed her keyless remote. The locks clicked and the lights flashed. He recognized the make and model for having the highest safety rating. He’d thought she hadn’t come home with him because she wasn’t attracted, but maybe she was playing it safe.

Though he’d found her at this club—where she’d known there would be male dancers... Another stupid twinge of jealousy struck him.

“But you couldn’t resist stopping here to check out the male strippers,” he said.

She laughed as if the idea was utterly ridiculous. “I just stopped here to talk to a friend.”

“That guy’s a friend?”

She shook her head. “Tammy is female.”

“Tammy wasn’t with you at the bar,” he pointed out. Not that he would have noticed anyone but Fiona. He reached out to open her door for her. But he just held the handle, his arm stretched in front of her. Then he leaned closer and braced his other hand against the roof of her car, loosely encircling her. She lifted her hand and pressed it against his chest. “I thought you weren’t into firefighters...”

She pushed against his chest, the warmth of her palm penetrating the thin layer of his shirt to his skin beneath. “I’m not...”

Had he imagined earlier that she’d kissed him back? Had it just been wishful thinking on his part? Temptation tugged at him, joining the tension. He wanted to lean down a little farther and brush his mouth across hers—to see if she tasted as sweet as he’d thought. To see if he’d imagined the heat and the passion...

Her breath caught as she stared up at him. Maybe she’d seen the hunger in his gaze. “That’s why I didn’t go home with you...”

He stepped back and lifted his hands. “Hey, I just wanted to talk. I thought that’s what you wanted, too—to talk about your brother.”

“I do,” she insisted. “Even if you don’t agree with me that the job he wants is too dangerous, you have to agree that it’s crazy Matthew quit school when he applied to the forest service. He might not even get in.”

It was clear that she didn’t want him to.

“The kid might have acted rashly,” he admitted.

“And the whole firefighter thing,” she said, “that’s ridiculous enough. But to want to become a Hotshot, too...”

Wyatt had a lot of pride in his job. And her disdain for it stung. “If you actually wanted to talk to me about this,” he said, “you should have come to my house.” He gestured back at the building. “Instead you came here to pick up exotic dancers.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he braced himself for another slap or to dodge a blow as he had in the club. But she laughed instead. “I came here to talk to a friend,” she repeated. “She was the one preoccupied with the dancers.”

And Fiona was preoccupied with her brother. He saw the worry on her face, and he’d heard it earlier in her voice. Beneath her anger with him, there was fear. “You can talk to me,” he said, “about Matt...”

“Thank you.”

Maybe he could get her to go home with him now—just to talk, of course. He opened his mouth to issue the invitation when a voice called out from the club. “Hey!”

He turned to the bouncer.

“Your friend’s in trouble in here.”

He groaned. Braden was going to kill him. But maybe he’d also saved him—from doing something crazy, such as being alone with Fiona O’Brien. Because Wyatt knew that if they were alone—truly alone—he wouldn’t be able to resist temptation. He would have to kiss her again.

5

A DOOR CREAKED, jerking Fiona awake. She blinked her eyes open and tried to focus. The computer screen in front of her had gone black. How long had she been asleep?

Her brother, Matthew, stood in the doorway to her office, watching her. Whenever she looked at him, she saw a child—the towheaded toddler she’d had to leave when her grandparents had been awarded custody of her. But he’d grown up. He was tall and so broad that he nearly filled her doorway. His curls had turned dishwater blond, and there was none of the adoration with which he used to look at her in his brown eyes.

“This is what you want for me?” he asked with a shudder of revulsion. “A desk job so boring that you can’t even stay awake?”

The desk job wasn’t why she couldn’t stay awake. She blamed Wyatt Andrews for that, as she did for so many other things—such as her younger brother’s attitude and poor decisions. Every time she’d closed her eyes the night before, she’d seen Wyatt’s face and his bare chest and sculpted abs...

She’d even been able to feel his mouth moving sensuously, hungrily over hers. How could she blame her brother for letting Wyatt Andrews get to him when the man had so easily gotten to her, as well?

“I haven’t told you to get a desk job,” she said. She knew that wasn’t for everyone. She couldn’t imagine Wyatt Andrews behind a desk—but she had imagined him last night—in other places. Like the backseat of her car...

Her bed...

Heat flashed through her, and she wished for a glass of ice water instead of the cup of lukewarm coffee sitting on the linen blotter on her driftwood-colored desk.

Resentment tugged her brother’s mouth into a grimace. “It’s what you want, though.”

“I want you to finish college,” she said. “And to choose a profession that’s right for you.” Not for Wyatt Andrews.

Matthew stuck out his chest and stabbed it with his thumb. “Being a Hotshot,” he said. “That’s right for me.”

“Why?” she asked. “I looked it up.” Years ago. “I know how dangerous it is—even more dangerous than being a regular firefighter.”

It was also incredibly physically demanding—which explained why her formerly scrawny brother had started working out so strenuously. She’d thought that, too, had been his trying to emulate Wyatt. She just hadn’t realized how much.

He shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand...”

“Why you want to risk your life?” She shook her head. “No, I don’t understand that.” She stood up and came around her desk. But when she reached out for him, he stepped back. “Do you know what it would do to Mom if something happened to you?”

Losing her husbands had nearly destroyed her. Losing her son definitely would.

He snorted derisively. “Do you? You’re the one who never sees her.”

“I see her...” But it was difficult because the woman continued to make poor decisions. She kept dating men like her late husbands. Men who drove too fast and drank too much. She’d probably buried a few of them, too, but had refrained from admitting it to Fiona.

She wouldn’t have wanted to hear “I told you so.”

Matthew’s mouth twisted into a grimace of disgust. “Then you know that Mandy would just drink an extra bottle of wine and forget all about me.”

“I wouldn’t.” She reached out again, trying to stroke his hair as she’d done when they were kids. But he was too tall now. She could only squeeze his shoulder.

His grimace became a sneer of resentment. “You did.”

She shook her head and reminded him, “It wasn’t my choice to leave. You know that.” According to the judge, she had been too young at eleven to make her own decision. But even then she’d known herself better than anyone else had. And she’d known that Matthew, at five, needed her more than her grandparents did.

He sighed. “I know. I know...”

“And I never forgot about you.” She had visited as often as she’d been allowed and her mother had been able to afford. Her grandparents, who’d lived, and still lived, in Florida, had made certain the judge made her mother responsible for her travel expenses. They’d known it would keep her visits home to a minimum.

He laughed. “Maybe it would be better if you had forgotten about me.”

She gasped.

“I’m just joking,” he said.

But she wondered.

“You do tend to forget that I’m not that little kid you left,” he said. There was nothing little about him now; he towered over her. “You can’t boss me around anymore, sis.”

“I don’t want to boss you,” she assured him. “I just want you to—”

“Do what you want,” he finished for her.

“That’s not the case at all,” she said. She wanted him to finish college, but before she could explain, knuckles tapped against the open door behind Matthew.

“Hello?” Wyatt Andrews called out. “There wasn’t anyone at the reception desk.”

Fiona regretted now that she’d been so tired she’d forgotten to lock the outside door. She hadn’t minded Matthew coming inside, but she would have rather not seen Wyatt Andrews again.

“Hey, Wyatt!” Matt turned around and grabbed the bigger man in a tight embrace. And there was that adoration with which he used to look at Fiona when they were kids.

Wyatt flinched and eased back. And Fiona gasped at the bruise on his handsome face.

“What the hell happened to you?” Matt asked.

Wyatt shrugged. “Bar fight...”

“I should’ve been there,” her brother said. “I would’ve had your back.”

“You’re not twenty-one,” she reminded him. He was too young to be in a bar, much less in a bar fight. He was also much too young to decide on a career that could cost him his life.

Matthew glared at her before turning back to his idol. “I’m sure the other guy looks worse.”

“Guys,” Wyatt corrected him.

And encouraged him. Fiona could almost see her brother’s admiration grow. She was right in thinking that Wyatt had influenced Matthew’s decision. Matthew didn’t just want to be like him; he wanted to be him.

“What was the fight about?” Matthew asked. “Did you steal someone’s girl?”

“I didn’t steal anyone,” Wyatt said. And he glanced at her over her brother’s shoulder.

Matthew laughed and playfully punched his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have to—all the women just want to be with you because you’re a Huron Hotshot!”

Wyatt turned the bruised side of his face toward them. “And I thought it was because I’m so damn good-looking...”

He was—even with the bruise. It had done nothing to detract from his appeal. If anything, it had added to his attractiveness, giving him that air of danger women like Fiona’s mother craved. But not Fiona...

“No sensible woman would want to get involved with a man who constantly risks his life,” Fiona said. So where had her sense gone? Why had she let images of Wyatt Andrews keep her awake all night?

Matthew snorted. “Who wants sensible women?”

Definitely not a twenty-year-old kid. And probably not a thirty-year-old playboy firefighter who got into bar brawls. Tammy had been crazy to think Fiona would be able to use her limited feminine wiles to influence Wyatt to help her.

But she needed help. She wouldn’t be able to convince Matthew on her own. If anything, her objections seemed to make him more determined to follow through with his dangerous plan.

“What are you doing here?” Matthew asked. He glanced nervously from one of them to the other.

Fiona had been wondering that herself. She doubted he’d lain awake thinking about her. Hell, he probably hadn’t gone home alone—after he’d returned to the club to help his friend. He’d definitely been the most attractive man in the place.

Wyatt shrugged broad shoulders. “I have an appointment to talk...”

They hadn’t made an official appointment. They hadn’t had time before he’d rushed back inside the club.

Matthew turned to her, and his brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What are you doing?”

She gestured toward her desk. “Working...” It was what she was usually doing—making sure people were protected. That was what she was trying to do for Matthew, but he wouldn’t appreciate her protection. He would see it only as interference.

“Yeah,” Wyatt agreed. “I’m here to talk insurance.”

The suspicion didn’t leave Matthew’s eyes—even as he turned to look at his idol. “Like you would ever worry about being insured...”

“I didn’t agree to buy anything,” Wyatt said. “I just agreed to talk.” He glanced at his watch. “But I don’t have much time.”

Matthew looked between them again. He obviously wasn’t buying that Wyatt had come to her office for an insurance appointment. But he respected him too much to call him a liar.

He respected him so much that he would listen to him—if Fiona could make Wyatt listen to her. She had to make him listen.

Matthew shot her a glare before he turned and headed out the door. He patted Wyatt’s shoulder as he passed him. “I’ll catch you later.”

He made no promises to see her again. His showing up at her office had been unusual. But he’d known his call, telling her that he’d dropped out of college to become a firefighter, had upset her the day before. Had he come to check on her? Or had he been worried about what she might have done to stop him?

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