Lights. Camera.

And a whole lotta action...

Globe-trotting fashion photographer Ivy Nelson is home to help her family out of a jam. When she donates her services to a charity calendar, the last thing she expects is hunky firefighter—and object of all her hottest fantasies—Cade Hardesty to walk through the door. Cade is ready to get naked for a good cause, and the heat Ivy feels is anything but professional.

When a sexy dare turns into a scorching kiss, they can’t help but give in to their desires. But Cade wants Ivy in his bed for more than one night. Can the hometown firefighter convince the photographer that her wanderlust should lead her into his arms for good, or will one of them run before they both get burned?

“Anything else you want to practice?”

“Just this.” She rose on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his mouth. She meant it to be a quick kiss. Sweet and gentle. Something to whet his appetite, give him a tantalizing taste of the woman she’d become.

Leave him wanting more.

But she hadn’t counted on the warmth of his mouth, the softness of his lips or the soapy clean, all-male scent of him tickling her nostrils and sending a current of desire through her body. She couldn’t be the only one feeling this electricity between them, could she?

Ivy pressed against him and flicked his lips with her tongue, willing him to open up to her. With a primal moan he surrendered, parting his lips and bringing his hands around to cup her bottom. The movement brought her impossibly closer to him, fitting her soft curves to his hard lines.

Oh. My. Bleeping. God. Seeing him in the G-string at the photo shoot hadn’t prepared her for the delicious pressure of his hard body. She relaxed into the kiss, letting the sensations left in the wake of his roaming hands overwhelm her...

Dear Reader,

Friends to lovers. Brother’s best friend. Ugly duckling turned swan. They’re three of my favorite romance tropes, and I loved mashing them up in Triple Dare, the third book in my The Art of Seduction series.

Ivy Nelson has had a thing for Cade Hardesty, her twin brother Gabe’s best friend, since they ate paste together in kindergarten. But he never saw her as anything more than a friend. After years traveling the world as a successful photographer, she’s back in town—thirty pounds slimmer—to help run her family’s business while her father recovers from a heart attack.

Sparks fly when firefighter Cade walks in to a photo session for a charity calendar and finds Ivy behind the camera. When a sexy dare forces them to spend time together, the sparks turn into a five-alarm fire. But will the flames die out when Ivy returns to her glamorous career? Or will she and Cade find a way to keep the home fires burning?

This book is special to me because it includes my absolute favorite first line (and scene) I’ve written to date. Let me know if you agree! I love hearing from readers. You can find me on Facebook at facebook.com/ReginaKyleauthor and on Twitter at @Regina_Kyle1. Or sign up for my newsletter at reginakyle.com and get all the news about my upcoming releases firsthand.

Up next: the youngest Nelson sibling, Noelle, gets her turn at bat. Appropriate, since it’s bad boy baseball player Jace Monroe who’s got her tied in knots.

Until next time,

Regina

Triple Dare

Regina Kyle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

REGINA KYLE was destined to be an author when she won a story contest at age eight with a touching tale about a squirrel and a nut pie. By day, she composes dry legal briefs. At night, she writes steamy romance with heart and humor. A lover of all things theatrical, Regina lives with her husband, teenage daughter and two melodramatic cats. When she’s not writing, she’s usually singing, reading, cooking or watching bad reality television.

This one’s for my peeps at CTRWA, especially my critique partner, Lisa Hayden, without whom my books would probably be all dialogue and no deep POV; my Obi-Wan, Jane Haertel; the plot vixens, Gail Chianese, Jamie Pope, Jamie Beck and our fearless leader, Heidi Ulrich; my sweet and sassy signing sister, Katy Lee; and my conference roomies, Melanie Meadors and Jen Moncuse. These intrepid ladies have cheered my successes and held my hand through the rough patches (or smacked me upside the head, if needed). They put up with my idiosyncrasies, my moodiness and, in some cases, my snoring. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t be in the position to write this dedication without them. I am eternally grateful for their support and, more importantly, their friendship.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Series Front Sales

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

Extract

Copyright

1

“CADE ALEXANDER HARDESTY! Get your half-naked ass out here before I come back there and strip you myself!”

Cade stared at the outfit in his hands. If you could call a red satin G-string an outfit. Did Ivy seriously expect him to wear this? He figured she’d photograph him in his turnout gear, maybe shirtless with his bunker pants unbuttoned and riding low on his hips. After all, the “Hunks of Burning Love” calendar was an annual institution, featuring Stockton’s finest firefighters in various states of undress, each year for a different charity. This time it was the local animal shelter, a cause he supported 100 percent.

But a G-string? What the hell did she think he was, a Chippendales dancer?

“I’ll be way more than half-naked in this thing.” He dangled the undersized jockstrap from a finger and held it over the top of the changing screen.

“I’m not kidding, Mr. December. I haven’t got all day. Put it on and get out here.”

Cade groaned and kicked off his sneakers.

“You’ve got to the count of three. One...”

He stripped off his T-shirt. “Two...”

His pants and boxer briefs hit the floor.

“Three.”

Cade stepped gingerly into the G-string. Shit. The ridiculous scrap of fabric barely hid anything. He tried adjusting himself without much success.

“Uh, Ivy? We have a problem.”

“Damn straight we do. I distinctly heard myself say ‘three’ and you’re still hiding back there like a whore at a church social.”

Cade chuckled in spite of his predicament. Ivy had always been able to make him laugh. They’d done lots of crazy things together as kids—him, Ivy and his best friend, her twin brother, Gabe. Sticking crayons up their noses in kindergarten. Smoking behind the high school gym. Stealing their football rival’s mascot, an uncooperative goat they tried—and failed—to hide in the Nelsons’ treehouse.

Okay, so the last two had pretty much been him and Ivy. She was fearless, willing to take any dare they threw at her if it meant she could tag along. Hell, she’d even seen him naked. Of course, they’d been six at the time and running through the sprinkler in her backyard.

“All right, big guy. Ready or not, here I come.”

“I’m ready, I’m ready.”

Cade took a deep breath, reminding himself for the hundredth time that this whole thing was for charity, and stepped out from behind the screen.

“Hang on. I almost forgot.” He caught a glimpse of Ivy’s apple bottom as she darted into the tiny office in the corner of the studio. She’d been in there when he arrived, too, yelling out instructions for him to change and wait for her.

He frowned, surveying the room. Wood floor, bare walls, white backdrop, a few umbrella lights. Her camera sat on a tripod in the middle of it all, ready for action. What else could she need? “Forgot what?”

“The final touches to your costume.”

“You mean there’s more to this getup than dental floss?”

“Not exactly.” She emerged from the office with a Santa hat in one hand and a gray-and-white calico kitten in the other, cradled against her chest. But it wasn’t the cat or the hat that had Cade’s attention. It was Ivy.

Holy three-alarm fire.

It’d been twelve years since she’d left Stockton. And almost three since he’d seen her on one of her rare visits home.

Those years had treated her well.

“What are you wearing?” His heart rate kicked up a notch as he took in the short shorts and tight V-necked T-shirt that clung to her lush curves. I Like To Flash People was emblazoned across her breasts. Where the hell were the usual baggy jeans and oversized sweatshirt? Even her hair was different, the normally wild, auburn curls restrained in some sort of messy bun that women seemed to think was sexy. He’d been inclined to disagree, until now.

“A damn sight more than you.” She handed him the kitten and put the hat on his head, adjusting it so it sat at an angle, away from his eyes.

“Don’t blame me. You’re the one who picked this thing.” He plucked at the waistband of his skimpy G-string with his free hand. The kitten squirmed in the other, its soft fur tickling Cade’s palm. He rested it against his shoulder and it burrowed under his chin.

“Actually, it was Hank.” Her brows knitted at the mention of the photographer who’d done the calendar for as long as anyone could remember. He’d thrown his back out, and thankfully Ivy had been in town to step in. “I’m just finishing what he started.”

“None of the other guys had to dress like strippers.”

“None of the other guys has a body like yours.” She turned to fiddle with her camera but not before he caught her eyeing his package. Interesting. She’d always thought of him like a brother. Hadn’t she? There was that one time senior year...

“I heard they’ve been trying to get you to pose for years,” she continued, interrupting his thoughts. “What finally made you do it?”

He shrugged and stepped in front of the backdrop, where he assumed she wanted him. “My mom wasn’t comfortable with the garden club seeing her little boy in the buff. But she and Dad retired to Chapel Hill last year, so...”

Ivy chuckled. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them?”

“Something like that. And if they find out, at least they’re a thousand miles away.” Although, knowing his mother, she’d find some way to punish him long-distance.

Ivy peered through the camera lens, focusing on who knew what, then straightened, hands on her hips. The movement thrust her already prominent breasts out even farther. Hot damn. Had she always been so...well-endowed? Is that what she’d been hiding under all the loose-fitting clothes?

Whoa, slugger. Don’t go there. She’s practically your sister. Of course, there’s a big difference between practically and actually.

“Well.” She let out a puff of air, ruffling the loose tendrils of hair that had escaped her bun. “Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

Cade stroked the kitten with his index finger. “Where do you want us?”

She waved a hand. “You’re fine right there for the moment. I have to aim the lights.”

He shifted from one foot to the other, petting the cat and trying not to stare at the junk in her trunk while she fine-tuned first one light, then another. “What’s the cat’s name?” he asked to break the silence.

“Bilbo.”

“Someone’s a Tolkien fan.”

“The warden.” Her Chuck Taylors—the lone holdover from her teenage wardrobe—squeaked on the varnished floor as she moved on to the third light. “He’s up for adoption.”

“The warden?” Cade asked, smirking.

“Bilbo, obviously.” Ivy stopped tinkering with the light long enough to shoot him a pleading look over her shoulder.

“No, thanks. I’m more of a dog person. Couldn’t the shelter have set me up with a rottweiler? Or even a shih tzu?”

“Nothing sells calendars like a big, strong guy cuddling a cute, little kitten.” She finished with the last light and walked back to the tripod. “Besides, the chief got the rottweiler. And they didn’t have a shih tzu.”

“So you think I’m big and strong?” He couldn’t resist teasing her and flexed his biceps.

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve got the entire female population of Stockton to stroke your ego. You don’t need me.”

He corralled Bilbo, who had climbed over his shoulder and perched on the back of his neck. “You mean Maude at the diner, who celebrated her eighty-fifth birthday last week? Or the librarian, Mrs. Frazier? She can whistle ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ through her dentures.”

“Gabe says you’re dating the new checkout girl at Gibson’s Grocery with the amazing—”

“Smile?” He waggled an eyebrow. “Hair? Ability to add four-digit numbers in her head?”

“Yeah, right.” She crossed to a table against the far wall. “Put Bilbo down for a second. And stand with your feet apart, arms out.”

He lowered the kitten to the floor and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why would I do that?”

She turned, a translucent spray bottle filled with colorless liquid in her hand, and sauntered toward him, looking like a lioness bearing down on her prey. Was that some kind of oil? She wasn’t going to...

“Duh. Why else? So I can wet you down. Now shut up and spread ’em.”

Damn.

* * *

IVY NELSON TRIED to maintain an air of cool, disinterested professionalism as she strode forward, holding the spray bottle of water and glycerin in front of her like a deadly weapon. But it wasn’t easy. Cade Hardesty in all his nearly naked glory was even hotter than she’d imagined. And she’d done a heck of a lot of imagining.

She slowed then stopped, her legs turned to wax. The hand with the bottle dropped to her side and she swallowed hard. With her free hand, she tugged on the hem of her shirt, suddenly aware of the wide expanse of fleshy, chalk-white skin showing above the waistband of her shorts.

Stop it. So what if you’re not a size two—or even an eight? You’re not Jabba the Mutt anymore.

She tightened her grip on the bottle, squeezing it so hard the plastic crinkled in her fist, and steeled her resolve. She’d photographed hundreds of models, male and female. Had her hands all over some of the best bodies in the business. Cade was no different.

Except he was. He was her first love, the boy she’d spent her youth doodling about in her notebook even though he’d never seen her as more than his best friend’s pesky twin sister, an easy mark for a dare and good for an occasional laugh.

“Are we going to do this or what?” The boy was a man now, the picture of masculine yumminess with his arms crossed over his broad, tanned chest, all hard lines and warm, firm muscle. Years of high school and college athletics followed by a career fighting fires had honed his body into sheer male perfection. Bulging biceps. Washboard abs. Powerful thighs and toned, trim calves. Hell, even his bare feet were sexy. And as for what the G-string was so not hiding...

The hairs rose on Ivy’s arms and the back of her neck.

Hell to the yes. We’re going to do this, all right.

“Earth to Ivy.” Cade brushed a lock of honey-blond hair from his forehead, revealing baby blues framed by impossibly long lashes, perfect for a woman, downright sinful on a man. “I’m freezing my ass off here.”

She craned her neck to risk a glance at his backside. Nope. His fine, firm ass was most definitely still there.

“I’ll turn down the AC.” Her false bravado back in place, she sashayed past him and raised the thermostat until she heard it click off.

Great. She was already burning up. Now she just might burst into flames.

Why did Hank have to hurt his back? And why had she agreed to fill in for him? She hadn’t even been home a week. She was supposed to be taking care of her dad after his heart attack, not ogling scantily clad firefighters. Especially ones she’d known since grade school.

Well, she’d be done after this shoot. Then she’d spend the rest of her time in Stockton working in her parents’ greenhouse and making sure her dad took his meds and followed a low-cholesterol diet. No time for lusting after her childhood BFF. And slim to no chance of running into him, or anyone else from the so-called glory days of high school. Days she’d just as soon forget.

“Better?” Ivy faced her subject, who had Bilbo in his arms again. The cat’s loud purrs echoed in the almost empty room as Cade rubbed slow circles on his belly.

Oh, yeah. They’d definitely saved the best for last.

“Sorry.” Cade gave her a sheepish grin and her heart flip-flopped. “The little guy was lonely.”

“Sure you don’t want to take him home?”

“No can do. Like I said, dog person.”

She eyed the kitten, sprawled belly-up across Cade’s folded arms, the picture of feline ecstasy with his head back and eyes closed. “Bilbo seems to disagree.”

“He’ll get snapped up in no time. Probably by some nice family with kids who’ll smother him with affection.”

Cade had a point. Puppies and kittens practically flew out of the shelter. It was the full-grown dogs and cats that had a hard time finding a home. She’d adopt one herself if she wasn’t on the road all the time. But Cade...

“How about an older pet? The shelter has lots of them, and they’re harder to place.”

“Maybe someday. Right now I’m too busy with work and...stuff.”

“Stuff like the checkout girl at Gibson’s?” She wanted to swallow the words as soon as they left her mouth. What right did she have to be jealous? Cade was single, barely thirty and way more than reasonably attractive. He could date anyone he wanted.

Too bad he didn’t want her. Oh, well. Qué será, será, lots more fish in the sea and all that crap.

“What is this, a photo shoot or the Spanish Inquisition?” His slow smile took any sting there might have been out of his words. “And I thought Gabe was the king of cross-examination.”

“Please.” She walked back to the tripod and patted her Nikon D3. “He may be an attorney, but I can expose as much through this lens as he can in court.”

“So how about we get started?” He nodded to the bottle still in her hand. “You gonna use that thing or not?”

She stepped back and studied him as impartially as she could, taking off her love-struck schoolgirl glasses and donning her seasoned, award-winning photographer hat. She bit her lip, nodding as she noted the way the light reflected off his well-developed pecs, the dusting of golden hair leading to his navel, the shadowy vee where his hips met his thighs.

“Not.” She set the bottle on the floor, plucked the camera off the tripod and pocketed the lens cap. Cade was a full-fledged, red-blooded, all-American male. Every woman’s dream. He didn’t need phony enhancements or photographer’s gimmicks to make him look good. This shoot called for something different. Something daring.

Something...real.

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Turn around. And put Bilbo on your shoulder.”

He faced the backdrop and draped the cat over his left shoulder. “Trying to get my best side?”

“Something like that.” She hit the power button on the Nikon and peered through the lens. “Good. Now look at Bilbo.”

Cade turned his head and stared awkwardly at the cat.

“Relax.” Ivy lowered the camera. “Pet him. Talk to him.”

He scratched the cat between the ears. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.” She brought the camera back up to her face, determined to focus on the interaction between man and beast and not Cade’s buns of steel in that obscene thong. “Tell him how cute he is. Regale him with the details of your latest conquest. Recite Green Eggs and Ham. Just have fun with it.”

“Did you hear that, little guy?” He stroked down the cat’s back, pulling lightly on his tail. “We’re supposed to be having fun.”

Bilbo’s loud purrs increased, and his pink tongue stole out to lick Cade’s sexily stubbled chin. Cade threw back his head and laughed, flashing a million-watt smile that transformed his already handsome face into a thing of beauty.

“Oh, my God, that’s perfect.” Ivy snapped away as she moved around him, trying to capture every possible angle. “Don’t stop. That look will have these calendars sailing off the shelves.”

For the next hour, she posed him. Standing. Sitting. Reclining on a dusty settee they dragged out of the office and brushed off. Of course, that meant she had to feel that hot, hard flesh scorching her palm every time she adjusted an arm or repositioned a leg.

All in a day’s work.

Right. Then why hadn’t any of the professionals she’d photographed over the years—men as muscular and manly as Cade—made her heart flutter, her breath catch and her fingers tingle with the need to do more than touch?

Fortunately—or unfortunately—she’d had to do less and less touching as the shoot went on and Cade loosened up. He was a natural, better than some of the models she’d worked with. And Bilbo was a regular feline ham, mugging it up like he was born to be in front of the camera.

They were quite the pair. Women would go gaga over them.

Over him.

Ivy snapped the lens cap on the camera with more force than necessary, trying to ignore the ugly pang of resentment that started in her stomach and yanked at her heart.

“Okay.” She returned the camera to the tripod and reached for the cat. “I think we’ve got what we need. And Bilbo has to get back to the shelter before closing time.”

“I can bring him.” Cade stood, his hold tightening on the wriggling kitten. “It’s on my way.”

“Your way to what?” She swiped a stray, sweat-dampened hair off her cheek and went to lower the thermostat. “The firehouse is in the opposite direction.”

“I’m not on duty tonight. I’ve got a date.”

“Your Gibson’s girl with the banging...math skills?”

He whipped off the Santa hat and pressed it to his chest in mock horror. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

“Since when are you a gentleman?” She took the cat from him and pushed him toward the changing screen in the corner. “Go get dressed. I’ll put Bilbo in his carrier so you can drop him off and be on time for your hot date.”

And she could get back to her dad and the nursery and quit fantasizing about God’s gift to womankind.

As if.

2

“SHE’S BEAUTIFUL, HOLS.” Ivy looked down at her infant niece and brushed a knuckle over one alabaster cheek. “A perfect little angel.”

“Sure, now that she’s sleeping.” Holly sank into the Adirondack chair next to Ivy’s, stretched out her legs and ran her toes through the grass. “How is it I rock her for hours without success yet you hold her for two seconds and she’s out like a light?”

Ivy frowned at the dark circles under her sister’s eyes. Anyone else in Holly’s position—Broadway playwright, married to a movie star—would have hired someone to plan her daughter’s christening. Turned it into a media event. But not Holly. She’d insisted on doing everything herself and keeping it small, just family and a few close friends.

“Auntie’s magic touch, I guess.” Ivy tucked the lemon-yellow fleece blanket under her niece’s tiny chin. It might be spring, but evenings were cool in Connecticut, even with a blaze roaring in the fire pit.

“Too bad you’re not around more. I could use a bit of that magic every now and then.”

Holly’s husband, Nick, came up behind her and dropped a kiss on her upturned forehead. “How’s that for magic?”

“It’s a start.” Holly pulled him back down to her and kissed him soundly.

Ivy’s heartstrings tugged as she watched them, immersed in each other, clearly ass-over-teakettle in love. Not that she begrudged Holly her happiness. Her sister deserved it after everything her sleazeball ex-husband put her through. But part of Ivy—the part that wondered how much longer she could go on globe-trotting—couldn’t help wanting a little of that happiness for herself.

She hid her melancholy with a lukewarm chuckle. “Would you two get a room already?”

Nick came up for air and waved an arm at the rambling clapboard house across the lawn. “We’ve got ten of them. We just have to get rid of our guests.”

“How about we get Joy in her crib first? She’s had a long day, and it’s awfully chilly out here.”

Holly started to stand but Nick stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Relax. I’ve got her. You’ve done enough today.”

“I still can’t believe you kept Dad’s name thing going,” Ivy said, shaking her head at her sister. Their father loved Christmas and had played Santa in the local holiday parade for as long as anyone could remember. He’d given his children names reminiscent of the season: Holly, Ivy, Gabriel and Noelle. It had been a constant source of embarrassment as kids. And now Holly and Nick had followed suit with Joy.

“Did we really have a choice?” Holly exchanged a knowing look with her husband. “I mean, I married a guy with the same name as St. Nicholas.”

“And Joy was born on Christmas Eve.” Nick took the sleeping baby from Ivy’s arms. Joy stirred briefly, then settled into her father’s embrace.

“Why not Eve, then?”

“Too obvious. We were going for something more subtle.” Holly swiveled her head to watch Nick as he strode up the lawn toward the house. “Send Devin down,” she called after him. “And tell her to bring the stuff for the s’mores. It’s on the counter next to the stove.”

“Sure thing.” He disappeared into the increasing darkness.

“Too bad Noelle couldn’t stay for dessert.” Ivy stared across the grass to the dock jutting out over Leffert’s Pond. A rowboat bobbed at the end, partially obscuring the moon’s reflection in the calm, glasslike water. For the second time in as many minutes, she felt a twinge of envy toward her sister. Great guy. Great kid. Great house.

“I know,” Holly agreed. “She had to get back to the city for an early rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Mom finally get Dad out the door?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised he held out as long as he did. We offered to postpone the christening, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Stubborn Swede.” Holly gave a halfhearted shrug and tipped her head skyward.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Cade should be here any minute.”

Ivy barely stopped herself from bolting upright. She hadn’t seen Cade since he’d walked out of her studio two weeks ago. She continued to gaze out at the lake, her face an impassive mask. She hoped. “I thought you said he was on call.”

“Only until seven o’clock. That’s why he missed the ceremony. But he promised to stop by when he got off.”

Ivy closed her eyes against the image of Cade “getting off.” In the shower, head thrown back, one arm braced against the tile as he stroked himself to completion. In her bed, over her, under her, in her, until they both collapsed, exhausted but satisfied.

Damn. She thought she had it bad before. Seeing him nearly naked had sent her off the high dive into an ocean of lust.

“Are you okay? You look flushed.”

“I’m fine.” Ivy put a hand to her face. Red-hot. “A little too close to the fire, I guess.” She fanned herself. Like that was going to douse the inferno raging inside her.

“Rumor has it you got to see him in his birthday suit.” Holly leaned forward. “Is he as scrumptious as I think he is?”

“First off, he was not ‘in his birthday suit.’” Ivy put air quotes around the last four words. “He was wearing a thong.”

“That much, huh?” Holly snickered.

Ivy ignored her and played with the zipper on her hoodie. “Second, it was all business.”

“Some business.”

“And third, you’re married to People’s sexiest man alive. What do you care how Cade or any other guy looks naked?”

“Married. Not dead. I can still appreciate a fine male form.” Holly leaned in farther, resting her elbows on her knees. “So come on. Spill. How fine is he?”

Ivy let out a slow, resigned sigh. She hadn’t won an argument with her big sister in years, and it didn’t look like today would be any different. “Let’s just say December’s going to be a whole heck of a lot hotter next year.”

“December? That’s like a year and a half from now. Can’t you give me a sneak peek?”

“Nope. Photographers’ code of ethics.”

“There’s a photographers’ code of ethics?”

“Well, there should be.” Ivy tucked her knees to her chest.

“Fine. Be that way.” Holly settled back into her chair. “I suppose I can’t complain. I mean, you’re taking care of Dad. And the nursery. You know I’d stay and help, but...”

“It’s okay. You’ve got enough going on with the baby and your new show in rehearsals. It’s my turn to pitch in. Besides—” Ivy scanned the newly reconstructed dock, impeccably landscaped yard and sprawling house “—you’re letting me stay here. That’s not exactly a hardship. Especially when the alternative was staying with Mom and Dad.”

“They driving you nuts?”

Ivy could hear the smile in her sister’s voice. She smiled back. “Not yet. But close.”

“I just wish it hadn’t taken a heart attack to bring you home.” Holly reached out to cover Ivy’s hand on the faded wooden armrest. “I missed you.”

“Ditto.” A lump of guilt clogged Ivy’s throat. She’d fled Stockton, so desperate to reinvent herself she’d run from anything that reminded her of the girl she’d been. But in doing so she’d alienated herself from her family, too.

A mistake she needed to rectify. And maybe helping out her parents was a good start.

“This where the party’s at?” Devin’s voice drifted down from the house.

Ivy turned and saw her ambling toward them, a tray balanced on one hand. Gabe walked beside her and a third, shadowy figure lagged a few paces behind them.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Gabe gestured at the silhouette, whose features became more distinct with each step.

“Got room for one more?” Cade held up two six-packs of chocolate stout. “I brought suds.”

* * *

CADE TOOK A pull on his bottle of stout and leaned back in the weathered wooden chair, one of eight surrounding the fire pit. Holly had gone up to the house to see if her husband needed help with the baby, and Devin had followed a few minutes later, pleading exhaustion.

Leaving the Three Amigos to relive their glory days.

Sort of.

“That is so not what happened.” Ivy fixed her brother with a defiant stare.

“Is too,” Gabe countered. “I distinctly remember you falling into the pool in the middle of the boys’ swim team practice.”

“You’re delusional.” She shook her head, making her reddish brown curls, free from the bun she’d worn the last time he’d seen her, sway and shimmer in the firelight.

Cade stared into the flames, fighting the squeezing sensation in his gut. This—this feeling—was why he’d almost thrown Holly’s invitation into the circular file. But whatever issues he had with his mother, she’d raised him better than that. The Nelsons were like family to him, even more than his egg and sperm donors. They’d given him what his parents couldn’t—affection. Warmth. A sense of belonging.

And you didn’t skip out on family, no matter how hard it was for him to be near Ivy without getting turned on.

“Am not.” Gabe swigged his beer.

“Are too. Right Cade?” Even in the half glow of the fire, Cade could feel Ivy’s hazel eyes piercing him. “You were there.”

“Oh, no.” He waved a palm at her. “Leave me out. I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“Traitor. I wouldn’t have been there in the first place if you hadn’t dared me to fill the pool with rubber ducks.”

Cade smiled at the memory. “You never could resist a dare. But you didn’t get the pool filled, did you?”

“Yeah.” Gabe chuckled. “Because she fell in.”

“I never said I didn’t fall in.” Ivy stuck out her chin defiantly. “Just not during swim team practice.”

“You know what that means?” Cade ran a finger around the rim of his beer bottle.

“Not a clue.” She pulled her sweatshirt tighter around her, emphasizing those full, firm breasts he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since the photo shoot. “But I’m sure you’re planning to enlighten me.”

He shifted in his seat to hide the evidence of his reaction to her. “You owe me. One dare.”

Gabe’s chuckle turned into a guffaw.

“Oh, please.” Ivy turned to Cade, swinging that damn curtain of hair and sending another jolt of tension through his midsection. “That was more than ten years ago. You can’t be serious.”

“As ammonium nitrate.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Come on, Ivy.” He had no idea why, but he felt an instant, overwhelming desire for her to agree, as though some stupid dare would bring them closer together again. And why did he care about that anyway? She’d be out of town faster than a flashover as soon as her dad was on his feet again. It would be safer for both of them if he just kept his distance. So why couldn’t he? “For old times’ sake.”

“No way. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a professional, with a reputation to uphold.”

“I promise it won’t be anything illegal.”

“Yeah, right.” She dragged the toe of her sneaker through the grass.

“Or harmful.”

“Says the guy who made me drink an entire jar of pickle juice.” Ivy grimaced. “And then eat all the salt at the bottom of the pretzel bag.”

Yeah, Cade remembered that one. She’d puked her guts out. For hours. He’d felt terrible about it, not that he’d let her know. “Give me a break. I was thirteen.”

“Which only means you’ve had seventeen years since then to come up with something even more diabolical.”

Any snarky response Cade could have come up with was preempted by his cell phone ringing. He pulled it out of his pants pocket, knowing—and dreading—what was coming.

“Shit.” He pressed Reject, turned the damn thing off and stowed it back in his pocket.

“What’s wrong?” Gabe crossed to a pile of wood on the opposite side of the fire pit, picked up a log and tossed it into the flames, making sparks fly into the cool night air. “Your mother after you again?”

“Nah.” Cade glanced at Ivy, wishing he didn’t have to air his dirty laundry in front of her. He drained his beer, then opened the cooler next to his chair, dropped in the empty and pulled out a fresh bottle. “Sasha. She keeps texting and calling. Even showed up at the station this afternoon bearing brownies.”

He grabbed another beer from the cooler and held it out to Gabe.

Gabe took it and returned to his seat. “The guys must’ve loved that.”

Yeah. They’d never let Cade live it down. They were already calling him Brownie Boy.

“Can I have one of those?” Ivy pointed to the cooler. “And who’s Sasha?”

“Cade’s girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Cade amended, opening a bottle and handing it to her. Their fingers brushed and he felt a flicker of something electric pass between them. “As of two weeks ago.”

His date with Sasha the night of the photo shoot had been their last. Not that the session had anything to do with their breakup. It was pure coincidence he’d picked that night to call it quits.

Wasn’t it?

“Do I know her?” Ivy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t remember a Sasha from high school.”

“She’s a few years younger than us.”

“That’s an understatement.” Gabe snorted. “She’s barely legal.”

“She’s twenty-one,” Cade said through clenched teeth. “Almost twenty-two.”

“Let me guess.” Ivy swung her legs sideways over one arm of her chair and took a slug of beer. “The checkout girl with the—”

“Never mind.” Cade cut her off with a glare. “That’s not important. What is important is no matter what I say, she won’t leave me alone.”

“There’s your problem.” Gabe, always the analytical one, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know the old saying about actions speaking louder than words.”

“Sure.” Cade popped the top of his beer and took a long, slow sip. “But what’s that got to do with Sasha?”

Gabe crossed one Sperry-clad foot over his knee. “You need to show her you mean business, not just tell her.”

“Show her how?”

“By dating someone else.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know.” Gabe lifted a shoulder. “You’re the local ladies’ man. You tell me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the problem.” Cade picked at the label on his beer bottle. “Stockton’s not all that big. I’ve sort of exhausted the dating pool.”

“Hello.” Ivy waggled her fingers at him. “Available female here.”

“Huh?” Cade couldn’t have heard her right. She did not just offer herself up to him like a virgin sacrifice.

“I volunteer as tribute.”

She did.

He continued to stare at her, not sure how to respond. Gabe, on the other hand, had no such problem. He burst into hysterical laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Ivy pressed her lips into a thin line.

“You?” Gabe choked out between laughs. “And Cade? You might as well be brother and sister.”

Only Cade didn’t think of her that way, not anymore. And that was exactly why he didn’t want to go out with her. Couldn’t go out with her.

“Look, Ivy, I appreciate the offer but...”

“But what?” She crossed and uncrossed her legs over the arm of the chair, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of creamy flesh under the hem of her shorts. “Are you chicken? Afraid you’ll succumb to my many charms?”

“Not exactly.” Liar.

“Hang on.” Gabe grinned over the lip of his beer bottle, his laughter finally contained. “The more I think about it, it’s actually pretty perfect. You don’t have to really go out. Just show up somewhere Sasha will be and pretend you’re a couple. That should be enough to get her to back off.”

Great. Pretend dating. Being together and not at the same time. “I don’t know...”

“Come on, man.” Gabe’s grin widened. “What have you got to lose?”

His mind. His heart. The only family he’d ever known if things got serious and then they crashed and burned.

“Tell you what.” Ivy’s tone softened. “Consider it my way of satisfying the dare.”

“Since when does the dare-ee get to decide her own terms?”

“Since the dar-er needs her help to get rid of his ex.”

“Okay.” The corners of his mouth curled upward as he thought of a way to play along without risking anything. “One date. You can come watch me tear it up at third base in the Battle of the Badges game.”

“Battle of the Badges?”

“Softball—cops versus firefighters. They kicked our asses last year.” Cade tipped back his beer, letting the rich, chocolatey liquid slide down his throat, and mentally patted himself on the back. It was genius. Him on the field. Ivy in the stands, cheering him on. Sasha watching the whole thing. He’d convince his ex it was over and still keep Ivy at a safe distance.

“One tiny flaw in your plan.” Ivy shifted her legs back over the arm of the chair and sat facing forward. “How do you know Sasha will be there?”

“Oh, she’ll be there,” Gabe chimed in. “It’s a huge event. Almost the whole town turns out. Winners get bragging rights and pizza after the game, courtesy of the losers.”

“How come I’ve never been? Never even heard of it.” Ivy’s nose wrinkled again. A habit of hers, apparently.

Cade frowned, wondering why he’d never noticed it before. What else had he missed? He shook off the thought and focused on answering Ivy’s question. “We only started playing a few years ago.”

“When is it?”

“Friday at six.”

“All I’d have to do is watch you play?” Ivy bit her lip. The unconsciously erotic gesture sent his sex drive into orbit.

Cade cleared his throat and scraped a hand through his hair. “And root for me. Maybe wear my extra jersey. Typical girlfriend stuff.”

A strange look crossed her face, and for a moment he thought she was going to say no. But then she stood, chugged the rest of her beer and faced him.

“Okay. Pick me up at five thirty. And don’t forget the jersey.”

3

IVY CURSED HERSELF for the thousandth time as she pulled back the curtain and peered out the upstairs window, watching for Cade’s SUV. What the hell had she been thinking? Or maybe she hadn’t been. One too many chocolate stouts and her damned ego had gotten her into this mess.

But she couldn’t help it. It had hurt like hell when Gabe and Cade started discussing the eligible female population of Stockton as if she wasn’t sitting two feet away. What, pray tell, was wrong with her? Did they think she wasn’t good enough for Cade, that no one would believe a super stud like him would date a girl like her?

She wasn’t Jabba the Mutt anymore. She wasn’t.

Not that those two dumb-asses recognized it. To them she’d always be an overweight, insecure, pimply-faced kid.

Well, she’d show them. Especially the chief dumb-ass. Cade.

Ivy abandoned her vigil at the window and headed for the full-length mirror in the master bathroom, needing one last confirmation that all her primping had paid off. Hair tamed in a ponytail, adorably pulled through the back of a Stockton Fire Department baseball cap she’d found in Holly’s closet? Check. Just enough makeup to hide her freckles and play up the pale green flecks in her hazel eyes? Check. Legs tanned, shaved and showcased in an appropriately snug pair of denim cutoffs? Check.

She smiled at her reflection, thinking back to a few years ago when tight had been a four-letter word in her fashion vocabulary. If there was one thing Andre had taught her—over and above all the lessons in photography she’d learned as his apprentice-turned-associate—it was that she wasn’t doing herself any favors wearing clothes that looked like they were designed by Omar the tent maker. “Remember,” he’d said. “You wear the clothes. They don’t wear you.”

Well, she’d wear the hell out of this outfit. She grabbed a pair of silver hoop earrings and her collection of Alex and Ani bracelets off the counter and started downstairs, humming the latest pop radio earworm courtesy of Taylor Swift. All she needed now was Cade’s jersey, which he’d promised to bring. She’d look a little strange if she showed up in only a sports bra. Even if it did wonders for her double Ds.

The doorbell rang when she was halfway down.

“Be right there,” she called, taking the rest of the steps two at a time.

But when she got to the door, her hand on the knob, she froze.

You got this, girl. Show him little Ivy Nelson’s all grown up.

Her heart pounding and her palms moist, she swung open the door. “Hi. Come on in. I’m almost ready.”

She stood back to let him pass, but he stayed firmly planted on the stoop with a dazed expression on his face. “I, uh, brought this.”

He thrust out one hand, a fire-engine-red jersey clenched in his fist. He wore an identical one, the initials SFD across his chest, tucked into a pair of form-fitting, gray baseball pants.

“Thanks,” she said, the tremble almost gone from her voice. Amazing what a little good, old-fashioned leering could do for a girl’s self-confidence. She pried the shirt from his fingers, tossed it onto her shoulder and motioned him inside. “I’ll go put it on and we can get out of here. Can’t have you missing batting practice.”

He followed her in. “We don’t have batting practice, but I should probably stretch before game time.”

“I can help.” She stood in front of the half mirror in the foyer and slipped on her jewelry. “A model taught me some great partner exercises on set in the Turks and Caicos.”

She didn’t mention that the model worked for Victoria’s Secret and that the shoot was for their swimsuit edition. No need to conjure up comparisons between her size-ten frame and the ideal 34-25-34 figure of a VS girl.

“Sounds good.” He leaned against the doorjamb. “Sasha ought to get the picture pretty quick if she sees us working out together.”

Right. How could she forget? This was all for show. For Sasha. Not real. Not for her.

Ivy unbuttoned the jersey and slipped it on, determined not to let Cade’s comment burst the bubble of self-assurance she was floating in thanks to his initial reaction. She had him for tonight, and she was going to make the most of it.

The shirt hung well past her hips, like she thought it would. A throwback to her Jabba days. But she had a plan for that. She pulled the ends together and tied them securely at her waist, checking in the mirror to make sure it had the anticipated effect of highlighting her breasts while revealing just enough—but not too much—skin.

Perfect.

“All set,” she said, turning to face him.

“Damn.” He eyed her up and down, his baby blues leaving goose bumps in their wake. “My shirt never looked so good.”

She eyed him right back, lingering a little longer than necessary between his legs, where the baseball pants weren’t hiding anything.

Down, girl.

“I don’t know.” She licked her lips. “It looks pretty fine on you, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” He pushed off the doorjamb and took a step toward her.

“Mmm-hmm.” She followed his lead, moving into him. “I’ve always been a sucker for a man in uniform.”

He cocked his head. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe.” Another step and she was close enough to put a hand on his chest, praying the whole time he wouldn’t brush it off. When he didn’t, she let her fingers curl into the soft fabric of his jersey. His heartbeat pulsed under her palm, almost as fast as hers. “Or maybe just practicing my witty banter. You know. For Sasha.”

His crystal-blue eyes darkened to indigo. “Anything else you want to practice?”

“Just this.”

She rose on tiptoes and brushed her lips across his mouth. She meant it to be a quick kiss. Sweet and gentle, something to whet his appetite and give him a tantalizing taste of the woman she’d become.

Something to leave him wanting more.

But the second her lips found his all thoughts of kissing and running flew out of her mind. She hadn’t counted on the warmth of his mouth, the softness of his lips or the soapy clean, all-male scent of him tickling her nostrils and sending a current of desire through her body.

She snaked her hand around his neck and pulled his head down, needing more. Needing him to respond. She couldn’t be the only one feeling this electricity between them, could she?

Ivy pressed against him and flicked her tongue against his mouth, willing him to open up to her. With a primal moan he surrendered, parting his lips and bringing his hands around to cup her bottom. The movement brought her impossibly closer to him, fitting her soft curves to his hard lines.

Oh. My. Bleeping. God. Seeing him in the G-string hadn’t prepared her for the delicious pressure of his growing erection against her. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the kiss, letting the sensations left in the wake of his roaming hands overwhelm her.

He released her and stepped back, leaving her breathless and shaky. The sudden rush of air smacked her like a wet towel. She tightened her ponytail and summoned her inner Scarlett O’Hara.

“I think that ought to convince her. Don’t you?”

Cade shoved his hands in his pockets. “It was pretty damn persuasive. But I doubt we’ll have to go that far. Just seeing us together should do the trick.”

“You never know. Better safe than sorry.” Ivy grabbed her purse from the hall table and brushed past Cade on her way to the door. Pinpricks of heat flared where they touched. She shook them off, opened the door and stepped into the mild, sweet-smelling spring evening. “Let’s go. It’s almost game time. We’ve got a grand entrance to make. And a mission to accomplish.”

Cade didn’t need to know Ivy’s mission had a dual purpose. First, show Sasha he was off the market. And second, get him to take her seriously.

Which one would be more difficult was a toss-up.

* * *

“STRIKE THREE.”

Cade threw down his batter’s helmet and stalked back to the dugout.

“Here.” He thrust his bat into the waiting hands of the left fielder, some guy in C Company he barely knew. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with it.”

“What’s eating you, Hardesty?” O’Brien, the first baseman and one of Cade’s fellow firefighters in B Company, greeted him with a smirk and a slap on the back. “One more at bat like that and Cappy’s gonna bump you out of the cleanup spot.”

“No one’s taking Cade off cleanup.” Like Teddy Roosevelt, George “Cappy” Perez, B Company’s captain and the team manager, spoke softly and carried a big-ass stick. Right now that stick was a Louisville Slugger he leaned on in the corner of the dugout.

“It’s okay, Cade, you’ll get ’em next time.” Ivy’s cheerful voice rang across the field.

“That’s right, baby.” Sasha’s followed, a slow, sweet twang that oozed sex. It used to turn him on. Now it was just flat-out embarrassing, like she was trying too hard to be seductive. “Next time.”

“Now I see your problem.” O’Brien leaned back on the bench and folded his beefy arms over his chest. “You’ve got one too many women, Hardesty. Want me to take one off your hands? I bet the redhead won’t mind. Fat chicks usually aren’t picky.”

Cade ripped off his batting gloves, grabbed the front of O’Brien’s jersey and pulled him to his feet until they were standing face-to-face. Cade could see the pores on his pug nose, crooked from being broken one too many times. “Listen up, dirtbag. If I ever hear you say another word about Ivy, I’ll hit you so hard not even Google will be able to find you.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Cade pushed him away and O’Brien landed hard on the bench. “The fat chick’s yours. I’ll take the blonde with the big boobs.”

Cade lunged for him again, but a strong arm wrapped around him from behind and held him back.

“That’s enough.” Cappy loosened his hold only slightly and turned his attention to Cade’s antagonist. “O’Brien. Less trash talk. More softball. You’re on deck. Let’s get something started. I’m not buying these pansies pizza two years in a row.”

O’Brien scooped up his helmet and headed for the on-deck circle, pushing past Cade and muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “chubby chaser.” Cappy let go of Cade, giving him a pat on the shoulder before returning to his post in the corner.

The other guys, who’d been strangely quiet during the whole scuffle, resumed their usual midgame chatter. Cade took a seat at the far end of the bench, away from his teammates, wondering what the hell had just happened.

He wasn’t a violent guy, typically. Laid-back and easygoing, that was Cade Hardesty. The guy least likely to lose his temper.

So why had he lost it on O’Brien?

Okay, the jerk-wad had insulted Ivy. Called her fat. It wasn’t anything Cade hadn’t heard a million times from the kids in school. They even had some dumb-ass, humiliating nickname for her, something about Jabba the Hutt. But he hadn’t gone around threatening to beat the shit out of every kid who used it.

Of course, he’d been nothing but a stupid, self-centered kid himself back then. All he’d cared about was who he could con into doing his chemistry homework and which chick he was going to take to Hotchkiss Point on a Friday night. He’d like to think he was past that now. Maybe that’s why he’d leaped to Ivy’s defense at last.

Cade watched as O’Brien swung and missed. Strike two. Not surprising. The guy must be blind if he thought Ivy was fat. Hadn’t he ever seen Jennifer Lopez? Or Kim Kardashian? There was a big difference between overweight and curvy. And Ivy most definitely fell into the curvy category.

He leaned his head against the dugout wall and closed his eyes, remembering how those soft curves had felt molded against him from chest to thigh. She was all sun-kissed, satiny skin. And that kiss...damn. He’d been hard from the minute her mouth met his.

“Wake up, man.” A hand jostled his shoulder. “O’Brien grounded out. We’re in the field.”

Cade jammed his cap on his head, grabbed his glove and trotted out to third base. Once he was in position, he risked a glance at the stands. Even in a crowd, Ivy was a cinch to spot. She’d positioned herself front and center in the first row. Her ponytail bobbed wildly as she nodded her head to the beat of the Springsteen song playing over the PA.

She looked up as the song ended. They might be sixty feet apart, but that didn’t stop Cade’s insides from somersaulting when her eyes met his. The unfamiliar emotion was like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

“Heads up, Hardesty.”

Cade pivoted toward the voice, silently thanking the powers that be for the interruption. The shortstop tossed him the ball, and Cade wheeled and threw it home, completing the circuit.

“Looking good, baby.” Sasha stood in her seat and waved so enthusiastically her bought-and-paid-for boobs almost bounced out of her practically nonexistent top.

“Yeah, baby,” O’Brien mocked from across the diamond, pursing his lips and making goo-goo eyes at Cade. “Looking good.”

Cade scuffed at the dirt around third base with the toe of his cleat. They were down by three in the fourth. He had one woman he couldn’t handle and another he’d like to but damn well shouldn’t. And that no-necked goon O’Brien seemed hell-bent on pissing him off.

It was going to be a long freaking night.

4

“NICE GAME,” CADE repeated through gritted teeth as he went down the line of police officers, shaking hands. Christ, he hated losing. Especially when it was his own damn fault.

“Better luck next year.” The last cop in line squeezed Cade’s hand a little too hard, his smile a little too broad.

“Bite me.” Cade squeezed right back, engaging his long-time friend and one-time roommate Trey Brannigan in a familiar battle of wills.

“No, thanks.” Trey grimaced but held on. “But I will bite into at least four slices of Valentino’s meat-lovers special, courtesy of the SFD.”

“Keep it up and it may just be your last meal.”

Cappy came up behind Cade and clapped his shoulder. “Play nice, boys.”

“We were just messing around, Cap.” Cade dropped Trey’s hand.

His buddy smirked at him, barely suppressing a laugh, and mouthed, I win.

“Well, quit messing around.” Cappy thrust an equipment bag at Cade and gestured to the balls, bats and gloves strewn on the ground around home plate and near the dugouts. “You struck out three times tonight, more than anyone else on the team. That means you get to pick up the gear. And don’t forget the bases.”

Cappy strode off, and Cade turned back to his friend. “Looks like I’m gonna be a while. Save me a seat at Valentino’s.”

“Don’t you mean three?” Trey looked over Cade’s shoulder.

Cade followed Trey’s gaze and saw Sasha and Ivy bearing down on him from opposite directions. “Shit. Can you run interference for me?”

“Which one do you want me to waylay?” Trey snickered. “The blonde or the redhead?”

“The blonde. Keep her busy while Ivy and I grab the equipment and run.”

“Ivy?” Trey squinted at her. “Damn. Is that Jabba the Mutt?”

There was that stupid nickname again. Cade clenched his fists at his sides. “Don’t call her that.”

“Sorry, man.” Trey stepped back, holding his hands up, palms out, in a show of surrender. “I didn’t realize things were like that.”

Cade frowned. “Like what?”

“When a guy rushes to his woman’s defense, he’s hooked. Not that I blame you. If I’d known she was gonna turn out this hot, I would’ve paid more attention to her in high school.”

“I don’t have time to argue with you.” Cade’s eyes pinged from Ivy to Sasha. Both women were gunning for him like a couple of F-14 fighter jets. He turned to Trey, just shy of begging. “Will you get Sasha off my back or not?”

“Damn. You’ve got Jabba the...”

Cade gave his friend a murderous look, stopping Trey in midsentence before he corrected himself.

“...Ivy and the Gibson’s girl after you?” Trey whistled. “Lucky stiff.”

Stiff didn’t even begin to describe how he’d feel after those two were through with him. And not in a good way. “Yes or no?”

“Fine.” Trey headed off to intercept Sasha, calling over his shoulder as he went, “You owe me one.”

Cade was tempted to respond that distracting Sasha wasn’t much of a hardship. After all, she was blonde and beautiful, with a killer rack and legs that went on for days. But she was also self-centered and not too bright. And at a certain point in a guy’s life, the pretty package wasn’t enough to outweigh the personality flaws.

He was definitely at that point. He wasn’t so sure about Trey.

“Geez, you weren’t kidding about your ex,” Ivy said as she approached him. “That girl can’t take a hint to save her life.”

Cade took her elbow and ushered her toward home plate. “You can tell me all about it later. Right now we’ve got to pick up this gear and get out of here before Sasha figures out Trey’s blowing smoke up her ass.”

“Trey Brannigan, from high school?”

Ivy seemed to shrink before his eyes. He tried to ignore the lump of guilt in his stomach. He’d been her friend back then, but when push came to shove he was no better than the assholes who’d ridiculed her. Like Trey.

Fortunately, most people grew out of that bullshit. For the most part Trey had, although once in a while he slipped back into his old ways, which usually earned him a smack upside the head from Cade.

“Trey can be an idiot. But the ladies love him. He’ll keep Sasha out of our hair until we can split.” He handed her the bag. “I’ll pull up the bases if you get the equipment.”

“No problem.” She went right to work. Yet another difference between her and Sasha, who would have made some excuse about ruining her designer duds or breaking a nail.

Not that the comparison mattered. Because he wasn’t any more interested in Ivy than he was in Sasha. Despite her obvious charms. Charms that were on full display as she bent to gather the gear in that tied-too-tight shirt and shorter-than-short shorts.

It took him twice as long as it should have to pry up the bases thanks to the repeated glimpses of Ivy’s ample cleavage and biteable bottom. When he was done, he met her behind the backstop, where she was zipping up the bag.

“All set.”

“I’ll get that.” He reached for the bag as she hefted it over her shoulder.

“Are you kidding?” She shook him off and started for the parking lot, not even breaking a sweat. “You’ve seen the stuff I work with, right? I haul around twice this much every day.”

“I thought you had people to do that for you.”

“Not always.”

She hitched up the bag, and for the first time he realized what had struck him about her in the studio. Not so much that she was thinner than he remembered her, but that she was stronger.

No, that wasn’t right, either. It was a strength inside, not just physically, that hadn’t been there before.

“Quit dawdling,” she called to him, not missing a step.

“Right behind you.”

He jogged a few paces to catch up and they walked to his SUV in silence.

“Home free.” Cade hit the button on his remote to unlock the doors.

“Hey, baby.”

So damn close, but yet so fucking far.

Sasha’s high heels crunched in the gravel as she bore down on them across the parking lot. “Wait up.”

“So much for your diversionary tactic.” Ivy tossed the equipment bag onto the backseat. “Guess Trey’s not the ladies’ man either of you think he is.”

She slammed the door and turned to face him, hands on her hips in that way she had, the one that made her breasts strain against the fabric of her shirt, her nipples clearly visible under the SFD logo. He cleared his throat and adjusted the crotch of his baseball pants.

“Come on.” He reached for the car door handle. “We can still make it if we hurry. This puppy may not look like much, but it can go zero to sixty in under seven seconds.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” Ivy put a hand over his, stopping him from opening the door. “Kiss me.”

His breath caught in his throat. “What?”

“Are you deaf or dense?” She leaned in to him, pressing those damn delicious breasts against his chest. “Kiss. Me. Like you mean it. If that doesn’t convince her you’re not interested, nothing will.”

He took a step back and found himself pinned between Ivy’s soft, warm curves and the cold, hard SUV. Not much of a dilemma there except for the whole safe-distance thing. “I thought that was a last resort.”

“What’s more last-resort than her closing in on us like a heat-seeking missile? It’s why you brought me here, isn’t it? What we practiced for.” She molded herself to him and he was pretty sure she could feel his erection against her thigh. “One little kiss and she’ll get the message.”

“And what message is that, exactly?”

With surprising force, she grabbed his shoulders and spun him around so she was the one trapped against the car. She rose up on tiptoe so when she spoke her lips moved against his.

“This one.”

* * *

THEIR FIRST KISS was a brushfire compared to this. This was a five-alarm inferno.

Last time Ivy had gone in with the intent to tease, to tantalize. This time she was more like a one-woman wrecking crew, determined to wipe thoughts of Sasha or any other woman from Cade’s mind.

Only he wasn’t biting. Literally or figuratively.

She slid her lips along his strong jaw, smiling as she tasted him. Salt and soap and all sorts of yummy maleness. Just like she’d imagined since she hit puberty.

“This isn’t supposed to be a solo performance,” she whispered against his neck. The sweet scrape of his five-o’-clock shadow made her lips tingle. “Do something. Put your hand on my ass. Your tongue down my throat. Anything.”

He mumbled something that sounded like “fuck safe distance,” wedged a leg between hers and cupped her ass, dragging her to him. She sighed into the hollow at the base of his neck and reached around to pull his shirt from the waistband of his pants.

“That’s more like it.” She slipped her hands under his shirt and up his back, still slick with sweat from the ball game, scraping gently with her nails as she went. He rewarded her with a shudder and her insides did a little happy dance. He might want to deny it, but he was as affected by this as she was. The evidence was undeniable, pressing against her core.

“Christ, Ivy.” He moaned, further proving her point.

Over his shoulder she saw Sasha. Her steps had slowed and her mouth gaped as she stared at them.

“Perfect. She’s looking at us like she’s seen the Ghost of Christmas Past. Kiss me and she’ll probably keel over.”

“Then it’s a good thing there’s plenty of cops and firefighters around,” Cade murmured just before his mouth claimed hers. His hands left her bottom and traveled up to frame her face. In one swift but gentle move, he tugged off her baseball cap and freed her hair from the ponytail, letting it cascade over his fingers.

A moan stuck in Ivy’s throat as his lips teased and pressed harder. She opened to him, letting his tongue play with hers in a dance as old as time but new to her. Sure, she’d kissed guys before. Not many, but a few. And not like this. Hot. Wet. Urgent.

She melted into him, her legs unable to support her weight. His big hand trailed down her neck, his fingers toying with the top button of the borrowed baseball jersey, teasing the sensitive skin between her breasts and making her shiver.

He broke off the kiss and licked a moist path to her ear, his teeth tugging at the lobe. “Sasha still watching?”

Sasha who?

“Uh-huh.” The two syllables were all Ivy could manage.

“She look convinced?” His breath stirred the hair behind her ear, and he raised a hand to twine a strand around his finger.

It took a second for Ivy to come out of her lust-induced haze so she could focus on the parking lot beyond Cade’s shoulder. Sasha was at a dead stop a few feet away, hands on her model-thin hips, eyes flashing. She met Ivy’s gaze, tossed her perfectly coiffed, long, blond hair in a gesture that screamed “I have no clue why he’s with you when he could have all of this” and stomped off.

“She looks pissed. Or looked. She’s gone now.”

“Good.” He let his hand drop and reached around her to open the car door. “Your chariot awaits.”

“Valentino’s?” she asked, still shaking a bit from the aftereffects of their kiss as she climbed in. “I’m dying for a piece of meat-lovers pie. Or three.”

She cringed, instantly regretting mentioning her appetite—another knee-jerk reaction from her way overweight days, when talk of food had been all but verboten—but Cade didn’t seem to notice. He leaned on the open door. “Sasha’s bound to be there. Sure you’re up for that?”

After that kiss, she wasn’t sure of anything, especially her ability to be within five feet of Cade without mauling him like a sex-starved grizzly. But at least at Valentino’s they’d be surrounded by a crowd. And dinner would put off the awkwardness when he dropped her off at the end of the night.

“I’m game as long as you are.”

“Great.” He bent to pick up her baseball cap, brushed it off and handed it to her. “I’m starving.”

Two hours, one beer and more pieces of pizza than she wanted to admit later, Ivy yawned, unable to delay the inevitable any longer. She tapped Cade, who was sitting next to her, on the shoulder. “Can we leave soon? I’ve got to be at the nursery at the butt crack of dawn, and it’s way past my bedtime.”

Plus, she’d had about as much of Sasha and her high-pitched, fake laugh as she could take. Cade’s ex had kept her distance, but that annoying laugh traveled across the room like a bullet to the brain.

And then there were the well-meaning but double-edged compliments from classmates she hadn’t seen since graduation.

“Oh, my God, Ivy, is that you?”

“What happened to you?”

“You’re so much thinner.”

And her personal favorite: “Are you sick?” Like that was the only conceivable way Jabba the Mutt could drop a few pounds.

Cade pulled out his wallet. “No problem. I’m ready to head out, too.”

He threw a handful of bills on the table and stood. “This ought to cover my share.”

Trey snatched it up. “If it doesn’t, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Thanks for everything,” Cade said to Ivy once they’d gotten into his SUV. “I owe you.”

“We’re even, remember?” She ran a finger along the brim of the ball cap, now laying in her lap. “The dare.”

“Right. The dare.” He turned onto the narrow road that circled Leffert’s Pond and led to Holly and Nick’s place. “Anyway, you were great tonight.”

Ivy stared silently out the window, her heart knocking against her ribs. He had no idea how great tonight could be, if only she could work up the nerve. After a few minutes, she turned to Cade, his profile handsome even in the eerie half light of the car’s dashboard. She wished she had her Nikon so she could capture him. “So, that kiss...”

“Yeah, that was something.” He shot her a quick, embarrassed smile and her heart skittered even faster. “I bet I won’t be hearing from Sasha again after that performance.”

Screech. Just like that, her heart skidded to a stop, her hopes dashed.

Performance? Who did he think was performing? Her? Him? Both of them?

She scrunched up the baseball cap in her hands. “That’s not the word I’d use to describe it.”

“Why not?”

“For your information, Mr. I’m-Too-Sexy-For-My-Turnouts Hardesty, I was not ‘performing.’” She made air quotes around the last word. “And neither were you, if the hard-on jabbing against me was anything to go by.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a guy. It’s a natural reaction when a woman plasters herself against you and kisses you like a porn star.”

“A woman?” She leaned against the car door, increasing the distance between them. “Any woman?”

Cade didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled into the driveway, jamming the gearshift into Park but not turning off the engine.

Ivy got the message, loud and clear. As far as he was concerned the night—and their conversation—was over. The second she got out of the car he’d make his escape. But she wasn’t giving up that easy.

She settled into her seat and crossed her arms. “So you’re telling me you’re not the least bit attracted to me?”

“We’ve known each other for ages. I’m your brother’s best friend.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He ran a hand through his honey-blond hair, something she’d longed to do for what seemed like an eternity.

“It’s a damn good thing Gabe’s in New York. If he caught us, he’d have beaten the shit out of me.” Cade smirked. “Or tried.”

Ivy glared at him. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m all grown up. Gabe has nothing to do with this. With us.”

“There is no us.” He said the last word like it was one of the little brown nuggets the Canadian geese left on the lakeshore.

“Don’t get all commitment-phobic on me. I’m not talking me in a white gown and you in your dress blues. I’m blowing this Popsicle stand as soon as Dad’s back on his feet. But in the meantime we’re clearly hot for each other. We’ve got an itch. Who says we can’t scratch it?”

“Me.” He reached across her for the door handle.

She stopped him with a hand on his forearm. “Think of it as added insurance against another messy confrontation with Sasha.”

“There’s a big difference between making her think we’re an item and ruining our friendship by jumping in the sack together.”

“Is that what you’re worried about? Our friendship? We’ve barely spoken to each other in years.”

Her own fault, she knew, for staying away so long, but still an indisputable fact. Her grip on his arm tightened, the soft hairs tickling her palm. She wondered if the hair on his chest was as silky. Or the treasure trail leading down to his waistband...and below.

Cade jerked back as if he could read the direction of her thoughts.

“Friends don’t have to talk on the phone every day to stay close,” he insisted, his voice sincere. “And that’s what we are, right? Friends.”

Great. Friend-zoned again. The curse of the full-figured gal. Guys took one look at her and immediately put her on the do-not-date list.

“Fine, friend.” The last word dripped with sarcasm and tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. She blinked to keep them at bay. She’d been fifty times a fool thinking a little makeup and some revealing clothes would make Cade see her as a desirable woman and not the fat chick always snapping pictures for the high school yearbook. Okay, so his dick had noticed. But not his head. Or his heart.

The parts that mattered to her.

No, no, no. This wasn’t about heads or hearts. She was leaving in a few weeks. He was staying. All it was about—all it ever could be about—was down-and-dirty, no-strings-attached, good-enough-to-last-the-rest-of-your-lifetime sex.

Too bad he didn’t see it that way.

With jerky movements, she unbuttoned the borrowed jersey. “See you around. Good luck with Sasha. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who takes ‘no’ lying down.”

“Ivy, wait...”

But she’d waited long enough for Cade Hardesty. Sixteen years, to be exact, since grade school, when she’d started to notice things about her brother’s best buddy. Like his full, firm, oh-so-kissable lips and his solid-looking chest with the dusting of hair she saw when he took his shirt off in the summer and God, oh, God, the vee at his hips pointing to nirvana that made her brain freeze.

Her palms sweaty, she took off his shirt, balled it up and threw it at him, leaving her half-naked in her sports bra. But he sure as hell didn’t care, and neither did she. “Here. I’d offer to wash it, but I’m sure you’ll find some other friend to help you out.”

Before he could respond, she’d gotten out of the SUV, slammed the door shut and was heading up the stone walkway to the front door. She fumbled for her keys and heard gravel spin out from under his tires as he backed out of the driveway then sped off down the street.

She almost laughed at the irony of it. She’d just dumped a man who refused to go out with her.

5

IF HE LIVED to be a hundred, Cade would never understand women. Especially one feisty, curvy redhead who’d been taking up way too much space in his brain the past few weeks.

All he’d said was the truth. They were friends. Was it so wrong that he didn’t want to risk their relationship for a night of doing the horizontal mambo? Even if, based on the heat generated by their kisses, it would probably be the stuff sexual legends were made of.

He shook his head and reached for the extra virgin olive oil. It was his turn to cook for the squad, and he was trying pasta with clam sauce. Maybe focusing on his culinary skills—or lack thereof—would take his mind off how Ivy’s lips felt on his, soft and sensuous, or how goddamn hard he’d gotten when she’d raked her nails down his back.

He tossed some minced garlic into the pan and stirred it with a wooden spoon, but his thoughts kept spinning back to Ivy and the scene in her driveway. She should be flattered that their friendship meant more to him than a night of meaningless, albeit mind-blowing, sex, not pissed off and refusing to return his calls or texts.

Unless what she had in mind was more than a meaningless one-night stand...

“What’s burning?” Cappy barked. “We’re supposed to put out fires, not start them.”

“Shit.” Cade pulled the pan off the burner and stared at the charred bits of garlic.

Cappy wrinkled his nose. “Please tell me that wasn’t dinner.”

“It was.” Cade strode to the sink, turned on the faucet and stuck the pan underneath. “Good news is it’s not too late to start over.”

“What’s with you lately, son?” Cappy grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and sat down at the enormous oak slab table with the station’s logo embossed in the center that took up most of the firehouse kitchen. “Your head hasn’t been in the game since the Battle of the Badges. You’re not still upset we lost, are you?”

“Nah.”

“O’Brien still bugging you? I can give him a verbal warning.”

“Not necessary, Cap.” Cade finished rinsing the pan, stuck it back on the stove and began chopping fresh garlic. “We’re cool.”

As “cool” as they were going to get, unless O’Brien made another crack about Ivy. Then all bets were off.

Cappy cracked open his water bottle and took a sip. “If work’s not the problem, it must be something at home. You got woman trouble? Maybe one of those gals at the game?”

The knife slipped in Cade’s hand, almost slicing off the tip of his index finger. Jesus Christ. Did they have to talk about this now? Or ever?

“Look, Hardesty,” Cappy continued. Apparently they did have to talk about this. “You’re one of my best men. But you’re no good to me or anyone else in the company stumbling around like something out of The Walking Dead.”

A stab of guilt pierced Cade in the gut. Cappy was right. Cade was damn lucky the most serious call they’d had in the past week was from a lady whose five-year-old somehow got her head stuck between the toilet and the wall. With the way he’d been acting, he’d have risked his own life and the lives of all his brothers in arms in an actual fire.

He put down the knife and turned to his captain. “I’m sorry. I’ll pull my head out of my ass, I promise.”

“See that you do.” Cappy gave him a dismissive nod, indicating the conversation was blessedly over, and Cade turned back to the garlic.

“Do what?” O’Brien came in from the engine bay, followed by Sykes and Hansen, B Company’s paramedics. “Cook dinner without burning it? Smells like it’s too late for that.”

“Lay off.” Cappy pushed his chair back and stood, slapping a palm on the table. “Let the man work.”

They disappeared, leaving Cade to mince and dice in peace. About half an hour later, just as he was pouring the sauce over the pasta, the alarm blared.

“Figures,” he muttered, shoving an uncovered bowl of salad into the fridge. “I knew we’d never get to eat it hot. It smelled too damn good.”

He dropped the now-empty pan into the sink, double-checked the burners to make sure they were off and raced to the lockers, where the rest of the crew was already jumping into their turnout gear.

“What’s the deal?” O’Brien asked as he pulled on his boots.

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