“You sure you want to play this game?”

Maggie laughed at Cale’s words. She knew without a doubt she was playing with fire, but the slow burn of desire in the pit of her tummy was too intoxicating for her to walk away now.

The wicked grin on his face should’ve scared her off, but instead of hightailing it to safety, she deliberately crossed the kitchen toward him. “When I play,” she told him, “I play to win.”

His laughter warmed her as he set the dishes on the counter. He turned and slowly peeled the filthy T-shirt over his head, revealing inch by delicious inch of his well-tanned, muscular torso.

She itched to smooth her hands over the texture of his skin, to press her lips to that glorious wall of flesh. As she wrestled with the wisdom of her actions, he tossed the shirt aside and reached for her. With his hands locked firmly on the swell of her hips, he backed her up against the refrigerator and pressed his body into hers.

“So do I,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “And I won’t lose.”

Dear Reader,

The idea for SOME LIKE IT HOT first came to me when one of my closest friends decided to pursue a new career, that of an EMT followed shortly thereafter by her successfully becoming a firefighter. Our discussions during her education and training fueled my creative fire to the point I could no longer ignore the three sexy hunks you’re about to meet.

This month, meet Cale, a hot and sexy paramedic with a penchant for saving damsels in distress, something that often leads him into trouble. Every man loves a mysterious woman, but what could be more intriguing than a woman without a past…especially a past she can’t remember?

Join me again in October, when a blistering Heatwave isn’t all that’s heating up for arson inspector Drew. Will this diehard playboy finally torch his little black book? In November, things get even hotter when firefighter Ben comes Under Fire when he’s asked to fulfill the ultimate fantasy—of the woman investigating him.

I would love to hear from you! Feel free to drop me a line anytime at P.O. Box 224, Mohall, ND 58761 or jamie@jamiedenton.net. Be sure to stop by my Web site at www.jamiedenton.net for the latest hot and steamy news!

Until next month,

Jamie Denton

Books by Jamie Denton

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

708—FLIRTING WITH DANGER

748—THE SEDUCTION OF SYDNEY

767—VALENTINE FANTASY

793—RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

797—BREAKING THE RULES

857—UNDER THE COVERS

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

10—SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY

41—SEDUCED BY THE ENEMY

Slow Burn

Jamie Denton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Crystal Denton

Acknowledgments:

My first trilogy for Harlequin Temptation would never have become a reality if it wasn’t for the help of a few people. First, Leslie Nielsen. Without her patience in answering my questions these stories would never have been possible.

To the crew of the Somers Fire Department, for generously sharing their time and expertise. My editor, Jennifer Green, for always making me look good.

My agent, Ethan Ellenberg, for his wonderful guidance and support.

And, as ever, Tony, my own special hero, for his love and steadfast encouragement.

I wouldn’t be here without any of you.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

1

“WHAT’S YOUR NAME, sweetheart?”

She looked up into the clearest, bluest eyes this side of the Rockies and would’ve sighed with pleasure if her throat didn’t feel so darned ragged. All she could do was blink before her world tilted again, and those sexier-than-sin eyes swam before her blurred vision. Her head ached, her chest burned and a searing pain gripped her right arm. Someone said it was because of smoke inhalation, but she couldn’t be sure.

She tried to shake her head to clear the haze, but a pair of large, warm hands held her still. Her head rested against a pair of rock-hard thighs she assumed belonged to the black-haired angel of mercy who’d hefted her over his shoulder and carried her from the burning building seconds before the explosion.

What she was doing in a paint warehouse, she couldn’t say.

“You got a name, honey?” he asked again in a rich, soothing voice that made her think of silly things like white picket fences, children’s laughter and golden retriever puppies.

“Maggie.” She tried to shake her head again, but he held her still. Maggie? That wasn’t right. Or was it? “I think,” she added with a croak, her throat raw and as hot as the Sahara Desert.

Someone jammed a needle into her left arm and she winced. She hated needles. Her frown deepened. Why did she hate needles?

She fought down a sense of panic as voices she couldn’t decipher rose around her. She looked up at the prime male specimen again. “What happened?” she asked in the croaky voice only a bullfrog would envy.

“You’ll be fine.” His lips curved into a smile and those eyes the color of blue topaz filled with a reassurance she wasn’t exactly buying. She didn’t feel fine. She felt as if her body was on fire.

“What’s your last name, Maggie?” he asked, smoothing her hair away from her face with a tenderness that felt almost foreign to her. Now why was that? she wondered.

Her vision blurred again until there were two of her angels of mercy gazing down at her with concern banked in their heavenly eyes. Her world started to fade to a dark murky gray, then quickly to black seconds after she whispered, “I was hoping you could tell me.”

AS HE’D DONE every day for the last six, Cale Perry pulled his Dodge Ram pickup into the visitors’ parking lot of the UCLA Medical Center. He avoided the emergency access where everyone knew him and opted for the anonymity of the main entrance. Holding a brown paper bag that was giving off the tantalizing aroma of fried foods, he sauntered through the automatic sliding glass doors, a tuneless whistle on his lips. After a quick scan of the corridor for familiar faces, he slipped into the elevator, where he pushed the button for the fourth floor.

He hadn’t told a soul where he’d been disappearing to once his shift ended, especially not his nosy brothers, Drew and Ben, or Tilly Jensen, a family friend and E.R. nurse, who happened to be on duty the night of Maggie’s accident. They’d never understand the inexplicable need that drove him to the hospital on a nightly basis, and they most certainly couldn’t possibly understand how Cale felt drawn to Maggie. In fact, about the only thing he did know was that she needed him, and that alone was reason enough for him.

Where she came from or why she’d been trapped in a burning paint-supply warehouse were as much a mystery to her as they were to Cale, not to mention to the cops or the arson investigation team. The way he figured it, there were a lot of blank spaces in Maggie’s memory, and he couldn’t find a single, solitary reason why he should not be the one to help her fill in those gaps.

A rueful grin slid across his lips when the doors opened on the fourth floor of the medical center. If his brothers found out he was acting out yet another knight-in-shining-armor fantasy over a woman he didn’t know they’d never let him hear the end of it.

He turned left when he got off the elevator and nodded to the medical staff huddled around the nurses’ station as he made his way toward the rooms at the end of the long corridor. Without a doubt, his brothers would most definitely think him crazy, and in all honesty, they were probably right. There wasn’t much information on his mystery woman, except that her eyes were an intriguing combination of blue, green and gold. Her hair, a shimmering shade of cinnamon, hung halfway down her back in long, soft waves, and she had a serious penchant for junk food. A petite thing, she had plenty of curves to heighten any man’s interest, along with a sweet, lyrical voice that had returned once the effects of the smoke inhalation had dissipated. She had a disposition to match, as well. Considering her past remained unknown, he thought her attitude admirable.

For reasons that defied every known source of logic he’d reviewed and subsequently discounted since he’d first found Maggie With-No-Last-Name surrounded by gallons and gallons of paint cans inside the burning warehouse, he was more than intrigued by this mysterious stranger who stirred his blood and fired his imagination.

He’d stayed with her in the hospital that first night. His shift had ended, so he’d just…stayed. At first he’d told himself it was only because she’d asked him to—a desperate plea that had tugged at his heart. It hadn’t been the first time a victim he’d treated on the scene had wanted him to stay. Until Maggie, he’d always just assured them the doctors would take good care of them, then left without a backward glance. But something in her voice, something he couldn’t quite define, had pulled at him hard. In the end, he simply couldn’t leave her.

The next day his tendency toward heroism faded into worry for one simple reason—he hadn’t been able to get Maggie out of his mind.

Because this one victim out of the thousands he’d treated since becoming a paramedic six years ago had caught him off guard and touched an emotional chord he’d kept carefully hidden, he’d been more than a little alarmed. Maggie was sweet, pretty and scared, however, so what guy wouldn’t feel like a knight on a white charger?

The next day he brought in a motorcycle rider who’d been involved in a collision and damned if Cale didn’t act like a fool by asking the E.R. doc who had treated Maggie about her condition. Mere curiosity, he’d told himself over and over once he’d left with his partner, Brady Kent.

Until his shift had ended, and he’d driven straight to the hospital.

Curiosity and his arguments of “it’s only mild concern” flew out the window when he’d walked into her room. His heart had slammed into his rib cage when she’d looked over at him and offered a weak, morphine-induced smile.

He’d pulled up a chair and had sat with her that night, and every night since, waiting until she’d fallen asleep before finally going home to his small house near the beach. Getting to know Maggie wasn’t exactly the easiest thing he’d ever done considering her past remained elusive, but Cale knew enough about her personality to be highly intrigued and maybe even a little bewitched.

Now, he couldn’t seem to stay away from her.

He pushed through the door to Maggie’s room, the tuneless whistle stilling on his lips. She glanced his way from her hospital bed, her eyes a piercing shade of blue rimmed in gold. With her mouth set in a grim line, she didn’t look at all pleased to see him.

He stepped into the room and quickly realized she wasn’t alone. He easily pegged the two gentlemen dressed in suits as cops. One stood at the foot of the bed, while the other leaned casually with one shoulder braced against the wall closest to the window overlooking the parking lot.

The older of the two detectives shot him a dark look. “You’ll have to come back later,” he told Cale without moving from his stance near the window.

Maggie shifted her attention to the detective. “He’ll be staying,” she replied. Her firm and somewhat harsh tone took Cale by surprise. The Maggie he knew was sweet and soft-spoken. Obviously there was more to his mystery woman than met the eye.

The younger detective looked Cale up and down. “You a lawyer?”

Cale approached Maggie and set the grease-stained bag on the tall metal nightstand. “No. A friend,” he answered cautiously. “Is there a problem, detective?”

Being a paramedic, he came in contact with law enforcement practically on a daily basis, however most of his experiences were either with the uniformed cops or the guys in the arson unit within the fire department.

Maggie let out a huff of breath. “I already told you. I must’ve lost my purse in the fire. I don’t have any identification.”

“How is it you know Ms….” The detective glanced in Maggie’s direction. “Ms. Doe?” he finished, his gaze skeptical.

She looked at Cale. “What Detective Villanueva is trying to ask is if you know who I am. Isn’t that right, Detective?”

“What’s going on here?” Cale demanded, feeling his protective instincts rise to the surface.

“We’re only trying to determine why Ms. Doe was at the Harrison Paint and Wallpaper warehouse. Alone. Especially since the warehouse was closed, not to mention that it isn’t open to the general public.”

The color in Maggie’s eyes brightened considerably. “I already told you, I don’t know anything.”

“How convenient,” Villanueva muttered.

“Until my memory returns, I’m afraid I won’t be of much assistance to you.”

The older, stout detective near the window straightened and gave his partner a quick glance, motioning toward the door with a nod of his head. “You have my card,” he said. “In case you remember anything.”

Cale waited for them to leave before turning his attention back to Maggie. “What was that about?”

Maggie straightened the already perfectly arranged bed covers. “Exactly what they said. They want to know why I was in the warehouse. I’d like to know, as well.”

The question had crossed Cale’s mind, too, more than once. He also understood that Maggie had spoken the truth when she’d told the detectives that until her memory returned, she’d have no answers, only questions of her own.

“They don’t believe me,” she said abruptly. “Who can blame them, really? I sound like something out of a bad soap opera.”

Despite the hint of truth to her statement, Cale chuckled lightly as he carried the visitor’s chair closer to the bed. “I thought the truth was supposed to be stranger than fiction.”

She looked over at him, her eyebrows suddenly pulled down into a frown. Whatever was on her mind, she kept it to herself. After a brief moment, she shook her head then graced him with a hint of a smile. Her pert little nose twitched, as if she were a bunny rabbit anticipating the delightful feast of an unguarded vegetable garden. “Is that a cheeseburger?”

His heart stuttered at the pure pleasure softening her features. “The lady knows her junk food.”

“I can’t believe you remembered,” she said in the same soft voice that had been haunting his dreams all week.

The awe in her voice had him wondering why something so trivial as a cheeseburger brought her such delight. Almost as if no one had ever done anything as ordinary as bring her a special treat. He’d ask her about it, but she’d only whisper, “I don’t know,” and then her eyes would cloud with worry or frustration.

He reached across the bed to settle his hand over her fingers peeking out from the cast that extended to her elbow. Her skin was soft, smooth and silky. If her fingers were this soft, he’d surely drive himself insane imagining the feel of the rest of her body.

“You said it was your favorite.”

Her grin widened, and she playfully snatched the bag from his hands. “I might not know much about who I am, where I belong or what I was doing in a burning warehouse but I most assuredly know a cheeseburger and fries when I smell them.”

Cale chuckled again despite the frightening truth of her statement. Where did she belong? The absence of a ring on her left finger, or of the pale circle caused by wearing one for any length of time, might indicate she didn’t have a husband in the picture, but it didn’t alleviate the possibility of a boyfriend or a serious relationship. The doctors had told her she’d never had any children, but she’d merely shrugged and muttered they no doubt knew more than she.

According to Maggie, the psychiatrist who came to see her on a daily basis had told her she was suffering from level III amnesia, which was generally caused by medical trauma. Well, she’d certainly had that, Cale thought, watching her carefully unwrap the cheeseburger with her good hand. In addition to a broken wrist, smoke inhalation and enough bruises to play connect-the-dots, she’d suffered a severe concussion when a shelf filled with paint cans had fallen on top of her.

She took a bite of the burger, closed her eyes and issued a sultry little moan of pleasure.

Cale exhaled slowly as his imagination took flight. “I take it the lady is pleased.” He leaned back in the chair and propped his foot over his knee, which did nothing to lessen the snug fit of his jeans.

A brief nod followed another bite before she finally answered him. “Very pleased. This is the best thing that’s happened to me all day.”

“I know those detectives must’ve been rough on you, but they’re only doing their job.”

She sighed and set the rest of the burger down on the wheeled table as if her appetite had vanished. He took the action as warning sign of impending not-so-good news.

She dropped her gaze to the cast on her right arm. “That’s not what I meant. A social worker came to see me today,” she said quietly.

“And?” he prompted.

She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly before she looked over at him. That same desperation he’d seen the night of the explosion, along with a dose of panic, returned. “And they’re releasing me tomorrow. Mrs. Sutter suggested I consider going to a long-term care facility.”

He straightened, alarm rippling through him. “Why?” he demanded. He’d been around the medical profession long enough to know long-term care was code for nursing home. Because of Maggie’s inability to remember anything about herself, it wouldn’t be all that unusual for her to be transferred to a psych hospital. The thought of Maggie in an understaffed, state-operated facility filled him with more dread than he imagined possible.

She made an attempt to cross her arms over her chest, but the weight of the cast and the cumbersome IV line had her frowning instead. “Because,” she said, dropping her hands to her lap, “I don’t know who I am or where I live. It doesn’t appear so far that anyone is looking for me, either, since the detectives informed me they had no missing persons report on file for anyone fitting my description. The social worker said I should consider her suggestion, since, according to her, I’m relatively incapable of taking care of myself.”

From what Cale had witnessed upon entering her room, she could take care of herself just fine. There had to be something he could do to help her. So what if he felt himself slipping into a time-honored tradition? He’d been lending a helping hand to others for as long as he cared to remember. Granted, he’d been making a concentrated effort of late to be a little more discriminate, but Maggie honestly needed a champion. Until she regained her memory, she had no one else. Besides, he hardly believed helping Maggie would result in him having to change his telephone number again or require him to obtain a restraining order, the way he had when Paulette Johnson had become a little too clingy.

“What about fingerprints?” he asked. The authorities had taken her prints in an attempt to identify her. “Haven’t you heard anything?”

Disappointment filled her gaze. “According to Mrs. Sutter, nothing showed up. She also said it’s not all that unusual. I’ve just probably never been fingerprinted for anything.”

He slid his hand over hers again. “Hey, look at the bright side. At least you’re not a criminal.”

The look she gave him momentarily startled him. Cold and icy, and not the Maggie he’d come to know the past few days.

“Maybe I’ve just never been caught.”

Cale didn’t think so. He’d seen and treated enough of the criminal element in Los Angeles to know the difference. Maggie’s identity might be unknown, but that she was a criminal wasn’t even a remote possibility in his mind.

“Can you?” he asked. “Take care of yourself, I mean?”

Slowly, she pulled her hand from beneath his. “I know red means stop and green means go.” Anger and frustration lined her voice, and the gold rim surrounding her irises brightened. “I know fire is hot and ice is cold. If it’s raining, take an umbrella. If the telephone rings, answer it. I know what day it is, the month and even the year. I think I can cook, and I know how to make change so I can at least buy my meals if I can’t.”

Cale shrugged. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know where I live or even how I make my living. Since I don’t know if I have any family or anywhere to go, Mrs. Sutter explained a long-term care facility would at least assume my care until I’m better equipped to do so myself.”

“What if…” He stopped and carefully considered his next words. Once uttered, he couldn’t take them back. But, dammit, he just didn’t have the heart to turn his back on someone who really needed him.

“What if you had someone willing to take care of you?” he blurted before he could change his mind.

She tilted her head slightly, and frowned. “What do you mean?”

His brothers were right. He was crazy. Not to mention so far out of control his common sense had deserted him…again.

She’s not like the others, his conscience rallied. Or was that his libido talking? Did it really matter? He didn’t think so.

“What if you had someone willing to see to it that you’re safe?” There. He’d said it. No taking the words back now.

“I don’t know anyone.” She blinked back the moisture suddenly shining in her eyes. “I don’t know anything,” she said, her voice tight.

“Tell this Sutter woman I’ll care for you.” The ground slipped out from under him as he stepped off the cliff into a sea of insanity. His own history with the opposite sex should have had him running in the opposite direction. But how could he turn his back on Maggie when she needed him the most?

He couldn’t. And that’s when the trouble always started.

Her smile was thin as she swiped at the tears with her good hand. “That’s very sweet of you, Cale. But it still doesn’t solve my problem. Besides, what if Mrs. Sutter decided to check on me.”

He had his doubts on that score. “So what if she does? In any case, it’ll never happen. The heavy case-load of the social system in this county prohibits extravagances. The social workers spend their time on only the most severe cases, and, Maggie, you hardly qualify as a severe case.”

He reached across the bed and grabbed her hand again. He wanted to do more than hold her hand, he wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her close, promise her everything would be okay in the end. It didn’t matter that her future was uncertain. The urge to comfort her was strong, just as strong as the need to feel her soft curves pressed against him.

He smoothed his thumb over her slender fingers. “You call Mrs. Sutter and tell her you’ve got a place to go tomorrow when they release you, and that’ll be the end of it. You can stay at my place for as long as you need.”

She snatched her hand away. “No—”

“Just until you get your memory back.” He moved from the chair and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. He braced his hands on the mattress to bracket her hips, his body stirring at the closeness. Momentarily distracted by the shape of her mouth, he simply stared.

“I couldn’t,” she said, but she didn’t sound convincing.

“Yes, you can. Look, aren’t your doctors saying it could only be a few days until your memory returns? Do you really want to go to a long-term care facility?”

She shook her head, and a hank of fiery hair fell over her shoulder. The wavy ends teased the slope of her breasts beneath the cotton hospital gown. “Or maybe a few weeks, or months, or even never. You’ve already been so kind to me, Cale. I won’t ask any more of you.”

“You aren’t asking,” he argued. “I’m offering.”

He understood her fear, or at least he liked to think he did. The truth wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like not to know where he came from or the members of his own family. Of course, when his brothers learned he’d brought home a total stranger, they’d be convinced he’d taken leave of his common sense for sure this time.

Where Maggie was concerned, they were probably right. Didn’t he have enough disastrous relationships in his past to prove their arguments? Okay, so maybe there was some truth here. But, none of those women was Maggie. She genuinely needed his help. He wasn’t offering a permanent solution, only a temporary one.

“Cases that last that long are the exception, Maggie, not the rule,” he said gently.

“I don’t know…”

“Come stay with me, just until we can figure out where you really belong. I’ve got a quiet little place near the beach and a bedroom to spare. You’ll be perfectly safe there, and it’s a hell of a lot better than some sterile environment where you’ll just be another name on a chart.”

“I might not even live in L.A.,” she argued. “Or California for that matter. Maybe I was just passing through and was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe I was visiting someone.”

“Then why hasn’t anyone else come to see you? And why wasn’t anyone else at the scene when we found you?”

She dropped her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes, but not before he saw defeat pass through them.

“It’ll give you a quiet, peaceful place to recuperate and when I’m off duty, maybe I can help you find out who you really are.”

She opened her eyes. “But…how can I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re a complete stranger. I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t even know yourself at this point,” he said dryly.

“Exactly.” She sat up again. “What if I’m a serial killer or something equally horrible? How do you know I won’t rob you blind? You wouldn’t even know who to tell the police to arrest.”

Cale chuckled. “The perfect crime.”

“It’s not funny.”

Lifting his hand, he gently smoothed his knuckles over her satiny cheek. “What other choice do you have, Maggie? It’s either me or a state facility.”

“You’re not giving me much by way of options, are you?”

“You don’t have a lot of options,” he said truthfully, lowering his hand. “It’s me or the funny farm, babe.”

“I don’t think I’m used to being told what to do.” She shot him a frustrated glance. “Because I sure don’t like it now.”

2

SHE WORE BLACK. Simple. Basic. Elegant. Of course for a woman in her line of work, black was always the most appropriate color. She considered it her signature color, with one small exception—the red silk hankie with an embroidered V done in an elegant, delicate script. She preferred to think of it as her calling card.

She pretended mild interest as her bore of a host preened over his most prized possession: a priceless, yet little-known Carracci painting he’d presumably acquired at an estate auction…or so he claimed. She knew better. The Carracci failed to garner her attention, for now. There was only one reason she was in Rome, and it had zilch to do with priceless art.

Slowly and deliberately, she slid her hand over his arm in an unmistakable gesture. He had what she wanted, and before the night drew to a close, she’d have what she came for…

MAGGIE AWOKE with a start, heart pounding, breathing ragged. The thin cotton hospital gown clung to her sweat-moistened body as she struggled to recall the details of the dream. She wasn’t sure what it all meant, but she suspected there was some clue to her identity attempting to rise to the surface. Not just her identity, she thought, pulling in a deep breath that did little to calm her, but her life.

Who was she? Where did she come from? And more importantly, what exactly did she do for a living? From the misty visions of the dream, she almost dreaded the answer.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall next to the television reminded her that Cale would be arriving to take her home shortly. Not home exactly, but away from the hospital and the threat of the unknown. He really was an angel. What kind of guy took in not just a total stranger, but someone who didn’t even know herself. Obviously, Cale was one of the good guys, and for reasons she had no nope of comprehending at the moment, she wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel an enormous amount of gratitude for his unconditional generosity, but what if the nagging sensation in the back of her mind was true? What if she wasn’t what he believed her to be, just some poor schmuck in the wrong place at the wrong time? The dream…

“No,” she said in a firm tone. She had to stop thinking about it, or she’d end up with another one of those horrendous headaches again, the kind that had sledgehammers, jackhammers and a cacophony of chain saws all vying to be the loudest. The doctors may have told her not to force her memory, but in her opinion, that was easy for them to say. What were their chances of getting lost in their own neighborhoods?

She sat up and cautiously swung her feet over the side of the bed to the small footstool. Following a breakfast of stale toast, saltless scrambled eggs and cold coffee, the morning nurse had removed her IV as promised, eliminating at least one cumbersome attachment. Unfortunately, the cast on her right arm wouldn’t be so easily discarded, at least for another six to eight weeks while her wrist healed. One thing she had learned about herself, she most assuredly was right-handed.

The call she’d placed to the social worker had been simple. As Cale predicted, all Mrs. Sutter had asked for had been an address and telephone number in case she needed to contact her. The call to Detective Villanueva had been relatively painless, as well, except his coolness made her uncomfortable. Still, he’d thanked her for the call and promised to be in touch, which sounded more like a threat than an offer of assistance.

She pressed the button to turn on the television to a cable news network for background noise. While the reports of current events were vaguely familiar to her, none of the clips that flashed across the screen of the various cities through the U.S. gave so much as a tiny nudge to her absent memory. She did recognize certain landmarks and buildings from New York City and Chicago. Independence Hall in Philadelphia and the Kodak Theater in Hollywood were both familiar sights when she spotted them in a couple of tourism commercials. An advertisement for Disneyland didn’t hold any special meaning or spark a single memory of childhood. She just knew of these places, the way she knew the succession of color in a rainbow or the caloric difference between chocolate cake and a granola bar, and which of the two she preferred.

In a determined effort to stop stressing herself into another migraine, she shoved her encased arm into the plastic bag and used the white medical tape the nurse had left her so she could seal the bag closed around her cast, hoping to make it watertight. Moving slowly, she managed to make her way across the room to the bathroom she shared with the patient in the next room. She wasn’t setting any speed records, that was for sure, but at least she was able to shower and wash her hair, albeit awkwardly. Drying herself off wasn’t quite the sideshow she’d expected, and she’d even managed to apply lotion to most of her body.

Cale had thoughtfully brought her some clothes to wear since her own had been ruined. He’d proven quite resourceful, too, checking her tattered garments for the right sizes. His choices left little to be desired, but a woman in her situation had no room for complaints, especially since he’d footed the bill. She’d made him give her the receipt and as soon as she found a job, or better yet, herself, she’d pay back every cent.

She slipped into a pair of panties and tried not to think about Cale purchasing something so intimate for her. A blush stained her cheeks even though the plain white cotton panties to match the plain white cotton bra didn’t exactly scream sexy. She didn’t know whether she had Cale or a saleswoman to thank for the thigh-high comfort of the panties, but as she stared at the freshly laundered, button-fly jeans, she couldn’t help wondering what on earth he’d been thinking.

She stepped into the heavy denim and pulled them up her legs without too much trouble. Before even fastening them she knew they’d be a comfortable fit, but the dancing around on her toes as she struggled with each button had her not only breaking out in a sweat, but near tears. As much as she appreciated his thoughtfulness, couldn’t he have brought her some leggings or even a pair of sweats? She’d be happy with a pair of pull-on pants made by Poly and Ester, the tacky fabric twins, just so she could avoid buttons, snaps or zippers.

Dammit, she would not cry. She’d been doing far too much of that lately.

She sat on the edge of the commode to catch her breath and stared at the bra on the little stool next to the shower as if it were a two-headed snake. With nothing else to do but try, she reached for the bra and entered a new realm of humiliation. Slipping her arms through the shoulder straps and hooking the back was out of the question, so she decided to put the evil contraption on backwards, fasten the ends together in front, then twist it around her body.

After several failed attempts, her stern lectures about not crying came back to taunt her as her eyes filled with more tears of frustration. There was no way around it. She’d have to swallow her pride and ring the nurse for assistance.

Her hand stilled over the little pull chain in the small, semiprivate bathroom when she heard the door to her room open. “Nurse?” she called out in relief. “If you have a minute, I could really use your help.”

Without a sound, the heavy door swung open. Maggie gasped when she turned to find Cale instead of the nurse she’d been expecting.

His expression instantly shifted from concern to desire right before her eyes. The man was definitely good for her ego. Not five seconds ago she’d managed to convince herself she looked like an idiot incapable of doing something as simple as buttoning up a pair of Levi’s. Now she was only behaving like one as she stood and stared at him, shocked into utter silence by the not-unpleasant sensation of warmth uncurling in her belly and spreading outward with languid heat through her limbs.

He cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he murmured as he spun around quickly to allow her a modicum of privacy.

Still feeling decidedly confused and definitely aroused by her reaction to him, she made a hasty grab for the towel she’d tossed on the edge of the sink earlier. With a hard snap, she swung her cast against the white porcelain. Tears sprang to her eyes as pain shot up her arm. She reached blindly for the wall to steady herself, but instead of touching the cool ceramic tile, her good hand came in contact with a solid wall of masculinity.

His arms were around her, steadying her and holding her close. Don’t cry, she thought.

But one whispered word of comfort, one large male hand gliding over the exposed skin of her back in a gentle, soothing motion, and tears of pain and frustration poured from her eyes like a busted water main.

“It’ll get better, Maggie. I promise you, it will.”

She pulled back slightly to look up at him. “How can you say that?” she asked around a sob. “You know as much about me as I do, and we’re not talking a wealth of knowledge here, either.”

His incredible smile was as kind as the expression that softened his intense blue eyes. “You’re in pain.” He slid the pad of his thumb across her cheek to dry her tears. “I’ll call the nurse.”

The tenderness he showed her stirred something deep inside her, a wealth of emotion she had no hope of truly understanding until she acquired at least some recollection of her past as a comparison.

She sniffled and shook her head. What she really wanted to do was scream. Between her faulty gray matter and the delicious tingling sprinting through her body, she figured she was more than a little entitled.

No doubt she was suffering with some twisted version of Stockholm Syndrome. Cale might not be her captor, but she had come to depend on him, if only slightly. Although she’d actually started looking forward to his nightly visits, that little piece of reality saddened her. Did she really have no other person in her life that cared about her? Wasn’t there someone, somewhere, missing her? Parents, grandparents, an uncle or an aunt? What about siblings, an employer? A cat or a pair of goldfish?

She pulled in a steadying breath only to be swamped by the unique scent she’d come to associate with Cale. That sensual blend of spice and pure male any woman in her right mind, or not as her case might be, would have difficulty resisting.

She used the edge of the towel clutched to her chest to dry her eyes. “My mind is foggy enough.” She managed what she hoped was a brave smile and tried not to think about that musky, masculine scent giving her most feminine senses a sharp jolt. “Adding pain-killers to the confusion is the last thing I need.”

He didn’t look that convinced. “You were calling the nurse for a reason.”

Keeping the towel clutched to her chest, she took a step back. “I needed assistance.”

“Assistance…?” he prompted.

She let out a sigh. “Yes. With getting dressed.” Her gaze dipped pointedly to the bra lying on the tiled floor at her feet.

A questioning frown tugged his eyebrows low over his eyes a half second before they arched upward as realization dawned. “Ah,” he said. That killer smile returned to his handsome face, kicking her pulse rate up a couple of notches.

He stooped to pick up the bra and handed it to her. “Slip into it and I’ll fasten it for you.”

With the bra dangling from her fingertips, she stared at Cale in fascination. He couldn’t seriously be offering his services for something so…so intimate, could he? Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. After all, the man hadn’t only offered a total stranger a place to live, he’d bought clothes for her to wear and had even gone to the trouble of digging through her ruined garments to find out her sizes.

He turned around and stood with his back to her, giving her a sense of privacy. If she refused, she’d feel petty and foolish. The man wasn’t making a pass at her. He was offering to help her dress since she obviously couldn’t do it for herself. There wasn’t anything sexual about it. Well…hardly anything sexual about it.

She turned her back to him, dropped the towel and slipped into the bra. Holding the cups awkwardly in place, she said, “Okay.”

The first brush of his fingers against her sides as he took hold of the ends of the bra nearly had her jumping out of her skin. His touch was gentle and completely impersonal as he worked the fasteners, but that didn’t stop a delightful shiver from glancing down her spine.

He reached around her and bent to snag the navy-blue cotton top from the stool. “Arms up,” he ordered.

Oh, no. This part she could handle on her own. She took the top from him, knowing she’d go just a little more nuts if he put his hands on her body again. “Thank you,” she said, “but I think I can take it from here.”

“I’ll wait outside.” With one last look, he quietly closed the bathroom door behind him. Alone, she couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips at the obvious disappointment in his gaze.

Once she’d finished dressing, she took a moment to check her appearance in the mirror. She might not know who she was or where she came from, but there was one thing she understood completely—sexual chemistry and attraction, especially since her hormones went into overtime whenever Cale was around.

CALE KNEW trouble when he saw it, and trouble definitely had arrived in his life in the form of the mysterious Maggie with her sexy little smile, eyes that changed color with her mood and rich cinnamon hair that had his fingers itching to touch the silky strands. Those reddish-brown tresses weren’t the only thing soft about her, either. His testosterone had shot through the roof for those few seconds his fingers had brushed against her silky skin.

He added a new shade of eye color to his list, too. Turquoise—the color of Maggie’s eyes when she was aroused. Always one of his favorites, this particular shade ranked at the top of his list, especially since he knew without a doubt he was solely responsible for it.

He paced around the hospital room while he waited for her to emerge from the bathroom. Like his brothers, he was no stranger to relationships, although he did like to think his held at least a modicum of meaning in comparison.

His little brother, Drew, hardly ever dated the same woman more than three times. In fact, Drew gave new meaning to the term little black book. He had more of a big black binder. He wasn’t cruel, and he never led a woman on, but no one doubted Drew’s bedroom did indeed boast a revolving door.

As for his older brother, other than a few short-term relationships, Ben tended to steer clear of the opposite sex. Or more accurately, Cale thought, from any form of relationship that remotely resembled a serious or lasting affair.

By comparison, Cale figured he was the most normal of the three. At least he dated. He even had relationships that lasted longer than a week, which was more than he could say for Drew. To his way of thinking, taking the time to get to know a woman was all a part of the fun. For him, there was something satisfying about unraveling all those intimate secrets and feminine mysteries.

So maybe that had something to do with his interest and attraction to Maggie, because she absolutely had plenty of mystery. Sure, his brothers would no doubt consider her another of his damsels in distress; the woman had more secrets than the CIA. But she needed his help, not just in offering her a place to live, but in rediscovering her past. So what if he’d known her less than a week and already was more than intrigued by her? Was it his fault she was sweet and feisty, a combination he found incredibly sexy and damned hard to resist?

She was tiny, almost helpless at first appearance, but he’d seen her handle her own against those two surly detectives last night. And although her situation indicated otherwise, he’d hardly slap a weak or dependent label on her. In fact, stubborn and determined applied to her all too well, telling him whether she knew it or not, Maggie wasn’t just a fighter, but a survivor, as well.

Oh, yeah. Maggie was a mystery all right, but an exciting one. And he’d always been a sucker for a little excitement, not to mention a good mystery, even if he did know what his family would have to say about it.

Ever since he was a kid he’d collected strays. He didn’t need another two-hundred-dollar-an-hour shrink to warn him he was about to repeat the pattern all over again. Although, even he had to admit, sparrows that had fallen from their nest were a hell of a lot more innocuous than a living, breathing woman without a past. But he’d been saving lives ever since his mother had died in the line of duty when he was only eight years old. He couldn’t very well change now. To his way of thinking, there was nothing wrong with being a nurturer. In fact, it had made his becoming a paramedic the obvious career choice.

Okay, so this time he didn’t have a bird with a broken wing that needed to be cared for until it healed. Maggie wasn’t an abandoned kitten, but she did need his help. He wasn’t the kind of guy to turn his back on something—or someone—in their hour of need.

Besides, he reasoned, weren’t his strays always placed in good homes eventually? Okay, except for Pogo, the three-legged dog he’d rescued from a beating by the mean old SOB who had lived in his childhood neighborhood. The dog had been of such mixed heritage, even the vet had been hard-pressed to put a breed label on the poor mutt. It hadn’t mattered to Cale. He and Pogo had remained inseparable until the day the old dog had finally passed on, shortly after Cale graduated high school.

Maybe if he had listened to the psychobabble of the child psychologist who’d treated him and his brothers when their father had died shortly after their mother, he might be a little worried about taking a stranger into his home. He wasn’t helping Maggie because of some misguided or misplaced need to save the world because he hadn’t been able to save his mother or even his father. He really wasn’t. Maggie needed someone, even if she did jump-start his libido with a simple little smile or a teary-eyed, gratitude-filled look in her intriguing eyes.

He stopped his pacing when the bathroom door finally opened and Maggie walked into the sterile hospital room. His breathing nearly halted, as well, or was that his heart that had stopped beating?

He couldn’t be sure, mainly because he couldn’t help staring at the way the dark-blue denim clung enticingly to her legs and outlined the gentle swell of her hips. She approached the metal nightstand and bent over to peer into the drawer. The sight of her curvy backside had him struggling for breath again.

“I’ll be ready in a sec,” she said, tossing the few personal items into the white plastic bag the hospital had provided.

His vocal chords refused to function, and all he could manage was a brief nod of his head. His gaze zeroed in on the lightweight fabric of the plain cotton top as it hugged her very full breasts and outlined her slender waist, leaving him with an almost uncontrollable urge to slip his hand beneath the serviceable fabric and explore every inch of her skin.

Oh, yeah. Cale Perry knew trouble when it saw it, all right. And her name was Maggie.

3

FROM THE passenger seat of Cale’s red four-wheel-drive pickup, Maggie watched the passing scenery along Ocean Boulevard. Regardless of how thin a chance, she’d still hoped something—a building, a tree, maybe even a street sign or billboard—would pull her memory out of hiding.

“Nothing is familiar,” she told Cale as he came to a stop behind a line of cars waiting for the traffic light to turn green.

He glanced her way, then took her by surprise when he reached across the bench seat to slip his hand over hers, as if touching her was something he did all the time. Her body said otherwise. When he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, delightful little shockwaves traveled up her arm and shot straight to the tips of her breasts with electrifying accuracy.

“Did you expect otherwise?” he asked, his voice one of concern, not lust.

Too bad.

“Hoped is more like it.” She removed her hand from beneath his to slip a nonexistent stray lock of hair behind her ear. She didn’t think she was unaccustomed to being touched, which left only one other option. Her desire for physical distance, however minute, stemmed from something much more basic…like an inexplicable sexual attraction to a total stranger. Her life, such as it was, was complicated enough and she should definitely not compound her problems by allowing her hormones to run amuck. Just because her guide in an unfamiliar world was sexier than any man had a right to be, and was able to make her breath still with one slanted look or a gentle touch, did not put him on her agenda.

Cale turned his attention back to the road and moved forward with the rest of the traffic. “You’re not supposed to force your memories. When your memory does return, it’ll be in its own time.”

She let out a sigh and looked out the window again. “I know.” She might not like it, but Cale was right. He only repeated what the doctors had been telling her for the last few days. Still, it unnerved her that he appeared to possess an uncanny ability to read her mind. An interesting concept, she mused, since her mind was pretty much a blank page.

At least she was out of the hospital and not in a long-term care facility. No matter how diplomatic Mrs. Sutter had been in her explanation, the place she’d described had just screamed loony bin. Maggie wasn’t crazy or even mentally incompetent, she just didn’t know her identity.

“I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done,” she blurted, anxious for a break from her own morose thoughts. “I’m not even sure how to begin to repay you.”

Just as she realized exactly what she’d implied, he glanced her way again. Surely she didn’t imagine the way his gaze swept over her. Only her own twisted imagination could spark the dozen or so lurid images running through her mind with the speed of light. Her throat should never have felt drier than dust, either, and her pulse rate couldn’t have increased. But she’d felt every ounce of those tell-tale physiological changes in her body, just because she’d imagined Cale looking at her with blatant male appreciation in his gaze. At least that was her argument, until she witnessed the adorable grin that tugged his lips and deepened the laugh lines surrounding his eyes. At that moment, she knew it hadn’t been her imagination, just as she knew the sudden acceleration of her heartbeat was as real as it got.

“There’s no thanks necessary.” He shifted his attention back to the road. “If you can cook, that’ll be payment enough. I get kinda tired of my own cooking.”

A wry grin touched her lips. “I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

She didn’t feel completely comfortable intruding on Cale’s life, but as he’d so eloquently stated, it was either him or the funny farm. By accepting his very generous offer, she’d be free to come and go as she pleased, and she hoped to find out a thing or two or three about her past. So what if she’d have to leave the proverbial trail of bread crumbs to find her way home again? At least she had freedom, and that had to count for something.

Shortly after they entered the city limits of Hermosa Beach, Cale took a left off Ocean Boulevard into a residential district, which brought them even closer to the shores of the Pacific Ocean. After several more turns, Cale slowed and pulled into a sloped driveway, parking in front of a two-car garage with a roll-up door painted a hideous shade of turquoise.

Above the garage was the house, in a much more pleasing-to-the-eye shade of dove-gray siding, however, the trim and the concrete staircase leading up to the house were the same garish color as the garage door. Flanking the driveway were two planters made of railroad ties. They were filled with shrubs in dire need of TLC before they completely lost the battle being pitifully waged against a determined army of dandelions.

“It’s a work in progress,” Cale said with a nod toward the house.

She glanced around the area. The well-kept homes only yards from the beach, whether modest in size or more elaborate and ornate, spoke of prime real estate. “Nice neighborhood.”

Cale chuckled. “Don’t be too impressed. I pull in a decent salary, but not enough to afford something like this on my own. Thanks to my aunt, the lawyers handling my folks’ probate set up a trust fund for me and my brothers.”

So he had family. She wondered what these brothers of his would say about her living with Cale, albeit temporarily. If she’d brought home a total stranger…

If she’d brought home a total stranger—what? The answer faded away into the misty remnants of her mind before she had a chance to catch it, filling her with renewed frustration.

Cale snagged the plastic bag containing her few personal items before opening the door to the truck. The soothing scent of the sea instantly slipped inside. She pulled in a deep breath and waited, hoping for another spark of some distant memory, only to be further disappointed. Somehow she knew the sea comforted her. She only wished she knew why.

With yet another gusty sigh, she opened her door and slid from the truck to follow Cale up the turquoise steps. “What did your parents do?” she asked, as he slipped the key into the lock.

He looked back at her before pushing open the door. There was no mistaking the hint of sadness in his eyes. “They were both firefighters.” Had he been a child when his parents had passed away? Could that be why he’d taken her in so easily, because he had firsthand experience of suddenly finding himself alone in the world?

Before she could ask him, he abruptly changed the subject. “I hope you like animals,” he said as he opened the door.

No fear climbed up her spine at the thought of facing an animal, so she simply shrugged and followed Cale inside. The sound of clicking toenails on a newly finished hardwood floor greeted them and they were met by a very large, furry black dog of an indeterminate breed. The dog jumped around Cale, filled with excitement.

“Maggie, meet Pearl.” To the dog he said, “You be a good girl.”

Pearl immediately sat, tongue lolling out of her mouth with an expectant look in her enormous brown eyes as she stared at Maggie.

She took a hesitant step forward, her left hand extended for Pearl to sniff. Instead of a cold nose, a warm tongue lapped at her hand. Pearl’s oddly short bushy tail polished the floor with record speed.

“Oh, she’s sweet,” Maggie said, smiling up at Cale. That look was in his eyes again, the one that held a combination of awe and desire. Her pulse revved again. Needing a moment to remind herself that feeling all warm and fuzzy inside was not the wisest course, she flipped her attention back to Pearl. The canine’s lips were pulled back as she showed off a set of lethal-looking teeth.

“I don’t think she likes me,” she said, unsure whether or not to take a giant step backward.

Cale chuckled. “Of course she does.”

Maggie pasted a smile on her face and hoped the dog took it as a sign of friendship. “Then why is she snarling at me?”

“She’s not snarling, she’s smiling.”

Maggie frowned. “Excuse me?” Dogs did not smile, that much she did know.

“Smiling.” Cale closed the door and set the bag next to a lamp on a rustic pine sofa table nestled against the wall nearest the door. “She does it all the time when she’s happy.”

Maggie eyed the dog cautiously and slowly bent down to rub her chest. Pearl’s “grin” widened and her eyes took on a glazed look of deep pleasure. “And here I thought dogs only wagged their tails to show their emotions.”

“She’s kind of unique that way.” Cale cleared his throat and headed into the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

She stood and followed Cale. Pearl followed her. “How long have you had her?” When Maggie came to a stop, Pearl sat beside her as if waiting for a command of some sort. She wagged her tail so hard, her big body shook.

Maggie reached down to give the dog a scratch behind her long floppy ears. Pearl moaned in ecstasy seconds before she slid to the floor, her back leg scratching at nothing but air.

Cale opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of iced tea. “Since she was a pup. I was jogging on the beach one morning and suddenly there she was, running alongside me, dragging a string of barbed wire wrapped midway around her tail. After I took it off, she followed me home. No one bothered to claim her, not that I’d seriously consider allowing her to go back, given the shape the poor girl was in when she found me.”

Not only did Maggie now understand the reason for the odd length of Pearl’s bushy tail, but she’d discovered vitally important information regarding Cale. The man suffered from a hero complex. She didn’t need to be Sigmund Freud to understand why Cale had become a paramedic. The injured pup revealed a lot about him and explained his rescuing her from an unknown fate.

There had to be more to the puzzle, of that she felt certain. For reasons she didn’t understand, she couldn’t help wondering about the why behind his good-hearted soul.

“Shake it, baby!”

Maggie stared at Cale, not quite certain she’d heard him right. “Pardon me?”

He pulled a pair of tall glasses from the cabinet nearest the sink. “Cool it, Gilda,” he scolded on his way to the freezer for ice. “There’s a lady in the house.”

A wolf whistle came next. “Pretty mama. Yowza,” was followed by a high-decibel screech.

This time Maggie had no trouble discerning the species or the location of the voice. She walked past Cale, through the efficiency kitchen into a cozy breakfast nook painted a soft white that matched the wicker table and chairs covered with bright print cushions. Potted palms and hanging ferns were scattered around the room, adding to the charm. A wind chime made entirely of seashells hung directly in front of the east window, complementing the tropical decor. She instantly liked this room. It’d be the perfect spot to…to what? Frustration filled her as the whisper-thin, indecipherable impression floated out of her grasp.

“Pucker up, doll.”

Maggie turned toward the crude squawking. A large wrought-iron cage housing a predominately teal-colored parrot sat off to the side, away from the rays of streaming sunlight. “Hi there, Gilda,” she said to the bird.

Cale entered the bright nook, a sheepish grin on his face. “She has a very unusual vocabulary for a girl,” he said, wondering why on earth Maggie’s interest in his pets gave him such a feeling of intense pleasure. Maybe because most of the women he dated were either allergic, couldn’t be bothered or just plain disliked animals, period.

Maggie grinned. The way her eyes sparkled when she glanced his way sent a shot of warmth through him. A very dangerous kind of warmth. The kind that jump-started fantasies—he remembered the color of Maggie’s eyes when she was aroused and began to wonder if they’d become the color of the ocean if he kissed her pretty bow-shaped mouth.

“Where did you find her?” she asked, dragging him reluctantly out of his ocean-blue fantasy.

Gilda walked back and forth along her perch. “One of a kind. One of a kind.”

“You most certainly are,” she told the bird, her voice filled with a hint of laughter.

Gilda fluffed her brilliant feathers and squawked. The old girl knew a compliment when she heard one.

“Gilda’s a long story,” he hedged.

She gave him a sidelong look. “Sounds like an interesting one,” she prompted.

Cale let out a sigh. “I was at a bachelor party for one of the guys at the station,” he admitted sheepishly. “The owner of the place was looking for a home for Gilda, so I took her in.”

A mischievous grin tugged her lips as she took the glass of iced tea he offered. “A bachelor party, huh?”

Gilda bobbed up and down to a tune all her own. “What a pair!”

Cale took a long drink of his own tea and looked away.

Maggie glanced at Gilda. “Careful,” she scolded gently. “Uh, where exactly was this bachelor party?”

Cale rubbed the back of his neck, which had suddenly grown hot. “A place down the coast highway. You wouldn’t know it.”

“Shake it, baby.”

“Based on Gilda’s very unladylike choice of phrases, I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“Ride ’em, cowgirl,” Gilda belted, followed by a couple bars of the Lone Ranger’s theme song.

Cale cleared his throat. “She was a lot worse a few months ago.” Gilda still might be the linguistic equivalent of a dirty old man, but the swearing had begun to ebb…somewhat. Every now and then, however, she’d let loose with a string of curses so vile, she offended the neighbors.

“She sings, too,” Cale told her. “Presley, Sinatra and Buddy Holly are her favorites.” Maggie’s soft gentle laughter, combined with the sensual curve of her lips had him thinking some very nonplatonic thoughts about his newest roommate.

“Any other critters I should be aware of?” she asked before taking a sip of her tea.

Cale led her away from Gilda before the bird started swearing. When Gilda had a live audience, anything was possible.

“Only Frankie and Johnnie,” he said as he ushered Maggie back through the kitchen and into the living room. Pearl lay in the corner between the sofa and recliner on her bed, a large blue pillow stuffed with cedar wood chips.

“And they would be?”

“A pair of cats I got talked into adopting not long after I moved in here.” He set his tea on the pine table and snagged the bag holding her things, preparing to give Maggie the nickel tour and show her to her room. The doctor had insisted she get plenty of rest over the next few days, and Cale had no intention of ignoring those orders, especially if it would help her with the return of her memory.

“They’re all very lucky to have you.” An odd expression filled her eyes. A hint of sorrow, naturally, but something deeper, more empathetic, reminding him that for the moment, he was the only person in the world who cared about what happened to Maggie With-No-Last-Name.

He knew what it was like to feel alone, sort of. Sure, he’d had his brothers and his father when his mother had died in the line of duty at a time when women firefighters were extremely rare. And then his aunt had stepped in when his father had simply given up on life after Joanna Perry had died. Although Cale hadn’t been completely alone, he still had known a deep sense of longing for something familiar and comforting, something that remained elusive until eventually it faded with time. The perfume his mom used to wear when she was off duty, for instance, or the sweet, gentle sound of her voice as she read stories to her sons. Now he could barely remember the feel of his father’s firm hand upon his shoulder or the deep rumble of his laughter.

His intent only to offer consolation, he dropped the bag at his feet before taking the glass of tea from Maggie’s grasp. The moment he pulled her into his arms, she stiffened. A half second later, she let out a warm sigh and slid her arms around his waist. The heavy weight of her cast pressed into his side as he held her close. She smelled as warm and fresh as a summer day.

“You’re not alone, Maggie,” he whispered against her hair. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, and you’re free to stay until you decide it’s time for you to leave. Okay?”

He felt the slight nod of her head against his chest as he smoothed his hand down her back as if soothing a small child—except Maggie was no child. She was a full-grown woman with curves in all the right places. Curves he’d had the agonizing privilege of seeing when he’d walked in on her at the hospital. Curves he’d had the excruciating pleasure of touching as he’d helped her dress. Curves he was certain would haunt not only his dreams, but his waking hours, as well.

She pulled back to look up at him. Her eyes filled with moisture. “Cale,” she whispered.

“Shh,” he murmured, slipping his hand through her long cinnamon hair to cup the back of her neck in his palm. Comfort, that’s all he was offering. It was all he had to offer.

The lie stuck in his suddenly dry throat as he slowly lowered his head, bringing their lips within inches of touching. Her dark sooty lashes fluttered closed as she lifted her lips to his. Kissing Maggie might not be his smartest move, but he’d started down this road and there was no way he could turn back now, not when she was such a willing participant.

His lips brushed hers just as the beeper clipped to his belt vibrated. For the space of a second he considered ignoring it, but he was on call, as were most of the guys at Trinity Station during off time. There was no such thing as being truly off duty in his line of work. Taking into account the time of day, he suspected the emergency was a multi-vehicle accident rather than a two-or three-alarm blaze.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he released Maggie and reached for his beeper. The words “Six MVA on I-10,” lit up the LCD screen, confirming his suspicions. It’d take him a minimum of fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, to be on the scene, but with six vehicles involved, the extra hands would be welcome regardless of when they arrived.

Reluctantly, he let her go. A sense of male satisfaction filled him at her obvious disappointment.

“I have to leave,” he said, already feeling the rush of adrenaline creeping through his body as he anticipated the task ahead of him. “The guest room is downstairs. The lower level is pretty much under construction, but you’ll be able to find it since it’s the only room finished. Unfortunately, the working bathroom is upstairs at the moment. It’s just down the hall.”

He stepped around her and headed for the door.

“Is there anything I should do while you’re gone?” she asked, stopping him as his hand settled on the doorknob. “Feed your pets, maybe?”

“Pearl likes to run along the beach about an hour after she eats.” He checked his watch, knowing he had to get going. “Give her a couple scoops of dry food if I’m not back by seven. Her food’s in the tall cabinet next to the fridge. I can take her for a walk when I get home.”

He didn’t bother to say goodbye, just walked out the door without a backward glance. As he trotted down the steps and headed for his pickup, he was struck by the frightening thought that for the first time since following in his parents’ professional footsteps, his focus was on something other than just doing his job; it was on the woman who’d be waiting for him at the end of the day.

4

THEY GOT lucky this time.

Cale stepped beneath the hot, stinging spray of the locker-room shower. A six-car pileup during rush hour on any of Los Angeles’s many freeways could have easily meant several injuries and possible fatalities. The two most serious patients had already been removed by another team of paramedics by the time Cale and Brady had arrived at the scene.

Although still in serious condition, the driver of the second vehicle, which had been sandwiched between two cars, had ended up with nothing more life-threatening than a tib/fib fracture. From what Cale had gleaned from the highway patrolmen at the scene, the driver in car number two hadn’t even had a chance to apply the brakes before slamming into the lead vehicle, which had stalled in the fast lane, courtesy of a bad fuel pump.

The driver of the third car was a little luckier and only suffered a broken arm along with a couple of bruised ribs. The rest of the injured, including the driver of the lead vehicle, had been treated at the scene for contusions and lacerations before being transported to the UCLA Medical Center for further treatment or observation.

Personal experience and six years on the job told Cale the call could’ve been a whole lot worse. There’d be no rustling up the stress team to debrief the crews who’d worked the scene. No one had died. No one had been injured beyond recognition. The crew from Trinity Station could all go home and feel good about their jobs today.

A slow smile tugged Cale’s lips as he plucked the soap from the holder and started scrubbing the sweat and grime from his body. Home. Home, where a beautiful, intriguing woman waited for him. A woman with a sassy glint in her eye that had him nearly kissing her despite the hint of uncertainty and confusion banked there as well. The last thing he wanted to do was add to Maggie’s already confused state, but had he ever been tempted! So tempted the thought of kissing her hadn’t felt all that inappropriate, which probably should have bothered him on some level, except it didn’t. There were a thousand reasons for keeping his hands to himself, yet that didn’t stop him from wanting, and very nearly following through on the desire to taste her sweet, bow-shaped mouth. Those thousands of reasons even failed to quell the urgent need to trace his fingers over the gentle curve of her hip, to feel the small of her back against his hands, to urge their bodies closer together and allow nature, and his lust, to follow their natural courses.

The woman had temptation written all over her body, and that equaled trouble in Cale’s mind. But whoever said trouble was a bad thing obviously had never had a captivating woman sharing his living space.

“Hey, save some hot water for the rest of us.”

The bar of soap slipped from Cale’s fingers as he snapped his head around to find his eldest brother, Ben, standing in the shower area, a white cotton towel slung around his hips. He’d been part of the six-man engine crew called to the scene. It’d only be a matter of minutes before the rest of the crew filed into the locker room.

Cale offered his brother a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

Ben’s left eyebrow rose, his expression filled with blatant curiosity. Well, as far as Cale was concerned, big brother could just remain in the dark on this one. Cale had no intention of sharing the status of his current living arrangements with either one of his brothers…yet. He knew he would eventually, but it’d be nice to have some privacy for a change, even if only for a brief period of time.

Although he had no reason to feel guilty, he sure as hell did, considering how defensive he’d sounded at being caught daydreaming. Still, it wasn’t as if he’d been in the middle of some erotic fantasy casting his own personal mystery woman in the leading role.

Okay, so he’d been close. Shoot him.

Ben said nothing as he stepped into the vacant stall next to Cale’s, slapped his towel over the bluish marble half wall and turned on the steaming spray. Although the eldest Perry brother tended to be the more silent of the three, when it came to his family, the still-water routine ended and became a steadily flowing river of overprotectiveness. Ben still believed it was his right to share his opinion on any situation, something Cale and Drew both dreaded.

With anyone outside the family, Ben pretty much kept to himself. Come to think of it, Cale had a hard time remembering the last time Ben had even bothered to join the guys at the Ivory Turtle for a beer or to attend any of the backyard barbecues one of the crew might have hosted. He wasn’t what Cale would call aloof, because Ben did have a good rapport with everyone at Trinity Station. He had a good sense of humor, too, and could always be counted on being included in any of the practical jokes they were all so fond of playing on one another.

Cale knew Ben had his reasons for being pretty much a loner. When their mother had died, Cale had been eight years old and Drew six, and Ben had stepped up and assumed as much of a parental role as a ten-year-old boy could handle. All of their lives had become drastically altered when they’d lost their mom, but in Cale’s opinion, Ben had suffered the deepest effects of their loss. Not only had he shouldered the responsibility of his younger brothers, Ben had dealt with their broken-hearted old man, and had done his best to shield Cale and Drew from the rapid decline of Alex Perry.

When their father had passed away less than two years later, the boys had gone to live with their dad’s sister, Deborah Perry. Instead of letting their aunt step in and take over as parent in their lives, Ben clung to his assumed role as the “man of the house.” As a result, he’d sacrificed more than any young man should have been expected to in order to keep the three of them together. There’d been plenty of times Cale and Drew had resented Ben’s interference in their lives, but Cale wasn’t stupid enough to believe he hadn’t become the man he was today in part due to his brother’s influence. He not only loved his brother, but he respected him, even when Ben did butt in where Cale or Drew felt he shouldn’t.

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