“Well, don’t hold back now, sweetheart. Tell me how you really feel.” He leaned back in his chair and slanted his eyes toward her.

As he took her in, he realized his chocolate beauty was probably thanking heaven her beautiful, delicious dark skin wouldn’t show any signs of blushing.

She looked really cute when she was contrite, and he found himself enjoying her uneasy stance.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually give my opinion in this manner with clients. You can of course feel any way you wish. I just wanted to highlight that you really have a lot to be thankful for…” Her voice trailed off.

“Oh, your point is very much noted, Ms. Dash.”

He watched her back straighten and her hand absently twirl her hair. She sucked her bottom lip in and nibbled on it for a moment, and in that moment he wished he were her teeth.

He wanted to nibble and suck on those lips in the worst way.

Clarity struck. In that very moment, he realized no matter what he was going to have to kiss Little Miss Spitfire soon.

GWYNETH BOLTON

was born and raised in Paterson, New Jersey. She currently lives in central New York with her husband, Cedric. When she was twelve years old, she became an avid reader of romance by sneaking her mother’s stash of Harlequin and Silhouette novels. In the nineties, she was introduced to African-American and multicultural romance novels, and her life hasn’t been the same since. She has a B.A. and M.A. in English/creative writing and a Ph.D. in English/composition and rhetoric. She teaches classes on writing and women’s studies at the college level. She has won several awards for her romance novels, including four Emma Awards and a Romance in Color Reviewers’ Choice Award for New Author of the Year. When she is not teaching or working on her own romance novels, she is curled up with a cup of herbal tea, a warm quilt and a good book. She can be reached via e-mail at gwynethbolton@prodigy.net, and readers can visit her Web site at www.gwynethbolton.com.

Make it Hot
Gwyneth Bolton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Thanks for taking the time to read Joel and Samantha’s story. Every now and then a couple comes to my imagination and they are so perfect for each other they almost lull me into believing that telling their story will be a snap. Joel and Samantha were two peas in a pod, but writing their story was not easy.

These two characters proved to me without a doubt that even when the loving is easy, staying together and building something worth having is difficult—but worthwhile—work. What would you do if loving someone meant you might lose your job? What would you do if the career that you’d had for a long time, that made up such a large part of your identity, was no longer an option for you? Would you be able to open yourself to love no matter how vulnerable it made you feel? Joel and Samantha took a chance and opened up their hearts and souls to love. I hope their story inspires you to take a chance, too.

Be sure to pick up my December 2008 release, The Law of Desire, for the next installment in the HIGHTOWER HONORS series: four brothers on a mission to protect, serve and love…

Gwyneth Bolton

First I want to thank God for the many blessings in my life, especially the blessing to share my stories. I’d like to thank my family: my mother, Donna, my sisters Jennifer, Cassandra, Michelle and Tashina, my nieces Ashlee and Zaria and my husband Cedric. And I’d like to thank all the readers who have taken the time to write me and let me know what they thought of my novels. Your words have meant more than you could ever know.

To my readers, thank you for reading the words I write and inspiring me to write the best books I possibly can.

Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

“He’s gotta be okay, man. This is Joel we’re talking about!” A raspy voice choked out the words as two emergency medical technicians wheeled a stretcher past Samantha Dash, almost knocking her out of the way.

“Excuse us, miss. We need to get through here.” The taller of the two technicians pulling up the rear was at least courteous as he brushed past her.

Samantha nodded and stepped out of the way as two firefighters dressed in full gear with faces full of soot and grime followed the EMTs. The patient was clearly one of their own.

The firefighters were led back out to the waiting room by the head nurse. Instead of heading back to the clinic next door where she worked, Samantha decided to stick around for a minute.

She had been in the emergency room, showing a patient with a broken leg how to use crutches. Normally, she never paid any attention to the hustle and bustle of the E.R. when she was called in from the clinic to do crutch care. Most physical therapists found it to be the most tedious part of the job, but they knew the small service meant a lot to patients getting used to walking with crutches. Somebody had to show them how to use the things; plus, this time she’d picked the shortest straw so out of the few physical therapists, it was her turn.

“What happened?” Samantha asked the head nurse. Nurse Madison was all of five feet tall but ran the E.R. like a drill sergeant. She also knew more about what was going on in the hospital than anyone on staff.

“I just had to show those two where they could wait. Things are going to get crazy hectic around here in a minute. That big warehouse fire downtown got out of control, and at least one firefighter was badly injured. Before you know it, this place is going to be swarming with firemen, media folk…and if this guy is who I heard them say he was, we’ve got a whole heap of Hightowers on the way.” Nurse Madison placed her pointer finger on her chin before turning to another nurse who happened to be walking by. “Is that Joel Hightower back there? One of Sophie’s nephews?”

The red-haired and freckled nurse stopped and nodded. “Yep, and you know ‘Ms. Retired’ will be here trying to tell us all what to do in a bit.”

“Mmm, hmm. That’s what I thought. Lord Jesus, I don’t need this. I ain’t able to deal with that woman today.” Nurse Madison spun and took off down the hall, full of sprite for an older woman. She turned and waved. “Gotta go, sweetie.”

Samantha didn’t have any more appointments at the clinic, so she followed Nurse Madison and watched as the doctors ran to and fro working on the firefighter.

“He’ll be lucky to walk again. Both legs are broken—the tibia and fibula on the right and the tibia on the left, and the injuries to the back and spine are extensive.” Dr. Lardner, a blond, old world, Viking-looking man, noted with a frown.

“The cervical, thoracic and lumbar regions of the spine are severely damaged. We have to operate if he is going to have a shot at walking again, much less fight fires,” Dr. Samuels, an older fair-skinned African-American concluded.

Samantha winced as she listened to the doctors. As a physical therapist, she knew enough about back injuries to know it didn’t look good for the man. And back surgery had the fifty-fifty chance of making things better or worse.

“A damn shame, too. He’s so young…” Nurse Madison tsked as they rushed the patient out of the E.R.

“Let’s roll, people. Let’s get him prepped and ready for the O.R.…” The bass in the doctor’s voice more than hinted at the urgency.

The doctors and nurses rolled the patient away, and Samantha walked back toward the waiting room. More firefighters had shown up, just like Nurse Madison had predicted. They were all pacing the room as they waited to hear about their colleague.

Several more people came bursting through the automatic door and into the waiting room. They all had on formal wear and went right toward the firemen. The men were in tuxedos, and some of the younger women were dressed in matching red satin gowns. The family looked as if they had been at a wedding or something.

Nurse Madison walked out and spoke to them. Many of the women buried their heads in the men’s chests and cried. The men had stunned expressions, and they looked as if they wanted to sob. Watching them hold each other and support one another, Samantha found it hard to leave and return to the clinic. She couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the firefighter they were all pulling for. The energy in the room felt electric, and the family was doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing at a time like this. They were there for each other to lean on. She knew firsthand that didn’t always happen.

A searing pain laced up Joel Hightower’s spine and cut clear through to his soul. He could hear faint crying in the background.

Is that my mother? What is she doing crying?

He tried to open his mouth, but even the slightest movement caused the pain to slice him even more.

What in the hell happened to me?

He could vaguely remember fire. There had been flames all around him, and heat…Such intense heat…He remembered falling. The floor must have given way.

Oh, God.

Now, the pain in his spine took on new meaning, and he almost cried out.

What if the pain signaled something larger?

What if he could never walk again?

Never put out another fire?

They might as well kill me now.

He heard it again. Delicate sniffles and a soft voice. He was sure it was his mother. He felt her hand on him, and he heard more crying, familiar voices.

Men. His brothers. His father.

Joel Hightower tried to open his eyes, but the drowsiness overcame him like a dark cloak numbing his senses and dulling his brain. Tired and overwhelmed, he could no longer fight.

Samantha flipped through the channels, stopping at the news coverage of the warehouse fire. The images were horrific. Thankfully there hadn’t been any fatalities. Yet.

“Tragedy has befallen one of North Jersey’s most beloved families of public servants, the Hightowers. This family, with its legacy of firefighters and police officers, is waiting to see if one of their own will walk again after a horrendous accident. Thirty-five-year-old Joel Hightower, a Paterson, New Jersey, fireman, was gravely injured fighting a fire in an abandoned warehouse in downtown Paterson today. The well-liked young man joined the fire department right out of college and has been a fireman for thirteen years. Hightower fell nine stories down through a burning floor, and doctors are speculating on whether this young hero will walk again.”

The young newswoman’s upbeat tone seemed to be in direct contrast to the news she reported. As she spoke, a picture of Joel flashed on the screen.

He was casually dressed in the picture. He had big brown eyes with a slightly mischievous gleam. Remembering his supportive, large family and looking at his frozen smile now, Samantha felt as if she could glimpse a piece of his soul. She gazed at his deep chocolate pools. She bet his somewhat devilish smile constantly kept folks guessing. She couldn’t tell for sure if he was a serious guy or a practical joker, but she would have put money on practical joker.

His strong jawline and features were softened by the hint of playfulness that seemed to exude from him. Then, all too soon, the picture she’d been studying moved from the screen, and the perky blond newswoman was back.

Nothing like being jerked right back to reality.

“Like many members of the Hightower family, including the chief of the Paterson police department, Kendall Hightower, Joel is very active in the community, coaching Little League and being a member of the Big Brother program.”

The screen showed footage of what appeared to be a Little League baseball team winning a game. Seeing Joel jumping up and down in a celebratory manner with the little boys made her heart swell. The young boys looked almost as happy as Joel did. Exuberant was not too strong a word to encompass the person who seemed to leap from the screen. The community couldn’t afford to lose a man who did so much good with the youth.

She really hoped he pulled through.

The news program switched to footage of him and a bunch of men playing basketball. Samantha moved a little closer to the screen and saw the team in red—his team—wore shirts that read “Hightower Firemen.” The other team had on shirts that read “Hightower Cops.” The firemen had apparently won the game because Joel was jumping up and down and laughing.

She smiled at the sound of his hearty laughter.

“Our street reporter, Kasey West, was able to talk with some of his coworkers and the doctors treating him at St Joseph’s Medical Center.”

Samantha watched man after man become choked up as they tried to talk about their colleague and friend. She knew he had to be a really great guy to inspire that kind of raw emotion in those big, strapping firemen. They all had positive things to say about him. Phrases like all-around good guy, brave beyond compare, loads of fun, and involved citizen, were expressed more than a few times. She was glad the reporter had enough decency not to bother the family members.

Turning off the television, she went to sleep with Joel Hightower firmly on her mind. His smiling face and laughter filled her dreams.

The next morning, she picked up her paper only to find him on the front page. He was wearing his formal fireman uniform. Judging by the glowing story written about him, he appeared to be the picture of bravery. She had to make herself put the newspaper down and finish her coffee so she could make it to work on time.

What is the deal with me? I can’t believe I’m thinking about him this much….

She had to stop in the hospital on a consult for another patient, and she went by the firefighter’s room just to make sure he was doing all right. While she certainly couldn’t take anything away from him or men like him, she felt bad for the women they left behind. Women like her mother. Women like the injured fireman’s poor mother who sat there crying her eyes out and begging God to make her son well, to let her son live and be able to walk again.

Samantha had seen enough of that growing up, and she couldn’t see herself being with a man in a dangerous job and ending up in the same predicament. Once was enough.

She was about to walk back out of the room when the older woman looked up. The medium-built woman was dressed in a stylish eggplant colored pantsuit with a string of pearls and matching earrings. Her salt-and-pepper hair was up in a bun and her smooth brown complexion was flawless. Minus the gray hair, she hardly seemed old enough to have an adult child.

“Are you another one of the doctors?” The woman wiped the tears from her eyes but more replaced them.

“No, ma’am. I’m a physical therapist. I saw his story on the news and just wanted to stop by and share some positive energy and thoughts.” Samantha smiled and started to leave the room again. She felt awkward being there, since she didn’t even know the man.

“He has to pull through. I can’t lose my child.” His mother buried her head in her arms and started sobbing.

Samantha walked over to the woman and placed her arms around her.

“He’ll make it.” As she said the words of comfort, she realized how true she wanted them to be. It would be a shame for this woman to lose her son, for the world to lose such a brave man.

“Out of all my boys, he was always the prankster, guaranteed to go out of his way to bring a smile to my face.” She lifted her head, and it seemed as if she was trying to smile as she remembered her son’s antics; but the smile was shaky at best.

“If he weren’t the one laid up there like that, he’d be in here with me now saying or doing something to try and stop me from crying.”

So, I was right about him.

Samantha prided herself on being a good judge of people, and it pleased her to know that she had read Joel Hightower’s kind, handsome face correctly. He was a joker. He would probably make her laugh all the time.

She shook her head.

Where in the hell did that thought come from?

Samantha gazed at the sleeping man, but looking at his striking brown face, which seemed somewhere between restful and tense, she could tell the first operation must have been excruciating. She had overheard the doctors saying they needed to do at least one more operation on his spine.

“He’ll be fine, and he’ll make you laugh again, Mrs. Hightower.” Samantha offered the only words of encouragement she could. She knew the man had a long road to travel toward recovery, but looking at him, she also knew he’d make it.

She prayed he would.

She and Mrs. Hightower sat in silence. The only sound heard was Joel’s mother’s soft sobs. The only thing Samantha could think was she never wanted to be the woman crying because she’d been foolish enough to fall for a man who had a dangerous job.

She would never make that mistake.

“So what exactly are you saying to me, Doc? Make it plain.”

Joel listened to everything the man was saying, and he didn’t like any of it. After two painful surgeries and spending more time than he could have ever wanted laid up in a hospital bed in traction, he had very little patience for medical jargon and even less patience for hypothetical ponderings.

He wanted to know one thing and one thing only: Would he be able to fight fires again?

The distinguished surgeon, Dr. Lardner, gave an uncharacteristically sheepish grin that seemed to acknowledge he’d been guilty of not being as clear or as forthcoming as he could have been. His thin lips pursed in consideration, and his thick blond eyebrows closed in at the middle of his forehead. He ran his hand through perfectly coiffed blond hair, then stared at Joel with steel-blue eyes.

“Your surgeries were very successful, and the extent of the damage to your spine was not as extensive as we had originally thought. We honestly didn’t think you would walk again. We thought you would have been at the very least partially paralyzed—at the worst, fully paralyzed—but you’re not.” Dr. Lardner stopped and gave Joel a pointed look before continuing.

“You will be able to walk once your legs and spine heal, but you will need intense physical therapy to strengthen the spine and to help get you to the point where you are walking with the same proficiency you were before the accident. Is that plain enough for you?”

Joel bit back the sarcastic quip he was thinking as the doctor threw his own words back at him. He wasn’t used to feeling so on edge and vulnerable. However, not being able to get around and move the way he wanted to was taking its toll, and the thought that he might not be able to do the one thing he had wanted to do ever since he was a little boy—fight fires—had him feeling more like a tiger in a cage than a guy in traction.

“Yeah, I get it, Doc. I’m lucky I’ll be able to walk again, but will I be able to fight fires again?” Joel gritted his teeth to hold back the rest of what he wanted to say. No need pissing off the skillful surgeon whose hands made walking again a reality.

“That I can’t tell you, Joel.” Dr. Lardner gave a slight shrug. “Once you’re out of here and have started and completed your physical therapy, we’ll have a better sense of that. But for now, let’s dwell on getting you healed up so that you can go out there and handle the rest. Okay?”

Joel nodded. He would go back to his profession because any alternative to that was not an option. Fighting fires were not only his legacy, but also his entire reason for being.

Going one-on-one, head-to-head against one of nature’s most destructive elements was the biggest rush he’d ever felt. He fought fires because he loved helping people. He fought fires because he was a part of an elite group of men who lived to do what no one else would: run into the blaze not away from it. He didn’t have the kind of personality that would allow him to just sit behind a desk day after day. He needed to be out and in the thick of things.

Taming a fire before it spread and took lives or wrestling a life out of the fire’s hands by carrying a child or adult to safety from a burning building made him feel as if he could really do anything he wanted. To say his profession was intimately connected to his sense of manhood would have been an enormous understatement, and that was why he had to be able to fight fires again. That was why he would be able to fight them again. He couldn’t let anyone or anything stand in his way.

Chapter 1

Six months later

Joel Hightower entered the physical-therapy stage of his rehabilitation feeling less like his normal upbeat self.

Okay, make that nothing like his normal self.

After the two operations on his back, he had spent the bulk of the past five months in traction, and once the casts had come off, he’d had to get used to walking around with a cane for a little while, walking around feeling like half the man he used to be.

As far as he was concerned, he was allowed to be in a bad mood. His entire life had been snatched from under him, and he had to literally learn how to walk on his own two feet again.

The inside of the clinic looked as drab as the adjacent hospital had. Sure, the walls of the waiting room were a bright shade of Pepto pink, but everything else screamed stale and antiseptic. He really hoped the rest of the clinic wasn’t the same color scheme. He couldn’t take three months of constant puke pink.

He had to get his body back functioning properly so he could get a clean bill of health to return to his job. That was the most important thing. Getting back to work. Putting out fires. Until then, he felt as if he was on hold.

Too bad his physical therapist was keeping him waiting, too. He stood, freed himself from his brother Lawrence’s helpful grasp and steadied himself on his cane as he walked over to the receptionist’s desk for the second time in twenty minutes.

The short, perky woman had her shoulder-length hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore very little makeup on her almond-colored face. He glanced at the nameplate on her desk. Jenny Saunders.

“Ms. Saunders, I—” he started, only to be cut off with a honey-sweet smile.

“She’s running a little behind. This isn’t normally the case. She’ll be right with you. Again, I apologize for the delay. We had a therapist call in sick today, and Samantha had to take on some of his patients.”

The woman gave him another pleasant grin and a stare that seemed to suggest he go and sit down somewhere. He could tell Jenny Saunders was getting a little tired of him.

So what? He was tired of waiting.

His therapist’s first-impression points were going down—way down.

“Why don’t you just chill, man? Have a seat. Relax.” His brother Lawrence was only a couple of years older than him. The way the narcotics detective was always telling Joel what to do, one would think Lawrence had him by decades.

Although all the Hightower men shared the same mahogany complexions, dashing good looks and athletic builds, he and Lawrence had often been mistaken for twins when they were growing up. He used to hate that.

He decided to ignore Lawrence for the moment.

“It’s not like you walking up there every five minutes is going to make your therapist come any faster,” Lawrence offered.

When he realized Joel was not going to respond, Lawrence shrugged and went back to flipping through the Vibe magazine he’d gotten from the humongous pile of reading materials on the coffee table.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I’m Samantha Dash, and you must be Mr. Hightower.”

He turned to set eyes on a curvy chocolate goddess with flashing brown eyes, flawlessly smooth skin and jet-black hair. She wore her hair in one of those natural styles with twists, and it reached her shoulders. Then there was her smile…With a smile like hers she could probably get away with anything.

Anything but keep him waiting.

Forget how captivating she looked. “Do you always disregard your patients’ time like this, or is it just me? Because if this is the way you conduct yourself, then maybe I should look into getting another therapist.”

She tilted her head, and she took a step back, placing her hand on her hip. She glared at him for a full minute before saying a word.

Joel glanced at Lawrence for some moral support and saw his brother had buried his face in the magazine.

No problem. He didn’t need backup for this. Right was right and wrong was wrong.

“Like I said, I apologize. We’re down one therapist today, but that’s not your problem. The gift of understanding isn’t something everyone is born with. So, I’m sorry for giving you the opportunity to exhibit your extreme lack in that area. Now, if you’ll just follow me, we can get you started.” Her smile took on a decidedly false appearance, and gone was the warmth and kindness that seemed to exude from her just a few moments ago.

Oh, well.

That wasn’t his problem. He was there for one reason and one reason only, to get his life back, and if this hand-on-hip, smart-mouth spitfire of a woman had to be checked from the door in order to ensure he got what he needed, then so be it.

Well, pictures certainly are deceiving. Samantha led Joel Hightower back into her office in the clinic. She had been a little nervous when she found out she was the therapist assigned to the hero firefighter. The fact that she had thought of him often over the past six months made her think she might be risking her usual professional distance with him as a patient.

Meeting the incorrigible, surly man in person let her know right away she had nothing to worry about. She didn’t have to worry about being attracted to him. Hell, she didn’t have to worry about even liking this man. He was nothing like the playful, mischievously sexy stud she had conjured up in her imagination.

That guy would probably always have a funny joke and a smile. That guy had sex appeal for days and would make a woman run hot, not with anger the way she was at the moment, but with passion.

That guy didn’t exist and in his place was this jerk.

“First off, I’d like to tell you a little bit about what you’ll be doing here for the next three months.” She kept her tone even and flat as they sat in her office.

It was a small office with an even tinier window, but it was hers. At twenty-seven years old, she liked the fact she had worked hard and secured a position with excellent growth opportunities at such a high-profile clinic attached to a renowned hospital and medical center.

One day she would have a bigger office and even more patients, but for now, she made this one cozy with lots of earth tones and faux plants. She would have loved real plants, but her first efforts of using real greenery to beautify her space ended in carnage. It would have rivaled the destruction of the rain forests if she hadn’t performed a self-intervention and embraced her lack of a green thumb.

During her first time meeting with a patient, she liked to give them a sense of what to expect. So she talked with them in her office for about twenty to thirty minutes depending on her first impression of the patient’s personality and the injuries each had sustained. At the end of each session, she spoke with them to wrap things up.

“My job is to help improve the function and mobility in your back. To help you begin to walk more fluidly. I’m also here to help relieve the pain and teach you exercise and pain-management techniques. We’ll run some general exercises today, testing your strength, balance, coordination, posture and muscle performance.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

Oh. No. He. Didn’t.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hightower, but am I boring you? Does the discussion of how I plan to help you with your back bother you?” She knew her tone was snappy, but she couldn’t help it.

He sighed again. “I heard all of this from my doctor. I know what a physical therapist is supposed to do, so can we get to it and just do it?”

Oh. Yes. He. Did.

How could she have been so wrong about a person? This impatient, irritable man was nothing like she had imagined, nothing like the man she had dreamed of him being. She almost wished she had never met him. At least then she would still have her sweet version of him to think about.

She plastered on her most professional smile. “Fine. I can explain as we go along.”

You surly sourpuss of a man!

Once she started working with him, things went somewhat smoothly. As long as they didn’t try to have a conversation, they were fine.

After working with him on balance, coordination and trying to get him used to moving around without the cane, she decided to try another shot at small talk. They had three months of therapy to get through, after all. It would be nice if they could build at least a cordial working relationship.

Basketball!

What man didn’t like to talk about sports? And the Nets and the Knicks were both having great seasons. As a Jersey guy, he was bound to be a fan of one of those teams.

Being a Chi-town girl, she personally liked the Bulls over all teams. She had been a fan since the days of Michael Jordan and she believed he was the greatest player to have ever played the game.

No one compared. No one.

And she included the Bulls in her prayers at least once a week—two or three times during the play-offs—in hopes the team would return to its former glory.

But she could squelch her fandom to reach out to a patient. She didn’t hate the Nets or the Knicks. She could tolerate those teams and their fans. As long as he wasn’t a Lakers fan or God forbid a Phoenix Suns fan, they could have a nice conversation.

“So, what do you think about the Nets?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think about them. I’m not really a fan of the team.”

“Oh, so you’re a Knicks fan?”

“Knicks? No way. That’s my brother Lawrence’s favorite team. I can’t stand them. They invent new ways to lose a game. Sorriest team in the league, well minus the Chicago Bulls, who haven’t seen a good year since that highly overrated ball hog Jordan left.” He laughed.

The hair stood up on the back of her neck and her lip twisted to the side.

Did he just call Jordan overrated and the Bulls sorry?

Her mind did a rewind as she replayed his blasphemous words in her mind. Sure, she’d wanted him to lighten up so they could connect, but…

“Actually, I’m a former Lakers fan. Now it’s all about the Suns. Shaq Diesel will go down in history as the best to ever play the game.” He flexed an arm muscle and nodded.

She could only assume he was trying to convince himself that the nonsense he was spouting was somehow true.

“On what planet? You must be delusional. Even if Michael Jordan had never played the game, Shaq would hardly qualify as the best to ever play it. And really…the Lakers? The Suns? That just lets me know you don’t have a thing to say about the sport worth listening to.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she winced.

She turned and looked at him and saw he was staring at her with a perplexed expression.

“So, because I like a different team and don’t think Jordan hung the moon, then I just need to shut up?”

Well, when you say it like that, it does sound kind of harsh.

She took a deep breath.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Mr. Hightower, “yes, shut up!” He made her mouth go on extra-overload saying things she would have never said to a patient, ever.

Her father used to take her to see the Bulls when she was a kid. After he was gone, she still watched all the games on television when she could. It had been the one thing she could do to remain close to him.

However, she could maybe, possibly, put her feelings on hold for a minute.

“No, of course you don’t need to shut up. You can certainly voice your opinions, no matter how woefully misguided they are.”

Now, see, you could have left off the woefully misguided part, Samantha, she told herself.

“How about we just leave basketball alone?”

“That’s probably a good idea.” She used her fake but very professional smile again. “So, I want to try a little electric stimulation today. It’s one of the methods we use to relieve pain.”

It was better to just stick to the basics with this guy. The only thing they seemed to have in common was getting him well.

Chapter 2

Driving back to his town house in Passaic Park with his brother, Joel couldn’t stop talking about his physical therapist. She was certainly great at what she did. In one session, she had put him through more activity than he’d seen in months, and it seemed like the more irritated she became with him, the more she did.

He had a feeling Lawrence was a little bit tired of him talking about Samantha Dash, but every time he thought he was done, he would remember something else.

By the time they were sitting in his living room watching a basketball game on his large flat-screen television, he remembered the horrified look on her face when he had made his comment about Michael Jordan. You would have thought he’d said the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus should be executed at the firing range.

She rebounded quickly though. Yes, Samantha Dash seemed to be quite the trouper. He smiled.

“What are you grinning about now?” Lawrence studied him a little too intently before shrugging. “You got anything to eat in this place? How’re we supposed to watch the game with no snacks?”

“There’s some stuff back there. You know Mama and Aunt Sophie have been trying to outdo one another by keeping my fridge and my cupboards full.”

Lawrence’s eyes lit up. Although all of his brothers loved their mother’s cooking, Lawrence swore by it. In fact, he vowed he wouldn’t marry a woman if she couldn’t come close to his mother’s cuisine. Since they didn’t make them like Celia Hightower anymore, Joel figured the proclamation was Lawrence’s slick way of remaining a bachelor forever.

“Okay, what did Aunt Sophie make and what did Mama make?” Lawrence called back as he darted into the kitchen.

“I’m not sure. You’ll have to taste and see.”

“Aww, man! You know Aunt Sophie can’t cook. You’re supposed to make note of stuff like that. Why’re you keeping her food anyway? You’re supposed to throw that stuff right out in the trash. I swear, some of her food is toxic,” Lawrence yelled from the kitchen.

Joel laughed as he heard Lawrence gag and curse. He must have sampled one of Aunt Sophie’s masterpieces.

By the time Lawrence came back with his plate of “safe” Mama-made food, Joel thought he’d finally finished thinking about his physical therapist.

Then he thought about the sparks that flew out of her eyes when he snapped at her about being late. For a moment she’d looked at him as if she wanted to rake him over the coals. She was a full of fire for sure.

Little Miss Spitfire. That’s what she was.

He smiled again.

“What do you keep smiling about?” Lawrence asked as he placed his plate on the dark oak end table and leaned back in the deep burgundy leather recliner he always sat in when he came by.

Normally, Joel preferred the recliner for himself, but in the spirit of being a good host, he always allowed Lawrence to sit there. Ever since they’d been kids, Lawrence had pretty much ignored boundaries. If you let on something was your favorite, he took it over.

Favorite cup, ink pen, hat, whatever. Once Lawrence found out, you’d find him using it. He liked to irritate folks. It was easier to ignore him, but Joel was the only brother who could really do it. Both Patrick and Jason pitched fits when they found Lawrence using their favorite cup or pen. Joel let it slide. So, he made the matching leather sofa his spot whenever Lawrence was around.

“I was just thinking about how interesting the next three months will be working with Samantha. She’s excellent at her job, but she sure is opinionated. Man!”

Lawrence shook his head. “I guess you would be the best person to call it. Takes one to know one as they say.”

Joel frowned. “I’m not that opinionated.”

“Yeah, whatever. So, did she say what she thought your chances were for going back to the fire department?”

“No. We didn’t get to that, really. Plus, my doctor and the department will be the ones to make the call.”

“Have you thought about Hightower Security at all? It could be—”

Oh, no, he was starting again. For the past four months, his family had been trying to get him to think about other options just in case he didn’t get a clean bill of health to return to firefighting. He couldn’t get them to understand he wasn’t ready to consider other options.

He needed to believe he would be able to go back to the fire department.

“You know, I appreciate you taking your day off to go with me to my first physical therapy session, but I really don’t want to talk about this. I just want to get better and get back to my normal life.”

Lawrence nodded.

They watched the rest of the game in silence.

Samantha sat on her sofa, flipping the channels without a desire to really watch anything. After her horrendous day at work, she just wanted to veg out.

Joel Hightower was nothing like she had imagined him.

Why did that bother her? It shouldn’t have. He was a patient.

She’d dealt with difficult patients before. As a professional, she just had to do her job.

When her phone started ringing, she contemplated not answering it. She wasn’t in the mood for talking, especially if it was her mother on the other line.

She glanced at the caller ID. Seeing it was her friend, Jenny, the receptionist from the clinic, she picked up.

“Hey, girl. What’s up?”

“Girl, I had to leave before you were done with your last patient.” Jenny’s bubbly voice came through the phone line. “And you know I had to call you and find out how it went. I’ve never seen you almost snap on a patient before. Girl, I thought you were going to rip his head off. His fine-as-he-wants-to-be head off, I might add.”

Samantha hissed. “He’s rude, and he’s a bear.”

And truth be told, his stank attitude hurt your feelings and shattered all the little idealized images of him you had in your mind.

“Whatever. He’s something to look at, and he had his other fine brother with him.” The distinct sound of smacking lips followed by “mmm” interrupted Jenny’s adulation. “Girl, I was glad you were late. I got to sneak glances at those two fine Hightower men the entire time. You know, I went to high school with the oldest Hightower brother, Patrick. Every girl in Paterson wanted to snag one of those Hightower boys—”

“I can hardly imagine why. Joel Hightower is a surly, opinionated jerk. In fact, I’m going to start calling him Mr. Surly.”

Jenny laughed.

“What’re you laughing at? It’s not funny.”

“I just think it’s funny you find him so opinionated. Tell me, is that your expert opinion, since you can be a little opinionated yourself?”

“Ha, ha, ha. The difference is my opinions are usually right, and his…Oh, forget it. I don’t want to talk about Mr. Surly.”

“Hmm…I’ve never seen you get this worked up over a guy before. Interesting.”

“And I think you might be in need of a shrink, because clearly you’ve lost your mind.”

“Right. We’ll see what the next months shall bring, now won’t we?”

“No, we won’t, and I’m not worked up over Joel Hightower. I don’t get worked up. That’s not my style. I’m an easygoing, laid back, live and let live kind of a girl.”

It was all she could do to keep her voice calm because she didn’t like the fact that Jenny had called her on her less-than-cool response to the surly but fine-as-all-get-out Joel Hightower.

“Yeah, you’re easygoing, all right. You easily let some of the finest men in North Jersey go on about their business once they get tired of trying to work their way into your world.”

Samantha also didn’t like the tone of Jenny’s know-it-all voice that was hitting a little too close to home. So what if she hadn’t met a guy who could successfully hold her interest for more than three dates? So what if she preferred to keep her options open and not get too serious at this point in her life?

“Oh, please tell me this isn’t going to turn into another why-don’t-you-settle-down talk. I like my life the way it is. I’m twenty-seven, I have a career I love, and I get to meet all kinds of guys and go out when I have time. I’m cool with my life.” Was that a little whine in her voice she heard? She cleared her throat and sat up a little as she clutched the phone.

“You don’t let anyone get close.”

“I let you get close, and believe me, I rethink that every day,” Samantha joked through tight lips.

“Ha, ha. You know that’s not what I mean. If I didn’t know you better, I might start to think you don’t like men, but I think you just don’t trust them. You’re a serial dater, and you don’t let guys stick around long enough to get close.”

“That’s not true!” Not really…

“What about my cousin Paul?”

“Paul? The cop?” Samantha shook her head as she remembered the brash rookie cop. He had been handsome without a doubt, but not handsome enough to make her forget her vow.

“Not my type. You shouldn’t have even set me up with him. I could have told you that wasn’t going to work. I’m not into guys with dangerous occupations.”

“Mmm, hmm, and all other guys fit under the two-or-three date rule. You cut them loose after a few dates.”

“That’s because I’m particular about things like, oh, I don’t know, conversation. I’m looking for someone who will make me think, make me laugh and who has a nice, safe, uneventful job. I’m not picky at all.”

“So, you’ll just keep dating and leaving all the most eligible guys in the area until there are no more left to date, without really giving them a chance?” Jenny’s tone was exasperated.

“If they don’t fit the criteria, I have to keep it moving. Time waits for no man, and neither do I. No need dragging out the inevitable. I prefer to think of it as power dating until I find the right one.”

She blinked when Joel Hightower’s bold and daring face popped into her head. Those brooding brown eyes would challenge her without end. That insufferable personality wouldn’t allow him to agree with a thing she said and would probably make conversations riveting and interesting, to say the least. And those irritatingly witty little snipes of his would keep her on her toes. She tried to shake his smirking face from her head.

When that didn’t work, she imagined him in his fireman uniform. The image didn’t disappear, but at least it reminded her that no matter how much she found herself oddly attracted to him, he was not the one.

“And I think you might have met the right one today if you don’t wimp out and give the sexy Hightower a fair look.”

Samantha rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. What was it with Jenny and this Joel Hightower guy?

“Whatever, girlfriend.” She yawned. “Listen, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

“Bye, Hightower Fan-Club President…”

Samantha sucked her teeth, hung up the phone and tried to get Joel Hightower out of her head.

The next morning, the phone woke Samantha up. She glanced at the clock. Seven o’clock. It was time to get up and start getting ready for work, anyway, but dang.

She cleared her throat and tried to do a halfway decent job of getting the frog out. “Hello.”

“Hello, Sammie, did I wake you?”

“No, Mom.” She tried to clear the cobwebs from her brain so she could get a read on her mother’s voice. It was too early in the morning for Veronica Dash to be drunk, but that had never stopped her before. More than likely, she was getting an early start to her drinking day.

“I figured I would catch you before you went to that little job of yours. When I call you in the evenings, you never really have anything to say.”

That’s because the only thing I want to say to you is “Mom, stop drinking,” but I can’t say that because then you’d get all huffy and drink even more.

“Anyway, I know you were just home a few months back, but that was only for a week and a half. I just think it would be nice if you got a job in Chicago, or at least a little closer. So, I was looking through the want ads—”

“Mom, I’m happy with my job now. I like it here. You had to know I couldn’t stay in Chicago forever.”

This Samantha-come-home conversation was getting old.

“You act like it’s so horrible for a mother to want her child closer to home.”

Why? You haven’t really paid me any attention since I was twelve and your drinking spiraled out of control.

But she couldn’t say anything without starting World War III and sending her mother on a drinking binge.

Today, she opted out instead.

“When are you going to stop these little games of yours, Samantha? When are you going to stop or trying to punish me?”

Samantha sucked her teeth. Her mother would be the one to paint herself as the victim.

“Mom, I am not trying to punish you. I have a life and a career. I’m just trying to live my life, that’s all.”

“You’re trying to punish me by staying away. Just like when you were a snotty little kid, who thought she could hurt someone by walking around not talking…Hmmph…Like I needed to hear you complain and tell me that I’d had enough to drink…What kind of child walks around the house for months, not speaking to her mother? I’ll tell you what kind! A vindictive little snot who’s trying to punish the parent instead of staying in a child’s place.”

Enough of this!

“How about a child who is trying the best way she can to get her mother to stop trying to kill herself with a liquor bottle? Or one who was afraid she would say something that would send her mother on yet another drinking binge. Take your pick, Mom, because I’ve been both!”

As soon as the words fell out of her mouth, she regretted them. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with her mother. In fact, she avoided the battleground at all costs most times. She ran her hand across her face and finished wiping the sleep out of her eyes.

“Listen, I’ve got to go get ready for work, Mom. I’ll call you this weekend—”

“Don’t bother!”

Click.

Oh, yes…Getting hung up on by one’s mother…What a glorious way to start your day!

Samantha softly laid the phone down and headed for the shower.

“All I want to know is if I work hard enough and do what I’m supposed to do in physical therapy, is there a real chance that I can go back to firefighting?” Joel tried to get a straight answer out of his doctor.

“And as I said, making your back stronger and getting the most out of physical therapy is what you need to be focusing on.” Dr. Lardner kept his eyes on his pad.

“Also, the fire department’s physician would be the one to give the final go-ahead about you going back to work. I will say that a back injury as extreme as yours will take a lot of work in order for a person to go back to such a physically demanding job.”

Joel ran his hand across his head in frustration.

“And I’m asking you, if I put in the work needed, is it a possibility? I need to know that it’s a possibility.”

He hated the pleading sound in his voice, but holding on to the hope his life could go back to normal was the only thing keeping him going, keeping him positive. His family’s quest to get him to see other options was starting to punch holes in his resolve.

“Honestly, when you came into the hospital with the injuries you had, I didn’t think you would ever walk again. Luckily the damage didn’t lead to paralysis, and you are walking on your own two feet today. So, I don’t want to say with certainty you wouldn’t be able to do what you needed to do to make your back stronger, strong enough to go back to firefighting, but I don’t want to make any promises.”

“That’s okay. Just knowing there’s a chance is good enough for me.”

For now, until I can make it a reality and end up doing the job I love again.

The feeling he got from being able to rush into a blazing building head on—tackle and tame the burning flames until they were wiped out—was unlike anything he had ever felt. He remembered the first time he ever saw an out-of-control fire. It had been awe-inspiring. When he saw those firemen carry a little girl and her grandmother from the fire, he knew without a doubt that was what he wanted to do. While most little boys growing up at that time wanted to be Superman or Batman, he already knew what kind of superhero he wanted to be. He wanted to be a fireman. He still wanted to be a fireman.

“Oh, and, Doc, uh, I was wondering about…sex…with my back…” This had to be the most awkward conversation ever.

“You will certainly be able to have sex. You’ll just have to be a little careful and not stress your back. Your physical therapist will be able to give you some advice on the best positions—”

“Aah…no.” He tried to imagine having a conversation about back-friendly sex with Little Miss Spitfire, especially when he’d had some interesting dreams about the curvy, sexy and opinionated woman last night.

“I mean, she’s a woman, and it would be awkward. Can you recommend some books or something?”

“I certainly can.”

“Good.” He hadn’t become concerned with the topic of sex until now. He had a hint it might have something to do with the spark of desire he felt for Samantha Dash.

Chapter 3

After two-and-a half months of intense therapy, Joel had come to hate his sessions.

He didn’t hate the sessions so much as what they represented: the ever-growing possibility he might never fight fires again.

Sure, they could make the pain manageable and most times nonexistent. He could even get on with a perfectly normal and boring regular life, but no matter how hard he worked, he couldn’t seem to bring things back to the way they were before the accident. His back still wasn’t strong enough to support the heavy equipment.

And then there was his physical therapist: Little Miss Spitfire. It seemed as if she lived to disagree with everything he said.

One would think two black urban professionals would have more in common, especially when he felt an intense attraction to the woman unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and his attraction led him to the irony of ironies. The woman knew all about his injuries and therefore his limitations, and no man wanted to step to a woman when she already knew he wasn’t bringing it the way he wanted to.

Forget that.

So for the past couple of months he’d been resisting. Resisting the urge to plant a kiss on those lips of fire. Resisting pulling the curvaceous body that could put Jennifer Hudson out of business into his arms. Resisting putting down his best lines and his tightest game to pull the most beautiful dark-chocolate goddess into his life.

And all the resisting kept a brother in a state of constant grumpiness.

When she finally came into the room, all bubbly and carrying those electric stimulation pads, he felt like smiling back at her, but all he could do was nod and grunt hello.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite curmudgeon.” She laughed and it sounded like music—music he wanted to bottle up and keep.

He glanced at her. She was wearing her white lab coat over a light summer outfit. Her cream slacks were topped by a pastel pink-and-cream blouse. The twists she normally wore in her hair had been loosened and gave her jet-black hair a crinkly, curly effect.

He liked how she looked way too much.

Trying not to smile or laugh or otherwise let her know how much her simple presence brightened his day, he coolly asked, “Do you make a habit of insulting all your patients?”

“Nope, only the overly pleasant ones like you,” she offered sarcastically.

He had to laugh at that.

“See, there’s that million-dollar smile. You really ought to show it more often, Mr. Surly.” She grinned and he noticed the soft gloss on her lips. It was a neutral shade with more shine than color, but with the flash of her perfect teeth she didn’t need any color to highlight her smile.

Samantha Dash had the kind of smile that could make a man clean out his bank account and give her everything he owned just to see it.

“I would if you were always so pleasant and agreeable, Little Miss Spitfire.”

She’d finally placed the electric stimulation patches on his back and started the treatments.

He grimaced as the small shocks did their job. “Sometimes I think you get too much of a kick out of this.”

“Who me? Never.” She laughed her sweet bell-like laugh again.

He didn’t know what worked better for his pain, the treatment or seeing her.

Seeing her.

After the treatment, they sat in her office, going over her plans for the rest of his treatments and discussing his progress.

He realized he had come a long way from where he was when he was injured during the big warehouse fire, but he still wasn’t back on the job.

The people around him, from his doctors to his family, kept pushing him to consider what he would do if it never happened, if he could no longer fight fires. He didn’t even want to think about those possibilities. Instead, he pushed them out of his mind and focused on his surroundings.

He had come to like her cozy little office. The only thing that didn’t seem to fit her was the fake greenery in the room. She seemed like a real-plant kind of a girl.

There was nothing fake about her. From the tips of her natural hair, to each and every curve on her body, to the unapologetically real retorts that came out of her mouth, she proved time and time again she kept it real.

“So how is the pain? You have less than a month left of therapy. We’ve been at this for over two months, are you noticing any difference? It definitely looks like your range of motion and strength are improving.”

“Yes, the pain isn’t as bad. In fact, sometimes I can go weeks without a flare-up.”

“That’s wonderful.” She smiled, and he could have sworn the entire office lit up.

He felt a stirring in his heart, and it shot straight to his groin. He couldn’t believe out of all the women he had come into contact with since his accident, he would find himself growing increasingly and overwhelmingly attracted to the one woman who knew all his shortcomings.

When he’d first become injured, he pretty much pushed the women he’d been casually dating away, at least the ones that tried to stick around and came to visit him in the hospital. He told himself that he didn’t need any pity, and he still firmly believed that. He also didn’t want anything taking his focus away from making his back stronger and returning to his job.

He hadn’t even missed the female companionship. In fact, the entire time he spent confined in the hospital, the only thing he really missed was his job. Then he came to physical therapy…Seeing Samantha three times a week seemed to add heat to parts of him he’d thought were frozen. His emotions were thawing, and he liked it.

He shrugged and tried to play nonchalant.

“You don’t look pleased.” She squinted her big, bold, brown eyes and studied him a bit too closely for his taste.

“I’d be more pleased if I could go back to doing what I was born to do.”

She inhaled and nodded. “You do realize how lucky you are, though, don’t you? You could have died in that fire. Or your back injuries could have been such that you could have been permanently paralyzed, but you’re alive. You’re healthy. You can walk without aid. You just have a sensitive back, one you will have to take care not to aggravate or reinjure.”

Joel bristled at her sharp tone.

“Well, don’t hold back now, sweetheart. Tell me how you really feel.” He leaned back in his chair.

As he took her in, he realized his chocolate beauty was probably thanking heaven her delicious dark skin wouldn’t show any signs of blushing. She looked really cute when she was contrite, and he found himself enjoying her uneasy stance.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually give my opinion in this manner with patients. You can, of course, feel anyway you wish. I just wanted to highlight that you really have a lot to be thankful for…” Her voice faltered off.

“Oh, your point is very much noted, Ms. Dash.”

He watched her back straighten and her hand absently twirled her hair. She sucked her bottom lip in and nibbled on it for a moment, and in that moment he wished he were her teeth. He wanted to nibble and suck on those lips with an intensity that caused him to shift and squirm a bit to contain his urge to lean over and plant one on her.

In that very moment, he realized he was going to have Little Miss Spitfire soon. No matter what.

She took a deep breath and stood. “So, I guess I’ll see you Friday then. Your next appointment is in the evening, right?” She walked over to her office door.

He followed her with a pep in his step he hadn’t felt since the accident. There was something about coming to a realization, an understanding with oneself you’d been trying to fight or deny that rejuvenated one’s energy.

Giving in to the inevitable almost felt like a brick wall being lifted from his spirit, a shackle being broken from his soul. It felt like freedom.

It felt like a challenge he knew he would rise to and conquer. Because knowledge of his injuries and their many differences aside, Miss Samantha Dash’s lips demanded to be kissed and her thick bodacious body needed to be held.

By him!

Little Miss Spitfire had heated things up, and he was just the man to show her how to really make it hot.

“Argh!” Samantha sank into her seat and groaned in disgust.

She hadn’t meant to go off on her patient the way she did, but the sexy Joel Hightower brought out things in her she usually kept contained and under wraps.

Sure, she thought of snappy things to say and had some funny wisecracks running through her head all the time, but she had never voiced them before. Not with a patient. She had always been content to think them and make herself laugh—until Joel.

Growing up not being able to always tell her mother the things she was thinking had conditioned her to let all the things she wanted to say filter through her head and censor before she said them. Most times, she kept her smart comments and wisecracks to herself. It was enough to just come up with the zingers. Since meeting Joel Hightower, she had been letting her thoughts and opinions run freer than ever.

And what was with her telling him he should be thankful he’s alive and could walk? Even if she did firmly believe he should, she would have never crossed the professional line in the past.

Chastising a patient? That was a big no-no.

She leaned back in her chair and started to play with her hair. She needed to wash it and retwist it.

She had been wearing her hair in its natural state for several years now and had started to wear her shoulder-length, jet-black hair in two-strand twists as she flirted with the idea of locking her hair permanently.

The door to her office came bursting open, and she glanced up. Jenny needed to learn how to knock.

“I noticed our finest patient just left. That man is yummy to look at.”

She rolled her eyes at Jenny. “Does your husband know you spend your days ogling handsome patients?”

“Oh, so you finally acknowledge he’s handsome? Interesting.” A knowing smirk crossed Jenny’s lips as the older woman took a seat.

“I didn’t acknowledge a thing. He’s a’right. He’s not all that.” She sighed.

Shoot, Joel Hightower was more than all that. He was all that and then some…and then some more on top of that!

The only problem was she wasn’t supposed to notice how fine he was. The man was off-limits.

“Right, all I know is he is lucky I’m a married woman. He might have a stalker on his hands. That man is movie-star handsome. Goodness gracious!” Jenny patted her chest in mock-lust.

“Girl, stop. You know you wrong for that. You’re the one married to the Denzel Washington look-alike.”

If Samantha didn’t know Jenny was madly in love with her handsome husband, Walt, she might have been worried. But she had spent enough time with the couple and their two beautiful children to know that, as much smack as Jenny talked, she would never act on it.

Even though Jenny and her husband, Walt, were about ten years Samantha’s senior, she considered them to be good friends. She didn’t know what she would do without Jenny in the clinic to laugh and commiserate with. Having another sister there was comforting, and they hit it off from day one.

“Girl, my Denzel look-alike is fine, but every now and then a new youngster comes around and makes you take notice. And that one that just left here…” Jenny fanned herself. “Girl, you better snap him up.”

She shook her head, laughing at her friend’s antics, and Jenny started laughing, too.

“He’s a patient. That’s unprofessional.”

“Girl, please. He won’t be a patient for long. Remember, I file the charts. He has less than a month left, and you need to start putting things in place for when he’s no longer coming here three times a week.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “And last I checked, there weren’t any rules against you dating a former patient.”

“He’s still a patient. Anyway, it’s unprofessional. I can’t do it. I try to be as professional as I can be at all times.”

“Mmm…Well, professional isn’t gonna keep you warm at night, and professional isn’t easy on the eyes like Joel Hightower. In my opinion, professional is highly overrated if it means you have to pass on a man like that. I saw the way he looks at you…Girl, that man eyes you as if he wants to sop you up with a biscuit.”

“Stop lying, Jenny. He does no such thing.”

“You wanna put some money on it?”

“No, I don’t. I wouldn’t put money on something like that. Plus, a man as fine as him could have and probably does have any woman he wants. He probably likes those skinny model chicks.”

Samantha was more than happy with her curvy figure and had no desire to move from her size twelve to a size two, but, she knew not every man could handle a sister with some meat on the bones.

“What he wants is you, and I wonder what you’re gonna do when he decides to go after what he wants.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that happening.” But Samantha couldn’t help letting herself wonder what if…

What if Joel Hightower really wanted her? The heat rose to her neck, her face flushed and her heart started to flutter. Why now?

After years of being able to go with the flow and date guys without getting caught up in emotions…After years of staying clear of men with dangerous occupations…After years of being professional and not crossing the line with anyone she was treating…

Why was Joel Hightower able to tempt her with a smile and a look? Why was he the one to cause her desire to bubble over and need she had barely known she had to erupt? Most importantly, why was she starting to believe she wasn’t going to be able to continue doing things the way she had been doing them. After years of steering clear of the dangers that came with falling in love, she seemed to be primed and ready to make the leap right into Joel Hightower’s arms. And that scared her as much as it excited her.

Chapter 4

After her last appointment of the day, Samantha made it home to her apartment in Elmwood Park in record time.

The town she lived in, Elmwood Park, had started out many years ago as a sort of suburb of Paterson, like South Paterson and West Paterson. In fact, the town used to be called East Paterson until they changed the name to remove all associations with the inner city. Still, it was a little safer for a single woman living on her own. Also, her apartment complex was nice and welcoming.

And she never felt happier to see the red-and-white brick, colonial-style apartment units than she was today. She pulled into her parking spot, thinking about what she could quickly make for dinner. Her phone was ringing as she walked through the door, and she rushed to answer it.

It better not be a telemarketer, she thought as she made the dash across the living room/dining room to the phone hanging on the back wall of her galley kitchen.

“Hey, Sammie. It’s your mother.” Veronica Dash’s soft voice wafted through the phone lines, and Samantha tried to discern what kind of mood she was in.

Was it her sober and depressed mother on the line, her two-glasses-of-gin shy of passing out and depressed mother or her angry, bitter, lashing-out and drunk mother?

“Hi, Mom. How’s it going?”

“When are you coming home? Why can’t you get a job here in Chicago? What kind of daughter leaves her mother all alone?” The slight slur in her voice canceled out still sober.

Samantha started walking with the cordless phone, kicking off her shoes and making herself comfortable on the huge plush brown sofa-sectional that took up the majority of the small living room/dining room. There was no telling how long she would be on the phone with her mother this evening.

She could hear the sound of clanging glass and knew Veronica must have been fixing herself another drink.

“Mom, I have a job here that I love, and I like it here. You could always move out here. A change of scenery might be good for you.” She had made the offer many times before, and she knew her mother would turn it down.

Samantha loved Chicago and would always consider herself a Chi-town girl. But when she left home to attend graduate school and earn her MS in Occupational Therapy at Seton Hall University in South Orange, New Jersey, she ended up staying on for the DPT—Doctor of Physical Therapy—program. By the time she finished her studies, she’d come to love the North Jersey area, and she had come to love the newfound peace in her life and not having to watch her mother drink herself to death.

Finally, she had a legitimate reason to leave the continuous sadness looming in her childhood home. As much as it shamed her to admit it, she was sort of glad her mother didn’t want to move to New Jersey.

“I’m all alone, and I don’t want to leave my home. It’s all I have left of him. It’s the only thing I have left. If you were any kind of a daughter, you wouldn’t have left me. How could you leave here? We’re a family here.”

“You have me. The house is just a place, Mom. You have me, also. Daddy was murdered but you still have me…” Samantha wished she could call back the words as soon as they left her mouth.

“I don’t have you. You’re not here. You’re no help. You’re selfish. You’re trying to punish me because you think it will make me stop drinking. Just like when you stopped visiting. Cutting me off…Selfish!”

Samantha closed her eyes. She didn’t say anything because her mother was right. She had tried to use the threat of not visiting as a ploy to get her mother to go to rehab in the past. It hadn’t worked.

“They murdered him. They took him away from me. Why? Why did he stop at that corner store to pick up cough medicine for you? It’s your fault. It’s your fault my husband is dead.” Veronica’s angry words caused Samantha to go still.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard the words before. It was more that she was shocked that they still had the ability to wound.

Samantha spoke so she could barely hear her own words. “It wasn’t my fault. It was the criminal’s fault, the one who was robbing the store when Daddy walked in.”

In the past, Samantha might have been spiteful enough to add that she wasn’t the one who called her husband and asked him to pick up a bottle of Robitussin while he was on duty. But the grown-up woman knew it was no more her fault than it was her mother’s.

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