Hot for the Fireman Read online

  “I don’t know; it’s not like I have a list of qualities with checkboxes.” Her friend—Angie—must have asked for clarification. “Someone who doesn’t awkwardly fumble through a kiss or treat me with kid gloves like I’m a damn China doll would be a step in the right direction.” Glass clinked together as she finally pulled a bottle from the shelf. “A man who can make the past disappear and render the future immaterial. A man who makes it impossible to focus on anything but him and the wicked hot things he’s doing to me.”

  Erik dragged a hand over his mouth and tipped his head back to look up at the water-stained drop ceiling. Fucking hell, the images her words conjured had his blood running hot. When was the last time he’d been with a woman? Two months? Three? It suddenly felt like years.

  “Yeah, I’ll just proposition the next guy I see,” she said. Erik could almost see her accompanying eye-roll. “Okay, I’m going to let you go, chica. I need to buy my wine and get home to my pity party, party of one. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Her heels striking the floor again as she moved toward the front of the store snapped him out of his daydreaming. Shit, she had to pass his aisle to get to the register. She’d know he heard her entire conversation and think he was some kind of creeper. You were being a creeper, dumbass. Countering his position to hers, he moved in the opposite direction and slid around to the next aisle just as she vacated it. He should wait until she was gone, but the desire to get a better look at her had his feet moving before he could think better of it.

  Rounding the front of the aisle, he let his gaze rove over her body in profile as he made his way to the counter. Her sleeveless red dress scooped low over the swells of her large breasts and molded itself to her curves, hitting her at mid-thigh. He wondered if she wore matching red panties underneath, then noticed the absence of panty lines and wondered if she wore any at all. Christ. Images flashed in Erik’s head of twisting her long, wavy hair around one of his hands and pulling it back so he could devour her mouth, her neck— Shit. If he kept up those thoughts, he’d have a permanent zipper imprinted on his dick.

  “Shit,” she swore, dropping her head back on her shoulders. “I think I left my purse at the bar.”

  “I’ll buy your wine,” Erik said, stopping next to her and already retrieving his wallet.

  The Lady in Red turned to face him, effectively trapping the air in his lungs. Her body might be a knockout, but her face was nothing short of stunning. Delicate features inside of a heart shape with creamy skin, high cheekbones, and hazel eyes. Her bold makeup—heavily lined eyes and candy apple lips—contradicted the vulnerability and hint of innocence in her expression.

  “Thank you, but I can’t let you do that,” she said, her cheeks infusing with color. “I don’t really need the wine.”

  “With the night it sounds like you’re having, I think you do.” Her eyes grew big and he realized too late she must think he meant her phone conversation, so he added, “Because you left your purse at the bar.”

  Relief flowed out of her on an exhaled, “Oh, right. Still though—”

  He held up his hand as he smiled. “Listen, if we were at that bar, I would’ve offered to buy you a drink anyway.” She hesitated, biting on the corner of her lower lip, which tightened his gut into a knot. “Tell you what,” he said, handing his credit card to the older lady behind the counter who’d been watching the exchange like it was a scene from one of her soap operas. “I’m going to buy the whiskey and the wine. But I’m only leaving with the whiskey. You can either take the wine with you, or gift it to…”

  He arched a brow in question to the clerk. “Betty,” she responded with a smoker’s rasp and a yellowed, toothy grin.

  “To Betty. Up to you.” Erik nodded to Betty who then rang up the two bottles of alcohol and placed them in separate brown paper bags. Red glanced awkwardly between him, Betty, and the bottle of wine.

  “Don’t look at me,” Betty said with a wink at the woman. “Wine gives me a massive headache.”

  Erik grabbed the Jameson and stepped into her space. Looking down at her, he spoke low, his mouth hitching up in one corner. “Enjoy your wine.” Then he strode past her and pushed out through the door, the jangle of the bell announcing his exit.

  He only made it a few feet when he heard the bell again. “Thank you,” she called out to him.

  Erik turned around to see her standing in the middle of the sidewalk, her phone and the bottle of wine clutched in her hands. It was an opening, an invitation to continue talking. She’d had the opportunity to wait until he drove away before leaving the store, but she’d rushed out after him instead.

  On any normal night, he probably would have walked back to her and tried flirting. But she’d had a shitty night and he’d had an even shittier day. He honestly didn’t have it in him to pull out the full charm. Besides, he doubted she’d been even half serious about a one-night stand and he wasn’t looking to fix her bad dating streak. So instead, he gave her a nod and a farewell grin, then turned and headed for his truck, trying to ignore the odd feeling of regret prickling in his chest.

  Chapter Two

  Olivia Jones’s gaze locked onto the ass of possibly the sexiest man she’d ever met as he walked toward the gigantic black truck parked behind her Mini. In the liquor store, she’d heard his voice first. I’ll buy your wine. All low and rumbly, it caused her belly to flip over before even setting sight on the man attached to it. And a second later, when her head turned and she saw him for the first time… Dayum.

  Her breath had caught in her chest and every thought in her head melted. He was a giant of a man, several inches over six feet, wearing an untucked black dress shirt that fit him like a tailor had designed it around his incredible body. He was gorgeous, but not in a perfect male model sort of way. More like he grew up in the wild and had fought tooth and nail for everything he had, and he wouldn’t hesitate to do that and more to keep it. Jet-black hair, buzzed close to his head, matched the shadow of a beard that seemed to exist as if to tell society that he might act civilized, but he refused to pander to their whims and fully conform.

  Why couldn’t any of the guys she went on dates with be like this one?

  Her date earlier had been a disaster, a feeling she’d had before ever stepping foot outside her door. On her drive over to the bar—he was within walking distance and couldn’t be bothered to pick her up—the voice in her head had told her to turn her happy ass around, go home, and curl up with a book and her cats. But that’s what she’d done almost every other night for the last two years, and she didn’t want to be that person anymore. It was the whole reason she’d started dating again. Though, if she’d known it was going to be this hard to connect with anyone, she would’ve stuck with her cats.

  As the man cut between their vehicles, she decided she couldn’t be too upset about her bad date anymore. After all, it had led her to this store and the few minutes of interaction with that sexy eye candy would be enough to fuel her fantasies for a while. Worth it.

  Blowing out a breath, Olivia stepped into the street and walked around to her driver’s side door, keeping her eyes firmly trained on the ground so she wouldn’t be tempted to sneak more peeks at Hottie McBulgypants. Oh my God, I did not just call him that. I didn’t even notice his bulge. I mean, I didn’t notice if he even had one. She mentally winced. Shit! Stop thinking about it! Still averting her gaze, she heard him climb into his truck and pull the door closed. When the engine roared to life, some of the tension in her shoulders eased.

  Until she tried getting into her own vehicle…and couldn’t.

  Olivia’s stomach dropped as she saw the two things she should be holding right now laying on her passenger seat. “Shit, shit, shit!” she muttered, dropping her forehead to the window. When her best friend, Angelina de la Vega, had called on the drive over, Olivia had been so caught up in rehashing her disastrous date that she’d gotten out of her car with her phone…and nothing else.

  She supposed she should be gra
teful she at least had her phone so she could call a locksm—

  “Something wrong?”

  The deep timbre of his voice startled her. She’d been so caught up in her blunder that she hadn’t heard the truck’s engine cut off, or its door opening and closing or the approach of the sexy stranger until he stood behind her and spoke. If her father knew how unaware of her surroundings she’d been, she’d get the lecture of a lifetime.

  Before turning to address him, Olivia discreetly tugged the hem of her red dress down and the low scoop neck up. It felt two sizes too small, but a few months ago, when they went shopping for Olivia’s “dating wardrobe,” Angie insisted it was the perfect amount of sexy without flashing the goods. After experiencing the current local bar scene, Olivia understood what Angie had meant. A lot of girls went out more naked than not, and that alone was a stark reminder of how long it’d been since she’d ventured into a place where the single and horny reigned supreme. Hell, it’d taken her forever just to admit she was once again a part of the single crowd, but she doubted she’d ever feel totally comfortable in clothes this small.

  Hoping her poker face was more believable than it felt, she turned around…and promptly forgot how to speak. He was so damn big. She stood at five foot seven flat-footed and had on three-inch heels, but he still had a good half a foot on her, making him something akin to the Jolly Green Giant or— “Paul Bunyan.”

  He arched a brow and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Did you just call me Paul Bunyan?”

  Of course it was too much to ask that her internal monologue actually stay internal. She mentally smacked her forehead. Taking a deep breath, she shrugged and said, “You have that man-of-the-wild look about you. Considering your height makes you part giant, I’d say you’re at least a distant relative.”

  Paul Bunyan’s smile revealed a hidden dimple in his right cheek that melted her insides, and if he kept it up, she didn’t hold out much hope for her brain. And his eyes…dear God, his eyes…they were the color of amber, like the whiskey he’d bought, and absolutely breathtaking. Add in his thick, dark lashes she’d give her eyeteeth for, and she might as well just hand over her vagina. Here you go. I’m fairly certain it’ll never work for anyone else now anyway, so you might as well keep it.

  Nodding to the car behind her, he said, “So what seems to be the trouble?”

  She glanced back and then met his assessing gaze. “Well, the good news is, I didn’t forget my purse at the bar after all because it’s on my passenger seat. The bad news is, so are my keys, and my car is locked.”

  “You really aren’t having the best night, are you?”

  “You have no idea,” she said on a sigh.

  He knelt down on one knee and looked up at her as he untied the lace on his black motorcycle boot and started pulling it from the holes. “Bad date?”

  “Try a nightmare,” she said, cocking her head to the side as she tried to figure out what the hell he was doing.

  After freeing that lace, he switched out feet and started on the other. “What were his crimes, if you don’t mind my asking? You know,” he said with a crooked grin, “so I don’t make the same mistakes the next time I take a lady out.”

  There’s no way she would believe that this man could be rude to a date. In the few minutes she’d been with him, she knew he was attentive and thoughtful. She’d bet any date of his would feel like the only girl in the room. Just thinking about it sent a tiny shiver through her. Stop it, Livvie. You’re through with dating, remember?

  Banishing the lust that had been creeping in from the moment she laid eyes on Paul Bunyan, she played along and spoke with a professorial tone. “In the interest of sparing women in the greater Boston area the kind of pain I experienced tonight, I’m happy to share. Let’s see. He answered three calls during dinner—one of which was another woman with whom he set up a date for tomorrow night, incorporated the Yankees into every topic of what little discussion we managed, and then had the audacity to look shocked when he learned I wasn’t going home with him, which, by the way, is an apartment over his parents’ garage.”

  A final tug and the second lace was completely extracted from his boot. Standing, he gave her an incredulous look. “He was a Yankees fan? You’re right, that is a nightmare.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, that was definitely the most tragic part of the entire evening.” He smiled to himself as he tied the laces together and then made a quarter-sized loop in the middle with a weird knot. “What are you doing?”

  “Rescuing you, m’lady.” Grasping the black laces with both hands, he tucked the loop behind the upper corner of her door, then worked it back and forth while simultaneously dragging it down. “So,” he said casually, keeping his eyes trained on what he was doing, “what fictional character are you?”

  Her eyes widened in fascination as she watched the loop he’d made get lower and lower inside her window until it settled around the lock pin. He pulled both ends in opposite directions, making the loop tighten around the pin like a noose. “I’m sorry, what?”

  He paused and flashed her a smile. Good Lord, that dimple was lethal. “If I’m Paul Bunyan, what does that make you?”

  She peered down at her hooker dress in consideration. It reminded her of Julia Roberts’s character in Pretty Woman. “I think it’s a toss-up between Vivian Ward and Dance Club Barbie.” With a simple upward yank, the laces pulled on the pin and unlocked her car. Holy shit, that was cool. He was like a real-life MacGyver. Oddly, it was a total turn-on.

  Opening the door, he pocketed his laces and turned to face her, draping one arm over the top of the door. “There you go.”

  “That was amazing, thank you so much,” she said with equal parts wonder and relief. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

  He shrugged. “Just one of the life-hacks I’ve picked up over the years. You’re way off, by the way.”

  “Way off?” Her brows drew together in confusion.

  “About your fictional character.”

  “I wasn’t aware there was a correct answer.”

  “Maybe not,” he said, “but comparing yourself to a prostitute or club bunny is asinine.”

  Something flipped in Olivia’s stomach. Something she was certain had no business tipping, much less flipping, and her mouth suddenly felt like she’d been sucking on cotton. Trying to keep her outer appearance from matching the hot mess going on behind the scenes, she shifted the bottle of wine from one cradled arm to the other.

  “I suppose you have a better comparison?”

  He took the wine and phone from her and bent to set them on her passenger seat, grabbing her keys in the process. Straightening, he closed her door, placed her keys in her palm, and curled her fingers around them. The warm, callused feel of his hand wrapped on hers sparked a flare of arousal between her legs. But then he took a step in, leaving only inches between their bodies, and she felt her nipples harden into tight buds against her dress like they were straining to reach his hard chest. And hell if she could blame them.

  She tilted her head up to meet his gaze and swallowed to banish her dry throat. Ruggedly beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. The man was a solid ten on his looks alone, but add in his innate alpha magnetism, and his rating flew off the charts.

  His gaze lowered to her lips briefly before capturing hers again. “You’re a siren.”

  Olivia blinked a few times. “I’m…an ear-piercing warning signal?”

  One side of his sexy mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “The mythological creature whose beauty and sweet songs lure men to crash upon the rocky shores as they try to reach her.”

  Whoa. She was sooooo out of her league with this guy. Her freshman year in college, she’d entered a serious relationship with Brett that eventually led to marriage, so it’d been nearly a decade since she’d dated. Is this what pickup lines had evolved into? Lines that actually worked? How did one even respond to that sort of thing? “I can’t sing. I’m extremely tone deaf
.”

  Her inner self slapped her palm to her forehead—again—and groaned. That is not how you respond to that sort of thing. Way to go, genius. But despite her lamenting, he rewarded her with a full smile and hearty chuckle. Lord have mercy.

  “No karaoke bars, then. I’ll keep that in mind for future reference.”

  “Future reference?” she asked with an arch of her brow. “Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?”

  “Possibly,” he said. “Or maybe I’m just hoping my timely rescue and power of suggestion will get me a date with my damsel in distress.”

  His voice sent a frisson of electricity dancing down her spine. She almost told him the odds were high that it would, but at the last second, she remembered her minutes-old decision. “Sorry, but I’m no longer in the market for a date. Been there, done that, burning the T-shirt when I get home.”

  “Fair enough.” He gave her a half grin before pinning his full lower lip with his teeth. His gaze dipped to her mouth. Not long, but enough for her to feel its weight as her knees threatened to buckle. Meeting her eyes again, he asked, “What’s your position on something more casual?”

  “What’s more casual than dating?”

  “One night.”

  She swore her heart skipped a beat. Had he overheard her conversation with Angie in the store? It was entirely possible; she hadn’t exactly been paying attention to her surroundings. She waited for mortification to set in, but it didn’t come. The things this man made her feel with his intensity and close proximity left no room for anything else.

  “One night of what, exactly?”

  Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he reached up and grazed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Whatever you need.”