Red Hot

3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not before?” she asked.

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

She just hadn’t been aware that she was...until she’d seen him, lifting weights—his naked arms and chest straining, muscles rippling, skin glistening with sweat. Her mouth dry again, she wondered where the drink was that she’d ordered when she’d walked in. And then it suddenly appeared on the table in front of her. She grabbed the glass and took a quick sip.

And gasped as the fiery liquid burned her throat. This wasn’t the club soda she’d requested. It tasted more like gin than tonic water.

Howard was talking—something about busy schedules or sticking to schedules. She barely heard him as she looked up to tell the waitress that the bartender had gotten her drink wrong. Since she hadn’t seen a waitress when she’d walked in, she’d given her order directly to him. But it wasn’t a waitress who stood beside the booth.

It wasn’t Wyatt, either. This man was nearly as tall and muscular, though. But while Wyatt’s hair was dark and too long, this man’s was light and clipped short. His eyes were light, too, a pale green. Was he a waiter? A different bartender from the one she’d spoken to?

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Howard thought she was talking to him. “You’ve already apologized,” he said. “I understand you need to talk to your brother. We’ll see each other next week.”

“Yes,” she said. “Goodbye...”

Howard had already clicked off the phone. She did the same and dropped her cell back into her purse.

“I’m sorry,” she said again to the man leaning over her booth—over her. She raised her voice so that he would hear her. “But this isn’t the drink I ordered.”

“I know,” he said as he slid into the booth to sit across from her. “I ordered this drink for you.” He held a frosted mug of beer, which he clinked against the glass she hadn’t realized she was still holding. “Cheers to the most beautiful woman in the place.”

She glanced around and discovered that the only other woman had left. And despite herself, she laughed.

He sucked in a breath. “Beautiful doesn’t even do you justice.”

Oh, God, she’d inadvertently encouraged him. She pushed the drink toward him. “No, thank you,” she told him. For the drink and the compliment. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“He’s too late.”

She wondered what was keeping Wyatt, and that damn image flashed through her mind again—of him standing naked in the shower, water sluicing over his skin and muscles...

Despite the sudden dryness in her throat, she didn’t reach for the glass again. The last thing she needed was alcohol. Her judgment was already impaired, or she wouldn’t keep thinking of Wyatt Andrews...naked.

“He’ll be here soon,” she said. But she really had no idea. Maybe this was a joke—sending the woman he apparently considered frigid into a bar full of men.

The guy sighed. “What a waste...” he remarked. “A woman like you waiting for an idiot like him.”

“You don’t know who I’m waiting for,” she said. She considered Wyatt Andrews a lot of things: arrogant, reckless, insufferable. But he was no idiot.

“He’s a fool for making a woman like you wait,” he said. “I would never do that to you.”

She was tempted to laugh again. But she’d already encouraged this man too much. So she assumed the icy demeanor she used to dissuade men like him—the same demeanor she’d previously used with Wyatt Andrews. No wonder he’d thought she was frigid. Hopefully this man would, too.

“You can keep your drink,” she said, pushing it closer to him. “And your opinion.”

He laughed now and held up his hands. “To inspire so much loyalty in you, this must be some amazing guy you’re meeting.”

“I am,” a deep voice said—too close to her ear—as Wyatt Andrews slid into the booth to sit next to her. His hard body, smelling shower fresh, pressed against her side. Shoulder against shoulder, hip and thigh against hip and thigh.

Heat flashed through her. She was definitely not frigid. “There you are,” she murmured.

Instead of taking the hint and leaving, the other man tipped back his head and laughed. “Wyatt. I should have known it was you she was waiting for.”

“Why?” The question slipped out without her realizing it. But she wanted to know.

The blond guy readily replied, “Who else would have staked a claim on the most beautiful woman in the bar?”

“I’m the only woman,” she reminded him. “And Wyatt has no claim on me.”

“Well, if that’s the case...” He pushed her drink across the narrow table.

She’d inadvertently encouraged him again. Maybe that was why she didn’t protest when Wyatt slid his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer—as if it were possible for them to get any closer.

No space separated their bodies.

She could feel his heart beating against the side of her breast. It was beating fast and hard. Unfortunately so was hers.

“Get lost, Cody,” he told the other man. “I apparently have to stake my claim.”

She turned her face toward him, to protest his arrogance. But her lips barely opened before his mouth covered hers. Like his body, it was hot and sexy. He took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss, flicking his tongue inside her mouth.

Heat rushed through her. It wasn’t anger. Or even embarrassment. It was desire.

Did he feel it, too? He slid his lips across hers, back and forth, and dipped his tongue inside once more, stroking over hers. Teasing her.

God, he was teasing her.

She realized it when he pulled back, and his blue eyes glittered as he stared at her. She was the idiot—not Wyatt. She glanced across the table to the man who’d called him that. But the blond guy was gone.

They were alone. And still much too close together.

“Are you going to slap me again?” he asked, almost hopefully.

So she lifted her hand to his face.

* * *

WYATT WAITED FOR the sting of her palm connecting with his skin. He needed a hard slap to snap him out of it—out of his gut-clenching desire for her. His body was hard and aching.

But instead, her fingertips glided along his jaw. “You’d like that too much,” she said. “I did figure you for that S&M stuff.”

“Not me,” he protested. “I’m into pleasure—not pain.” Being with her would certainly be pleasurable. She was so hot—so passionate. But being with her would also lead to pain—to commitments, to ultimatums.

Her fingers lingered on his chin, almost absently stroking along his jaw. “You didn’t shave.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting too long.” He glanced toward where Cody Mallehan stood at the bar. His team member and friend lifted his beer mug in a salute. “It looks like I was nearly too late.”

“He said you were,” she admitted as she glanced at the bar, too.

“He would,” he said. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

“He is good-looking,” she murmured as she continued to look toward the bar and Cody.

Was she actually attracted to his friend? When Wyatt had found them in the booth at the back of the bar, she’d been acting all ice queen again.

“I thought he was bothering you,” Wyatt said.

“So that’s why you kissed me?” she asked. “To get rid of him?”

“Of course.” But he nearly choked on the lie. He should have ordered a beer when he’d walked in; then he would have had something to wash it down with and something to cool off the desire still burning inside him. He had kissed her because he’d wanted to since she’d slapped him earlier. And now, after kissing her once, he wanted to kiss her again.

And more...

He wanted to do more than kiss her.

God, he needed a drink. He had no more than entertained the thought than a beer appeared at his elbow. He glanced up at the bartender who’d brought it over. Since Wyatt was a regular, the guy had probably known what he wanted. He reached for his wallet.

But the bartender shook his head. “Cody sent it over. He said you won this round.” He slid a drink toward her, too. “And here’s the club soda you ordered.” He headed back toward the bar.

“Cody’s not the only one who thinks he’s God’s gift,” Fiona murmured. “You two have some kind of rivalry over women?”

“Over most things,” Wyatt admitted. “We work together.”

“Then thank you,” she said, “for getting rid of him. I kept inadvertently encouraging him.”

“Breathing is all the encouragement Cody needs to hit on a woman,” Wyatt said. “But why does it matter that he works with me?”

Because she was interested in him?

She had kissed him back. Hadn’t she? He’d been so into her—into tasting and feeling and exploring her mouth that he hadn’t noticed if he’d been the only one feeling it. Feeling the desire. The passion...

She shuddered as if revolted. “I would never date a firefighter.”

Pride stinging, he asked, “Why not?” Not that he wanted to date her. He didn’t actually date, anyway.

“Too great a risk.”

And that was why he didn’t want to date her or women like her who considered his career too dangerous. He wanted the women who were attracted to the excitement and glamor of his job. And there were always plenty of them around. Not tonight, though.

He glanced around the bar and noticed it was men only. Where the hell were all the women?

“I’m taking off,” Cody said as he stopped by their booth again. “This place is dead tonight. Everybody’s at that new club opening across town.”

Everybody except the regulars who worked in the immediate area.

“Why aren’t you?” Wyatt asked.

Cody shrugged. “They’re focusing on bringing in the female clientele.”

“I repeat—why aren’t you?”

“They’re using male strippers to do that.” Cody shuddered as Fiona had only moments earlier—with pure revulsion.

“Can’t stand the competition?” Wyatt teased.

The other man shrugged. “I already lost once tonight.” He glanced wistfully at Fiona. “It was nice meeting you.”

She lifted her glass. “Thanks for the drink, but I prefer the club soda.”

Cody pointed to Wyatt’s glass. “I wouldn’t have too many of those. Captain Zimmer has that feeling.”

Wyatt nodded. “I know. He’s all tense and edgy.”

“A fire’s gotta be getting started,” Cody said. “Somewhere...”

A fire was, but it was inside Wyatt, a burning desire for a certain redhead.

“It’s too cold around here. So it’s gotta be out west,” Cody said—almost hopefully. Travel was likely the part Cody enjoyed most about being a Hotshot. Probably because the guy was rarely able to stay in one place for very long. “I’m going back to the firehouse to check in with him.” He nodded at Fiona again before turning away.

She looked a little wistful as she watched Cody walk out of the bar.

Something tightened Wyatt’s stomach muscles into a knot again, but it wasn’t desire this time. It was something that Wyatt didn’t recognize because he’d never felt it before—at least not until he’d caught Braden watching her walk away earlier. Jealousy?

“He’s gone,” she said.

“Yeah...”

She shoved against his side. “You can move to the other side of the booth.”

It would have been the smart thing to do—to get some distance between them so that he stopped torturing himself with her closeness, with her heat...

And Wyatt always did the smart thing. That was why his job wasn’t overly dangerous. Like all of the forest service firefighters on the specialized team called Hotshots, he was well trained, and he knew what he was doing. The same went for Wyatt’s personal life—he knew what he was doing and never got into a situation that would put his heart or his livelihood at risk. But he didn’t move. In fact he leaned a little closer to her, his lips nearly brushing her ear. She smelled fresh and flowery, and he breathed in her scent like he breathed in air.

“It’s loud in here,” he pointed out. The bartender must have turned up the jukebox; Wyatt would have to make sure to leave him a tip. “We’ll have to shout if I move across the table.” As he spoke, his lips did brush over her ear.

And she shuddered. He didn’t think it was with revulsion this time. No. He wasn’t the only one who’d felt the desire.

“It is loud in here,” she agreed.

He grinned. Obviously, she didn’t want him to move, either.

But then she continued, “Too loud to talk.”

“We could go to my place,” he offered. “It’s close.” And he was an idiot for suggesting it. What had happened to his usual sense of self-preservation?

She shook her head, and the lock of hair that had escaped that tight knot on the back of her head brushed across his jaw. He shuddered now as his body reacted to the touch of silk against his skin.