CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I want him.”
A pink fingernail pointed at Boyd Calloway, and he stopped mid-stride. He scowled at the tall, curvaceous brunette at the front of the meeting room, her sapphire blue eyes focused on him.
“Oh, yeah. I really want him.”
An unexpected and unwelcomed zing of sexual awareness fried a few of his brain cells, the timing of which did not make him happy.
Late for the mandatory meeting the station captain called first thing this morning, Boyd had tried to sneak in without being noticed. The strange woman certainly shot his efforts all to hell with her sexy remarks.
Dammit, his tardiness couldn’t be helped. He’d been on the phone with his aunt Jinny, who took care of his son while Boyd worked. Matt was headed for another asthma attack; the familiar signs were there.
Boyd grabbed the last empty chair and rubbed fingers across his forehead where a headache brewed. Hopefully, Aunt Jinny could get Matt a pediatrician’s appointment today or tomorrow, which would mean another day of missed school. This wasn’t the best way to start first grade.
The very last thing Boyd wanted to go through right now was some kind of fluff meeting. No matter how attractive the person holding the gathering was—and she was a stunning beauty.
Pink stilettos clicked a staccato beat on the tile floor of Fire and Marine Rescue Unit Thirty-two as the woman with the silky voice and slim pink skirt strutted to the table where she tapped a notepad with a pen, making a few notations. She swiveled and pointed at Boyd with her pen. “I’ll want him twice.”
“Hey, Tiny hit the jackpot!” Wolf slouched farther in his chair, hands clasped at his crotch, and grinned like a fool, which seemed his normal state these days. He’d just found out last week his wife Becca was pregnant. They’d evidently been trying for over two years. Dan Wolford, known as Wolf at the station, was over-the-moon happy.
“Tiny, which part of you is she gonna work on first? ’Cause she can have all of this anytime she wants.” Darryl Weir, their newest man, chimed in, moving the edges of his open hands down his torso. “Believe me, I’m the best here in the station,” he declared, making inappropriate kissing noises.
Still trying to find his place within the top-notch crew, the young fellow was too mouthy for Boyd’s liking. Darryl hadn’t been baptized with a nickname yet and since the kid had Boyd’s hackles up, he figured he’d do the honors.
“Well, now, Kissy Boy, whatever part she wants.”
The rest of the team hooted and hollered the new fireman’s nickname before Captain Steele barked a stern command to “mind their manners and shut the hell up.”
She aimed her cornflower blue eyes at Boyd. “So, your co-workers call you Tiny? Why? Because you’re so tall and muscular? What are you, six-seven?”
“Close enough. Six-eight. The muscles come from working out stress on the weight machines. That, and the demands of the job.” He thought of asking her how tall she was, but that would only stir the guys up more. Even without those killer heels, she was about six feet. Dark brunette hair to the middle of her back. All-in-all, a cute package, but then, he’d once thought that of Chantel, and look where that had gotten him.
The attractive stranger sashayed closer, the smell of expensive perfume aroused his senses. A powerful jolt of sexual need Boyd hadn’t felt in over a year traveled down his spine and singed all his ignored parts. “And what kind of stress could a good looking man like you have?” She extended her hand. “I’m Graci-Ella, by the way. I’m a photographer and I’d really, really like to use you twice.”
This time the raucous remarks from the squad were aimed at him. Bastards that they were, they knew of his monk-like existence.
“Twice for what?” Heat flamed up his neck and made a U-turn to prickle the other parts of his body he ignored except in the shower.
“The cover and a monthly picture in the calendar I’m doing on the heroic firefighters of this station. All proceeds will go to the local food bank here in Clearwater, Florida. The firm I work for does a few charitable acts per year. A fourteen month calendar that goes on the market on or before October first will help give some needy food to those who could really use it over the holidays.”
Boyd crossed his arms. “I’ll write a check for the food bank, but no way in hell are you getting me in any beefcake calendar.” Hell, that’s all his ex-wife and her expensive lawyer would need to prove he wasn’t a positive influence for Matt. His forty-eight hour shifts on and off, at the station, was one strike against him. He didn’t need anymore.
“How many of you firefighters—men
