his arms around her and drew her even closer.
AVERY’S PULSE QUICKENED, and her breath caught in her lungs as Dawson’s arms tightened around her. He was going to kiss her.
But he lifted her, instead, right out of the booth. He moved with her and set her on her feet. Her legs trembled beneath her. Maybe it was just that her heel was on a peanut—maybe that was the reason. It couldn’t be because she’d wanted him to kiss her, that just anticipating his kiss had weakened her knees.
No man had ever weakened Avery’s knees before. Not even while kissing her. She had never felt an attraction like this. His photo had intrigued and interested her. But in person...
He was even more handsome. More muscular. More serious and tense...
She clutched at his arms before he could release her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Wrong?” He shook his head. “You’re unbelievable. I’ve heard about you—the whole town talks about you.”
She was aware of that. Kim told her stories—with pride and admiration. There was no admiration in Dawson’s deep voice—only disgust.
“I knew you were ambitious,” he said.
She supposed she’d made no secret of how badly she had wanted to leave Northern Lakes, where nothing ever happened—until the fire.
He continued, “But I had no idea the lengths you’d go to for a story.”
She blinked and released his arms. She had apparently already given him the wrong idea, the wrong opinion of her. “Now you have offended me,” she admitted. “I wasn’t trying to seduce you into agreeing to that special feature.”
His amber eyes were narrowed though, as if he didn’t believe her. Or trust her.
“It was just a thank-you kiss...”
A muscle twitched along his tightly clenched jaw. That square, sexy jaw with a shadow of stubble on it. Although she was grateful that he’d rescued her nephews, she hadn’t wanted to kiss him only out of gratitude. She’d wanted to kiss him because she was attracted to him.
He was so tall, so broad, so muscular. In heels she wasn’t used to having look up so far into a man’s face. He had to be well over six feet.
She uttered a regretful sigh. “Second time I got rejected today...”
He laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?” she asked. “You turned me down.”
“I turned down the interview,” he said. “Not you...”
Then his arms slid around her again, and he pulled her up against his hard body. His chest crushed her breasts as he leaned down, and his mouth covered hers.
She was supposed to kiss him. That was the thank-you she’d intended to give him. But he was kissing her, his lips gliding over hers. At first it was just a brush of his mouth, a tantalizing taste of passion.
She gasped as sensations raced through her, the attraction between them intensifying. Her pulse quickened and her skin tingled. He was touching her, too, one hand moving up her back to tangle in her hair. He held her head while he deepened the kiss. He parted her lips and slid his tongue inside her mouth, over hers.
She moaned as desire coursed through her. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened, pushing against the thin material of her bra and dress. They rubbed against his chest, and she moaned again, wanting more than a kiss.
He tensed and his head jerked back. His amber eyes had gone dark, his pupils dilated. His skin was slightly flushed. He shook his head and glanced around them.
And her face flushed—with desire and embarrassment. How had she forgotten where they were? That they were in a public place?
Because of his kiss...
She hadn’t remembered lifting her arms, but they were linked around his broad shoulders. Her fingers had slipped into the short hair at his nape. It was silky against her skin.
Maybe he would be the one—the man she would finally miss when they broke up. Not that they ever had a chance of being together. They didn’t live in the same city. And it was clear that Dawson had no use for reporters.
She didn’t need a man in her life, though. She needed to focus on her career—on breaking the story that would guarantee her airtime. Even though her body ached for his, she didn’t need Dawson Hess.
He released her and stepped back so that her arms dropped from his shoulders. Then he stepped around her, leaving her standing—legs shaking—next to that booth. Just before he walked away, he leaned down and murmured, “You’re welcome.”
* * *
“SO DID YOU get rid of her?” Wyatt asked when Dawson walked into the firehouse.
He was lucky his legs could carry him; they weren’t quite steady yet—not after that kiss. The passion that had burned between them was so hot he’d nearly gotten scorched.
He glared at Wyatt. The guy wasn’t alone. Cody leaned against the truck next to him. It was a bright yellow fire engine—more likely to catch the attention of other drivers than red. That was why they wore yellow, too—to be more visible in the smoke and flames.
“What?” Wyatt asked. “We didn’t intentionally ditch you with the reporter.”
Cody gave him a pitying glance. “We thought you could move faster than that. You must be getting old.”
At thirty-one, he was older than Cody. Probably just three or four years, but in Hotshot experience it was nearly a lifetime. For some, it was—a few years as a Hotshot was all it had taken to end their lives.
He feigned resentment and murmured, “I thought we never left a man behind...”
“That’s the Marines,” Wyatt said.
“It’s why we went back and saved your sorry ass,” Cody teased Wyatt. “You know old Hess here. He was physically unable to not rescue you and those kids.”
Dawson glared at him. They all teased him about having a white knight complex. Sure, he’d saved a reporter or two in the past when they’d gotten too close to the fire. He’d even recently saved a girl from a bar fight. But it wasn’t a complex; it was just part of his job.
Cody ignored his glare and grinned. “The reporter must have figured out that you and I were the real heroes.”
Wyatt nudged Cody’s shoulder with his. “It wasn’t you she was staring at.”
“At least for once it wasn’t you,” Cody said with a chuckle.
“It shouldn’t have been me, either,” Dawson said. And he glanced around the garage area of the firehouse, looking for the kid who’d told her where to find them.
