worries. I’m used to it. Besides, you’re a much prettier sight than anything I was dreaming about.”
They were just words but they brought a little zing to her good spots. Good spots she’d nearly let rust. Whew. Suddenly, she was actually beginning to sweat. If someone had asked her before this moment if she believed in lust at first sight, she’d have laughed. No, she needed more than hot sexiness in a guy, always had.
But she wasn’t laughing now.
Wanting to hear him talk some more, she asked, “What were you dreaming about?”
“We responded to a fire last night and lost a kid.”
Some of that overwhelming lust relegated itself to the background of her brain, replaced by something far more real to her than mere physical attraction. Empathy. She’d lost people, too, and it never stopped hurting. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Shifting his muscular, athletic body in the hammock so that he lay on his side facing her, he propped his head on his hand. “So let me guess. You’re the latest EMT.”
“Yes. Brooke O’Brien.”
“Zach Thomas.”
“Hi, Zach Thomas.”
His eyes warmed to a simmer, and a matching heat came from deep in her belly. Holy smokes, could he see the steam escaping from her pores? It was so strange, her immediate reaction to him. Strange and unsettling. “What do you mean latest?”
“They’ve sent us six EMTs so far.” He smiled without much mirth. “No, seven. Yeah, you’re the seventh.”
Okay, that didn’t sound promising. “What’s wrong with the job?”
“Besides crazy twelve-hour shifts for the glory of low pay and little or no recognition?” He let out a low laugh, and she found that the butterflies in her belly were dancing to a new tune now. Not nerves, but something far earthier.
“No one mentioned that I’m the seventh temp, or that they’d had any problem filling the position.”
“Did I scare you off?”
“Did you want to?”
He lifted a shoulder, not breaking eye contact. “If you scare easily, then it’d be nice to know now.”
A challenge, and more of that shocking, undeniable sexual zing.
Did he feel it? “I don’t scare at all.”
At that, something new came into his gaze. Approval, which she didn’t need, to go along with that undeniable awareness of her as a woman.
She didn’t need that, either, but damn, it was good to know she wasn’t alone in this. Whatever this was. Since she wasn’t ready to put a finger on it, she forced herself to stop looking at him. “I don’t actually officially start until tomorrow, but the chief suggested that I come by, check the place out.” And, she supposed, meet the crew, who, it sounded like, were tired of meeting people who didn’t stick.
But she’d stick. At least for the six weeks she’d been hired for, because if she was anything, it was reliable.
“Would you like the tour?”
Yes, please, of your body. “No, don’t get up,” she said quickly when he started to do just that. “Really. I’ll manage.”
“Door’s unlocked,” he said, watching her, gaze steady.
“Great. I’ll just…” Try to stop staring at you. Jeez, it’d been too long since she’d had sex. Waaaay too long. “Nice meeting you.”
“How about I say the same if you’re at work tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here.” She might be nearly drunk with lust but she knew that much. She would be there.
“Hope so.” His light eyes held hers for another beat, and more uncomfortable little zings of heat ping-ponged through her.
Whew. Any more of this and she was going to need another application of deodorant this morning. “I will,” she insisted. “I always follow through.” She just didn’t always grow roots. Okay, she never grew roots. Turning away, she let out a long breath and, hopefully, some of the sexual tension with it, and headed toward the door, which stood ajar. “Hello?”
Utter silence, broken only by a gurgling sound. The front room looked like a grown-up version of a frat house, not quite as neat and organized as the garage, but clean. There were two long comfy-looking sofas and several cushy chairs in beach colors that were well lived in. Shelves lined one wall, piled and stacked with a wide assortment of books, magazines and DVDs. On the floor sat a huge basket filled with flip-flops and bottles of suntan lotion. Another wall was lined with hooks, from which hung individual firefighter gear bags.
She could see the kitchen off to the right and a hallway to the left, but still no sign of life, which was odd—they couldn’t all be off on calls, not with the rigs still out front. “Hello?”
Still nothing.
With a shrug, she headed toward the gurgling sound, which took her into the kitchen, and a coffeemaker, making away. “Who’d want coffee on a hot day?” she asked herself.
“A crew who’s been up all night.”
Turning around, she faced sexy firefighter Zach Thomas, and as potent as he’d been lying down, his hotness factor shot up exponentially now that he was standing, even with bed-head—or hammock-head—which was good news for him…and bad news for her.
Letting out a huge yawn, he covered his mouth, then grimaced. “Sorry.”
He looked good even when yawning. She was so screwed. “Don’t be.”
He set down his boots and shirt and stretched. His T-shirt rose, giving her a quick peek at a set of lickable abs. He ran a hand over his hair, which only encouraged the short strands to riot in an effortlessly sexy way that might have been amusing if she hadn’t been in danger of drooling.
She’d never been one to lose it for a guy in uniform, so she had no idea why now was any different, but oh my.
“We had seven calls last night,” he explained. “Fires, an explosion in the sugar factory, a toxic-waste spill at the gas station on Fifth. You name it, we were at it, all night. None of us got more than an hour.” Again he ran his hand over his already-standing-on-end hair. “We’re wiped. Everyone’s sleeping.”
Beneath all that gorgeousness, true exhaustion lined his face, and suddenly Brooke saw him as a flesh-and-blood man. “I’m sorry I woke you. Especially after such a rough night.”
He lifted another shoulder, not anywhere close to how irritated and frustrated she’d be if she’d had only an hour of sleep. “That’s the way this job works. You wanted to meet the crew?”
“I’ll come back.”
“You want coffee first?”
