Red Hot. Lisa ChildsЧитать онлайн книгу.
know what the hell you’re talking about.” And he truly had no idea.
“Random sexual encounters don’t sound fun,” Braden explained. “They sound sad and empty.”
Wyatt laughed, but it echoed oddly in the weight room, sounding hollow and uncertain. It wasn’t as if Braden was getting to him. It wasn’t as if Wyatt was about to question the lifestyle he’d chosen. He shook off those niggling doubts and laughed harder.
“You’ve been out of the game too long,” Wyatt said. “You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be single.”
“Unfortunately I haven’t...” Braden sighed. “I’m going to my office to make some calls. See if there’s anything out there...”
He knew the captain was talking about fires. But he chose to be obtuse. “I’ll show you what’s out there,” he offered. “I’m going to finish a few more reps before I hit the showers. Then I’ll take you out on the town.” Not that the village of Northern Lakes was much of a town. It was a resort area, though, and quite the party town during tourist season. “And I’ll show you what you’ve been missing.”
Braden laughed now. “You’re the one who has no idea what you’ve been missing.” His laughter continued, growing fainter as he walked out of the weight room.
Wyatt didn’t get guys like Braden. The captain should have known better than anyone that the job and marriage didn’t mix. And now that it was over, Braden needed to just move on instead of dwelling on it. Wyatt had never had any problem walking away after spending some time with a woman. But he’d been careful to date the right kind of woman—the kind who only wanted a good time, too. He steered clear—very clear—of women who wanted commitment. Because commitments led to marriage and ultimatums and heartbreak.
He shuddered again. Then he focused on the weights, lifting with renewed energy. Braden wasn’t the only one who was feeling edgy. But at least Wyatt knew why he was. He’d been having some trouble finding those fun-loving girls. Of course, it wasn’t tourist season yet.
It had been a long winter with spring just breaking through now. But it was a dry spring, which was conducive to fires—especially west of where they were based in northeastern Michigan. The Hotshots traveled the US and Canada, dropping in where they were needed to fight fires. Just as there was a tourist season in Northern Lakes, there was also a fire season. Usually the first fires started out west, where it was driest.
Maybe Braden was right.
Maybe there was something out there, just getting started.
Over his grunts, he caught the sound of footsteps against the cement floor of the weight room. Maybe Braden had realized he was right.
“Sheesh,” he remarked without stopping his reps, “you must be super tense and edgy. You can’t even wait until I’m finished, you want to get laid so badly.”
He waited for Braden’s laugh. No matter how glum the guy had been since his wife had left him, that was no excuse for losing his sense of humor. And Wyatt was damn funny. He even uttered a laugh at his own joke.
But it echoed off the cement walls with that same weird hollow sound. While he had only been razzing his friend to get him out of the funk Braden had been in since his divorce, Wyatt knew his joke had fallen flat. He settled the bar onto the bench rest and sat up, ready to be serious. He was a good listener—which he’d proven to Braden plenty when the captain’s marital problems had begun.
He was also a good adviser when he wasn’t being a smart-ass. He had a bachelor’s degree in psychology and plenty of experience as a mentor for the county’s youth services division. “I’m—” He swallowed the apology he’d been about to make and nearly swallowed his tongue, as well.
Braden wasn’t the one who’d walked into the weight room. This person’s green-eyed glare was far more lethal than the captain’s. Fiona O’Brien stood before him—all fiery red hair and outrage.
“What the hell did you just say to me?” she demanded, her voice raspy with indignation.
He could have explained. He should have, really.
But on the few occasions he had seen Fiona O’Brien over the years, he’d never seen her like this. Oh, she’d glared at him before, but with more benign disdain—like a cat staring down at the puppy pissing on the carpet. Now her face was so flushed her freckles had disappeared into her complexion. And her body—which she insisted on concealing with businesslike suits—trembled with her temper. She’d always acted so cold and snobby around him that he hadn’t thought she was capable of such passion. And he’d considered her good looks wasted on an empty, emotionless shell.
He’d had no idea what she’d been hiding beneath that flawless, impervious surface...
“What did I say?” He paraphrased her question as he jumped up from the weight bench and closed the distance between them. She stepped back, stumbling slightly on her high heels.
She might have only been wearing the heels because she was petite and wanted the extra height. Or maybe she wore them because they made her legs look longer, toned and sexy as hell. The beige suit couldn’t hide her curves, either—not when the skirt was snug and ended above her knees.
Her eyes widened briefly in surprise at his nearness, but then narrowed in another glare. “You know what you said.”
“That you must be really tense and edgy,” he repeated the words he’d meant for his boss.
He should have pointed out that he’d had no way of knowing she was the one who’d walked into the weight room. He couldn’t imagine why she had stopped by the firehouse at all. She had never gone out of her way to speak to him those few times they’d previously met. So why had she driven across town to seek him out now?
He wanted to know that. But he couldn’t resist seeing just how much passion lurked beneath that beautiful surface. So he stepped closer to her as he said the rest, as if he meant the words for her, “You can’t even wait until I’m finished, you want to get laid so badly.”
His head snapped back as her hand connected—hard—with his face. His skin stung from the force of her slap. While she was petite, she packed a wallop. That wasn’t quite the way he’d wanted to test her passion. So he jerked her up against him and lowered his head.
FIONA LIFTED HER hand to slap him again. But he caught her wrist and jerked her more tightly against him. The heat and dampness of his sweat-slick bare chest penetrated her suit jacket and blouse, burning her skin.
Or was that just her anger?
She was flushed with it, trembling with it. And appalled by it. She had actually struck another human being. And if he hadn’t caught her wrist, she would have struck him again. A gasp of shock at her own behavior slipped through her lips.
His blue eyes widened as he stared down at her. His face was close to hers—so close that she’d been sure he was going to kiss her. But he abruptly released her and stepped back, so quickly that she swayed slightly on her heels before regaining her balance.
She trembled, probably from the force with which her heart pounded in her chest and her pulse raced. With anger. It could only be anger. She hadn’t actually wanted him to kiss her. He was beyond arrogant. He was obnoxious.
As if to prove it, he threw back his head and let out a loud laugh.
“I should have slapped you harder,” she remarked. He’d certainly deserved it.
Still laughing, he shook his head. “I wasn’t saying that to you.”
She gestured at the room, which was empty but for the two of them and all those weights and machines. “I’m the only one here.”
“But I didn’t know you were the