Page 22 of Return By Fire

Which I won’t do.

Dismally, I contemplate if the right part of my body is making the decisions at this moment—my head or my dick. I shift my jeans to make room for my phone in my pocket.

Yeah, there’s no need to strain myself figuring out which part of what motivated me to reach out to Jed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The first words out of my mouth when I walk through the doors of the Spanish-motif firehouse late the next morning are, “What did I do in this life to be rewarded so greatly, oh Lord? I’ve died, and this clearly must be heaven.”

Much like the time I went to Greece, and the tour guide announced they chose the presidential palace guards for their appearance as much as for their security prowess, I feel overwhelmed by the devastating looks of the men in uniform. Christ, for the sake of the people who live in this community, I hope Dean hired them for more than their looks.

As soon as I have the thought, one of them hollers, “Welcome to Station 18. How can I help you?”

Just as I’m about to call back, a hand clamps down on my shoulder, and Dean murmurs, “Stop drooling. Most of them are married.”

Without remorse, I reply, “Busted,” before I yell back, “All good, boss.”

The young kid grins. “You’ve got the boss right there, sir.”

“Get back to work rolling that hose, Silver!” Dean bellows around me.

A beleaguered sigh accompanies his directive. I give the kid a once-over. “Awfully young.”

“They’re all young these days,” he grumbles.

Dean steps back, and I get my first full look at him in his station wear. The fire-resistant material hugs his broad chest and shoulders. I can’t help myself. My eyes drag down the front of his shirt to his slim cut pants before my eyes land on the heavy boots he’s wearing.

Without my asking, he lifts his foot before explaining, “We have to be ready to head out for anything—and I do mean anything—at a moment’s notice.”

“Like?” I ask truly curious.

His lips curve in the most delicious way before he shocks the shit out of me. “Gators.”

“I assume you don’t mean the kind you go rah-rah for in a big stadium in the fall?” I drawl, referencing the Florida Gator football team.

He scoffs, “If only people would stop feeding them their leftover Oscar Meyer bologna.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Oh, I wish I was. Want a look around?” he offers.

“I’d love one.”

Dean gestures me forward. We pass a few more of his gorgeous colleagues, who he introduces as Breaker, Axe, and Knob, before we head toward the back of the station. My breath catches over the beauty of the location. Surrounded by fir trees intermixed with magnolias, the scent is something I’d never be able to replicate in Alaska. Inhaling sharply, I moan, “I wish I could bottle this smell.”

I didn’t realize how close Dean was until a whiff of his cologne weaves seductively through my senses. I know I’ll forever be searching for this exact combination wherever I go. My eyes pop open in surprise at the wayward thought. I meet his golden ones, which are crinkled in the corners.

“Damn. Here I am dreaming up L’Essence du Florida and being rude. I apologize.”

He reaches his arm up—Christ, is he making a move? Casually, as if my heart isn’t pounding at the idea, Dean croons, “I was hoping you’d keep your eyes closed.”

Almost of their own accord, my lids begin to lower. There’s a spark of awareness that crosses Dean’s face before his jaw firms. I shift microscopically closer.

His arm slides around my waist.

My heart thumps against the side of my ribs so hard, I’m afraid they’ll bruise.

He rasps, “Jed? There’s something I need to know.”

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