Page 22 of The Heat Between Us

"Make yourself at home," he says, backing toward the door. "Kitchen's fully stocked if you get hungry. Remote's on the coffee table if you want to watch TV. Mi casa and all that."

I smile at his casual hospitality. "Thanks. I think I'll just relax for a bit."

Once Lewis disappears down the hall, I take the opportunity to explore my temporary room a little more thoroughly. The desk has a small lamp and a notepad with a pen—practical touches that speak to Lewis's thoughtfulness. The closet is empty except for a few extra blankets on the shelf and a couple of empty hangers. The window overlooks a modest backyard with what looks like the beginnings of a vegetable garden in one corner.

My throat is still sore, so I decide to get more water from the kitchen. As I make my way back down the hallway, I hear the shower running behind the bathroom door. The sound is oddly comforting—makes this strange situation feel almost normal.

In the kitchen, I refill my glass and take a moment to look more closely at the space. It's clear that Lewis spends a lot of time here. The knife block on the counter holds well-used but well-maintained knives. A cookbook sits open on the island, the pages stained from frequent use. There's a collection of hot sauces lined up along the back of the counter—clearly a passion of his.

I'm examining the photos stuck to his refrigerator—mostly of Lewis with his firefighter colleagues when I hear movement behind me. I turn, and the glass nearly slips from my fingers.

Lewis stands in the kitchen doorway, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips. His hair is wet and tousled, droplets of water still clinging to his shoulders and chest. And what a chest it is—broad and well-defined, with a light dusting of dark hair that narrows to a trail disappearing beneath the towel. His shoulders are broad, his arms muscular without being bulky, and his stomach... well, fighting fires clearly keeps a person in excellent shape.

I realize I'm staring—outright staring—but I can't seem to stop. My mouth has gone completely dry, and it has nothing to do with smoke inhalation.

"Sorry," Lewis says, looking genuinely embarrassed as he adjusts his grip on the towel. "I thought you were still in the guest room. I just needed to grab my phone—I left it on the counter."

"It's fine," I manage to say, my voice coming out higher than normal. "It's your house."

He moves across the kitchen to grab his phone, and I try—really try—not to track the movement of his muscles under his skin. It's a losing battle. The man is like a walking advertisement for the benefits of physical labor.

"I'll just..." he gestures vaguely back toward the hallway, clearly aware of my scrutiny and uncertain how to respond.

"Right, of course," I say quickly, turning back to the refrigerator as if its contents are suddenly fascinating. "Take your time. No rush."

I can feel the heat rising in my face and know I must be bright red. Way to make things awkward, Chloe. The poor man is just trying to be hospitable, and here I am ogling him like a teenager with a crush.

Lewis clears his throat. "I'll be dressed in a minute, and then maybe we can figure out dinner?"

"Sounds great," I say to the refrigerator, still not trusting myself to look at him directly.

Once he's gone, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. This is ridiculous. I'm a grown woman, a professional. I've seen attractive men before.

I take a long drink of water, trying to cool the flush I can feel spreading down my neck. It's just physical attraction, I tell myself. A normal reaction to an objectively good-looking man. It doesn't mean anything. We barely know each other.

But even as I try to rationalize it, I know that's not entirely true. Our time trapped in the fire created a connection that defies the usual timeline of getting to know someone. And now, staying in his home, seeing glimpses of his life outside of that extreme situation... it's adding layers to my perception of him that are both intriguing and unsettling.

I make my way back to the guest room, determined to regain my composure before Lewis returns. But the image of him standing in the doorway, water glistening on his skin, stays with me, a distraction I wasn't prepared for and certainly don't need.

As I settle on the edge of the bed, I can't help but wonder what I've gotten myself into. Two days in Cedar Falls, and my life has been completely upended—my office destroyed, my possessions gone, and now I'm staying with a man who makes my pulse race with just a look.

So much for my meticulous five-year plan. Cedar Falls clearly has other ideas.

Chapter 8 - Lewis

I retreat to my bedroom, still mentally kicking myself for the towel incident. Real smooth. Parade around half-naked in front of the woman you just rescued from a fire. That's definitely appropriate host behavior.

The look on her face, though—that mixture of surprise and something else, something that made her cheeks flush and her eyes widen—keeps replaying in my mind as I pull on jeans and a clean t-shirt. I'm probably reading too much into it. She was just embarrassed, caught off guard by my lack of clothing. It doesn't mean anything.

Still, I can't help but remember the way her gaze had traveled over me, lingering in ways that made my skin feel electric and my cock throb. No, stop it. She's recovering from smoke inhalation. She's staying here because she needs a safe place to recover, not because she's interested in me.

Even if she is, it's too soon. We've known each other for what, a day? Granted, it was an intense day, one that compressed what might have been months of getting to know each other into hours of life-or-death conversation. But still, I need to be careful here. The last thing I want is for her to feel uncomfortable or pressured.

When I return to the main part of the house, I find Chloe perched on one of the kitchen bar stools, scrolling through her phone. She looks up when I enter, and there's that blush again, staining her cheeks a delicate pink.

"Hey," I say, aiming for casual. "Feeling okay?"

She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture that strikes me as nervous. "Yeah, but I was thinking... wouldit be alright if I showered too? I still feel like I'm covered in hospital and smoke."

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