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“Okay, what do I have to do to get Christian to look at me like that?” Taylor Dayton asked her two friends as they all sat around The Hose, the local watering hole where the firefighters from Station 419 gathered for a nightly game of eight ball.

Megan, Taylor’s friend and coworker at Chez Frontenac, the finest French restaurant in Chicago, twisted sideways and shot hunky firefighter Christian Bain a glance.

With his stance casual and his body language confident, Christian’s eyes filled with lust as he perused one of the regulars who’d just sensuously sidled up to him, her body conveying without words what she wanted to do with his hose.

Megan arched a brow. “He’s a real hottie, isn’t he?”

As Taylor acknowledged the flare of desire deep between her legs, she said, “Oh yeah, he’s hot all right. Hot enough to set off the smoke detectors in our apartment complex.” Taylor took a much-needed sip of her strawberry daiquiri hoping the cool drink would help tamp down the passion rising in her. Waving her hand in front of her face as she melted, she continued with her litany of why Christian was so damn hot. “Honestly, it’s hell living next door to him sometimes.”

“How so?” Megan asked.

Taylor angled her head for a better view, her unsatiated pussy muscles rippling in response to the erotic vision before her. No two ways about it, the guy was downright scrumptious. Her gaze raced over him, taking in his roguish good looks and nipple-hardening virility before stopping to linger at the apex between his legs. She took a brief luxurious moment to conjure up the image of those muscular legs entwined with hers. The mere thought of it had her body reacting with urgent demands.

With his seductive blue eyes, sun-kissed blond hair, and strong, athletic body, the guy was all rolled up into one perfect package designed for sex, sin and seduction.

As languorous warmth stole through her, Taylor blew out an agonized breath. “Christian’s a regular carnival attraction, the neighborhood bicycle, if you will. He has women lined up a mile long, eager to take a ride on his banana seat.”

Astute eyes trained on Taylor, Megan flashed a cocky grin. “Everyone but you, I take it.”

Under the cotton of his blue T-shirt, his striated muscles bunched and relaxed again with each easy movement. Liquid desire moved through Taylor as she studied him, taking pleasure in his every enticing shift. She also took pleasure in the way his long capable fingers slid up and down his pool cue in a smooth, fluid motion as he chatted with Miss Hot Pants. Heat erupted in Taylor’s pussy as her mind took her on an erotic journey, imagining how those fingers would feel stroking her body in a similar fashion, one part in particular, actually. As she indulged her wayward thoughts, her body quaked with excitement. An erotic whimper bubbled in the depths of her throat.

Damn, he was yummy.

When her eyes met his, a sensuously wicked grin turned up his mouth. His smile was a little arrogant, and a whole lot sexy. Sexual longing swamped her as he fueled the flames inside her belly. Feeling suddenly feverish, she licked her dry lips. Honestly, the man oozed sex appeal like none other. An unexpected flood of moisture dampened the juncture between her legs and brought on a quiver.

Taylor worked to compose herself. “Yeah, everyone but me,” she croaked out, her sex clenching with need, her nipples tightening in euphoric bliss, begging to be touched, licked and suckled by none other than drop-dead-gorgeous firefighter Christian Bain, aka her best friend.

“So ask him out.” Megan tossed a salted peanut into her mouth. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is it’s too late for that. We’re in the friendship zone.” She paused to do air quotes around that one word. “I’m his buddy, his pal, someone to eat chunky monkey ice cream with or watch movies with after one of his weekend-long fuck fests.”

“So you want to be part of his weekend-long fuck fest then?” Sara piped in.

“Hell yeah. But he doesn’t seem to be interested in me that way.” Taylor paused, pursed her lips and cut her hand through the air. “Come to think of it, I haven’t been attracting a whole hell of a lot of attention from any of the guys around here lately. And those few men I have ended up between the sheets with haven’t bothered to call back for seconds.” She glanced at her friends. “Is there something wrong with me?” Toying with her ponytail, Taylor took note of her jeans and loose-fitting blouse. At twenty-nine maybe she’d skipped right over the vivacious-vixen stage and straight into grooving granny.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with you.” Megan gestured with a nod toward the washrooms. “Look at that cutie over there. He’s speaking to another guy right now and pointing your way. I think he’s got his hose aimed in your direction, chicky.”

Taylor glanced toward the long hallway housing the washrooms—a hallway that she’d come from minutes earlier—and took note of the guy looking her way. As far as cute went, that firefighter had it in spades, but he was no Christian Bain. Not by a long shot. Still, he looked like a guy who could get the job done. And tonight, after watching Christian work the pool table, she desperately needed the job done. Either that or she was about to spontaneously combust.

As Mr. Cute Guy moved across the room, toward her, she noticed Christian’s body language and took in his watchful eye. Gaze riveted, he leaned against the pool table and perused the action with mute interest. His brotherly instincts were kicking into high gear, no doubt. When his blue gaze flitted across her face, it triggered a craving deep inside her—a craving she knew only he could sate.

Bending forward, Mr. Cute Guy put his mouth close to her ear, his warm breath hot on her neck. Speaking in whispered words, he said, “I think you lost something.?

?

Oooh, a new pick-up line. How refreshing. Taylor waited to hear more, but instead of whispering sweet nothings and telling her all the naughty things he’d like to do to her later that evening, he held his hand out.

Mortified, she swallowed down the lump rising in her throat and glared at the hair net swinging from his extended fingers.

Oh hell!

“I think this fell out of your bag earlier, ma’am.”

“Thanks,” she blurted out. With little finesse she snatched the hair net and stuffed it into her pocket.

How. Totally. Frigging. Embarrassing.

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