Читать книгу Hot Attraction - Lisa Childs, Lisa Childs, Livia Reasoner - Страница 10

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AVERY WAS USED to everyone looking at her when she returned home. Reporting the big news in the big city—despite her limited airtime—had made her big news in the small town where she’d grown up. She was also used to men looking at her—usually with admiration. Not the hostility with which the men in the back booth were regarding her.

Apparently they knew who she was. But she extended her hand anyway—toward Dawson Hess—and said, “I’m Avery—”

“I know who you are,” he interrupted, his voice gruff with irritation. “How do you know who I am?”

“You’re a Huron Hotshot.” She glanced at the other men. They were no more welcoming than Dawson Hess. “You all are.”

“How did you know where to find us?” Superintendent Zimmer asked. His voice was even colder than Dawson’s.

“The curly-haired kid who was washing trucks at the station told me you had all come here,” she said. He’d also told her Dawson’s last name.

“Damn kid,” the superintendent murmured.

“I’ll talk to Stanley,” the blond firefighter said. He slid from the booth, and as he did, his glance traveled from the top of Avery’s head to her toes peeping out of her high heels.

She’d purposely dressed up for her trip into the village of Northern Lakes. But she hadn’t dressed up for him. The man she’d dressed up for had barely glanced at her.

The blond guy shook his head and murmured, “What a shame...a damn shame...”

The superintendent slid out behind the blond firefighter. “As every other reporter has been told, Ms. Kincaid, the US Forest Service is not granting interviews at this time.”

“Why not?” she asked. “This is a great time to bring more attention to the heroic work you and your team do.” And especially to the heroic work that Dawson Hess had done. He had saved her nephews. And he deserved some of the accolades Wyatt Andrews had monopolized.

“I’m not giving any interviews,” Wyatt said. The dark-haired man sat at the end of the booth between her and Dawson Hess. But, until he’d spoken, she hadn’t really noticed him.

“I don’t think she’s interested in talking to you,” the blond firefighter remarked with a deep chuckle.

“None of us are giving interviews,” the superintendent told her. “We don’t need attention. We just need to do our jobs.”

She tilted her head and remarked, “I don’t hear any sirens. There isn’t a fire right now. I wouldn’t be keeping you from your work.”

But she wasn’t keeping them at all. Wyatt Andrews stood up with the other two men, and the three of them walked out together—leaving Dawson Hess alone in the booth. Before he could slide out, too, she perched on the seat next to him. Not that she would be able to physically hold him in the booth if he wanted to leave. His shoulders were so broad that her arm inadvertently bumped his when she sat down. He was so muscular—big arms, big chest—that he could easily move her out of his way if he wanted.

“Please, give me just a few minutes of your time,” she implored him. “I’m sure I’m not keeping you from anything.”

Or anyone? She glanced down at his left hand. He wore no ring, but that didn’t mean anything. She knew a lot of men—in professions less physical than his—who chose not to wear their wedding bands.

“Just because we’re not at a fire doesn’t mean we’re not at work,” he told her.

She glanced at the pitcher of beer in the middle of the table and arched a brow. “Hard at work apparently...”

Those light eyes turned out to be a pale brown—like gold or amber—until they momentarily darkened.

So much for sweet-talking him into granting her an interview or a kiss.

“We’re not on duty right now,” he admitted. “But we were discussing work.”

They had looked intense when she’d walked up.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said. “I was just teasing.”

He shrugged, and his arm rubbed against hers. “You didn’t offend me.”

Heat rushed through her—starting at the contact with his body. Her dress had long sleeves, but they were thin and silky, so she could easily feel him through the light material. His arm was bare, the muscle taut as if he were tense.

All of the men had looked tense. Before the blond guy had noticed her, she’d noticed them—had seen their heads bent together in what had appeared to be an intense exchange. Over a pitcher of beer?

Why had they looked so serious? So preoccupied?

As Dawson had said, just because they weren’t at a fire didn’t mean they hadn’t been working.

Her instincts were as trustworthy as they always were. There was more going on with the Huron Hotshots than a regular wildfire season.

And she intended to find out exactly what.

* * *

SHE HADN’T OFFENDED HIM, but Avery Kincaid had damn sure affected him—so much so that he hadn’t been able to move as fast as his friends. He wasn’t going to hear the end of that back the firehouse. They would tease him mercilessly.

And with good reason.

He wasn’t like Wyatt and Cody. He didn’t chase after every female who had a pretty face and a great pair of legs. Even Braden had let a woman mess with his head and his heart. Dawson had always been smarter than that—until Avery Kincaid had stared at him with those gorgeous eyes of hers.

Her beauty wasn’t what worried him the most, though. She was smart and ambitious, or she wouldn’t be working for a national network at her young age. Everyone in Northern Lakes bragged about the hometown girl who was making it in the big city.

“If I didn’t offend you,” she asked, “what is bothering you?”

She turned toward him now, so that her breast rubbed against his arm. And her knee pushed against the side of his thigh. Every muscle tightened in his body.

“I said you hadn’t offended me,” he replied, “I didn’t say that you weren’t bothering me.” She was bothering the hell out of him right now. She was so damn hot that he felt as if his skin was sizzling despite the fabric between them.

Her mouth—wide and sexy, with full, shiny lips—curved into a smile. She leaned a little closer—maybe because it was loud in the bar, maybe just to tease him. In a husky, seductive whisper, she asked, “How am I bothering you?”

By breathing...

Every breath she drew pushed her breast against his arm. It was full and soft and warm. He struggled to hold his gaze up, to stop it from slipping down to her chest. But focusing on her face was just as dangerous. She was movie-star beautiful. Her golden skin highlighted her unusual turquoise eyes even more, making them shine brighter.

He’d seen eyes like that before—actually, two sets of eyes that had looked exactly like hers. So maybe they weren’t that unusual. Hell, hers could have been colored contacts, but he was close enough—staring intently enough into them—that he would have noticed the telltale rims of the lenses.

She was really that naturally beautiful. His uneasiness grew, and he drew in a deep breath. Big mistake. She smelled of sunshine and wildflowers. Was it her or some expensive perfume made to smell like nature?

She leaned even closer, but thankfully she was much smaller than he was, so her lips were nowhere near his mouth. Just his throat...

He swallowed hard when her warm breath slid over his neck, as she asked again, “How am I bothering you?”

He eased back as far as he could in the booth. And reminding himself, he said, “You’re a reporter.”

The media had made the biggest tragedy of his childhood—hell, his life—even worse. They had exploited his mother’s pain and his.

She laughed. “You make it sound like I’m a serial killer.” But he hadn’t offended her; amusement sparkled in her eyes.

“You might be as dangerous.”

“Why?” she asked. “I only report the news.”

He snorted. “Or you make news out of nothing.”

“Nothing? That fire wasn’t nothing,” she said.

“No,” he agreed. “But it was several weeks ago. It’s time to let it die now.” Like the fire had died—except for the hot spots that sprang up every once in a while. That was why, except for the occasional trip out West to relieve crews there, his team was sticking close to Northern Lakes—to protect the town.

“There’s more to the story,” she said.

He wasn’t supposed to comment. But he hadn’t been told not to question. And since he wanted to know what she knew—or suspected—he asked, “What?”

“You.”

And he laughed, even as nerves clutched his stomach.

“I know,” she said. “I know that Wyatt Andrews wasn’t the real hero that day—you were.”

He tensed. He hated that word—hated even more how easily it was used to describe someone who was just doing his job. He shook his head.

“I know,” she said. “I have sources.

He laughed again. “Your sources are wrong.”

“My sources were there,” she said. “In a shelter that you brought when you and another firefighter found the campers and Wyatt Andrews. My sources were with you—in one of those shelters.”

“Kade and Ian,” he said. That was where he’d seen her eye color before—when those terrified twins had stared up at him as they’d asked him if they were going to die. No, he’d told them, and had hoped like hell he wasn’t lying. “Your younger brothers?”

“Nephews,” she said, and pride and affection warmed those beautiful eyes. “They are alive today because of you.”

“Wyatt—”

“Wyatt Andrews didn’t have enough shelters for all of the campers. If you hadn’t brought the extra ones...” She shuddered.

He lifted his arm to the back of the booth, tempted to slide it around her—to offer her comfort. But the boys were fine. He hadn’t had to lie to them.

“Everybody survived,” he said.

“Because of you!”

He shook his head. “Because of the team.”

“But you deserve to be personally acknowledged like Wyatt Andrews was,” she insisted. “Let me do a special feature—about you.”

At the thought of all those reporters focused on him, shoving mics in his face, asking him questions, he shuddered. He’d endured too much of that as a kid. “Hell, no!”

She flinched, making him regret the harshness of his refusal.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be hounded by the media again—couldn’t have his life laid bare for all the world to see. Because they wouldn’t be happy reporting just the current event. They would drag up his past and his pain...

“Why not?” she asked.

He forced a grin and told her, “There’s nothing special about me. I’m just a man doing my job.”

“A dangerous, heroic job,” she said.

He shrugged. “It’s not the only dangerous profession. You have plenty of other subjects for your special features.”

“But I want you.” She reached out and brushed her fingertips over his chest.

Beneath her touch, his heart slammed against his ribs; it began to pound fast and hard. If only...

But she was playing him, just working him over so he’d agree to her interview. He shook his head.

“Let me do the feature on you,” she said, “as a thank-you for saving my nephews.”

He chuckled. “That’s the last way I’d want to be thanked.”

Her eyes narrowed for a moment, and she studied his face as if trying to figure out why he wanted no publicity. Then her eyes brightened as they sparkled again with amusement. “Well, I did have another idea of how to thank you...”

He knew he was going to hate himself for asking, but he couldn’t resist. “How’s that?”

She pitched her voice to that low, husky whisper again and leaned closer—so close that her lips nearly brushed his throat. “With a kiss.”

He couldn’t resist her, either. His heart hammering now in his chest, he closed his arms around her and drew her even closer.