I smirk. “I’m a damn good prize, sweetheart.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “I didn’t mean to win. I thought I was bidding on a vintage quilt set.”
I lean in, my voice dropping. “What about me screams ‘home textiles’?”
She glares up at me, but her breath stutters. “The flannel.”
A low chuckle escapes. “Cute. You’ll need better comebacks during your training session.”
“Training?”
I tilt my head. “You signed up for the full experience. That means one-on-one drills. Hose handling. Pole sliding.” My voice is thick with need and innuendo.
Her gaze flickers. She licks a smear of chocolate from her thumb and doesn’t realize what that does to me.
Damn.
“You’re joking,” she mutters.
“Nope. Tomorrow. Ten a.m. sharp. Don’t be late.”
I walk away before she can argue. Because if I stand near her any longer, I’m going to forget we’re pretending not to be combusting every time we breathe the same air.
Ember shows up the next morning in high-waisted jeans and a snug white tee that hugs her curves in ways that make my brain short-circuit.
She waves. “So, where’s the vintage quilt?”
I grunt, tossing her a firehouse t-shirt. “Put that on.”
She catches it, nose scrunching. “Over myrealshirt?”
“If you want me to cut you out of it later, be my guest.”
Her jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
I give her a wink and keep walking.
The rest of the crew’s out on call, and I’ve got the place to myself. Which is probably a mistake. Because five minutes into our ‘training,’ I’m already picturing how she’d look straddling my hips on the firehouse couch, soot-streaked and panting my name.
“Okay,” I say, dragging a thick coiled rope from the wall. “You’re gonna learn to descend the pole. Safely.”
She squints. “You’re serious?”
I nod toward the platform above. “Climb.”
Her eyes narrow. “This feels like hazing.”
“It’s not hazing if you begged for it.”
She marches up the stairs, muttering under her breath. “I didn’t beg.”
I stand at the bottom, arms crossed, watching the way her hips move. Her ponytail swishes. She gets to the edge of the platform and peers down.
“You catching me or am I face-planting?”
“Slide. I’ll be here.”
She hesitates.
