Page 4 of Up In Flames

So why is he staring at me like he knows his asshole hands are making me wet?

Too many beats go by. Maybe he thinks I’m frozen by fear (please let him think I’m frozen by fear), because he sighs and moves another couple inches closer, so close, I can feel the heat of him wafting from under his fireproof fireman suit.

“Where’s your hat?” The non-sequitur escapes me as I debate the pros and cons of staying up in the tree forever.

“In the truck. Didn’t think I’d need it to rescue a damsel in distress.” His hands lock around my waist while he distracts me. “See? No worries, Nina. You’re safe with me.”

Is it possible to puddle with both embarrassment and desire for a guy I hate more than my stupid luck?

The answer, apparently, is yes.

CHAPTER 2

Sampson

As the saying goes, if I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. I’m living proof that bad things do indeed happen to good people.

Of course, I’m making the broad assumption that I’m a good person. I try to be, anyway, and except for a notable exception where I embrace my darker side, wanting to be good is half the battle. Right?

On the other hand, Nina Adams is the worst excuse for a human being that I’ve ever encountered, and here I am, rescuing her, when instead, I should be dumping her down a garbage shoot with the rest of the stinky refuse from Mossburg. I’m not such a good person that I don’t take a moment to envision her wading through garbage, too.

Although, to be honest, she smells kind of nice, just like I remember her smelling in school. Sort of the opposite of garbage, actually. She’s a heady combination of soft florals and baby powder, with a hint of come-fuck-me underneath. And the feel of her curves under my palms… she’s a full-body kind of girl, even if a little on the short side, and I’m a guy who appreciates soft grips.

“Ready?” I ask, trying to ignore the inconvenient erection that’s rearing its ugly head. No pun intended. At least the thick, fire-retardant suit will prevent Nina from noticing how I strain.

But her blue eyes, under the mane of golden hair she wears pinned back, are so wide, they look about ready to swallow the continent. And her face is flushed.

Not because I’m hard, probably, though part of me can’t help wondering where that blush could lead. No, I’m guessing she’s afraid of heights, judging by the way she’s cleaved to the trunk in front of her. For a little thing like her, nearly nine feet high is close to twice her size.

I step in closer until my nose brushes her thigh and my chin scrapes on rugged bark. “Seriously, even if I were to drop you, which I won’t, the worst you’d suffer would be some bruises.”

“Right. It’s just…”

It’s just my thumbs are making circles on the front of her hips, moving with their own mind ever closer to the central heat of her.

I swear, she’s a witch or something. And as usual, she’s making me feel like a pervert.

I give her a smile, one I hope she can’t tell is forced. “Like I said, Jelly Bean. You can trust me.”

Probably, I shouldn’t give her a pet name, judging by how her face flushes from pink to red, not to mention how her full lips tighten into one aggravated line. And then there’s the feral growl she makes. “You know what, Sampson Dean? No, I can’t trust you. Back the fuck away. I’ll get myself down.”

Every part of me stills. I expected resistance from the feline, not from her. “Whoa. Language. And what did I say to get your knickers in a twist?”

“Fuck. You.”

Now I’m seriously confused. But my hands don’t leave her waist, because my job is to make certain she doesn’t get hurt, even if she’s acting insane. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on…”

“Yeah, like you don’t know, scumbag,” she hisses, eyes narrowing.

“Guess I touched a nerve.” But my hands unlatch as I step back, because one thing I’m not is a creeper. I don’t touch women who don’t want me to touch them. Period. Not even if it is to save them from a mess that they’ve gotten themselves into. “Hey, Pete, you want to take care of this foul-mouthed wench? Seems she has an issue with me.”

Pete Nerodu shakes his head. “Working that charm, Sammy?”

I shrug, causing the cat to dig in his claws. “What can I say? Win some, lose some.”

“Loser,” Nina whispers.

“Hey,” I say, my head whipping back around to face her. “Play nice.”