Can't Help Falling In Love

“What the hell—” She jerked off the mask, glaring at him without recognition, then her eyes went soft, and she smiled. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Jack Tesson.” His whole body rigid with desire, he fought the urge to apply his medical skills to a little mouth-to-mouth and pulled a penlight from his kit to check her pupils. They dilated normally and evenly. “How do you feel?”

She flushed bright red, as if remembering she’d fainted into his arms. Was she as affected by him as he was by her? Or was she just embarrassed?

Before she could answer him, Ben grabbed her hands. “You scared the hell out of me, Skyler. What were you doing in that tree? Risking your neck over a cat?”

“I’m fine.” Her eyes darkening, she glanced at Jack. “I just, uh…the heat overwhelmed me for a minute.”

Heat, huh? Jack leaned toward her.

“You’re not taking your medication,” Ben said abruptly.

Jack stepped back as Skyler sighed. What was he doing? Coming on to his captain’s sister right in front of him? Not even he was that crazy. He began packing his supplies.

“The doctor says I don’t need medication,” Skyler said to her brother, shaking off his touch. “I haven’t fainted since last fall when you and Steve were called to that four-alarm fire in Monroe.”

Ben tunneled his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you climbed that tree. You’re delicate and—”

“Delicate?” Skyler rolled her eyes, then slid off the stretcher, straightening her sundress. “Please.”

“Says the woman I just rescued from a fifty-foot tree branch.”

Skyler stuck out her tongue at her brother. “You didn’t rescue me. Jack did.” She smiled brightly at him.

While Ben scowled, Jack’s groin tightened. Mon Dieu, she was tempting…

Steve strode toward them with an orange-colored cat tucked beneath one arm.

…as long as no hotheaded siblings are hanging around.

“Fluffy,” Steve said. “Safe and sound.”

Ben sighed. “Return him to Roland, then let’s get this equipment loaded. Another Skyler emergency appears to be over.”

Skyler glared at him, and Steve saluted, jostling Fluffy so she hissed. “Yes, sir, Captain, sir.”

“Move it, Lieutenant,” Ben said to his brother, not looking at all amused.

Sensing this was an old argument about responsibility—and one Jack had seen aimed in his direction by his grandparents more times than he’d like to recall—he turned his attention to Skyler.

Just in time to see her strolling away.

When the crowd of curious bystanders advanced on her, she swung around and headed toward the front of the ambulance. Jack followed, catching up to her as she reached the tree she’d climbed.

“Where the hell are my shoes?”

“What do they look like?” Jack asked.

She whirled as if startled, then she swept out her hands, cocking one hip. “Do you see a big selection of shoes? I’ll bet if you spot a pair, they’re mine.” She turned around, muttering under her breath about men and their general lack of sense/usefulness/reason for living.

Beautiful, tiny, funny, delicate—he had to agree with Ben there, at least in the looks department—independent and sassy. Laissez les bon temps rouler. Let the good times roll.

He trailed behind her as she walked around the tree. When he spied a pair of bright orange heeled sandals, he scooped them up. “Yours, ’tite fille?” he asked, smiling as he held them out to her.

“Thanks.” She took the shoes, then slid her feet into them. Straightening, she smiled. The anger was gone from her eyes, replaced by a light full of intelligence and charm. “Ben said you were Cajun. I’m afraid I don’t know much French. You’ll have to translate.”

“Cajun French is a bit different than pure French, anyway.” He stepped closer to her. As her head dropped back to meet his gaze, he wondered about the differences in their heights. His size was usually a professional advantage, but women in his past had been both intrigued and intimidated by it.

Skyler swayed on her feet.

Jack grabbed her waist. “Skyler? Do you feel faint?” He pressed his fingers to the side of her neck to find her pulse racing. He was coming on to her, and she was really sick. Damn. He’d worked hard to become a firefighter and paramedic. He had five years of experience. What had he missed?

She blinked, then stepped back. “I’m fine. Just a bit wobbly in these shoes.”

He scowled. “You need to see a doctor.”

“You were translating,” she said.

Not wanting to press on a subject that was really none of his business, Jack let the subject go for the moment. “’Tite fille means little girl.” Oops. Before she could do more than frown, he added, “Maybe you’d like ’tite femme better. It means little—” Woman. Big oops. “Uh, I mean, ’tite ange. Little angel.”

She pursed her lips. “That’s kind of nice.”

The hunger he’d banked surged through his body again. Why was he so drawn to her? His voice dropped an octave. “It suits you.”

Laughing, she walked across the grass. “I don’t know about that.”

They would be back under the careful watch of her brothers in a matter of moments. Jack knew he didn’t have much time. “Maybe we could get together for a drink or dinner sometime.”

She stopped, looking up at him. “I don’t date.”

He frowned. Why wouldn’t a woman like her date?

She patted his arm as if she understood his confusion. “Sorry. There’s just too much darn bloodshed.”

2

BLOODSHED WAS AGAIN on Skyler’s mind the next day as she unpacked stock in her storeroom. “They shorted me on leather teddies and leopard-print camisoles again,” she muttered.

Bud’s Leather Palace— “the finest quality, direct from Austin”—was in big trouble.

The bell on the front door jangled before Skyler could work herself into a real lather over the mistake. Fiona.

She rushed from the storeroom, locking the door behind her. She’d only hired her assistant a month ago, and she wasn’t quite ready to trust her with her most intimate—okay, only—secret.

In these A.M.—After Madonna—times, she knew keeping her lingerie inventory secret was a bit archaic, but Baxter’s town council was not known for their progression. When she’d proposed a lingerie shop two years ago, the idea had been promptly trounced by the committee, and Mayor Collins, though not much of a traditionalist himself, had bowed quietly to their wishes. Personally, she thought First Lady Collins would look terrific in one of her hot pink bustiers, but she hadn’t dared to voice that idea to the people who handed out the business licenses, so, on impulse, Animal Instincts had become Kimball Fashions, and The Secret had been born.

The Secret was held in confidence by a small part of the town—the progressive female part. Skyler knew she needed to bring Fiona into the fold soon. Showing her this month’s invoice from Bud’s Leather Palace would probably be a good start.

Upon reaching the main showroom of the shop, she saw Fiona Jingle hanging a new stock of mauve dresses on the racks. “Good morning,” Fiona said briskly. “I decided to jump right in restocking the sale items.”

The contrast of the flowery dresses Fiona held and Fiona—think young Elvira—immediately improved Skyler’s mood. “Terrific.”

Fiona brushed a lock of long, black hair behind her ear. The bells attached to her earrings, bracelets and waist chain tinkled. With a name like Jingle, Skyler supposed you had to go with your bestowed gifts.

Her young assistant winced at the frilly dresses. “Did you consider my ideas from last week? I mean, some of these women could stand a little figure-flattering black.”

“Your ideas were super.” Though Skyler had all the leather, lace and satin she could handle in the back room. “In fact, they inspired me to get you a present.”

She returned to the storeroom, where she pawed through the boxes. Tucked between three pairs of red leather hot pants and a stack of white leather thong panties, she found Fiona’s black leather jeans. Skyler held them up to her waist and studied her reflection in the mirrored wall. She and Fiona were about the same size, though Fiona was a few inches taller, so the pants dragged the ground. But still…

“Hot, hot, hot,” she whispered, imagining the cool, tight leather clinging to her thighs. The silver studs running down each side seam glinted seductively in the dimly lit storeroom. Her blond hair would contrast like spun straw against a matching leather vest.

With a rueful smile, she shook her head. “Yeah, right, Skyler. Maybe you could wear them to the church fashion show next month, or the neighborhood block party.” She liked her rebellions locked away or hidden safely beneath her clothes. And if sometimes playing it safe got old, well, she always managed to stumble into excitement. Though climbing a tree to rescue a cat had been a first for her impulsive side.

Tucking the pants under her arm, she strode out, locking the door behind her.

As she walked toward Fiona, her assistant’s eyes widened. “Where did those come from?”

Skyler held out the pants. “I ordered them for you.”

Fiona dropped the collection of pastel blouses she held as if they’d suddenly caught fire and stroked her hand reverently down the leather. “No kidding?”

A pleased smile was breaking over Skyler’s lips when the bell over the shop’s door jingled again.

Jack Tesson, broad shoulders, jet-black hair, whiskeyed eyes and all stood in the opening.

He actually asked me out yesterday was the first thought that popped into her head—after her hormones shouted whoo-whee, of course.

She’d often wondered if a man would ever come along and challenge her brothers, sweep her off her feet and…

And nothing. Rolling her shoulders, she watched him walk toward her, fighting the desire rumbling through her stomach. She’d warned him off yesterday. Why was he here? Smiling at her? That warning discouraged everyone, which was fine by her. She didn’t need the complication of a man in her life, or warming her bed. And definitely not a firefighter.

The few men who’d warmed her bed hadn’t met with encouraging fates, she reminded herself. One had suddenly moved to Florida. One had entered the priesthood—though that story had come from Wes, so she wasn’t quite sure about its validity. Then again, the alternative was picturing the guy at the bottom of the lake. Which, according to Baxter legend, was the poor guy’s final resting place.

But then Mr. Florida had been something of a dead-beat. Skyler wasn’t sorry to see him go. And the priest/lake dweller had slobbered over every female he encountered, so her brothers’ intervention had been a frank relief. As the only girl in a sea of testosterone, she’d certainly lived through moments of frustration, but getting rid of and warning off unwanted attention without confrontation by her was not one of them.

However…watching the luscious Jack Tesson stroll toward her, Skyler’s usual caution deserted her. The man was really a temptation. A big temptation. Her head spun at the thought.

Then she realized she still held the leather pants. How was she going to explain these outrageous things in her conservative shop?

Stopping in front of her, he angled his head. “Mornin’, ’tite ange.”

Her face heated, and the desire in her stomach cruised through her veins. Not good. He was absolutely the worst possible man for her. Clearly reckless, adventurous…heroic. Unfortunately, her libido knew what it liked, and it was completely irrational at the moment.

Fiona fared no better. Her assistant’s jaw had dropped so low, she was tempted to call an orthodontist.

Skyler cleared her throat and tried to act normal, while frantically wondering how to explain her handful of studded black leather. “Jack, this is my assistant, Fiona Jingle. Fiona, Jack Tesson.”

As they shook hands, Skyler puzzled through this attraction. Why did he affect her so strongly? Maybe she’d been working too hard. Maybe she’d spent too much time picking out ostrich-feather and leather lingerie.

Yes. Desperate, she latched on to that excuse. That’s it. Her mind, focused on lingerie, had made the natural leap to sex. Then Jack had appeared and bam, instant attraction. One man could not so effortlessly create near-panting, cat-rescuing and lust-inducing preoccupation in a woman who’d sworn off men—especially dangerous men.

“You sure got a diverse inventory, chère,” Jack said as he stood between them, his gaze taking in seemingly every detail of the leather pants she held.

Skyler didn’t need that kind of scrutiny. Classy as her shop was, it couldn’t survive without the lingerie revenue. Jack couldn’t be trusted with her secret. He worked with her brothers, he was a virtual stranger, he was a man.

Before she could say anything, though, Fiona said, “Oh, no, Mr. Tesson. Skyler special-ordered these for me. We don’t carry this kind of thing.”

Grinning, Skyler shoved the pants at Fiona. “Why don’t you try them on?”

Fiona danced off, but not before giving Jack one last dreamy look over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her facing flushing a becoming shade of pink.

“You, too,” Jack said, then smiled.

That same smile had sent Skyler into a dead faint yesterday. The fact that her assistant wandered back to the dressing rooms under her own power only magnified her humiliation. Her heart condition had caused occasional problems in the past, but none this embarrassing. Of course, he couldn’t possibly know he’d caused her to faint. No doubt Ben had explained something along the lines of overexcitability, stress, etcetera, etcetera. No one—and she meant no one—had to know the real reason for the fainting.

She stared up at Jack, noting she was within touching distance of his awesome body. His size fairly dwarfed her. How tall was the man anyway?

He reached out, twisting a lock of her long blond hair around his finger. “Your brothers told me they had a baby sister. I never woulda pegged you as her, though.”

Skyler snatched her hair from his grasp and stepped back. Those reckless brown eyes had her stomach turning somersaults. “I’m fair, like my grandmother.” And if L’Oréal helped with a few well-placed highlights once a month, he certainly didn’t have to know.

“What about that drink?”

Her eyes widened. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“Nobody dates me.”

He frowned. “You already got a beau?”

Beau. God, that accent was cute. Maybe they could go out once. No one would have to know. The image of Boyfriend #2’s possible fate flashed through her mind. An urban legend, or glug, glug, glug…? “No,” she said quickly, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t like guys?”

“No. Yes.” She sighed. “Of course I like guys.”

“You don’t like me?”

She let her gaze rove his body—briefly. Her head spun. She took shallow breaths as her heart raced. Easy, girl. “I like you fine. I’m just—”

“Scared? Overwhelmed?” Smiling, he stepped closer, his voice deepening. “Aroused?”

All of the above. She felt herself leaning forward, drawn to the heat in his eyes, the confidence in his tone. She didn’t need this complication in her life. She didn’t want to want him. Still, desire stole through her body.

“Aren’t you worried about my brothers?”

“No.”

With those impulsive Kimball genes vibrating, and on the verge of buckling, she smiled. But the bell over the door saved her from some mortifying fate like fainting or throwing herself into his big, strong arms.

Turning, she saw a young man rushing toward her with a giant bouquet of long-stemmed, red roses. He dropped to one knee beside her, holding out the flowers. “Ms. Kimball, I’ve come to declare my undying love.”

The legend of the Kimball boys is alive and well. Skyler closed her eyes. “Not again.”

“Again?” Jack asked from behind her.

“It’s a long story,” she muttered.

“Skyler, oh sweet Skyler,” the boy began. “Your eyes are so blue, your lips are so red. Please don’t tell your brothers I’m here, ’cause I’d soon be dead.”

Knowing the drill, Skyler accepted the roses, then leaned forward to kiss the guy on his forehead. The imprint of her watermelon-shaded lipstick remained as proof of his mission.

As he rose to his feet, he blushed, the freckles across his nose vivid next to his pale skin. “Thanks.”

“What fraternity?” she asked.

“Alpha Kappa Omega.”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He whirled, then raced from the shop.

Skyler glanced at the bouquet. At least two dozen. Poor guy. He was probably out fifty bucks. She strode to the counter, retrieving a vase from underneath. After filling it with water from the bathroom, she arranged the roses, then set the vase by the register. Maybe she could give away a stem with each purchase.

Jack leaned against the counter. “You wanna tell me what that was all about?”

She glanced up at him. When she answered his question, despite his assurance he wasn’t afraid of her brothers, he’d undoubtedly rescind his drink offer. He’d probably think she and her family were totally nuts. And maybe they were. Losing their father so young had made them all overprotective.

For the first time in…well, for the first time, she found regret slipping past her defenses. She liked him. His boldness, his simmering energy, his…shoulders. Que sera sera. Was that a French or Spanish expression?

“That was a fraternity initiation.”

Not surprisingly, his brow furrowed.

He really is cute….

But he’s got a great job here. Baxter’s city council had voted a salary increase for firefighters, police officials and other critical personnel in the hopes of attracting big city professionals. He’s a real go-getter, Ben had said. He certainly wouldn’t and shouldn’t risk his job for her. Even if she wanted him in return, which she certainly did not. Skyler plus Dangerous Man equals Trouble.

“Bravery is part of most fraternity initiation codes. Since asking me out is akin to near suicide, I’ve become a symbol, so to speak.” When he continued to stare at her in confusion, she drew a deep breath and plunged. “The guys come here with a big production of flowers, declare their undying love, then see how long they can duck out of sight before one of my brothers threatens them. It’s all in fun,” she said defensively.

“Ah.” He leaned his forearms on the counter, bringing his face within inches of hers. “These ‘threats’ by your brothers, is that the reason you won’t go out with me?”

Well, duh! “Isn’t that enough?”

His gaze turned hungry. “No.”

She goggled. She gaped. This guy wasn’t going to be brushed off like the others. And, by damn, if she didn’t oddly find herself admiring him for his determination. “Jack…”

“I like the way you say my name, chère.”

Oh, boy. She swallowed. “You’re really nice…”

He winced. “The kiss of death.”

“Trust me when I say nice guys are rare. I don’t mean you’re a sap, or anything, I mean you’re gracious and kind and helpful.” Heroic, actually, but she didn’t know how to say that without sounding idiotic.

“I’m still not sure if you’re flattering or insulting me.”

He’s a guy, she reminded herself. What description would her brothers prefer? Macho, dangerous, virile. The first two she could agree with, the third she could only speculate about, bringing her back to her original intention—to turn him down, for his own good. And hers.

“Be flattered,” she said finally. “But my brother is your boss, and if we go out together…”

“I’ll be out on my ass.”

“Faster than you can say 9-1-1.”

The determination in his eyes never wavered.

Yikes. She didn’t want to be a challenge. She wanted Mr. Dangerous, Hunky Hero to say okeydokey and amble merrily on his way.

She already liked him. And liking led to caring. Caring led to love. Love led to loss and deep, dark despairing grief. No, thank you.

Again, the door swung open. Roland Patterson swept inside. “Skyler, darling,” he called, waving a pad of paper. “You want in on the pool?” He paused at the counter, smiling slowly at Jack. “Why it’s Fluffy’s savior. How delightful to see you, Firefighter Jack.”

Jack nodded. “Mr. Patterson.”

Skyler watched Jack’s reaction for the usual homophobic nonsense, but he displayed nothing of the sort. Damn. Just when she was ready to put another black mark by his name—other than the job and tendency toward reckless heroism—he had to go and be even more interesting.

“Pool?” she asked Roland to distract herself.

“Frat Boy Survival,” he said as if that were obvious, and Skyler groaned. “I saw the darling redhead with the roses. Kind of scrawny. I’m giving him twelve hours.”

Glaring at Roland, Jack straightened to his full height, leaving Skyler dizzy and Roland gaping. “You’re betting how long before that kid gets pummeled?”

“Well, uh…” Roland’s gaze darted to Skyler for support.

Skyler crossed her arms over her chest. She, too, thought the pool idea was tacky at best, but she also felt obliged to defend her family. “My brothers wouldn’t pummel a kid.” Would they? She’d better keep an eye on them for the next few days, just in case.

“Count me out.” Jack glanced at Skyler, then smiled briefly. “I gotta get going.” He turned, tossing “see ya, chère,” over his shoulder before sauntering from the shop.

A deep, heartfelt sigh escaped Roland. “That is one incredible hunk of man.”

Her head still spinning, Skyler couldn’t nod, but, for once, Roland hadn’t exaggerated.

A WEEK LATER, Jack sat in the Leather and Lace bar, sipping a biting glass of whiskey, considering the temptation of Skyler Kimball.

A temptation he should resist, to be sure, though it got harder every day. Hell, he got harder every day. Just thinking about those lacy purple panties she wore sent him straight to a cold shower every time. His instinctive reaction to her was inconvenient and stupid, since no matter how beautiful and lust-inducing, she was off-limits.

He’d debated calling her all week, but deep down he knew he didn’t belong with ’tite ange Skyler Kimball. She sold frilly dresses and saved pampered cats. She wouldn’t spend her nights with a swamp rat like him. This bar suited “Wild Jack” Tesson better.

The scarred wooden floor looked as though it had greeted many a customer and borne many a barroom brawl. The black vinyl-covered booths were nicked and rubbed down to the Styrofoam padding. The jukebox roared. The bar was long, well-stocked and packed with customers. His grandparents had practically raised him in a similar bar in Louisiana.

Skyler probably didn’t even know where this place was. He needed to put her out of his mind. He’d come to Baxter with the intention of earning respect, gaining experience and moving on to bigger things. He’d long ago realized his yearning for success was rooted in his insecure relationship with his parents. He’d never understood why saving whales in Fiji had been more important than raising their son.

Of course, whale-saving had been followed by rain forests, then icebergs, then animal testing in cosmetic manufacturing. He hadn’t heard from them in six months, so for all he knew they could be teaching pygmies in Borneo how to rotisserie chickens by now.

“Hey, buddy,” the bartender said, nodding at Jack and his nearly full glass. “That’s good whiskey. Problem?”

On Friday night, Jack figured the man’s clientele leaned toward guys with a heartier thirst. Bikers, blue-collar workers and slick-tied professionals had draped themselves around the place. A half-dozen women were scattered at the tables. All looked ready to start off the weekend with a bang.

“No problem. I gotta work early tomorrow,” Jack said to the bartender, a barrel-chested, dark-haired man who could have been any age from forty to sixty.

The bartender polished a beer mug. “Haven’t seen you here before. New in town?”

Jack rolled his shoulders, setting aside the problem of Skyler for the moment. “I just signed on with the Baxter Fire Department.” He held out his hand, which the bartender shook. “Jack Tesson.”