How to Seduce a Fireman

Five months of constant feeding, deworming, flea dips and care had fattened the Furball. Someone had spoiled the feline, too, and Quinn had no clue who that bastard was. Surely not him. The trouble was the kitten’s harrowing experience in the hurricane had left him traumatized. He trembled during storms, seeking refuge in the crook of Quinn’s neck or in a pile of old beach towels he kept under the bed for the tomcat’s sanctuary, along with a stuffed toy or two.

The cat also hated riding in the Jeep. Quinn wasn’t so sure how he’d handle a long trek on some highway confined in his cat carrier. He’d have to call Furball’s vet to see if he could prescribe some tranquilizers. Still, thank God he hadn’t turned into one of those doting cat owners. His concern was merely…responsibility.

Pulling his extra towels and sheets from his linen closet, Quinn carried them into the kitchen to use as packing material. He shoved his toaster and blender into the interior of his microwave, jamming washcloths around them. After taping the bottom of a box, he set the appliance inside and shoved a sheet around it.

Any minute now Cassie would be pounding on his door.

Tape roller in hand, he put together four more boxes. He pulled containers and junk from his cabinets and drawers, packing everything but his coffee pot and one mug. How had he accumulated so much cooking stuff and plates? Reaching up on the wall, he snatched two roadside fruit signs he and Cassie had found at a church bizarre last spring. All of his cabinets were empty, except for one nosy cat who insisted on sniffing every corner. He’d keep the doors open a few inches so Furball could come and go as he pleased. The food in the pantry remained. He’d make more boxes and tackle that job next.

He stopped and frowned.

Still no Cassie.

Had she given up and gone home? He carried the box containing his microwave into the living room and peered out the sliding glass doors overlooking the parking lot.

Holy Mother of God!

How in the fuck had she gotten his Harley untied and out of the trailer? She’d pushed it onto the small patch of yard in front of the apartment building. All of his neckties flapped from the handlebars and what looked to be his jock strap was stretched across the back of its seat. Jammed into the ground at both ends of his bike were his water skis. The rope that had

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