Hot Attraction

“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.

3

AVERY’S PULSE QUICKENED, and her breath caught in her lungs as Dawson’s arms tightened around her. He was going to kiss her.

But he lifted her, instead, right out of the booth. He moved with her and set her on her feet. Her legs trembled beneath her. Maybe it was just that her heel was on a peanut—maybe that was the reason. It couldn’t be because she’d wanted him to kiss her, that just anticipating his kiss had weakened her knees.

No man had ever weakened Avery’s knees before. Not even while kissing her. She had never felt an attraction like this. His photo had intrigued and interested her. But in person...

He was even more handsome. More muscular. More serious and tense...

She clutched at his arms before he could release her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Wrong?” He shook his head. “You’re unbelievable. I’ve heard about you—the whole town talks about you.”

She was aware of that. Kim told her stories—with pride and admiration. There was no admiration in Dawson’s deep voice—only disgust.

“I knew you were ambitious,” he said.

She supposed she’d made no secret of how badly she had wanted to leave Northern Lakes, where nothing ever happened—until the fire.

He continued, “But I had no idea the lengths you’d go to for a story.”

She blinked and released his arms. She had apparently already given him the wrong idea, the wrong opinion of her. “Now you have offended me,” she admitted. “I wasn’t trying to seduce you into agreeing to that special feature.”

His amber eyes were narrowed though, as if he didn’t believe her. Or trust her.

“It was just a thank-you kiss...”

A muscle twitched along his tightly clenched jaw. That square, sexy jaw with a shadow of stubble on it. Although she was grateful that he’d rescued her nephews, she hadn’t wanted to kiss him only out of gratitude. She’d wanted to kiss him because she was attracted to him.

He was so tall, so broad, so muscular. In heels she wasn’t used to having look up so far into a man’s face. He had to be well over six feet.

She uttered a regretful sigh. “Second time I got rejected today...”

He laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?” she asked. “You turned me down.”

“I turned down the interview,” he said. “Not you...”

Then his arms slid around her again, and he pulled her up against his hard body. His chest crushed her breasts as he leaned down, and his mouth covered hers.

She was supposed to kiss him. That was the thank-you she’d intended to give him. But he was kissing her, his lips gliding over hers. At first it was just a brush of his mouth, a tantalizing taste of passion.

She gasped as sensations raced through her, the attraction between them intensifying. Her pulse quickened and her skin tingled. He was touching her, too, one hand moving up her back to tangle in her hair. He held her head while he deepened the kiss. He parted her lips and slid his tongue inside her mouth, over hers.

She moaned as desire coursed through her. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened, pushing against the thin material of her bra and dress. They rubbed against his chest, and she moaned again, wanting more than a kiss.

He tensed and his head jerked back. His amber eyes had gone dark, his pupils dilated. His skin was slightly flushed. He shook his head and glanced around them.

And her face flushed—with desire and embarrassment. How had she forgotten where they were? That they were in a public place?

Because of his kiss...

She hadn’t remembered lifting her arms, but they were linked around his broad shoulders. Her fingers had slipped into the short hair at his nape. It was silky against her skin.

Maybe he would be the one—the man she would finally miss when they broke up. Not that they ever had a chance of being together. They didn’t live in the same city. And it was clear that Dawson had no use for reporters.

She didn’t need a man in her life, though. She needed to focus on her career—on breaking the story that would guarantee her airtime. Even though her body ached for his, she didn’t need Dawson Hess.

He released her and stepped back so that her arms dropped from his shoulders. Then he stepped around her, leaving her standing—legs shaking—next to that booth. Just before he walked away, he leaned down and murmured, “You’re welcome.”

* * *

“SO DID YOU get rid of her?” Wyatt asked when Dawson walked into the firehouse.

He was lucky his legs could carry him; they weren’t quite steady yet—not after that kiss. The passion that had burned between them was so hot he’d nearly gotten scorched.

He glared at Wyatt. The guy wasn’t alone. Cody leaned against the truck next to him. It was a bright yellow fire engine—more likely to catch the attention of other drivers than red. That was why they wore yellow, too—to be more visible in the smoke and flames.

“What?” Wyatt asked. “We didn’t intentionally ditch you with the reporter.”

Cody gave him a pitying glance. “We thought you could move faster than that. You must be getting old.”

At thirty-one, he was older than Cody. Probably just three or four years, but in Hotshot experience it was nearly a lifetime. For some, it was—a few years as a Hotshot was all it had taken to end their lives.

He feigned resentment and murmured, “I thought we never left a man behind...”

“That’s the Marines,” Wyatt said.

“It’s why we went back and saved your sorry ass,” Cody teased Wyatt. “You know old Hess here. He was physically unable to not rescue you and those kids.”

Dawson glared at him. They all teased him about having a white knight complex. Sure, he’d saved a reporter or two in the past when they’d gotten too close to the fire. He’d even recently saved a girl from a bar fight. But it wasn’t a complex; it was just part of his job.

Cody ignored his glare and grinned. “The reporter must have figured out that you and I were the real heroes.”

Wyatt nudged Cody’s shoulder with his. “It wasn’t you she was staring at.”

“At least for once it wasn’t you,” Cody said with a chuckle.

“It shouldn’t have been me, either,” Dawson said. And he glanced around the garage area of the firehouse, looking for the kid who’d told her where to find them. Where to find him...

Dawson was the one she’d been looking for, and he doubted it was for a thank-you kiss. She wanted to interview him, wanted to do a story on him. But he doubted the story would be just about his helping to rescue the campers from the fire. It would dredge up his past, too. And dredging up his past might risk his present and his future. He could wind up losing his job with the Hotshots.

So there was no way in hell a kiss could coerce him to grant an interview. Even a kiss like that... He groaned at the thought of how silky her lips had felt beneath his, how sweet her mouth had tasted. He shouldn’t have kissed her at all, because now he wanted to do it again.

“Hey, she didn’t get to you, did she?” Wyatt asked.

Someone snorted, drawing Dawson’s attention to the rear of the truck. Braden Zimmer leaned against it. “If anyone can handle the press, it’s Hess.”

Dawson grimaced. His boss clearly didn’t know him very well. “I don’t want anything to do with the press.”

“That’s why I wasn’t worried about leaving you behind with her.”

Had the superintendent not seen her? Of course, the guy was still hung up on his ex-wife. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how stunning Avery Kincaid was.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dawson grumbled.

“I knew she wouldn’t be able to get you to talk,” the superintendent said.

She hadn’t gotten him to talk, but she’d gotten him to kiss her. Why the hell had he done that?

It wasn’t as if he’d believed her sad little sigh and claim of having been rejected already. What idiot would reject a kiss from a woman like her? Not him.

But maybe he’d been a bigger idiot to kiss her—to risk her getting under his skin...

Cody laughed. “Hell, we can barely get him to talk.”

Wyatt nodded in agreement. “It’s like pulling teeth.”

Dawson held back a chuckle and glared at them both. “Who can get a word in edgewise with you two smart-asses?”

Cody laughed harder.

“You are better at getting other people to talk than talking yourself,” Zimmer said.

“See? It’s your fault we talk so much,” Cody said.

Dawson snorted.

“Did you get the reporter to talk?”

He’d gotten her to stop talking—when he’d covered her mouth with his, when he’d driven his tongue between her lips and deepened that kiss.

“Was I supposed to?” he asked his boss.

Zimmer nodded. “I wonder what she’s doing back in Northern Lakes. Other reporters have given up. Why hasn’t she?”

“She’s a hometown girl,” Dawson said. “And two of the Boy Scouts were her nephews.”

Zimmer grinned. “You did get her to talk.”

He shrugged. “She talks all the time—like all reporters. They love to hear themselves talk—just like Wyatt and Cody here.”

Wyatt flipped him off.

“Get her to talk some more,” Zimmer suggested. “Find out if she suspects there’s more to the Northern Lakes fire.”

She did. Him. But he wasn’t about to admit that to these guys. He’d never hear the end of it. And it wasn’t as if he was going to allow her to do a special feature on him anyway.

Dawson narrowed his eyes and studied his boss’s face. “I thought the idea was to not draw attention to that fire—to the arsonist.”

“We don’t want to,” Zimmer said. “And we haven’t. Maybe that’s compelled the arsonist to act.”

“We haven’t proved yet that he set the other fires,” Wyatt said.

But maybe the other fires that had flared up in Northern Lakes hadn’t been hot spots. Maybe failing to burn down the town the first time made the arsonist want to keep trying.

“He might act in other ways,” Zimmer said. “He could have contacted a reporter to claim credit for the fire.”

Dawson’s stomach muscles tightened. “You think the arsonist could have reached out to Avery Kincaid?”

“She’d be the most likely choice,” Zimmer said. “Like you said, she’s a hometown girl who made it big. Her nephews were even in the fire. She has a personal connection to it.”

And that was probably her only reason for pursuing a story that other reporters had let die. She was still upset about what had nearly happened to her nephews. Unless she had been contacted...

He recognized that tightness in his gut as fear. But it wasn’t fear for himself. It was fear for her. If the arsonist had contacted her, she could be in danger. While the guy probably wanted attention, there was no way he’d want to get caught. If she dug too deep and discovered more than she should...

“And if he has,” Zimmer continued, “maybe he’s given her a clue to his real identity.”

“But she would have run the story then,” Dawson said. “It would be a very special feature for her.” Much more special than anything about him. But it would also put her life at risk.

“She didn’t get to where she is in her career without checking sources,” Zimmer said. “She would want to confirm that the fire had been ruled arson before she’d believe some guy claiming responsibility for it.”

She would. She might be ambitious, but she wouldn’t have been hired by a national network if she wasn’t good. Had she been fishing for information? If he’d agreed to an interview, was that where it would have led?

Cody uttered a sigh of feigned resignation. “I volunteer,” he said. “I know it’s a tough assignment. But I’ll sacrifice myself to find out what the hot lady reporter knows.”

Wyatt snorted. “I know your fragile ego can’t handle it, but she’s clearly not interested in you.”

“She’s not interested in you, either,” Cody told him.

“Good thing,” Dawson murmured.

They looked at him with shock—as if they thought he was jealous or something. That was so not him. He dated, but he’d never had any serious relationships. His job would always come first, and most women weren’t willing to take second place. Most women weren’t willing to get involved with a man with such a dangerous career.

Wyatt was lucky his insurance agent girlfriend had disregarded the risk of falling for a Hotshot. And even though a Hotshot from another team had recently died in the wildfires out West, she hadn’t broken up with him. She loved him enough to accept what he did and the risk involved.

“Because Fiona would kick her ass,” Dawson explained. Wyatt’s hot little redhead had a temper to match her hair.

Wyatt chuckled but didn’t deny it. He had fallen hard for Fiona O’Brien. Dawson wondered at his bravery after they’d all seen how their boss’s marriage had crashed and burned. Braden’s cheating ex was so cruel she’d even invited him to her wedding.

That was one cold woman. Fiona was nothing like her. Was Avery Kincaid? Would she be as callous with someone’s heart?

He suspected she might—that what mattered most to her was her career. That was probably the only thing he and Avery had in common. But his job helped people. Hers could harm them. And herself. Her career mattered so much that she would probably willingly put herself in danger with the arsonist.

“I’ll find out what the reporter knows,” Dawson begrudgingly volunteered. It wasn’t as if he needed to worry about his heart with her. He would never fall for a reporter.

Cody shook his head. “I’m not sure you’re up to this assignment.”

“I think he’s up for it.” Wyatt pointed toward Dawson’s mouth. “That’s not his shade of lipstick.”

“You kissed her?” Cody asked, his green eyes wide with shock. Then he chuckled. “Maybe you’re not as slow as I thought you were...”

Ever the boss, Zimmer jerked his head and sent both men off toward the weight room. They had a workout scheduled and had to keep in top shape for their job. It was one way of staying alive. Another way was not taking unnecessary chances.

Anticipating Zimmer’s pep talk, Dawson assured his boss and himself, “I can handle this.”

But even as he said it, he couldn’t help but think that he was taking an unnecessary chance.

4

“YOU’RE WELCOME...” AVERY murmured as she walked back into her sister’s kitchen. Her legs had regained their strength; maybe she’d just imagined going weak-kneed from that kiss. But she couldn’t deny that her lips were tingling, that her skin was still hot. Even now—hours later.

After the Filling Station, she had stopped back at her house and changed from her heels and dress into tennis shoes and shorts. She’d thought about running but her legs hadn’t totally recovered until she’d walked over to her sister’s.

A few years ago she’d bought a cottage just around the corner from her sister’s ranch house. Kim’s place was perfect for her family, with several acres for the boys to run, a wide front porch and a big country kitchen.

“I didn’t thank you,” Kim said, her brow furrowing in confusion as she looked up from washing dishes in the farmhouse sink. She studied Avery’s face and smiled, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “You look a little flustered.”

Avery opened the refrigerator—not for anything to drink but because she needed a blast of cool air on her face. Not wanting to let her sister know how right she was, though, she pulled out a water bottle, barely resisting the urge to press it against her cheek.

“Did you do it?” Kim asked. “Did you actually give that Hotshot firefighter a thank-you kiss?”

“I didn’t kiss him,” she said, which was technically true since he hadn’t given her the chance. He’d kissed her, instead. And what a kiss...

“Denied again?” Her sister gave her a pitying glance. “You must be losing your touch.”

She was more worried that she’d lost her focus. She’d let Dawson Hess and his wicked kiss distract her. She hadn’t gotten him to agree to the special feature, and she hadn’t gotten any more information out of him about the fire.

Was there anything else to learn, though? Maybe it had just been a random wildfire—but it had started so early in the season...

Too early.

She remembered how the Hotshots had looked when she’d found them in that back booth—their heads bent together, tension on their faces. Something else was going on—something they didn’t want the public to learn.

She hadn’t become a reporter just because she’d wanted to get out of Northern Lakes. She’d become a reporter because she liked digging until she discovered the truth. She believed the public had a right to know. Apparently the Hotshots didn’t care about keeping the public informed.

That irritated Avery nearly as much as Dawson Hess’s little comment after he’d kissed her senseless. You’re welcome...

But he hadn’t given her the chance to thank him. Or to question him...

“I’m not losing my touch,” she replied, but in reference to the story, not the man. Dawson Hess was part of that story, though, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Why didn’t he want to admit it?

She hadn’t met a man yet who didn’t want to brag about his accomplishments. And Dawson had more reason than most to brag. Was it himself he didn’t want the attention drawn to, or the fire?

If someone didn’t want to talk to the press, it was usually because they had something to hide.

What was Dawson Hess hiding?

Kim sighed and murmured. “Uh-oh...”

Avery blinked and focused on her sister again. “What?”

“You have that look...” She shook her head.

“What look?”

“That scary determined look you get when you’re after a story.” Kim shuddered, as if in fear. “I feel sorry for whoever tries to get in your way.”

Dawson Hess was the one who should be afraid. He had gotten in her way—denying her the feature, denying her the truth. The only thing he hadn’t denied her was the kiss. But instead of letting her kiss him, he’d kissed her.

Clearly he was used to being in control. But nobody controlled Avery Kincaid. She would get what she was after—the story.