He glanced over the side and continued his forward press. “Nope, it’s calm today. You must not be from around here. It’s almost impossible to live here and not cross this bridge, and I don’t believe we’ve met.”
He’d remember if they had. Now that they were off the middle of the bridge, her hair had quit whipping all over the place. A light breeze lifted the strands, and those glasses he’d thought clunky with their dark frames now seemed almost cute. She definitely had the librarian thing going for her, but the rest of the package was far from that of the dowdy old woman who’d policed the school’s books when he was a kid. That woman had been about a hundred years old, tall and thin with the requisite bun. If Bridge Woman wore a bun, it would be the messy kind with a pencil stuck through it, the ends of her hair splayed like fire. Or a mad chicken.
That last thought made him grin.
Dropping his gaze to the rest of her wiped that smirk right off his face.
Everything suggested when the breeze had plastered clothing against her had been spot on. She was hot. Her button-up shirt gaped a bit unnaturally, exposing a nicely filled lacy black bra. Her skirt was probably knee-length but fluttered mid-thigh in the breeze as she continued to shuffle backward, revealing great legs. She wasn’t stick thin. Just soft, curvy, and a good foot shorter than his six-plus-feet.
He couldn’t remember such a flailing instant attraction to any woman, ever. The entire city of Denver could burn to the ground and the level of heat generated still wouldn’t touch her, and damned if he didn’t want to get his hands on her body.
One way or another, the next two weeks were going to be the longest of his life.
Second only to the next few moments. Because when she finally ran out of railing and the walkway made its subtle shift from bridge strata to plain old sidewalk, she didn’t express an ounce of relief.
Instead, she wore a fierce scowl that suggested she wanted him dead, and she might get her wish if he spent one more second drowning in those spitfire green eyes. Holding tight to that ounce of self-preservation, he smiled and asked, “Now that you’ve been properly rescued from that big scary bridge, is there anything else I can do for you?”
He figured he’d goad her one last time, but the move backfired. Yeah, she glowered fury, but he’d overshot by a mile. He’d managed to push her buttons, but he’d also done a number on his own.
Because she couldn’t be any less convenient, much less impressed by him.
And he couldn’t remember ever wanting anyone more.
Chapter Two
Caitlin glared at the egotistical jerk with his stereotypical hero-complex, smirking at her because she’d been scared by a bridge.
Okay, so maybe his little trick deserved a smirk, but he was a first responder. Weren’t they supposed to be above reproach and maybe not staring at her boobs?
He might rank as some kind of wizard for his ability to get her off that death span without her realizing it, but that didn’t earn him the right to ogle her. Not even with those amazing whatever-color-they-were eyes. She bounced back and forth between hazel and chocolate before realizing she really didn’t—shouldn’t—care, and then wanted to kick herself for getting lost in his irises. But she could only see so much square jaw with the helmet in place, and height and broad shoulders meant nothing to a girl who couldn’t get onto a barstool without a boost. In short, he had nothing to offer her, so her rampaging ovaries could shut the hell up.
Or at least find someone who hadn’t enjoyed a front row seat to the most embarrassing moment of her life. “I’m fine,” she said, lifting her chin. “Thanks for your help.”
Maybe he’d go away and take his entire fleet of flashing lights with him. Now that she wasn’t in danger of falling in and drowning, she dared a look at the river. Yep, lights on the boat, too. And a crowd had gathered, some watching and holding up phones—great—with the rest staring at their devices in their hands, probably telling the whole world what they’d witnessed. Traffic jammed the business district behind the lane closures, and she imagined the other side looked the same. A couple of blocks down, she could just see the signage hanging from the tavern-style wrought iron arm that poked from the front of her bookstore.
If she could only get there and hide.
It was all she could think of.
Behind the smirking firefighter, an ambulance eased toward them. It, too, blasted light, but at least the siren remained silent. She didn’t need a ride—if anything, she needed to kick Mr. Hot and Bothering Her in the shin—but if she left in the ambulance, at least no one would see her walk directly to her store. Maybe she could avoid being that woman for a few more minutes, as if anyone could outrun the gossip of a thousand flashing lights and the dead stop of morning traffic.
Her fresh start was suddenly about as palatable as a gulp of lumpy milk.
Captain Ego glanced toward the guy who hopped from the ambulance parked a few feet away.
“Everything okay, Lieutenant?” the guy asked.
Okay, so Lieutenant Ego. She stood corrected. And she didn’t need him to answer for her. “I’m fine,” she said. “I had a moment on the bridge. It’s over.”
Ambulance Guy’s brow rose. “If you need resources—”
“I’ll make sure she knows who to talk to,” Lieutenant Ego cut in.
She hated both their pitying tones. Hands on hips, she fired back, “I don’t need resources. I’m afraid of the water. Deep, swirling, suck-you-under-until-you-die water.”
Both men stared.
Oops. She hadn’t planned on including the confession, and that left her flustered and seriously considering making a break for the mountains that backlit the city. Morning sun still dusted the peaks, where she knew, geographically speaking, there probably weren’t raging rivers. Even the mighty Colorado started as droplets up there. She could handle that. No flash floods, no terrifying moments trapped with her family in a truck swept away by dark churning water.
Nope. Not thinking about that.
The men exchanged glances like she’d just admitted to never having bathed. Lieutenant Ego was the one to speak. “There’s no water up here, ma’am.”
His voice sounded funny, like he was trying to choke back laughter.
“I’m afraid of the water under the bridge,” she clarified. And also heights, apparently, but no need to give them anything else to ridicule. “Either way, not going over the side, so you can stand down. With my thanks and apologies for disrupting your morning.”
“Yes ma’am,” Ambulance Guy finally said, backing off with a nod. But not before his eyes cut briefly, blatantly to her chest.
What was with this place? She scowled.
“You missed a button,” Lieutenant Ego offered helpfully.
She looked down at her shirt, saw the gaping hole, and snatched the fabric back together. “I appreciate your concern,” she said through her teeth. “If we could all go our separate ways now, that would be great.”
Ego Man reached into his jacket to dig through his pockets, shoving aside enough of the heavy gear to reveal some serious heat beneath those layers. Flat abs and a chest that strained at the dark blue T-shirt he wore underneath.
Annoyed, she blew at the hair that whipped her face. Double standards much? But that wasn’t even the problem. The problem was the surge of attraction that hit, and he was so not her type. Not that she had much of one. Her singular goal in dating was to avoid the overbearing men she seemed to attract back home. Showing up in a new town for a fresh start only to have her loins swoon over Mr. Overbearing himself was failure personified.
He removed his helmet and handed her the card he’d retrieved from his jacket. Lt. Shane Hendricks. Her fingers tingled where they’d brushed against his. “9-1-1 won’t do the trick?” she asked.
His gaze tipped lazily from where he’d zeroed in on that tremble of her hand—surely he hadn’t missed that—to her eyes. “This way’s a bit more direct and won’t bring the city to a grinding halt.”
One who needed a lieutenant in a shining fire truck to get her off a bridge.
With the entire city to witness it.
But it wasn’t the city that bothered her. It was a certain sex-on-a-stick firefighter who had the nerve to undress her with her eyes.
And her own traitorous body for responding.
Chapter Three
Caitlin’s resolve to leave town disintegrated the moment she stepped into Shelf Indulgence, a century-old mainstay of Dry Rock, at least until its closure three years prior. Other than a renaming, the store hadn’t been updated in decades, and she figured several of the ubiquitous dust colonies had to be older than she was. Still, there was nothing like the smell of old books, and the rows of library-like stacks fulfilled the geekiest girlhood fantasy ever had by anyone. It was her dream. She’d made it.
Twenty-five years old and nothing left to accomplish.
Except learn to cross a bridge so she could actually get to work.
But, bridge issue aside, life was good. She had her own bookstore filled with hundreds of volumes of utterly miscellaneous, uncatalogued tomes. Everything had come with the store, right down to the old-fashioned thumbtack cash register. It was as if a slice of history had just become hers, like she’d stepped back a few generations in time and had just acquired everything wonderful about the world. So what if it was positioned just a tiny bit too close to a raging river and a too-hot-for-his-own-good lieutenant? Compared to her hometown, Dry Rock was huge. Odds were good she’d never again have to look into those gorgeous brown eyes.
After one Sound of Music-esque twirl in the space made quirky by a vintage sofa and patchy mix-textured area rug that didn’t match itself, much less anything else in the room, she had all the determination in the world to conquer that bridge.
And also to forget the man.
Despite her vow to banish him from her thoughts, an involuntary shiver chilled her skin. Guys like him had an entire card catalog full of feminine options hanging on his every word, though. No way was she his type. Intelligence ranked way lower than long legs and cups that runneth over. She wouldn’t trade a single brain cell for a killer body, but that didn’t mean she’d set herself up for a fall.
But that was all outside and long behind her. Within these walls, she had everything she could ask for, including a fully stocked coffee bar. The previous owners were an elderly couple who hadn’t ventured beyond the traditional carafe of Columbian beans, so she’d treated herself by shipping ahead a Keurig and an assortment of K-Cups, and the delivery had been waiting on the front step for her when she’d arrived.
Everything was just about perfect, right down to the days of inventory she had ahead of her. The books with a UPC she could scan to add to her list. The rest, along with all of the organization, would probably take days to catalog.
A few hours and a couple cups of coffee later, the heat and dust were getting to her, and she’d only begun to dent the first of a dozen boxes of unsorted books. Plus, she’d missed lunch. She stepped out of the store long enough to grab a sandwich from the deli a couple of storefronts down from hers, and took a moment to appreciate the fresh mountain air. It seemed so clean, but then again, it didn’t bear the dust kicked up by thousands of head of cattle back home.
Back at her store, all thoughts of clean air fled with a blast of stifled, furnace-like heat. She’d only closed up the place for thirty minutes or so, but the sun beamed through the windows, making it stifling. She eyeballed the window-unit air conditioner. She hadn’t tried it, but it was clean, right down to the filter that popped out of the front, so she hit the button.
Room-temperature air surged from the machine. It almost immediately began to cool, and within a minute, genuinely frigid air blasted into the store.
Stupendously satisfied with her ability to press the power button, she headed back to her boxes of books.
She’d only scanned a few before an odd smell hit. She sniffed the book in her hand. Musty, yes, but not…smoke? Possibly the book had come from the home of a smoker, but the scent grew more pronounced by the moment, which didn’t make sense for the book in her hand. She inhaled again, deeper this time, and almost choked from fear. Actual smoke.
Fire.
In her bookstore.
Her dream literally going up in smoke. No amount of insurance would fix that. She scrambled to her feet, knocking the books in her lap to the ground. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, fumbling for her phone. Apologizing to books.
Books that were about to die in a fire.
The smoke wasn’t terrible, but it grew in intensity. She covered her nose and mouth and stumbled in the direction it seemed thickest. Seeing nothing, she backed away as she dialed 911, and by some miracle remembered the address of the store…well, right after she accidentally gave her home address. The old one in Wyoming.
At this rate, she wouldn’t have to worry about slinking out of Dry Rock. They’d run her out.
She finished up with dispatch, muttering an agreement to the man’s urge for her to vacate the premises and wait a safe distance outside. The smoke hadn’t gotten much worse from the start of her call, but the entire building was full of tinder, so that could change in an instant. She’d seen a fire extinguisher, but where? Bathroom. Because the room with the water in it was precisely where it would be most needed. She skidded around the shelves, still on the lookout for flames, and was promptly hit with a cloud of smoke that had funneled between the stacks. Gasping, she forged ahead, managing to grab the extinguisher, then spun.
And hesitated.
She had to put out the fire.
But…fire.
But her books. Her store. The place was a historical landmark, for God’s sake.
She had to save her books.
Smoke tumbled from the front half of the building. She glanced behind her. The back exit was completely clear. The view toward the ceiling had grown hazy, but she didn’t see flames.
She hoisted the fire extinguisher and took careful steps toward the thickest smoke at front of the store…at which point the door flew open. Shocked, she squeezed the handle on the extinguisher, accidentally aiming it at the firefighter who burst through the entry, covering him in white powder.
He stopped in his tracks.
So did she. At least until he surged forward, strong arms grasping her and literally sweeping her off her feet as he “escorted” her to the back of the building, through the straight shot to the back exit. As soon as they were outside, he yanked off his helmet and breathing apparatus, revealing her worst nightmare.
Lieutenant Ego.
Flipping perfect.
“You could have been killed,” he all but shouted.
“The fire,” she sputtered. “My books.”
“It’s the air conditioner,” he said. “It’s outside. Looks like all the damage is out there, but we’re checking. If it’s contained, your books will be fine. Are you alone here? People? Pets?”
“Just me,” she said. The fire was outside? She was probably less close to getting killed than he suggested, but admittedly she hadn’t known that.
“Building clear,” he said to his radio. Then he relieved her of the fire extinguisher, which, frankly she’d forgotten she held. “You’re lucky you weren’t hurt. And that no one was hurt looking for you.”
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I had a clear view of the back and didn’t see any flames.”
“And then the goddamned ceiling collapses,” he said, so fiercely she took a step back.
He sighed. “I’m sorry. I overreacted, but you underreacted. Next time, get out.” He paused to listen to communication on his
radio. “Better yet,” he continued when the radio fell silent, “let’s just skip the next time. You okay? Need another ambulance?”
He just had to throw that “another” in there, didn’t he? She hugged herself, still shaky from the adrenaline. “This was not my fault,” she said, wishing she hadn’t given up the canister so easily. She tried to peer around him to see the fate of her store through the back door, but he was too tall. “And I didn’t ride in the first one. What are you doing here anyway? I thought you had bridge duty.”
He’d turned to look back inside, and when he met her eyes again he seemed to have relaxed a notch or ten, which went a long way toward convincing her everything really was okay. “Well,” he said, one side of his mouth quirked, “I’m on shift, and if there’s a fire, I tend to go to those. Even when they’re in Wyoming.”
God, must he know everything? “I panicked,” she said, feeling her face heat. “You know, because of the fire.”
He…chortled. Was that an actual thing? If not, he’d probably just made it one. “You’re afraid of fire and water?”
Of course. Instead of saying something nice, like how most people tended to run in the opposite direction of fire, he had to be a jerk. She glared. “How many people do you know who want to burn to the ground?”
He grinned, and she hated herself for how attractive he was to her. Even covered in that white stuff from the fire extinguisher, some of the remnants of which he’d transferred to her when he’d hauled her out of the building.
“How many people who don’t want to burn to the ground send the fire department to another state?” he asked.
She wished he’d vacate the steps. He stood between her and the building, and while keeping her away from the scene was almost certainly the point, she didn’t need him towering over her. “Are you the only firefighter in this city? Or is there someone else who can berate me?”
“Berate you?” He laughed. “Need I remind you that just this morning you had two engines, an ambulance, two police cars, and a boat out here for you, and that half the town clapped when you stepped off the bridge? I think you’re running a little loose and fast with the word berate.” He glanced at the back of the bookstore. “Especially for a librarian.”
Her Sexy Challenge (Firefighters of Station 1) Page 2