The question sank into her belly like a fist.
Shaking off his grip on her arm, she stormed for the door. She’d collect her boots later. After the bastard left for Sydney. “Send me copies of your report later today, please, Mr. Russell. I have no doubt they will be perfect.”
“What the fuck?”
She didn’t stop at his confused exclamation. Nor did she pay any heed to the jealous guilt and shame squirming in her gut. Instead, she yanked open the door and hurried outside.
The scorching Outback heat wrapped around her, greedy and unrelenting and brutal.
She squinted at the morning sun sitting low in the eastern sky like a white ball of fire.
Fire. So much of her life was dictated by it. So much of her existence ruled by it. And now, she could add the fire of her lust to that list. God, she was a fucking joke.
“Jess,” Desmond called behind her.
She didn’t turn. Balling her fists, she stomped out into the hotel’s car park, the concrete already hot from the sun, its surface already coated in a film of red dirt from the surrounding emptiness. The soles of her feet burned but she ignored the sensation in the same way she ignored Desmond’s shout.
It was, after all, just a typical day in the life in the Outback: savage and punishing to those foolish enough to expose themselves to the heat.
She was on the footpath before a strong hand grabbed her by the upper arm and spun her around.
Desmond stood before her, towered over her. He hadn’t put on a shirt. Nor had he covered his black boxers with his ubiquitous suit pants. He stood bared to the sun, his stare fixed on her face. “This is the way you’re going to end us, is it? You don’t want to hear what I have to say?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Us? There’s an us? When the fuck did there become an us?”
His jaw bunched. “The second I stepped foot on the Wallaby Ridge runway. The second you challenged me, there was an us.”
“Jesus, you’re full of yourself, Des. We fucked. You did my job. End of us.”
He gripped her arm tighter. For a moment, she thought he was going to shake it. A muscle ticked below his eye. His nostrils flared. “Your stubborn insistence that what I do for a living insults your skill is wearing thin, Captain. And the fact you think I’ve somehow slighted your devotion to your brother by discovering the link between his death and the Broken Downs fire only tells me that insistence has nothing to do with your skill and everything to do with your fear.”
“Fear?” She barked out a dry laugh. “What the fuck am I afraid of, Des? You?”
His nostrils flared again. “Yes. Me.”
She shrugged his grip from her arm. At least, she tried to. His fingers refused to budge. “Jesus, you think you’re shit hot, don’t you, city boy? Just like your fucking father.”
Before she could blink, Desmond lowered his head to hers, until their eyes were level. “I am nothing,” he spoke, the words a low growl, “like my father. My father was an abusive, alcoholic, arrogant bastard who abandoned his family and fucked over so many victims of fire it’s all I can do but spend my life attempting to make amends. And of all those people I’ve helped, of all those I’ve uncovered the truth for, you’re the first to throw it back in my face. The first to make me feel like shit.”
He sucked in a slow breath, his fingers around her arm growing firmer. “Even as you make me feel freer of that bastard’s crushing shadow than I’ve ever been. Even as you make me realize life is not about control, but about trust.”
Jess’s heart skipped a beat. She gazed at him, her blood roaring in her ears, her throat thick.
Desmond’s jaw bunched. “I got up to work while you slept because I knew how much it meant to you to know what happened to your brother, and I wanted to fix it for you. I wanted to take your pain away.”
She froze. Stared at him. Her head roared. Her mouth fell open.
“I don’t believe in love at first sight, Jessica,” he went on, blue eyes holding her prisoner. “To be honest, until you stomped into my life and turned it on its fucking ear, I didn’t believe in love, full stop. But I’m telling you right now, after I submit the report we write together on the Broken Downs fire—a report that links your brother’s death to that fire—I’m going to do everything I can to help the authorities catch his killer and the person responsible for the destruction of the Deputy PM’s homestead. Which means the Deputy PM is going to owe me. Big time. And that means I’ll have access to a private jet whenever I want it. And I will use that private jet to fly out here every damn weekend until you accept I’m not the bastard you desperately insist on wanting me to be. I will use that jet to spend every Friday and Saturday night in your bed, fucking you senseless, until you can’t deny that there is, indeed, an us. And that this us may be the best fucking love story this scorched goddamn country has ever seen. Do I make myself clear, Captain?”
A wave of something hot and prickling and powerful swept over Jess.
She stared at him. Thought of her brother, thought of the pain of losing him, of her inability to show the world he hadn’t died in an accident caused by his own incompetence, as Darius Russell had proclaimed. Thought of the fury she’d felt at Darius Russell’s dismissal of her suspicions and findings.
How many days had she wanted to slap him? To scream at him he was wrong? Wrong. And now, here was his son, declaring loud and clear she was right. Letting her know he believed in her judgement, believed in her ability.
Letting her know he wanted to heal the wound in her heart.
Telling her in no uncertain terms he wanted not just to heal her, but to be with her.
What exactly did she say? What did she do?
Hug him. Kiss him. Exist with him…
“It’s either me spending every weekend here,” Desmond went on, “or you moving to Sydney with me. That place is always in need of amazing fire scene investigators.”
Jess’s heart—already pounding at a rate beyond medically sound—smashed faster into her throat. She gaped at him. Opened her lips. Closed them. Opened them again. And closed them once again.
Was he serious? Move to Sydney with him?
“I’m just putting it out there,” he said. “You don’t have to answer me now. But of course, you need to understand I won’t give up. Here or in Sydney, you and I…us? It’s happening.”
She couldn’t say a word.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Am I to assume you’re not going to argue with me? You’re not going to tell me I’m wrong? Or to shut the fuck up?”
“Y-you really can prove my brother’s death wasn’t accidental?” The question fell from her on a whisper. “And get the fucker who killed him?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We can.”
Her heart pounded faster in her throat. Hot tears stung the back of her eyes.
She drew a slow breath, holding his gaze.
We.
“I think,” she said, her whole body thrumming, “I was wrong.”
An unreadable emotion flickered across his face. “Wrong?”
“I think I’m glad you came to the Ridge after all.”
He chuckled, the sound at once happy…and very, very relieved.
Her chest constricted. In that one laugh, she’d heard it all. What he was feeling, what he was hoping. He wanted her. He wanted a relationship with her. A relationship. With her. A foul-talking girl from the Outback. Whether that was here, in Wallaby Ridge, or in Sydney…
Elated disbelief and wonder flooded through her.
And something else. Something complicated and beautiful and amazing.
Closure.
“Very glad,” she said. “And not just because of my brother.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “No.”
His fingers on her upper arm relaxed into a delicious caress even as he tugged her closer to his body. “Do the other reasons have anything to do with my ties?”
A warm sensation bloomed through Jess’s lower body. B
ecame a flush of exquisite heat. Her breasts grew heavy. Her breath grew shallow. Her sex grew damp. Ready. “It does.”
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. A sexy-as-sin smile. A big-city suit smile. “In that case…”
Without warning, he dropped into a crouch, snared her wrist and the back of her thigh with two firm hands, pressed his shoulder to her belly and hauled her off her feet in the most perfect fireman’s hold she’d ever witnessed…or experienced.
“We need to get your arse back inside ASAP,” he said, spinning on his heel to stride back to his hotel room. “There’s some serious fucking to be done.”
Jess let out a squealing giggle, her heart wild, her grin wide. In a distant part of her mind, she registered the owner of the hotel watching them, censure on his face. Word would spread through the Ridge about this. Before Desmond could even throw her on his bed and tie her hands above her head, word would spread. It never took long in a small Outback town.
Word the captain of the fire brigade and a suit from the Big Smoke were getting it on.
Jess didn’t give a flying fuck.
She was about to be set on fire by a man who knew more about heat than any she’d known.
Again.
And she couldn’t be happier.
The End
About the Author
Lexxie Couper started writing when she was six and hasn’t stopped since. She’s not a deviant, but she does have a deviant’s imagination and a desire to entertain readers with her words. Add the two together and you get romances that can make you laugh, cry, shake with fear or tremble with desire. Sometimes all at once. When she’s not submerged in the worlds she creates, Lexxie’s life revolves around her family, a husband who thinks she’s insane, an indoor cat who likes to stalk shadows, and her daughters, who both utterly captured her heart and changed her life forever.
Contact Lexxie at [email protected], follow her on Twitter or visit her at www.lexxiecouper.com, where she occasionally makes a fool of herself on her blog.
Look for these titles by Lexxie Couper
Now Available:
The Sun Sword
Tropical Sin
Suck and Blow
Triple Dare
Dare Me
Sunset Heat
Twister
Suspicious Ways
Stone’s Soul
Blowing it Off
Copping a Feel
Endless Lust
Timeless Wrath
A Single Knight (A Heart of Fame book)
Shadow Whispers
Compliance (A Heart of Fame book in the Down and Dirty box set)
Fire Mate Series
Ty the Sexy Dragon
How to Love Your Dragon
Heart of Fame Series
Love’s Rhythm
Muscle for Hire
Guarded Desires
Steady Beat
Lead Me On
Blame it on the Bass
Getting Played
Savage Australia Series
Savage Retribution
Savage Transformation
Principatus Series
Dark Destiny
Dark Embrace
Foreign Affairs Series (with Mari Carr)
Misplaced Princess
Misplaced Cowboy
Misplaced Lessons
Misplaced Hands
WET DOWN
By Delilah Devlin
Copyright © 2014 by Delilah Devlin
All Rights Reserved.
Contact: [email protected]
Out with the old, in with the new…
Or so Sherry Thacker thinks. Problem is, her ex is always on her mind—shirtless, sweaty, sooty, way too handsome—and right across the street. When a “Wet Down” ceremony to retire an old fire truck is planned by the city council to raise funds for the firehouse, she has to put aside her hurt and anger and do her job. Blake Thacker wants his wife back—in the house they shared, in their marriage bed. Still confused how Sherry’s becoming mayor managed to drive a wedge between them, he’ll use whatever means necessary to win her back.
Sex is always best served WET.
Chapter One
Sherry stood so near the closed blinds, she could feel the heat trapped between the white wooden slats and the double-paned glass. Dust motes floated in the gilded light slipping between the blades. All she could do was stare.
She finally had what she wanted. So, why wasn’t she happier about it? Perhaps because now that the election was over, the whirlwind pace of her life had slowed. And little things became as glaringly clear as the floating specks.
Being mayor of a small West Texas town didn’t pay squat, meant she couldn’t step out of the house in sweats, a holey tee and no makeup, and pretty much guaranteed she’d have to run into her soon-to-be-ex-husband on occasion.
The only upside was if she kept super-busy, maybe she would barely even think about him.
“It’s a wet down ceremony. We have to make a speech,” her assistant said, her gaze fixed on the tablet she always held filled with hen-scratched “notes to self.”
Only the notes weren’t to herself, they were to Sherry, the mayor. A strange quirk Sherry tried to find endearing. But Martha had made it very clear, by the way she’d commandeered Sherry’s schedule and made executive decisions about the appointments she ought to keep, that she didn’t consider Sherry mayoral material. Martha likely thought Sherry was too young and flighty. Caldera’s last mayor had retired from public service after twenty-five years sitting in this office. And in the past few, he’d allowed Martha free rein, something Sherry would have to deal with, but was reluctant to approach.
Sometimes, her EA creeped her out with her bifocaled, unblinking stare and constant use of the royal we. Sherry was the mayor, not the queen bee.
Although she had been a member of Caldera’s royal court for homecoming. Back in the day when she and Blake had been inseparable. High school football star, homecoming princess. They’d both been so beautiful. So freaking stupid. And there she was thinking about him again.
She flipped the blinds and stared across the street at the fire engine parked on the concrete drive, already looking cleaner than her kitchen counter—and they were giving it another bath? Why? Soon, they’d be retiring the truck because it was too old. She snorted. A fireman would have an obscene name for a ceremony that retired one loyal, trusty engine and introduced a prettier, sleeker new model.
Sherry drew in a deep breath. She wasn’t going there. Wasn’t going to imagine what a firefighter’s personal wet down ceremony might entail. Again, she gripped the cord, ready to flip back the blinds. As a force of habit, she kept them permanently turned to prevent even an accidental view of the station across the street. The open bays faced City Hall, and on any given day, she could look out and see the firefighters on shift in their torso-hugging t-shirts and dark pants, looking sexy as hell as they crawled all over their big engines…
Holy shit, her mind was wandering again. “Can’t someone on the city council take the ceremony?” she asked, not looking back.
One of the firemen was speaking to someone just out of sight.
She waited, her breath held as the other man moved into view. Blake. Her entire body sighed. Head-to-toe tingled. She might be mad as hell at him, but she still loved everything about the way he looked—close-cut dark brown hair, brown eyes a girl could sink into, shoulders so broad you just knew you were safe when he appeared—and right now, he was shirtless, holding his tee in a crumpled wad and wiping his damp chest. She swayed closer to the window.
Why was he such a sweaty mess? Was he hydrating? Good Lord, did the man never age? She worried about every pound that made its way to her ass, but he looked better than when they’d split. Did he spend all his time in the fire station gym because he was lonely? She stiffened. Maybe she should head to Curves instead of eating rocky road ice cream while watching reruns of Dr. Quinn and Sully making moony eyes at each other.
> He rubbed his chest again, and then lifted the shirt to swipe the back of his neck, revealing his pale underarm. Oh, she’d loved that dark tuft of hair beneath his arm. She smiled as she thought about the time he’d awoken to discover she’d made a teeny-tiny braid with that silky hair. He’d chased her through the house, threatening to spank her for disrespecting his manhood, but when he’d caught her, he’d bent her over the kitchen table and given her a different kind of pounding instead.
“We’ll make sure Lois Freely from Texas Weekly is invited, too,” Martha said, her pencil scratching across the pad.
Her warm and fuzzy regrets dried up in an instant, and Sherry flipped the blinds, cutting off the delicious view. “You do that,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from sneaking into her tone. “Can’t have her missing out on watching a fireman use his hose.”
She remembered what her granny had said about wishes and assholes. Ever’body has ‘em, shoog. At least, she could cut one asshole out of her life. The papers were in her top drawer. The sooner she had them served, the better.
Of course, she’d have to check her schedule first to see when she’d have time to call a process server. Hell, she should have done exactly what Blake’s brother had advised when he’d drawn up the divorce papers.
“Honey, let me handle this for you.”
She’d noted the sparkle in his eye and knew he didn’t believe she would ever go through with ending her marriage. Did he think she kept him on retainer just because she needed an expense to write off her taxes? Never mind the fact he only charged her twenty-five dollars a year.
Years ago, Blake had asked Ryan why he’d accepted her as a client, seeing as how Ryan was his brother. Ryan had smiled. “Bro, don’t you want someone in this family knowin’ what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of hers?”
Well, she would have the last laugh. Her puny retainer still ensured attorney-client privilege, and she’d specifically forbidden Ryan from warning Blake about what she was up to. If she worked up the nerve, maybe she’d deliver the papers herself and slap his naked, sweaty chest with that thick sheaf of legalese that would finally, and permanently, put an end to their seven-year marriage. Then she wouldn’t care how many wet down ceremonies he had. He could leave all the women of Caldera, Texas shiny and clean and wondering how the hell they’d ever find a lover like him again.
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