Brave the Heat

by Sara Humphreys

  Her reality.

  It had been almost a month since the fire at the lighthouse and Gavin’s proposal. In some ways it felt as though she’d lived an entire lifetime over that one summer. Finding Gavin again. Losing Rick. Tommy’s suicide.

  The tragedy of it all was overwhelming, and there were moments that Jordan thought she might be swallowed up by it. Her heart ached for Maddy, Rick, Gavin, and even Tommy.

  “I can hear you thinking,” Gavin mumbled, pulling her tighter against him in the warm cocoon of sheets. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and hooked one leg over hers. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  “I was thinking about Tommy.” She rolled onto her back and Gavin adjusted the pillows under his head, his now-alert gaze meeting hers. “And Maddy too. I wish she wasn’t leaving town, but I can understand why. I can’t imagine staying here and being constantly reminded of such loss… I guess that’s part of what pushed Tommy over the edge.”

  “She’ll be okay.” Gavin let out a slow breath. She knew he was still struggling with a sense of responsibility for Tommy and his issues, but to his credit, he hadn’t let himself get pulled back into the darkness. He cleared his throat and played with a strand of her hair. “I’m gonna give Ronan a call and have him keep an eye on her when she gets to New York. When is she moving to the city?”

  “We were able to schedule the closing for the business and the house on the same day next month, so probably right after that.” Jordan rolled over and curled her arms between them so she and Gavin were face-to-face. Sighing contentedly, she snuggled closer to him. “She did say she’d be back for the wedding in December, and I might even convince her to stay for Christmas and New Year’s.”

  “Sounds good.” Gavin slid his hands under the covers and ran them along her body, pushing her short nightie up and stopping on the swell of her hip. “You know what I want to do right now? Because it has nothing to do with bank closings or anything that unsexy.”

  “Hmm.” Jordan feigned ignorance as calloused hands ran over her backside and along her thigh before hooking into the crook of her knee and tugging her leg over his. “I can’t imagine…”

  He waggled his eyebrows and the familiar gesture made Jordan giggle, but he swallowed her laughter with one of his bone-melting kisses. He wrapped those strong arms around her just as the sound of little feet came barreling down the hall.

  They both stilled and broke the kiss with a mutual groan of disappointment, which quickly turned into laughter as the girls knocked on the door, not pausing before running into Jordan and Gavin’s bedroom.

  Lucky for everyone involved, Gavin had decided that sleeping in pajama pants would avoid unneeded awkwardness with the girls.

  Lily and Gracie bounded onto the bed, immediately raining kisses over their mother’s face before settling in on either side of her, Lily in the middle between Jordan and Gavin. Dressed in matching pink nightgowns and with bedhead that would rival Medusa, the two of them were absolutely adorable.

  “Your bed is the comfiest,” Gracie said. Settled in alongside her mother, she pointed at Gavin. “Chief, you said you’d make blueberry pancakes this morning ’cause it’s Saturday and you only make them on Saturdays.”

  “She’s right,” Lily confirmed. “It’s Saturday.”

  “Okay.” Gavin gave Jordan a knowing look before giving Gracie a high five. “Deal.”

  The girls hooted with victory, but before they could get too comfortable, Jordan patted them both on the legs.

  “Why don’t you two go downstairs and watch a little television before breakfast.” Jordan kissed them each on the cheek before they clambered off the bed and headed for the door. “Lily, don’t let Gracie sit too close to the screen. Okay?”

  “Okay, Mama,” they responded in unison before running out and closing the door behind them.

  As the sound of the girls’ footsteps faded down the stairs, Jordan quickly hopped out of bed and went to the door. She didn’t miss Gavin’s groan of disappointment.

  “Pancakes it is,” he said with a hint of frustration.

  “Hold it right there.” Jordan flipped the lock on the door and spun around before peeling off her little white nightie and tossing it on the floor. “It’s not quite pancake time yet. I know that marrying me comes with an instant family, and we won’t exactly get that typical honeymoon phase with spontaneous sex and undisturbed mornings. So, I want to be sure that you know I’ll do my best to make you happy…every way possible.”

  Gavin was sitting on the edge of the bed, the red plaid pajama pants doing little to cover his growing arousal. His heated green gaze drifted over her slowly from head to toe, and as he devoured her with his eyes, Jordan’s own passion grew. She strode toward him slowly, completely nude, and when she stopped in front of him, she fully expected and wanted for him to put his hands on her.

  He didn’t.

  “What’s wrong?” Jordan arched one brow and ran one hand through his messy hair. “Isn’t this what you want? I mean I like pancakes too…but I’d like to think this is better.”

  Gavin, his face stamped with need, shook his head curtly. Before Jordan could ask him anything else, he encircled her waist with both hands and pulled her closer so that she stood between his legs. He looked her up and down in one slow, lazy pass and, a moment later, dragged her onto the bed with him. Rolling her gently so her body was splayed beneath his, Gavin propped himself up on his elbows, framing her head with his arms.

  She opened her legs, so that the weight of his body could settle on hers in the now familiar way, but still he didn’t try to take her. Instead he gazed at her and seemed to be soaking in every line and curve as though committing them to memory or something. Behind that intent expression, she could practically see the wheels turning, and for a split second, fear glimmered.

  What if all of this was too good to be true? But before the voice of doubt could take over, the hint of a smile curved Gavin’s mouth, instantly melting her anxiety.

  “I love you, Jordan. Tommy may have been crazy and sick, but there was one fact he was right about.” His voice was gruff and strained. “I am lucky. I am the luckiest son of a bitch to have you back in my life.” He kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, and finally brushed an almost reverent kiss over her lips. “I love you. I love your daughters, and most of all, I love the way you love them…the way you love me. There’s nothing else I need, Jordan. There’s nothing else you could give me or do for me that would make me love you more.”

  Her throat thickened with a cavalcade of emotion.

  Love. Gratitude. Contentment.

  The full weight of his statement surrounded her and she knew, with every ounce of her soul, that what Gavin said was honest, heartfelt, and real. Love welled and Jordan took a moment to revel in the purity and beauty of it. This man would never raise a hand to her or her daughters, but more than that, he would always love them. Unconditionally.

  “You know what, Chief?” she whispered. “That sounds like magic to me.”

  Order Sara Humphreys's fourth book

  in the Dead in the City series

  The Good, the Bad, and the Vampire

  On sale January 2016

  Click here!

  Order Sara Humphreys's fourth book

  in the Dead in the City series

  The Good, the Bad, and the Vampire

  On sale January 2016

  Click here!

  Acknowledgments

  A great big shout-out to the Yonkers Fire Department arson specialist, the YFD lieutenant at Squad 11, and the guys in the Eastchester Fire Department, Engine Company 4. Thanks for taking the time to answer all of my questions and give me the info I needed to bring Gavin to life. Thanks also to Nedra and Tony for giving me extra feedback on one of the fire scenes and helping me make it more authentic. I hope I did it justice.

  As always, a big Thank You to my editor, Deb Werksman, and the entire crew at Sourcebooks. You guys rock! Thanks to my agent for knowing exactly what to s
ay and for being a great partner in an ever-changing business.

  Most of all, thank you to my husband and four boys. You are my real-life heroes!

  Read on for a sneak peek of Terri L. Austin’s

  Monica Campbell eyed the refreshment table, ignoring the appetizers and zeroing in on the champagne. “Why ruin a perfectly good Saturday night with a wedding?”

  Evan Landers flicked a piece of lint off his green-and-black tartan jacket. “This isn’t the way I want to spend the evening either, and I’m not even related to the groom.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Monica uncrossed her arms. “Okay, I’m going in for another glass. Keep a lookout for Allie.” Monica’s sister had already pulled her aside once and told her to slow down. Not happening. Even Allie’s disapproval couldn’t keep Monica away from the booze. It was the only thing this party had going for it.

  Not party. Wedding.

  So her dad was getting married. Great. Monica was happy for him. Really. He was moving on, and good for him. That’s what people did, right? They moved on, got remarried, started over. Totally natural. But the cloying smell of all these flowers reminded Monica of that hot, cloudless day when they’d buried her mom. Patricia Campbell had loved gardenias. Her casket had been covered with them. You’d think he would have remembered that.

  Yeah—definitely time for another drink.

  Stepping forward, Monica threw a smile at the cute waiter manning the table and trailed one hand across her bare shoulder. “How are you tonight?”

  His gaze dipped to her cleavage. She showed quite a bit of it. Allie had bitched about that too. Along with the color of her dress. What was so terrible about wearing red to a wedding? It was a joyous occasion. That’s why they were all here—the bride’s small family, Monica’s tribe—to celebrate her dad’s new life.

  “Good,” he said. “I’m very good.” He leaned forward and stage-whispered, “Technically, I’m only supposed to serve you sparkling cider.”

  Ugh, Allie. Monica might have been a few months shy of legal, but since when had that ever stopped her? “I hate getting technical. Don’t you?”

  After glancing over each shoulder, he reluctantly nodded. “Go ahead,” he said. “I won’t tell.”

  Monica plucked up two glasses. “Thank you. You’re sweet.” As he blushed at her words, she spun around and did a quick scan of the room. Filled with bright, delicate flowers and dripping in candlelight, the glass-walled conservatory reeked of romance. A perfect setting for a perfect couple. Yep. Happy, happy.

  Monica tipped back her head and chugged the expensive champagne as if it were tap water. She ignored the burst of fizzy bubbles that tickled her tongue. Barely tasted the dry, cool flavor. She needed to get her buzz on—ASAP.

  “Easy there, Slugger. This isn’t a kegger,” Evan said.

  “God, I wish it were.” Monica set down the empty flute and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. He’d come as her “acceptable date,” per Allie’s instructions. Evan lacked a criminal record and attended college, although attended might be a liberal use of the term. He deserved a best-friend award for suffering through this with her.

  Monica had met most of Allie’s requirements for this event. Appropriate date? Check. Mandatory attendance? Check. Stone-cold sober? Not for long.

  Allie had commandeered Monica’s day from the time she woke up this morning until now: breakfast with the bride and her family, mani-pedis, hair and makeup, pictures. Monica had reached her snapping point. She just wanted out of here.

  She missed her mom all the time, but today that grief was a persistent ache. It sat in the middle of her chest—a hot, painful burn that never let up, not for one minute.

  This time, Monica didn’t bother to look around before she drained the champagne. If Allie didn’t like it, tough shit.

  “How long do we have to stay?” she asked.

  Evan patted her arm. “I’m not sitting through all this without getting a piece of cake.”

  “I’ll buy you a cake. You can eat the whole damn thing.”

  “Come on, Monnie. It’s one day. You’re tough, suck it up.”

  She might be tough, but she was restless and unhappy, and oh shit—

  “Uh-oh,” Evan whispered. “Incoming.”

  Allie Campbell Blake headed toward them, her long, white-blond hair flying outward with each step. At five months’ pregnant, Monica’s sister had never looked better. The bright blue dress she wore matched the color of her eyes. A fake smile she’d perfected over the years graced her lips. That smile fooled most people. Not Monica.

  “Hey, Evan, do you mind if I speak to Monica for a few minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  He turned to leave, but Monica snagged his arm and refused to let go. “He can stay.”

  Allie’s smile grew brighter. That always spelled trouble. “I thought we talked about the champagne.”

  Monica raised her brows and attempted a look of innocence. “I’ve been drinking sparkling cider.”

  Evan nodded. “Yep. I can vouch.”

  “See?”

  Allie stared at Monica until she nearly squirmed. “Okay. I won’t nag you anymore.” Right. “But this is Dad and Karen’s special night, Mon. Please don’t ruin it.” Then she walked off to greet the officiant.

  “Thanks, Ev.” Monica gave his forearm a quick squeeze. “Do me one more favor? Keep her away from me.”

  “I’ll do my best. But you could at least make an attempt at being subtle.”

  “I don’t do subtle.”

  He laughed. “No kidding.”

  After a few minutes, Monica began to feel it—that nice little sensation starting at the base of her neck, the one that numbed her brain. She welcomed it. One more glass, and she just might make it. But before she could reach for it, Evan nudged her arm.

  “And I thought you were underdressed. I think that guy stumbled into the wrong place.”

  Monica followed Evan’s gaze. Whoa. Her restlessness disappeared, blown away like dust in a windstorm, and in its place stood the best diversion possible—a smoking-hot bad boy.

  Monica may have been inappropriately dressed, but he took the jackpot. Long brown hair brushed his jawline. His leather jacket appeared battered, worn at the cuffs and rubbed bare at the elbows. His faded jeans fit him just right, showcasing his long legs. On his feet—black motorcycle boots. Whoever he was, he’d be right at home in a biker bar, but he looked completely out of place among the well-behaved guests.

  “Who is he?” Evan asked.

  What does it matter? This night had just taken a turn for the better. Her body responded to him. Attraction tugged at her, pulling her toward him. Straightening her shoulders, Monica started across the room, intent on finding out more.

  Before she could take another step, the officiant walked to the front of the room, and the string quartet began the opening strains of “Pachelbel’s Canon.” Damn. That was her cue. Time to find a seat.

  Evan grabbed her wrist and drew her back to him. “Come on,” he whispered. “The wedding’s going to start.”

  For the next thirty minutes, while her dad and Karen exchanged vows, Monica’s eyes kept straying toward her mystery man. He sat across the aisle, two rows back. She tried to take Evan’s advice and do subtle, angling her chin and glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Finally she gave up on subtle. Twisting her head, she openly studied him.

  She tried to guess his age—late twenties maybe? Excessively badass, that much was obvious. Who strutted into a wedding like that, completely at ease with himself, unapologetic? Monica could respect that kind of fuck you attitude.

  Every time he moved, that leather jacket creaked, just a little bit. Her eyes slid back to him once more. He had a strong profile—straight nose, square jaw. As if he felt her staring, he turned his head and looked her right in the eye.

  And then he gave her an uneven grin.

  Completely charmed, she smiled back. Monica wanted to talk to him, find out his story. Who
are you kidding, Campbell? You want to fuck him. Absolutely. But exchanging a few words first wouldn’t hurt.

  She tapped her fingers against her bare thigh. This ceremony couldn’t end fast enough. It just dragged on and on—rings, candle lighting, pouring sand into a glass jar for some reason. All the cheesy, clichéd symbols. Was it really that easy for him to forget her mom? Commit to another woman?

  Whatever. Maybe that guy would give her a ride on his bike. Then she could give him a ride back at her apartment. That seemed fair.

  The next time she glanced at him, he’d slipped his jacket off. Nice arms—tanned, muscular. He threw her a broad wink, and it earned him another smile. God, he was hot. Flirty. Cocky. Just her type.

  When Evan lightly slapped her arm, Monica returned her attention to the front of the room. Her dad and Karen kissed. Then, hand in hand, they gazed at each other and walked up the aisle, stopping to greet people along the way. When they reached the row where Monica sat, her dad leaned down and pecked her cheek.

  “Congratulations, Daddy.” It almost physically hurt to say the words.

  Yet, he did look happy. Content. One chapter closed and another one opened. That was life.

  The sadness that pierced Monica’s chest burned a little hotter. She tried to ignore it.

  Once her dad and Karen left the room, Allie took front and center. “Just a few announcements.” Monica suppressed a groan. Like an airline hostess, Allie gave directions, complete with hand gestures, about the buffet dinner in the dining room.

  Monica looked back once more. This time, the stranger was waiting for her. He lowered his head a notch, and his eyes traced over her face. No smile. Just heat.

  Monica stood, her gaze unwavering. They simply stared at each other, ignoring everyone else. People began filing out of the conservatory. Chatter filled the air, and the quartet played a chipper tune. Hardly any of it registered.