by Marina Adair
The Pi Etas were a secret society of bakers and poker players in wine country, who loved to mix playing cards with swapping crust recipes. Sure, when things got too vanilla they’d spice it up by betting coupons or tricks of the pie trade. But strip poker? No way. It was an apron-required kind of event.
Unless, however, they’d invited the Masonic Lodge for a tasting. Then all bets were off.
His laugh, which lit up his entire face, said it was one and the same, which meant that it had been a more pie enthusiasts and less pinup dolls type experience.
“Why don’t you just tell the guys the truth?” she asked. “The rumors can’t be helping any with the promotion.” He shrugged and Harper had a niggling feeling, similar to the one she got right before Clovis dropped a bomb—like, she needed someone to post bail or hide a body. “There’s more to the story.”
“A whole lot more,” he admitted on a sigh. “The call turned out to be from Aunt Connie’s place, where I found Selma Roux sitting at the kitchen table disoriented. The curtains were charred and she had no idea how she’d gotten there, or why she was in nothing but flour and her bloomers, holding a burned blackberry pie and a fire extinguisher.”
“She snuck out of the assisted living facility to bake a pie?”
“No, this was right before she went in, and she didn’t know where the pie came from. My best guess is she made it at my aunt’s,” Adam said. “I guess she’d wandered off before, but she’d find herself in the garden or her front yard, never a few blocks over. In the middle of the night. She was a mess, broken up about the thought of leaving her house and all the memories. And when she learned that Connie had called the fire department she started crying.”
“Oh, poor Selma,” Harper said, remembering how difficult that transition had been for the older woman. She’d lost her husband a few years back, and with him, her memories. It was as if her pain and sadness disguised itself as forgetfulness, and the woman who used to remember every kid’s name and birthday in town could barely remember how to get home. “So you made up a story so that you wouldn’t have to call Adult Protective Services?”
Adam shrugged. “I made her a deal—if she let me drive her home and promised to contact the assisted living facility the next day, my aunt would invite a few neighbors over. Selma agreed and the ladies showed up with pajamas, liquor, and an outpouring of compassion. Ended up staging what turned out to be the monthly Pi Eta strip poker party. With everyone in their skivvies, Selma didn’t seem so out of place when the crew arrived.”
“And you became Five-Alarm Casanova.”
“The guys razzed me some, and I think it cost me my first shot at lieutenant, but it didn’t matter. Selma was able to say goodbye to her home on her own terms. Not the department’s.”
“Saying goodbye on your own terms is important,” Harper said quietly.
There were so many people she’d wanted to say goodbye to growing up, but never got the chance. It was as if as certain as the sun would rise, her world would change. Never once had her mother thought that maybe Harper didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to say goodbye. Wasn’t ready to move on to the next chapter.
“You only get one shot. If you mess it up, you have to live with it forever,” he said with so much intensity that Harper didn’t think he was talking about Selma anymore either. She wanted to know more, but he asked, “What is the second reason?”
“What?”
“You said first off, meaning there was another reason you think the man was better than the myth. What’s the second?”
“Are you fishing for compliments, Mr. July?”
“Just the truth, sunshine.”
Adam stepped forward and slipped his hands around her waist, linking them low on her back, and she had a hard time thinking. Because performing normal brain activity when this close to a meltdown was impossible. Almost as impossible as it would be to settle on just two reasons why she liked him.
Over the past week she’d compiled a complete and comprehensive list, which was why she’d almost declined when he’d asked her to stay for dinner. But the chance to spend time with him when his guard was down like it was now was too tempting to pass up. Now, here she was, adding him to her collection of people she cared for.
“You’re sweet.”
He laughed. “I said the truth, not fluff. If I wanted an ego stroke, I’d go back in the kitchen.”
“You. Are. Sweet. Adam Baudouin,” she said, putting a finger to his lips when he went to argue. “I mean it, the way you care for others and look out for them is amazing.”
“I get paid to care for people. It’s part of the job description.”
“Nope, it’s more than that. You care so much it scares you.”
“Sunshine, that I’m caring is the last thing most people would say about me.”
“I’m not most people, and too bad for them that they don’t take the time to see that about you,” she said, and meant it.
Sadly, Harper had been one of those people until recently. Now that she knew better, she couldn’t believe she’d ever let herself be fooled by the cape of swagger.
“People respect you because you take the time to see them so clearly for who they are,” Harper said. “Even more amazing, you call it out and recognize that.” He’d seen in her things that she hadn’t been brave enough to see in herself. “You find a way to celebrate traits most people overlook, just like you did today with Tommy. That’s a special talent.”
“It’s called making friends.”
“It’s called making connections, and the ability to connect with others is an impressive quality. If Lowen doesn’t see that, then he is missing out.”
His arms tightened until she found herself pressed against his chest, looking up at his lips, which were hovering over hers. “Is it crazy that the only person I care about impressing right now is you?”
“No, you’ve been tricked by science,” she mumbled, because his mouth was hovering mere inches above hers. “True story.”
“Science, huh?”
She nodded. “Red shoes, direct eye contact, enough cleavage to make you question what I have on beneath. The perfect dress for a date with the boyfriend’s coworkers. All planned, and all trickery.”
“That is an amazing dress,” he said. “The way it hugs your body when you move, and how it keeps flashing me little glimpses of the blue lace you’ve got beneath.”
“I didn’t think you noticed.”
He grinned. “Oh, I noticed, sunshine. I’ve been noticing you all night, but it wasn’t the dress or the shoes or even the cleavage, although all that is quite inspiring. It was just you.”
“I tried hard to make it look real.” It was silly that she was so thrilled by his admission. “I was thinking sexy thoughts too.”
“Sexy thoughts like this?” His mouth teased her lips, nipping at each corner before slowly pulling her lower lip into his mouth, and that same unforgettable fire she felt the first night shot through her.
“Just like that, but—”
“But?”
“I thought we weren’t doing this.”
“Me too.” He shook his head. “I just can’t seem to remember why right now.”
“Because we both have a lot on the line. Because you don’t do complicated. And because you wanted to be friends.”
“Right.” His gaze locked on her mouth as he reached out and traced its seam with his thumb. “Problem is I don’t know what my other friends look like naked.”
This was a problem, one her nipples seemed to ignore because they popped their corks in welcome.
“I had on lace,” she whispered.
“I remember.”
“Do you also remember how we decided this”—she looked at his mouth, which was a breath away and descending with purpose—“would complicate things.”
“Funny, the only thing I remember is what you taste like. Which makes this suddenly seem simple.” His voice was low and gravelly and made her tremble in the bes
t kind of way. So did the way his hands slid down her back to her silk-clad bottom, pulling her flush against him, until he couldn’t even breathe without her feeling the rise and fall of his chest.
Oh my God, he was going to kiss her, right there on the patio on their first date and it was going to be amazing. The kind of caught up in the moment, waiting for the rush to take over, like you’re free-falling from thirty thousand feet without a chute kind of kiss.
He smelled incredible, and she knew he’d taste even better. Like hot, sexy, turned-on man and—be still my heart. She had to close her eyes to be sure, but she did and it was. Adam smelled like freshly baked peanut butter cookies and sex. Her mouth watered at the thought.
She felt him shift closer, and that tingle of hers grew to a full-body hum. Then she opened her eyes and saw the kitchen window behind him, and that was when the last important realization set in.
Or maybe it was a reminder. Of what this was and exactly what this wasn’t.
“Adam,” she said, trying hard to keep the hurt from her voice. “If this is for show, then we don’t have to do this. I don’t think anyone is watching.”
“Nothing about this is staged.” He pressed her against the table with his body, and there was the hard proof that this was real. “As for watching, you just go on and keep your eyes open, and let me know when it gets complicated.”
Sweet baby Jesus, it was already complicated. At least the rhythm her chest had taken up sounded like a college marching band, because his mouth lowered that final breath and slowly, ever so slowly, captured hers in a way that was all gentle steel. The kind that scrambled a girl’s thoughts and soothed her fears until she forgot that this wasn’t real. That he wasn’t collectible.
So instead of taking a step back, like a smart girl would have done, Harper kept her eyes wide open and melted—into him and that promise she tasted on his lips. Because in that moment, with him holding her as if he were vowing to never let go, he felt like hers.
And, God, how she wanted to be his.
Adam felt the moment Harper gave in. To the chemistry and to him.
Even though he had no right to, he let her fall. Warm and wildly sexy Harper who couldn’t enter into anything without giving over her entire heart and soul. And he watched her hand it over and didn’t say a damn thing.
He couldn’t. It felt too good.
From the second she had walked back into the station, her little blue dress had been doing a serious number on his head. The way it shifted and danced across her body did truly amazing things from his vantage point. But it was her smile that did him in. Full, real, so damn bright it was infectious.
He’d flirted with her because of that dress, but he’d kissed her because of that smile. Now he didn’t want to let go. Not when her body was shrink-wrapped around his and her hands were playing a dangerous game of hide-and-seek. And especially not when she was making those breathy little sounds that drove him crazy.
Hell, everything about her drove him crazy. From her cute freckles to the polka dots painted on her toes, Harper did something to him that he’d long ago dismissed as fiction. She was sweetness and fire, and he was addicted.
His internal alarm told him as much, warning him to proceed with caution. To step back and assess. But he’d done that and it had landed him right back here. In her arms. And if facing down some of the most dangerous wildfires had taught him anything, it was that sometimes you had to walk into the flames to gain some control.
Only karma disagreed, flipping him the bird by blasting her own warning, just in case he had any idea of continuing this . . . here.
“Shit,” he said, resting his forehead against hers.
Harper pulled back, her lips wet and warm from his, her eyes lit with hunger and confusion as the red light above the patio strobed in sync with the ear-piercing bell.
“Time to go.” And there they were, the last three words he’d ever said to Trent, seconds before the flames engulfed them both. The same three words that defined the rest of his life—and Trent’s death.
Three words Harper would get real familiar with if she let this continue.
Promotion or not, Adam’s career would forever send him into some of the most heated shit storms, personal and professional, without a moment’s warning.
Harper wanted stable, and his life was as unpredictable as a wildfire.
Only instead of peacing out, like any normal woman would do—like Harper should do—she gifted him one of those smiles and said, “Be safe.”
Four hours, a nasty commercial fire, and a dump truck of adrenaline later, Adam grabbed the to-go picnic he’d fashioned for his and Harper’s abandoned dinner off his passenger seat and strode up the back steps toward her apartment. He didn’t need to check which door was hers. If the potted lemon tree and hanging flower garden, complete with rainbow-painted tin-can pinwheels and garden gnomes, weren’t a dead giveaway, then the view he had through her front window cemented the fact.
Billowing fabrics, a patchwork of bold colors, mismatched furniture that somehow worked together. She’d transformed a sterile apartment into a magical place that was warm and welcoming.
Something that was difficult to do when renting a tiny downtown apartment. By design, apartments were temporary and generic, yet Harper had managed to put herself into every inch of the space, and she’d taken the time to turn it into a home.
“Shit.” Adam nearly tossed the dinner in the garbage, turned back around, and headed toward his car.
Not a single thing in the place was staged or for show. Just like there was nothing about the tenant that was staged or for show. Harper Owens with her sunny smile and melt-your-soul eyes was one hundred percent the real deal. She wasn’t a temporary kind of girl, and Adam would never be a forever kind of guy. And yet, there he was, dinner stuck under his arm, a bag of homemade cookies dangling from his hand, ringing the doorbell—wanting her to be asleep and needing her to answer the door.
The door opened, and Adam felt as if everything he’d done up until this moment had been playing it safe. An odd feeling for a guy who jumped out of planes and ran into fires headfirst for a living. But there it was.
And there she was, appearing behind the screen door like a fucking dream, and Adam felt as if he were taking the biggest jump of his life. Gone was the slinky dress and red heels from earlier. He wondered if they were in a pile with the blue lace she’d been sporting, because Harper didn’t look like the kind to use hangers unless she was expecting company. And he was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Her face was fresh and clean, her hair loose from the complicated updo she’d worn earlier and still wet from the shower she’d taken. And those curls, holy hell, they were wet too, hanging all the way down to the curve of her back—wild and out of control. Just like he liked them. She was dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms with lace trim and a little drawstring. Tied in a bow, which sat right beneath her bellybutton, and was the only thing keeping them on her hips. They were pink, silky, and—thank you, Jesus—too short to hide those legs of hers.
Her top made it a matching set. A scrap of silk held together by two thin straps that draped over her almost-naked shoulders. Also pink. Also edged with lace that followed the deep vee of her neckline until it met in the middle with another cute bow that was designed to make men think about untying it. Which, point to Harper, was all he could think about. Untying that bow. With his teeth.
Then she smiled, warm and open and just for him, and everything inside him stilled—simplified. It was as though with one smile, she could make all the crazy and all the struggle disappear, and turn him from thrill-seeking daredevil to someone who didn’t have to face down death just to feel.
“You were safe,” she said, opening the screen door and stepping onto the porch.
He noticed she didn’t ask why he was there or ream him about it being so late. She was just happy he was safe. He also noticed she was wearing glasses. Teal, boxy frames. Not sexy by design. But on h
er?
Sexy art teacher came to mind.
“And you’re ready for bed,” he said, holding up the bag. “I just wanted to bring you that dinner I promised.”
“I stopped by Emerson’s food truck on the way home.”
Of course she had. It was midnight on a weeknight, she had work early in the morning, and there he was on her doorstep.
“But I always have room for dessert,” she said.
There was something about the way she said it, the way she was holding his gaze and turning pink in the cheeks that had him saying, “I brought cookies, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Cookies?” Her smile faltered and she worried her lower lip—clearly unsure of what he was really offering. “What else is on the menu?”
Adam leaned in and, making himself clear as fucking day, whispered, “Anything you want.”
“Anything?” Harper blinked, as if she hadn’t really expected that to be an option. Neither had he until he said it.
Indecision played across her face and—whoa, wasn’t that interesting? The ball was completely in her court and that was completely terrifying and exciting, because Adam knew her answer would be equally as unexpected. Everything about her was unexpected.
If he were a smart man, this was where he’d hand over the cookies, wish her a good night, and get the hell out of there before she invited him in. Because he could tell she was processing her options. Knew she was going through each and every scenario. Each and every time he’d played with her, only to walk away. But he wasn’t a smart man because he wasn’t walking away this time.
Not tonight.
Not unless she asked him to leave, which with every second passing he started to wonder if that was the direction she was going. Which would totally suck. So he found himself saying, “Anything.”
She looked at him for what felt like an eternity, and he told himself to be patient. Told himself to give her time and that no matter what she chose he’d be happy. And okay, happy was pushing it, because although sharing cookies and time with Harper would be fun, he was really hoping she took a risk on him and went for the fun-fucking-tastic option.