Rebel: Enemies-To-Lovers (The Firehouse Book 1)

by Anna Joung

  REBEL

  ___________________________________

  THE FIREHOUSE #1 NOVELLA

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 Anna Joung – All rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Synopsis

  Music

  Chapter One

  Chapte Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Books by Anna Joung

  Connect with Anna Joung

  I had a rule about staying away from men until I met one I couldn’t resist…

  As a struggling artist, I don’t have time for men or relationships.

  I’m focused on making a name for myself.

  Then, I met Rebel.

  His name alone spells trouble.

  Rebel is a too-hot-for-his-own-good firefighter who gets me riled up with his intense stare and dirty mouth.

  He’s also a total manwhore and he has a rule: he doesn’t commit.

  Even more red flags!

  When he offers to be my male model for a project, I should refuse but…

  He’s offering to do it for free.

  How hard can it be to keep my legs closed to a hot playboy who also happens to be a hero?

  Pretty damn hard as it turns out.

  When I get a glimpse of the man beneath the devil may care exterior, I give in to his charm.

  The passion and chemistry between us are combustible.

  But Rebel throws me for a loop when he asks me to do him a favor.

  Be his fake fiance and live with him so he has a better chance of gaining custody of his son.

  Wait...what? There’s no way I’m putting myself in that crazy position.

  But, the deal he strikes does offer me a few advantages...

  ‘’Foy Vance’’ – Make It Rain

  Rebel

  “Are you awake?”

  The sultry voice seeps into my mind, and I stir. It’s the feeling of hands caressing my back and lips moving across my shoulders that fully wake me up. This isn’t the worst way to wake up, but panic seeps in as I take in the room. Fancy purple drapes, expensive-looking antique furniture, a four-poster bed with cream curtains around it. Definitely not my digs. My mind races in an effort to remember what happened last night. There’s sunlight peeping through the heavy drapes, so it must be pretty late.

  Shit!

  I’m usually gone long before the sun comes up. The awkward morning after just isn't my thing. Either I was worn out last night or I’d had a few drinks. The annoying ache poking at my brain indicates that there was some drinking.

  Pulling in a deep breath, I slowly roll over to face my bed partner, mentally preparing myself for the unwanted invitation for breakfast, to cuddle, or god-forbid, to get to know each other better. The thought of those things makes me ill. Her face appears and I let out a relieved breath. I didn’t fall into bed with a new woman who doesn’t understand my rules. It’s someone who isn’t going to ask me for any of that touchy-feely crap. She continues her exploration of my body and I lean back, fold my arms behind my head, and smile.

  “Morning,” she purrs.

  “Morning.”

  Eyes gleaming with carnal intent meet mine, and her lips curve into a sly smile. Stephanie. The woman is a sexual siren. We’ve been hooking up for months now, so yeah, the name stuck. Usually, it's one and done and forgotten. I don’t make it a habit of going back for seconds, but sometimes it works out. Like with Stephanie.

  She’s only interested in one thing. My dick. That works perfectly because there’s only one thing on her, I’m interested in too. No, make that a few things. Her mouth is incredible. She does dirty things with that mouth, things that drive me crazy in the best way. I like her tits too. They're silicone, but still nice. I’ve fondled so many fake breasts they’ve become the norm.

  I watch as she moves further south, past my belly button, and lower still. The brush of her hair on my skin feels incredible.

  “Yeah, that’s it, baby, keep going.”

  My dick twitches with anticipation the closer she gets. Stephanie knows how to give one hell of a blow job, and I can’t wait for those lips to reach their destination.

  “Is this what you want?” she asks, lips hovering above my tip, still curved in that sinful smile.

  “You know it is, you tease.” A morning BJ. Fan-freaking-tastic.

  My breath hitches as she lowers her head.

  Fuck, yeah.

  The distinct rumble of a garage door opening stops her and instantly kills the mood.

  Fuck, no!

  Stephanie’s eyes widen, and she springs off the bed. “Oh, no!”

  It’s like I’m doused with cold water, fully waking me up and forcing my brain to operate normally. “Isn’t it early for him to be home?” This isn’t the first time I’ve spent the night with her, so I know the schedule. Although, I’ve never slipped up and stayed this late. I had way too many shots of whiskey last night. It’s all coming back to me now―me arriving at Stephanie’s with a bottle, ready to get wasted, and have wild sex.

  She grabs a robe off the back of a chair and shrugs into it. “It is. He’s never home this early.” Stephanie’s eyes are frantically moving around the room. “You have to go.”

  “No shit,” I groan, rolling off the bed. My poor dick is practically weeping with disappointment. I wish I at least had time to jack off to avoid the major case of blue balls I knew I was going to get.

  Collecting my clothes scattered on the floor, I curse myself for getting caught up in this position. I should have woken up hours ago and vanished.

  “Oh, my God. Dan will kill me if he finds you here.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He’s more likely to kill me than her, so I should be the one worried here. Yeah, I’m fucking a married woman... well, she isn’t married yet. She’s engaged. The wedding is next week. I remember us toasting to her upcoming nuptials last night too... while she rode me like a dirty cowgirl. The fact that she hasn’t been hitched in holy matrimony yet makes me less of a dick... right?

  Whatever.

  I really don’t have the time to assess my moral compass or lack thereof right now.

  Getting my clothes on in record time―I’m getting way too good at this―I grab my wallet and phone and shove them into my pocket. I head to the door and Stephanie hisses,

  “Where are you going?”

  I glance at the door and sigh. “Right.” It’s too early for this shit. Making a u-turn, I move to the second-floor window. “Ridiculous,” I murmur as I climb through. “This is what I get for screwing an almost married woman.”
/>
  It started about six months ago when my crew got a call from this address. Apparently, a small electrical fire had started in the garage. That’s when I saw Stephanie, a hot as hell blonde with legs for days. She eye-fucked me the entire time, and I decided to accept her silent invitation. I always get the woman I want and I wanted Stephanie. Nothing would stop me. Not even the fact that she’s engaged to a wealthy surgeon. I came back a few times to put out more fires―or rather light them between her legs. Now, I’m escaping through a freaking window. Man, does this take me back to high school.

  Glancing down at the lawn, I sigh again. “The good doctor couldn’t have waited until I at least got my blow job?”

  Ducking out, I give Stephanie one last appreciative look. I won’t be back whether she wants to continue fucking or not. I have rules. Six months hooking up with one woman is more than enough―way too long actually but, hey, she was loads of fun in the sack.

  “Will I see you again?”

  “You’re getting hitched next week.”

  Her pout is so sexy, I’m tempted to climb back inside and give her one last kiss. “I know, but that doesn’t mean we can’t keep having our fun.”

  “Oh, Stephanie, you dirty, dirty girl.” I’m actually going to kinda miss her. She’s like the female version of me. I shrug. “We’ll see what happens.” I don’t want to disappoint her too much. I’m not that heartless. Let the lady keep hope alive.

  I make my way onto the ledge and effortlessly climb down. Straightening my leather jacket, I sweep the area, making sure Doctor Dan is out of sight. Then I casually walk to the street. I always park a block away from Stephanie’s place just to be cautious. I look back at the two-story Victorian-style house and shake my head.

  It sickens me that Stephanie has been cheating on Dan for only God knows how long. I’m pretty sure I’m not the first man she’s boned behind his back. Despite fucking his fiancé for months, I feel sorry for the poor fool. He’s twice Stephanie’s age, and she’s obviously with him for the money.

  That’s women for you, which is why I have no room in my stone-cold heart for love. Like Dan, I’ve been screwed over one too many times. It won’t ever happen to me again. I’ve decided to live my life having meaningless sex and I’ve been having a fucking blast.

  Shoving a hand through my hair, I blow out a breath, mentally reminding myself to never get too comfortable again as I did with Stephanie. No more jumping out of windows to escape fiancés.

  Summer

  “No, no, and no.”

  I angrily slash through job vacancies with a red pen.

  “Who actually wants to sit behind a desk from nine to five every day?”

  Surely, subjecting oneself to that kind of boredom falls under masochism. I’m not knocking anyone else’s hustle. I guess there are people out there who don’t mind desk jobs. It’s just not for me. Releasing a long, tired sigh, I reach for my vanilla latte. Job hunting is the worst. Glancing around, I wonder if this cafe is hiring.

  As a barista, at least I’d get to see different faces every day. Or not. There are quite a few faces here that I see every time I come in for a cup of coffee. Like the eccentric lady with purple hair who’s always sporting equally colorful running shoes. There’s also a trench coat guy. He’s in the same tan trench coat every day, huddled in a corner by himself, and watching everyone with obvious paranoia. Clearly, the man has major issues. Let’s not forget the irritating man in the suit and the knockoff alligator shoes who’s always shouting into his phone and at the poor baristas every morning. What a dick.

  Yeah, working here would get to suck very quickly. There’s nothing else I want to do other than what I was born to do anyway. Art. As an artist, sitting behind a desk all day or waiting tables is hellish punishment. Yet, what choice do I have? I’m twenty-seven and I had to move back in with my overbearing parents because I’m the embodiment of the phrase starving artist. Years of dedication and art school and I have absolutely nothing to show for it. That’s why I’m here, talking to myself and brooding over boring job options. I've always been terrible at marketing myself.

  “Hmmm… kindergarten art teacher. I guess that isn’t so bad.”

  At least art still factors in. I blow out a breath, already hating the idea. I didn’t get an art degree to teach a bunch of kids how to fingerpaint. I move to put an angry red slash through that too, but I stop. Hell, it might be my last resort, so I’d better keep the option open. I guess I’d rather teach tiny humans how to scribble than starve to death.

  “I need a birthday miracle,” I sigh.

  Just as I lift my cup to take another sip of my coffee, I make eye contact with a man sitting across from me… for like the hundredth time. His face isn’t one of the regulars’ and he hasn’t stopped watching me since I walked in and ordered my coffee. I’m really starting to get creeped out.

  I subtly check him out. He’s sporting an immaculate suit and perfectly coiffed blonde hair. I think the watch on his wrist is a Rolex but I could be wrong. He’s cute―a bit too metrosexual for my taste but cute. My interest quickly vanishes, though. One, it’s always the well-put-together, charming ones who turn out to be serial killers. Two, I’m just not interested in anything involving men and relationships.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love men and I’ve had a few okay relationships but, right now my focus is on getting out of the rut I’m in. I need a freaking job! One that I have a genuine interest in would be nice. I glance up.

  Are you getting this big guy? I need an art gig so that I can crawl my way out of the humiliation of living with my parents again.

  “Hello.”

  I gasp. God?

  My eyes drop and collide with a pair of blue ones. It isn’t God, but the blonde Adonis who’s been staring me down for the better part of thirty minutes.

  “Er...hi.”

  I look to my right and to my left, wondering if he’s confused me with someone else. Why else would he be standing at my table? I’m a confident woman and all, but this guy is clearly wealthy and they tend to look further up the social food chain. Maybe he wants to ask me for directions or something. “Can I help you?”

  I’m hit with a perfect megawatt smile. I’m not fooled though, Mr. Charming’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. I don’t trust people whose smiles aren’t genuine. There’s something about him that I already don’t like, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  “I couldn’t help noticing you talking to yourself.” He smiles again and shoves his hands into his pockets.

  “Oh.” Crap. Everyone here must think I’m crazy. Feeling heat creep into my face, I shrug. “We’re all a little crazy, right?”

  Mr. Charming throws his head back and laughs. “So, I’ve heard. It could be true.”

  I gaze up at him warily, still not sure what he wants. He wears a curious expression while he studies me too intently for my comfort.

  Is he checking me out or what? I can’t be sure. I’m about to kick him to the curb because I have no time for flirting. Although, the handsome stranger isn’t really flirting. He’s just… staring. Whether he’s interested or not, I can’t stand the very cliche: meet in a cafe and start dating scenario.

  Ugh. Boring much.

  “I can tell you’re not crazy,” he says. “But I’d like to know if you’re alright otherwise.”

  I eye him suspiciously. From my experience living in a big city like Chicago my entire life, people aren’t this friendly. “Well, apart from not being able to find employment, I’m great.” My forced cheerfulness almost makes me cringe.

  “I see,” Mr. Charming says. “Mind if I sit?” He nods to the chair in front of me.

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “So, what exactly are you looking for?”

  My brows lift and I eye him dubiously. I can’t imagine why he’d give a shit about my problems. “Why? Do you own an employment agency?”

  His soft chuckle brings a small smile to my lips. I’m about to apologize for being a smart-a
ss and taking my frustration out on him but he replies,

  “Maybe I can help you out.” I lift a brow in disbelief and he shrugs.

  “Come on, what do you have to lose?”

  My life, maybe. For all I know, this stranger is scoping out his next kill and I’m the sucker who has fallen into his trap. I’ve probably been watching way too many crime documentaries, but you just never know.

  “Uh… I don’t even know your name.”

  He grins and extends a hand. “Van.”

  I place my hand in his. “I’m Summer Griffin.”

  “Nice to meet you, Summer. The name is Van Bancroft, to be more specific.”

  He gazes at me expectantly, which leaves me confused. “Okay… cool.”

  Van blinks and I might be mistaken, but I think I detect a hint of annoyance. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

  “Considering that I’ve never seen you in my life before today...no.”

  He huffs and studies me with too much interest, for my comfort. “This doesn’t happen often.”

  My eyes shift from side to side. “What? People not knowing who you are?” I start paying closer attention to him now. Is he a celebrity or something?

  “Never mind,” he chuckles. “So, you didn’t tell me what you do.”

  “I’m an artist, as in drawing, painting, that kind of thing.”

  “An artist,” he repeats. “It just so happens I can help you out, Summer.”

  Interest piqued, I shove my coffee and paper aside. He could be bullshitting me or is just trying to get a date. “You can?”

  “I happen to be in need of an artist.”

  Eyes narrowing, I wonder if he’s going to come with something totally gross and sexual. “You’re just pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

  He shakes his head solemnly. “Not at all. I’d like a nude portrait done.”

  “Of you?”

  His lips lift at the corners. I wait for him to come out and blatantly start hitting on me, but he doesn’t. He’s been playing it cool so far.