Erica's Choice

by Sami Lee

  Dedication

  First of all this book is for my editor Anne Scott. Without her insightful suggestions, it may well have languished on my hard drive unpublished, unread and unloved. Thanks for being the left brain to my right.

  To my family, who allow me the space to write and love me despite my frequent bouts of distraction.

  To the girls in my local writing group, the Romantix, who commiserated with me through two years of writer’s block and reminded me that I am never alone in the struggle.

  And finally to the Divas, who commiserated with me through two years of writer’s block…then told me to suck it up and write a book already. Here are your bloody firemen.

  Chapter One

  The beveled glass doors of the Sovereign Hotel swung back with a whoosh as Erica Shannon shoved them open. Stalking through the breach, she was assailed by noise and light, the typically boisterous ambiance of Friday night revelry at an inner-city Brisbane pub.

  She halted in the foyer, taking a moment to catch her breath. Glancing around, she realized no one had noticed her theatrical entrance. The crowd of mostly men stood in groups talking and laughing, drinking beer from brown-tinted bottles and arguing jovially over a game of rugby being played out on a massive plasma screen in the corner. Nobody turned to look at her.

  Perhaps her arrival hadn’t been dramatic at all. It simply felt that way because she’d never come to a pub by herself, and her agenda was pounding in her ears like the rush from some illicit drug, amplifying every sound, every smell and every sight.

  Or at least that was how Erica imagined the rush from an illegal substance would affect her. She—sensible English teacher, loyal niece, staunch obeyer of road rules—had never done anything taboo in her life, chemical or otherwise.

  That was about to change. Tonight.

  Heart pounding impetuously in her chest, she weaved her way through the crowd, heading for the area at the back of the establishment that housed the pool tables, dart boards and jukebox. This was the section of the Sovereign where her quarry tended to hang out, as though the tables were permanently reserved for the firefighters of Ashton Heights.

  Through the throng, Erica easily spotted the familiar outline of Corey Wachawski’s wide shoulders and the dark swatch of hair on his head. His back was to her, but she knew his eyes were as warm and blue as the summer sky. She’d snagged his gaze once or twice in the past few months—or rather, Corey had caught her staring. If he’d detected the longing in her scrutiny, it had never prompted him to approach her.

  Tonight, Erica was not in the mood to be dismissed. She would make a move on him, no matter the potential for embarrassment.

  The very thought made her heart rate triple. Her palms grew slippery against the tweed fabric of her skirt. Tweed. Erica would have laughed if her lungs were capable of expelling air. She was the kind of woman who wore tweed and modest button-up blouses, who stayed home most nights rereading her favorite Jane Austen novels instead of venturing out to experience life. Was she out of her mind even to daydream a man like Corey Wachawski—local hero, calendar model, Adonis—would want to take her up on a sexual proposition?

  Steeling her resolve, Erica relentlessly pushed forward. After all, she had little left to lose now.

  A large hand clapped Corey’s back. The sound of the other man’s laughter moved through Erica like a fast-flowing tide, the sight of his lean, muscle-packed body in a navy-blue T-shirt and faded jeans made something wicked and needy pass through her erogenous zones.

  Dale Griffin.

  There were photos of him all over the pub walls. Some in which he wore his firefighter’s uniform, in others he was listed as a member of a local football team. One was a framed clipping from the newspaper which detailed his heroics in saving a local man from a fire. And on the ladies’ room wall, his picture from an old Queensland Firefighter’s Charity Calendar was pinned, right beside Corey’s more recent one.

  Erica was both exhilarated and terrified to see Griff—whenever she’d heard one of his colleagues call out to him above the usual cacophony of pub noises, they always called him Griff—here as well.

  There was nothing to stop her living out her ultimate fantasy.

  Nothing except it required her to sexually proposition not just one man, but two. Twenty-eight years old and she’d never so much as initiated a coffee date with a member of the opposite sex.

  That’s right, Erica. You haven’t been living at all, and now it could be too late.

  The reminder refueled the anger and frustration that had brought her here. She could do this. There were worse things than being embarrassed.

  Much worse things.

  She wet parched lips with the tip of her tongue as she drew nearer to the back corner. She kept her gaze fixed on Corey Wachawski’s massive shoulders, focusing on them as she drew closer and closer…

  Suddenly, her view was obstructed by one of the sharks.

  Oh darn.

  How had she not factored in the sharks? That was how her female colleagues, who often stopped in at the Sovereign on their way home from a hard day at school and who’d recently begun dragging Erica with them, referred to the beautiful, sexily clad women who routinely circled the group of handsome firemen. Hunting them like sharks on the lookout for their next meal.

  Not that Griff, for one, seemed to mind being fish food. He’d left the pub with two of those women only a few weeks ago.

  Two.

  It was the event that had made Erica start thinking about threesomes. What was good for the goose had to be allowed for the gander, too. It was only feminist, and her Aunt Claire had raised her to be an independent woman, aware of her rights and willing to fight for them.

  That was all well and good, until you had to battle a woman who looked like Miranda Kerr on a good hair day.

  Erica’s steps faltered. The very blood seemed to drain out of her as she watched the tall, willowy brunette slide her arms around Corey from behind and whisper something in his ear. Whatever she said made Corey blush. The shark was stunning, flawless in looks and manner. And Erica stood there gasping, as graceful as a flounder that had been washed up on shore.

  From the corner of her eye, Erica saw a couple work their way out of a booth in the corner. She made a dash for it, sliding into one of the olive-green vinyl bench seats before anyone else could claim the table. She hoped it looked natural, more natural than turning around and walking straight back out. Like her intent all along had been to find a table to herself and sit quietly.

  Without a drink.

  Dear Lord, she must look like an idiot.

  Perhaps there was something worse than facing your most frightening demons. Being completely and utterly humiliated first.

  Corey Wachawski watched as the woman of his dreams took a book out of her large black shoulder bag, opened it to a dog-eared page and began to read. It was a big book, the kind he’d never get through if he had a year to kill, which only reminded Corey how out of his league the pretty redhead with the big brown eyes truly was.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come out with us, Corey?” Madison purred the invitation into his ear while she stroked a fingernail up and down his forearm. “Vibe is the hottest club in the Valley right now. We’re going to have the best time.”

  It was clear from her tone that the club wasn’t the only thing offering a good time. It would be easy enough to take Madison up on it, but Corey found girls like her a little intimidating—and a lot scary. He got the feeling if he went home with her he’d wake up naked, tied to a bed and minus the one credit card he owned. “No thanks. I’m going to have an early one tonight.”

  Madison stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “They work you boys way too hard.”

  Corey wasn’t a
bout to tell her work had nothing to do with his refusal. He simply didn’t want to spend the night with Madison.

  The woman he did want to spend some quality time with was sitting across the pub right now with her nose in a book, her sleek red hair sweeping down to conceal her face, as out of reach as the moon. She probably thought he was some kind of man-slut because every time she came in here some random woman slipped him her phone number, or even her panties. Jeez. What did girls think he was going to do with a pink satin G-string?

  Madison finally gave up and left. Corey’s sigh of relief was audible and beside him Griff laughed. “That was piss weak.”

  “She isn’t my type.”

  Griff remarked with a lopsided smile, “With an ass like that she doesn’t need to be. Besides, you might as well dip your wick somewhere. You won’t do anything about the girls who are your type, either.”

  Corey didn’t pretend ignorance. His gaze once again strayed to the corner booth and the woman sitting there. She wore an ordinary grey skirt, black heels and a plain white blouse, the collar trimmed in lace. Her haircut was of the sensible, I’m-not-the-type-to-primp variety, a chin-length bob that framed her high cheekbones and wide brown eyes. She exuded none of the glamour of a woman like Madison yet she fascinated Corey on a level that went beyond appearances. He wanted to get to know her better, had since the first time she’d come in a few months ago.

  But the idea of approaching her made his palms sweat, so he’d settled for watching her from across the room, waiting for…something. A sign maybe. Some kind of magic that would make everything click into place.

  He offered Griff his excuse. “She’s really into that book.”

  “She’s alone. Nobody comes to a noisy pub to read. She’s probably dying for you to go over and talk to her, dickhead.” At Corey’s skeptical look, Griff insisted, “Look, she doesn’t even have a drink. Go buy her one before somebody else does.”

  Corey scowled. “Who’s going to buy her a drink?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Corey wouldn’t have been more surprised if Griff had punched him in the gut. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s not your type.”

  Griff laughed. “And that means?”

  Corey didn’t know how to express what he meant without dissing his friend’s usual taste in women. Eventually he settled for, “She’s delicate.”

  Griff raised a brow. “I like delicate. I like soft women. Hell, I just like women. Matter of fact, I’m talking myself into it. I’m going over there.”

  “No.” Corey stood at the same time Griff did. They met eye to eye, Griff’s hazel irises twinkling with amusement. Corey figured his own expression was less jovial. His voice came out sounding threatening, which surprised him more than it seemed to surprise Griff. “I mean it, Griff. Don’t you hit on her.”

  “What’s to stop me?”

  “The guy code,” Corey said. “I saw her first.”

  Griff chuckled. “You’ve gotta actually do something about it in order to activate the guy code. Sitting here with your thumb up your ass does not constitute staking a claim, so stand back and start taking notes. I’m about to show you what a move is.”

  Griff strode past him with ease. Corey was bigger physically but Griff was more brazen. Corey knew the second Griff introduced himself to the mystery woman his own chances would be all shot to hell. Females usually proved susceptible to Griff’s particular type of brash charm. And if Griff found out her name first, he’d probably insist the guy-code privileges reverted to him or something like that. Griff would find a way to get what he wanted. He always did.

  Damn it. It was do-or-die time. Corey had to get over to that booth before Griff or he was going to lose his fantasy woman before he ever caught her.

  “White wine and two beers—one light.” Griff flashed the blonde bartender the grin that usually procured good service. “Take your time.”

  The woman returned his smile and gave him a quick once-over before moving off to fill his order. Griff returned the compliment, admiring the way the mounds of her ass were accentuated by the tight black pants she wore. Nice, but for some reason she didn’t stir his blood.

  What did, however, was something, someone—okay, two someones—he was going to have to stay away from.

  Griff slid a glance over to the corner booth. Corey stood beside the table offering his hand to introduce himself. He had finally gotten up the balls to approach Red, and all he’d needed was a mighty shove in that direction. Griff had never intended to make a serious play for his friend’s fantasy woman, but something had to be done. Griff couldn’t go through another night watching those two making hopeless goo-goo eyes at each other.

  “There you go.” Griff turned back and took the change the bartender offered. He noticed the little slip of paper with a phone number written on it amongst the coins, and stuffed it all in the front pocket of his jeans. The woman held his gaze with blue eyes that sparkled flirtatiously. “My name’s Michelle, by the way.”

  “I’ll be sure to remember it.” Griff winked and took his drinks, mentally putting Michelle in the maybe later column. She was definitely cute, and would no doubt make a fine Miss Right Now. But if things went south she had the power to do all manner of unhygienic things to his drinks, so Griff wasn’t sure he should risk it. Switching his regular watering hole would be a bitch.

  As Griff approached the booth, he let his gaze linger on the woman opposite his friend. She had a playboy bunny’s body underneath those drab clothes. The fact that she didn’t go out of her way to accentuate her obvious assets only made her more intriguing, like a wicked tease to Griff’s vivid imagination. She might not be Griff’s usual type, but damn could he have some fun with her.

  Corey’s crush, Griff. Corey’s crush.

  “Drinks all round,” Griff announced and slid the beverages on the table between them. “White wine’s your poison, isn’t it?”

  Red blinked at him, clearly surprised that he knew. Could she guess that Corey wasn’t the only one who’d watched her with no small amount of interest over the past few months? Sure as bears shit in the woods, any guy with a dick was going to notice a rack like that, no matter how well it was concealed by a lace-trimmed blouse. Griff had simply been better at hiding his interest.

  Until now.

  Up close she wasn’t merely pretty, as he’d judged her. She was beautiful in a manner that was soft, classic, like a fifties ingénue, with a body made for every modern-day sin Griff could imagine. And there were a lot of those. The way her mouth hung open in surprise had Griff’s mind instantly turning down Bawdy Street. He saw the pink, wet flesh of her tongue resting beyond the plump outline of her lightly glossed lips and was filled with a raw, powerful need to suck it into his mouth.

  “This is Erica—Erica Shannon.”

  Corey introduced them before Griff could make the hasty retreat he suddenly realized he needed to. She held out her hand, compelling Griff to take it. Her fingers slid into his, brushing against the flesh of his palm. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  That whisper of contact electrified him, made him suck in a harsh breath. He swelled in his jeans, imagining that breathy voice rasping naughty nothings in his ear, picturing that lush mouth working its way over his chest and lower.

  Oh crap. This has gotta mean trouble.

  Griff couldn’t very well walk around the pub in his suddenly uncomfortable condition. He hastily grabbed an unused chair from a table nearby, flipped it around and straddled it so neither Erica nor Corey could guess what had happened. He’d stay for a few minutes—one drink. He’d get himself under control, then he’d skedaddle and leave the lovebirds alone.

  “Call me Griff,” he managed to choke out. “Everyone does.”

  “I know.”

  She blushed and ducked her head, as though she’d just revealed a closely guarded secret. Realization stole through Griff—or was it wishful thinking? Either way he was beginning to w
onder if Corey was the only one Erica Shannon had been studying these past few months.

  The very possibility made his physical situation a whole lot worse, but he tried not to get ahead of himself. Erica did not look like the threesome type—and Griff could usually pick the type. He was pretty damn sure Corey had never even thought of doing anything like it—more’s the pity. Straight down the line and unfailingly traditional, that was Corey. Griff’s own preference for multiple-partner playtime was probably coloring his thoughts.

  But a few minutes later, Griff looked over to find Erica eyeing him through her lashes, flicking him brief glances even as she appeared enthralled by Corey’s small talk. In those moments Griff saw something fiery and reckless in her eyes, something that hinted at heat beneath the ice, wildness beneath the conservative exterior. That something called to him like a siren song, compelling him to keep turning the wicked ideas around in his head, no matter how he might be twisting things in his mind to suit his own tastes.

  No matter how unlikely it was that Corey would agree to share the woman he was infatuated with.

  Chapter Two

  “You know Erica, you haven’t said much about yourself.”

  Corey twirled his nearly empty beer glass—his second since he’d sat down with her—between his large hands. It made a swirling sound on the wood that Erica could hear even above the crowd noise and rock music. It was as though she was keenly attuned to everything about him, as though there were a physical connection instead of mere proximity between them. Watching his fingers slide up and down the glass made her picture with stark clarity the way his hands would move over her body.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to stick to small talk when all she wanted to do was beg him to touch her. “My life’s not as interesting as yours.” It was the truth, but not the real reason she hadn’t revealed a lot of personal information. She simply didn’t want to think or talk about herself right now. She wanted to be somebody else, somebody with the world beneath their feet, a whole life to look forward to. A woman who made a hobby out of flirting with men in bars.