by Cathryn Fox
Hours later, after a grueling afternoon, Mitch had finally finished for the day and set out in search of Sara. Without preamble, he made his way to Nick’s house and hurried up the walkway. His heart leapt when Sara opened the door before he had a chance to knock, as though she’d been waiting for him.
Dressed in a gray jogging suit, a notepad in hand, she looked absolutely gorgeous. Of course it didn’t matter what she wore—she’d always be beautiful to him.
Her eyes brightened when they locked on his. Her hand went to her hair to tame a few wayward curls. “Hi.”
Mitch stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crushed her body to his and anchored them hip to hip. Sara shivered in his arms. His heart skipped. Damn he loved the way she reacted to his touch. “Where is everyone?”
“Running errands.”
“Are we alone?”
She nodded.
“Good, we need to talk.” Without giving her time to speak, he grabbed her hand and guided her to the kitchen table. While his heart raced, he gestured for her to sit, but before she had a chance, the sound of a ringing phone in the other room gained their attention.
She crinkled her nose. “That’s my cell. I’d better grab it. It could be a wedding emergency.”
Mitch blew out a patient breath and nodded in understanding. Sara dropped her notepad on the table and disappeared around the corner. Mitch sat, planted his elbows on the table, and propped his chin on his palms. His gaze went to Sara’s notepad.
When he saw the title—Fantasy Men in Uniforms—he furrowed his brow. A wave of unease curled around him.
He picked it up, narrowed his eyes, and scanned the paper. He read it once and then a second time. As he took in the words “Entice,” “magazine,” “Mitch,” “research,” “no strings,” and “fantasy-inspired nights,” his stomach plummeted, his mouth went dry, and his bliss disappeared.
What the hell was going on?
As he scanned the words a third time, reality hit hard. His blood ran cold, penetrating his bones.
Jesus H. Christ. He was an idiot. A total fucking idiot.
How could he have allowed himself to believe there was more to their relationship, believe that she saw him as something more than a fantasy man in uniform?
He stood with such force, his chair scraped across the wood floor and toppled over. Just then Sara rounded the corner. His gaze flew to her face. Her jaw dropped when she saw the pained look in his eyes.
Stomach knotted, and heart pounding, he held the notebook up and cocked his head. “So this is all I am to you? Research?”
When she linked her fingers together and hesitated, he tossed the notepad back onto the table. He huffed and shook his head. “And here I thought you were different from the rest. I thought you were a woman who could finally see the man beneath the uniform. I guess I was wrong.” With that, he turned on the ball of his foot and stormed past her.
Sara angled her body when Mitch sailed by her. As she watched Mitch storm toward the door, Cassie’s warning words suddenly came rushing back to the surface: He’s a playboy, a woman’s fantasy. It’s the way he likes it.
Sara’s mind raced, piecing together Mitch’s words and Cassie’s warning. She drew a quick breath as understanding dawned in small increments. It wasn’t so much that it was the way Mitch liked it—it was more that it was what he expected from women.
And now, after reading her notes, he concluded that she was like every other woman. Wanting him for the fantasy only and nothing else. But the fact that he was angry with her proved that he cared about her, that it was more than just about fulfilling fantasies, didn’t it? That was enough to prompt her into action. She grabbed the notebook from the table.
In her calmest voice, she called out to him, “You didn’t flip the page.”
Mitch stopped midstride and turned to face her. “What?”
She crossed the floor to meet him. “You didn’t flip the page, and I think you should.”
Jaw set, features hardened, he stared at her. “Why?”
“I can’t deny that I called the Hot Line in search of a hot-topic story and in search of a hot night with you. I’m sure your reasons for answering the phone were the same. A hot night of sex.”
He widened his stance and drove his hands into his pockets. “I answered because it was you, Sara. You. I knew you were only in it for the fantasy, and I was going to give it to you, but deep down I think I always wanted more. And after last night, I thought we connected.”
She pressed the notepad into his stomach. “You see, Mitch, I couldn’t write the article about fantasy men in uniforms like I wanted. Because the more I got to know you, the more I realized there was more to you than just a fantasy.” She gestured toward the paper. “Read it for yourself. I started writing, and all I could get out was how amazing you were.” She poked her finger into his chest. “You. Mitch Adams the man, not Mitch Adams the fantasy man in firefighter gear.”
Conflicting emotions flickered in his eyes before a relieved rush of air exploded from his lungs. “Are you serious?”
When she nodded and offered him a warm, loving smile, his face softened. He crushed his hands through her hair and drew her to him, angling her head. His voice hitched. “Sara, you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that. I came here today with the intentions of telling you how crazy I am about you, that I want to see where this relationship goes. I know you hate writing for the Trenton Gazette, so I wanted to ask you to stay here with me and together we can come up with a fresh, exciting story that Entice will love.”
Her heart leapt when she gazed at him. There was so much emotion in his eyes that it bored into her soul and stole her next breath. Oh God! She recognized that look. It was the same look she’d seen Cassie give Nick at the restaurant.
He dipped his head, shaky hands touching her all over. His mouth closed over hers. “We need to talk to Nick,” he murmured into her mouth.
“Why?” she asked.
“He warned me to stay away from you.” His kiss deepened; his hands slipped between her legs. “He said you were a small-town girl and he didn’t want me to hurt you. I’d never hurt you, Sara.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the door swung open and Nick and Cassie walked in. “What the hell—”
Mitch broke the kiss and turned to face Nick. After seeing the look on Nick’s face, Mitch held his hands up in a halting motion. “Let me explain.”
Nick folded his arms. “It had better be good,” he said.
Even though Nick had warned Mitch to stay away from her, and his tense body language indicated anger, Sara noticed a somewhat self-satisfied smirk on Nick’s face. What the hell was that all about?
“Sara, come here,” Cassie piped in.
Mitch widened his stance and tightened his hold on Sara. “Hold it, you two.” Sara watched in mute fascination at how Mitch held his ground. He really was her knight in shining armor or, rather, her knight in—and out of—firefighter gear.
“Listen, I’m crazy about her and I have no intentions of hurting her.”
Nick’s gaze went from Mitch to Sara to Cassie, back to Mitch again. “What?”
“That’s right,” Mitch said. “I’m crazy about her.”
Sara wrapped her arms around his waist.
He’s crazy about me!
Nick shook his head in bewilderment, but Sara caught the smug look on Nick’s face before he quickly wiped it away. “I think I need to sit down. What the hell has been going on around here for the last few days?”
“What happened,” Sara said, her heart overflowing with joy, “is that while you two have been busy with your wedding preparations, I discovered this bad ass really is just a softie at heart.”
“Hey,” Mitch said, chest puffing out, “cool it, Sara. I have a reputation to keep.”
Sara laughed and hugged him tighter. She shot Cassie a look. “You were right, Cassie. You said when I met the right guy, I’d know it. Mitch is that guy, and I know it.”
She tipped her chin to glance at Mitch. Impatience to hold him, kiss him, and touch him again seeped through her. “Let’s go somewhere we can be alone.”
Mitch winked at her. “Shall I bring my gear?”
Sara winked back. “You don’t need it.” Leaving Nick standing there shaking his head in total bewilderment, and Cassie grinning like mad, Sara grabbed Mitch’s hand and started toward the back door. Before they could escape to share a private moment together, Dean stepped into the front entrance.
His glance went from Sara to Mitch to Nick, who’d propped himself on the arm of a nearby chair, jaw gaping in awe.
“What’s going on?” Dean asked.
Sara glanced at Dean, her gaze panning over the firefighter insignia on his T-shirt.
Mitch grabbed her chin and turned her to face him. “Hey, over here.” He scowled at her. “You’re mine and mine alone.” He closed his hand over hers, dragging her to him.
She grinned, loving how he felt so possessive of her. Loving the way he’d fight for her. “On second thought, maybe you should bring your gear.”
“Oh yeah?”
She arched one brow. “Not only do we have more fantasies to explore, but if I’m going to move here and work for Entice, I’ll need all the inspiration I can get to come up with a new and unique twist for my article.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Dear God, what have I created?”
With a seductive sway of her hips, she said, “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
SIREN
ONE
Clipboard tucked under her arm, Jenna crinkled her brow in concentration and cataloged all the sexy undergarments taking over Cassie’s living room. A few days previous, Cassie had asked Jenna to host a lingerie party for all her friends, some of whom just happened to be major players in the fashion industry, and Jenna had been working double time to make things perfect. If things went according to plan, and Cassie’s friends were impressed with her latest designs, it could lead to many new and profitable contacts.
Of course, what Nick and Cassie hadn’t expected was that every time they entered their living room they’d be bombarded with thongs and negligees. Not that Nick seemed too despondent over that, Jenna mused.
She could hear Cassie in the kitchen trying to usher sexy firefighter Dean Beckman out the back door before the guests arrived at the front. Jenna sighed in relief, thankful Dean wouldn’t be around to catch the sexy show.
The last thing Jenna wanted was Dean in close proximity while she showed off her new Siren line. The man turned her into a jittery starstruck teenager and caused her skin to flush with heat and desire without him even trying. Not only were her reactions to his nearness embarrassing at best, but she was certain all her friends had caught her lusting after him a time or two. Who could blame her, though? The guy had a body that would put any male model to shame.
Suddenly, the provocative mental image of a hard-bodied Dean Beckman strutting his stuff in a pair of bun-hugging boxers from her male catalog rushed through her mind.
Jenna let her thoughts wander, picturing a naked Dean standing before her, tall, hard, lethal, and hers for the taking. Her mind raced, as she visualized herself in a barely there teddy from her bestselling collection, and Dean slowly lowering the straps until the skimpy material slipped from her body and pooled at her feet.
Libidinous slut that she was, Jenna bit back a moan as she indulged in her fantasy a second longer—a fantasy that had been invading her thoughts, even in sleep, for the past week or so. Her hand went to her throat, her legs widened involuntarily. She pictured Dean sinking to his knees, his mouth going to her breast, the tip of his tongue making a slow pass over her engorged nipple while his hands slipped between her thighs, climbing higher and higher until he reached her passion-drenched pussy. With the utmost expertise, he’d dip his head, inch open her swollen pink lips, and stroke her with the soft blade of his tongue the way she’d always longed to be stroked….
Oh, my!
As lust rose to the surface and clamored for attention, Jenna swallowed. Hard. If only she had the nerve to live out one of her nightly fantasies with the sexy firefighter from Station 419.
Trying diligently to shake off a burst of heat that suddenly prowled through her, Jenna worked to rein in her lust and gave herself a reality check.
Of course, she couldn’t expect Dean to be different from any other guy she’d slept with. The few men she’d slipped between the sheets with cared only about their own needs, their own pleasures. As long as they were inserting object A into slot B, they were happy. No man had ever had the burning desire to take charge of her pleasures, or to drop to his knees and lavish her with undivided attention until she quaked and climaxed in euphoria. Heck, just because she wanted to engage in sex with the lights off didn’t mean she wasn’t interested in an earth-shattering orgasm, too. She was, after all, a woman with needs.
And fantasies…
Blocking all thoughts of men, one in particular, Jenna turned her attention back to the task at hand. She had to ensure the display was arranged perfectly before she unveiled her latest designs.
As Jenna took stock of her new line of red-hot lingerie, she made one final adjustment to the Siren display, making sure each piece in the arrangement was visually as well as aesthetically pleasing to her clientele. Once she was finished, she stood back and smiled.
There, that was better.
“Are you still at it?” Megan asked, sticking her head around the corner.
Jenna steepled her index fingers and tapped them on her lips, continuing her examination. “I just want everything to be perfect before the show begins.”
“Stop fussing. Everything is perfect,” Megan said. With Cassie’s black cat, Misty, curling around her feet, Megan stepped farther into the room and glanced at the sexy assortment of lingerie, all arranged by color, style, and line. Under her breath she whispered, “Can you say ‘obsessive’?”
Jenna swatted her. “Hey, I heard that.”
Megan made a face. Her cute little nose crinkled. “At least it’s better than what Sara is calling you from the kitchen.”
Jenna folded her arms across her chest, angled her head, and humored her friend. “Let me guess: anal, extreme, fanatical, stubborn, obstinate…”
O-kay…Megan could stop her anytime now.
Blue eyes sparkling, Megan chuckled and tucked a short blond curl behind her ear. “Yeah, that, and that you need to get laid.”
Jenna rolled her eyes heavenward. “I do not need to get laid.” Okay, okay, so maybe she did need to get laid. Otherwise why would she be drooling like a teething toddler whenever Dean breached her personal space? Heck, who was she kidding? He didn’t even have to be in the same room. Just thinking about him had her hormones dancing to the Macarena. Unfortunately, her libido would have to wait. Right now she had a show to think about.
Jenna turned her thoughts to the night ahead. She knew the purpose of the impending event was twofold. One, it was Cassie’s way of helping her build clientele and securing new contacts before she expanded her business, and two, Cassie was in search of the perfect negligee for her wedding night, which happened to be a little over a week away.
Jenna glanced at her watch and frowned. Panic mushroomed inside her.
Megan furrowed her brow, concern evident in her big blue eyes. “What is it?”
“I’m just wondering what’s keeping Kate.”
“Kate?”
“You know, Kate Saunders, Cassie’s friend, the model.”
Megan nodded. “Oh, right, I remember. The chicky who clung to Dean like dandruff a couple of nights ago down at the Hose.”
Tamping down a sudden burst of jealousy, Jenna sauntered to the big bay window and peered out. “What could be keeping her?” she murmured under her breath, twisting back around to face Megan.
“Stop biting your lip and relax. She’ll be here,” Megan assured her.
“She’s over an hour late and the guests are due to a
rrive any minute. I still have to size and fit her body with the line and style that will best accentuate her shape.”
Always one to say the first thing that popped into her head, Megan said, “What shape?” She gave an unladylike snort and waved a dismissive hand. “She’s a model. She has no shape. And I really don’t know why you had to hire someone in the first place.”
Since her friends were always trying to get her to overcome her insecurities, Jenna gave her usual spiel. “An artistic display is far more inspiring, and since my clothes aren’t going to strut around the room by themselves, I needed to hire a model.”
Megan scoffed. “Smart-ass.” She picked up a sexy red thong, walked to the full-length mirror, and held it to her hips. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Why don’t you just model the line yourself?” Megan turned sideways, checking herself from all angles. “With all your curves, you have a better body for modeling lingerie than those celery sticks you hire anyway.”
Just then the door bell chimed and a noise inside the kitchen gained Jenna’s attention. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She shot Megan a smile, thankful that she didn’t have to rehash their same old argument. How many times did she have to tell her friends that parading her scantily clad body in front of other men and women ranked right up there with injecting herself with the Ebola virus? Heck, who was she kidding? She would choose the Ebola hands down.
Unlike her sexy, athletic friend, Megan, who was confident enough to take a strength training–pole dancing class with a group of other women, Jenna preferred to keep things low-key.
Jenna knew that for all appearances she was a bold, confident business woman. One who’d taken her small town in Iowa by storm when she designed her own clothes and opened her first boutique. Unfortunately, even though she’d shed weight, lost the braces, and discovered contacts, on the inside she was still that chubby little girl who hid behind baggy shirts and droopy drawers. The nickname the boys had given her back in grade school, the same name that had followed her through high school, rushed through her mind. Instead of Jenna Powers, they’d called her “Jenna Bow Wow-ers.” It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what “bow wow” stood for.