The Hot Line

by Cathryn Fox

  Shifting from one leg to the other, she bit down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, wondering if he could see her aroused nipples.

  With a roomful of people watching, she knew she really needed to pull herself together. But how could she possibly strut around half-naked while her cunt throbbed for the man standing across the room, looking so damn sexy he made her mouth water.

  Her eyes traveled up his body and met his glance. He gave her a look that suggested he knew her every little secret, her every fantasy, and he was more than capable of fulfilling them. Her mind raced, conjuring last night’s sexual solo act, while she pictured him doing just that.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat, wanting nothing more than for Dean to take her upstairs, turn the lights out, and rid her of the unnecessary barrier of clothes separating skin from skin, while he took charge of her pleasures and indulged in every sinful fantasy she had. A burst of heat coiled through her and warmed her body from the inside out. She could feel color crawl up her neck and stain her cheeks.

  A noise in the crowd brought her attention back around to the task at hand. She summoned every ounce of control she had and forced her rubbery legs to move.

  With her professional demeanor somewhat back in place, she strived for normalcy and sashayed across the floor, showcasing the sexy red negligee. Unfortunately, knowing Dean was in such close proximity proved too much of a distraction.

  Her legs quivered, her skin came alive, and her vision went a little fuzzy around the edges. She exhaled slowly and willed the room to stop spinning. One more piece to go and then she could get the hell out of her revealing new line and back into her business suit before she did something telltale, like throw herself at Dean and really make an ass of herself. The truth was, the man had never even given her a second glance since she arrived in Chicago. Obviously she wasn’t even his type. He probably gravitated more toward women with long, lithe figures—toward someone like Kate Saunders, the lingerie model. Undoubtedly she’d be his perfect complement.

  Unable to help herself, she cast him another glance. Sensual overload set her loins on fire and gave her pause. When she tried to resume her pace, her legs failed her miserably.

  Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, the room turned upside down. Arms flailing, Jenna shrieked and reached for something concrete to grasp on to, refusing to embarrass herself further. What she didn’t expect was for that something to be someone.

  “Whoa,” Dean said, catching her before she fell to the floor, tits up. One strong arm slipped around her back and pinned her body to his. Densely packed muscles pressed against her breasts and made her nipples tingle and tighten in euphoric bliss. As she tried to right herself, her hands automatically snaked around his neck like a scarf and her fingers burned as they touched his bronzed flesh.

  Cradled in his muscular arms, she shifted, until the two of them were joined hip to hip. She could hardly believe how good his rock-solid body felt wrapped around hers, how good their groins felt mashed together. Suddenly, her mind raced with indecent thoughts. Thoughts like how the only things separating her passion-drenched pussy from his cock were a measly pair of jeans and a thin pair of silky panties. She shuddered involuntarily.

  He pitched his voice low, his eyes turned serious, his tone genuine. “Are you okay?”

  He dipped his head, bringing his mouth to within a hairbreadth of hers. His warm, strawberry-soaked breath caressed her cheeks and aroused all her senses. With just one tiny flick of her tongue, she’d be able to taste those sensuous lips of his and finally discover if he tasted as good as he looked.

  His hand connected with the small of her back, intimately. His warmth seeped under her skin, burning her body from the inside out. She felt like a wild animal in heat, and her skin broke out in moisture, as goose bumps pebbled her flesh.

  Jenna knew she needed to disentangle herself before one of the other firefighters in the room grabbed an extinguisher and hosed her down like a carnal beast.

  Groaning, she straightened and stepped back, removing herself from the circle of Dean’s arms. She drew a rejuvenating breath and worked to banish her lascivious thoughts.

  She tried to keep her voice steady but her words spilled out like a leaky faucet. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just lost my footing for a second. Must be my new shoes. Thanks. Thanks so much.”

  Dammit, woman, stop babbling.

  She stepped back and wobbled on her heels, completely overwhelmed by his intimate touch and the way it filled her with heat.

  Dean made a swift move, gripped her elbow, and hauled her to him, once again joining them chest to chest, hip to hip. His nearness made her breathless and melted her brain cells. Never in her entire life had she felt such powerful sexual stirrings.

  His hand slid down her back and hauled her impossibly closer. His corded muscles were bunched, and his gaze flew to her face. She glimpsed a fierce protectiveness in his dark eyes before they softened and locked on hers. “Are you sure you’re okay?” When he furrowed his brow with professional concern, her insides went all gooey, like a warm chocolate-chip cookie straight out of the oven. “Maybe I should check that ankle.” He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, and in that instant, something deep in her soul told her that not only was Dean the kind of guy who’d take charge of a woman’s pleasure, but he’d be eager for it, too.

  Reminding herself she had a captive audience watching her every move, she drew a sharp breath and locked her knees to avoid collapsing.

  “I’m okay,” she whispered with effort, her hands falling to her sides. She rolled her ankle to prove her point. “Nothing broken.”

  When Dean leaned forward, his hot breath caressed her neck. Heat and desire ambushed her pussy and scattered her ability to form a coherent thought.

  “You sure? You look a little flushed.”

  The deep timbre of his voice flustered her even more, and his raw virility did the craziest things to her libido. Since a reply was beyond her ability at the moment, she simply nodded her head in response.

  He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I have to go,” he said, his voice deep and sensuous. “I’ll be at the firehouse.”

  Why was he telling her that? Damn, if only she could think straight, if only she could breathe. “Okay,” she whispered, thrilled to find her voice still functioning.

  His grin appeared slowly, looked sexy; his voice was like a rough whisper. “If you have any other emergencies, Jenna, I’m your man.”

  Emergencies? What other emergencies did he expect her to have? And why was he telling her this? And how could he expect her to think straight when he let her name roll off his tongue like that? Like he was tasting it, savoring it.

  She opened her mouth to ask what constituted an emergency and why he thought she was clumsiness personified, but then slammed her mouth shut, answering her own unasked questions. After she’d been stumbling around like a bumbling idiot all week, it was no wonder he expected more emergencies. And with all the candles burning around the room, he probably expected her to set the house ablaze.

  With a suggestive edge to his smile, he said, “You know the number.” Dean stepped back and disappeared around the corner, out of her line of vision.

  Number? What number?

  Before she had a chance to comprehend Dean’s parting words, Megan stepped up beside her, grabbed her hand, and squeezed. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Jenna nodded toward the floor. “It’s these damn new shoes. The heel must be loose or something.”

  Megan grinned like the Cheshire cat. “The shoes, huh?” she asked, tossing her a knowing smile.

  Jenna furrowed her brow, annoyed at her friend’s perceptiveness. “Yeah, the shoes,” she bit out. Without giving Megan the chance to press for more information, Jenna tugged on her hand and said hastily, “Come on. I have one more outfit to go and then I’m going to bury myself under a rock.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Jenna. I think Dean has that effect
on all women. Every chicky in that room wanted to be rescued by him.” As Jenna ushered her down the hallway, Megan cast a glance over her shoulder. “And all those other women in there are married.”

  When they stepped into the bedroom, Jenna reached for the last piece in the line, a sexy red bustier, and wondered why she found the thoughts of Dean with another woman so disconcerting.

  Damn him.

  Blocking those thoughts from her mind, she turned her back to Megan, removed the negligee, and pressed the bustier to her chest. “Can you help me tie this?”

  Megan stepped up behind her and tied the silky lace bindings together. Tight.

  Jenna took shallow breaths and fidgeted. “Not so tight. I can hardly breathe. Can you loosen it?”

  “We don’t want it to fall off.” Megan stepped back without honoring Jenna’s request, despite her labored breaths.

  Jenna fanned her face. “We also don’t want me to pass out from lack of oxygen.”

  Megan pulled the door open and, with a wave, urged Jenna to join her in the hall. “Come on, you look gorgeous. One strut around the room and then I’ll get you out of this.”

  Unfortunately, one strut around the room became thirty minutes later. Once Jenna finished the show, and before she had time to get changed, she was bombarded with questions and orders. After covering her body with a long cotton robe, she easily slipped into professional mode and discussed business with other industry professionals.

  As the crowd dwindled away, she went in search of her friends, needing desperately to get out of the constricting bustier. She found Megan, Cassie, and Sara in the kitchen, all gathered around the delicious looking fruit and veggie trays.

  She crooked her finger at Megan, gesturing for her to follow. “Can you help me?”

  Arms wrapped around Nick’s waist, Cassie piped in. “Great show, Jenna. We’re all going to head to the Hose for a celebration and a game of pool. As soon as you get changed, we’ll go.”

  As Jenna took in the loving couple, a burst of envy whipped through her and caught her off guard. Whoa, that came out of nowhere. Especially since Jenna had never thought about love or long-term relationships before. Okay, so maybe she had thought about it a time or two, or a billion, but she’d always tamped down those thoughts and turned her attention to her career. And the truth was, the self-absorbed men in her small hometown were far from marriage material.

  Marshaling her emotions, Jenna crinkled her nose. “You all go ahead. I need to do a bit of paperwork first, and then I’ll catch up with you.” Jenna turned her attention to Megan and ruffled the lapels of her robe. “Can you help me get out of this thing?”

  Megan waved her hand. “Go ahead. I’ll be right there.” She popped a chocolate-dipped strawberry into her mouth and reached for another. Jenna eyed the fruit tray, her stomach grumbling from hunger, reminding her she’d skipped dinner in her quest to perfect her lingerie display. Not that she could swallow anything now, with the damn bustier still on. It’d likely get stuck in her windpipe.

  As Jenna moved down the hallway, her thoughts returned to Dean, and she recalled the way her body had reacted so easily, so readily to him. It amazed her that she craved him with a fierce intensity unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Out of nowhere a shiver prowled through her and tingled all the way to her toes, reminding her she was a woman with needs.

  And fantasies…

  She slipped into the bedroom, secured the door behind her, and flicked on her bedside lamp. In search of a loose-fitting outfit while she awaited Megan’s rescue, she rifled through her closet, but the sound of an engine roaring to life in the driveway drew her attention. Jenna took two measured steps toward her window and peered out just in time to see her friends pile into a car and disappear down the driveway.

  Eyes wide in disbelief, she banged on the glass pane. “Dammit, Megan.” How could her friends have forgotten about her, leaving her there to expire from lack of oxygen?

  Jenna hastily crossed the room, grabbed her suitcase, and flung it onto her bed. The old bedsprings grated and made an ungodly sound. She tore through her supplies in search of her trusty sewing kit. If she couldn’t get the damn bustier untied, she’d cut herself out of it. After a thorough search turned up nothing, she angled her head and glanced at her nightstand, to the spot where she’d left her cell phone. When her gaze settled on a small white business card, her pulse leapt into gear and her libido roared to life.

  Was that what she thought it was?

  Surely it wasn’t.

  She whisked the card off the table, turned it over in her hands, and read the print. She gulped air.

  Oh God.

  It was.

  Her heart picked up tempo, while her palms moistened. As she stroked her thumb over the numbers, her body tightened and burned with desire. Her pussy clenched and throbbed in heated anticipation, urging her to call…the Hot Line.

  A low groan crawled out of her throat, her legs widened involuntarily, and one hand slipped in between, touching the swollen spot that quaked the most, attempting to quell the hot restlessness deep inside her before she shattered into a million tiny pieces. Her hands spent a long time between her legs, working to release the long building tension.

  Before she reached an orgasm, her cell phone rang and jolted her back to reality. Startled, she sucked in air, but the constricting lingerie prohibited her from filling her lungs. The bustier hampered her breathing, and frustration welled up inside her, although at the moment she was pretty certain her frustration had more to do with the unanswered ache between her legs than it did with the tight bustier.

  Feeling light-headed from lack of oxygen, she picked up her cell phone. “Hello?” She sounded breathless, even to herself.

  “Jenna, is that you? You sound odd.”

  Upon hearing Megan’s voice, Jenna blurted out, “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You tied this bustier so tight I can hardly breathe and then you skipped out without helping me get it off.” Jenna could hear pool balls banging in the background. She immediately thought of Dean and the way she’d watched him the previous evening while his strong athletic body circled the pool table. Her body heated in remembrance. Warmth flared through her, and for a brief moment, anger segued to passion.

  The sound of Megan’s voice brought her attention back around. “Hmmm…that definitely sounds like an emergency to me,” Megan said, humor evident in her voice.

  Jenna sat on the edge of the bed, trying to take deep belly breaths. “It is an emergency. If you don’t get over here and get this thing off me, I’m going to pass out.”

  “Then maybe you should call the Hot Line. I hear they can handle all kinds of…emergencies.”

  Her gaze flew to the card as Dean’s words came rushing back: If you have any other emergencies, I’m your man.

  “Megan,” Jenna said, her voice raising an octave, “did you plant this card in my room?”

  “Card? What card?”

  Exasperated, Jenna threw herself back onto her bed. “You set this whole thing up, didn’t you?” God, didn’t Megan realize the sexy playboy firefighter was completely out of her league?

  Megan gasped, as though appalled by her accusation. “Would I do something like that?”

  “You are so dead, Megan.”

  Megan chuckled and lightened the mood. “You want him. He wants you. I’m not seeing any reason for murder here. In fact, I think you’ll be thanking me in the morning.”

  Jenna flew to her feet. “Who said he wanted me?”

  “If you weren’t so busy drooling over him, and running in the opposite direction all week, you would have noticed that he has the hots for you too, chicky. It’s clear to everyone but the two of you that you both want each other.”

  Jenna gulped in air and paced around the room. “Are you serious?”

  “Hell, yeah, I’m serious. Now call that number and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

&
nbsp; Silence reigned as Jenna took a moment to wrap her brain around things. She perched on the edge of her mattress and sorted through matters. Dean wanted her?

  “Make the call, Jenna,” Megan pressed. “Live a little, have an adventure, get yourself laid. Deep inside you there is a sexy siren just waiting to break free. Let her come out to play before you implode from sexual frustration, and in the morning, I want all the juicy details.”

  The last time Jenna listened to Megan’s advice and had an adventure, she’d found herself half dressed in a roomful of strangers. Lord knows what would happen next time. She’d probably find herself half dressed in a room with just one stranger—a stranger who could fulfill every wild fantasy she’d ever had, and some she didn’t even know she had.

  O-kay…

  Jenna swallowed past the lump in her throat and croaked out, “Good-bye, Megan.” As her gaze slid to the card once again, her breath came in a ragged burst, her libido pulsing with the promise of things to come.

  Without censor, her mind took her on an erotic journey, leaving her to wonder what it would be like to experience the lust, passion, and mind-blowing sex like other women experienced, wondering what it would be like if the sexy firefighter from Station 419 appeared at her door, ready and able to handle all her emergencies.

  Every sinfully delicious…emergency.

  She studied the card longer, committing the number to memory, and worked to extinguish the flames lapping at her thighs. Of course there was one surefire way to accomplish such a task. One very scandalous way to be precise.

  Not that she’d ever dial the Hot Line, however. She liked sex—loved it even—but she would never be so bold as to call in a playboy firefighter to help extinguish the flames of desire licking a path up her thighs. It was something she’d never, ever do. Not in a million years.

  No way.

  No how.

  She drew in air, but the lack of oxygen circulating through her bloodstream made her dizzy and prompted her into action. Jumping to her feet, she reached around her back and fumbled for the lace. Her efforts proved futile. Frustrated, she planted her hands on her hips and began pacing around the bedroom looking for something, anything to help her.