Uniform Desire

by Layla Chase

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  Amber Quill Press

  www.amberquill.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Layla Chase

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  UNIFORM DESIRE

  By

  LAYLA CHASE

  * * * *

  ISBN 978-1-60272-101-2

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  www.amberquill.com

  Also By Layla Chase

  Love For Hire

  Risqué Behavior

  Stagecoach Capture

  Wager Of Seduction

  CHAPTER 1

  Overhead, the west Texas sky stretched forever, dotted with only a few puffy clouds at the eastern horizon. Near the back fence, doves cooed from high in the mesquite trees, and a butterfly rested on the edge of the picnic table.

  The perfect spring day for a cookout.

  Rikka Brendan stepped back and ran her gaze over the shiny cooker she'd just removed from the packing box. The equipment was essential for preparing her first deep-fried turkey—the mouth-watering main course for this month's teacher potluck.

  Today marked her first opportunity to hostess a party since moving to the small town of Arroyo. Everything had to be perfect.

  A quick glance through the instructions and she set up the deep fryer. A double-check of the oil level confirmed it wasn't too high. Electronic chirps sounded as she set the electronic timer for the oil to heat and went back inside the kitchen.

  The phone rang. One glance at the handset identified the caller as her best friend. Probably Cindy wanted to see if she was panicking yet. She balanced the handset on her shoulder while spooning the streusel topping onto her famous apple crumb pie. “Hey, Cindy. What's up?"

  "I'm checking that you're all set. I can run by a grocery store on my way over"—Cindy paused—"if you've forgotten anything."

  Cindy, the worrier—exactly what Rikka expected. “Nope. I know my accomplishments in the kitchen don't match yours, but I've been planning this gathering of the Crockett Elementary teachers for weeks.” While she talked, she ran her gaze down the checklist on the counter. “Absolutely everything is in place."

  "Okay, see you in an hour."

  Rikka clicked off the handset, laid it on the table, and slid the pie into the hot oven. Now only the task of getting the turkey into the fryer remained. Everything was right on schedule. She scooped up the phone and crossed the room to set it in the cradle.

  Outside, a movement caught her eye and she leaned closer to the window. A small calico cat slinked across the brittle lawn, approaching the deep-fat fryer. The potential for disaster flashed through her thoughts. Her sandals clopped as she hurried across the kitchen and eased open the screen door, careful not to catch the shirt of her sundress.

  "Hey, kitty, come this way.” She crouched and wiggled her hand along the concrete step, hoping to capture its attention. The thought of the cat getting hurt by hot oil sent a shiver through her. With a quiver of her lips, she made pffting sounds. “Come on, kitty. Stay away from the big pot."

  After a long look with its amber eyes, the cat blinked, lifted its head, and sniffed the air.

  Unwilling to risk injury to the animal, Rikka scurried down the steps and started toward the stray. The moment she felt the tug across her ankle, she remembered the electrical cord. As if in slow motion, but with everything seeming to happen at the same time, she plunged forward, the fryer tipped, and the cat darted away with a yowl. Steaming hot oil penetrated the brittle grass and burst into flames.

  In horror, she watched the burning oil spread like a molten lava flow. “Oh, crap!” She pushed to her feet and dashed to the corner of the house, wrenched on the faucet and turned with the garden hose in hand. With sweeping moves, she sprayed the water at the flames, but, amid clouds of steam and spitting oil, the fire spread even faster across the grass.

  Aiming the water spray ahead of the flames, she doused the fence for several moments before twisting off the faucet. With one last glance at the backyard inferno, she ran into the kitchen, grabbed the phone, and punched number two on her speed dial.

  "Arroyo Fire Dept."

  "Lennie?” Of the firefighting crew, why did her landlord have to be the person to answer? “This is Rikka. Send the truck."

  "Damn, Rikka!” His voice boomed. “Not the house again?"

  Rikka cringed at his use of the word “again.” That grease fire had definitely not been her fault. “No, Lennie, it's outside.” Besides, the chimney fire happened back in October, and she'd repainted the living room at her own expense.

  A bell clanged in the background, and his voice echoed through the phone like on an intercom. “Hey, boys, we're visiting Rikka again. Brush fire in the backyard."

  Jeez, did this guy exaggerate! “Not a brush fire."

  "Well, what is it?"

  "The turkey fryer overturned and the oil is burning the grass.” Positioned at the back door, she glanced through the window at the flames with a hopeful eye. Were they smaller than before? “Maybe it will burn itself out."

  "Stay back and whatever you do, don't use water.” The line clicked off.

  Too late. Rikka clicked off her phone and sighed, her gaze on the hungry flames spreading across her lawn. Too bad about the grass. The only consolation was getting to see the buff firefighters in action. Again.

  While waiting for the fire truck to arrive, she called the school's coordinator of the teacher phone tree. Giving only the barest of details, she asked Sandra to spread the word the party was cancelled. Without the turkey, there was no main dish. Nobody would want to sit, foodless, in a charred backyard.

  Six minutes later, four men, dressed in protective overcoats and pants with reflective tape and wearing black helmets, stomped into her yard. With confidence and swagger, two blasted the untouched grass with a steady stream of water and the other two wielded hoses attached to foam-spewing canisters. Their movements reminded her of a well-choreographed sword fight.

  Watching the team of firefighters in action set her desire racing. By the time they had the flames quenched, her breathing was barely back to normal from the display of masculine ability. When the white smoke dissipated, she slipped through the screen door and stood on the concrete step. Still out of the way of the cleanup, she couldn't resist a closer view of the men.

  While they were busy with putting away the equipment and rolling up the hose, she could look her fill. Once the fire danger was past, they'd all stripped off the heavy fire jackets and worked in their dark T-shirts marked with “AFD” on the back.

  Her backyard resembled a winter wonderland, but Rikka was an inferno. White extinguishing foam clumped in random patches across her charred lawn. The fryer still lay on its side, blackened swaths of soot decorating the top side. From her right, she heard the heavy thud of approaching footsteps and braced herself for whoever wore those black boots. Dread at the possibility of facing her landlord knotted her stomach.

  Rikka turned and her breath whooshed out with relief. Ah, a familiar face. “Hey, handsome, how have you been?” Three months had passed since she'd last seen Marty Jenkins. Unable to resist, she took several moments to enjoy the view. By his appearance, he must have used every minute to become even more muscled. A flush ran over her skin at the sight of his pecs straining the suspenders riding over a flat abdomen. If only his shirt wasn't in the way.

  Damn but he looked good.

  A
grin flashed across his face smudged with a bit of soot. “Doing okay. And you?"

  Still the polite guy she'd dated last fall. “Fine, until today.” Her gaze darted to his oversized pants and boots. Unflattering, maybe, but she'd seen and touched the taut ass and hard thighs hidden underneath. A fine male physique. She ran her tongue over suddenly dry lips.

  "You're looking good.” His gaze ran her length, lingering on her bare legs. Then he shook his head and his features tightened. “Glad you weren't burned. But, Rikka, you've got to remember water and oil don't mix. Using the garden hose spread the fire."

  At his mention of the word “hose,” her fingers flexed. She remembered the girth of his “personal hose” and his expertise in wielding it. Maybe this day could be salvaged. Before her stood a healthy man who'd just completed his job—a little disheveled but confident, and sexy as hell. At the moment, she couldn't remember a single reason why they'd broken up.

  Rikka sighed and stepped forward to rest a hand on his arm. “Marty, I'm sorry for making the crew come out for this little mess. Damn turkey fryer.” Under her fingers, his steely muscles flexed and the movement sparked memories of their energetic lovemaking. Her nipples peaked, and she raised a questioning eyebrow, letting her lips slide into a wide grin.

  For a moment, his hazel eyes warmed, and the corner of his mouth rose in a grin. Then his gaze flicked over her shoulder, narrowed for a moment, and he pulled away. “Take care, Rikka."

  She watched him set the helmet on his head and nod before turning back toward the tanker truck. His muscled shoulders pulled at the navy T-shirt damp from the exertion of the work. In frustration, she bit her lip, too aware of her blood racing through her veins.

  She could resist. She would resist.

  No matter how tempted she was to get one of the other guys alone, she had to be stronger than this fascination for a man in uniform. Need swirled deep in her belly, and she shifted her feet, squeezing her legs together to fight the throbbing of her pussy.

  "Excuse me, Ms. Brendan?"

  The raspy voice speaking her name resonated in her body and sent a chill over her skin. Or maybe that was guilt at being caught ogling the firefighter.

  She looked over her shoulder and immediately stilled, all thoughts of Marty flying right out of her mind. Zowie! Standing four steps below her was the epitome of a fire captain—shiny shoes, navy trousers, light blue shirt, and an official captain's hat.

  Tall, straight and deliciously stern.

  Something about the man's stance made her want to salute. No need to let him know that. She squared her shoulders and pasted on a smile. “That's me. What can I do for you...” With a hand resting on the porch rail, she leaned over to read the shield pinned to his shirt pocket. “Captain Malloy?

  For just a second, his gaze dropped to her cleavage, then flashed back up. With precise movements, he removed his cap and tucked it under his left elbow. “Ma'am, I need to ask you a few questions."

  Of course, just when she thought she was back in control, the reigning Mr. Firefighter USA wanted a tête-à-tête. She glanced at her backyard—trampled blackened grass, damp patio furniture, charred fence. The acrid smell of smoke and burnt vegetation still cloaked the yard. Not the most appealing surroundings, but she hesitated about inviting a stranger into her house. Acknowledging her wary attitude came from years of living in big cities, she gestured a hand toward the back door. A man in his position must have gone through rigorous background screening. “Sure, come on in."

  "I'm right behind you, ma'am."

  On the top step, she halted and glanced over her shoulder. Just in time to catch him checking out her ass. A shiver of awareness ran through her, and she paused until his gaze lifted to hers.

  His features stiffened, but his gaze remained steady. He gave nothing else away.

  Damn, damn, damn! The man would be trouble, she just knew it. “Nobody entering my house calls me ma'am. My name's Rikka."

  Surely, she could trust someone who'd taken an oath to serve and protect. Oh, wait, that was the police officer motto. The memory of patrolman Jason London and how they'd served each other in the backseat of his police cruiser flashed through her mind. She shook her head. No more. She'd vowed not to make a similar snap decision.

  His chin lowered in an acknowledging nod. “Mine's Conor."

  Nice name, dynamite-looking man. With a sigh, she climbed the remaining steps and jerked open the screen door. Once inside, she crossed to the refrigerator and grabbed out a glass pitcher. “I'm having a glass of iced tea. Would you like one?"

  "Thanks, Ms ... I mean, Rikka."

  He waited at the side of the kitchen table until she served the drinks and sat before meeting her gaze again. “I've returned to Arroyo after a spell living back East. How long have you lived here?"

  Not exactly the question she expected. She sipped her tea, watching the man's open, friendly expression. General conversation she could handle while secretly ogling this stud. “Since last August. I moved here right before school started."

  "Now, today's event is the third fire you've reported during the past eight weeks. In addition, another incident is on record from last fall. When frequent events occur, an investigation is required.” He pulled out a notepad and set it on the table, then clicked a ballpoint pen. “Could you explain today's situation?"

  So much for the social niceties. This guy sounded like he was quoting a regulation book. Rikka inhaled and held her breath. His somber expression told her she couldn't joke her way out of relaying the details she'd prefer to ignore. How was she going to look into those deep blue eyes and talk? Especially when her fingers itched to run through the waves in his black hair. To loosen each and every button of his shirt and discover if his chest was bare or sprinkled with crisp hairs.

  The sound of a deep throat clearing interrupted her delicious fantasy.

  Caught! Her cheeks flamed and she squirmed in her chair, the fantasy causing the release of a few drops of her cream. This fascination was one she enjoyed in private. She couldn't possibly have caused all those incidents on purpose, just to see the guys in action. A faint voice questioned about all the times she'd driven by the station house downtown, even though a more direct route from work to home existed.

  Rather than let him think he'd discovered her secret, her tactic became one of diversion. She had to get her thoughts back on the business at hand. And maybe learn a little something about the yummy man across the table. “You seem young to have achieved your rank. How long have you been a captain?"

  "Around five years.” His head inclined and he stared at the floor. Before meeting her gaze again, he shook his head and swallowed a gulp of tea. “I transferred to this position about three months ago. Back to the topic here, Rikka. Possibly you'd benefit from an inspection of your home to provide safety advice."

  "Hmm, safety advice.” She lifted her glass and sipped the cool liquid. An inspection? As in moving slowly through her house and standing close—this could be good—as he analyzed her belongings. Forget that. She glanced over the rim, taking in the sharp jaw and firm lips that looked like they'd been chiseled from marble. The picture of authority. Her nipples tightened into buds at the sight. Now, if the option existed for him to inspect her personal assets, she might consider agreeing.

  His direct gaze moved from her lips and met her eyes. “Advice on how to prevent accidents."

  The heat was back in his stare. Or maybe spending time with him was the perfect opportunity to prove to herself that she could be in close proximity with a stud like this and not attack him. That could be worthwhile.

  "And are you volunteering to conduct the inspection?” After she spoke, she bit the inside of her cheek. Deliberately provoking the man might not be the smartest move, but she was revved and looking for release.

  "I do possess the qualifications.” He shrugged and grinned, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And we'd both benefit."

  His obvious qualifications met with her
approval. Desire hummed under her skin and she gasped. What had he just said? They'd both benefit? Could he possibly mean...

  "The way I see the situation...” He rested an arm on the table and leaned forward, left eyebrow cocked.

  His words flowed from his lips like cold molasses, sweet and thick. Lordy, this man's eyes are so blue. She shifted in her seat, accidentally brushing her breasts on the edge of the table. A quick inhale through her nose was the only response she could manage.

  "I'd be saving the department from future callouts.” He raised his glass to take a drink.

  Rikka felt like she'd been slapped. She was feeling ga-ga for this guy, and he's worried about his department budget. With a jerk, she stood, grabbing her glass as she moved. Her sandal twisted, causing her foot to tangle with the chair leg, and she windmilled her arms to regain her balance.

  The tea and ice cubes flew through the air and drenched the front of Malloy's shirt.

  She gasped and clamped a hand on the edge of the table. “I'm so sorry."

  "Shit!” He jumped to his feet, both hands swiping at the liquid. His movements only plastered the shirt tighter against his almost-perfect torso.

  Rikka stilled, her throat suddenly dry as a Texas twister. Need pulsed through her body. Dry or wet, she wanted Captain Conor Malloy. Wanted him bad.

  "The tea's gonna stain.” His features tightened into a scowl.

  "Not if we soak it right away.” A risqué thought popped into her head and she went with it. “Quick, take off your shirt.” And let me enjoy the view.

  His narrowed gaze met hers and he hesitated.

  Uh-oh. Had she been a tad too obvious? Her stomach fluttered with anticipation, and she wrapped her arms around her middle to keep from taking control and undressing him herself.

  Holding her gaze captive with his piercing one, he yanked the tails free from his trousers and loosened enough buttons to peel the shirt over his head. Once the shirt was off, he squared his shoulders and then extended his arm towards her.