Make It Hot

As he took her in, he realized his chocolate beauty was probably thanking heaven her beautiful, delicious dark skin wouldn’t show any signs of blushing.

She looked really cute when she was contrite, and he found himself enjoying her uneasy stance.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually give my opinion in this manner with clients. You can of course feel any way you wish. I just wanted to highlight that you really have a lot to be thankful for…” Her voice trailed off.

“Oh, your point is very much noted, Ms. Dash.”

He watched her back straighten and her hand absently twirl her hair. She sucked her bottom lip in and nibbled on it for a moment, and in that moment he wished he were her teeth.

He wanted to nibble and suck on those lips in the worst way.

Clarity struck. In that very moment, he realized no matter what he was going to have to kiss Little Miss Spitfire soon.

GWYNETH BOLTON

was born and raised in Paterson, New Jersey. She currently lives in central New York with her husband, Cedric. When she was twelve years old, she became an avid reader of romance by sneaking her mother’s stash of Harlequin and Silhouette novels. In the nineties, she was introduced to African-American and multicultural romance novels, and her life hasn’t been the same since. She has a B.A. and M.A. in English/creative writing and a Ph.D. in English/composition and rhetoric. She teaches classes on writing and women’s studies at the college level. She has won several awards for her romance novels, including four Emma Awards and a Romance in Color Reviewers’ Choice Award for New Author of the Year. When she is not teaching or working on her own romance novels, she is curled up with a cup of herbal tea, a warm quilt and a good book. She can be reached via e-mail at gwynethbolton@prodigy.net, and readers can visit her Web site at www.gwynethbolton.com.

Make it Hot

Gwyneth Bolton

Dear Reader,

Thanks for taking the time to read Joel and Samantha’s story. Every now and then a couple comes to my imagination and they are so perfect for each other they almost lull me into believing that telling their story will be a snap. Joel and Samantha were two peas in a pod, but writing their story was not easy.

These two characters proved to me without a doubt that even when the loving is easy, staying together and building something worth having is difficult—but worthwhile—work. What would you do if loving someone meant you might lose your job? What would you do if the career that you’d had for a long time, that made up such a large part of your identity, was no longer an option for you? Would you be able to open yourself to love no matter how vulnerable it made you feel? Joel and Samantha took a chance and opened up their hearts and souls to love. I hope their story inspires you to take a chance, too.

Be sure to pick up my December 2008 release, The Law of Desire, for the next installment in the HIGHTOWER HONORS series: four brothers on a mission to protect, serve and love…

Gwyneth Bolton

First I want to thank God for the many blessings in my life, especially the blessing to share my stories. I’d like to thank my family: my mother, Donna, my sisters Jennifer, Cassandra, Michelle and Tashina, my nieces Ashlee and Zaria and my husband Cedric. And I’d like to thank all the readers who have taken the time to write me and let me know what they thought of my novels. Your words have meant more than you could ever know.

To my readers, thank you for reading the words I write and inspiring me to write the best books I possibly can.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Prologue

“He’s gotta be okay, man. This is Joel we’re talking about!” A raspy voice choked out the words as two emergency medical technicians wheeled a stretcher past Samantha Dash, almost knocking her out of the way.

“Excuse us, miss. We need to get through here.” The taller of the two technicians pulling up the rear was at least courteous as he brushed past her.

Samantha nodded and stepped out of the way as two firefighters dressed in full gear with faces full of soot and grime followed the EMTs. The patient was clearly one of their own.

The firefighters were led back out to the waiting room by the head nurse. Instead of heading back to the clinic next door where she worked, Samantha decided to stick around for a minute.

She had been in the emergency room, showing a patient with a broken leg how to use crutches. Normally, she never paid any attention to the hustle and bustle of the E.R. when she was called in from the clinic to do crutch care. Most physical therapists found it to be the most tedious part of the job, but they knew the small service meant a lot to patients getting used to walking with crutches. Somebody had to show them how to use the things; plus, this time she’d picked the shortest straw so out of the few physical therapists, it was her turn.

“What happened?” Samantha asked the head nurse. Nurse Madison was all of five feet tall but ran the E.R. like a drill sergeant. She also knew more about what was going on in the hospital than anyone on staff.

“I just had to show those two where they could wait. Things are going to get crazy hectic around here in a minute. That big warehouse fire downtown got out of control, and at least one firefighter was badly injured. Before you know it, this place is going to be swarming with firemen, media folk…and if this guy is who I heard them say he was, we’ve got a whole heap of Hightowers on the way.” Nurse Madison placed her pointer finger on her chin before turning to another nurse who happened to be walking by. “Is that Joel Hightower back there? One of Sophie’s nephews?”

The red-haired and freckled nurse stopped and nodded. “Yep, and you know ‘Ms. Retired’ will be here trying to tell us all what to do in a bit.”

“Mmm, hmm. That’s what I thought. Lord Jesus, I don’t need this. I ain’t able to deal with that woman today.” Nurse Madison spun and took off down the hall, full of sprite for an older woman. She turned and waved. “Gotta go, sweetie.”

Samantha didn’t have any more appointments at the clinic, so she followed Nurse Madison and watched as the doctors ran to and fro working on the firefighter.

“He’ll be lucky to walk again. Both legs are broken—the tibia and fibula on the right and the tibia on the left, and the injuries to the back and spine are extensive.” Dr. Lardner, a blond, old world, Viking-looking man, noted with a frown.

“The cervical, thoracic and lumbar regions of the spine are severely damaged. We have to operate if he is going to have a shot at walking again, much less fight fires,” Dr. Samuels, an older fair-skinned African-American concluded.

Samantha winced as she listened to the doctors. As a physical therapist, she knew enough about back injuries to know it didn’t look good for the man. And back surgery had the fifty-fifty chance of making things better or worse.

“A damn shame, too. He’s so young…” Nurse Madison tsked as they rushed the patient out of the E.R.

“Let’s roll, people. Let’s get him prepped and ready for the O.R.…” The bass in the doctor’s voice more than hinted at the urgency.

The doctors and nurses rolled the patient away, and Samantha walked back toward the waiting room. More firefighters had shown up, just like Nurse Madison had predicted. They were all pacing the room as they waited to hear about their colleague.

Several more people came bursting through the automatic door and into the waiting room. They all had on formal wear and went right toward the firemen. The men were in tuxedos, and some of the younger women were dressed in matching red satin gowns. The family looked as if they had been at a wedding or something.

Nurse Madison walked out and spoke to them. Many of the women buried their heads in the men’s chests and cried. The men had stunned expressions, and they looked as if they wanted to sob. Watching them hold each other and support one another, Samantha found it hard to leave and return to the clinic. She couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the firefighter they were all pulling for. The energy in the room felt electric, and the family was doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing at a time like this. They were there for each other to lean on. She knew firsthand that didn’t always happen.

A searing pain laced up Joel Hightower’s spine and cut clear through to his soul. He could hear faint crying in the background.

Is that my mother? What is she doing crying?

He tried to open his mouth, but even the slightest movement caused the pain to slice him even more.

What in the hell happened to me?

He could vaguely remember fire. There had been flames all around him, and heat…Such intense heat…He remembered falling. The floor must have given way.

Oh, God.

Now, the pain in his spine took on new meaning, and he almost cried out.

What if the pain signaled something larger?

What if he could never walk again?

Never put out another fire?

They might as well kill me now.

He heard it again. Delicate sniffles and a soft voice. He was sure it was his mother. He felt her hand on him, and he heard more crying, familiar voices.

Men. His brothers. His father.

Joel Hightower tried to open his eyes, but the drowsiness overcame him like a dark cloak numbing his senses and dulling his brain. Tired and overwhelmed, he could no longer fight.

Samantha flipped through the channels, stopping at the news coverage of the warehouse fire. The images were horrific. Thankfully there hadn’t been any fatalities. Yet.

“Tragedy has befallen one of North Jersey’s most beloved families of public servants, the Hightowers. This family, with its legacy of firefighters and police officers, is waiting to see if one of their own will walk again after a horrendous accident. Thirty-five-year-old Joel Hightower, a Paterson, New Jersey, fireman, was gravely injured fighting a fire in an abandoned warehouse in downtown Paterson today. The well-liked young man joined the fire department right out of college and has been a fireman for thirteen years. Hightower fell nine stories down through a burning floor, and doctors are speculating on whether this young hero will walk again.”

The young newswoman’s upbeat tone seemed to be in direct contrast to the news she reported. As she spoke, a picture of Joel flashed on the screen.

He was casually dressed in the picture. He had big brown eyes with a slightly mischievous gleam. Remembering his supportive, large family and looking at his frozen smile now, Samantha felt as if she could glimpse a piece of his soul. She gazed at his deep chocolate pools. She bet his somewhat devilish smile constantly kept folks guessing. She couldn’t tell for sure if he was a serious guy or a practical joker, but she would have put money on practical joker.

His strong jawline and features were softened by the hint of playfulness that seemed to exude from him. Then, all too soon, the picture she’d been studying moved from the screen, and the perky blond newswoman was back.

Nothing like being jerked right back to reality.

“Like many members of the Hightower family, including the chief of the Paterson police department, Kendall Hightower, Joel is very active in the community, coaching Little League and being a member of the Big Brother program.”

The screen showed footage of what appeared to be a Little League baseball team winning a game. Seeing Joel jumping up and down in a celebratory manner with the little boys made her heart swell. The young boys looked almost as happy as Joel did. Exuberant was not too strong a word to encompass the person who seemed to leap from the screen. The community couldn’t afford to lose a man who did so much good with the youth.

She really hoped he pulled through.

The news program switched to footage of him and a bunch of men playing basketball. Samantha moved a little closer to the screen and saw the team in red—his team—wore shirts that read “Hightower Firemen.” The other team had on shirts that read “Hightower Cops.” The firemen had apparently won the game because Joel was jumping up and down and laughing.

She smiled at the sound of his hearty laughter.

“Our street reporter, Kasey West, was able to talk with some of his coworkers and the doctors treating him at St Joseph’s Medical Center.”

Samantha watched man after man become choked up as they tried to talk about their colleague and friend. She knew he had to be a really great guy to inspire that kind of raw emotion in those big, strapping firemen. They all had positive things to say about him. Phrases like all-around good guy, brave beyond compare, loads of fun, and involved citizen, were expressed more than a few times. She was glad the reporter had enough decency not to bother the family members.

Turning off the television, she went to sleep with Joel Hightower firmly on her mind. His smiling face and laughter filled her dreams.

The next morning, she picked up her paper only to find him on the front page. He was wearing his formal fireman uniform. Judging by the glowing story written about him, he appeared to be the picture of bravery. She had to make herself put the newspaper down and finish her coffee so she could make it to work on time.

What is the deal with me? I can’t believe I’m thinking about him this much….

She had to stop in the hospital on a consult for another patient, and she went by the firefighter’s room just to make sure he was doing all right. While she certainly couldn’t take anything away from him or men like him, she felt bad for the women they left behind. Women like her mother. Women like the injured fireman’s poor mother who sat there crying her eyes out and begging God to make her son well, to let her son live and be able to walk again.

Samantha had seen enough of that growing up, and she couldn’t see herself being with a man in a dangerous job and ending up in the same predicament. Once was enough.

She was about to walk back out of the room when the older woman looked up. The medium-built woman was dressed in a stylish eggplant colored pantsuit with a string of pearls and matching earrings. Her salt-and-pepper hair was up in a bun and her smooth brown complexion was flawless. Minus the gray hair, she hardly seemed old enough to have an adult child.

“Are you another one of the doctors?” The woman wiped the tears from her eyes but more replaced them.

“No, ma’am. I’m a physical therapist. I saw his story on the news and just wanted to stop by and share some positive energy and thoughts.” Samantha smiled and started to leave the room again. She felt awkward being there, since she didn’t even know the man.

“He has to pull through. I can’t lose my child.” His mother buried her head in her arms and started sobbing.

Samantha walked over to the woman and placed her arms around her.

“He’ll make it.” As she said the words of comfort, she realized how true she wanted them to be. It would be a shame for this woman to lose her son, for the world to lose such a brave man.

“Out of all my boys, he was always the prankster, guaranteed to go out of his way to bring a smile to my face.” She lifted her head, and it seemed as if she was trying to smile as she remembered her son’s antics; but the smile was shaky at best.

“If he weren’t the one laid up there like that, he’d be in here with me now saying or doing something to try and stop me from crying.”

So, I was right about him.

Samantha prided herself on being a good judge of people, and it pleased her to know that she had read Joel Hightower’s kind, handsome face correctly. He was a joker. He would probably make her laugh all the time.

She shook her head.

Where in the hell did that thought come from?

Samantha gazed at the sleeping man, but looking at his striking brown face, which seemed somewhere between restful and tense, she could tell the first operation must have been excruciating. She had overheard the doctors saying they needed to do at least one more operation on his spine.

“He’ll be fine, and he’ll make you laugh again, Mrs. Hightower.” Samantha offered the only words of encouragement she could. She knew the man had a long road to travel toward recovery, but looking at him, she also knew he’d make it.

She prayed he would.

She and Mrs. Hightower sat in silence. The only sound heard was Joel’s mother’s soft sobs. The only thing Samantha could think was she never wanted to be the woman crying because she’d been foolish enough to fall for a man who had a dangerous job.

She would never make that mistake.

“So what exactly are you saying to me, Doc? Make it plain.”

Joel listened to everything the man was saying, and he didn’t like any of it. After two painful surgeries and spending more time than he could have ever wanted laid up in a hospital bed in traction, he had very little patience for medical jargon and even less patience for hypothetical ponderings.

He wanted to know one thing and one thing only: Would he be able to fight fires again?

The distinguished surgeon, Dr. Lardner, gave an uncharacteristically sheepish grin that seemed to acknowledge he’d been guilty of not being as clear or as forthcoming as he could have been. His thin lips pursed in consideration, and his thick blond eyebrows closed in at the middle of his forehead. He ran his hand through perfectly coiffed blond hair, then stared at Joel with steel-blue eyes.

“Your surgeries were very successful, and the extent of the damage to your spine was not as extensive as we had originally thought. We honestly didn’t think you would walk again. We thought you would have been at the very least partially paralyzed—at the worst, fully paralyzed—but you’re not.” Dr. Lardner stopped and gave Joel a pointed look before continuing.

“You will be able to walk once your legs and spine heal, but you will need intense physical therapy to strengthen the spine and to help get you to the point where you are walking with the same proficiency you were before the accident. Is that plain enough for you?”

Joel bit back the sarcastic quip he was thinking as the doctor threw his own words back at him. He wasn’t used to feeling so on edge and vulnerable. However, not being able to get around and move the way he wanted to was taking its toll, and the thought that he might not be able to do the one thing he had wanted to do ever since he was a little boy—fight fires—had him feeling more like a tiger in a cage than a guy in traction.

“Yeah, I get it, Doc. I’m lucky I’ll be able to walk again, but will I be able to fight fires again?” Joel gritted his teeth to hold back the rest of what he wanted to say. No need pissing off the skillful surgeon whose hands made walking again a reality.

“That I can’t tell you, Joel.” Dr. Lardner gave a slight shrug. “Once you’re out of here and have started and completed your physical therapy, we’ll have a better sense of that. But for now, let’s dwell on getting you healed up so that you can go out there and handle the rest. Okay?”

Joel nodded. He would go back to his profession because any alternative to that was not an option. Fighting fires were not only his legacy, but also his entire reason for being.

Going one-on-one, head-to-head against one of nature’s most destructive elements was the biggest rush he’d ever felt. He fought fires because he loved helping people. He fought fires because he was a part of an elite group of men who lived to do what no one else would: run into the blaze not away from it. He didn’t have the kind of personality that would allow him to just sit behind a desk day after day. He needed to be out and in the thick of things.

Taming a fire before it spread and took lives or wrestling a life out of the fire’s hands by carrying a child or adult to safety from a burning building made him feel as if he could really do anything he wanted. To say his profession was intimately connected to his sense of manhood would have been an enormous understatement, and that was why he had to be able to fight fires again. That was why he would be able to fight them again. He couldn’t let anyone or anything stand in his way.

Chapter 1

Six months later

Joel Hightower entered the physical-therapy stage of his rehabilitation feeling less like his normal upbeat self.

Okay, make that nothing like his normal self.

After the two operations on his back, he had spent the bulk of the past five months in traction, and once the casts had come off, he’d had to get used to walking around with a cane for a little while, walking around feeling like half the man he used to be.

As far as he was concerned, he was allowed to be in a bad mood. His entire life had been snatched from under him, and he had to literally learn how to walk on his own two feet again.

The inside of the clinic looked as drab as the adjacent hospital had. Sure, the walls of the waiting room were a bright shade of Pepto pink, but everything else screamed stale and antiseptic. He really hoped the rest of the clinic wasn’t the same color scheme. He couldn’t take three months of constant puke pink.

He had to get his body back functioning properly so he could get a clean bill of health to return to his job. That was the most important thing. Getting back to work. Putting out fires. Until then, he felt as if he was on hold.

Too bad his physical therapist was keeping him waiting, too. He stood, freed himself from his brother Lawrence’s helpful grasp and steadied himself on his cane as he walked over to the receptionist’s desk for the second time in twenty minutes.

The short, perky woman had her shoulder-length hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore very little makeup on her almond-colored face. He glanced at the nameplate on her desk. Jenny Saunders.

“Ms. Saunders, I—” he started, only to be cut off with a honey-sweet smile.

“She’s running a little behind. This isn’t normally the case. She’ll be right with you. Again, I apologize for the delay. We had a therapist call in sick today, and Samantha had to take on some of his patients.”

The woman gave him another pleasant grin and a stare that seemed to suggest he go and sit down somewhere. He could tell Jenny Saunders was getting a little tired of him.

So what? He was tired of waiting.

His therapist’s first-impression points were going down—way down.

“Why don’t you just chill, man? Have a seat. Relax.” His brother Lawrence was only a couple of years older than him. The way the narcotics detective was always telling Joel what to do, one would think Lawrence had him by decades.

Although all the Hightower men shared the same mahogany complexions, dashing good looks and athletic builds, he and Lawrence had often been mistaken for twins when they were growing up. He used to hate that.

He decided to ignore Lawrence for the moment.

“It’s not like you walking up there every five minutes is going to make your therapist come any faster,” Lawrence offered.