Pin-Up Fireman

Book Three in the Wild Heat Series

VONNIE DAVIS

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015

Copyright © Vonnie Davis 2015

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available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © July 2015 ISBN: 9780007594535

Version 2015-07-08

I have a Street Team that helps with my promotion. I call them "Vonnie's Vixens." Each one is supportive, a total joy and priceless. I love them all.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Also by Vonnie Davis …

Vonnie Davis

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

“I want him.”

A pink fingernail pointed at Boyd Calloway, and he stopped mid-stride. He scowled at the tall, curvaceous brunette at the front of the meeting room, her sapphire blue eyes focused on him.

“Oh, yeah. I really want him.”

An unexpected and unwelcomed zing of sexual awareness fried a few of his brain cells, the timing of which did not make him happy.

Late for the mandatory meeting the station captain called first thing this morning, Boyd had tried to sneak in without being noticed. The strange woman certainly shot his efforts all to hell with her sexy remarks.

Dammit, his tardiness couldn’t be helped. He’d been on the phone with his aunt Jinny, who took care of his son while Boyd worked. Matt was headed for another asthma attack; the familiar signs were there.

Boyd grabbed the last empty chair and rubbed fingers across his forehead where a headache brewed. Hopefully, Aunt Jinny could get Matt a pediatrician’s appointment today or tomorrow, which would mean another day of missed school. This wasn’t the best way to start first grade.

The very last thing Boyd wanted to go through right now was some kind of fluff meeting. No matter how attractive the person holding the gathering was—and she was a stunning beauty.

Pink stilettos clicked a staccato beat on the tile floor of Fire and Marine Rescue Unit Thirty-two as the woman with the silky voice and slim pink skirt strutted to the table where she tapped a notepad with a pen, making a few notations. She swiveled and pointed at Boyd with her pen. “I’ll want him twice.”

“Hey, Tiny hit the jackpot!” Wolf slouched farther in his chair, hands clasped at his crotch, and grinned like a fool, which seemed his normal state these days. He’d just found out last week his wife Becca was pregnant. They’d evidently been trying for over two years. Dan Wolford, known as Wolf at the station, was over-the-moon happy.

“Tiny, which part of you is she gonna work on first? ’Cause she can have all of this anytime she wants.” Darryl Weir, their newest man, chimed in, moving the edges of his open hands down his torso. “Believe me, I’m the best here in the station,” he declared, making inappropriate kissing noises.

Still trying to find his place within the top-notch crew, the young fellow was too mouthy for Boyd’s liking. Darryl hadn’t been baptized with a nickname yet and since the kid had Boyd’s hackles up, he figured he’d do the honors.

“Well, now, Kissy Boy, whatever part she wants.”

The rest of the team hooted and hollered the new fireman’s nickname before Captain Steele barked a stern command to “mind their manners and shut the hell up.”

She aimed her cornflower blue eyes at Boyd. “So, your co-workers call you Tiny? Why? Because you’re so tall and muscular? What are you, six-seven?”

“Close enough. Six-eight. The muscles come from working out stress on the weight machines. That, and the demands of the job.” He thought of asking her how tall she was, but that would only stir the guys up more. Even without those killer heels, she was about six feet. Dark brunette hair to the middle of her back. All-in-all, a cute package, but then, he’d once thought that of Chantel, and look where that had gotten him.

The attractive stranger sashayed closer, the smell of expensive perfume aroused his senses. A powerful jolt of sexual need Boyd hadn’t felt in over a year traveled down his spine and singed all his ignored parts. “And what kind of stress could a good looking man like you have?” She extended her hand. “I’m Graci-Ella, by the way. I’m a photographer and I’d really, really like to use you twice.”

This time the raucous remarks from the squad were aimed at him. Bastards that they were, they knew of his monk-like existence.

“Twice for what?” Heat flamed up his neck and made a U-turn to prickle the other parts of his body he ignored except in the shower.

“The cover and a monthly picture in the calendar I’m doing on the heroic firefighters of this station. All proceeds will go to the local food bank here in Clearwater, Florida. The firm I work for does a few charitable acts per year. A fourteen month calendar that goes on the market on or before October first will help give some needy food to those who could really use it over the holidays.”

Boyd crossed his arms. “I’ll write a check for the food bank, but no way in hell are you getting me in any beefcake calendar.” Hell, that’s all his ex-wife and her expensive lawyer would need to prove he wasn’t a positive influence for Matt. His forty-eight hour shifts on and off, at the station, was one strike against him. He didn’t need anymore.

“How many of you firefighters—men and women—are seriously interested in posing for this calendar? They would make some wild Christmas gifts.” Most everyone raised his or her hand as Graci-Ella took a count and wrote the number on her notepad.

Ivy Jo leaned forward in her chair. “How revealing are you getting in these pictures?”

“No nudity from the waist down. For the women firefighters, tank tops or sports bras. Their choice.”

Ivy Jo and Emily glanced at each other, nodded their approval and raised their hands.

Graci-Ella wrote something on the paper and looked at her watch. “Cripes. I have a meeting in half an hour so I need to head off. Captain, may I meet with your team a few more times after they’ve had a chance to think about it? And talk to their significant others, of course. I’ll bring by some calendars tonight I’ve done for various groups as fund raisers. Give them a chance to look over my work.”

“Sure, as long as we’re here and not out on some kind of emergency. Call first to save yourself a trip. Tiny, give her your cell number.” The corners of the chief’s mouth quirked—matchmaking bastard.

She sat next to Boyd and swiveled in her chair so her knees touched his thigh. Between her perfume and those long legs so close he could touch them, he was six heat beats away from doing something stupid. Just how would it feel to trail a finger up her firm thigh? The desire was so strong, he could sense beads of sweet popping out on his forehead.

Her blue eyes focused on his as she held her cell. “Your number, please? I really would like to talk to you some more about being in the calendar. Maybe tonight we can have a few moments of privacy?”

“Why me? Look around, there are plenty of muscular men in this unit. A little powder and lip gloss and whoever you pick will grab anyone’s attention.”

She smiled and looked away as if she didn’t want him to see it. So, her reply surprised him. “You have a sense of humor, kind of sharp-witted. I like that.” She rested her soft hand on his. “Please, give me a chance.”

Oh, he’d like to give her more than a chance, but this custody business had put a hold on his sex life. Boyd couldn’t allow any rumors to detract from the judge’s opinion of his ability to take better care of Matt than Chantel.

Two hours, four cups of coffee later and Graci-Ella was wired. She’d worked for Baker, Brannock, and Hughes law firm for two years, putting in extra hours just to keep her head above the heavy load. Too bad no one seemed to notice. Of course, how could anyone even see her behind the stacks of files on her desk? The new cases seemed to multiply at a faster rate than those she had ready for their court dates.

Her square office, with a small window, was claustrophobic. What she needed to do this weekend was rearrange the mismatched furniture, find a better way to store her files and add some plants. She glanced at the metal strips holding up the ceiling tile. If she got the right kind of hooks, she could add hanging plants without using any of her small floor space. How could her clients have any faith in her when they walked into this pitiful looking postage stamp?

Then there were her parents, who were chomping at the bit to fly south from Maryland to see her. They’d been aghast at her office on their first visit, but she’d told a small fib that she’d been working out of this tiny space until an office opened up. Her mother nearly turned herself inside out with outrage—her daughter deserved better. Yeah, well, the newest lawyer got the leftovers.

She glanced around her space. It was wall to wall, mismatched odds and ends. If her parents came down again, they’d insist on coming by to see her office. How could she face them with any pride when they saw she was still in the same spot, with zero career progression? Her dad would storm to one of the bosses’ office and demand to know why. For a classic car mechanic, her dad had a lot of nerve.

Co-worker Elizabeth Stone popped her head in Graci-Ella’s open door. “Hey, are you playing in the basketball game at the Y tomorrow? Lots of cute guys usually show. Of course you’ll have to let them make a basket now and then, so you don’t wound their male egos.”

“Ugh! I get so tired of the fragile male ego.” Graci-Ella forked her fingers through her long hair and chuckled. “No, I have a breakfast meeting with a client and then I’m thinking of coming in here to better organize this miniscule office the firm so kindly gave me. I feel like I’m working out of an old closet. Gives me the willies sometimes.”

Elizabeth looked around. “Come to think of it, paper, ink cartridges and toner used to be stored in here.” Both women laughed. “I need a favor. A huge favor.” Elizabeth extended three files.

“Beware of lawyers bearing files. What are they?” Why was she even asking? Obviously it was more work for her. Her gaze shifted to her two “in” piles and sighed.

“Cases I’m representing that I can’t handle right now. Baker assigned me the Middleton case this morning and it’s the most important one I’ve ever had. I need to do a top notch job in negotiating a huge payout. It could mean a big jump forward in my career.”

Ignoring the pang of jealousy, Graci-Ella congratulated her friend on the coup. “Look, hon, anytime one of the senior partners hands you something this important, it’s a colossal compliment. Take it and run with it. So, you want me to take over some of your cases?” Maybe she’d get some recognition for this extra effort.

Elizabeth leaned against the doorjamb. “Yes, Patrick’s taking over four. I gave three to Joe, but I figured you were the only one strong enough to handle these.” She shook the thick folders at her.

“Beware of sneaky lawyers bearing cases and compliments.” Graci-Ella laughed and extended her hand. Elizabeth had been the first lawyer to make her feel welcome at the firm. How could Graci-Ella forget her co-worker’s kindness by refusing to help her?

“Warning,” Elizabeth said before passing her the files. The one client is a whiny bitch. Name’s Chantel Calloway—a custody hearing. Woman needs a reality check and a bottle of Ritalin. I declare, she’ll be bitching one minute about how her ex ignored her and turned cold. Then suddenly ask you if you like the color of her fingernail polish. Don’t let her air-headed façade fool you, though. She’ll be bossing you around in no time. The woman’s obviously used to getting her way.

Graci-Ella leafed through them. “The custody case shouldn’t be so bad.” She smiled at Elizabeth. “Don’t worry. I don’t take shit from anyone. When’s the court date?” She found the page she was looking for. “November third. Looks like you’ve gotten most of the work done. Background check on the ex-husband completed?”

“Yeah, he seems clean to me. Still, I can understand a mother wanting custody of her kid. The second case is what should be a simple land dispute. We’ve got two senior citizens who want to argue over a foot of property, fifty feet long. Martha O’Shaye, the party we represent, and Nancy Beech, can’t be in the same room without World War Three breaking out. Martha claims the foot of land is hers and she wants to widen her driveway by twelve inches. Nancy wants to plant flower beds in that strip. I call it the case of the divas.” Linda shook her head. “One old woman claims the other’s dog craps on her yard in revenge, as if the damn dog would know the difference.”

Graci-Ella glared at the lawyer whose short, blonde hair was frizzier than usual. The humidity must be high today. “Oh, you’re going to owe me big time for this one. A whinny bitch and elderly divas?”

“Hold on. It gets better. The third is a DUI and disorderly, second offense.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for these cases?” Graci-Ella fought back a grin and lost. “Don’t expect me to buy you any coffee today…or tomorrow.” She glanced at the third file. What’s the deal with this one?”

Elizabeth folded her arms. “Paul Steinway is a horny bastard who chases any woman who breathes. The man even had the gall to proposition me. I fried his ears, but good. He has an alcohol problem and can’t say a sentence without two cuss words in it. Has temper issues—big time. Drove his truck into a convenience store when he found out they no longer handled his favorite brand of snuff.” She tipped her head toward the folder. “Thus the offense. A real class act. And he expects us to perform miracles so he doesn’t lose his job.” She glanced at her cell. “Look, gotta go. If you need me, I’ll be in the legal library. Thanks a lot.” She whizzed out of the doorway and, like last month’s paycheck, was gone.

Graci-Ella attached a court date label onto the edge of each file and placed them in chronological order to the stacks of files she needed to work on. She swiveled her chair to her computer and continued typing on the brief for a car theft ring she represented. Why did she always get the guilty jerks? She’d much rather represent some good people and see justice shine on their side.

To please her parents, Graci-Ella entered the legal profession, just as Eli had planned, when she’d sooner have gone into photography. All the years of law school, internship and cramming for the bar exams just to satisfy her folks, while they enjoyed their dreams of her future—especially after they’d lost Eli. Thank God her parents didn’t know she often had to represent the armpit of society.

Anytime she called home, the first words out of her dad’s mouth were, “Did you make junior partner yet?” From his jovial tone, she figured he was kidding—at least she hoped. He didn’t seem to understand she had several years of hard work ahead of her before she made that feat, no matter how many times she explained it to him. “Had you stayed here in Maryland, you’d have a junior partnership already.”

Of course when she was courted by the senior partners to join the firm, no one told her she’d get the worst cases until she proved herself. And just how was she to do that from a former closet? Her mother’s words came back to disturb her. “Bloom wherever you’re planted. Just make sure the soil is rich.” Graci-Ella growled deep in her throat. Achieve, triumph, surpass, I’ve had those words shoved down my throat since Eli was broadsided by another car. I am his substitute, which I understand because I miss him as much as my parents do.

Eli was the oldest and the brightest. He was also her hero. Without a word of complaint, he put up with her following him around, even to the community basketball courts. He taught her all he knew. So did his buddies. She held the old photo of the two of them under the basket over their garage door. Eli held the basketball in one hand and his other arm around her shoulders. His smile illuminated the picture while she stared up at him—her best bud.

Too bad she couldn’t have played basketball forever. The wooden court was where she felt at home throughout her high school and college years—running, dribbling, shoving, shooting. That was her first love. She glanced around her storage room turned legal office. This was her current cramped reality.

She groaned as she wrote her brief; wondered how her acquittal rate would be if she delivered her opening and closing arguments while dribbling a basketball. Her weird sense of humor fanaticized a hoop over the judge’s head and Graci-Ella shooting a three-pointer whenever the judge disagreed with something she said. Her laughter bubbled forth as she imagined beaning the opposing counsel on his ass whenever he made her client look bad.

By far, the basketball court outshone the legal court. At least for her, which was a sad admission when she’d worked so hard to pass the bar and get in with a firm. Maybe she needed to open her own office. Or perhaps she needed to make photography more of a vocation than a hobby. Especially if she could meet men like Tiny. Sweet chocolate cheesecake, but he was delicious looking. She’d like to bite his bicep and then kiss him all over just to make up for it.

Even so, the keep-your-distance vibe he emanated like a lighthouse beacon practically shouted he wasn’t interested in her, or any female. Just her luck. She’d like to go a little one on one with him and not just on the basketball court, either. Something about him stirred her hormones, which was quite peculiar for her—the focused, determined lawyer with goals a mile long.

CHAPTER TWO

After lunch, Graci-Ella hurried to the law library for a book on quasi-torts and opened the glass door to find the lawyer at the top of the firm’s food chain. After a polite exchange of greetings, she took a deep breath and asked if she could spend some money to make her ex-storage room, now office more workable. To her relief, he gave her permission and also told her to have the building manager show her the office furniture the firm no longer used. Maybe she could find some things there, especially since some of the junior partners had just ordered new office cabinets and desks.

Mental fist pump. Score!

So, when she normally took her afternoon break, she knocked on the building manager’s door. With her room’s layout sketched on paper, she’d asked him if he had anything that matched and was usable. “Oh, and comfortable would be nice too.”

He scratched his head for a minute. “Didn’t this used to be the old supply room before they made a bigger one?”

“You got it, Jo-Jo. In there sits a huge metal desk—brown. Two metal file cabinets—gray. One metal folding client chair—red. A black office chair that leans and has upended with me in it—five times.”

“How long you been here? A couple years?” He shook his tanned bald head, trimmed with a fringe of white hair. “Ain’t that a damn shame. Bet you’re still getting the shit cases no one else wants. And I lay you dollars to donuts, you’re putting in more hours than anyone else, trying to prove yourself.” He ambled away from her and motioned over his shoulder. “Follow me. Ol’ Jo-Jo gonna treat you right.” He glanced at the paper again. “These measurements correct?”

“Yes, sir.” She glanced around and saw two dark-green leather, club chairs that matched. She rubbed her hands over the soft leather. “Oh, wish I had room for these. I love the color.”

Jo-Jo shoved a matching wheeled office chair her way. “Try that on for size. I can adjust the height for you, lumbar support too.” He pulled out a unit with two horizontal filing drawers and book shelves on top of those. A corner unit was next, along with a desk. He measured the corner unit and desk together and looked at his paper. He found two other matching units. One had filing drawers, but was deeper. A skinnier one had shelves with lockable sliding doors. “Which one do you want?” He pointed to the thinner one. This will give you eight more inches of room.”

“I’ll take it. One question. The aluminum strips that hold the ceiling tiles, are they strong enough to hang a plant?”

“If the pot’s plastic and you don’t drench the plant with water, yes. No more than two, though.”

She opened her arms. “So, I can have all this? And it’ll still leave me room to move around in my tiny office?” After Jo-Jo showed her how to place everything on her drawing, she hugged him and squealed with joy. She didn’t think she’d stopped smiling the rest of the afternoon.