She’s playing with fire!

Reporter Avery Kincaid always gets what she wants. After an inferno tears through the Huron National Forest and nearly kills a group of campers, Avery’s instincts kick in. There’s definitely more to this story. She’ll need to use every ounce of sex appeal she has to get the scoop from a certain scorching-hot elite firefighter...

Only, Hotshot Dawson Hess wants nothing to do with the press. Especially when they get too close to the flames...or the truth. He’s guarded and closemouthed—except when he’s using that sexy mouth to drive Avery wild. What she doesn’t know is that Dawson needs something from her...and if she can’t take the heat, she’d better stay out of this Hotshot’s bed!

“I won’t leave you here alone...”

Avery snorted. “I’m perfectly safe.”

Not from him. Dawson had spent the day cursing himself for not giving in to his desires. He wouldn’t deny the chemistry between them any longer, no matter how hot it burned.

Now he had to give her a reason to want him to stay—to want him...

He reached out and wrapped his hand around the oar she’d used to defend herself from an imagined intruder. Then he pulled it and her back toward him, as if he was reeling her in.

Her beautiful turquoise eyes widened. Maybe she felt it—the hardness of his body, the tension coiling inside him.

He should walk away now...run, even...from this siren who just wanted a story. But it was too late.

“Dawson...?”

“You’re not safe,” he said. “You’re not safe at all...”

He lowered his mouth to hers, sweeping his tongue over her lower lip as the fire consumed him.

Dear Reader,

Hot Attraction is the second book in my Hotshot Heroes series for Mills & Boon Blaze. In the first book, Red Hot, insurance agent Fiona O’Brien took a risk and fell in love with Hotshot firefighter Wyatt Andrews. But she nearly lost him when he risked his life rescuing campers trapped in a wildfire. Fiona learned to trust Wyatt and their love to survive. The Hotshots learned the fire was deliberately set, and they have an arsonist on the loose.

In Hot Attraction, the Hotshots are still dealing with the arsonist’s fires and trying to discover who he is without alerting the media. Big-city reporter and hometown girl Avery Kincaid knows there’s more to the fire than the US Forest Service has admitted. For one, she knows Wyatt Andrews wasn’t the only firefighter who rescued the campers—her nephews were two of the lost Boy Scouts. But the man they credit for saving them is Dawson Hess. She wants Hotshot Hess to get the credit he deserves. She also senses there’s more to the fire. Dawson has an aversion to reporters but can’t deny his attraction to beautiful Avery. He has his hands full trying to keep the town, Avery and his heart safe.

Happy reading!

Lisa Childs

Hot Attraction
Lisa Childs

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Ever since LISA CHILDS read her first romance novel (a Mills & Boon story, of course) at age eleven, all she ever wanted was to be a romance writer. With over forty novels published with Mills & Boon, Lisa is living her dream. She is an award-winning, bestselling romance author. Lisa loves to hear from readers, who can contact her on Facebook, through her website, lisachilds.com, or her snail-mail address, PO Box 139, Marne, MI 49435.

With great appreciation for all the heroic Hotshots and firefighters who risk their lives to protect us!

Thank you for your hard work and sacrifice!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

Extract

Copyright

1

“NO!” THE SHARP denial hung in the air even after the door slammed, leaving Avery Kincaid standing in the foyer, her mouth open with shock.

Laughter rang out behind her. “First time a guy ever turned you down for a kiss?”

“Two guys,” Avery pointed out to her amused sister. “They both told me no.” She watched through the window as her nephews ran down the driveway to jump through the side door of the van that had pulled up. They had wriggled away from her before she could give them good-bye kisses.

“Well, they’re twelve,” Kim said, her deadpan delivery cracking Avery up. “Not that that ever prevented you from getting kisses before.”

“When I was twelve, too,” Avery said. “Maybe eleven.” She turned back to her sister.

Kim looked older than five years her senior now—older than thirty-two. She had lines around her mouth and eyes, a tension in her that Avery had never seen before. She kept glancing out the window even though the van—with the boys inside it—was gone. They’d just gotten a ride with a friend’s mom to soccer practice.

“Are you okay?” Avery asked. “They’re only going to be gone a little while.” She wasn’t certain exactly how long soccer practice lasted. She usually wasn’t around to catch their games much less their practices.

Kim’s eyes, the same turquoise blue of Avery’s, filled with tears. “I didn’t think they’d make it to become teenagers.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t think I would ever see them again—hold them again...”

Avery closed her arms around her sister and held her trembling body. “It’s okay. They’re fine.”

Avery trembled a little, too, as she remembered her sister’s desperate call two months ago. She’d been getting ready to board a plane in Chicago and head home to Northern Lakes, Michigan. Then she’d been just a reporter preparing to cover the story of a wildfire consuming acres of national forest. After Kim’s call, she’d been an aunt desperate for news about her nephews lost in the middle of that national forest. They and their Boy Scout troop had been camping in the forest when the wildfire struck with no warning and not enough time for them to escape.

“It’s just so hard,” Kim said. “So hard to let them leave again...”

It probably wouldn’t matter how many weeks passed. A mother would never forget how close she had come to losing her children.

Avery squeezed her sister a little more tightly before releasing her. “They’re fine.”

Thanks to the special team of firefighters who’d rescued them from the blaze. She walked over to the coffee table where the boys had left their photo of the Huron Hotshots. Hotshots were a special team of the US Forest Service fire department—the firefighters who battled blazes on the front line.

Avery had included that in the short special feature she’d done about the fire. To write the copy for the feature, she’d researched Hotshots. But she hadn’t learned enough. Her story had been about Hotshots in general, not the specific men who’d battled the Huron National Forest blaze—not the Huron Hotshots. Because they had refused all interviews...

There was more to the story—about the firefighters and about the fire. The tight nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that; she had that feeling to thank for her career—for moving her from a small-town television station to larger networks, first out of Detroit and now Chicago. While the Chicago station was a national network, Avery wasn’t on very much. She had to fight for airtime. And she suspected this story would make that fight much easier.

She wanted to dig deeper, cover the Huron Hotshots in more detail. Most importantly she wanted to find out what had really caused the Huron National Forest fire...

And maybe she could start by getting closer to one particular Hotshot. Maybe then he would grant her an interview.

She picked up the photo of the twenty team members. It was a press release photo—the only thing the US Forest Service had released to the media. The Hotshots hadn’t released any information about the fire or the rescue. Of course they had been busy battling some more blazes. Fortunately those bigger fires had been in other areas. Northern Lakes hadn’t recovered yet from the fire that had nearly taken the lives of so many children. And every once in a while another hot spot flared back up...

She shuddered as the nightmare returned to her, the knowledge of what could have happened had it not been for these men. She could have lost her nephews and even the town and everyone in it. Maybe that was why she kept coming back every few weeks—if only to stay a day or two—since the fire. Because nearly losing it had reminded her of how much she missed home.

But that was only part of the reason she’d taken a week off from the television station in Chicago. It wasn’t to vacation, as she’d told her boss, but to cover what her instincts told her would be the most important story of her career.

The story was there—in that photo. In the one soot-streaked face that had caught her attention even before the boys had pointed him out. The grime did nothing to disguise his chiseled features—the square jaw with the slight dimple in the chin, the high cheekbones, the line of his supple lips...

She would like to kiss those lips.

The other guys were all grinning. But he looked serious—focused—his eyes the only lightness in his face. Were they blue? Gray? Silver?

She couldn’t tell—no matter how closely she studied his picture.

“I should bring something by the station again,” Kim murmured as she peered over Avery’s shoulder at the photo.

“What?”

“I know it’s not enough,” Kim said. “That there’s really no way to thank them for saving my kids. But I’ve been taking cookies and brownies to them when the Huron Hotshots are here in Northern Lakes.”

Avery smiled. Kim was so like their mother, who’d headed up every church and school bake sale in Northern Lakes. Their parents had moved downstate when Dad traded his high school teaching job for a college position. Apparently Kim had taken over for Mom. “You’re thanking them with baked goods?”

“You have a better idea?”

Avery stared at that face—and the heavily muscled body that went with it. His arms bulged, his chest pushed against the thin material of his damp soot-stained yellow T-shirt. He was in the front row, so he was hunched down, his thighs straining against the pants that matched his T-shirt. Oh, she had some ideas how she’d like to thank him...

Kim had known her too long and too well. She smacked Avery’s shoulder. “Hey! You shouldn’t be thinking like that.”

“I’m not married,” Avery said. “I can think like that all I want.”

Kim sighed. She’d been married since she was twenty—when she’d gotten pregnant during her sophomore year of college. Rick had dropped out and started driving a truck to support his new family. He was gone a lot. Fortunately Kim still missed him when he was away.

Avery had never missed any of her past boyfriends much after they’d broken up. But then she’d always been so focused on her career—and chasing down the next big story—that she hadn’t had any serious relationships. She couldn’t imagine being as settled as Kim was, in the same small town where they’d grown up. Or at least Kim had been settled before she’d nearly lost her children.

Her sister giggled. “They might appreciate your thank-you more than my cookies...”

Avery narrowed her eyes and studied the photo. “I don’t want to thank all of them, just the one who really rescued them.”

Dawson...

He’d only told the boys his first name. Kim had shared that they sometimes whimpered it in their sleep, when they had nightmares about the fire.

“The Hotshots worked together to rescue them,” Kim said. “They’re a team.”

The media hadn’t focused on the team, though. They had focused on Wyatt Andrews. He was the Hotshot who’d disobeyed their superintendent’s order to leave the fire. Wyatt Andrews had found the campers first, but he wouldn’t have been able to save them on his own.

It was Dawson the boys had pointed out who had brought enough extra shelters for all the campers. It was this man who’d enclosed the boys in one of those special shelters with him. Dawson was the one who’d calmed their fears when they’d been terrified that the fire was going to consume them.

He deserved more than cookies in appreciation for risking his life to save theirs. He deserved credit for being a hero. And, if he was single, maybe a kiss as thank-you, too.

* * *

“THANKS,” DAWSON HESS said as Wyatt Andrews set a pitcher of beer on the table in front of him, Cody Mallehan and Braden Zimmer. They had commandeered their usual back booth in the Filling Station, the bar around the corner from the firehouse in Northern Lakes. It was the home base for the four of them—when they weren’t out fighting wildfires in other states with the rest of their twenty-member team.

Wyatt flipped him off.

“Hey, you know the rule,” Dawson reminded his teammate. Whatever member of the team got interviewed or singled out in a press photo had to buy for the rest of them.

Wyatt slid into the booth next to him. “Is that why you dodge the press?”

Dawson had his reasons, and they had nothing to do with buying rounds of beer. But he pushed the past aside and just laughed.

“He doesn’t have to dodge them,” Cody said. “You’re so busy hogging the limelight nobody’s interested in the rest of us schmucks.”

“Jealous,” Wyatt teased. He and the younger firefighter had a friendly rivalry. It used to be over women—until Wyatt had fallen in love with a little redheaded insurance agent. Now it was over the job.

“It’s bullshit,” Cody said. But amusement instead of jealousy flashed through the blond firefighter’s green eyes. He enjoyed needling Wyatt. “You and those kids would have roasted in that fire if Dawson and I hadn’t come back and saved your asses.”

Wyatt shrugged. “Hey, I offered to set the record straight but the boss told me to refuse all interviews.”

Which Dawson suspected his teammate had gladly done. Like Dawson, Wyatt had probably had enough of reporters when he’d been a kid, too. The media preyed on tragedy. Now that they were adults, and had a job to do, reporters were a different kind of nuisance, putting themselves in danger to get the best shot. Dawson had had to rescue too many from nearly getting burned alive.

Cody turned toward their boss—Superintendent Braden Zimmer.

Braden pushed his hand through, or rather over, his brush-cut-short brown hair. “We want this story to die down,” he reminded them. “And you all know why.”

Wyatt cursed, and pitching his voice low, murmured, “The arsonist...”

So many of these fire bugs started blazes for the attention. They needed to starve him of attention, just like the Hotshots starved the fire of fuel when they cut down trees and tore out vegetation for the breaks. They had been successful in putting out the fires, but they hadn’t caught the arsonist yet. And Dawson was pretty sure the guy hadn’t stopped setting fires.

He didn’t have the notorious instincts of their superintendent, who had predicted the big fire that had nearly destroyed their town. But he was smart enough to figure out that those hot spots weren’t starting back up on their own. The ground had been too scorched and their breaks too thorough for that to be the case.

“It’s not working.” Cody confirmed what they’d all been thinking.

Braden shook his head. “We don’t have confirmation that the others fires were deliberately set.”

The superintendent wasn’t talking about the hot spots, but the other serious blazes they and other Hotshot teams had had to battle. Maybe they hadn’t been deliberately set.

Lightning could have struck a tree. Or a campfire hadn’t been completely extinguished...

The Hotshots only knew for certain that the Northern Lakes fire had been intentional. That was where accelerant had been found at the origin—gasoline poured over dried vegetation, maybe hay bales. There hadn’t been much left—just enough to prove that the fire had been no act of nature.

Anger filled Dawson at the thought of someone deliberately setting that fire and endangering all those innocent people. Those kids...

He remembered how scared they’d been. Hell, how scared he’d been.

He knew—too well—those shelters weren’t always enough protection.

A low whistle drew him from his maudlin thoughts. Cody had tuned out of their conversation, his focus on a woman who’d walked into the bar. She was all long legs and tanned skin and pale blond hair. She was gorgeous and vaguely familiar.

Every man in the place was checking her out. And she seemed to return their interest. Her gaze traveled from one man to the next and the next. She was looking, but she wasn’t finding what or who she was looking for...until those greenish-blue eyes focused on him.

Her gaze holding his, she walked toward their booth. Those long legs closed the distance quickly, her heels clicking against the wood floor, through the peanuts strewn across it. She didn’t belong in a place like the Filling Station—not with her snug blue dress and high heels. She looked as if she belonged on television—which made him abruptly realize why she seemed familiar.

Even worse was the way she was looking at him—as if he was familiar. Then she stopped at their booth and addressed him directly. “Dawson Hess.”

It wasn’t a question. She knew who he was.

Dawson felt as if he was facing the fire all over again. And this time he wasn’t sure he’d survive...

2

AVERY WAS USED to everyone looking at her when she returned home. Reporting the big news in the big city—despite her limited airtime—had made her big news in the small town where she’d grown up. She was also used to men looking at her—usually with admiration. Not the hostility with which the men in the back booth were regarding her.

Apparently they knew who she was. But she extended her hand anyway—toward Dawson Hess—and said, “I’m Avery—”

“I know who you are,” he interrupted, his voice gruff with irritation. “How do you know who I am?”

“You’re a Huron Hotshot.” She glanced at the other men. They were no more welcoming than Dawson Hess. “You all are.”

“How did you know where to find us?” Superintendent Zimmer asked. His voice was even colder than Dawson’s.

“The curly-haired kid who was washing trucks at the station told me you had all come here,” she said. He’d also told her Dawson’s last name.

“Damn kid,” the superintendent murmured.

“I’ll talk to Stanley,” the blond firefighter said. He slid from the booth, and as he did, his glance traveled from the top of Avery’s head to her toes peeping out of her high heels.

She’d purposely dressed up for her trip into the village of Northern Lakes. But she hadn’t dressed up for him. The man she’d dressed up for had barely glanced at her.

The blond guy shook his head and murmured, “What a shame...a damn shame...”

The superintendent slid out behind the blond firefighter. “As every other reporter has been told, Ms. Kincaid, the US Forest Service is not granting interviews at this time.”

“Why not?” she asked. “This is a great time to bring more attention to the heroic work you and your team do.” And especially to the heroic work that Dawson Hess had done. He had saved her nephews. And he deserved some of the accolades Wyatt Andrews had monopolized.

“I’m not giving any interviews,” Wyatt said. The dark-haired man sat at the end of the booth between her and Dawson Hess. But, until he’d spoken, she hadn’t really noticed him.

“I don’t think she’s interested in talking to you,” the blond firefighter remarked with a deep chuckle.

“None of us are giving interviews,” the superintendent told her. “We don’t need attention. We just need to do our jobs.”

She tilted her head and remarked, “I don’t hear any sirens. There isn’t a fire right now. I wouldn’t be keeping you from your work.”

But she wasn’t keeping them at all. Wyatt Andrews stood up with the other two men, and the three of them walked out together—leaving Dawson Hess alone in the booth. Before he could slide out, too, she perched on the seat next to him. Not that she would be able to physically hold him in the booth if he wanted to leave. His shoulders were so broad that her arm inadvertently bumped his when she sat down. He was so muscular—big arms, big chest—that he could easily move her out of his way if he wanted.

“Please, give me just a few minutes of your time,” she implored him. “I’m sure I’m not keeping you from anything.”

Or anyone? She glanced down at his left hand. He wore no ring, but that didn’t mean anything. She knew a lot of men—in professions less physical than his—who chose not to wear their wedding bands.

“Just because we’re not at a fire doesn’t mean we’re not at work,” he told her.

She glanced at the pitcher of beer in the middle of the table and arched a brow. “Hard at work apparently...”

Those light eyes turned out to be a pale brown—like gold or amber—until they momentarily darkened.

So much for sweet-talking him into granting her an interview or a kiss.

“We’re not on duty right now,” he admitted. “But we were discussing work.”

They had looked intense when she’d walked up.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said. “I was just teasing.”

He shrugged, and his arm rubbed against hers. “You didn’t offend me.”

Heat rushed through her—starting at the contact with his body. Her dress had long sleeves, but they were thin and silky, so she could easily feel him through the light material. His arm was bare, the muscle taut as if he were tense.

All of the men had looked tense. Before the blond guy had noticed her, she’d noticed them—had seen their heads bent together in what had appeared to be an intense exchange. Over a pitcher of beer?

Why had they looked so serious? So preoccupied?

As Dawson had said, just because they weren’t at a fire didn’t mean they hadn’t been working.

Her instincts were as trustworthy as they always were. There was more going on with the Huron Hotshots than a regular wildfire season.

And she intended to find out exactly what.

* * *

SHE HADN’T OFFENDED HIM, but Avery Kincaid had damn sure affected him—so much so that he hadn’t been able to move as fast as his friends. He wasn’t going to hear the end of that back the firehouse. They would tease him mercilessly.

And with good reason.

He wasn’t like Wyatt and Cody. He didn’t chase after every female who had a pretty face and a great pair of legs. Even Braden had let a woman mess with his head and his heart. Dawson had always been smarter than that—until Avery Kincaid had stared at him with those gorgeous eyes of hers.

Her beauty wasn’t what worried him the most, though. She was smart and ambitious, or she wouldn’t be working for a national network at her young age. Everyone in Northern Lakes bragged about the hometown girl who was making it in the big city.

“If I didn’t offend you,” she asked, “what is bothering you?”

She turned toward him now, so that her breast rubbed against his arm. And her knee pushed against the side of his thigh. Every muscle tightened in his body.

“I said you hadn’t offended me,” he replied, “I didn’t say that you weren’t bothering me.” She was bothering the hell out of him right now. She was so damn hot that he felt as if his skin was sizzling despite the fabric between them.

Her mouth—wide and sexy, with full, shiny lips—curved into a smile. She leaned a little closer—maybe because it was loud in the bar, maybe just to tease him. In a husky, seductive whisper, she asked, “How am I bothering you?”

By breathing...

Every breath she drew pushed her breast against his arm. It was full and soft and warm. He struggled to hold his gaze up, to stop it from slipping down to her chest. But focusing on her face was just as dangerous. She was movie-star beautiful. Her golden skin highlighted her unusual turquoise eyes even more, making them shine brighter.

He’d seen eyes like that before—actually, two sets of eyes that had looked exactly like hers. So maybe they weren’t that unusual. Hell, hers could have been colored contacts, but he was close enough—staring intently enough into them—that he would have noticed the telltale rims of the lenses.

She was really that naturally beautiful. His uneasiness grew, and he drew in a deep breath. Big mistake. She smelled of sunshine and wildflowers. Was it her or some expensive perfume made to smell like nature?

She leaned even closer, but thankfully she was much smaller than he was, so her lips were nowhere near his mouth. Just his throat...

He swallowed hard when her warm breath slid over his neck, as she asked again, “How am I bothering you?”

He eased back as far as he could in the booth. And reminding himself, he said, “You’re a reporter.”

The media had made the biggest tragedy of his childhood—hell, his life—even worse. They had exploited his mother’s pain and his.

She laughed. “You make it sound like I’m a serial killer.” But he hadn’t offended her; amusement sparkled in her eyes.

“You might be as dangerous.”

“Why?” she asked. “I only report the news.”

He snorted. “Or you make news out of nothing.”

“Nothing? That fire wasn’t nothing,” she said.

“No,” he agreed. “But it was several weeks ago. It’s time to let it die now.” Like the fire had died—except for the hot spots that sprang up every once in a while. That was why, except for the occasional trip out West to relieve crews there, his team was sticking close to Northern Lakes—to protect the town.

“There’s more to the story,” she said.

He wasn’t supposed to comment. But he hadn’t been told not to question. And since he wanted to know what she knew—or suspected—he asked, “What?”

“You.”

And he laughed, even as nerves clutched his stomach.

“I know,” she said. “I know that Wyatt Andrews wasn’t the real hero that day—you were.”

He tensed. He hated that word—hated even more how easily it was used to describe someone who was just doing his job. He shook his head.

“I know,” she said. “I have sources.

He laughed again. “Your sources are wrong.”

“My sources were there,” she said. “In a shelter that you brought when you and another firefighter found the campers and Wyatt Andrews. My sources were with you—in one of those shelters.”

“Kade and Ian,” he said. That was where he’d seen her eye color before—when those terrified twins had stared up at him as they’d asked him if they were going to die. No, he’d told them, and had hoped like hell he wasn’t lying. “Your younger brothers?”

“Nephews,” she said, and pride and affection warmed those beautiful eyes. “They are alive today because of you.”

“Wyatt—”

“Wyatt Andrews didn’t have enough shelters for all of the campers. If you hadn’t brought the extra ones...” She shuddered.

He lifted his arm to the back of the booth, tempted to slide it around her—to offer her comfort. But the boys were fine. He hadn’t had to lie to them.

“Everybody survived,” he said.

“Because of you!”

He shook his head. “Because of the team.”

“But you deserve to be personally acknowledged like Wyatt Andrews was,” she insisted. “Let me do a special feature—about you.”

At the thought of all those reporters focused on him, shoving mics in his face, asking him questions, he shuddered. He’d endured too much of that as a kid. “Hell, no!”

She flinched, making him regret the harshness of his refusal.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be hounded by the media again—couldn’t have his life laid bare for all the world to see. Because they wouldn’t be happy reporting just the current event. They would drag up his past and his pain...

“Why not?” she asked.

He forced a grin and told her, “There’s nothing special about me. I’m just a man doing my job.”

“A dangerous, heroic job,” she said.

He shrugged. “It’s not the only dangerous profession. You have plenty of other subjects for your special features.”

“But I want you.” She reached out and brushed her fingertips over his chest.

Beneath her touch, his heart slammed against his ribs; it began to pound fast and hard. If only...

But she was playing him, just working him over so he’d agree to her interview. He shook his head.

“Let me do the feature on you,” she said, “as a thank-you for saving my nephews.”

He chuckled. “That’s the last way I’d want to be thanked.”

Her eyes narrowed for a moment, and she studied his face as if trying to figure out why he wanted no publicity. Then her eyes brightened as they sparkled again with amusement. “Well, I did have another idea of how to thank you...”

He knew he was going to hate himself for asking, but he couldn’t resist. “How’s that?”

She pitched her voice to that low, husky whisper again and leaned closer—so close that her lips nearly brushed his throat. “With a kiss.”

He couldn’t resist her, either. His heart hammering now in his chest, he closed his arms around her and drew her even closer.

3

AVERY’S PULSE QUICKENED, and her breath caught in her lungs as Dawson’s arms tightened around her. He was going to kiss her.

But he lifted her, instead, right out of the booth. He moved with her and set her on her feet. Her legs trembled beneath her. Maybe it was just that her heel was on a peanut—maybe that was the reason. It couldn’t be because she’d wanted him to kiss her, that just anticipating his kiss had weakened her knees.

No man had ever weakened Avery’s knees before. Not even while kissing her. She had never felt an attraction like this. His photo had intrigued and interested her. But in person...

He was even more handsome. More muscular. More serious and tense...

She clutched at his arms before he could release her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Wrong?” He shook his head. “You’re unbelievable. I’ve heard about you—the whole town talks about you.”

She was aware of that. Kim told her stories—with pride and admiration. There was no admiration in Dawson’s deep voice—only disgust.

“I knew you were ambitious,” he said.

She supposed she’d made no secret of how badly she had wanted to leave Northern Lakes, where nothing ever happened—until the fire.

He continued, “But I had no idea the lengths you’d go to for a story.”

She blinked and released his arms. She had apparently already given him the wrong idea, the wrong opinion of her. “Now you have offended me,” she admitted. “I wasn’t trying to seduce you into agreeing to that special feature.”

His amber eyes were narrowed though, as if he didn’t believe her. Or trust her.

“It was just a thank-you kiss...”

A muscle twitched along his tightly clenched jaw. That square, sexy jaw with a shadow of stubble on it. Although she was grateful that he’d rescued her nephews, she hadn’t wanted to kiss him only out of gratitude. She’d wanted to kiss him because she was attracted to him.

He was so tall, so broad, so muscular. In heels she wasn’t used to having look up so far into a man’s face. He had to be well over six feet.

She uttered a regretful sigh. “Second time I got rejected today...”

He laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?” she asked. “You turned me down.”

“I turned down the interview,” he said. “Not you...”

Then his arms slid around her again, and he pulled her up against his hard body. His chest crushed her breasts as he leaned down, and his mouth covered hers.

She was supposed to kiss him. That was the thank-you she’d intended to give him. But he was kissing her, his lips gliding over hers. At first it was just a brush of his mouth, a tantalizing taste of passion.

She gasped as sensations raced through her, the attraction between them intensifying. Her pulse quickened and her skin tingled. He was touching her, too, one hand moving up her back to tangle in her hair. He held her head while he deepened the kiss. He parted her lips and slid his tongue inside her mouth, over hers.

She moaned as desire coursed through her. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened, pushing against the thin material of her bra and dress. They rubbed against his chest, and she moaned again, wanting more than a kiss.

He tensed and his head jerked back. His amber eyes had gone dark, his pupils dilated. His skin was slightly flushed. He shook his head and glanced around them.

And her face flushed—with desire and embarrassment. How had she forgotten where they were? That they were in a public place?

Because of his kiss...

She hadn’t remembered lifting her arms, but they were linked around his broad shoulders. Her fingers had slipped into the short hair at his nape. It was silky against her skin.

Maybe he would be the one—the man she would finally miss when they broke up. Not that they ever had a chance of being together. They didn’t live in the same city. And it was clear that Dawson had no use for reporters.

She didn’t need a man in her life, though. She needed to focus on her career—on breaking the story that would guarantee her airtime. Even though her body ached for his, she didn’t need Dawson Hess.

He released her and stepped back so that her arms dropped from his shoulders. Then he stepped around her, leaving her standing—legs shaking—next to that booth. Just before he walked away, he leaned down and murmured, “You’re welcome.”

* * *

“SO DID YOU get rid of her?” Wyatt asked when Dawson walked into the firehouse.

He was lucky his legs could carry him; they weren’t quite steady yet—not after that kiss. The passion that had burned between them was so hot he’d nearly gotten scorched.

He glared at Wyatt. The guy wasn’t alone. Cody leaned against the truck next to him. It was a bright yellow fire engine—more likely to catch the attention of other drivers than red. That was why they wore yellow, too—to be more visible in the smoke and flames.

“What?” Wyatt asked. “We didn’t intentionally ditch you with the reporter.”

Cody gave him a pitying glance. “We thought you could move faster than that. You must be getting old.”

At thirty-one, he was older than Cody. Probably just three or four years, but in Hotshot experience it was nearly a lifetime. For some, it was—a few years as a Hotshot was all it had taken to end their lives.

He feigned resentment and murmured, “I thought we never left a man behind...”

“That’s the Marines,” Wyatt said.

“It’s why we went back and saved your sorry ass,” Cody teased Wyatt. “You know old Hess here. He was physically unable to not rescue you and those kids.”

Dawson glared at him. They all teased him about having a white knight complex. Sure, he’d saved a reporter or two in the past when they’d gotten too close to the fire. He’d even recently saved a girl from a bar fight. But it wasn’t a complex; it was just part of his job.

Cody ignored his glare and grinned. “The reporter must have figured out that you and I were the real heroes.”

Wyatt nudged Cody’s shoulder with his. “It wasn’t you she was staring at.”

“At least for once it wasn’t you,” Cody said with a chuckle.

“It shouldn’t have been me, either,” Dawson said. And he glanced around the garage area of the firehouse, looking for the kid who’d told her where to find them. Where to find him...

Dawson was the one she’d been looking for, and he doubted it was for a thank-you kiss. She wanted to interview him, wanted to do a story on him. But he doubted the story would be just about his helping to rescue the campers from the fire. It would dredge up his past, too. And dredging up his past might risk his present and his future. He could wind up losing his job with the Hotshots.

So there was no way in hell a kiss could coerce him to grant an interview. Even a kiss like that... He groaned at the thought of how silky her lips had felt beneath his, how sweet her mouth had tasted. He shouldn’t have kissed her at all, because now he wanted to do it again.

“Hey, she didn’t get to you, did she?” Wyatt asked.

Someone snorted, drawing Dawson’s attention to the rear of the truck. Braden Zimmer leaned against it. “If anyone can handle the press, it’s Hess.”

Dawson grimaced. His boss clearly didn’t know him very well. “I don’t want anything to do with the press.”

“That’s why I wasn’t worried about leaving you behind with her.”

Had the superintendent not seen her? Of course, the guy was still hung up on his ex-wife. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how stunning Avery Kincaid was.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dawson grumbled.

“I knew she wouldn’t be able to get you to talk,” the superintendent said.

She hadn’t gotten him to talk, but she’d gotten him to kiss her. Why the hell had he done that?

It wasn’t as if he’d believed her sad little sigh and claim of having been rejected already. What idiot would reject a kiss from a woman like her? Not him.

But maybe he’d been a bigger idiot to kiss her—to risk her getting under his skin...

Cody laughed. “Hell, we can barely get him to talk.”

Wyatt nodded in agreement. “It’s like pulling teeth.”

Dawson held back a chuckle and glared at them both. “Who can get a word in edgewise with you two smart-asses?”

Cody laughed harder.

“You are better at getting other people to talk than talking yourself,” Zimmer said.

“See? It’s your fault we talk so much,” Cody said.

Dawson snorted.

“Did you get the reporter to talk?”

He’d gotten her to stop talking—when he’d covered her mouth with his, when he’d driven his tongue between her lips and deepened that kiss.

“Was I supposed to?” he asked his boss.

Zimmer nodded. “I wonder what she’s doing back in Northern Lakes. Other reporters have given up. Why hasn’t she?”

“She’s a hometown girl,” Dawson said. “And two of the Boy Scouts were her nephews.”

Zimmer grinned. “You did get her to talk.”

He shrugged. “She talks all the time—like all reporters. They love to hear themselves talk—just like Wyatt and Cody here.”

Wyatt flipped him off.

“Get her to talk some more,” Zimmer suggested. “Find out if she suspects there’s more to the Northern Lakes fire.”

She did. Him. But he wasn’t about to admit that to these guys. He’d never hear the end of it. And it wasn’t as if he was going to allow her to do a special feature on him anyway.

Dawson narrowed his eyes and studied his boss’s face. “I thought the idea was to not draw attention to that fire—to the arsonist.”

“We don’t want to,” Zimmer said. “And we haven’t. Maybe that’s compelled the arsonist to act.”

“We haven’t proved yet that he set the other fires,” Wyatt said.

But maybe the other fires that had flared up in Northern Lakes hadn’t been hot spots. Maybe failing to burn down the town the first time made the arsonist want to keep trying.

“He might act in other ways,” Zimmer said. “He could have contacted a reporter to claim credit for the fire.”

Dawson’s stomach muscles tightened. “You think the arsonist could have reached out to Avery Kincaid?”

“She’d be the most likely choice,” Zimmer said. “Like you said, she’s a hometown girl who made it big. Her nephews were even in the fire. She has a personal connection to it.”

And that was probably her only reason for pursuing a story that other reporters had let die. She was still upset about what had nearly happened to her nephews. Unless she had been contacted...

He recognized that tightness in his gut as fear. But it wasn’t fear for himself. It was fear for her. If the arsonist had contacted her, she could be in danger. While the guy probably wanted attention, there was no way he’d want to get caught. If she dug too deep and discovered more than she should...

“And if he has,” Zimmer continued, “maybe he’s given her a clue to his real identity.”

“But she would have run the story then,” Dawson said. “It would be a very special feature for her.” Much more special than anything about him. But it would also put her life at risk.

“She didn’t get to where she is in her career without checking sources,” Zimmer said. “She would want to confirm that the fire had been ruled arson before she’d believe some guy claiming responsibility for it.”

She would. She might be ambitious, but she wouldn’t have been hired by a national network if she wasn’t good. Had she been fishing for information? If he’d agreed to an interview, was that where it would have led?

Cody uttered a sigh of feigned resignation. “I volunteer,” he said. “I know it’s a tough assignment. But I’ll sacrifice myself to find out what the hot lady reporter knows.”

Wyatt snorted. “I know your fragile ego can’t handle it, but she’s clearly not interested in you.”

“She’s not interested in you, either,” Cody told him.

“Good thing,” Dawson murmured.

They looked at him with shock—as if they thought he was jealous or something. That was so not him. He dated, but he’d never had any serious relationships. His job would always come first, and most women weren’t willing to take second place. Most women weren’t willing to get involved with a man with such a dangerous career.

Wyatt was lucky his insurance agent girlfriend had disregarded the risk of falling for a Hotshot. And even though a Hotshot from another team had recently died in the wildfires out West, she hadn’t broken up with him. She loved him enough to accept what he did and the risk involved.

“Because Fiona would kick her ass,” Dawson explained. Wyatt’s hot little redhead had a temper to match her hair.

Wyatt chuckled but didn’t deny it. He had fallen hard for Fiona O’Brien. Dawson wondered at his bravery after they’d all seen how their boss’s marriage had crashed and burned. Braden’s cheating ex was so cruel she’d even invited him to her wedding.

That was one cold woman. Fiona was nothing like her. Was Avery Kincaid? Would she be as callous with someone’s heart?

He suspected she might—that what mattered most to her was her career. That was probably the only thing he and Avery had in common. But his job helped people. Hers could harm them. And herself. Her career mattered so much that she would probably willingly put herself in danger with the arsonist.

“I’ll find out what the reporter knows,” Dawson begrudgingly volunteered. It wasn’t as if he needed to worry about his heart with her. He would never fall for a reporter.

Cody shook his head. “I’m not sure you’re up to this assignment.”

“I think he’s up for it.” Wyatt pointed toward Dawson’s mouth. “That’s not his shade of lipstick.”

“You kissed her?” Cody asked, his green eyes wide with shock. Then he chuckled. “Maybe you’re not as slow as I thought you were...”

Ever the boss, Zimmer jerked his head and sent both men off toward the weight room. They had a workout scheduled and had to keep in top shape for their job. It was one way of staying alive. Another way was not taking unnecessary chances.

Anticipating Zimmer’s pep talk, Dawson assured his boss and himself, “I can handle this.”

But even as he said it, he couldn’t help but think that he was taking an unnecessary chance.

4

“YOU’RE WELCOME...” AVERY murmured as she walked back into her sister’s kitchen. Her legs had regained their strength; maybe she’d just imagined going weak-kneed from that kiss. But she couldn’t deny that her lips were tingling, that her skin was still hot. Even now—hours later.

After the Filling Station, she had stopped back at her house and changed from her heels and dress into tennis shoes and shorts. She’d thought about running but her legs hadn’t totally recovered until she’d walked over to her sister’s.

A few years ago she’d bought a cottage just around the corner from her sister’s ranch house. Kim’s place was perfect for her family, with several acres for the boys to run, a wide front porch and a big country kitchen.

“I didn’t thank you,” Kim said, her brow furrowing in confusion as she looked up from washing dishes in the farmhouse sink. She studied Avery’s face and smiled, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “You look a little flustered.”

Avery opened the refrigerator—not for anything to drink but because she needed a blast of cool air on her face. Not wanting to let her sister know how right she was, though, she pulled out a water bottle, barely resisting the urge to press it against her cheek.

“Did you do it?” Kim asked. “Did you actually give that Hotshot firefighter a thank-you kiss?”

“I didn’t kiss him,” she said, which was technically true since he hadn’t given her the chance. He’d kissed her, instead. And what a kiss...

“Denied again?” Her sister gave her a pitying glance. “You must be losing your touch.”

She was more worried that she’d lost her focus. She’d let Dawson Hess and his wicked kiss distract her. She hadn’t gotten him to agree to the special feature, and she hadn’t gotten any more information out of him about the fire.

Was there anything else to learn, though? Maybe it had just been a random wildfire—but it had started so early in the season...

Too early.

She remembered how the Hotshots had looked when she’d found them in that back booth—their heads bent together, tension on their faces. Something else was going on—something they didn’t want the public to learn.

She hadn’t become a reporter just because she’d wanted to get out of Northern Lakes. She’d become a reporter because she liked digging until she discovered the truth. She believed the public had a right to know. Apparently the Hotshots didn’t care about keeping the public informed.

That irritated Avery nearly as much as Dawson Hess’s little comment after he’d kissed her senseless. You’re welcome...

But he hadn’t given her the chance to thank him. Or to question him...

“I’m not losing my touch,” she replied, but in reference to the story, not the man. Dawson Hess was part of that story, though, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Why didn’t he want to admit it?

She hadn’t met a man yet who didn’t want to brag about his accomplishments. And Dawson had more reason than most to brag. Was it himself he didn’t want the attention drawn to, or the fire?

If someone didn’t want to talk to the press, it was usually because they had something to hide.

What was Dawson Hess hiding?

Kim sighed and murmured. “Uh-oh...”

Avery blinked and focused on her sister again. “What?”

“You have that look...” She shook her head.

“What look?”

“That scary determined look you get when you’re after a story.” Kim shuddered, as if in fear. “I feel sorry for whoever tries to get in your way.”

Dawson Hess was the one who should be afraid. He had gotten in her way—denying her the feature, denying her the truth. The only thing he hadn’t denied her was the kiss. But instead of letting her kiss him, he’d kissed her.

Clearly he was used to being in control. But nobody controlled Avery Kincaid. She would get what she was after—the story.

But was she fooling herself that the story was all she wanted?

* * *

DAWSON HAD SPENT the afternoon hoping for a fire call—nothing catastrophic, just a small campfire, a car fire, a big bonfire...

Anything that would have given him an excuse to put off his new assignment. But no call had come in to the Northern Lakes fire station. And there was nothing big enough happening anywhere else in the country that required the Huron Hotshots. Other crews were on the fires out West. Maybe the Hurons would eventually be needed to relieve teams that had been on the job too long.

But tonight he had no excuse.

So he crossed Rick and Kim Pritchard’s porch to the front door. It stood open, allowing the evening breeze to blow through the screen door. Voices drifted outside through the mesh.

She was here.

Since he usually avoided the news, he hadn’t heard her voice that much until the afternoon at the Filling Station. But it was clear and full and grabbed one’s attention, making him want to listen to her, want to believe her. But Dawson knew better than to trust a reporter. She wasn’t really interested in him—in doing a special feature about him or kissing him. All she wanted was information about the fire.

And he wanted to know why...

Had the arsonist contacted her?

“I met Dawson today,” she said.

At the sound of his name on her lips—the luscious lips he’d so enjoyed kissing—his body tensed.

“Dawson?” a young voice repeated. “The Hotshot who saved us? He’s not busy fighting another fire?”

“He wasn’t today,” she replied.

“Maybe he’ll come by and see us,” the young voice said. “He said he would when he wasn’t busy.”

Guilt flashed through Dawson. He’d made that promise to them, just as he’d promised they would survive the fire. At least he’d kept the most important of his promises...

He had been busy, though—with the fires out West and with trying to determine who’d set the one in Northern Lakes. All of the Huron Hotshots had been on edge, waiting for the arsonist to strike again. They needed to stop him before that happened—before lives were lost.

He lifted his hand and knocked on the frame of the screen door. It rattled in the jamb.

“Someone’s here,” one of the twins said.

“Were you expecting anyone?” Avery asked, and her voice grew louder as she walked across the foyer to the door.

He’d thought she was hot before—in that blue dress. But in shorts and a tank top, the woman was nearly lethal. Her legs were even longer than he’d thought, her breasts even fuller. What would she look like in nothing at all?

His body hardened at the thought of finding out, and he barely managed to suppress a groan. Hotshots were on the front line of the fire, facing it head-on, so he was used to putting himself in danger. But he suspected he’d never been in as much danger as he was now—with Avery Kincaid.

Through the mesh her gaze met his, and her eyes widened in surprise.

“You weren’t expecting me,” he surmised.

She pushed open the screen door and uttered a small sigh—almost as if she were disappointed.

Hadn’t she been as into that kiss as he’d been? Or had those little moans just been an act, a way to seduce him into an interview? Even though he’d suspected as much, she wasn’t the only one who was disappointed now.

“I should have been expecting you,” she said. “Men usually don’t turn down—”

“Your kisses?” he interrupted. “So you were lying about getting turned down already today?”

“No,” she said. “But I wasn’t talking about my kisses—”

“Yuck,” one of the boys said as he joined his aunt at the front door. “Hey, Dawson!”

“Dawson!” the other boy exclaimed as he rushed out from whatever room was off the foyer—probably a living room.

Dawson released the breath he’d been holding over visiting them. He hadn’t known how they’d react—if seeing him again would bring the nightmare back for them. But they seemed genuinely happy to see him.

“Is she trying to kiss you, too?” the first boy asked.

A grin tugged at the corners of Dawson’s mouth. Now he knew who’d rejected her kisses earlier. Of course it hadn’t been a man. No red-blooded adult male would have been able to turn her down; he hadn’t been able to and he usually had enough self-control to resist temptation. He couldn’t believe he was actually attracted to a reporter. But after that kiss, he couldn’t deny the attraction was there—burning hot—making him want to kiss her again.

“Tell your mother Mr. Hess is here,” Avery told the boys.

One of them ran off to do her bidding while the other lingered.

“You, too,” she said.

“It doesn’t take both of us to tell her,” he argued petulantly.

Dawson chuckled and wriggled his eyebrows at the boy. “I think your aunt wants to be alone with me,” he said.

“Ewww,” the kid said. “Don’t let her kiss you!” As he turned to run away, Avery swatted his backside.

Dawson waited until the kid disappeared down the hall before asking, “Should I tell him his warning came too late?”

She glared at him. “You kissed me.”

Yes, he had. And he wanted to kiss her again. Unlike last time, he resisted the temptation. He had to keep a clear head around her, had to focus on finding out what she knew without giving away anything he knew.

“It was your idea,” he reminded her.

“Of a thank-you,” she said. “You must have decided to take me up on my other offer.”

“Offer?” Had she offered more than a kiss? Maybe that was what her moans had implied. That might be more temptation than he could resist.

“Of the special feature,” she clarified. “That’s why you’re here, right. You decided you wanted your fifteen minutes of fame.”

Was that why she had seemed disappointed?

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” he said. “To do a story about me.” He had no intention of letting her do one, but he was curious why she seemed to have changed her mind.

She drew in a quick breath and nodded. “Of course. That’s what I want—to tell the real story of the fire.”

Real story? As usual, Superintendent Zimmer had been right. She definitely knew more than they’d released to the media. How?

Dawson would have to find out—without giving anything away himself. It was a hell of a fine line to walk, but working a fire was like that, getting close enough to set up a break but not so close that the fire consumed you. Maybe that was the key to handling Avery Kincaid. He had to treat her like a fire. Try to contain her without being consumed by whatever was happening between them.

“Wyatt Andrews risked his life to save those campers,” he said. “That’s the real story.”

“So you’re not here because you changed your mind about the special feature?” she asked.

He shook his head.

Her beautiful eyes narrowed. “Then why are you here?”

Remembering what he’d heard through the screen door, he replied, “To see your nephews. I promised I’d come by when I wasn’t busy.”

Her eyes narrowed even more, and she opened her mouth. But she didn’t get a chance to speak before the boys were back with their mother close behind. He should have come by sooner to visit the twins. It was good to see them like this—happy and carefree. Not as they’d been that day when he’d zipped them into the shelter with him. Then they’d been shaking uncontrollably, overwhelmed with fear.

“Mr. Hess,” Kim Pritchard said. “Have you eaten? I’m just putting dinner away but I’d be happy to fix you a plate. There are plenty of leftovers.”

“I ate at the firehouse,” he said. “But thank you.”

“There’s dessert,” one of the boys said. “Peach pie.”

“Peach pie,” Dawson repeated with longing. “My favorite.”

Their mother smiled. “I’ll get you a piece,” she offered.

But he shook his head. “I’d love to, but we try to watch what we eat during the fire season. We have to stay in shape.” Their lives depended on it.

Her face flushed. “Then I should probably stop bringing brownies by the fire station.”

“Don’t do that,” he said. “Your brownies are very much appreciated.” Some of the young guys could and did eat anything. Cody, for one, would kill him if he shut off their baked-goods supply.

Her face flushed a brighter red. “It’s the least I can do to thank you,” she said. “For saving them...” She wrapped an arm around each of her sons, squeezing them tight.

No matter how many weeks had passed, she apparently hadn’t recovered yet from the nightmare of nearly losing her children. Her pain strengthened Dawson’s resolve to find the arsonist—to see him punished for the damage he’d done and to stop him before he caused any more damage.

“Mom,” one of the twins protested as he wriggled away from her. The other one leaned into her, though. He hadn’t necessarily recovered, either.

“Dawson, do you want to see the Boy Scout badge we got for surviving the fire?” Kade asked.

At least he assumed it was Kade. During the fire Kade had tried the hardest to fight his tears. He’d succumbed, but it had bothered him more to not appear tough, as he’d thought he needed to be for his brother. Ian was younger than Kade was—by a mere five minutes.

Before Dawson could reply, hands wrapped tightly around his and he was tugged down a hallway by not just Kade, but Ian, too. They showed him every badge they’d earned in Boy Scouts along with every other memento of their young lives. And they did seem very young—younger than he’d been at twelve. He felt as if they’d brought him to show-and-tell; they showed him everything in their shared bedroom. Apparently their father traveled a lot and brought them back something from every city he visited.

He’d visited a lot of cities.

Dawson had expected Avery to follow them. But when he glanced at the doorway, only their mother stood there. Finally he managed to escape, after promising to take them camping later that week. When he walked back down the hall to the foyer, he discovered Avery was gone.

Kim followed him—probably to show him out. When she caught him looking around the living room, she uttered an almost pitying sigh as she told him, “Avery left.”

“I see that.”

Why? If she really wanted that special feature...

Kim seemed puzzled, as well. She glanced at the front door as if she expected her sister to step back through it.

Why had Avery left so abruptly? She’d said she wanted the real story of the fire. Dawson suspected that was actually why she wanted to interview him. But maybe she had another source. And what better source than the arsonist himself? Braden Zimmer could be right. Again. The man had excellent instincts when it came to his job; too bad he hadn’t had them when it came to his personal life.

Dawson wouldn’t make the mistake his boss had. He wasn’t going to risk his heart on any relationship—especially one with a reporter.

Reporters rarely revealed their sources, but if the sisters were close, Avery might have confided in her. Maybe Kim knew whether or not the arsonist had contacted her.

“Did she have to rush off to meet someone?” he asked.

Kim’s brow furrowed and she asked him, “Who would she be meeting here in Northern Lakes?”

“A man?” Arsonists were usually male.

Kim laughed. “You’re the only man I thought she was interested in meeting.”

“For a story,” he said.

But Kim’s eyes—so much like her sister’s—narrowed speculatively. “I’m not so sure that’s the only reason she’s interested in you...” Then her face flushed a bright red as she realized what she’d revealed.

Dawson laughed. Avery wasn’t really interested in him, only what information she could get from him.

But if she was attracted to him, Dawson wasn’t certain he’d be able to resist her. Because he was so damn attracted to her, too.

5

AVERY WAS USED to people watching her. That was, after all, what a reporter wanted—to be watched. To get the most airtime. To get the best ratings...

But she wasn’t on the air now. She wasn’t even out in public. She was walking the road between her sister’s house and hers, which was rural with just a few houses on her sister’s side. The houses on the other side sat far back—on the beach of one of Northern Lakes’s biggest lakes. Hers was just around the curve in the road, at the end of a long driveway.

Even though the sun set later now that summer had finally arrived, the tall trees blocked its light—making the day seem darker and later than it was. And colder. She shivered. She should have remembered how it got colder at night in Northern Lakes and dressed accordingly—the way Dawson Hess had been dressed. In jeans and a long sleeved black T-shirt. It wasn’t his Hotshot uniform, but he’d still been sexy as hell.

Remembering how he’d looked, how his light amber gaze had traveled the length of her body when she walked to the door, heat flushed her body. She didn’t need warmer clothes, after all—she just needed to think of him.

There was something about him...

Maybe she found him so attractive because he wasn’t trying to get her attention, the way men usually did. If she were to believe him, he hadn’t even stopped by her sister’s house to see her. He’d come over to see the twins.

Was he telling the truth?

Did he have no interest in his fifteen minutes of fame? No interest in her?

She shivered again, but it was because of that eerie feeling she’d had since she’d left her sister’s—the feeling that someone was watching her.

But who?

Nobody else was out walking. And the houses were set so far back from the road no one could have been watching her from their window. Were her instincts failing her? Or maybe she was just paranoid.

The trees thinned as she drew closer to her cottage. She’d painted the vertical wood siding a pale turquoise with white shutters and trim. As usual, she smiled when she saw what she’d had done to the place—how cute she’d made it. She didn’t live in Northern Lakes anymore, but she’d bought the cottage as an investment a few years ago. Most of the time she rented it out to vacationers. But occasionally she used it herself.

She should have stayed at her sister’s a little longer, or at least said goodbye rather than ducking out while Dawson was busy with the twins. But they’d been so excited to see him that she hadn’t wanted to interrupt their time together. And maybe her pride had been stung a little that he hadn’t come to see her. She wasn’t used to men refusing her requests or her kisses.

Of course, he had kissed her...

Maybe that was why she’d left—because she’d wanted him to kiss her again. And she couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. She needed to break a big story, so she wasn’t reduced to covering fluff pieces. She wanted to be a serious reporter, not eye candy for the network. Was the fire a serious story? Was there more to it than had been released to the media?

She needed to find out—which was probably why she should have stayed. She should have interrogated Dawson Hess.

Her hand trembled a little as she reached for her door. The knob turned easily. It wasn’t locked. She hadn’t bothered. After all, this was Northern Lakes; nothing bad ever happened in Northern Lakes.

But the fire...

And that would have been a whole lot worse if not for the Hotshots. If not for Dawson.

Like Wyatt, he deserved to be acknowledged for his heroism. He deserved the special feature she wanted to do. But when she’d thought that was why he tracked her down, she’d been disappointed. She didn’t want him to be like most of the men she’d known. She didn’t want him to be arrogant and self-involved. She wanted him to be the true and modest hero he seemed to be. Hell, she just wanted him...

He obviously didn’t feel the same attraction she felt, though. Was that just because she was a reporter? She knew the press got a bad rap for being nosy and relentless. But Dawson’s aversion seemed more personal than that.

She pushed open her front door and a breeze caught her off guard. She must have left the sliders open to the back deck. The breeze off the lake pushed the curtains into the open area. The living, dining and kitchen areas were all one big room—all painted a paler shade of blue than the outside. The kitchen cabinets had been made out of wainscoting and painted a soft white. The furniture was all slipcovered in white linen—like the window coverings. And in that breeze, the long white curtains billowed like dancing ghosts.

She shivered at the breeze and at the faint scent she caught on it. Smoke.

Had someone been smoking inside her cottage?

Had someone been inside while she was gone?

And, if so, had they left or were they still here? Her heart beat hard and fast as fear rushed through her. If she’d been in Chicago, she would have had her Mace with her. But she’d left her purse, with the Mace inside, in the bedroom. Nobody ever stole anything in Northern Lakes. So she’d thought her purse—and she—would be safe. But now she gazed around, looking for a weapon.

There were no trees on the beach side, so the cottage was lighter than the driveway had been. But the curtains filtered that light, casting shadows around the open room. Doorways led off it to a bedroom and bath on each end. Someone could be in any of those rooms—waiting for her.

But why?

This was Northern Lakes. But she hadn’t lived here in a long time. Maybe things had changed. Maybe bad things did happen in Northern Lakes...

* * *

AVERY HAD WALKED home alone. Her sister had said it as if it was no big deal—as if there was no risk for a woman to be out alone at dusk.

“It’s not like she’s in Chicago now,” Kim had remarked when she’d noticed his wary reaction.

True. But that didn’t mean she was safe in Northern Lakes, either. If the arsonist was in contact with her, it might mean she was in even more danger than if she’d been alone in a big city.

Northern Lakes was busy during tourist season. But this area wasn’t within the village. It was rural. And it was getting dark. He hastened his step along the road she must have taken—the direction in which Kim had pointed him.

“Be careful,” she’d murmured as he’d rushed off after Avery. He wasn’t sure if she was worried that he might stumble in the dark or get hit by a car. Or was she warning him about her sister?

Avery was the one who needed the warning—to go no place alone. To be cautious and vigilant.

But if he warned her, she would know for certain that something else was going on in Northern Lakes. And she already suspected...

Hell, maybe she already knew for a fact—if she’d been in contact with the arsonist.

Had she really just been going home to the little cottage her sister said she’d bought a few years ago? He’d thought a woman as ambitious as Avery wouldn’t have cared about ties to the small town in which she’d grown up. But according to Kim, Avery came home often—especially since the fire.

That was probably only because she was investigating it, though. It should have been old news by now. It was for every other reporter. Why not her?

He slowed his step as he neared a driveway. Was this the one? From the road he couldn’t see the cottage her sister had described to him. He could only see a clearing going through the trees that was wide enough for a car. But the mailbox next to the driveway was a bright turquoise—like the house was supposed to be. Like her eyes were...

This had to be her place. If he’d been driving, he might have missed it, so it was good he’d left the Forest Service truck back at her sister’s house. As an assistant superintendent for the Hotshots, he got a company vehicle. The super-heavy-duty four-wheel drive pickup might not have even fit down the narrow lane. Trees lined both sides and hung like a canopy over top of it. He felt as if he was walking through a tunnel.

And as short hairs rose on the nape of his neck, he also felt as if he was being watched. But if he couldn’t see the house from the road, she wouldn’t be able to see him from the house. So Avery wasn’t watching him.

Who was?

And why?

Had the boys followed him from their home to see if their aunt might try to kiss him? Their mother had told them to get ready for bed, but that didn’t mean they’d obeyed her. He hadn’t listened to his mother, either, or he never would have become a Hotshot.

A crack rent the air—so loud that it sent birds flying from the trees. It hadn’t been a gunshot. This wasn’t hunting season, and this was, after all, Northern Lakes. It had only been the sound of a twig or branch snapping. But for it to have been that loud, the weight snapping that branch had to have been substantial. More than a twelve-year-old boy.

No, the twins hadn’t followed him. But someone had. And they were watching him. He thought about calling out, asking who was there. But maybe it was better if the person didn’t realize Dawson was aware of his presence—especially if that person was the arsonist.

While he tensed, he didn’t whip his head around. He didn’t scan the trees for a glimpse of whoever had made that sound. Instead he continued down the driveway toward the house—toward Avery. He had to make certain she was safe.

Within seconds the turquoise cottage appeared like a beacon at the end of the drive. The trees cleared and the last glow of sunlight shone through the windows of the house—penetrating it from the west side, which was on the lake, through to the east side. He stood at the front door, atop a thick, fiber-like mat emblazoned with bright yellow letters that spelled out Welcome.

He lifted his hand to knock. As soon as his knuckles struck the wood, he heard a soft, startled-sounding cry emanate from inside the cottage. His body tensing with alarm, he pushed open the door with his shoulder and burst into the house.

Something hard struck his head and shoulder. He flinched but ducked as it whapped at him again. Then he reached out and grabbed it. Wrapping his fingers around a long wooden pole, he jerked it from the hand of the person swinging it.

Avery cried out again, but this time it sounded like frustration rather than fear. “What the hell are you doing breaking into my house?”

He stared down at the oar in his hand—the one she’d struck him with. The wood was so weathered and bleached that he could have snapped it in two. He doubted it had recently paddled a boat. Then he noticed its twin hanging on the living room wall. She must have pulled it down from there.

“I knocked,” he said. Or he’d been about to... “I only came in when I heard you cry out.”

“I’m not crying,” she protested as she proudly lifted her chin.

“Sure sounded like a cry.”

“You startled me,” she said, her tone accusatory.

“By knocking?”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

He held up the oar. “So this is how you greet unexpected guests? Maybe you should change that Welcome mat to say Approach at Your Own Risk.”

She reached for the oar, closing her fingers around it. “I’ll take that back.”

“So you can hit me with it again?”

She tugged on it. “I didn’t hurt you.”

“I’m seeing stars,” he said.

She leaned forward and stared up into his eyes. And he was definitely seeing stars. Well, one at least. She was beautiful, and while she was young, she was already quite successful, if not quite a star yet.

“Did I really hurt you?” she asked, her voice lowering with concern. She dropped her hands from the oar and lifted them to his head. Her fingers skimmed through his hair and down the nape of his neck.

His skin tingled where she’d touched him. And his pulse quickened. Hers was beating fast, too. He could see it moving in her throat.

“Why did you hit me with the oar?” he asked. “Who’d you think was coming through that door?” Had she lived in so many big cities that she was jumpy and paranoid?

“I had no idea,” she said, and her distinctive voice cracked slightly with fear.

He narrowed his eyes and studied her. “You really weren’t expecting anyone?”

“That’s what I told you.”

But was it the truth? “So you just stand around with an oar in your hands?”

Her face flushed. “When I got home a little while ago, it seemed like someone had been in here. I even thought I smelled smoke.”

Smoke. His heart began to beat even harder. “You were smart to grab the oar.”

“I carried it as a weapon when I checked out the bedrooms and bathrooms.”

He groaned over the thought of what could have happened to her. “You should not have looked for the intruder,” he said. “You should have run right out of here and called the police.” Or him.

He would have come if she’d needed him.

“And reported what?” she asked. “The smoke could have come through the open sliders...” Her brow furrowed slightly as she looked toward the sliding glass doors—as if she wasn’t certain she had left them open. They were closed now; the curtains pulled over them. But through the white linen the glass glowed with the last rays of the setting sun.

Why had she shut out the sunset? Or had she been shutting out something or someone else?

“You should have at least gone back to your sister’s,” he said.

“I can take care of myself,” she said, and she was all prickly pride again as she lifted her chin.

“I took that oar away from you,” he said. And finally he released it, tossing it down onto her couch.

“After I hit you with it.”

“If you’d found an intruder, he could have taken it away from you just as easily as I did,” he said. “You shouldn’t have taken that chance.”

“Says the man who fights wildfires for a living,” she said. “Like you should talk to anyone about taking chances. Hypocrite.”

“I know what a fire can do,” he said. He’d learned at a young age—only too well—the destruction and devastation a fire could cause. “You don’t know what an intruder would have done to you.”

She shivered and wrapped her arms protectively around herself. Without her heels and fancy dress, she looked small and delicate and vulnerable.

During a wildfire, rescuing people in danger was part of his job. He wasn’t on the job tonight. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t fight his nature to protect. He couldn’t fight his attraction to Avery Kincaid, either. Silently cursing, he reached for her and pulled her close. Her body felt small and delicate against his but also soft and warm and curvy.

She trembled in his arms. Then her hands clutched the back of his shirt. Instead of pulling him away, though, she burrowed closer.

“You were really frightened,” he said, as he pulled her even closer. The thought of her being alone and scared had a pang striking his heart.

A breath shuddered out of her lips and warmly caressed his throat. “I just had the strangest feeling,” she said. “Like someone was watching me...”

Someone was outside her house. He had felt it, too.

“Who would be watching you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know...”

“You weren’t meeting anyone here tonight?”

“I already told you I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she reminded him.

“You haven’t been talking to anyone in Northern Lakes about a story?”

“Just you,” she replied, her eyes full of suspicion.

“I was at your sister’s,” he reminded her, “looking at every single little thing your nephews own.”

Her lips curved into a slight smile.

“You haven’t been talking to anyone else? No sources?”

Her brow furrowed now. “My nephews are my sources,” she reminded him. “They’re the ones who told me that you were the one who saved them.”

It sounded as though she was telling the truth. But Dawson wasn’t certain he could trust her. Reporters lied. They’d lied to him years ago. Women lied. His friends—Braden Zimmer most recently—had been through enough pain to prove that to him. But if he pressed the issue of sources, she would figure out that there was more to the fire, just as she already suspected.

“Do you have a stalker?” he asked. “An obsessed fan?”

“I don’t know if I’d call them fans,” she remarked, almost modestly. “But I have people who send stuff to the station for me. Letters. Gifts.”

Of course she did. As beautiful as she was, she probably got marriage proposals and jewelry.

“But I wouldn’t call any of them obsessed,” she said. “And not a one of them would know that I’m in Northern Lakes right now.”

Unless they were already in Northern Lakes. Like the arsonist.

But she was right. They couldn’t call the police. They had no proof that anyone had been inside her house. No evidence that anyone was watching her. Only that feeling...

One they shared.

If there had been someone inside, they might come back. Dawson couldn’t leave knowing that Avery could be in danger. It would be against his nature.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he said.

6

SHOCK GRIPPED AVERY. Earlier that day he had refused her kiss, but now he was calmly telling her that he was spending the night. With her. Uninvited.

Avery pulled back, tugging herself out of Dawson’s strong arms. But she immediately missed his warmth as her skin chilled again—even though it wasn’t as cold inside as when she’d first come home. She had shut the sliding glass doors and locked them. She should have locked the front door, too. So that Dawson hadn’t been able to get inside.

That was why a cry had slipped through her lips when he’d knocked. Until then she hadn’t realized she’d left it unlocked. That she’d left herself unprotected if the person who’d been inside her cottage had returned...

“What did you just say?” she asked again. Maybe she’d heard him wrong. She must have.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Do I need to hit you with the oar again?” But he’d already taken it away from her—easily. The way an intruder could have if she had actually found one inside the cottage. He was right about that.

“Maybe you should,” Dawson agreed. “I probably need to have some sense knocked into me.”

“Well, at least you know your suggestion is crazy.”

“It’s not a suggestion,” he said. “I am staying here tonight.”

“No.” She would be able to rest easier with an intruder in her house than with Dawson there. If they hadn’t been in a crowded bar when he’d kissed her earlier, she wasn’t certain what would have happened.

Or maybe she was...

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

She hadn’t felt alone—even before he’d arrived. While she hadn’t found anyone hiding in the bedrooms or baths, she’d still had that eerie feeling someone was watching her.

“Why not?” she asked. “Why do you care whether or not I’m alone?”

Her family didn’t worry about her. No matter how big the city she lived in, they trusted her to take care of herself. Her sister and parents knew how strong and determined she was. Dawson didn’t. But why would he care? He’d only just met her.

“You’re obviously scared,” he said.

Or maybe he did know her. But she was overreacting. She had to be.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “I’m scared that you’re refusing to leave.” Not because she was afraid of him but of what she might do with him. She was still too busy for a relationship—too busy trying to build a career to risk the distraction of a serious involvement.

He stepped closer, his amber eyes intense as he stared down at her. He stood so close that his chest nearly touched her breasts.

Her breath caught in her throat. He was so good-looking. So sexy...

Why was she protesting his staying? She didn’t have to have a relationship with him—serious or otherwise. She could just have a little fun for once.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.