Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!

Duets Vol. #93

Wendy Etherington is back with a fun, fiery Double Duets about the crazy Kimballs of Baxter, Georgia. These characters create sparks—and trouble—wherever they go! This author made “an impressive debut with My Place or Yours?, a beautifully written story featuring a scrumptious hero,” says Romantic Times. Enjoy!

Duets Vol. #94

Dorien Kelly kicks off the month with The Girl Least Likely To…, a quirky story about a heroine nicknamed Horrible Hallie, who’s determined to change her reputation. Look for Dorien’s linked Temptation novel in April 2003—#922 The Girl Most Likely To…Sharing the volume this month is Intrigue author Delores Fossen and the delightful The Deputy Gets Her Man. Heroine Rayanne will do anything to get her Aunt Evie out of jail—but could she really date the arresting sheriff?

Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!

Can’t Help Falling in Love
Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love
Wendy Etherington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Can’t Help Falling in Love

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Can’t Help Falling in Love

“Don’t jump, dear!”

Skyler glanced down from the tree at the crowd gathered below and frowned. They thought she wanted to do herself in! From an oak tree? She pointed at Fluffy. “I’m just getting a cat.” And she was stuck. “Stupid Fluffy,” she muttered.

“Name’s Jack, not Fluffy.” Skyler jerked her head at the sound of the deep, sensuous voice and promptly bopped her head on a thick branch.

“Hold tight,” he said, reaching his strong arms around her. “I’m tryin’ to impress my captain.”

Skyler blinked. Of course. The new firefighter her brother had mentioned last week. Another hero. But she couldn’t deny the flutter in her heart as he held her waist snugly and his bold gaze slid down her body.

When they reached the safety of the ground, Skyler gaped up at her gorgeous savior’s rugged, muscular body. Way up. There was just so darn much of him to absorb! All that…man. Whoa, baby!

He grasped her shoulder, as if to steady her. “Are you okay?”

Light-headed, she nodded slowly, the park starting to spin around her. Why me? was her last thought as she fainted dead away.

Dear Reader,

When I first conceived this book, the tragic events of September 11, 2001 had not yet occurred. But as I finished the story, what was foremost in my mind was the theme I started with: heroism. For a romance writer, fictional heroes are our everyday companions and beloved creations. But watching firefighters in Washington and New York, I realized just how real heroes can be.

While these stories are humorous, please have no doubt how seriously I take the issues these characters would face in real life. Local firefighters and police protect my community, just as they protect countless neighborhoods across this country. Find time for these heroes. Support them. Remember them.

Wendy Etherington

P.S. Please come visit my Web site at www.wendyetherington.com or write to me at P.O. Box 211663 Columbia, SC, 29221-1663.

Books by Wendy Etherington

HARLEQUIN DUETS

76—MY PLACE OR YOURS?

To the firefighters and law enforcement personnel who fought and lost their lives in the tragedy of September 11, 2001.

Special thanks to Russ Adams, firefighter/paramedic with the Chesterfield Fire Protection District, for his patient answers to my constant—and sometimes ridiculous—questions.

Thanks also to Jacquie D’Alessandro and Jenni Grizzle, who always have an opinion—and almost always good ones. And thanks to my editor, Susan Pezzack, for her terrific brainstorming skills and her great sense of direction.

1

SKYLER KIMBALL clutched the broad oak tree branch just above her head, stretching her other hand to her nemesis. “Give me a break, Fluffy.”

Fluffy, the copper-colored, not-quite-pure-bred Persian sitting barely five feet away, merely blinked her topaz eyes.

“What did you expect, Sky?” she admonished herself. “After two and a half hours of perching in the tree, the animal was just going to fall into your arms? Life’s not that easy.” Certainly not her life.

“I called the fire department, Skyler honey,” Fluffy’s owner, Roland, called up to her.

“Uh…” Skyler’s hand slipped. She hugged the tree trunk as panic bloomed in her chest. “That’s not—I mean, maybe we’re jumping the gun here, Roland,” she yelled down, peering through the thick branches.

Roland Patterson, the owner of the pet store located next to her women’s clothing shop, smiled wide, his pale brown eyes twinkling, even from a distance.

And she immediately knew the significance of calling the fire department was not lost on her neighbor. He had a thing for the fire department. Specifically for firemen.

For nearly two years, she and Roland had owned businesses on Main Street in her hometown of Baxter, Georgia. Generous loan terms provided by the city council had given them—along with the bakery, the gym and the florist—opportunities to become part of the city’s recent downtown expansion. Skyler loved the independence her shop, Kimball Fashions, had given her, though her protective brothers had argued each and every point of the contract she’d signed.

Brothers who, she reminded herself, would be arriving at any moment with the flamboyant siren, lights and hoopla of the Baxter Fire Department.

She looked heavenward. “Please don’t let them bring the ladder truck…please don’t let them bring the ladder truck.”

The image of her climbing down that long, shaky ladder, with half of downtown staring up her flowery sundress and gossiping about the risqué lingerie no one would have imagined she wore, spurred her to action. She climbed a few branches higher. “Come on, Fluffy,” she implored, holding out her hand to the stubborn cat.

Fluffy proceeded to wash her already pristine paw.

The possibility of some panicked individual—Roland came to mind—calling the fire department for such a simple, and clichéd, task as a cat in a tree was the reason she’d scaled the giant oak in the first place. She could handle any crisis. And without her brothers’ help. Certainly Fluffy’s sudden penchant to spend the afternoon in the park.

In the distance, she heard the peal of a siren. Yeah, right.

Briefly, she considered scrambling down the tree it had taken her more than thirty minutes to climb, but one look below at the park’s summer green grass changed her mind. She swallowed hard. Had she really climbed so high?

Worse, a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. Two elderly women had their necks craned backward as they stared up at her. A couple of kids—was school out already?—danced around Roland chanting, “Jump, jump.” Their words caused passersby to grind to a halt. People pointed and whispered. Cars stopped in the middle of the street. When Roland shook his head at the kids and shouted “Stop that right now,” they only chanted louder. “Jump! Jump! Jump!…”

“Hells bells.” Resting her forehead against the rough tree bark, Skyler cursed her impulsive nature. She’d fought against the “hero” mentality of her family all her life by being planned, controlled and cautious. Her father had lost his life in a fire being the hero, never realizing the financial and emotional strain he might leave behind. Her brothers, Ben and Steve in the fire department and Wes as a cop, strove on a daily basis to live up to his legend, while she, at least on most levels, fought to live it down. She cared for her mother—who’d never fully recovered from the loss of her husband nearly twenty years before—she paid her taxes, attended to her customers, went out every other Saturday night with her friends for girls’ night, and fought nervous sweats and panic over her brothers’ dangerous jobs.

She had stock to unpack, customers to call about her upcoming sale and books to balance. Why had she decided to take on an ornery feline as her one heroic gesture in weeks? If only Roland hadn’t cried….

“Don’t jump, dear,” someone called up.

Skyler glanced down to see one of the elderly women had moved to the base of the tree. “I’m not jumping,” she returned. She had no intention of listening to the ridiculous suggestion of a couple of obnoxious five-year-olds.

“Just stay calm. Remember life is so precious.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have so much to live for.”

Of course…Skyler narrowed her eyes as realization dawned. That lady thought she wanted to do herself in. From an oak tree? In the middle of the park? Good grief. Feeling ridiculous for having to explain why she’d climbed the tree, she pointed at Fluffy. “I’m just getting a cat.”

“You don’t have to make up a story, dear.”

Skyler clenched her jaw. “I’m not making—”

“We all love you.”

Pushing a group of leaves out of her way, Skyler craned her neck to get a better look at this goofy woman. She’d never seen her before in her life. We all love you?

“I’m just here to get the cat.” She stepped over one branch closer to Fluffy.

The crowd gasped. The kids chanted louder. “Jump! Jump! Jump!” The lady held up her hand imploringly. “No, don’t move.”

Then the fire department arrived. In the ladder truck. And the pump truck. And the ambulance.

Skyler sighed, sitting on a branch with her back braced against the tree. “Well, Fluffy, we’re getting the full show today.”

Captain Benjamin Kimball—her oldest brother—leapt from the passenger seat of the ladder truck, just as Steve, his junior by five years, jumped from the driver’s side. Drivers and other firemen scrambled out of the other trucks, all jogging in the wake of their captain. Looking away from the whole, humiliating scene, Skyler absently wondered when the police—and her third brother—would arrive.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten lunch. Fluffy butted her head against her arm, purring like crazy. She was probably hungry by now, too. Skyler rubbed the ornery feline between her ears. “You know, you could have decided to be friends twenty minutes ago, then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

The cat crawled into her lap, flexing her claws as she found a comfortable position.

“Ouch!” Skyler flinched and grabbed an overhead branch to steady herself.

The crowd gasped. The goofy lady squealed. The kids chanted. “Jump! Jump! Jump!…”

“Skyler?” a familiar voice shouted.

Skyler waved her hand in Ben’s general direction. “Here.”

“You’re not planning to jump, are you?”

“Not today.”

“Can you climb down?”

“If you really think I should.”

“Skyler…” Ben said in his best don’t-mess-with-me warning tone—the one he used whenever he was forced to bail her out of some scrape her impulsiveness had driven her to.

“Coming.” Skyler planted her feet on a lower branch, using one hand to balance against the tree, while holding Fluffy beneath her other arm. Scooting on her bottom, she managed to move down one branch, but Fluffy panicked at the movement and dug her claws into Skyler’s arm. They both teetered. Fluffy hissed, swiped her claw down Skyler’s arm, then scrambled onto another branch. Her arm stinging like hell, Skyler swung one leg over the branch she was sitting on, clutching the rough bark between her thighs. Her stomach pitched and sweat trickled down her back. “Okay. That wasn’t fun.”

“Jump, Jump, Jump!…”

“Shut up already!” she yelled down, past frustration and embarrassment. She examined the inside of her arm, where a thin line of blood had appeared. Glaring up at the cat, she again began her descent. “You’re on your own.”

Before she could get more than a few feet down, though, she heard the familiar sound of a hydraulic lift. The ladder. Again, she leaned her forehead against the tree’s rough bark. “Why me?”

The cat hissed.

“You said it, Fluffy.”

“Name’s Jack, chère, not Fluffy. You wanna give me your hand?”

Skyler jerked her head around at the unfamiliar, deep, sensuous voice—and promptly bopped her head against the thick branch next to her. Wincing and rubbing her forehead, she looked down at the man who’d spoken.

She found herself staring into a pair of warm, whiskey-brown eyes, the exact shade of the Jim Beam her father used to drink. Along with those incredible eyes went jet-black hair, an arresting, sculpted and tanned face, broad shoulders, muscular arms, then…

Leaning over to get her fill of her gorgeous savior, she nearly lost her balance.

Quick as lightening, he grabbed her wrist.

Her pulse drummed against his hand. The warmth of his skin seeped into her veins, and she found her whole body heating to his touch.

“Hold tight, chère,” he said. “I’m tryin’ to impress my captain.”

Skyler blinked. Of course. The new firefighter/paramedic Ben had mentioned last week at Sunday dinner. Grew up in a small, southern Louisiana town. Met him at a convention. He wants to move up. A real go-getter.

Another hero.

Who at the moment was going to save her butt, so she had no business quibbling with him over the dangers of his job.

Still grasping her wrist, he gently tugged her arm. “Come on. I’ve got you now.”

She smiled. That sounded pretty nice. As she climbed onto the ladder it wobbled. She thrust her arms around the fireman’s neck, and the heat of his body infused hers. His sculpted face was inches from her own. He smelled pleasantly of sweat, pine and musk, as if he’d applied aftershave that morning, and the scent had melded with his duties during the day. The muscles along his shoulders tickled her fingertips, and for the first time in a great while she found herself tempted by male flesh. Tempted beyond her brothers’ tendency toward overprotection. Tempted beyond her staid reputation.

Smiling, he held her waist snugly as his bold gaze slid down her body. “This is my kind of rescue.”

Skyler’s heart fluttered. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her so brashly—and survived her brothers’ fury to tell the tale. Curious herself, she let her gaze rove him as slowly as he had her. He wasn’t model beautiful, she decided…he was better. Rugged. Strong. And big. His tanned, muscular arms and broad chest were covered by a white shirt with the Baxter Fire Department logo stitched over his left breast pocket. His black uniform pants glided over his lean hips and thighs as if they’d been custom-made…and she certainly wouldn’t have minded being the tailor.

My, my, my. There was just so darn much of him to absorb. All that agility, muscle…and man. She dropped her gaze to note he was standing one rung below her, but he still towered over her by several inches. But then, she was a mere five-two, whereas—she observed shamelessly—he was maybe six-four. It was hard to tell with their entwined proximity. Maybe this weird rumbling in her stomach was her weakness for large men.

Then, she remembered. Rescue. The cat.

She pointed toward the pesky feline, still perched several feet above her and looking for all the world like someone had interrupted her late afternoon adventure—and was none too pleased about the censorship. “Don’t forget Fluffy.”

He glanced over her shoulder briefly, then said, “How ’bout I handle you, then I’ll deal with the cat.”

Okay by me. She gave Fluffy one last you’re-on-your-own glare as the fireman started down the ladder and the crowd began to cheer. When they reached the safety of the ground, and her feet rested on the summer green grass, she gazed up at him.

Way up at him. Whoa, baby.

He grasped her shoulder, as if to steady her. “Are you okay?”

Light-headed, she nodded slowly. His smile appeared—bright, charming, confident, maybe a bit reckless, and her throat tightened. As the park began to spin before her eyes, she finally recognized the odd sensation trickling through her body.

Why me? was her last thought as she fainted dead away.

AS JACK TESSON scooped the unconscious woman into his arms, he raised his eyes heavenward, deciding some saint up there had finally cut him some slack. Maybe all those years at the hands of the St. Michael’s Parochial School nuns had finally paid off. No doubt Sister Katherine, who’d thrown him out at least twice a year, and his grandparents, who’d punished him by making him scrub floors in the restaurant/bar they owned, would say she was the devil’s temptation incarnate. Certainly not a woman for “Wild Jack” Tesson.

“Mon Dieu,” he whispered, gazing down at her beautiful oval face. Though she looked angelic, he knew from staring up the ladder that her lacy purple underwear was anything but virtuous.

Ben Kimball raced toward him. “Skyler?”

Perfect name for an angel, Jack thought, even as the medic in Jack finally overrode the man. “She fainted.” Wait a minute. Skyler? The guys at the firehouse had mentioned her. “Your sister?”

As Ben nodded, Jack realized why those bright baby blue eyes of hers had seemed so familiar. The worried and frustrated version of them stared back at him from his captain’s face.

“Let’s get her to the truck,” Ben said.

As they rushed to the ambulance, they picked up a trail of curious bystanders, one being Ben’s younger brother, Steve.

His expression fierce, Steve ordered, “Get her on a back board.”

“She just fainted,” his brother explained as they reached the back of the ambulance.

A grin tugged the corners of Steve’s mouth. “Naturally.” The brothers exchanged a troubled, but affectionate look.

Jack gently laid Skyler on the stretcher Ben pulled from the ambulance bay, pressing his fingers against her wrist and taking her pulse as he did so. A little fast. He fitted an oxygen mask over her face, while Ben hovered, watching his every move. “She’s fainted before?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve said, sitting on the back bumper.

Jack pulled a stethoscope from a med kit to check Skyler’s heart. As the rhythmic beats reverberated in his ears, she moaned, and he tried to ignore the soft skin beneath his fingers, the tan line along the slope of her breast. He’d worked on patients he’d found attractive before, but never with this level of intensity. Never had one smile and a wide-eyed stare from a pair of baby blue eyes brought him practically to his knees.

He glanced over at his colleagues as he checked Skyler’s extremities for injuries, noting a thin cut on her forearm that he cleaned with antiseptic. “Is she pregnant?”

Fists clenched at his sides, Steve leapt to his feet. “She better damn well not be.”

Ben grabbed his brother’s shoulder, shoving him back down. “Cool it, little brother. She’s not pregnant.”

“How do you know?” Steve countered, his eyes narrowed.

“Because you or Wes would have killed the guy by now.”

Jack snatched his hands from Skyler’s body. Okay. So, he could list an attraction to his boss’s sister under the category headed Bad Career Move.

“She tends to faint whenever she gets too excited,” Ben explained to Jack. “She has MVP.”

“Oh, God!” A man broke from the crowd and threw himself across Skyler’s legs. “She’s going to die!”

Jack grabbed the guy’s arm and lifted him off his patient. His size had always been effective with crowd control, so the small, almost delicate man was easy to remove.

The man gaze up at him fearfully, blinking tears out of his brown eyes. “But, Skyler—”

“Will be fine, Roland,” Ben said, looking exasperated as he pulled him away from the stretcher. “MVP is short for Mitral Valve Prolapse. It’s a condition where the heart doesn’t empty the chamber completely of blood. Stress can sometimes aggravate it.”

Roland eyed Ben with a look that Jack could only describe as adoring. “Really? How fascinating.”

Ben let go of the man’s arm as if he’d just realized he’d grabbed a hot poker.

“Uh, Steve?” Jack said, his voice low.

“Yeah?”

“That guy, is he flirting with Ben?”

“Yep. That’s Roland Patterson.” The pet store owner who’d made the 9-1-1 call, Jack realized. That explained the other guys’ eye-rolling when dispatch had announced their destination. “You should see him whenever Wes is around,” Steve continued. “He gets a bigger hard-on for cops than he does firemen.”

“No kidding.”

“You need to stand back and let the medics work,” Ben was saying to Roland as he gestured—as opposed to leading him—to the crowd.

“What about Fluffy?”

“The cat,” Jack said when Ben frowned.

Stretching, Steve rose. “I’ll check.”

He sauntered away just as an elderly woman approached, shaking her head. She handed Ben a business card. Over his shoulder, Jack read Clovis Crisis Counseling. “You should encourage her to make an appointment with my office as soon as possible, Captain. Climbing that tree was a blatant cry for help.”

“Skyler’s not suicidal, ma’am,” Ben said, tunneling his hand through his hair. “Just impulsive.”

The woman gave him a cagey glare. “Just give her my card.” She walked away.

“Damn.” Ben braced his hands on the stretcher and stared down at his sister, who rolled her head to the side, obviously fighting her way back to consciousness. “How does she get herself into these things?”

Personally, Jack thought the whole event was kinda fun, certainly the most exciting call since he’d arrived in town two weeks ago. He envisioned “ladder rescue experience” on his résumé, surely an asset when he applied to the bigger fire departments in Atlanta in the coming year. Baxter was going to be a great stepping stone. And he knew he’d learn a great deal from working for Ben. Though the guy could loosen up a bit. Especially when it came to his sister.

Jack glanced at her again, checking her pulse at her wrist to have an excuse to touch her again. Damn, she was beautiful. And tiny. Even her bare feet—with toes painted a shocking orange—were small. She was funny, too, remembering her response of “not today” to her brother’s question of whether or not she was going to jump from the tree. Too bad she was off-limits. Of course, a protective family member or two hadn’t stopped him before….

Suddenly her eyes flew open, and she bolted upright. Jack found himself practically nose-to-oxygen mask with her.

“What the hell—” She jerked off the mask, glaring at him without recognition, then her eyes went soft, and she smiled. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Jack Tesson.” His whole body rigid with desire, he fought the urge to apply his medical skills to a little mouth-to-mouth and pulled a penlight from his kit to check her pupils. They dilated normally and evenly. “How do you feel?”

She flushed bright red, as if remembering she’d fainted into his arms. Was she as affected by him as he was by her? Or was she just embarrassed?

Before she could answer him, Ben grabbed her hands. “You scared the hell out of me, Skyler. What were you doing in that tree? Risking your neck over a cat?”

“I’m fine.” Her eyes darkening, she glanced at Jack. “I just, uh…the heat overwhelmed me for a minute.”

Heat, huh? Jack leaned toward her.

“You’re not taking your medication,” Ben said abruptly.

Jack stepped back as Skyler sighed. What was he doing? Coming on to his captain’s sister right in front of him? Not even he was that crazy. He began packing his supplies.

“The doctor says I don’t need medication,” Skyler said to her brother, shaking off his touch. “I haven’t fainted since last fall when you and Steve were called to that four-alarm fire in Monroe.”

Ben tunneled his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you climbed that tree. You’re delicate and—”

“Delicate?” Skyler rolled her eyes, then slid off the stretcher, straightening her sundress. “Please.”

“Says the woman I just rescued from a fifty-foot tree branch.”

Skyler stuck out her tongue at her brother. “You didn’t rescue me. Jack did.” She smiled brightly at him.

While Ben scowled, Jack’s groin tightened. Mon Dieu, she was tempting…

Steve strode toward them with an orange-colored cat tucked beneath one arm.

…as long as no hotheaded siblings are hanging around.

“Fluffy,” Steve said. “Safe and sound.”

Ben sighed. “Return him to Roland, then let’s get this equipment loaded. Another Skyler emergency appears to be over.”

Skyler glared at him, and Steve saluted, jostling Fluffy so she hissed. “Yes, sir, Captain, sir.”

“Move it, Lieutenant,” Ben said to his brother, not looking at all amused.

Sensing this was an old argument about responsibility—and one Jack had seen aimed in his direction by his grandparents more times than he’d like to recall—he turned his attention to Skyler.

Just in time to see her strolling away.

When the crowd of curious bystanders advanced on her, she swung around and headed toward the front of the ambulance. Jack followed, catching up to her as she reached the tree she’d climbed.

“Where the hell are my shoes?”

“What do they look like?” Jack asked.

She whirled as if startled, then she swept out her hands, cocking one hip. “Do you see a big selection of shoes? I’ll bet if you spot a pair, they’re mine.” She turned around, muttering under her breath about men and their general lack of sense/usefulness/reason for living.

Beautiful, tiny, funny, delicate—he had to agree with Ben there, at least in the looks department—independent and sassy. Laissez les bon temps rouler. Let the good times roll.

He trailed behind her as she walked around the tree. When he spied a pair of bright orange heeled sandals, he scooped them up. “Yours, ’tite fille?” he asked, smiling as he held them out to her.

“Thanks.” She took the shoes, then slid her feet into them. Straightening, she smiled. The anger was gone from her eyes, replaced by a light full of intelligence and charm. “Ben said you were Cajun. I’m afraid I don’t know much French. You’ll have to translate.”

“Cajun French is a bit different than pure French, anyway.” He stepped closer to her. As her head dropped back to meet his gaze, he wondered about the differences in their heights. His size was usually a professional advantage, but women in his past had been both intrigued and intimidated by it.

Skyler swayed on her feet.

Jack grabbed her waist. “Skyler? Do you feel faint?” He pressed his fingers to the side of her neck to find her pulse racing. He was coming on to her, and she was really sick. Damn. He’d worked hard to become a firefighter and paramedic. He had five years of experience. What had he missed?

She blinked, then stepped back. “I’m fine. Just a bit wobbly in these shoes.”

He scowled. “You need to see a doctor.”

“You were translating,” she said.

Not wanting to press on a subject that was really none of his business, Jack let the subject go for the moment. “’Tite fille means little girl.” Oops. Before she could do more than frown, he added, “Maybe you’d like ’tite femme better. It means little—” Woman. Big oops. “Uh, I mean, ’tite ange. Little angel.”

She pursed her lips. “That’s kind of nice.”

The hunger he’d banked surged through his body again. Why was he so drawn to her? His voice dropped an octave. “It suits you.”

Laughing, she walked across the grass. “I don’t know about that.”

They would be back under the careful watch of her brothers in a matter of moments. Jack knew he didn’t have much time. “Maybe we could get together for a drink or dinner sometime.”

She stopped, looking up at him. “I don’t date.”

He frowned. Why wouldn’t a woman like her date?

She patted his arm as if she understood his confusion. “Sorry. There’s just too much darn bloodshed.”

2

BLOODSHED WAS AGAIN on Skyler’s mind the next day as she unpacked stock in her storeroom. “They shorted me on leather teddies and leopard-print camisoles again,” she muttered.

Bud’s Leather Palace— “the finest quality, direct from Austin”—was in big trouble.

The bell on the front door jangled before Skyler could work herself into a real lather over the mistake. Fiona.

She rushed from the storeroom, locking the door behind her. She’d only hired her assistant a month ago, and she wasn’t quite ready to trust her with her most intimate—okay, only—secret.

In these A.M.—After Madonna—times, she knew keeping her lingerie inventory secret was a bit archaic, but Baxter’s town council was not known for their progression. When she’d proposed a lingerie shop two years ago, the idea had been promptly trounced by the committee, and Mayor Collins, though not much of a traditionalist himself, had bowed quietly to their wishes. Personally, she thought First Lady Collins would look terrific in one of her hot pink bustiers, but she hadn’t dared to voice that idea to the people who handed out the business licenses, so, on impulse, Animal Instincts had become Kimball Fashions, and The Secret had been born.

The Secret was held in confidence by a small part of the town—the progressive female part. Skyler knew she needed to bring Fiona into the fold soon. Showing her this month’s invoice from Bud’s Leather Palace would probably be a good start.

Upon reaching the main showroom of the shop, she saw Fiona Jingle hanging a new stock of mauve dresses on the racks. “Good morning,” Fiona said briskly. “I decided to jump right in restocking the sale items.”

The contrast of the flowery dresses Fiona held and Fiona—think young Elvira—immediately improved Skyler’s mood. “Terrific.”

Fiona brushed a lock of long, black hair behind her ear. The bells attached to her earrings, bracelets and waist chain tinkled. With a name like Jingle, Skyler supposed you had to go with your bestowed gifts.

Her young assistant winced at the frilly dresses. “Did you consider my ideas from last week? I mean, some of these women could stand a little figure-flattering black.”

“Your ideas were super.” Though Skyler had all the leather, lace and satin she could handle in the back room. “In fact, they inspired me to get you a present.”

She returned to the storeroom, where she pawed through the boxes. Tucked between three pairs of red leather hot pants and a stack of white leather thong panties, she found Fiona’s black leather jeans. Skyler held them up to her waist and studied her reflection in the mirrored wall. She and Fiona were about the same size, though Fiona was a few inches taller, so the pants dragged the ground. But still…

“Hot, hot, hot,” she whispered, imagining the cool, tight leather clinging to her thighs. The silver studs running down each side seam glinted seductively in the dimly lit storeroom. Her blond hair would contrast like spun straw against a matching leather vest.

With a rueful smile, she shook her head. “Yeah, right, Skyler. Maybe you could wear them to the church fashion show next month, or the neighborhood block party.” She liked her rebellions locked away or hidden safely beneath her clothes. And if sometimes playing it safe got old, well, she always managed to stumble into excitement. Though climbing a tree to rescue a cat had been a first for her impulsive side.

Tucking the pants under her arm, she strode out, locking the door behind her.

As she walked toward Fiona, her assistant’s eyes widened. “Where did those come from?”

Skyler held out the pants. “I ordered them for you.”

Fiona dropped the collection of pastel blouses she held as if they’d suddenly caught fire and stroked her hand reverently down the leather. “No kidding?”

A pleased smile was breaking over Skyler’s lips when the bell over the shop’s door jingled again.

Jack Tesson, broad shoulders, jet-black hair, whiskeyed eyes and all stood in the opening.

He actually asked me out yesterday was the first thought that popped into her head—after her hormones shouted whoo-whee, of course.

She’d often wondered if a man would ever come along and challenge her brothers, sweep her off her feet and…

And nothing. Rolling her shoulders, she watched him walk toward her, fighting the desire rumbling through her stomach. She’d warned him off yesterday. Why was he here? Smiling at her? That warning discouraged everyone, which was fine by her. She didn’t need the complication of a man in her life, or warming her bed. And definitely not a firefighter.

The few men who’d warmed her bed hadn’t met with encouraging fates, she reminded herself. One had suddenly moved to Florida. One had entered the priesthood—though that story had come from Wes, so she wasn’t quite sure about its validity. Then again, the alternative was picturing the guy at the bottom of the lake. Which, according to Baxter legend, was the poor guy’s final resting place.

But then Mr. Florida had been something of a dead-beat. Skyler wasn’t sorry to see him go. And the priest/lake dweller had slobbered over every female he encountered, so her brothers’ intervention had been a frank relief. As the only girl in a sea of testosterone, she’d certainly lived through moments of frustration, but getting rid of and warning off unwanted attention without confrontation by her was not one of them.

However…watching the luscious Jack Tesson stroll toward her, Skyler’s usual caution deserted her. The man was really a temptation. A big temptation. Her head spun at the thought.

Then she realized she still held the leather pants. How was she going to explain these outrageous things in her conservative shop?

Stopping in front of her, he angled his head. “Mornin’, ’tite ange.”

Her face heated, and the desire in her stomach cruised through her veins. Not good. He was absolutely the worst possible man for her. Clearly reckless, adventurous…heroic. Unfortunately, her libido knew what it liked, and it was completely irrational at the moment.

Fiona fared no better. Her assistant’s jaw had dropped so low, she was tempted to call an orthodontist.

Skyler cleared her throat and tried to act normal, while frantically wondering how to explain her handful of studded black leather. “Jack, this is my assistant, Fiona Jingle. Fiona, Jack Tesson.”

As they shook hands, Skyler puzzled through this attraction. Why did he affect her so strongly? Maybe she’d been working too hard. Maybe she’d spent too much time picking out ostrich-feather and leather lingerie.

Yes. Desperate, she latched on to that excuse. That’s it. Her mind, focused on lingerie, had made the natural leap to sex. Then Jack had appeared and bam, instant attraction. One man could not so effortlessly create near-panting, cat-rescuing and lust-inducing preoccupation in a woman who’d sworn off men—especially dangerous men.

“You sure got a diverse inventory, chère,” Jack said as he stood between them, his gaze taking in seemingly every detail of the leather pants she held.

Skyler didn’t need that kind of scrutiny. Classy as her shop was, it couldn’t survive without the lingerie revenue. Jack couldn’t be trusted with her secret. He worked with her brothers, he was a virtual stranger, he was a man.

Before she could say anything, though, Fiona said, “Oh, no, Mr. Tesson. Skyler special-ordered these for me. We don’t carry this kind of thing.”

Grinning, Skyler shoved the pants at Fiona. “Why don’t you try them on?”

Fiona danced off, but not before giving Jack one last dreamy look over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her facing flushing a becoming shade of pink.

“You, too,” Jack said, then smiled.

That same smile had sent Skyler into a dead faint yesterday. The fact that her assistant wandered back to the dressing rooms under her own power only magnified her humiliation. Her heart condition had caused occasional problems in the past, but none this embarrassing. Of course, he couldn’t possibly know he’d caused her to faint. No doubt Ben had explained something along the lines of overexcitability, stress, etcetera, etcetera. No one—and she meant no one—had to know the real reason for the fainting.

She stared up at Jack, noting she was within touching distance of his awesome body. His size fairly dwarfed her. How tall was the man anyway?

He reached out, twisting a lock of her long blond hair around his finger. “Your brothers told me they had a baby sister. I never woulda pegged you as her, though.”

Skyler snatched her hair from his grasp and stepped back. Those reckless brown eyes had her stomach turning somersaults. “I’m fair, like my grandmother.” And if L’Oréal helped with a few well-placed highlights once a month, he certainly didn’t have to know.

“What about that drink?”

Her eyes widened. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“Nobody dates me.”

He frowned. “You already got a beau?”

Beau. God, that accent was cute. Maybe they could go out once. No one would have to know. The image of Boyfriend #2’s possible fate flashed through her mind. An urban legend, or glug, glug, glug…? “No,” she said quickly, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t like guys?”

“No. Yes.” She sighed. “Of course I like guys.”

“You don’t like me?”

She let her gaze rove his body—briefly. Her head spun. She took shallow breaths as her heart raced. Easy, girl. “I like you fine. I’m just—”

“Scared? Overwhelmed?” Smiling, he stepped closer, his voice deepening. “Aroused?”

All of the above. She felt herself leaning forward, drawn to the heat in his eyes, the confidence in his tone. She didn’t need this complication in her life. She didn’t want to want him. Still, desire stole through her body.

“Aren’t you worried about my brothers?”

“No.”

With those impulsive Kimball genes vibrating, and on the verge of buckling, she smiled. But the bell over the door saved her from some mortifying fate like fainting or throwing herself into his big, strong arms.

Turning, she saw a young man rushing toward her with a giant bouquet of long-stemmed, red roses. He dropped to one knee beside her, holding out the flowers. “Ms. Kimball, I’ve come to declare my undying love.”

The legend of the Kimball boys is alive and well. Skyler closed her eyes. “Not again.”

“Again?” Jack asked from behind her.

“It’s a long story,” she muttered.

“Skyler, oh sweet Skyler,” the boy began. “Your eyes are so blue, your lips are so red. Please don’t tell your brothers I’m here, ’cause I’d soon be dead.”

Knowing the drill, Skyler accepted the roses, then leaned forward to kiss the guy on his forehead. The imprint of her watermelon-shaded lipstick remained as proof of his mission.

As he rose to his feet, he blushed, the freckles across his nose vivid next to his pale skin. “Thanks.”

“What fraternity?” she asked.

“Alpha Kappa Omega.”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He whirled, then raced from the shop.

Skyler glanced at the bouquet. At least two dozen. Poor guy. He was probably out fifty bucks. She strode to the counter, retrieving a vase from underneath. After filling it with water from the bathroom, she arranged the roses, then set the vase by the register. Maybe she could give away a stem with each purchase.

Jack leaned against the counter. “You wanna tell me what that was all about?”

She glanced up at him. When she answered his question, despite his assurance he wasn’t afraid of her brothers, he’d undoubtedly rescind his drink offer. He’d probably think she and her family were totally nuts. And maybe they were. Losing their father so young had made them all overprotective.

For the first time in…well, for the first time, she found regret slipping past her defenses. She liked him. His boldness, his simmering energy, his…shoulders. Que sera sera. Was that a French or Spanish expression?

“That was a fraternity initiation.”

Not surprisingly, his brow furrowed.

He really is cute….

But he’s got a great job here. Baxter’s city council had voted a salary increase for firefighters, police officials and other critical personnel in the hopes of attracting big city professionals. He’s a real go-getter, Ben had said. He certainly wouldn’t and shouldn’t risk his job for her. Even if she wanted him in return, which she certainly did not. Skyler plus Dangerous Man equals Trouble.

“Bravery is part of most fraternity initiation codes. Since asking me out is akin to near suicide, I’ve become a symbol, so to speak.” When he continued to stare at her in confusion, she drew a deep breath and plunged. “The guys come here with a big production of flowers, declare their undying love, then see how long they can duck out of sight before one of my brothers threatens them. It’s all in fun,” she said defensively.

“Ah.” He leaned his forearms on the counter, bringing his face within inches of hers. “These ‘threats’ by your brothers, is that the reason you won’t go out with me?”

Well, duh! “Isn’t that enough?”

His gaze turned hungry. “No.”

She goggled. She gaped. This guy wasn’t going to be brushed off like the others. And, by damn, if she didn’t oddly find herself admiring him for his determination. “Jack…”

“I like the way you say my name, chère.”

Oh, boy. She swallowed. “You’re really nice…”

He winced. “The kiss of death.”

“Trust me when I say nice guys are rare. I don’t mean you’re a sap, or anything, I mean you’re gracious and kind and helpful.” Heroic, actually, but she didn’t know how to say that without sounding idiotic.

“I’m still not sure if you’re flattering or insulting me.”

He’s a guy, she reminded herself. What description would her brothers prefer? Macho, dangerous, virile. The first two she could agree with, the third she could only speculate about, bringing her back to her original intention—to turn him down, for his own good. And hers.

“Be flattered,” she said finally. “But my brother is your boss, and if we go out together…”

“I’ll be out on my ass.”

“Faster than you can say 9-1-1.”

The determination in his eyes never wavered.

Yikes. She didn’t want to be a challenge. She wanted Mr. Dangerous, Hunky Hero to say okeydokey and amble merrily on his way.

She already liked him. And liking led to caring. Caring led to love. Love led to loss and deep, dark despairing grief. No, thank you.

Again, the door swung open. Roland Patterson swept inside. “Skyler, darling,” he called, waving a pad of paper. “You want in on the pool?” He paused at the counter, smiling slowly at Jack. “Why it’s Fluffy’s savior. How delightful to see you, Firefighter Jack.”

Jack nodded. “Mr. Patterson.”

Skyler watched Jack’s reaction for the usual homophobic nonsense, but he displayed nothing of the sort. Damn. Just when she was ready to put another black mark by his name—other than the job and tendency toward reckless heroism—he had to go and be even more interesting.

“Pool?” she asked Roland to distract herself.

“Frat Boy Survival,” he said as if that were obvious, and Skyler groaned. “I saw the darling redhead with the roses. Kind of scrawny. I’m giving him twelve hours.”

Glaring at Roland, Jack straightened to his full height, leaving Skyler dizzy and Roland gaping. “You’re betting how long before that kid gets pummeled?”

“Well, uh…” Roland’s gaze darted to Skyler for support.

Skyler crossed her arms over her chest. She, too, thought the pool idea was tacky at best, but she also felt obliged to defend her family. “My brothers wouldn’t pummel a kid.” Would they? She’d better keep an eye on them for the next few days, just in case.

“Count me out.” Jack glanced at Skyler, then smiled briefly. “I gotta get going.” He turned, tossing “see ya, chère,” over his shoulder before sauntering from the shop.

A deep, heartfelt sigh escaped Roland. “That is one incredible hunk of man.”

Her head still spinning, Skyler couldn’t nod, but, for once, Roland hadn’t exaggerated.

A WEEK LATER, Jack sat in the Leather and Lace bar, sipping a biting glass of whiskey, considering the temptation of Skyler Kimball.

A temptation he should resist, to be sure, though it got harder every day. Hell, he got harder every day. Just thinking about those lacy purple panties she wore sent him straight to a cold shower every time. His instinctive reaction to her was inconvenient and stupid, since no matter how beautiful and lust-inducing, she was off-limits.

He’d debated calling her all week, but deep down he knew he didn’t belong with ’tite ange Skyler Kimball. She sold frilly dresses and saved pampered cats. She wouldn’t spend her nights with a swamp rat like him. This bar suited “Wild Jack” Tesson better.

The scarred wooden floor looked as though it had greeted many a customer and borne many a barroom brawl. The black vinyl-covered booths were nicked and rubbed down to the Styrofoam padding. The jukebox roared. The bar was long, well-stocked and packed with customers. His grandparents had practically raised him in a similar bar in Louisiana.

Skyler probably didn’t even know where this place was. He needed to put her out of his mind. He’d come to Baxter with the intention of earning respect, gaining experience and moving on to bigger things. He’d long ago realized his yearning for success was rooted in his insecure relationship with his parents. He’d never understood why saving whales in Fiji had been more important than raising their son.

Of course, whale-saving had been followed by rain forests, then icebergs, then animal testing in cosmetic manufacturing. He hadn’t heard from them in six months, so for all he knew they could be teaching pygmies in Borneo how to rotisserie chickens by now.

“Hey, buddy,” the bartender said, nodding at Jack and his nearly full glass. “That’s good whiskey. Problem?”

On Friday night, Jack figured the man’s clientele leaned toward guys with a heartier thirst. Bikers, blue-collar workers and slick-tied professionals had draped themselves around the place. A half-dozen women were scattered at the tables. All looked ready to start off the weekend with a bang.

“No problem. I gotta work early tomorrow,” Jack said to the bartender, a barrel-chested, dark-haired man who could have been any age from forty to sixty.

The bartender polished a beer mug. “Haven’t seen you here before. New in town?”

Jack rolled his shoulders, setting aside the problem of Skyler for the moment. “I just signed on with the Baxter Fire Department.” He held out his hand, which the bartender shook. “Jack Tesson.”

“Gus Saunders. I own the Leather and Lace.” He picked up a clean glass, filled it with an amber-colored beer, then sent the mug sailing down the bar. A man Jack assumed was a regular caught the drink, immediately gulping from the glass. Gus grinned. “Quick service saves trouble later.”

Jack nodded, recognizing the wisdom of that philosophy. Because of his size and coolheadedness, he’d been designated bouncer at Grand-père’s bar since he’d turned fourteen.

“Welcome to Baxter.” Gus grinned again. “At least the notorious side.”

Just where I belong. Jack toasted him. “Merci.”

“That accent isn’t Georgia.”

“No. St. Francis, Louisiana.”

“Cajun country?”

“Oui. The bars at home, they’re situated along the bayou. Gators discourage the troublemakers. Keeps things colorful.”

“I’ll bet.” Gus waved his hand. “Hey, you know how to cook? Make some of that Cajun stuff—gumbo and crawfish? On the weekends, I bring in a live band and sell food. I think my customers are tired of chicken wings and nachos.”

“A noncooking Cajun is only half a person.”

“How ’bout next weekend, you make me something Cajun, and I’ll give you an unlimited bar tab.”

Cooking was his second-favorite activity. And with the lovely Skyler off-limits, the chances of him indulging in his favorite looked dim. “Sounds good to me,” he said to Gus.

“Great.” Laughing, Gus filled a few orders before returning to his washing and drying position in front of Jack.

As more customers continued to flood in, Jack asked, “You don’t have any other help?”

“A waitress and busboy, but they aren’t on until nine.”

“Need any help?”

Gus sighed. “Always.”

“I worked in a bar for years,” Jack said, standing. All he had to go home to was Casey—the freckly-faced, eighteen-year-old frat boy hiding out in his apartment. He’d found the kid hiding under his dorm room bed this afternoon. As if Skyler’s brothers wouldn’t think to look there.

“I couldn’t pay much,” Gus said, his expression doubtful.

Jack pushed his glass toward Gus. “How about I work for my drink, for tonight anyway?”

“Deal,” Gus said quickly.

Within minutes, Jack commanded Gus’s bar, leaving the owner to mix and joke with his customers. The work was sweaty, but honest, familiar and comfortable.

Until a certain blonde strode through the door.

3

JACK ACTUALLY PAUSED with a beer mug raised in the air, on its way to a customer’s hand. Skyler Kimball swept inside the bar with a quiet hush, but nearly every patron of the place turned to see the newcomer, as if they knew something innocent and pedigreed had invaded their midst.

“Hey, man, do I get the beer, or what?” his customer asked.

Disgusted with himself and the sudden swelling in his jeans, Jack set down the beer, sweeping away the money the customer offered, then stuffing it in the register without even counting the cash. What was she doing here?

From the corner of his eye, he watched her walk somewhat hesitantly toward the bar. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt, she looked sexy, approachable. The jeans hugged her slim thighs and narrow waist, and even under the dim bar lights her blond hair shone like sunlight.

Damn, he wanted her. How could she strip away his resolve to resist her so easily?

Ben wouldn’t fire you for just talking to his sister, whispered the seductive devil serving as his conscience.

Right. He could talk to her. His captain was a by-the-rules kind of guy, he rationalized, and technically only the city council could fire him. Just play it cool, he told himself.

He met her gaze. And the impact of those blue eyes staring into his caused a tremor of need to vibrate clear down to his toes.

He wasn’t cool any longer.

She approached him, angling her head and frowning. The two men in front of him jumped off their barstools, scooting them back with a loud scrape across the wooden floor, each holding out a hand for Skyler to take his seat.

Waving their gesture aside, she asked, “What are you doing here?” in such an accusing, frustrated tone, he had to smile. Could this attraction be a two-way street?

“Have a seat, chère. I had no idea you’d come collecting my drink offer so soon.”

“I’m not here to see you.”

Jealousy kicked him hard in the ribs, and he knew he’d been kidding himself about fighting their attraction. He’d taken plenty of risks before. Why should this one worry him?

She accepted one man’s offer of his stool with a brief thank-you, but continued staring at Jack suspiciously. “You never answered my question.”

Jack forced his gaze away from her glistening pink lips. “Huh?”

“Why are you here?”

“Helping Gus. You?”

“I’m—” She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “I come here all the time,” she said, turning back with a bright smile on her face.

“Uh-huh.” He responded to a couple of shouted orders for refills on drinks, trying to picture Skyler Kimball sidling up to the bar for a whiskey after work. The vision didn’t gel.

Looking nervous, she glanced over her shoulder again.

She was up to something. Something she didn’t want to tell him about. Of course he was a virtual stranger. Why would she tell him? Her business was none of his business.

He stood in front of her, leaning against the bar. Be cool, remember? “So, what’ll you have?”

She set her purse in front of her as her gaze danced down the bar. “A beer, I guess.”

“What kind?”

“Huh?”

I come here all the time. Right. He didn’t mention the slip, but said, “I’ve got Bud, Bud Light, Michelob, and Coors Light on tap. In bottles, there’s—”

She held up her hand. “Whatever you like.”

He drew a Michelob from the tap, placing the cold mug in front of her.

After a brief sip, she smiled. “This is better than the last one I had.”

Momentarily struck stupid by her smile, he didn’t comment. Her parents had named her right. She was an angel who belonged in a pure, cloudless sky. Not being gawked at by a swamp rat, respectable citizen wanna-be like him. But then, there were those non-respectable panties of hers…

He grabbed a towel from beneath the bar and wiped down the wood. When was the last time a woman had affected him so strongly, so quickly? Since…never.

“Are you moonlighting?” she asked after another sip of beer.

“Sort of,” he said, glad to be distracted from his thoughts. “I’m the restless type, I guess.”

“Aren’t you tired after working a twenty-four-hour shift at the firehouse?”

He shrugged. “Nah. We usually sleep uninterrupted through the night. There’s not a lotta action in Baxter.”

“Is that what you want—action?”

Something in her tone brought his head up from his cleaning task. Her eyes reflected an odd combination of wariness and curiosity. “Sure. I jumped at Ben’s offer to come here, ’cause I want to work in a big city station. With Atlanta so close, I figured this was the perfect opportunity. I sure wasn’t gettin’ anywhere at home.”

“In Louisiana?”

“Yeah. A tiny town just outside Lafayette. St. Francis makes Baxter look like a booming metropolis.” He leaned one hip against the bar, smiling as he pictured his grandparents’ white cottage on the banks of a tiny stream, brimming with crawfish in the spring and mosquitoes in the summer. “We didn’t even have a fire station. Me and another guy—who double-dutied as the undertaker and town coroner—covered fire and medical emergencies with volunteers and occasional help from the sheriff.”

She returned his smile. “Baxter used to be like that. My grandfather was the only paid firefighter back then. What about your family?”

“My grandparents still live in St. Francis.” He didn’t mention his parents. Explaining them could take hours. “They own a bar and restaurant.”

Waving her hand at the bar, she said, “That’s why you look so comfortable back there.”

He shook his head. Comfortable wasn’t even a remote possibility around Skyler. The urge to pull her into his arms swept through him. Would she tremble beneath his touch? Would her eyes turn smokey with need? Would she smack the crap out of him?

“Bartender!” a guy shouted from the other end of the bar before Jack could give into the temptation.

“Be right there,” he called back. After one last look into Skyler’s sensual blue eyes, he strode off to fill the order.

By the time he returned, the devil on his shoulder had convinced him he should ask her to dance. One dance. What harm could there be? He was good enough for one dance.

From pretending coolness to jumping into the fire. After over five years, he should be used to it.

Gus approached her at the same time Jack did. “Hello, lovely lady. I’ve never seen you in here before. Name’s Gus. This is my place.”

As Skyler shook Gus’s outstretched hand, a guilty flush colored her cheeks. Again, Jack wondered what had brought her to the bar.

“I’m Skyler Kimball,” she said.

“Kimball, huh?” Gus rubbed his chin, glancing from Skyler to Jack, then back. “Ah, that’s how you know Jack here, right? You must be those Kimball boys’ younger sister.”

Skyler winced. “That’s me. The little sister.”

Rocking back on his heels, Gus nodded. “Great guys. The one who’s a cop…”

“Wes,” Skyler supplied.

“He’s broken up quite a few brawls in here,” Gus continued.

Skyler smiled weakly. “He’s usually around when there’s trouble.”

“One night this crazy guy came after him with a broken beer bottle. Wes never even flinched and had the creep disarmed in seconds. It was incredible.”

“I guess. If you call fourteen stitches incredible.”

Skyler’s gaze dropped to the floor, but Jack had seen the worry in her eyes. After losing her father, he supposed she feared for the rest of her family. She sipped her beer, the haunted look lingering in her eyes. She looked small and alone.

Hadn’t he sworn to serve and protect? Well, no. That was the cops. Hmm. Well, in addition to being a firefighter, he was a medic. He’d sworn to heal.

His gaze bounced from Skyler to the dance floor, then back. What the hell. “Hey, Gus, I promised Skyler a dance. Can you take over for a bit?”

“Sure.” Gus glanced at his watch as he walked around the end of the bar. “My waitress and busboy should be here any minute. You two have fun.”

Jack rounded the bar, then stood just behind Skyler, his hands resting on the back of her barstool. The heat and flowery perfume rising from her skin wound his muscles tighter.

“I never said I’d dance with you,” she said in a low tone.

He leaned close to her ear, tendrils of her blond hair tickling his nose. “Will you dance with me, ’tite ange?”

She turned her head, bringing their faces so close, her breath whispered across his skin. His gaze flicked to her lips. The urge to kiss her kicked through him, but he tamped down the impulse.

“Okay,” she said finally, a little hesitant.

Before she could regret her decision, he captured her hand in his, then led her to the dance floor. The postage-stamp-size area forced them close together, though only four other couples were dancing. He slid his arms around her waist, while she rested her hands on his shoulders, stretching to reach.

“How tall are you anyway?”

“Six-six.” He frowned and noted Skyler frowned as well. Maybe he intimidated her. She was so petite, delicate…untouchable. What the hell was he doing with her?

Dancing. Just dancing.

Yeah, right. Like her cop brother would believe that. A cop brother who came into the bar often.

Jack bit back a groan—of regret and hunger. Skyler felt wonderful, soft and curvy against his body. He longed to run his hands down her backside, pulling her against his erection.

“I haven’t danced in a long time,” she said, her sweet breath caressing him through his cotton T-shirt.

He stared down at her, his gaze riveted by the glistening curve of her lips. “Me either.”

Her eyes turned smokey, needy. That look had followed him into sleep every night for a week. She might be fighting their attraction, but she felt it.

As awareness danced between them, she fixed her gaze on his lips, then licked hers. And he lost his battle with restraint.

Leaning down, he fit his mouth over hers, moving his lips against hers, memorizing the taste and feel of her in case she never let him touch her again. Her lips trembled, then parted, inviting him inside the warmth of her mouth. He slid his tongue against hers, gliding against her heat, her sweetness. As he pulled her closer, her stomach nestled against his erection, and he groaned into her mouth.

Could he work around the brother problem? Could he bury his insecurity about his past? He had no idea, but he wanted Skyler, all her beauty and spunk and curves. Very little else seemed to matter at the moment.

She leaned back, breathing hard, staring at him oddly. “Oh, hell, not again.”

Her eyes dilated. Her MVP? If she fainted again, by damn, he’d drag her to the doctor personally. “Skyler?”

She rested her head against his chest. “Hmm?”

“Are you okay? You’re not going to faint, are you?”

“Not as long as you’re holding me up.”

He was certainly enjoying serving as her prop, but even his libido couldn’t override concern for her medically. “Take easy, deep breaths. Concentrate on stabilizing your heart rate.”

She lifted her head, looking up at him. “Relax. I’m not going to drop at your feet.”

He lifted his eyebrows. She had before.

“Again,” she finished, then grinned.

Relaxing a bit, he stroked her hair back from her face. “You know, chère, about that drink…maybe you could reconsider—”

Her gaze darted over his shoulder, distracting him. He glanced around, but didn’t see any enraged brothers bearing down on him, so he turned back to her.

“Would you excuse me just a moment?” she said before he could continue.

Breaking free of his hold, she strode toward the bar, pulled something from her purse, then crossed to a table occupied by three women who appeared to be the walking definition of “biker chicks.” Though everyone seemed to be wearing leather lately, these tough faces, windblown hair, black motorcycle boots and tattooed arms belonged on the back of a Harley.

His body still vibrating from her kiss, Jack narrowed his eyes, starting after her. What was she up to?

“I’LL CALL YOU next week about your order, Flash,” Skyler said, then glanced back and saw Jack working his way across the bar. Damn, damn, damn. He’d never believe Flash and her “gang” were customers of the shop. What in the world was he doing at a biker bar anyway? Didn’t he know the cops and firefighters all hung out at The Corner Pub in town? And what in heaven’s name had possessed her to kiss him?

“Great. Thanks for finding my wallet and bringin’ it way out here,” Flash said, punching Skyler’s shoulder lightly.

Wincing from the friendly jab, Skyler backed away from the table. “No problem. I—” She couldn’t get the words “come here all the time” past her lips again. “I was glad to do it for such a terrific customer. See ya.” She waggled her fingers, then spun to intercept Jack before he reached them.

Too late, she thought somewhat hysterically as she plowed into his wide chest. She bounced off the hard muscle and would have fallen flat on her butt if he hadn’t grabbed her by the waist. Why did the man have to be so attentive…so “gorgeous and available,” as she’d overheard at least fifty times during the week from the stream of helpful gossips passing through her shop. Only Roland was disappointed in Jack’s attributes. “Straight,” he’d informed her mournfully.

Once she found the courage to look up, her gaze connected with his. Big mistake. Those soulful brown eyes belonged on a child, not a full-grown man. And, heavens, did he have great lips. She wanted them on hers again…and again. Desire trembled through her veins.

“Are you okay, chère?” he asked.

And that accent…whew. “Just super,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t question her further. Their explosive kiss had left her light-headed—which he didn’t have to know about—so her biker customers had come as a welcome distraction. But, as usual, she was now questioning her impulse.

“What was that all about?” he asked, nodding to the women behind her.

Living up to those brash Kimball genes was damn overwhelming sometimes. She shrugged. A girl’s gotta do… “Flash is a customer.”

Jack raised one black eyebrow. “Flash?”

She stepped out of his embrace, crossing her arms over her chest. “The brunette in the middle—the one with the blond streaks in her hair.”

“She’s a customer?” He smirked. “Somehow I don’t picture her seeped in lace and tradition.”

“Maybe she likes lace and tradition.”

Both eyebrows darted up. “I’m sure.”

Ha! She’d found another flaw. The man was quick to judge, dangerous, way too tempting and…leaving. Atlanta was his future. The perfect opportunity. Losing him wasn’t just an irrational fear of his job—it was assured.

Well, she didn’t want to win him anyway.

With her index finger, she poked Jack so hard in the chest he actually stumbled back, though only in surprise. “Look here, you arrogant, judgmental, luscious—”

Walking backward, he grinned. “Luscious?”

Blood red clouded her vision. “You egotistical, daredevil…man!” She drew a deep breath before continuing her tirade. “It’s been a really long week, and I don’t have the time or the inclination to explain to you the finer points of retail sales management, except to say you never…and I mean never prejudge a customer. The woman who walks through my front door wearing ripped blue jeans and a ratty T-shirt may have more money than the queen of England. Flash and her friends have the right to shop anywhere they please, regardless of what any close-minded creep thinks about their purchases!”

Jack’s jaw hardened. “Creep?”

Flash appeared at her side. “Problem, Skyler?”

Skyler spared a brief glance at her customer. “No. This is a personal thing.”

“Right. A problem.” Flash’s dark eyes narrowed. She advanced toward Jack, her gang flanking her. “He may look big, honey, but trust me the girls and I can handle him.”

“No. Really, I can—”

Before Skyler could finish, Flash swung.

Instinctively, Skyler stepped in front of Jack. The fist intended for Jack’s jaw landed squarely against Skyler’s left eye.

“Oh, damn,” she muttered just before she jolted backward against Jack’s chest and passed out cold.

“SKYLER…CAN YOU HEAR ME?” Jack’s voice sounded as if it was echoing down a long tunnel.

Skyler moaned, then blinked. She lay on the floor of the bar, with Jack’s arm cradling her neck. His handsome face loomed over her, along with Flash, her gang and several other people she didn’t recognize.

“Hey, Gus, how about some ice?” Jack suggested.

“Frozen peas are better,” someone said.

Flash shoved the speaker. “Where are we gonna get frozen peas, stupid?”

“Hey, babe,” the guy next to Flash said, his eyes narrowing, “don’t push him.”

Flash grabbed the front of his shirt. “Shut up!”

“Uh—” Skyler began, trying to raise her head, but the pounding around her eye forced her to lie back down.

Jack’s fiercely concerned face and wide chest suddenly blocked her view of the other people, though she could still hear Flash shouting at someone. “I’m gonna carry you to a booth, oui?” Caution darkened his eyes. After her tirade earlier, she could hardly blame him.

She tried to nod, found that hurt, so she mumbled, “Please.”

Held next to Jack’s firm, muscled chest two times in the same day, she marveled. Maybe her luck with men was changing. Right. Punched in the eye and near discovery of her secret. Her luck was changing all right, and not for the better.

Even though proximity to Jack was a bad idea and pain pulsed through her eye, she couldn’t help but inhale the smoky, spicy scent emanating from his skin. As she wrapped her arms around his neck, his muscles bunched, and she let him coddle her. An impulse she’d regret like so many others, no doubt.

When he placed her in the vinyl booth, she sighed with regret.

Gus handed Jack a plastic bag of crushed ice. “Try this.”

Jack laid the cold pack against her face, and she flinched. “Sorry.” He cradled her cheek in his palm. “It’ll help the swelling.”

“Swelling?” Perfect. She might never look in a mirror again. And how in the world was she going to explain this to her brothers?

Across the room several voices rose in volume, but Skyler had her own troubles at the moment, so she pushed aside the distraction. Now that the initial stinging from the ice had passed, the cold had numbed the area enough for her to think straight again.

She had to get out of here. Immediately. Quietly. Just after she gained the sworn silence of everyone in the bar. The black eye she would no doubt have in the morning would be hard enough to explain—maybe she could go for the old “walked into a door” story—but she couldn’t let her brothers find out about Jack’s connection to her injury. He’d get fired, or worse, thinking again of Boyfriend #2—the lake dweller. Glug, glug, glug…

Leaning sideways, she considered her need to protect Jack only briefly—she shouldn’t, couldn’t care—as she peered around his wide shoulders, hoping to spot a back door.

Instead, she saw Flash shove someone. Flanking their leader, her friends planted their fists on their hips. The men across from them leaned forward, their jaws jutted forward. The antagonists began circling each other. The other bar patrons backed away to watch. Money was exchanged.

Central Casting couldn’t have scripted a better rumble.

“I’m taking you to the firehouse,” Jack said. “I have meds and—”

Distracted from the alarming scene across the bar, Skyler blinked up at Jack. Then ground her teeth together from the pain of focusing. “I just want to go home.” The crowd cheered. God only knew what was happening with the fight. “Now.” She scooted by Jack out of the booth.

As she stood, the room spun. “Damn.” She held her arm out to balance herself. She was not going to faint again.

Jack’s strong arm slid around her waist. “Change of plans. You’re goin’ to the emergency room.”

“No.” Wesley and Steve knew—and had dated—nearly every nurse in the hospital. “I have Tylenol at home.”

Crash!

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the bar.

“What in the hell…” Jack began, obviously noticing the rumble for the first time.

“Terrific,” Gus said in disgust just as one of the men tossed a bowl of beer nuts at Flash. She retaliated by pouring a mug of beer over his head.

In one smooth, quick motion, Jack picked up Skyler and deposited her in the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

Before she could so much as blink—and the blinking hurt like hell—he’d started across the room.

What in the world was he doing? Skyler wondered in horror as she watched him stride purposefully into the fray. He’s a hero, remember? A reckless, foolish—

He ducked a handful of pretzels flying through the air, stepped over a puddle of chicken wing sauce, then grabbed the thrower by the front of his shirt, as Skyler stared in fascination. Flash charged toward him on the other side, but Jack merely held her back by grabbing her shoulder.

“Let’s all calm down,” he said.

A couple of guys in the crowd, not liking the interference, tossed nacho chips—cheese included—at Jack. The chips fluttered uselessly at his feet, but the thick, orangy sauce landed with a plop in his hair.

Skyler winced. That stuff was going to be nasty to get out when it dried.

The room fell silent for a second or two, then all hell broke loose.

Beer nuts flew. Chicken bones sailed. Chips crunched beneath boots. Shouts echoed off the walls. People slid through pools of cheese sauce and beer.

It was a smelly, slippery, icky mess. Skyler debated between throwing herself into the middle as the voice of reason, or remaining safely in the booth and laughing her fanny off.

“Anybody who smashes a glass gets arrested,” Gus shouted into the confusion.

Jack disappeared behind the bar for a few minutes, then returned with a mop and a bucket. He stood silently next to a stool, cheese dripping off his head, as if waiting for the melee to die down so he could deal with the mess.

She’d known the man less than a week. How could he cause such a roller coaster of pride and hilarity to race through her?

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” a familiar voice asked from the doorway.

Flinching, Skyler turned to face her brother.

THE VIEW FROM the Baxter City Jail wasn’t bad, Jack reflected.

The simple, tidy room contained just two battered oak desks—one manned by a bored-looking sergeant—a few vending machines and two cells. Other than the recent addition of a hall leading to some new offices, Jack didn’t have much trouble picturing the place occupied by Sheriff Taylor and Barney Fife of Mayberry.

Skyler paced the floor in front of him, her breasts bobbing with the movement, her worn jeans hugging her hips and thighs. Full of guilt, he wondered how much her eye hurt and if they could pick up at the kiss where they left off.

Of course they were on opposite sides of the bars, so that might be a bit difficult to accomplish at the moment.

“Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll get you out of there,” she said, holding a fresh ice pack to her eye as she turned, then started across the front of the cell again. “Gus is talking to Wes now. He’ll explain how you were trying to help.”

Jack clenched the bars in frustration. Trying to help didn’t seem like much comfort at the moment.

The fighting had ended amicably enough. At the appearance of the police, fighters and patrons alike had blinked innocently, dropped their chicken wings and chips and picked up their drinks as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Lieutenant Wesley Kimball had strolled in with calm authority, received a rundown of the events from a grateful Gus, then proceeded to take down the names of the ones who’d wrecked the bar owner’s property. Gus agreed not to press charges as long as the fighters cleaned up and paid for the food. Wes had even acknowledged Jack’s assistance in controlling the situation.

Until he noticed his precious baby sister’s swollen eye.

Then Jack and everyone else had been taken straight to jail—do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

“This is all your fault, man,” Mike, one of his fellow detainees, said grumpily.

Jack turned to stare at the man who’d brandished a bowl of beer nuts at him less than an hour ago. “My fault?”

“Yeah.” Mike’s jaw jutted forward. “You had to break up a perfectly good brawl.”

“Oh, shut up,” Flash said. “This is your fault. If you hadn’t thrown those nachos—”

“Pipe down in there,” the desk sergeant called from the other side of the room.

Flash and Mike turned their backs to one another.

Skyler laid her hands over Jack’s through the bars. “They can’t hold you if Gus doesn’t press charges, right?”

Her bright blue eyes were so liquid with worry he didn’t want to tell her the truth. At the very least, the police could charge any and all of them with disturbing the peace, destruction of property, attempted assault, actual assault, criminal mischief, etcetera, etcetera. And, frankly, he was more concerned that her brother was, right at this moment, plotting to pin everything from J.F.K.’s assassination to MonicaGate on him.

He stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Everything will work out,” he said without much confidence.

“I’d back off, if I were you, Tesson,” Wes called from down the hall. “Going near my sister was what got you into this mess in the first place.”

Jack bit back his reply as Wes Kimball sauntered toward the cells, Gus trailing in his wake.

Skyler ran toward him. “You let Jack out of there right now, Wesley. This is outrageous! He tried to stop the fight.”

Wes smiled down at her, patting her on the head as he walked by.

Jack didn’t think dismissing Skyler was such a wise move—or was going to be quite so easy.

Skyler threw her ice pack on the floor and charged after him. With her red, swollen eye and I’ve-had-it-up-to-here expression, it looked as though the next casualty in this war would be Wes Kimball. “I’m warning you,” she said.

“Not now, Sky,” he said, his blue eyes, so like his sister’s, radiated anger as he stared at Jack. “Toss me those keys, Sergeant.” After unlocking the cell doors, he gestured in the direction he’d just come. “This way, Tesson.”

Rolling his shoulders, Jack walked out of the cell. It was time they had this out. His and Skyler’s relationship, if they even had one, was none of Wes’s business, but he’d dealt with hotheaded cops before and knew arguing would only egg him on. Jack intended to keep a hold on his already strained temper and show this jerk a thing or two about self-control.

His gut clenched as he preceded Wes down the hall, remembering the time his parents had been arrested in an animal rights protest, and he’d driven all night to Dallas to bail them out of jail.

They were halfway down the hall when Skyler joined them. “You’re not talking to Jack without me.”

Jack was suddenly reminded this was the woman who’d sacrificed herself for him. She’d instinctively stepped in front of Flash’s punch, telling him more about her strength and loyalty in one brief moment than he suspected most people learned in a lifetime. No one had ever done anything like that for him.

Wes sighed. “Come on, then. It’s time I found out what’s going on between you two anyway.”

Jack stiffened. He wanted to know what was going on, too. No doubt Wes thought he wasn’t good enough for his sister. And Wes certainly wasn’t the first.

They all entered a small, somewhat disorganized office with Wes’s nameplate half-buried beneath a pile of file folders on the desk. Wes indicated the two chairs in front of the desk for Jack and Skyler, while he sank into his swivel office chair. The position of authority. This was his interview.

Jack laid his arms along the armrests. Stay cool. He knew he could do so with Wes in a way he’d never manage with Skyler.

The lieutenant wasted no time getting to the point. “So, what’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing is going on,” Skyler said immediately, though her gaze darted to Jack’s, and he knew she was thinking about the kiss they’d shared on the dance floor.

“You two started a barroom brawl,” Wes said.

“We didn’t start anything. Flash did, and she was only—”

“Ah, yes. Flash.” Wes raised his eyebrows. “The biker chick who claims to be one of your customers.”

Comments like that were a bad idea. Jack knew from experience. But after an hour behind bars, he’d let the lieutenant learn that lesson for himself.

“My customers are none of your business,” Skyler said tightly.

Jack glanced from Skyler to Wes. What about calling him arrogant and egotistical?

Wes sliced his hand through the air. “Whatever. The point is she claims your black eye was intended for Jack. She said he was threatening you.”

Skyler rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. He was not.”

Though Jack appreciated her support, Wes’s eagerness to believe he was really a danger to her pissed him off. He leaned forward. “You really think I’m capable of threatening your sister?”

That suspicious lawman gaze flicked to Jack. “I don’t know you well enough to determine anything about your capabilities.”

At this rate, he never would, either. Wes Kimball had labeled him a troublemaker based on assumptions, guilt by association. Jack swallowed a tide of anger. “But you trust your brother, don’t you? Ben thought I was good enough for this town.”

“This isn’t about the town. It’s about my sister.”

Who I’ll never be good enough for. “I didn’t threaten Skyler. I didn’t start the fight. I didn’t hit anyone. I didn’t destroy any property. Do you have any witnesses who say different?”

“No,” Wes admitted, though he obviously regretted the lack of evidence.

“Then this meeting is over.” Jack rose from the chair, and he didn’t dare look at Skyler. He’d never been arrested over a woman, and he knew one look into her eyes would have him risking much more just to be near her.

Wes stood as well. He was nearly the height and breadth of Jack, but not quite. A difference that certainly didn’t please the lieutenant, who rested his right hand on the butt of the gun strapped to his waist.

“Skyler, I need to talk to Jack alone for a minute.”

“What for?” Skyler asked suspiciously, gazing up at the two men.

“A little man-to-man thing. You understand.” Smiling, Wes gestured toward the door.

“Does it concern me?”

“Yes.”

“Forget it.”

Wes shrugged. “Fine.” He directed his intense blue gaze at Jack. “Stay away from my sister, Tesson.”

Before Jack could do more than tighten his jaw, Skyler leapt to her feet. “Wesley Austin Kimball!” She leaned over the desk, her hands planted firmly in the center. “That’s the rudest—”

“He’s a firefighter, Sky,” Wes interrupted quietly.

Skyler’s gaze darted to Jack, then back to her brother, and Jack had the sinking sensation his job was a bad thing. Usually, women were impressed by his profession. But then she’d suffered a great loss at the hands of fire fighting.

“It’s a brother’s duty to look out for his sister,” Wes continued.

Skyler pressed her lips together. Then, after a penetrating glance in Jack’s direction, she addressed her brother. “You know how much I appreciate your concern, but I can handle this. I don’t need you to protect me from Jack.”

Wes frowned. “You realize if Ben finds out Jack will lose his job.”

Skyler shook her head.

Jack couldn’t help but wonder—did that mean he wouldn’t lose his job, or Ben wouldn’t find out, or there wouldn’t be anything to find out?

“Jack and I will work this out,” she said firmly to Wes. “I don’t want your interference.”

Wes continued to scowl and look puzzled as if Skyler spoke a foreign language, and Jack grinned. Confidence surged through him. If he’d ever had doubts Skyler was worth any risk, he shoved them aside.

Until she strode from the room.

“And don’t think I don’t know about that frat boy with the roses!” Wes called after her.

Skyler slammed the door.

Well, hell. The lady might be interested, but, clearly, he still had a long way to go.

Wes dropped back into his chair and propped his feet on his desk. “Well, ‘Wild Jack’ Tesson, I ran a make on you, you know.”

Wishing he didn’t so completely miss Skyler’s presence, Jack raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

Wes held up his hands. “All part of the background check when you applied for your job.” He paused. “You seem to have a tendency toward barroom brawls.”

“I don’t have any arrests on my record.”

Wes shrugged. “I asked around.”

And heard a lot of stories about his out-there parents and his own wild early years. “I was a bouncer in my grandparents’ bar. I broke up fights. I didn’t start them.”

“Just like tonight.”

Jack was through pretending to be easygoing. And he was through humoring Wes Kimball. He could understand the guy’s need to protect his sister, but not at his expense. Saying nothing, he walked to the door. As he turned the knob, Wes called his name.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Wes held up the arrest report. “Tell you what, Jack ole boy, you stay away from my sister, and I’ll rip this in half.”

Jack wasn’t too worried about being prosecuted, but he guessed Wes could hand his report over to the town council, who’d be less than thrilled to have their newest employee in trouble with the law. But after that kiss with Skyler, feeling the heat they generated, seeing the resolve in her eyes made him realize he had no intention of giving up on her. This little pissing contest between him and Wes wouldn’t discourage him.

Their relationship couldn’t last, he supposed. He’d be off to Atlanta soon, maybe even before she realized he wasn’t good enough for her.

But he had no intention of revealing any of that to Wes. He opened the door. “Keep your report. I’d rather have Skyler.”

“WHY IS MY LUCK so rotten, Monica?”

Checking the fit of her black satin bustier, panties, garter belt, stockings and four-inch, rhinestone-studded shoes in the wall of mirrors, the statuesque redhead sighed. “Skyler, honey, having to spend endless hours planning the Fourth of July celebration with Jack Tesson is good luck, not bad.”

“Humph. The last time I was with him I got punched in the eye, and he got arrested. What does everyone see in him anyway?” Skyler asked as if she hadn’t spent endless hours fantasizing about the luscious firefighter herself.

He’d caught her when she’d fainted, stood up to an entire bar of hostile people, he’d stood up to her brother. All to his detriment. No doubt Wes hadn’t listened to her request that he butt out of her relationship with Jack and had conspired with the mayor to give him the Fourth of July duty as punishment.

The whole mess had Skyler aroused, irritable and guilt-laden. The only positive thing that had happened over the past few days was the swelling around her eye had finally gone down, and she’d reaffirmed her resolve that interest in Jack was completely counterproductive. He was a firefighter. Dangerous and heroic. And leaving. Even Wes—who could be extremely hardheaded—recognized the mismatch. She, Ms. Paranoid Over Her Brothers’ Risky Professions, hot for a firefighter? Absurd. Ridiculous. Out of the question.

“He’s gorgeous, sexy and charming,” Monica said. “And that accent…whew.”

Okay, so maybe the entire female population of Baxter, plus Roland, had excellent taste, but Skyler fully intended to pretend otherwise. “Don’t let Wes hear you say that. He and Jack nearly came to blows the other night.” Wes and Monica had been dating for weeks—a record for her brother—and Skyler had hopes she’d finally have another woman in their testosterone-in-surplus family.

“They nearly came to blows over you. Isn’t that terrific?”

Skyler tugged the lace trim into place, then rose. “No.”

“I’d love to have two men fighting over me.”

“One of them was my brother,” Skyler reminded her friend, though she wouldn’t want two men fighting over her under any circumstance.

“Yeah, well, your brother certainly isn’t that passionate about defending me.”

“Of course he is. He’s crazy about you.”

“I’m not so sure.” Monica stepped onto the raised platform positioned in the center of the large dressing room. The track lighting enhanced her curvy figure and pale skin. She cocked her hip and smiled. “But this will help.”

Skyler walked around Monica, eyeing the fit of the racy lingerie with a critical eye. In the pink-and-gold decorated back room—her bold nod to whorehouse-chic—they had complete privacy to conduct the risqué business of the shop. Fiona had the day off, and Skyler had installed the new warning bell so she wouldn’t have to lock the door in the middle of the day.

“It’s not too tight around the bust?” Skyler asked.

“No, it’s perfect.”

Finally, Skyler smiled. “It certainly is. Wes is going to flip when he sees you in that.”

“I hope so,” Monica said, but she didn’t sound too certain.

“Chaud, chère,” a familiar male voice called from behind them.

Gasping, Skyler whirled.

“Hot, hot, hot,” Jack Tesson said, strolling boldly into the room.

Skyler blinked, hardly able to believe her eyes. The man had the worst timing of anyone on the planet. And why hadn’t her door alarm gone off?

Some inner protective instinct finally asserted itself. Move! it yelled. Cover this up quick, or the town council will know your dirty little secret by noon, and you’ll be out on your backside—leather, lace and all.

She grabbed Monica by the arm. “Let me handle this,” she muttered.

“Can I watch?” Monica asked, then laughed.

Skyler didn’t see anything to laugh about. She tugged her friend to a dressing stall, shoving the pink velvet curtain closed.

“Out,” she said, pointing at Jack as he hovered in the doorway.

He leaned one exceptional shoulder against the frame. “Oh, I like the view from here.”

From behind the curtain, Monica giggled.

Skyler seethed.

Jack held up his hand. “I’m leaving.” He backed from the room, pulling the door, though before the latch clicked shut, he stuck his head back inside. “I’m just dyin’ to find out about this special order, ’tite ange.” The door shut.

“Ooohhh.” Skyler stamped her foot. “That man! My life was perfectly normal until he got here.”

Monica shoved the curtain aside. “Your life wasn’t normal, babe, it was boring. There’s a difference.”

Staring at the door, Skyler bit her lip. What did he think? What would he say? Was there any possibility of bluffing her way out of this disaster?

“Well, go on,” Monica said as she pulled her clothes on over the merry widow. “I’ll go out the back while you handle him.” She grinned. “And I know just which parts of him I’d handle.”

“I need a plan, not sex.”

Monica just blinked.

“Even if I did want, think about, or ever consider sex with a man like him”—whose idea of work is battling through fire-engulfed houses, combating floods and contagious diseases and probably leaping over tall buildings in a single bound— “I’d have to sneak around my brothers to do it.”

Monica danced on one foot as she slipped off one four-inch stiletto heel. “So? You sneak around them anyway with the lingerie.” Shoving the shoes in her purse, she slid her feet into sandals—with only a three-inch heel. “Besides, I’m hoping to have one brother completely occupied—at least the moment he gets back from the law enforcement convention.”

Skyler started for the door. “That just leaves two.”

In the hall, leaning against the wall, lounged Jack Tesson, looking as if he planned to hang out all day.

Avoiding him, Skyler let Monica out the back door, then, stalling further in the desperate hope a brilliant explanation would occur to her, she locked the front door and flipped over the Closed sign. By the time she reached the counter, her hands had stopped shaking, and she was pretty sure her voice would sound normal. Bluff, bluff, then lie and bluff some more seemed the most prudent escape. She couldn’t lose her shop.

Jack had moved to sit on the counter, his long legs dangling just inches off the floor. “You got some great merchandise, chère.” He grinned. “Any more of those black things…” his gaze traveled the length of her “…in a bit smaller size?”

Heat stole through her body. The shaking started again, this time in her stomach. “Uh, no. A one-time-only order for a friend.”

“Right. What about the fancy dressin’ room?”

“It came with the building.”

“Come on, chère. I saw the boxes. Had to be at least four of ’em shoved against the wall.” He lifted one black eyebrow. “Bud’s Leather Palace? Lickable Lacies?”

Leather and edible underwear. Skyler let her head drop back. She was caught.

4

“YOU GOT A little business goin’ on the side, chère?” Jack grinned like the scoundrel Skyler had no doubt he was. “Don’t bother me. A little shadiness develops character. My grand-père sure didn’t get through Prohibition by sellin’ Coca-Cola.”

Skyler planted her hands on her hips. “There is absolutely nothing shady about my business.”

He winked. “Right.”

She crossed to the front door, eyeing the new “alarm” with disgust. She’d only been half paying attention as she installed the blasted thing the night before, since she’d been focused on listening to the emergency scanner to keep tabs on her brothers’ calls. “If you have to know the story behind my shop, the town council wouldn’t give me a business license for lingerie, so I decided to expand my inventory. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Jack slid off the counter, then he walked toward her. “But I’m thinkin’ you didn’t tell the council you were…expandin’ your inventory.”

Determined to avoid the laughing challenge in his whiskey-colored eyes, Skyler ignored his insinuation and experimentally opened the door. Ding-dong sang the chimes. She sighed in disgust.

Jack leaned down and laid his finger beneath her chin, lifting her face. “Does the council know about your little back room?”

She bit her lip. “No.”

“Who does know?”

“Other than me and my customers, you mean?”

“Other than them.”

He really did have the most lovely, expressive eyes. Being a big, macho fireman, he probably wouldn’t appreciate that comment, though, so she kept the thought to herself. If she pouted and batted her eyes, as she’d seen Monica do a million times to get a man’s attention, would he forget all this shop business and kiss her?

“Skyler…” he prompted in a low, determined tone.

“Well, uh, let me think.” She pretended to ponder the question. Just how would he use the information he now possessed? He was a hero, so he was honorable. Hadn’t he protected her at the bar? There was no reason to think he’d betray her now. Finally, she said, “You.”

“Me, what?”

“Other than me and my customers, you’re the only person who knows about the back room. In fact, you and Roland are the only men who know.”

A look of startled wonder crossed his face, quickly there, then gone. “Why Roland?”

She grinned, thinking of the black mask, cape and leather thong underwear she’d ordered recently for Roland. He liked to play Zorro. “He’s a customer,” she said simply.

“Why no one else?” he asked.

He meant her family. Monica had asked the same thing many times. But then Monica was bold and sometimes even controversial. Skyler liked peace. “They’d try to talk me out of it, or—”

“Accidentally blabber about it to the town council.”

She also really liked not having to spell out everything to him. Deadbeat Boyfriend #1 had really been slow on the uptake. “Exactly.”

“I’ll keep your secret,” he said, shrugging.

With great effort, Skyler found the presence to close her mouth. A shrug of those massive shoulders, then I’ll keep your secret. Simple as that. No dire warnings. No predictions of trouble. No questions about her profit or debt or sales projections.

He was definitely a man. But he was an exotic new species in her world.

“…expanded inventory?”

Skyler jerked herself from her musings, realizing Jack had asked her a question. “What?”

“Am I that distracting, chère?”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Of course not.”

His gaze danced, but he didn’t call her on the lie. “What would the council do if they found out about your expanded inventory?”

She tried for nonchalance, but was pretty sure she didn’t quite pull it off. “Probably revoke my business license.”

“Imagine. ’Tite ange Skyler, the leader of a town conspiracy.”

She fidgeted. “I’m not…exactly.”

“Don’ be embarrassed, chère. You having a wild side intrigues the hell out of me. It makes me more interested.” He stroked the back of his hand down her cheek. “More attracted.”

Gulp. This not dating dangerous men rule wasn’t looking like such a hot idea. But it wasn’t just her libido or her heart she was worried about. Jack’s career was possibly on the line. Baxter was the perfect opportunity. At least until Atlanta came calling.

Rules were made to be broken, chère. She could practically hear the words glide off Jack’s tongue. The question was—how badly did she want Jack’s tongue gliding over other places? She leaned toward him, drawn to his energy, even drawn to the danger he represented. What her brothers didn’t know…

His gaze swept down her body, heating her intimately. “All this sure explains those skimpy purple undies.”

Skyler’s face flamed. “What undies?”

“Yours.”

“When did you—” She stopped, suddenly remembering Fluffy’s rescue from the tree while Jack gazed up at her. She gasped. “You, you…I can’t believe you looked! You’re a city employee, a civil servant, a—”

“I’m a man.”

Skyler didn’t know whether to be ticked, flattered or embarrassed. She settled for all three. “Jack Tesson, you and I are gonna go a few rounds if you continue—”

He tapped the end of her nose, distracting her. “Call me by my full name.”

“Why would I—”

“Just do it. Please.”

She heaved a sigh. “What is it?”

“Jackson Phillipe.”

Having no idea why she was humoring the man, but needing to make her point about his bad boy behavior, Skyler went on. “Jackson Phillipe Tesson, you and I are gonna go a few rounds if you continue in this inappropriate habit of doing and saying forward things to proper, Southern-bred ladies.”

He slid his hand around the back of her neck, pulled her forward, then kissed her hard on the lips.

Mouth tingling, she stared at him. “What did you do that for?”

He grinned. “You reminded me so much of my grand-mère, I had to kiss you.”

She knew she’d sounded a bit maternal, but… “Your grandmother?”

“She always tried to make speeches about proper behavior, too.”

“Tried?”

“Without much success—obviously.” His eyes danced. “Now for the reason I came by.”

Distracted, she’d completely forgotten to question what he was doing in her shop in the middle of the day. She absolutely could not think straight in the man’s presence.

“The other night at the bar was completely my fault.” He stroked the delicate skin beneath her eye, regret obvious in his tone. “I can’t believe you were hurt because of something I did.”

She shook her head. Her impulsiveness and desperation to keep her secret had led to the trouble.

“Oui. I should have protected you.”

Again, it occurred to her that this whole hero thing might not be so bad.

“So, I want to make it up to you. How ’bout dinner Friday night?”

A refusal was on the tip of her tongue, but something held her back. She’d always been happy to let her brothers protect her from dangerous men like Jack, but now she suddenly didn’t want to play it safe. No doubt this urge was the result of her daring and impulsive Kimball genes.

She also recalled her recent conversation with Casey—aka Frat Boy—who’d told her he broke the record in ducking her brothers because Jack had let him hide out at his apartment. Her heart fluttered at the thought.

One date. What could it hurt?

She looked up, meeting his gaze. “Sure.”

A broad smile broke across his face, but then he eyed her oddly. “What’s the catch?”

The man was definitely quick. She wanted to go out with him, but she wasn’t willing to sacrifice his job in the process. “We can’t tell anyone.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, managing to go from charming to intimidating in that one move. “Come again?”

“I won’t have you losing your job over a simple dinner.”

“Ben is a reasonable man. He wouldn’t fire me.”

Ben could be reasonable. Wes, she wasn’t taking any bets on, and he could certainly make life hard for Jack. Besides, by keeping this date under wraps she could be daring without being reckless.

“I’m not hiding from your family,” Jack said.

“Then I won’t go.”

Looking exasperated, he sighed. “You’re a helluva negotiator, chère.”

“You should see me negotiate prices with Bud.”

“Bud?”

“Proprietor of Bud’s Leather Palace.”

Laughing, he pulled her into his arms. A pretty great place to spend a Tuesday afternoon, in Skyler’s book. “You’re somethin’,” he said quietly. “And you’ve got a deal.”

Her heart thumped hard in her chest.

He looked down at her, brushing her hair back from her face. “But I won’t lie. I’ll agree not to advertise our date in the newspaper, but if one of your brothers asks me directly, I won’t deny it.”

Skyler bit her lip. She didn’t like this contention, but since she only intended for them to have one date—she was attracted to Jack, but she couldn’t really get involved with him. The loss of her father had ruled so many of her actions for so long, she doubted she’d ever change. Adding Jack to her collection of people to obsessively worry over was a really bad idea.

Jack and his dangerous job wouldn’t be hanging around Baxter long anyway. Losing him was inevitable.

But since they were only talking about one date, she figured she could keep her heart safe.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Okay. Covert, but no lying. Anything else?”

He pulled her tighter against him, so she could feel his hardness growing against her stomach. “How about wearing a selection from Bud’s Leather Palace?”

Skyler thought of the black leather jeans with silver rivets down the seams she’d ordered for Fiona. She couldn’t imagine ever having the guts to wear something like that beyond her dressing room, much less in front of Jack.

“I’m kidding,” he said, as if he sensed her unease. “But wear a dress.” He kissed the side of her neck, just below her ear. “And the purple undies.”

She shivered. God, the man knew how to proposition. He was assuming a great deal about the outcome of their dinner, she supposed, but his tendency to push the limits was part of his charm.

“How about a skirt?” she suggested, not about to give him total control over this date, though he seemed to have commandeered—temporarily, of course—her hormones.

“And the undies?”

Smiling, she waggled her finger at him. “My undies, young man, are none of—”

The alarm above the door jangled.

Skyler jumped away from Jack as if she’d just grabbed a hot frying pan.

Mrs. Markenson—a regular customer and cousin to the mayor—sailed through the doorway, her sixteen-year-old daughter trailing in her wake.

Jack, damn him, discretely stroked her side and whispered, “Relax, chère. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Nothing, absolutely nothing about Jackson Phillipe Tesson was safe.

“Good afternoon, Skyler,” Mrs. Markenson said, nodding her perfectly styled and highlighted head of light brown hair. “I need to find something appropriate for the church picnic for Christine.” She pushed her giggling, blushing daughter, whose wide blue gaze was riveted to Jack, forward.

“Absolutely.” Skyler approached her customers. “I have some trendy new styles for teens.”

Mrs. Markenson wrinkled her nose. “Nothing too stylish, I hope.”

Skyler resisted the urge to groan. More girls in living room drapery fabric—just what the world needed. “Of course not.” As they moved toward the back of the store, she took the opportunity to introduce her customers to Jack. The momentary distraction gave her time to wonder what semitrendy top or skirt she had in her back room that would flatter Christine without offending her mother.

“We’re so happy to have you in Baxter,” Mrs. Markenson was saying. “I’m on the council, you know.”

Yes, we know, Skyler echoed. We also know if you found out about the latest shipment of edible underwear, I’d be out on my purple-undie-clad ass.

Jack, of course, was smooth as glass. “I’m honored you show such confidence in me, madame.”

Mrs. Markenson actually blushed at the French form of address.

“We’re planning an exciting Fourth of July celebration,” Jack continued.

Skyler frowned. She’d forgotten about his appointment to the same committee as her. How was that going to work after she told him they could have one and only one date? As Christine giggled beside her, she waved aside this concern for the moment. Happy customers first. Concern for love life second.

After securing Christine and her mother in a large dressing room with several modest, solid-color dresses and a few skirts and tops, she jerked her head toward the door. “You’re distracting my customers,” she said to Jack. “Out you go.”

“Me?” he had the nerve to ask, eyes all innocent.

She shoved his shoulder. “Yes, you. And don’t give me that wicked-but-innocent grin of yours. I have a business to run.” She held open the door. “Out.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the opening. “What grin?” he asked before producing the distracting expression.

Good grief but he was sexy. She half considered hopping on that sleek, black motorcycle parked at the curb, driving away with him, where no inhibitions existed, and she could ease the hunger clawing at her body.

Wait a freaking minute. Sleek, black motorcycle?

She groaned. “Don’t tell me—the motorcycle is yours, isn’t it?”

He threw one long leg over the seat. “Course, chère. Wanna ride?”

“No, no—” it does look kind of cool, her libido prodded “—absolutely not,” she said firmly, striding toward him. He looked so perfect, so right, so dangerous sitting astride the bike, she had to suppress a moan of longing. And of course he wanted her to wear a dress. Wouldn’t that be just like a man to satisfy his prurient fantasies by having her straddle him—she had to fight back another moan—with her dress hiked up to her thighs?

“We can’t go out to dinner on that,” she said, her voice high and tight. She hoped she hadn’t offended him, but the clash between sensible and risky was overwhelming her senses to the point of irrationality.

“I’ve got a car, ange. We’ll save the motor for our second date.” He kicked the engine over, and the street beneath Skyler’s feet vibrated. “See you Friday,” he mouthed just before he dropped a black helmet over his head and roared away.

Skyler stomped her foot in frustration. There wasn’t going to be a second date, much less one on that rolling organ donor. As she turned to enter her shop, it occurred to her that she was trying to get a dangerous man to play it safe.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, Sky. That’ll work.”

5

FRIDAY NIGHT, Jack slid into the seat next to Skyler just as the mayor called the Independence Day Committee meeting to order. “What’s the emergency?”

“I have no idea,” she whispered back. She shrugged her shoulder—bare except for her dress’s bright pink spaghetti strap. The rest of the thigh-skimming dress clung to her curves and matched perfectly with her heeled sandals and toenail polish.

Delicious. He considered dropping a kiss on her icy pastel pink lips, but knew public affection was definitely a move in the wrong direction. He focused on positive thoughts. Their date might be a secret, but she’d prepared carefully for the event. Definite good sign. In the past few days, he’d managed to dispel the niggling spark of worry that she didn’t want to be seen with him. She was worried about his job. She cared. Her motives were sweet. She wasn’t using her brothers as an excuse. She didn’t have to remind him of the “good girls” in high school, who flirted with him on Saturday nights, then ignored him during school, where he’d certainly not been a part of their clique.

“Okay, people,” the mayor said, rising from behind his desk. “I know it’s Friday night, and I know y’all have plans, but we’ve got ourselves a crisis.”

Eyes wide, Jack had a hard time concentrating on the man’s serious tone. Mayor Franklin Collins was dressed as Elvis—the Vegas years—in a white-sequined jumpsuit, gold necklaces and huge rings on his fingers. The First Lady didn’t disappoint in complementing her husband. She had the voluptuous figure, exaggerated makeup and headdress of a Vegas showgirl.

Jack leaned close to Skyler’s ear, inhaling the sweet, flowery scent clinging to her skin before he asked, “What’s with the costumes?”

Before she could answer, a male voice called out, “Hold on, honey.” Roland swished into the room. At least Jack thought it was Roland. He wore glamour-girl makeup, a blond wig and a gold-sequined evening gown, so only the voice was recognizable. The pet store owner waggled his fingers in Skyler’s direction as he crossed the room.

Jack glanced from the mayor, to his wife, then back to Roland. He asked Skyler, “Did I miss a dress code meeting?”

“No.” She met his gaze, her blue eyes twinkling. “The mayor’s an Elvis fanatic, and Roland performs at a local bar on the weekends. His act is a riot, sort of Ru Paul meets Tony Bennett.”

“These are the people who voted against a lingerie shop?”

“No,” she whispered back. “The mayor only votes if there’s a tie, which there definitely wasn’t. Roland was my only supporter. The rest of the committee—led by two Baptist deacons—trounced the idea.”

The mayor waited while Roland arranged himself in his chair, crossing his unshaven legs. “Could we get back to the problem at hand?”

Everyone fixed their gaze on Mayor Collins. How they could do so without busting out laughing, much less not cracking a smile, Jack had no idea. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“A local band wants to play at the festival,” the mayor announced.

And? Jack waited for the other shoe to drop.

“They’re calling themselves The Metal Heads this year,” the mayor said wearily, shaking his head. “Last year they were The Punk Heads, the year before that The Dixie Heads, before that The Rock Heads.”

A collective groan rippled through the room.

“Not them again,” one of the other committee members said.

“I got rid of them last year,” Roland called out. “It’s somebody else’s turn.”

Before Jack could ask what was so awful about The Metal Heads and why this was an important enough crisis to delay his and Skyler’s date, the mayor turned to him to explain. “They’ve been trying to get into the festival for the past three years, each year with a different act and collection of horrible songs.”

Roland tapped his red-tipped fingernails against the arm of his chair. “The year they went country they planned their opening song to be ‘I Shot My Dog Then Got Runned Over by a Train.’”

Ouch.

The mayor sank onto the edge of his desk. “This year they can’t wait to play ‘I Bashed My Mama with My Guitar Last Night.’”

Double ouch.

Still, this problem seemed easy to fix. Everyone agreed The Metal Heads were a bad idea entertainment-wise. They could just send them a letter—thanks for your interest, but after a decisive vote by our committee…blah, blah, blah. Problem solved.

Jack dusted his hands together and rose. “No problem. I’ll send them a rejection letter and—”

“Won’t work,” the mayor said. “Last year, after they got their letter, they camped out on the steps of City Hall for three days and nights until I listened to an entire set of their songs.” He shuddered.

“They’re really very sweet,” Skyler said, looking troubled.

“And desperate,” Roland put in.

“You know…” the mayor began, staring up at Jack. The beginnings of a smile crept to his lips.

Uh-oh. Jack had the feeling he was about to pay for his impulsive volunteering.

“You could turn them down, Jack. But in person.”

Everyone in the room focused on Jack. Their gazes followed his height and breadth carefully. Obviously, they all thought brawn would come more in handy than brains. The story of his life.

Mrs. Collins clapped her hands, gazing up at her husband adoringly. “Oh, Franklin, you’re brilliant!”

Everyone rose, obviously considering the matter settled, chattering about their plans for the night. Within minutes, only he and Skyler stood in the mayor’s office.

“I’ll help you,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. “They sometimes play on the street corners for tips…at least until Wes threatens to arrest them.”

Jack glanced down. Her fingertips felt cool and delicate against his skin. Flowery perfume drifted to his nose. He inhaled deeply, and smiled at the heat invading his blood. “Forget The Metal Heads for now.” He grabbed her hand, urging her to spin. “Turn for me, ’tite ange.”

He could see her outfit was actually a top and a miniskirt. Of course, she hadn’t worn exactly what he’d suggested. His ange was such a rebel. And she had great legs.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, pulling her close.

She glanced toward the door. “Thanks.”

“We’re alone.”

She smiled, but nervously. “I know.”

Setting his jaw, he fought the urge to comment on their “secret” relationship. It was no big deal. He didn’t need to claim her. He didn’t need her at all.

He wanted to stay focused on his career. But Skyler was fun and smart, and the contrast between her “good girl” and “bad girl” sides intrigued him. And the way she was biting her lip and glancing around as if they might be caught touching at any moment just shouted for him to give in to his own bad side.

He cupped the back of her head, leaning close. “We’re very alone.” Her eyes widened, and before she could give him a reason not to, he kissed her.

Her mouth softened, and a sigh escaped her lips. He slid his tongue against hers, slow and easy, wanting, maybe even needing, to lose himself in her sweetness. Her womanly curves pressed against his body as she gripped the front of his shirt, her fingers clenching and releasing, like an itch she was desperate to scratch. She was going to drive him totally crazy. He wanted her, needed her, absolutely had to have her.

Who was he kidding about his career being his top priority? Every time he touched her, he couldn’t even remember what he did.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, dragging her closer. Her head dropped back, and he left her lips to trail hot, openmouthed kisses against her jawline. Against his chest, her heart pounded like a freight train. Every inch of his body had hardened, and he was considering the sturdiness of the mayor’s desk when she gasped his name.

“J-Jack,” she said, her tone breathy and uneven.

He nibbled her lips. “Mmm.”

“We shouldn’t be—”

He slid his tongue against hers, and she moaned, pulling back.

“—doing this here,” she finished breathlessly.

Jack made an effort to tamp down the devil—the one Sister Katherine had fought unsuccessfully to rid him of in his formative years—sitting on his shoulder, urging him on. “Wild Jack” wasn’t the kind of man for an angel.

Still holding her against him, he tucked her head beneath his chin and savored the sensation of having her close. He drew deep breaths and fought for control of his body. Why did she have to feel so special, so right next to him?

He’d kissed her to prove to her she wanted him in spite of the danger, that he could override her cautious nature, only to confirm for himself that no matter how much he wanted her, he sure as hell didn’t deserve her.

He released her, taking a physical and mental step away from temptation. “I’m sorry.”

She angled her head. “For?”

In some ways she seemed so innocent—big blue eyes, petite frame, pale hair and skin—but as he watched those eyes narrow he remembered her looks were deceiving. A determined businesswoman resided beneath that angelic package. In addition to scandalous purple panties. Hell. His gaze automatically dropped as he wondered what delights that pink skirt hid. Had she asked him a question?

He tunneled his hand through his hair. “Uh, I just didn’t mean for things to get so, um, out of control.” Oh, that was real smooth, Jack.

“It’s not your fault. I wasn’t exactly fighting you off.” She grinned. “That whole might-get-caught part was kind of fun actually.”

He grabbed her hand, tugging her through the doorway and down the hall. “Glad you approve. I’ve got lots of fun ideas.” He led her to the parking lot, and, as he tucked her into the passenger’s side of his Jeep, the slit in the back of her skirt bared her thighs to a sweat-inducing height.

Oh, yeah. He had lots of ideas.

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