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His ridiculously attractive face breaks out into a broad grin, emphasizing the little smile lines around his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is as deep and rumbly as a movie star’s. “How can I help you?”
I snap back to myself. He’s a jock. A jock with a fire engine, but still just a jock. I got over guys like him in high school. However handsome he is, I’m not going to let him intimidate me.
I put out one hand. “Blaze Wilder. Head librarian at the Welkins Ridge Library.”
He takes my hand in his, and I regret to say that the feeling of his large, strong, slightly calloused hand wrapping around mine sends a distinctly unprofessional shiver through me.
“Jeremy Wainwright, fire chief of the Welkins Ridge Fire Station,” he replies. To my chagrin, he looks faintly amused. “Did you say your name was Blaze Wilder?”
My name is what comes of having a mother like mine.
To my further chagrin, I miss the feeling of his hand when he pulls it away. I ignore the question and let the chagrin feed my anger.
“Chief Wainwright, I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll cut to the chase,” I tell him. “I understand the fire department is putting a bid in on the Addison building next door, and I’d like to ask you to withdraw.”
He pulls back almost imperceptibly. “Huh. Mind if I ask why I should do that?”
“Because I need it for the library.”
“Well, I need it for my men.”
“From what I understand, you’re planning to use it for living space, but don’t you already have that?”
“Yes, but it’s crowded and uncomfortable. If I’m going to recruit more people for the job, I need to be able to offer them a decent place to sleep and eat while they’re on duty.”
My jaw tightens. I have a feeling I’m not handling this as well as I could be, but I’m just too angry to think it through at the moment. “Look, I don’t know if you realize this, but the fire station is far and away the best-funded department in town. In fact, over the past couple of years, a large amount of the library’s operating budget has been redirected to fire safety—which, of course, is very important—but the fact of the matter is that the library’s budget has been cut to the bone, and the building we’re currently in just needs too much in terms of repair. You, on the other hand, have more money than you know what to do with. The fact is, I need the Addison more than you do.”
The chief’s smile fades as I talk and by the time I stop for breath, it’s turned into a dark frown.
“Well, I don’t know if you realize this, Miss Wilder,” he says, “but the fires around here are getting more and more dangerous every year. I need experienced firefighters who know what they’re doing. If I’m going to recruit more people, good people, I need a place to put them, and the building next door is perfect for us.”
He crosses his arms over his broad, muscular chest (why am I noticing his chest? Stop noticing his chest, Blaze) and frowns down at me, all traces of friendliness now gone.
“So, no, I’m not going to give you the Addison.”
2
JEREMY
She freezes, her mouth half open, and I’m drawn to the sight of those lush pink lips. Everything about her is lush—her wavy golden hair, her generous hips and chest, her glowing skin. A body like a Renoir painting… The soul of a spoiled princess.
And I’ve had enough of the spoiled princess thing to last a lifetime.
It takes a special kind of woman to tell a fire chief that of course fire safety is “very important.”
And by special, I mean condescending, entitled, and clueless.
Why, yes, ma’am, it is very important. Just a few months ago, we saved half the downtown from burning down!
And where the hell did she get the idea that we have “more money than we know what to do with”? No fire department ever has more money than it knows what to do with. There is always better equipment or better training out there that could make the difference between life and death, either for one of our guys or for someone in the community that we serve.
But if I try to explain that, I may end up losing my temper. This woman is a button-presser, and I can tell she’s the type to press every single one of mine.
It doesn’t help that she’s distractingly attractive, just one curve after another. She’s wearing a cream-colored silk blouse unbuttoned just enough to give me a tasteful but tantalizing glimpse of some impressive cleavage. A pink tweed skirt hugs her hips and manages to convey a prissy kind of sex appeal, and delicate little pumps draw my attention to her legs—legs I wouldn’t mind seeing wrapped around my waist. Or neck. Or any part of me, really.
She has long golden blond hair, styled in soft waves that frame a pretty face with enormous blue eyes, creamy skin, and pillowy lips. And she’s wearing glasses, the horn-rimmed, geek-chic type. She looks kind of like someone’s fantasy of a sexy librarian.
But that’s where the fantasy ends.
