Page 12 of Bewitching the Firefighter

“I didn’t think you were like that, bro.” Levi’s words are low and biting, the party crowd milling around in a variety of costumes.

“You know I’m not. It was just a stupid thing that meant nothing—“

My buddy holds up a gloved hand, his jaw tight, the face mask doing nothing to dim the anger flashing in his eyes. “Word spread around that the fire department placed a dating bet about my cousin, Linc. She’s new in town. How is that nothing?” A group near us turns at his raised voice, a stack of Jack-o’-lanterns grinning from a bale of hay right next to them.

I hold both hands up. “To clarify, I accepted the bet because I thought Isla might want a friend.”

“A friend.”

“Is that so unbelievable?”

His expression says, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“I don’t lie, dude.” I rub the back of my neck, searching for the right thing to say. “When the rookie wouldn’t let it go, I thought, ‘She’s new here. It might be nice for her to have a friend in town. The lasagna was a bonus. That’s the truth.”

Levi studies me for so long that I know I’m doomed. Then he surprises me. “I believe you. But Isla’s the one who counts in all of this.” He motions with his head toward the patio door, where his cousin looks as beautiful as ever, talking to Marty McFly.

Look out, Marty. It’s not gonna happen.

Chapter 8

Isla

There’s something intoxicating about becoming someone else for the night. You can be anyone you want to be. And when I chose my costume, I decided being a Greek goddess was exactly what the doctor ordered.

The silken organza fabric in the lightest shade of gold shimmers as I walk. The bodice ties behind my neck, its deep V revealing just enough cleavage to be alluring but not wild. A gold belt hugs my waist, the skirt fabric draping dramatically to the floor. It has a slit in the leg that hits well above the middle of my thigh, only showing leg when I walk. Capri found the sexy gold strappy lace-up heels online. What I love most about the outfit, though, is how the gold-leaf headband matches the gold leafing around the fitted waist.

My cousin and her husband definitely know how to throw a party. There must be at least 200 people here. Several tents are set up in the backyard, underneath which are an assortment of couches and chairs black velvets and corduroys. A variety of throw pillows in Halloween colors adorn the seating, with branchy floral pedestals set about and cauldron centerpieces on the low coffee tables.

Torch lights provide soft lighting inside the tents, long with bat string lights. On the opposite side of the main tent are mobile bartenders who are serving beer and two signature cocktails: the Vampire’s Kiss Martini and the Black Magic Margarita.

I’m seated at a small arrangement of three club chairs, sipping a Vampire’s Kiss and talking with a very interested sheriff’s deputy. He’s handsome with light brown hair, brown eyes, and a couple of endearing moles. I even recognize my cousin’s ink on his forearm, so he’s a good guy. He’s been the perfect gentleman, showing interest but not ogling my body.

I’m trying hard to listen, but my mind keeps wandering to Lincoln. Will he be here tonight? Do I want to kiss him again? I shouldn’t want to. But that kiss was the kind of thing that ruins a girl for nice guys.

As my new friend tells me about the band he plays with on the weekends, I can’t help but feel like I’m being watched. I look around and see nothing, but when the feeling persists, I see Lincoln walking toward us, his expression dark and dangerous.

My breath hitches at the sight of him, all masculine perfection in a gladiator costume that shows off his body to perfection. His biceps bulge beneath the breastplate, underneath which is no shirt. Nope. He’s that confident. And even his calves have muscles that other men would be jealous of. I flush, just thinking about it.

I cross my legs, revealing the slit in my skirt to tease him a little. I twirl the end of my hair and laugh at a joke my companion makes with obvious interest.

“Hey, man.”

My companion looks up and smiles before standing, his hand outstretched. “Good to see you, Linc.”

Just great. They know each other.

Lincoln shakes the man’s hand and turns to me. “I thought I might find you out here, Isla.”

His words hold are friendly, yet forceful, almost as if we had arranged to meet up. Linc holds my gaze longer than needed, and the police officer clears his throat.

“It was great talking with you, Isla. Maybe I’ll find you later?”

I smile. “I’d like that.”

The poor guy leaves, and Lincoln sits down, manspreading in his chair the way only a cocky guy can when wearing a skirt. Ugh! My breath hitches at the thought of what might be underneath his gladiator apparel. Are gladiators like the Scots, who wear nothing under their skirts? I shake my head as if to clear it of the cobwebs encircling my libido.

“Mind if I join you?”