“He said you were,” she admitted as she glanced at the bar, too.
“He would,” he said. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
“He is good-looking,” she murmured as she continued to look toward the bar and Cody.
Was she actually attracted to his friend? When Wyatt had found them in the booth at the back of the bar, she’d been acting all ice queen again.
“I thought he was bothering you,” Wyatt said.
“So that’s why you kissed me?” she asked. “To get rid of him?”
“Of course.” But he nearly choked on the lie. He should have ordered a beer when he’d walked in; then he would have had something to wash it down with and something to cool off the desire still burning inside him. He had kissed her because he’d wanted to since she’d slapped him earlier. And now, after kissing her once, he wanted to kiss her again.
And more...
He wanted to do more than kiss her.
God, he needed a drink. He had no more than entertained the thought than a beer appeared at his elbow. He glanced up at the bartender who’d brought it over. Since Wyatt was a regular, the guy had probably known what he wanted. He reached for his wallet.
But the bartender shook his head. “Cody sent it over. He said you won this round.” He slid a drink toward her, too. “And here’s the club soda you ordered.” He headed back toward the bar.
“Cody’s not the only one who thinks he’s God’s gift,” Fiona murmured. “You two have some kind of rivalry over women?”
“Over most things,” Wyatt admitted. “We work together.”
“Then thank you,” she said, “for getting rid of him. I kept inadvertently encouraging him.”
“Breathing is all the encouragement Cody needs to hit on a woman,” Wyatt said. “But why does it matter that he works with me?”
Because she was interested in him?
She had kissed him back. Hadn’t she? He’d been so into her—into tasting and feeling and exploring her mouth that he hadn’t noticed if he’d been the only one feeling it. Feeling the desire. The passion...
She shuddered as if revolted. “I would never date a firefighter.”
Pride stinging, he asked, “Why not?” Not that he wanted to date her. He didn’t actually date, anyway.
“Too great a risk.”
And that was why he didn’t want to date her or women like her who considered his career too dangerous. He wanted the women who were attracted to the excitement and glamor of his job. And there were always plenty of them around. Not tonight, though.
He glanced around the bar and noticed it was men only. Where the hell were all the women?
“I’m taking off,” Cody said as he stopped by their booth again. “This place is dead tonight. Everybody’s at that new club opening across town.”
Everybody except the regulars who worked in the immediate area.
“Why aren’t you?” Wyatt asked.
Cody shrugged. “They’re focusing on bringing in the female clientele.”
“I repeat—why aren’t you?”
“They’re using male strippers to do that.” Cody shuddered as Fiona had only moments earlier—with pure revulsion.
“Can’t stand the competition?” Wyatt teased.
The other man shrugged. “I already lost once tonight.” He glanced wistfully at Fiona. “It was nice meeting you.”
She lifted her glass. “Thanks for the drink, but I prefer the club soda.”
Cody pointed to Wyatt’s glass. “I wouldn’t have too many of those. Captain Zimmer has that feeling.”
Wyatt nodded. “I know. He’s all tense and edgy.”
“A fire’s gotta be getting started,” Cody said. “Somewhere...”
A fire was, but it was inside Wyatt, a burning desire for a certain redhead.
“It’s too cold around here. So it’s gotta be out west,” Cody said—almost hopefully. Travel was likely the part Cody enjoyed most about being a Hotshot. Probably because the guy was rarely able to stay in one place for very long. “I’m going back to the firehouse to check in with him.” He nodded at Fiona again before turning away.
She looked a little wistful as she watched Cody walk out of the bar.
Something tightened Wyatt’s stomach muscles into a knot again, but it wasn’t desire this time. It was something that Wyatt didn’t recognize because he’d never felt it before—at least not until he’d caught Braden watching her walk away earlier. Jealousy?
“He’s gone,” she said.
“Yeah...”
She shoved against his side. “You can move to the other side of the booth.”
It would have been the smart thing to do—to get some distance between them so that he stopped torturing himself with her closeness, with her heat...
And Wyatt always did the smart thing. That was why his job wasn’t overly dangerous. Like all of the forest service firefighters on the specialized team called Hotshots, he was well trained, and he knew what he was doing. The same went for Wyatt’s personal life—he knew what he was doing and never got into a situation that would put his heart or his livelihood at risk. But he didn’t move. In fact he leaned a little closer to her, his lips nearly brushing her ear. She smelled fresh and flowery, and he breathed in her scent like he breathed in air.
“It’s loud in here,” he pointed out. The bartender must have turned up the jukebox; Wyatt would have to make sure to leave him a tip. “We’ll have to shout if I move across the table.” As he spoke, his lips did brush over her ear.
And she shuddered. He didn’t think it was with revulsion this time. No. He wasn’t the only one who’d felt the desire.
“It is loud in here,” she agreed.
He grinned. Obviously, she didn’t want him to move, either.
But then she continued, “Too loud to talk.”
“We could go to my place,” he offered. “It’s close.” And he was an idiot for suggesting it. What had happened to his usual sense of self-preservation?
She shook her head, and the lock of hair that had escaped that tight knot on the back of her head brushed across his jaw. He shuddered now as his body reacted to the touch of silk against his skin.
He should have been relieved that she’d refused his offer—that she realized what a bad idea it was, too. But disappointment slowed his racing pulse. “I thought you wanted to talk about Matt.”
A little line formed between her reddish brows. “I do. I want to talk about his crazy idea to quit college and become a firefighter.”
He tilted his head and furrowed his brow—as if he was having trouble hearing her. “Crazy what?” he asked.
“Decision to become a firefighter,” she said. “And not just any firefighter, he wants to become a Hotshot.”
That was crazy. Seriously crazy. “We do need to talk,” he said. “But we can’t do it here.”
She leaned closer now—as if she hadn’t heard him that clearly, either. Her brow furrowed again, and he could