Wendy Etherington - Can't Help Falling In Love

“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.