Debbi Rawlins - A Glimpse of Fire

Eric cleared his throat and tried not to make anything of the way Dallas was moistening her lips. Tried not to stare at her glistening lower lip. “Not too gentle. That would take out all the excitement.”

Her eyebrows rose.

Eric smiled. “Bring it on.”

She laughed, deep and throaty, the sound skating down his spine. “You’re giving me carte blanche?”

“I’m all yours.”

“Hmm…”

She bit her lip. And it was tempting, he thought, incredibly tempting. She liked him. The chemistry was certainly there. This is obviously what she wanted.

He moved closer. She didn’t retreat. Excellent sign. “So what would you like to do with me?”

“Oh, I never tip my hand too soon.”

“Oh, right. A woman of mystery and surprise.”

“You have no idea.”

Dear Reader,

One of the most common questions I’m asked is where do I get my ideas? The first time I was asked this I had trouble answering. The ideas just come to me, usually unbidden. They’re kind of always there, lurking, waiting to be triggered by the most obscure thing. My imagination just doesn’t quit. A Glimpse of Fire is a perfect example.

I live in Las Vegas, where imagination seems to run amok. One evening I took visiting friends to The Venetian, an Italian-themed casino where they have gondola rides and an “outdoor” courtyard designed to look like a quaint Italian village complete with white-faced, costumed street mimes. I wasn’t sure the first one I saw was a real person. I caught a glimpse of movement and then stared for the longest time waiting for the next flicker. A dollar tossed in the bowl at his feet earned a slight nod. That was it. And so the idea for this book wouldn’t let go.

Hope you enjoy Eric and Dallas’s ride. Hang on!

Best,

Debbi Rawlins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This is for Steve and E. I’m so glad you found each other. You’re everything I write about.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

DALLAS SHEA CHECKED HER WATCH and then shoved her keys and two twenties into her jeans pocket. She’d planned on walking the eighteen blocks up midtown but now she had to catch a cab or she’d be late.

“Oh, good, you’re still here.” Her roommate burst out of the tiny bathroom they shared while she pulled her long red hair up into a ponytail. Behind her a heap of towels lay near the foot of the ancient claw-foot tub.

Dallas sighed. The woman was the consummate slob. Funny, spontaneous, ambitious and a loyal friend but a total slob. “Not for long. I’m on my way out.”

“Can you walk Bruiser first?”

“No.”

The furry black mutt heard his name and came from behind the green floral couch, which was the extent of their tiny living room, wagging his tail, looking up at Dallas with soulful black eyes. He had to be up to seven pounds by now—big difference from three months ago, when Wendy found him scrounging for food in an alley near Nineteenth Street.

“Please, Dallas. I’ll make dinner.”

Giving Wendy a dry look, Dallas headed for the door, trying to avoid looking at Bruiser. If she did, she’d give in. “That’s what you said the last time.”

“I came through, didn’t I?”

“Hot dogs from Howie’s cart is not my idea of dinner.”

“Come on, please. I have an audition.” Wendy hopped on one leg as she pulled on a tennis shoe over her purple tights. “It’s really important. A new musical and they need twelve dancers. This time I’m going to get it. I know it. Right here.” She pressed a palm to her tummy. “This is gonna be my big break.”

Dallas undid the dead bolt. Then hesitated, reminding herself this wasn’t her business. But Wendy was crazy for chasing after these jobs. Sadly, at twenty-nine, she was already too old for Broadway. A new crop of eager, energetic young twenty-somethings were getting all the gigs.

She looked at her friend and then down at Bruiser, whose expectant eyes met hers, his tail still wagging. Even he’d already figured out what a pushover Dallas was.

Sighing, she opened the door for Wendy. “Go.”

Grinning, Wendy hopped toward her as she slid on her other sneaker. “You’re the best.”

“Be careful of those feet. I need your share of the rent.” Dallas scooped up Bruiser before he made a break for the open door, then grabbed his leash off the hook on the wall. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’m meeting Trudie.”

“Tell her I said hey.”

“Break a leg,” Dallas said as Wendy slipped out into the hall and closed the door.

She put Bruiser down and crouched to secure his leash. “What are you looking at me like that for? Huh?” She stroked his curly black fur, laughed when he licked her chin, rearing back just in the nick of time to avoid a sloppy kiss.

“Okay, boy, I know it’s been a while since I’ve had a date but I like my guys a little taller.” She stood, grabbing the plastic bag she needed to clean up after Bruiser.

In a way she envied Wendy. She never gave up. Her optimism and enthusiasm seemed boundless. Even after she’d lost the contract with Revalyn last year. A week after her twenty-eighth birthday, the company decided they needed someone with younger-looking hands for their print ads. Thank God feet didn’t age as quickly.

Dallas sighed. Boy, was she glad she’d gotten out of that world quickly. She’d modeled for a year during her senior year in college. After the blowup with her parents when they’d cut her off, she’d needed the money. But that had been enough. There had always been someone taller, slimmer, prettier. She’d hated every minute of it.

She led Bruiser out of the apartment, careful to double lock the door, then checked her watch as she waited for the elevator, hoping the damn thing wasn’t on a milk run. Of course, that it was working at all was cause for celebration. If she had the money, she’d move out, but finding and affording another apartment without having to move to Brooklyn would mean working a whole lot of overtime. Or worse, taking another job. The kind her parents would approve. The thought made her shudder.

“THANK GOD YOU’RE HERE.” Trudie looked up from a pink phone slip on her desk, her heavily outlined brown eyes filled with worry. “Close the door, would you?”

“Sure.” Dallas did as asked and then dropped into the worn burgundy leather guest chair. “What’s up?”

“I’m totally screwed.”

Dallas tried not to smile. Her friend had a penchant for drama. Their circle of college friends had been certain Trudie would end up on Broadway and not dressing department store windows. “What’s wrong?”