Vonnie Davis - How to Seduce a Fireman

Wolf shook his head. “Keep it. I’ve known you had it all along. The Captain knows too. I want you to go to Becca’s tonight.”

Yes, her oldest brother would send her to the safety of his fiancée’s care. Everyone wanted to tell her where to go, who to be with, who to love…or not love. Would they ever accept the fact she was able to take care of herself? Perhaps she needed to prove she could. Hell, she was no weakling. All she needed was some time to adjust to a life without dreaming about Quinn and then move on. Eight or nine years ought to do it.

She tossed the entry card onto the table and strode out of the fire station for the last time. I’m a grown woman. I can do this. The hell with Quinn Gallagher.

Quinn’s eyes adjusted to the contrasting interior of Iguana Ike’s. Lights embedded in the edge of the teak bar, along with those strung around the shelves stocked with liquor bottles, twinkled in an annoying rhythm, while dimness hugged the tables and booths. Strobe lights, programmed to flash in time with the music, caused his headache to pound along with the song’s bass beat thumping in his chest. His gaze drifted beyond the wall of glass to the large deck with soft lighting and palms shifting in the evening breeze. Why couldn’t Cassie and her friends have chosen a table out there where it was quieter?

Getting last minute personal time off from the station had proven difficult but, hell, not as tough as prying Wolf’s hands from around his throat. Quinn rotated his neck and swallowed, the discomfort a reminder of performing the unpardonable sin—hurting Wolf’s baby sister.

Truth be told, Quinn wasn’t so fucking proud of his behavior either. Seeing the pain in Cassie’s almond-shaped eyes and watching the light go out of those green orbs had nearly done him in. But what choice did he have? She cared for him, that much was obvious and had been since shortly after she’d turned eighteen. He couldn’t allow her starry-eyed dreams to continue, not where he was concerned. Not when he had cast iron running through his veins. Loving was not in his emotional repertoire. Not anymore. Not since Renata.

If he were a different man, Cassie, the pretty brunette with the heart-shaped face and bright green cat eyes, would be his singular focus. But he wasn’t a different man. He was tainted goods with a damaged heart, a thorny background and a cold outlook on life and love.

Even so, here he sat, trying to work up the courage to approach Cassie and apologize. No doubt she’d refuse his request. Not that he could blame the entertaining blend of kitten and tiger. He’d been damn harsh. He twisted the lime over his bottle of Corona, popped the wedge of fruit into his mouth and chewed.

A blonde, with more cleavage showing than she had covered, shifted onto the empty bar stool next to him. Her overdose of perfume nearly closed his sinuses. “Hi, Quinn. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

He looked at her face, so artificially tanned it was almost leathery in appearance. Damn, he hadn’t been drunk enough to get close to that, had he? “Sorry, but I don’t recall the name. Have we met?”

Some of the brightness went out of her smile. “Brittany Cook. We dated a couple times last fall.”

“Right. Brittany. I’m sorry. Part of my memory’s gone. I don’t recall women’s names like I used to.” He pointed to his head. “Had a timber fall on me during a fire. Hell, I can’t even recall how to make love to a woman anymore. I’ve had to go on the ‘no sex’ wagon for a while. You know, until I get my game back.”

She gave him a scathing once-over, huffed an irritated you’re-an-asshole breath and sauntered off. No loss there.

Quinn spun the stool around and propped his elbows and back against the bar, his Corona in hand. One sip and his stomach returned a hell-no message. Last night he’d consumed an entire bottle of tequila—alone. There’d been no woman, just his worry about giving Cassie the obligatory birthday kiss and the concern that one touch of those plump pink lips wouldn’t be enough. Not that he led a celibate life, far from it. Lately, though, few women captured his attention the way vivacious Cassie did. He groaned and slapped the bottle onto the bar, his gaze zeroing in on the pretty brunette, with that go-to-hell streak of dyed red hair bisecting her dark tresses. By far, she outshone any other female on the dance floor.

When had Cassie matured into such a beautiful woman with curves in all the right places? The first time Quinn had set eyes on her was at her eighteenth birthday party. Wolf had conned him into manning the grill so he could visit with his guests, but Quinn’s gaze kept drifting toward little Cassie. She’d been like a bubbly cheerleader on steroids. Animated. A Pollyanna full of joy. Young with so much promise. Even then, he’d known he was a distant barren planet orbiting the sunny warmth of her personality. God, she was perfection, had always been so in his eyes and heart—pure magnetic perfection.

Now she was twenty-one, just as vibrant and as much fun to be around. Her friends, Sara and Misty, were laughing, trying to keep up. Cassie danced with her arms over her head, gyrating with the fast beat of the music, her red leather skirt hugging that fine ass of hers like he had in his last wet dream.

He brought the Corona to his lips to cool his parched throat. God, she’s gorgeous. To his annoyance, his cock twitched in agreement. The fact his cock paid more attention to Cassie of late was the driving force behind his earlier behavior. He could not use her for a brief fling, not his sweet angel. She deserved more, and he had less than more to give.

If he were honest with himself, which was a bad habit in his opinion, he’d admit how deeply his emotions ran for Cassie. They spent a lot of time together. Whenever anyone questioned or teased him if he was “tapping that”, he gave his typical response that he and the kid simply enjoyed doing the same things. His old “we’re just close friends” reply wasn’t going to work much longer, especially after watching her move that lithe body of hers and wanting to run his hands over every delectable inch.

He’d expected to find his jogging companion in tears, near desolation, not out on the dance floor having a helluva good time. His male ego was taking a bit of a beating. Was he so easily forgotten? Still, on closer observation, her cheeks were flushed. Even from across the dance floor, with that damn strobe light blinking on and off, her eyes held wildness. When the waitress taking care of Cassie’s table came to the bar with her next order, Quinn motioned her over. “What are the girls drinking tonight?” He jerked his chin toward Cassie and her friends.

“Two of them are drinking strawberry daiquiris. The other one, the one who’s been crying, is doing tequila shots.”

“Shots? Cassie doesn’t drink shots. A beer now and then.” He glanced toward the dance floor again. Cassie stumbled and Misty caught her. “Cut her off. Now.” Hell, with her dressed like that, tossing back shots and pissed at him, this could turn into a cluster-fuck in a hurry. Her sweetness was rarely marred by her temper, but when it was, she was a pistol to handle.

The waitress leaned back and studied him. “You the asshole who broke her heart?”

“Me?” He feigned innocence. If there was one thing he could do well, beyond fighting fires and saving lives, it was acting. In fact, his whole life had become a three-act play—both tragedy and comedy. “What makes you think that?”

“She’s been talking about some blue-eyed heartbreaker, and you fit the bill. Whoever tore her soul to hell and back ought to be hung up by the short hairs. She seems like a nice kid.” The chatty waitress filled her tray with the order the bartender set in front of her. “She’s thinking of leaving town.” Having dropped that effing bomb, she took off.