Nancy Warren - Final Score

Welcome to Last Bachelor Standing!

How long can three sexy single men hold out?

The last man holding out is firefighter Dylan Cross—strong, tantalizingly hot, with a reckless streak a mile long. He’s also Mr. June in the firefighter calendar. But while Dylan will risk his life without a moment’s thought, he would never risk his bachelorhood….

Dylan made a deal to help Cassie Price renovate her new home. But having a mouthwatering Mr. June fixing up her place is more temptation than Cassie can resist. And really, doesn’t she deserve a little fiery fun now and then? But keeping her cool with this sexy confirmed bachelor is almost impossible…and if she’s not careful, she’ll find herself playing for keeps!

Dylan always moved fast…

With a startled cry, Cassie tumbled. He grabbed her, all his firefighter training and instincts kicking in before conscious thought. He tossed her to the bed, his own momentum carrying him in the same direction.

They fell to the bed. She somehow ended up underneath him.

He glanced down into her face, surprise and shock registering. Then he noticed that she was warm and soft beneath him and all the attraction he’d been pretending he didn’t feel roared to the surface.

He leaned down. When he kissed her he felt the moment their lips touched that it had been inevitable from the second he’d walked into her house.

When she started to move against him, he felt his body harden in all the right places.

He wanted so much and he wanted it all now, but dimly an alarm began to ring as his mind finally caught up to the situation.

What the hell was he doing? He was supposed to be fixing up this woman’s house.

And not jumping her luscious bones….

Dear Reader,

Sometimes a hero jumps off the page and seduces you. That happened to me with Dylan Cross. My gorgeous firefighter is brave to the point of recklessness, he’s funny and he’s got a heart of gold. How could I not fall in love with him? It wasn’t easy giving him up to Cassie, a marine biologist whose element is water as much as his is fire. But don’t worry. I made Cassie work for him!

I hope you enjoy the final book in the Last Bachelor Standing trilogy as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

I love to hear from readers, so please come visit me at www.nancywarren.net.

Happy reading,

Nancy Warren

Final

Score

Nancy Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA TODAY bestselling author Nancy Warren lives in the Pacific Northwest, where her hobbies include skiing, hiking and snowshoeing. She’s the author of more than thirty novels and novellas for Mills & Boon and has won numerous awards. Visit her website at www.nancywarren.netfor news on upcoming titles.

This is for Viv Kefford, a dear friend, with thanks.

Contents

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

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Extract

1

EVEN INSIDE HIS bunker gear, firefighter Dylan Cross could feel the heat from the burning house. Water cannoning from the big hoses made almost as much noise as the angry growl of the flames eating at the bungalow in a poorer section of Hunter, Washington.

There’d be a lot of mopping up to do, and not much of this old place would be saved, but the neighboring houses were unscathed, so that was something.

Even after ten years as a firefighter Dylan was still amazed at how alive each fire was, how a blaze had its own personality. Some were unpredictable drama queens, others quiet and stealthy as they ate through property, their smoky breath silently killing anyone unlucky enough to be sleeping without a smoke detector in the house.

It was getting on to 1:00 a.m. A few civilians in bathrobes and hastily donned clothes stood in clusters watching the fire. A dog nosed forward to sniff and quickly pulled back when a blast of flame shot out a window.

An ancient Ford screeched to a halt at the curb beside where Dylan stood and a young woman got out. She had a six-pack of beer under her arm, and from the glazed eyes she was already under the influence of something. She stood and stared at the burning building, then started to glance around, increasingly agitated. “Terry? Terry!” She screamed the name over and over. Then she grabbed Dylan’s arm. “He’s in there. Terry’s still in there.”

Shit. “Where?” He tried to steady her. “Where is Terry?”

She pointed at the lower windows as though he were stupid. “In there. In the basement apartment.”

He glanced up to find his captain, Len Butcher, striding over, shaking his head. But Dylan was already on the move. He grabbed an ax, ran around to the back of the house and found the door to the basement none of them had known existed. Damn it, the neighbors had said that the owners were away. Nobody had mentioned an apartment.

He didn’t need the ax. He found that the door opened when he turned the knob. He did and was about to enter when his captain yelled. “Pull back! Damn it, Cross. Too dangerous. Pull back.”

He registered the words, but only through the buzzing of adrenaline. Somebody inside. Had to get them out.

Dylan pushed in. Where the smoke was thick and the growl of the fire was much louder. To his left, a kitchen, on the right, squalid living quarters with the remains of a collection of plants. The bedroom was behind the living area, thick with smoke, and he could barely make out the hump in the bed. He ran forward, knowing time was running out. He could feel the tremble as the house succumbed. Inside his suit, sweat pooled.

He shook the limp man. No response. He reached into the bed, hauled the guy up. Luckily, he was skin and bones and didn’t weigh much. Dylan humped him over his shoulder and staggered back the way he’d come.

He almost made it.

He could make out the doorway, the way he’d come in, but as he ran for it, the ceiling caved in on them. It was like a fireworks display, all spark and sizzle. As he fell, he pitched forward, trying to throw the unconscious man out the door.

Then something hit him and he blacked out.

* * *

“YOU WENT AGAINST my direct order,” Len Butcher yelled at him a week later when the doctor said he could return to work. Len had an unfortunate face. It was as if someone had crossed a bulldog with a baked potato. The result wasn’t happy. His face was broad and dark-skinned, with that mash of nose in the middle just begging for a pat of butter and sour cream. “I had to risk two other firefighters to go in after you. You could have all been killed.”

Dylan didn’t bother defending himself. Terry was alive. Okay, he was a drug user and small-time dealer whose illegal power-sucking grow op had caused the fire, but Dylan felt that he should get some credit for saving the guy’s life.

Len obviously didn’t agree. “I don’t have any room on my team for a hero with a death wish,” he stormed, so red in the face he looked in danger of spontaneous combustion. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You damn near were killed.” Dylan understood that part of his anger was worry. “You’re rash, a daredevil. You got away with a concussion and some bruises this time. It’s a warning. And if that’s not enough of one, I’m giving you another.” He raised his thick forefinger and shook it in Dylan’s face. “I want you to take a couple of months and think about your future.”

At this point Dylan dropped the hangdog act and glared at his captain. “A couple of months? I’m fine. Ready to go back to work.”