Page 5 of Melting for the Firefighter
I have never heard anyone else say them.
I have certainly never heard anyone sound angry on my behalf.
“She’s my mother.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
I focus on the bow.
Loops. Cross. Pull.
Things I know how to fix.
“I’m fine.”
His gaze moves over my face. “You say that a lot.”
“So do half the women in town. It is practically our municipal slogan.”
“Cora.”
“Your flowers are ready.”
Coward.
I slide the vase toward him.
His fingers brush mine as he takes it.
The contact is brief.
Heat races up my arm and settles between my thighs anyway.
My breath catches.
His does too.
Lance’s gaze drops to my mouth.
Everything inside me goes still.
He is close enough to kiss me.
Close enough that I can see the flecks of green and gold in his hazel eyes. Close enough that one small movement would put his mouth on mine.
I have imagined that mouth doing wonderful, sinful things.
Most of them require locked doors.
“Fire department booth is across from yours on Saturday,” he says.
My brain takes a moment to return to the building.
“Founder’s Day.”
“I’ll be there.”
“In case my bunting becomes dangerous?”
