Page 13 of Startup Fire

“Dammit.” He plunged the piece into his quench bucket.

He pulled out fresh stock and returned to his forge. Focus. He'd been smithing for twenty-five years. He didn't suddenly forget basic technique just because there was a beautiful woman in his workspace.

He positioned the metal stock in his forge, watching it heat to cherry red. He pulled it out, positioned it on the anvil, raised his hammer—

And made the mistake of glancing at Jess.

She was stretching, arms over her head, working out kinks. Her tank top rode up, revealing a strip of skin. The afternoon sun caught in her hair.

She was stunning.

Wayne's hammer came down at completely the wrong angle.

The metal slipped. His hammer glanced off, sending the hot stock skittering across his workbench. It hit his pile of steel wool and a small flame sparked to life.

“Shit!” Wayne grabbed for the burning wool—

“Fire!” Jess's voice cut through his panic. “Wayne, move!”

She was already in motion, fire extinguisher in hand. She pulled the pin, aimed low, and squeezed. White powder erupted, smothering the flames in seconds.

“All clear,” she announced, setting down the extinguisher. Then she turned to look at him, amusement in her eyes. “So. That was exciting.”

Wayne stared at her. She'd moved without hesitation, knew exactly what to do, and executed it perfectly.

It was possibly the most attractive thing he'd ever seen.

“You okay?” She stepped closer. “You didn't burn yourself?”

“No, I'm—I'm fine. Thanks.”

“What happened? I've never seen you mess up like that.” Her gaze swept over his workbench. “Were you distracted?”

By you. Always by you.

“Just had a lot on my mind.”

“Want to talk about it?” She was close now, close enough that he could smell her citrusy shampoo.

This was dangerous. They were alone, and she was looking at him like she might actually care.

“Jess.” Her name came out almost like a warning.

“Wayne.” She matched his tone, but there was a challenge in it. A question.

The air between them crackled with tension. Wayne's hands curled into fists, fighting the urge to reach for her.

“We shouldn't—” he started.

“Shouldn't what?” She tilted her head. “Acknowledge that there's something here? That every time we're in the same room, it's like there's a live wire running between us?”

God, she felt it too. She felt it too, and she was brave enough to say it out loud.

“You're here for workspace,” Wayne said, but his conviction was faltering. “For the fundraiser.”

“Is that it?” She took another step closer. “Because I think we both know it stopped being just about workspace days ago.”

Wayne's control snapped.