Muffin Top (Page 25)

That, of course, only put the mental image of a naked Lucy in his mind, her peach nipples slick with soap. How often had he pictured some variation of that since he’d caught sight of her fabulous tit that had broken free from her tank top at the B and B the other morning? Only nearly every waking moment. It was the last thing he needed to be thinking about—at least when there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it—but he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Sure,” he said, not sure what he was agreeing to, but knowing he needed to say something before her quick mind put together that he’d gone into the perv zone.

“Great.” She took the bag of found scavenger hunt items from him, the graze of her fingertips setting off an electric pulse that shot straight to his dick. “Let me go turn this in and then it’s bubbles and burgers.”

Thank God she didn’t seem to expect him to respond since she simply turned and strode into the high school gym, because he wasn’t sure he had enough blood still going to his brain to form words. It was a situation that was beginning to feel normal with each day he spent with Lucy.

This week just might kill him, but what a way to go.

Chapter Ten

Charbroiled was an Antioch institution. Thick, juicy cheeseburgers on toasted sesame seed buns slathered with a tangy sauce only three people in town knew the recipe for—and they weren’t talking. Then there were the shakes made from homemade ice cream and topped with whipped cream so fluffy and light it was like tasting a cloud. Needless to say, everyone in town—including Lucy—was a fan.

“Who in their right mind wouldn’t be?” Frankie asked as he demolished the last of his double cheeseburger. “That was so damn good.”

The sound he made then was enough to make her reach for her half-finished cherry limeade because it had suddenly gotten a few degrees hotter in the restaurant. “I want to hear what happened next.”

Frankie grinned at her, and she gulped down the rest of her tart drink as an act of desperate self-preservation to cool herself off because after spending the day with him—and gawking at him as he held up the birdbath bowl for close to forever in the park—she was in serious need of a reminder that he was off-limits. Not interested. Out of my league.

Lucky for her, there were lots of reminders. First, he was a first-round draft pick of a player when it came to women, and that way lay nothing but heartache and disaster. Second, he’d declared himself a no-sex zone, so pushing him into something he was trying hard to resist—the act, not her—was very much not a cool thing to do. Third, even if he wasn’t into temporary celibacy, he was a six-foot-six-inch, sexy-as-hell, work-of-art level, ginger firefighter with large hands so perfectly sized, she couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of him was as well. Oh and fourth, totally not into her.

“Oh, this is when it gets good,” he said, totally oblivious to the path her thoughts had gone down.

Before their food had been delivered, he’d been telling her about his run-in with a pompous asshole who parked his Jaguar in front of a fire hydrant. Frankie and his crew had to break the passenger’s and driver’s windows so they could thread the hose through the car and fight a warehouse fire. The car’s owner was totally irate and had taken his complaint to the top brass at the Waterbury Fire Department. When the food had arrived, though, all conversation had ceased as they both dug in. The only sounds they’d made had been groans of appreciation.

“Well, he came marching out of the strip club covered in enough glitter to make it look like he was glowing and started screaming at the probie, as if the kid was in charge of a damn thing.”

“A misperception you disabused him of.” Because—she was realizing—that’s what Frankie did. Just like with her and the asshole telling her she should have ordered a salad, he stepped in and did his knight-on-a-white-horse thing.

“I told him I’d be happy to bring any complaint he had directly to the captain.”

Her bullshit detector went into overdrive. “In those words?”

“Not even close.” He gave her a cocky grin.

She shook her head. The man would be a nightmare as a crisis communication client. Hell, he’d give Zach Blackburn a run for his money on the pain in the ass scale.

“And that’s how you ended up on a forced vacation?”

“That was my assumption when the captain called me into his office, but no, it was just a simple human resources requirement to not let so much vacation time build up.” He swiped a crinkle fry through the pool of ketchup on his plate and popped it in his mouth. “It’s such a stupid regulation.”

For someone like him, she could see that. What better job for a guy with a rescue complex than a firefighter who rushes into burning buildings to save people and rescues cats stuck in trees? Other than his job, his family, and a few close friends, he didn’t seem to have a lot of activities going on—beyond the one he was currently shunning.

He was a workaholic with a rescue complex.

Guess who was the kitten out on a limb this time? That realization—along with her dad’s advice earlier to open herself up to the fact that she could, possibly, maybe be (on occasion) wrong about people—made her prickle.

“And you thought what a better way to spend a vacation than in Antioch, Missouri, with me as your safety date?”

One of his eyebrows shot up. “Safety date?”

“Yeah, the one you don’t have to worry about making you fall off the no-sex wagon.” Okay, that came out a little harsher than she meant it to, but she was salty. No one wanted to be the pity date, especially not the woman who some men thought should be eating a salad with no dressing or shredded cheese or anything that tasted remotely like it had touched an unsaturated fat at any point in its existence.

He stiffened and looked at her with annoyance. “That was the initial plan, but it hasn’t worked out that way.”

She sat up straighter in her chair and gave him the icy look that froze her badly behaving clients in their tracks.

“Look, I know you’re not into me, and I’m okay with that. I’m not fishing for compliments. I know I don’t turn most men on,” she said.

“You are the most frustrating woman…” He groaned and stared at her long and hard. Like he was wrestling with something. He finally nodded, making some decision, and continued, “Good, because I’m not giving them out,” he said in a low voice with enough gravel in his tone to put her on alert. “Consider this a list of complaints.” He began counting off with his fingers as he went through each point. “You’ve made it so a good night’s sleep is an unobtainable goal, because I can’t close my eyes without seeing your ass and wondering how it would move when I buried myself balls deep in you.”

Her cheeks flamed. That was not what she was expecting. Not at all.

“When I almost ran Scarlett off the road in Illinois?” he went on, holding up a second finger. “That was because I was imagining the sound you’d make when I grazed my teeth over the tip of your nipple and then sucked on it hard enough to make you beg for more.”

And there went her panties. Call the fire department. Oh wait, she had someone with a hose right across the table.

His words were so unexpected, she was having trouble breathing. She couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment that he felt the need to lie to make her feel better or imagining him doing all those things to her. It was a toss-up at the moment.