"No need to strike a match to get this fire started..."
Reviewed by Sandi Shilhanek
Posted July 2, 2010
Romance Contemporary
With the summer weather heating up your external
temperatures if your internal temperatures were just as hot
perhaps you might actually feel cooler? No? Well, at
least have some fun sweating in the summer sun, and read
PLAYING WITH FIRE by Amy Knupp the first installment in her
Texas Firefighters Trilogy. Macey Locke and Derek Severson grew up together and their
mothers run a business together. Macey has long had a crush
on Derek that has fully moved from the little girl crush to
a full out want to get down and dirty and think of forever
after type of lust. Derek for his part never really looked at Macey in that way.
In fact as time went on he grew up became a firefighter,
and fell in love with a different person. However, fate
played a cruel trick on Derek, and Julie, the woman Derek
was planning to propose to was killed in a fire that Derek
was fighting. Now Macey and Derek's moms think that Macey can pull Derek
from his self imposed exile on San Amaro Island and get him
back to the land of the living. It's a big job and one
that Macey feels up to especially since she just spent
several years being part of the Peace Corps...but is getting
through to Derek harder than helping third world countries? I really enjoyed PLAYING WITH FIRE and seeing how Macey uses
her business skills versus her feminine wiles. Ms. Knupp
wrote interesting secondary characters such as Andie the bar
cook, and Gus the former bar owner, whom I wouldn't mind
seeing more of in the future books of this trilogy.
SUMMARY
Macey Locke is not backing down. That means Derek
Severson—the man she's been attracted to for years—is just
going to have to deal. She hasn't come all the way to this
South Texas beach bar for a tan. She's here to help her best
friend get back to being what he loves—a firefighter. But
Derek is more stubborn than she thought. He won't tolerate
her cajoling, and he's definitely not hearing any
confessions of love and affection. Well, too bad. This
time, tough guy, you've met your match.
ExcerptMacey Locke didn't often wake up alone in a man's bed. She
didn't often wake up in a man's bed period. But here
she was, sprawled across Derek Severson's mattress, hogging
the covers, hugging the pillow.Fantastic. An awkward
"morning after" and she hadn't even had the pleasure of
spending the night with him. Not that that would
happen. Not now, not ever. She sat up, cringing as she
recalled the night before. She'd driven all day to get to
Derek's bar on San Amaro Island, and though she'd tried to
prepare herself for the state he was in, his
less-than-enthusiastic reception had cut deep. She'd
stupidly thought just the sight of an old
friend—her—would dig through his layers of grief and
sorrow and at least warrant a smile. She'd thought
wrong. Macey helped herself to the connecting bathroom
and splashed water on her face, then looked longingly at the
tiny shower stall. Maybe later. She'd made herself at home
enough already, barging in and stealing his bed while he
closed up the bar. That she'd never intended to fall asleep
didn't make it any more acceptable. She ran a brush
through her hair and pulled it up into a sloppy bun as she
returned to the bedroom. Her flip-flops were next to the
bed, where her feet had been hanging over the side; she
must've kicked them off in her sleep. She slipped them on,
and was about to go find Derek when she noticed the framed
photo she'd left among the pile of blankets. Once again she
was compelled to pick it up. Julie. Derek's girlfriend
who'd died. She'd known Julie vaguely. Had watched as
Derek fell in love with her. It was part of what had pushed
Macey to do something as drastic as joining the Peace Corps
two years ago. But instead of the cutting jealousy
she'd felt toward this woman, now sorrow made her throat
burn and her eyes water anew. Feeling even more like
an intruder, she set the photo back on the nightstand and
left the room, wiping tears away. Had Derek even
bothered to come home? The soft drone of the
television answered her question as she reached the open
kitchen and living area. There he was. Crashed out on a
worn, once overstuffed chair that looked too small for his
long, muscled body to be anything close to comfortable. He
was still asleep. She should give him privacy
but… Wow. He wore a pair of black boxers,
nothing else. A large tattoo of the Texas Longhorn logo,
with flames added behind it, emphasized the size of his
biceps. His chest was sculpted with muscles and a sprinkling
of light-colored hair trailing down the most ripped abs
she'd ever seen. She'd thought six-pack abs were fictional,
but they were totally alive and oh-so-well here. Her eyes
tracked slowly, appreciatively downward and eventually
landed on strong, solid thighs. She swallowed hard, knowing
this little inspection of hers was a really bad idea for a
girl who couldn't afford to be attracted to this man. She
watched his chest rise and fall for a few breaths before her
gaze traveled up to his face. That was like having a
bucket of cold water poured over her head. Derek looked
exhausted, as if he hadn't slept for a month. The hair on
his chin was more than a shadow, making him appear older,
rougher than he was. His ash-blond hair was longer than
she'd ever seen it; for Derek, normally with military-short
hair, that meant maybe long enough for a woman to run her
fingers through it. She clenched her hands into
fists. Macey recalled the emptiness in his eyes last
night, and she ached to comfort him somehow. To touch him,
to run her palms gently down his arms, to hold his hands in
hers. Derek would never tolerate her sympathy,
though. What he'd have to figure out was that she was
no longer the shy, afraid-of-confrontation girl he'd known.
The Peace Corps had changed her in so many ways, and she
wasn't going to back down from him, tough firefighter or
not, no matter how ugly he got with her. Derek stirred
in the chair, turned his head the other way, and she waited
for him to discover her admiring him. But his eyes remained
closed, and he exhaled deeply before slipping back into even
breathing. Macey stepped away silently, filled with so
many emotions her head felt as if it would burst. She
belatedly noticed the view out the sliding-glass door and
the mostly glass wall. Waves. Sand. Patches of sea grass.
Lots of people. She unlatched the door, glancing toward
Derek to make sure he was still asleep. She needed to get
her head straight before round two with him, so she slid the
door open without a sound and went out. As soon as
Macey was gone, Derek got up to deal with the kink in his
neck, stomping his left foot to wake his leg. Feigning sleep
had been nearly impossible because of his discomfort, but
the last thing he could handle was a cheery morning greeting
from Macey. Damn woman. What was she doing
here? He checked out the door and spotted her light
brown hair and short frame halfway between the patio and the
waves. Last night at the bar, there'd been a moment when
he'd been glad to see her. Had perked up when she'd
appeared. He'd tamped that down right away, though. He
didn't want to hurt Macey, but dammit, he'd come as far
south as he could—while still being in Texas—to be by
himself. After throwing on clothes, he strode to the
kitchen and turned on his cell phone. Ignoring the display
that told him he had twelve messages, he punched in his
mother's number. "Hello?" "I don't need a
babysitter, Mom. I'm twenty-eight years old." "Derek,
it's good to hear your voice. You've been ignoring my
calls." "Running a bar here. Tell Macey she can go
back home. I don't want her around." "I'm not going to
tell Macey anything. I'm not—" "Cut the crap, Mom. I
know you put her up to it." He paced through the condo
blindly. "Look, I know you're trying to help. What I need
right now is to be alone." "You can't mean that. Maybe
Macey's exactly what you need. She won't push
you—" "Damn right, she won't, because she can't stay
here." "You'll have to take that up with her. She's
planned a six-week vacation for herself down there.
Well-deserved after spending two years in Thailand, wouldn't
you say?" Derek ground his teeth together. He loved
his mom—he really did. But there was a reason he hadn't
returned her calls. Hell, there was a reason he'd jumped at
the chance to move away and run Gus's bar for him. This kind
of call was that reason, clearly and
emphatically. "Gotta go, Mom. Goodbye." He ended the
call and set the phone down hard on the counter. At an
unobtrusive knock on the glass door, he whipped around,
ready to blow. Of course, it was Macey. He couldn't ignore
her, as he would a stranger, and that just pissed him off
more. He went to the door and slid it open, his frustration
thinly veiled. "I hope I didn't wake you," she said,
eyeing him carefully. "No. Look, Mace—" "I just
need to borrow your sink. Maybe a bandage if you have
one." He followed her gaze downward and noticed she
wasn't putting any weight on her left foot. She lifted it to
the side to reveal blood on the sand. "What happened?"
Grudgingly, he let her inside. "Sliced it on a rock.
I'm fine." She hopped to the kitchen and looked around.
"Paper towels?" "Don't have any. Here." He picked her
up—she weighed next to nothing—and put her on the counter
next to the sink. "Derek!" "Let me look." He
grasped her slender calf and she stiffened. "I can
take care of it," she said quietly but firmly. "All I need
is some kind of…rag." "I'll get you some toilet paper
and a bandage if you sit still." Their eyes met in a
standoff. After several seconds, she nodded in acquiescence
and he went to the hall bath. "Let me make sure
there's no sand rubbed into the cut." He didn't ask and he
didn't make eye contact; he just went for her leg again, and
this time she let him. "Well?" she
asked. "There's sand. We'll run water over it to clean
it." Derek had changed, Macey thought as she watched
him. Even more than she'd expected. She wanted nothing
more than to give him the space he craved, but that wasn't
why she was here. And okay, it wasn't entirely the truth,
either. The truth was she'd do just about anything to
help him stop hurting so much. She studied the angry
set of his jaw as he carefully, tenderly rinsed her foot in
the sink. His mom had cautioned her he would be difficult.
Macey had tried to prepare herself for it, had come down
here of her own accord in spite of Mrs. Severson's warnings.
She was beginning to understand now. The man he'd been
was still in there somewhere, though, buried deep. His
insistence on seeing to her injury was all the proof she
needed. Derek had always been one to watch out for her, to
help anyone in need. Helping was his nature as much as hers
was to bring order to things. The trick would be to get to
that inner Derek, the one she'd known and loved for so many
years. To pull him out. "I'm sorry I stole your bed
last night," she said. "No big deal." He continued to
scowl as he worked on her foot. "I must have been
exhausted to fall asleep like that." "Long drive," he
said shortly. "Anyway, thanks for letting me stay
there. I slept like the…like a baby." "You can say
'dead.' Avoiding the word doesn't change that she
is." "I'm…sorry, Dare," Macey said quietly. "That she
died. I never got to say that." He met her gaze
finally, just for an instant, and in that moment she saw so
much pain she reached out to him. Touched his
shoulder. He stood abruptly. "Wound is cleaned and
bandaged. I'm going on a run before work." Before she
could slide off the counter, he was gone. When Macey
walked up to The Shell Shack—Derek's thatch-roofed, open-air
bar on the beach—a couple of hours later, she couldn't help
but notice he was oblivious to the woman ...
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