"Amy Knupp heats it up with her second book in the Texas Firefighters series."
Reviewed by Sandi Shilhanek
Posted August 14, 2010
Romance
As if August wasn't hot enough, Amy Knupp had to heat it up
a bit more with the second title in her Texas Firefighters
Series, A LITTLE CONSEQUENCE. In A LITTLE CONSEQUENCE, we meet Selena Jarboe who comes
from a wealthy family, but as we know, money doesn't always
buy happiness. Selena is far from happy. She has come
to San Amaro Island in a fit because her brother has
re-enlisted after a serious war injury that almost killed
him. Instead of trying to talk him out of his commitment,
her mother wants to have a party. Evan Drake is a permanent resident of the island, and a
firefighter by trade. He happens to be in the right place
at the right time when Selena decides to take a walk on the
wild side and have a one night stand. What happens next
neither Selena nor Evan expect. A LITTLE CONSEQUENCE is a surprise baby story, and I know
that many readers don't necessarily care for that type of
story, but Ms. Knupp does an excellent job with it. She
doesn't try to place blame on either Selena or Evan for the
pregnancy, but instead explores how the pregnancy will
affect a future relationship for them, and delves into the
myriad of reasons that Selena has for not committing to Evan. It takes a talented writer to be able to give a character
flaws and yet keep the character from sounding wimpy, and
unable to change. Ms Knupp is such a writer, and as you
read Selena's story and see Evan's willingness to help
you'll be touched as I was. I'm looking forward to not only the concluding book in The
Texas Firefighters Series, but future books from Amy Knupp.
SUMMARY
It was the best night firefighter Evan Drake has ever had.
And now those hours with Selena Jarboe are turning into the
biggest challenge he's ever faced. Fatherhood and marriage
were hardly part of this Texan's plans, but he won't let his
child grow up the way he did—without a dad. So like it or
not, Selena is getting his help. She and his unborn baby
need it. Or…do they? Turns out this alluring, passionate woman is not exactly the
struggling single he thought she was. She's a runaway
heiress with issues about men with risky jobs. Jobs like
his. Well, tough luck. He's not giving up on her…. And he's
definitely not giving up his career, either.
ExcerptSelena Jarboe had been on some kind of a mission all day.She'd been on a mission when she'd stormed through the beach
house, scrubbing and cleaning everything in sight, getting
rid of inch-thick dust, cobwebs and dirt. She'd been on a mission afterward when she'd showered,
slipped on her flirty black-and-silver baby-doll dress, her
cropped cardigan and her killer four-inch heels. Likewise
when she'd given her hair the right amount of long, loose
curls to drape down her back and over her shoulders just so. Despite all the preparations, she hadn't known what,
exactly, her mission was until she saw him. It was laughingly cliché, but their eyes met across the
room, and, yes, it was crowded. He stood in a group near the
far wall, which wasn't far at all considering the cozy
smallness of the bar. He was several inches taller than the
people he was with. Dark haired, eyes that glimmered with
humor. And a penetrating glance that said he not only saw
her but noticed her in detail. He was the kind of
man who made everything seem all better. If ever there was a time Selena needed everything to be all
better, it was now. Tonight. She moved farther into the little beach shack bar—the
Shell Shack, the sign said in an uneven but appropriate
font—working her way to an empty stool at the end of
the main counter. She felt his eyes on her and when she sat
down, she looked again. Just for a moment, long enough to
smile and feel the kick start of her blood when she found he
was, indeed, smiling at her again, too. Selena shivered and turned her attention to the bartender,
who'd just asked what he could get her. "Sandblasters are two bucks tonight. Keep the cup as a
souvenir," the heavyset man with more hair on his chin
than his head said. Selena shrugged. "Might as well." She started to wonder at her choice as she watched him mix
it, counted eight different types of alcohol being poured
into the oversize plastic cup with the cartoon turtle on it.
Then she thought about her infuriating mother back in
Boston. Her stubborn brother on his way to Afghanistan or
who knew where. "Bring it on," she muttered when the guy set it in
front of her and took her cash. Selena took a swig and tried not to grimace. Normally she
stuck to wine when she and her friends went out in Boston,
but this wasn't the East Coast and it wasn't a wine night.
Wine wasn't part of her mission. Eight kinds of liquor was a good start to what she was
shooting for. Her eyes automatically checked for the tall, sexy,
dark-haired man again, and her shoulders dropped when she
realized he was gone. She swiveled partway around on her stool as she sipped from
her straw, acting as if she was searching for someone she
knew. She was searching, all right, but she didn't know him.
Yet. The interior of the little bar was packed, and between all
the people and the two torch-style heaters, the air inside
was warm and humid in spite of the open doorways. Thick,
clear plastic kept the chilly October Texas night out. An
outdoor patio stretched to Selena's left, but there were
only a few groups of brave revelers sprinkled at some of the
tables. She scanned the inside crowd again, waiting for someone to
take her breath away as her sexy stranger had. There were
plenty of men here, lots of good-looking ones, but so far,
no one else sent her pulse racing. If she was going to do
something stupidly brazen, might as well save it for someone
who took her breath away. As she turned back toward the counter, a man old enough to
be her late father and wide enough to be three of
her fathers leered at her, shooting her a hungry,
gold-toothed smile. Selena shuddered. What in the world was she doing? She wasn't the kind of girl to go to a bar alone, ever. If
she wasn't out for a good time with her girlfriends, she
wasn't out, period. And to even think about talking to a man
she'd never met just because he had a certain allure and a
look in his eye that drew her in? She'd completely lost her
mind. No, she hadn't, actually. Her family had. Every time she
thought about them, everything inside her knotted up, coiled
like a predatory snake, as if something needed to give, and
give soon. Heat spread across the right side of her body suddenly, and
she knew before she looked that he was standing
there. The man with the sexy smile. She looked up at him slowly, taking in his thick chest, the
cords of muscle along his neck, the hint of moisture on his
sensual lips. Finally meeting his cornflower-blue eyes that,
yes, definitely held a spark of amusement. Cockiness.
Interest. "Hi," she said, so quietly he could probably barely
hear her over the crowd. "Hi." He said it into her ear and she shivered. Time to say something witty, she thought, searching her
mind. If you're going to be reckless, might as well go all out. She lifted her cup and took a drink. When she set it down,
she noticed she'd drunk half of it and was already feeling
the effects of the liquor. "So," she said, flashing him a smile that was a lot
more confident than she felt. "Are you the half-full or
half-empty kind of guy?" God, Selena. That was lame. But the way he looked at her set something inside her on
fire and it no longer mattered how dumb she sounded to herself. "Right now? With you smiling at me? I'm thinking
three-quarters full," he said. "We have something in common, then." "At least one thing," he said, and passion filled
his eyes, the rim of blue shrinking as his pupils expanded.
"Not a bad pickup line. Mind if I use it sometime?" "As long as you don't try to use it on me." "Would I need to?" His voice went gravelly, somehow
more intimate even though they were in a crowd. He leaned
his elbow on the bar, bringing him closer to her, near
enough that she caught his scent—spice and beer mixed
with one-hundred-percent red-blooded male. This close, she could see every nuance of his skin, sun
roughened, still tanned, recently shaved. Her fingers itched
to touch his face and she imagined what it would feel like.
Sandpapery. Strong. Warm. "Normally I prefer straightforward to games," she said. With him, she wasn't sure it mattered. She eased in closer.
His eyes didn't leave hers and her heart thundered. Her
thoughts changed from was she really going to do this?
to how could she get him alone? So she could
touch him. Let him touch her, everywhere, fill all her
senses with him. Make her forget everything else. "Normally?" Selena laughed. There was nothing normal about this
situation and he seemed to understand that. "Generally." "I can do straightforward." He brushed a lock of
hair off her cheek and Selena turned toward the contact. She
had to will herself not to press her lips to his palm.… "I've got this really great beach outside," he said.
"Would you like to see it? So we can be
straightforward?" A shiver of anticipation went through her and a physical
ache pulsed deep inside. She nodded, took a final long swig
of courage and stood, happily leaving her souvenir cup behind. "That was kind of a triple line," she told him as he
wrapped her hand in his and gestured for her to go first. "Do I get triple points?" She waited until they stepped outside the loud interior.
"Normally lines count against a guy." "There's that word 'normally' again. Do you 'normally'
leave with a guy you've been talking to for less than ten
minutes?" "No. Do you?" "I don't normally leave with a guy ever." "Good to know." They went down the concrete steps to the sand and turned
south. She paused long enough to slip her heels off. "So why are you here? With me?" he asked.
"Straightforward answer." Instead of replying, she stopped and faced him. The moon was
a slender crescent behind him and the waves filled the night
with their incessant roar that seemed to insulate them from
the rest of the world. As she peered up into his light blue
eyes, she felt an invisible current between them. It made
her heart trip over itself and her insides turn to liquid. Their hands were still entwined. A slow smile spread across
his face and he lowered his head. Selena stood on tiptoe,
dropped her shoes and, with her other hand on the back of
his head, pulled him toward her. Just before they kissed she
paused. "What's your name?" she whispered. He chuckled, a husky sound in his throat. "Evan." "Evan," she repeated. "I'm Selena. Nice to meet
you." They both moved into the kiss at the same time, closing the
space between them as if names couldn't matter less. He pulled her body in to his and slid his large hands down
her back, the heat of him igniting her like no man ever had.
Her response was elemental, almost primitive. She felt his
hardness against her abdomen and wanted him all to herself,
alone. As soon as possible. Evan Drake had never met a woman like Selena
before—and he'd met a lot of women in his twenty-nine
years. He liked to think he could read them well, especially
the signals they sent, either purposely or not, in bars.
Selena didn't fit into any of the categories, though, as far
as he could guess. She wasn't in the habit of picking up men
like this, of that he was sure. When she'd first spoken to
him, her nerves had shown through, as if she'd had to urge
herself to speak at all. She came across as witty and intelligent, not at all
desperate or needy. Although right now she was making no
secret that she needed him physically, and frankly, he was
right there with her. He was no angel, not unaccustomed to bringing women he
didn't know well to his bed, but something about this girl
lit him on fire like never before. Maybe it was that he
suspected she didn't do this often if at all. That she'd
chosen him. Hell, who gave a rat's left nut about the whys or the hows
when you had a woman like Selena in your arms. "My place is a couple blocks away," he said, their
bodies still aligned, still teasing at each other's mouths. She nodded and kissed him again and, swear to God, if he
didn't get her home in the next thirty seconds they were
going to make a spectacle of themselves. "Let's go." His voice was rough, as if he'd
swallowed a mouthful of sand. He took her hand and pulled
her gently in the direction of his apartment. "Figured you'd still be in bed," Clay Marlow said
when Evan emerged from his bedroom the next morning.
"Sleeping for a change." The amusement on his
roommate's face told Evan he and Selena had made too much
noise. All night. "What time did you come home?" Evan asked, rubbing
his eyes. "I saw you leave the Shack with her. I stayed till the
bar closed. Then I went for a run about four in the morning.
Spied her sneaking across the parking lot just after five." "Sorry, man. Didn't mean for our…uh…didn't
mean to drive you away from the apartment." Clay laughed good-naturedly. "Like hell. Why aren't you
asleep now?" "Going to look at a boat." Evan went into the
kitchen and rummaged around for something to eat. He wasn't
a breakfast guy, but he'd burned off some serious energy
over the course of the night and was ravenous. "By yourself?" Clay asked, pouring coffee from the
coffeemaker into a mug and sticking it into the microwave. "With Chief Peligni. Going up to Corpus." Evan
opened every cupboard, looking for anything edible. "We
need to buy some food." Clay took his mug out, swallowed a gulp and frowned.
"Coffee, too. This is yesterday's. What kind of boat did
you find?" "Marine Trader…eighty-seven. One owner, guy who's
babied it. I gather it's killing him to sell it but his
health is failing and his wife is forcing the issue." "Sounds promising. You thinking seriously about buying
it?" "If it's as good as it seems, I'll have it out on the
Gulf before the end of the year." "Finally got the money?" "If I can get him down about ten grand, I have enough
for the down payment." He'd been saving for years for
his own trawler yacht and the reward was so close he could
taste it. He found a half-smashed granola bar on top of the
fridge and opened the wrapper. "Hope it works out," Clay said. "So the girl
from last night…" "Yeah?" Evan's mind wandered to Selena's smooth,
milky skin, her soft, perfect curves, the way her glossy
hair had draped over his chest. They hadn't slept at all,
and yet, he wanted her still. Doubted he could ever get
enough of her… "You going to see her again?" Evan bit off the uncrushed end of his granola bar and
chewed, eyeing Clay. "Why? You got a thing for her?" "Don't need your rejects, thanks." "Who said I rejected her?" "You're sure testy today." "Didn't sleep much." Clay chuckled again. "Trust me, I know." He studied
Evan between swigs of leftover coffee. "Did you get her
number or what? Why are you holding out?" "I'm not holding out, man." Evan leaned his head
back and dumped the remaining crumbs—half the
bar—from the wrapper into his mouth, wishing like hell
Clay would lose this nosy interest in his sex life. He took
a few steps toward the living room and back. "I tried
more than once. Believe me, I'd very much like to see her
again." He crumpled the wrapper into a tight ball and
met Clay's stare head-on. "She refused to give me her
number." He threw the wrapper on the counter and strode out of the
apartment. It was after two in the afternoon when Selena dragged her
tired, sore body out of bed. Sore but sated, she thought
with a wicked grin. She'd gone out of her ever-loving mind last night. Had
become a different person. One that had a heck of a lot more
fun than her. Her smile faded as thoughts of her family flooded her.
Unfortunately, her reckless night hadn't done anything to
dull the pain, the fear. She took a quick shower then headed to the kitchen for food.
Or drink, rather, since she hadn't bought groceries yet.
Settling for a can of root beer, she went to the unlit
fireplace in the living area and sat on the hearth. When her dad had had this place built, he'd been told he
wouldn't need a fireplace. This was the beach. Southern
Texas. But her father had loved a crackling fire and
stubbornly insisted on it. He'd had to convince her mother,
too. She'd argued for a gas log, because wood-burning
fireplaces were more work.
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