Chapter One
July 3rd
“Damn, it’s hotter than Satan’s nutsack.”
The overheard complaint earned his agreeing snort. Despite
his frosty last name, Bram Winters’ internal temperature
registered somewhere near charbroiled. The heat pressed
down like a woolen blanket. The air felt thick enough to
spoon. Fire season, he mused, when the land lay so dry and
the air so hot, the barest spark erupted like a powder keg.
He surveyed the gathered crowd, scanning the jostling
bodies. People weren’t so different from nature. Slow
molasses heat made people near sick with fever, made
tempers flare, impaired judgments and pushed people to take
daring risks. Anything to break the drudgery of sloshing
through the half-baked daily grind. His skin crawled with
the hum of trapped adrenaline. Fever that needed an escape.
A local brewery was making a mint selling frosty-cold,
hometown beer. The icy brew quenched the dry inferno in
Bram’s mouth as he stared out over the open firehouse bay.
Small-town festivals were the same all over the country.
Cotton-candy vendors, local craftsmen, and giggly teenaged
queens waving from cars decked out in crepe paper. The
heavy scents of hot sausages and kettle corn filled his
nose, and Bram’s stomach growled. It looked like he was
going to make festival fare his dinner tonight.
The little mom-and-pop motel he’d dropped his bag in had a
diner attached. He’d glanced in the window but the festival
noise and activity had pulled his attention. Besides, what
the motel sign boasted as air conditioning was really
tepid, stale air spitting loudly from a boxed unit. If he
was going to sweat, he’d do it with a full belly. He’d
stopped just long enough to shuck off his suit jacket and
tie and take a leak. He’d pitched the laptop on the bed and
turned off his pager and cell, dropping both on the cheap
dresser. He was an Emergency Communications Specialist
officially out of communication range.
An amp emitted a high-pitched squeal as the firehouse band
took a break, and the prerecorded strains of a sensual
ballad rose into the night. The scent of alcohol blended
with old turnout gear and oil in the bay, wafting on a hot
summer breath through the wide-open doors. Fire engines,
pumpers and ladder trucks lined the parking lot, creating a
dance floor made of blacktop and ringed by gleaming cherry-
red and silver. Strobing red and white lights flickered
over the crowd. Something in his blood responded to the
familiar flash, urging him, turning up the dial on his
buzzing adrenaline. Every sense went on high alert, poised
for the siren to sound.
The sultry song mingled with heated night and a flash of
crimson caught Bram’s eye. He exited the bay and looked
over the shoulder of one very rotund man with a mullet.
Alone, in the middle of a small dance area, oblivious to
the couples around her, a woman swayed. A punch of pure
sexual longing knocked the breath from his chest. The tiny
little dress in deep blood-red skimmed her thighs and clung
to curves that made him salivate. Her shoulders and hips
moved to the tune, her eyes closed, lost to the music’s
caress. A dewy glow turned her skin to gleaming gold in the
summertime evening sun.
She swooped her long honey-brown hair off her neck and it
trickled through her fingers like a waterfall of silk.
Thoughts of steam baths and saunas rushed his mind. Blood
and temptation rushed his groin. Usually Bram preferred
cool Nordic blondes or ebony-haired women with creamy skin
but this woman spiked his interest into the red zone.
The generous curve of her breasts strained at the scooped
neckline and caused the thin little straps at her shoulders
to narrow. Normally, that dress would have been nice,
youthful, cute maybe, definitely not lust inspiring. But in
this heat, with those movements and the euphoric shine the
music kissed her face with, Bram’s grip tightened on the
bottle. Long, lean legs streamed from beneath the flared
skirt. A firmly rounded ass flexed with her steps. He could
almost feel her legs wrapped around him.
“Damn, she could wet my whistle.”
A fierce swell of ownership surged at mulletman’s whispered
observation. Bram clenched his jaw. He had no claim, didn’t
know her from Eve. But he wanted to. Wanted to know her in
every sense of the word, biblical included. Common sense
told him he was crazy. She could be married, might have a
husband, or a homegrown boyfriend standing nearby watching
this public bit of melodic foreplay.
His mind heard the protests but his dick ignored the words.
Jamming his hand in the pocket of his suit pants, he hid
the evidence of his instant woody. Her lips entranced him.
Full and wide, they were almost too big for her face but
when she smiled at some private thought, he bit back a
groan. A vivid, potent image of those painted lips wrapped
around his cock blasted into his mind, wiping out all
caution.
The twirling lights caressed her skin. His fingers and his
tongue ached to follow. A tiny upturned nose combined with
her almost-pointed ears to give her a wanton elfish look.
The delicate line of her jaw begged to be licked. Her head
rolled with the song, exposing the cream of her neck, and
he unconsciously took a step toward her. A couple wrapped
in an embrace circled between them, and he paused.
She opened her eyes and her gaze landed on him like a
brushfire. Hot met dry, and a spark flashed, exploded and
raged through him. Intense and appreciative, unblinking and
direct, she did not look away. There was no chance she had
accidentally engaged his notice. The look was too
conscious, too appraising. With a quick drop of long
lashes, her gaze vanished then returned to snag his.
Not unintentional. Deliberate.
Need scorched him, blazing hotter than the temperature and
more intoxicating than the beer in his hand. She never
stopped her rhythmic motions. But now, her eyes—wide mossy-
green and shining with interest—locked with his, and she
danced only for him. A pale pink tongue darted out to
caress her upper lip, and he mimicked it, longing to taste
what she silently offered. Temptation swept over him like a
blistering tidal wave, stealing inside before he could
think to shove it aside to break the powerful connection.
He should. He would. In a minute.
She turned and rolled her hips. She held his gaze over her
shoulder, her lips pouting as she finished her slow spin.
Long fingers tipped in a frosty pale color slid down her
body, and his palms itched. He knew fire sirens but she was
a Siren, her call reaching across the ocean of people to
entice him, lure him, draw him closer.
Mulletman spat a brief grunt when Bram handed off his beer,
thrusting it into the other man’s gut. In three long
strides, he stood in front of her. She was tall, the top of
her head reaching his nose, her mouth not far from his. She
tilted her head back, smiled and kept dancing. Green
shouldn’t smolder but her eyes did. Bram forgot all about
the possibility she had a partner—didn’t even consider she
might slap him—and lowered his head. Her hips kept time
with the sensual melody and her hands skated up his chest
to circle his neck. For one long second he paused, drawing
in her breath, tasting her desire as it mingled with his.
A feminine scent of citrus and sunshine wafted to his nose
as she leaned close, nuzzling his cheek. Her kiss seared
his bones. This was no gentle first kiss. It was a
detonation of lust, yearning and passion like he’d never
felt.
Sexual combustion.
The song ended but he kept kissing her. Another livelier
song began and she kept kissing him. Her lips parted and
his tongue slipped in to find hers waiting. Drowning in the
savory taste of her mouth, he tugged her close. Full heavy
breasts pressed against his chest and her hips moved
against his groin. She had to feel how hard he was, but she
just circled her hips more firmly. His hand slid down to
cup her ass.
“Hey, take it out of here. We got kids around.” A gruff-
voiced intrusion pulled Bram’s lips from hers and he stared
down into her face. Lust burned bright in her eyes. The
flashing lights sparked like tiny fires in her gaze and her
chest heaved as hard as his. Taking his hand, she stepped
back and pulled him toward the crowd at the dance floor
edge. Everything else faded away. In his lusty red-tinged
sight, all he could see was her, beckoning him.
She rounded the firehouse, slipping into the slanted
shadows between the fire station and the hardware store.
Bram quickened his pace. The narrow passage held deeply
muted darkness and he nearly collided into her. She spun
around, and in an instant, he had her back against the
wall, his mouth taking hers. Semi-privacy emboldened him
and the kiss deepened, jacking his hunger higher.
Short nails raked down his spine and her breasts thrust up.
He cupped one, thumbing the tight crest until a whimper
eked from her mouth. It tasted of spicy homemade wine and
forbidden promises.
“What’s your name?” he whispered between tastes of her.
“What do you want it to be?”
Pulling his hand from her breast, he touched her bottom
lip. She licked his fingertip. He bent for another kiss and
his smile caressed hers. “Seriously, what’s your name?”
“What’s yours?”
“Bram. Bram Wi—”
Her hand flew to his mouth. “Just Bram, okay?”
So that’s the game we’re going to play. Nodding his head,
his tongue flicked out, stroking her palm. She smoothed her
fingertips across his lip and he caught one, sucking it
into his mouth for a fast nip. “Okay. What do I call you?”
“Yours.” She took his mouth hard, fingers tugging at his
hair until he was gasping. He pulled back to suck in
oxygen. She leaned her head on the brick and looked at him.
Filtered sunlight showed him her tilted kiss-swollen
lips. “You’re not from here.”
“No, just passing through for work.”
Her fingers slid from his hair down to his neck, slipping
into the vee of his collar. She toyed with the button
before opening it. Her mouth teased with a lick and her
words brought a shiver. “Where are you staying?”
“The Sleepytime Motel.” He grinned. “Is there anywhere else
to stay in this rinky little town?”
She smoothed her hands down his chest to circle his
waist. “No. I’ve got a business opportunity for you, Bram.”
A warning light flashed in his brain. Oh no. He pulled his
frame away from hers, held a tiny space between them. Did
he nearly get suckered by a pro? Humiliation circled
outside his lust, waiting to pounce. He’d never paid for
ass and wasn’t about to start, no matter how hot she
was. “Business…like as in…professional? Are you a
prostitute?”
Her laugh chimed like music, ringing with surprise but not
shame. “Oh God no, I just feel daring and wild and…I want
to play…with you.”
Hallelujah. Thank you, God, for women’s lib and sexual
freedom. His hard-on returned with throbbing force. “What
kind of business proposition?”
“My business.” Her lips caressed his Adam’s apple. “And
your business.” Along his thigh, her leg crept higher,
pressing her damp feminine heat into his groin. “And nobody
else’s business.”
“Alright, I’m listening.”
She angled her head, shaking her dark gold hair from her
heart-shaped face. “Right this second, what do you want the
most?”
A shift pressed his erection into her stomach. “One guess.”
Her eyes closed and a carnal smile lifted her cheeks,
rounding the flushed color. Her mouth found his neck again
and her tongue slicked to his jaw. “Anything you want. Just
give me the night. Treat me like your queen and I’ll be
your everything.”
Thundering need pounded in his belly when her fingers
dropped to trace the outline of his cock through his
zipper. It strained toward her touch and any doubts he
might have had disintegrated with a shudder. “Elizabeth,
Victoria or Mary, Queen of Scots?”
Like a whiskey-laced tonic, her laugh shot through him. She
licked up his chin. “Isis. Artemis. Athena. Venus.”
His chuckle stirred her hair. “Those are goddesses, not
queens.”
“Then make me your goddess and I’ll take you to heaven.”