When she got closer to the truck, she could a man slumped down in the driver’s seat. Damn it if her heart didn’t start to beat wildly. What was this? Some sort of test from the universe to make her realize that Michael Santino could make her body hum even under worst-case conditions? She could do without the lesson.
But her physical reaction wasn’t enough to change her plan of action, or her focus. Shae was too much of a pro to be sidelined by lust or longing or…whatever the heck it was Michael did to her. But the fact that she had any reaction at all to the louse who dumped her pissed her off.
She straightened her coat, squared her shoulders, fiddled with the reflective tape running across its front, and high-tailed it to Michael’s truck at full speed. His gorgeous face came into view, and Shae’s physical reaction to him was as automatic and immediate as turning on the radio and getting sound. It was hormonal science, Shae and Michael 101. But that didn’t mean she’d act on those feelings, ever again.
She cautiously checked him out through the driver’s side window. With his thick, dark eyelashes, olive complexion, strong jawline, and full lips—Michael seemed to be sleeping so peacefully she almost hated to wake him. Smart, headstrong, and loyal to his core, he probably needed rest, because Michael would fight for days on end to protect his family. It was one of the things she liked most about him. He was strong, but not a show-off like the men she usually dated.
Used to seeing him at the winery, or on dates in his dark, Italian suits, it shocked her to find him just as gorgeous with soot all over his grimy face and bomber jacket. She took in the ash on his thick dark hair like a preview. He’ll be amazing-looking when he’s older, with salt-and-pepper hair.
Her heart beat wildly.
Maybe I should’ve worn my helmet, or at least a face mask. I’m not going to do something insane like kissing him, am I?
A hot, foul-smelling wind slapped her face, snapping her back to reality.
Hell, no, I’m not going to kiss him.
“Okay, sleepyhead,” you dirty, rotten, rich, mean, player, freaking-hot Italian, “wake up!” Coming to her senses, Shae banged against the window with a closed fist. Michael stirred.
“Fire department!” Shae slapped the window with her palm, and then pounded on his door to make extra sure she scared him, because he deserved it.
Michael jolted. His eyes flashed open and locked on hers. Instead of flinching, or acting the least bit bothered, he gave her a slow smile of recognition and opened the door.
“Michael, you need to evacuate. The capt—” Before she let out another word, Michael’s arms were wrapped around her.
“Shae,” he whispered against her cheek, which wasn’t fair. Michael’s smooth, deep voice sent heat waves rolling up her spine. “You missed me,” he cooed. “I knew you’d come to my resc—”
Shae shoved him.
“You just stop that, right now.”
Michael put a hand to his chest, feigning injury. “That’s no way to treat a fire victim. Aren’t you supposed to give me mouth-to-mouth?”
Thursday, June 28
Friday, June 29
Saturday, June 30
Sunday, July 1