Can't Help Falling In Love. Wendy Etherington

feel faint?” He pressed his fingers to the side of her neck to find her pulse racing. He was coming on to her, and she was really sick. Damn. He’d worked hard to become a firefighter and paramedic. He had five years of experience. What had he missed?

      She blinked, then stepped back. “I’m fine. Just a bit wobbly in these shoes.”

      He scowled. “You need to see a doctor.”

      “You were translating,” she said.

      Not wanting to press on a subject that was really none of his business, Jack let the subject go for the moment. “’Tite fille means little girl.” Oops. Before she could do more than frown, he added, “Maybe you’d like ’tite femme better. It means little—” Woman. Big oops. “Uh, I mean, ’tite ange. Little angel.”

      She pursed her lips. “That’s kind of nice.”

      The hunger he’d banked surged through his body again. Why was he so drawn to her? His voice dropped an octave. “It suits you.”

      Laughing, she walked across the grass. “I don’t know about that.”

      They would be back under the careful watch of her brothers in a matter of moments. Jack knew he didn’t have much time. “Maybe we could get together for a drink or dinner sometime.”

      She stopped, looking up at him. “I don’t date.”

      He frowned. Why wouldn’t a woman like her date?

      She patted his arm as if she understood his confusion. “Sorry. There’s just too much darn bloodshed.”

      2

      BLOODSHED WAS AGAIN on Skyler’s mind the next day as she unpacked stock in her storeroom. “They shorted me on leather teddies and leopard-print camisoles again,” she muttered.

      Bud’s Leather Palace— “the finest quality, direct from Austin”—was in big trouble.

      The bell on the front door jangled before Skyler could work herself into a real lather over the mistake. Fiona.

      She rushed from the storeroom, locking the door behind her. She’d only hired her assistant a month ago, and she wasn’t quite ready to trust her with her most intimate—okay, only—secret.

      In these A.M.—After Madonna—times, she knew keeping her lingerie inventory secret was a bit archaic, but Baxter’s town council was not known for their progression. When she’d proposed a lingerie shop two years ago, the idea had been promptly trounced by the committee, and Mayor Collins, though not much of a traditionalist himself, had bowed quietly to their wishes. Personally, she thought First Lady Collins would look terrific in one of her hot pink bustiers, but she hadn’t dared to voice that idea to the people who handed out the business licenses, so, on impulse, Animal Instincts had become Kimball Fashions, and The Secret had been born.

      The Secret was held in confidence by a small part of the town—the progressive female part. Skyler knew she needed to bring Fiona into the fold soon. Showing her this month’s invoice from Bud’s Leather Palace would probably be a good start.

      Upon reaching the main showroom of the shop, she saw Fiona Jingle hanging a new stock of mauve dresses on the racks. “Good morning,” Fiona said briskly. “I decided to jump right in restocking the sale items.”

      The contrast of the flowery dresses Fiona held and Fiona—think young Elvira—immediately improved Skyler’s mood. “Terrific.”

      Fiona brushed a lock of long, black hair behind her ear. The bells attached to her earrings, bracelets and waist chain tinkled. With a name like Jingle, Skyler supposed you had to go with your bestowed gifts.

      Her young assistant winced at the frilly dresses. “Did you consider my ideas from last week? I mean, some of these women could stand a little figure-flattering black.”

      “Your ideas were super.” Though Skyler had all the leather, lace and satin she could handle in the back room. “In fact, they inspired me to get you a present.”

      She returned to the storeroom, where she pawed through the boxes. Tucked between three pairs of red leather hot pants and a stack of white leather thong panties, she found Fiona’s black leather jeans. Skyler held them up to her waist and studied her reflection in the mirrored wall. She and Fiona were about the same size, though Fiona was a few inches taller, so the pants dragged the ground. But still…

      “Hot, hot, hot,” she whispered, imagining the cool, tight leather clinging to her thighs. The silver studs running down each side seam glinted seductively in the dimly lit storeroom. Her blond hair would contrast like spun straw against a matching leather vest.

      With a rueful smile, she shook her head. “Yeah, right, Skyler. Maybe you could wear them to the church fashion show next month, or the neighborhood block party.” She liked her rebellions locked away or hidden safely beneath her clothes. And if sometimes playing it safe got old, well, she always managed to stumble into excitement. Though climbing a tree to rescue a cat had been a first for her impulsive side.

      Tucking the pants under her arm, she strode out, locking the door behind her.

      As she walked toward Fiona, her assistant’s eyes widened. “Where did those come from?”

      Skyler held out the pants. “I ordered them for you.”

      Fiona dropped the collection of pastel blouses she held as if they’d suddenly caught fire and stroked her hand reverently down the leather. “No kidding?”

      A pleased smile was breaking over Skyler’s lips when the bell over the shop’s door jingled again.

      Jack Tesson, broad shoulders, jet-black hair, whiskeyed eyes and all stood in the opening.

      He actually asked me out yesterday was the first thought that popped into her head—after her hormones shouted whoo-whee, of course.

      She’d often wondered if a man would ever come along and challenge her brothers, sweep her off her feet and…

      And nothing. Rolling her shoulders, she watched him walk toward her, fighting the desire rumbling through her stomach. She’d warned him off yesterday. Why was he here? Smiling at her? That warning discouraged everyone, which was fine by her. She didn’t need the complication of a man in her life, or warming her bed. And definitely not a firefighter.

      The few men who’d warmed her bed hadn’t met with encouraging fates, she reminded herself. One had suddenly moved to Florida. One had entered the priesthood—though that story had come from Wes, so she wasn’t quite sure about its validity. Then again, the alternative was picturing the guy at the bottom of the lake. Which, according to Baxter legend, was the poor guy’s final resting place.

      But then Mr. Florida had been something of a dead-beat. Skyler wasn’t sorry to see him go. And the priest/lake dweller had slobbered over every female he encountered, so her brothers’ intervention had been a frank relief. As the only girl in a sea of testosterone, she’d certainly lived through moments of frustration, but getting rid of and warning off unwanted attention without confrontation by her was not one of them.

      However…watching the luscious Jack Tesson stroll toward her, Skyler’s usual caution deserted her. The man was really a temptation. A big temptation. Her head spun at the thought.

      Then she realized she still held the leather pants. How was she going to explain these outrageous things in her conservative shop?

      Stopping in front of her, he angled his head. “Mornin’, ’tite ange.”

      Her face heated, and the desire in her stomach cruised through her veins. Not good. He was absolutely the worst possible man for her. Clearly reckless, adventurous…heroic. Unfortunately, her libido knew what it liked, and it was completely irrational at the moment.

      Fiona fared no better. Her assistant’s jaw had dropped so low, she was tempted to call an orthodontist.

      Skyler