Men On Fire. Susan Lyons

I’d had sex with this man. Superlative sex. Despite my anxiety, my body hummed with arousal. As I pulled over to the curb, I tried to remember this was business.

      Quinn slid into the passenger seat flashing that sexy smile with the dimple. “A pretty lady in a cute convertible.” He pressed a kiss to my cheek. A slow one.

      Arousal turned to pure lust. Hurriedly, I pulled away from the curb. “You’re in a better mood than when you left the other night.”

      He shrugged. “Strange evening. Great sex, then that weird conversation about compatibility, then you snowed me under with details.”

      “And now?”

      “When I volunteered for the auction, I took my chances. The downside was having my ego kicked in the balls and having to study all the info you gave me. But the upside’s just fine.” His hand settled on my thigh, burning through my pants.

      “What upside?” I asked warily.

      “Compatibility where it counts.”

      “In bed.” The words slipped out. Damn, this wasn’t supposed to happen again. It was easier when he’d been grumpy.

      His hand moved higher, inches from my crotch. “When I was inside you, you promised me a next time.”

      Had I? “Wasn’t that you who said something about next time?”

      “We both know it’s going to happen.”

      “It shouldn’t. We need to focus on the role-play.”

      “Okay.” He slipped on dark glasses. “I’m role-playing a patient fiancé who got dragged along to his girl’s work thing, and can’t wait to get her home and in bed.”

      Despite myself, I laughed. But I was torn. Why resist another plunge into box number three? Besides, his improved mood would make things easier this afternoon, so I’d best not shatter it. “Let’s see how we feel later. In the meantime, please, please be on your best behavior. Now, let’s do a quick brushup on this event.”

      “It’s a picnic, but not a shorts and baseball caps one.”

      “Right. It’s a fund-raiser—”

      “Put on by the Families First Foundation—Triple-F—for donors and prospective donors. Low-key, because funds should go to programs rather than glitzy fund-raisers.”

      “Very good.” Despite his frustration, he had been listening.

      “And you said something about showcasing some funded programs?”

      “Yes, for example, there’s one for abused women and their kids. Shelter, counseling, job skills for the women and the older kids, clothing and basic necessities, help finding accommodation, and a Big Sibs system for kids who’ve basically lost their fathers.”

      “As in, big brother or sister?” At my nod, he said, “Cool.”

      “Yeah. Anyhow, the women have prepared the food and it’ll be served by the older kids, assisted by Big Sibs volunteers.” I filled him in on more details as we drove toward ritzy Shaugh-nessy, where one of the board members had a giant house with a huge yard.

      When we arrived, it didn’t help my anxiety that my boss’s wife, who’d been at the bachelor auction, was first to greet us. “Hello, Jade. This is your fiancé?”

      “Yes, Melinda, this is Quinn O’Malley. Quinn, this is Melinda Daniels. She’s—”

      “Married to your boss, Fred.” He held out a hand and gave an easy smile. “It’s a pleasure.”

      She took his hand with a baffled smile. “You were at the auction. The firefighter who said you were a bachelor because you hadn’t found the right girl.”

      Quinn flashed his dimple. “No, I said a man has to wait for the right woman to come along. Never said mine hadn’t.”

      I breathed a sigh of relief, glad I’d prepared him.

      “But…” She shook her head. “I’m confused.”

      I took over. “Quinn volunteered for the auction because he supports the cause. And then he and I got serious. They’d printed the catalogs and he didn’t want to leave them in the lurch. I got a friend to bid on him so the auction would still raise the money, but no other bidder would be disappointed at getting a man who wasn’t really a bachelor.”

      “Well, good for both of you for supporting such a worthwhile cause. And, Jade, I’m delighted to meet your fiancé. You have excellent taste in men.”

      Quinn put his arm around me. “And I have great taste in women.” For a moment our gazes held and I felt a twinge of longing. Almost as if I wished this was real. Him and me.

      No, surely it was just a longing to be engaged for real. To Prince Charming, not the daredevil firefighter.

      Melinda beamed. “You’re a beautiful couple. Let’s find Fred. He’ll want to meet Quinn.”

      For the next hour, Quinn and I wandered around the manicured yard hand in hand, chatting with people. To my surprise, he fell easily into character. He got along equally well with board members, wealthy donors, and the nervous kids who were serving delicious snacks.

      As my faux fiancé, he was considerate, affectionate, demonstrative, but not inappropriately so. All the same, the constant touches, smiles, and kisses on the cheek took their toll on me. If he’d been fondling my breasts, I couldn’t have got much more turned on.

      When we were alone for a moment, I murmured, “You’re doing a wonderful job.”

      He shrugged. “I have some experience.”

      “From firefighter open houses and fund-raisers?”

      “Yeah.” He gave a wry smile. “Plus the fact that my dad was an oncologist, my mom a gynecologist, and my grandfather one of the leading cardiothoracic surgeons in the city. I grew up with people like this.”

      “Wow. Sorry for making assumptions.” I’d been so busy briefing him about me and Triple-F, I hadn’t asked much about him. Some faux fiancée I was.

      We accepted mini-quiches from a shy serving girl, talked to another board member, then went to the bar for fresh drinks. I was playing it safe with Aranciata, a nonalcoholic orange drink, needing no Raining Mens–type loss of judgment. Quinn was drinking Corona with lime, but had only gone through one in an hour. As we waited behind an older woman who was having a long chat with the bartender, Quinn stood slightly behind me, rested his hand on my hip, and squeezed gently. “Can’t wait to get my fiancée alone.”

      I leaned back against him, feeling the press of his firm chest against my back, resting my head against his shoulder. “I’m feeling tempted.”

      He gave a sexy chuckle, his breath brushing my hair. “I’m being good. I deserve a reward.”

      Male throat-clearing from behind us made us both start.

      Bert Masterson, a board member, had an amused expression on his face. “Sorry to interrupt, but, Jade, can I steal you away to talk to a prospective donor? He has some questions I think you’re best equipped to answer.”

      “Of course. Quinn, you’ll—”

      “Find something to do. Go ahead.”

      Could he keep up the act when he was on his own? It wasn’t his personality I was worried about, but the minimal time I’d had to brief him. Candace, my main competition, was bearing down on him, and I had no choice but to follow Bert.

      As I spoke to the donor, I kept an eye on Quinn. He and Candace got drinks—he switched from beer to something dark brown served in a highball glass—and were chatting like old friends. One of the serving boys, a lanky redhead who looked about twelve, went over, carefully balancing a platter of snacks, and got drawn into the conversation. Then Candace left Quinn alone with the boy.