Red Hot. Lisa Childs

me...”

       4

      “HE WANTED ME to go home with him.” Outrage coursed through Fiona as she raised her voice loud enough to be heard over the blaring music that pulsed throughout the new club. Were there no quiet places left in the usually sleepy town?

      Tammy leaned across the glass and neon bar to wave down the bartender with a twenty, like all the other women vying for drinks. She turned back to remark, “Maybe you should have.”

      Fiona gasped—though she shouldn’t have been surprised. Tammy never turned down an opportunity to enjoy herself. And she would have enjoyed herself with Wyatt Andrews.

      Fiona might have—if she’d been able to forget who and what he was and just focus on all those sleek muscles and his lips...

      They’d tasted of decadence and had been as intoxicating as the drink his friend had bought her. What would they have felt like on other parts of her body?

      She shook her head—shaking off Tammy’s suggestion and her own temptation. And she had been tempted—so tempted that instead of thinking to suggest a quieter place to talk, she’d made an excuse and hurried from the loud bar to a louder bar. “That’s crazy...”

      As crazy as her coming here—to a nightclub full of tipsy women drooling over male strippers. But she’d wanted to vent to her friend about what a jerk Wyatt Andrews was, and Tammy had already been pulling into the parking lot of this place. Her friend was dressed in a bright yellow dress—meant to draw the attention of every man in the place. Unfortunately for Tammy, the crowd was predominantly female.

      If Wyatt had wanted just a hookup for the night, he should have come here—instead of meeting her at the neighborhood bar. Maybe he had only intended to talk to her. But then why hadn’t he suggested a quiet coffee shop? Why his home?

      The bartender took Tammy’s twenty, but the pretty brunette shook her head to refuse a drink. She only wanted change. Moments later she victoriously held up her handful of dollars. With her free hand, she grabbed Fiona’s and tugged her along as she headed toward the dance floor.

      The place was all neon and glittering black surfaces and glass. It glowed with bright colors—which made Tammy blend in while Fiona, still dressed in the beige suit from work, stood out.

      She tried to dig in her heels and stop Tammy from dragging her along. But her friend was freakishly strong. Or Fiona was a wimp. She was going with Tammy whether she wanted to or not. And she didn’t want to.

      At all.

      She had been more tempted to go home with Wyatt Andrews. He may have just wanted to talk. These guys wanted tips and seemed willing to do anything—or anyone—in order to get them.

      Men danced among all the women on the floor. Or they danced around them, gyrating and pulling off their costumes as they did. The women danced with the male strippers and clapped and cheered. Some laughed, some giggled and shrieked.

      Fiona watched in disgust. This might be other women’s fantasies, but to her, and the life insurance agent in her, it was a bad joke. All those good-looking men were dressed as the most hazardous professions—police officers, marines, navy SEALS, race car drivers, construction workers, FBI agents and, of course, firemen.

      Tammy danced with the firefighter, and as she did, she slid dollar bills into the waistband of the pants hanging low on his lean hips. Of course, he wore no shirt, just suspenders stretched over his waxed and shiny chest. He wasn’t nearly as muscular as Wyatt. But then he wasn’t a real firefighter. He wasn’t Wyatt. While he swiveled his hips for Tammy, he winked at Fiona. He was probably only flirting because he wanted money from her, too. Why had Wyatt flirted with her? Just to mess with her?

      Eventually, Tammy ran out of dollar bills and tugged Fiona’s hand to pull her back to the bar. “This time I actually need a drink,” she said, fanning herself. “You?”

      Fiona already felt as if she’d had too much to drink, even though she’d only taken a sip of that gin and tonic. Why else hadn’t she slapped Wyatt Andrews for kissing her as boldly as he had? Why had she thought about, for just that fleeting moment, going home with him?

      Because of Matthew. She needed to talk to Wyatt about her brother.

      “Red wine?” Tammy asked.

      Fiona shook her head. “Nothing.”

      “You don’t have to work in the morning,” Tammy reminded her. “Which is another reason you should have gone home with the hunky firefighter.”

      Just because tomorrow was Saturday didn’t mean she wasn’t working. She liked going in when the office was closed so she could catch up without interruptions.

      “You haven’t met Wyatt,” Fiona reminded her. “And that guy on the dance floor is not a real firefighter.”

      “So Wyatt isn’t hunky?”

      She couldn’t lie, so she just pretended not to hear her friend. The music was loud...

      But Tammy knew her too well and laughed. “You need to get some, girl.”

      “I’m seeing Howard.”

      Tammy laughed again. “Like I said, you need to get some.”

      “I would never get involved with a man like Wyatt Andrews.” She was not her mother’s daughter. She would not go for excitement over substance. For fleeting over forever...

      Both of her mother’s husbands had been on that dance floor. Not the real men. They were dead. But their professions had been represented. Fiona’s father had been a race car driver—albeit just dirt tracks—and Matthew’s had been a rock star wannabe in a band that had done more drugs than gigs. The hazards of both those jobs had killed them. Speed had killed her father; he had been driving too fast when he’d hit the wall. And heroin had killed Matthew’s; the wannabe rock star had been living too fast.

      Now the brunette shook her head. “You don’t have to get involved with him. You could just enjoy him.”

      “What’s to enjoy?” Fiona asked. But she knew—she had enjoyed that kiss. She shouldn’t have, though. She shouldn’t have forgotten what he was really like. “He’s arrogant and obnoxious. And he’s going to get my brother killed.”

      “That’s why you should have gone home with him,” Tammy said.

      She gasped in shock over her friend’s remark.

      Tammy winked. “Maybe you could have convinced him to refuse Matt a recommendation. Hell, if you’re really good, maybe you could convince him to tear up the application altogether.”

      “What are you suggesting?”

      Tammy shrugged. “Hey, you know my motto—work what your mama gave you...” She wriggled her ass as she made the comment.

      Fiona’s mother hadn’t given her many physical attributes. Except for some of her delicate facial features, she looked more like her father’s family—like her paternal grandmother. But Fiona was afraid that her mother might have passed along her bad taste in men. Why else had Fiona been so attracted to a man like Wyatt Andrews? To a Hotshot?

      The first time Matthew had mentioned his mentor to her, Fiona had looked up the definition of a Hotshot. He was like the soldier on the front line. He was the one who got closest to the blaze. While other people battled it from above, in helicopters and planes dumping water on it. The Hotshots were the ones on the ground trying to starve the fire to extinguish it.

      Fiona asked her outrageous friend, “Are you suggesting I use sex to get what I want?”

      Tammy laughed. “Don’t look so horrified. Women do it all the time.”

      Fiona opened her mouth, but no words came out. She didn’t know if she was insulted for just herself or for