Flashpoint. Jill Shalvis

so they weren’t going to discuss it. “I’m just careful, is all.”

      Zach nodded slowly. “I didn’t mean to ruffle you.”

      Even though he was clearly ruffled, too. He slid his feet into his boots, leaving them unlaced as he set down his coffee and shrugged into his uniform shirt.

      Maybe he hadn’t meant to ruffle her, but that’s exactly what he’d done, was still doing just by breathing. “I’m a big fan of sunscreen.”

      With a nod, he came close again, his gaze touching over her features. “It was a compliment. You have gorgeous skin, all creamy smooth.” Again, he stroked a finger over her cheek, and like before, she felt the touch in a whole bunch of places that had no business feeling anything.

      He was ruffling her again. Big-time ruffling going on, from her brain cells to all her erogenous zones, of which she had far more than she remembered.

      “Back East?” he guessed.

      “Massachusetts.” Brooke was trying not to react to the fact that he was in her personal bubble, or that she was enjoying the invasion. “You, uh…” She wagged her finger toward his shirt, still partially opened over the invitation to bite him, which she suddenly wanted to do. “Didn’t finish buttoning.”

      “You distracted me.”

      Yeah. A mutual problem, apparently. This close, he seemed even taller and broader, and now his surfer good looks were only exaggerated by the firefighter uniform. “Are the surfboards outside yours?”

      “Why?” He flashed a smile that must have slayed female hearts across the land. It certainly slayed hers. “Because I look like a surfer?”

      “Yes.”

      “Do you surf?”

      “I’ve never tried,” she admitted. “I’m not sure it’d be a good idea.”

      “Why?”

      “I’m…” She paused, not exactly relishing telling this gorgeous specimen of a man her faults.

      “A little uptight?” he guessed, then looked her over. “Maybe even a little bit of a perfectionist?”

      “Are you suggesting I’m anal? Because I’m not.”

      He just kept looking at her, a little amused, and she caved like a cheap suitcase. “Okay, I am. What gave me away?”

      “The hair.”

      Which she had in a neat braid. “Keeps it out of my way.”

      “Smart. And the ironed cargoes?”

      She slid her hands into her pockets. “So I hate wrinkles.”

      A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, wrinkles are a bitch.”

      Damn it. He was gorgeous and perceptive. “Fine. I’m a lot anal.”

      He let out another slow and easy grin.

      And something within her began a slow and easy burn.

      Oh, this wasn’t good. It was the opposite of good. “Maybe I should just come back—”

      But before she could finish that thought, a loud bell clanged, and in the blink of an eye the surfer firefighter went from laid-back and easygoing to tense and alert.

      “Units two and three, respond to 3640 Rebecca Avenue,” said a disembodied voice from the loudspeaker.

      “That’s me.” Zach set down his mug as movement came from down the hall.

      People began filing into the front room in various stages of readiness, most of them guys—really hot guys, Brooke couldn’t help but notice—half of them pulling on clothes, some shoving on shoes, others giving orders to others. All looked exhausted, and somewhat out of sorts. Having been up all night, they couldn’t be thrilled at having to move out now, but she still expected someone to ask about her, or even acknowledge her, but no one did.

      “Mary’s temp is here,” Zach said into the general chaos. “Brooke O’Brien, everyone.”

      People gave a quick wave, one or two even quicker smiles, and kept moving. Zach squeezed her shoulder as he headed to the door, once again a simple touch from him giving her a jolt. “See you around, New Hire Number Seven.” And just like that, he was gone.

      They were all gone.

      Yeah. Definitely still the new kid.

      Chapter 2

      BROOKE SPENT that night walking through the three-story Victorian her grandmother had so unexpectedly left her, marveling that it was in her name now. She’d never met Lucille O’Brien, who’d been estranged from her only child, Brooke’s mother, Karen, so it’d been a shock to everyone when Brooke had been contacted by an attorney and given the details of Lucille’s will.

      As she’d been warned by the attorney, every room was indeed filled to the brim with…stuff. For Brooke, for whom everything she owned could fit into her car, this accumulation of stuff boggled the mind. All of it would have to go in order to sell the house, but she didn’t know where to start. Her mother had been no help, wanting nothing to do with any of it, not even willing to come West to look.

      But Brooke was glad she’d come. If nothing else, being in Santa Rey, experiencing that inexplicably over-the-top attraction to Zach, staying here in the only place her family had any history at all, gave her a sense that she might actually have a shot at things she’d never dared dream about before.

      She finally decided to go top to bottom and headed to the attic. There she went to the first pile she came to and found a stack of photo boxes that unexpectedly snagged her by the throat. The way she’d grown up hadn’t allowed for much sentimentality. None of her few belongings included keepsakes like photos. She’d told herself over the years that it didn’t matter. She liked to be sentiment light.

      But flipping through boxes and boxes of pictures, she realized that was only because she hadn’t known any different. Karen and Lucy hadn’t spoken in years, since back when Brooke had been a baby, so she hadn’t known her grandmother, or how the woman felt about her. But some of the pictures were from the early 1900s and continued through her grandmother’s entire life, enthralling Brooke in a way she hadn’t expected.

      She had a past, and flipping through it made her feel good, and also sad for all she didn’t know. She and her mother weren’t close. In fact, Karen lived in Ohio at the moment, with an artist and wasn’t in touch often, but now Brooke wished she could just pick up a phone and share this experience.

      That she had anyone to pick up a phone and call…

      She fell asleep just like that, surrounded by her past, only to wake with a jerk, the sun slanting in the small window high above her. She had two pictures stuck to one cheek, drool on the other. She’d been dreaming about the big house, filled with memories of her own making.

      Was that what she secretly wished for? For this house to represent her roots?

      Was that what she needed to feed her own happiness?

      She glanced at her watch and then panicked. Tossing off the dream and the photos, she raced through her morning routine, barely getting a shower before rushing out the door, desperate not to be late on her first day at work.

      The hammock by the firehouse was empty, and she ignored the little twinge of disappointment at not getting to gawk at Zach again. Not that she was going to gawk. Nope, she was going to be one hundred percent professional. And with that, she stepped inside.

      “Well, look at you. You really came back.”

      Danger, danger…sexy firefighter alert. Slowly she turned and looked at him, thinking, Please don’t be as hot as I remember, please don’t be as hot as I remember—