Heating up the Holidays Read online

  His gaze swept over her, noting the smooth, creamy skin that showed just a hint of cleavage, the way the dress hugged her feminine form to her hips then flared to flirt around her knees, the sexy peep-toe silver heels, the red-polished toes that matched her dress. Damn, even her feet were beautiful. And those heels made her legs look endless. He raised his gaze back to hers, and noted her looking him over. He hoped his dark gray dress pants and white dress shirt met with her approval because she sure as hell met with his.

  He wanted to add that she looked amazing. Gorgeous. Classy. Incredible. Instead he could only repeat, “Wow.”

  Color rushed into her cheeks. “Thanks.” Her gaze wandered over him again and her lips twitched. “What happened to your high-water pants?”

  “I retired them. Apparently I need to look for something by Armani.”

  He stepped behind her to hold her chair, and found himself less than a foot away from her bare shoulders. The expanse of smooth, satiny skin beckoned his fingers like a siren’s call and he had to grasp the back of the chair to keep from touching her. The subtle scent of flowers wafted toward him and he couldn’t keep from leaning a bit closer to catch the elusive fragrance. She smelled incredible. Like a garden in the sunshine.

  She shot him a half smile over her shoulder, murmured, “Thank you,” then gracefully sat. After pushing in her chair, he resettled himself in the seat opposite her. And wondered how he was going to make it through the meal without giving in to the overwhelming urge to touch her. The craving to kiss her. How the hell was he even going to make conversation with her when all he could do was stare? She’d done something to her eyes…applied some sort of smoky makeup that reeled him in like a fish on a hook. Made it impossible to look away from her.

  “For you,” she said. He managed to drag his gaze from hers and saw that she held out a single red rose. “As the Twelve Steamy Nights of Christmas flyer promised, if you come into Blooming Pails the day you use your gift card, you receive a rose. Since you came in-several times-I thought it only fair that you get yours.”

  He reached for the bloom, taking the opportunity to brush his fingers against hers. An electric tingle rushed up his arm. One that kept on going and settled in his groin. She stilled at the contact and he wondered if she felt this same…whatever the hell it was…that he did.

  “No woman has ever given me a flower before.”

  “How many flower-shop owners have you taken to dinner?”

  “You’re the first.”

  She flashed a smile. “That could be why.”

  “I have something for you, too,” he said, reaching down for the small silver-and-green gift bag he’d set by his feet.

  She frowned when he placed the bag on the table in front of her. “That’s a…gift.”

  “Well, ’tis the season. You gave me one.”

  She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I brought you the flower you were entitled to.”

  “Then don’t consider this a gift. Consider it a favor.”

  Still frowning, she peeked in the bag. Then looked at him over its bright foil edge. “The gift card for the thong at Mimi’s Intimate Apparel?”

  He nodded. “Seriously, you’d be doing me a huge favor by taking it off my hands. It’s not like I can wear it.”

  “There must be fifty other women you could give it to.”

  “Actually, no. And even if there were, I want you to have it. Since it came off the tree in your store, it’s only fitting it be yours.”

  She said nothing for several seconds and he could almost see her internal debate as to whether she should accept the present. Finally she said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He shot her a wink. “I hope you’ll think of me when you wear it.”

  Another crimson blush suffused her cheeks and he nearly groaned. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen a female over the age of fourteen blush, and came up blank. Silence swelled between them and he frantically searched his mind for something to say. Something other than I want to kiss you so badly I can hardly think straight. He was saved when the waiter appeared with their menus and the wine list.

  “Do you prefer red or white?” Brad asked her. “Or maybe champagne?”

  “Chardonnay, please.”

  He consulted the list and ordered a bottle. After the waiter departed, Brad opened his menu, but couldn’t concentrate on it since he was so busy looking at her. After a quick perusal of her menu, she closed it and set it aside. He gave up and did the same. Before he could think up anything brilliant to say, the waiter reappeared with their wine. After he’d poured them each a glass, he turned to Toni to take her order. Brad’s gaze zeroed in on her glossy lips, watching her form each word, imagining that gorgeous mouth pressed against his.

  “And for you, sir?” the waiter asked, turning toward him.

  “The same for me,” Brad said, unable to look away from Toni. He had no idea what she’d ordered, but since he pretty much liked everything except broccoli, it didn’t really matter. Hell, he’d even eat broccoli if that’s what she’d ordered. As far as he was concerned, this meal definitely fell into the category of “it doesn’t matter what you’re eating, it’s who you’re eating with.”

  After the waiter left, he picked up his wineglass and held it aloft. “To…” He hesitated, unwilling to say what he really wanted to for fear of scaring her off. Us. Beginnings. An incredible night.

  “An enjoyable evening,” he finished.

  She inclined her head and touched the rim of her glass to his. After taking a sip, he set down his drink and said, “So, tell me why you don’t like firefighters.”

  She raised her brows. “Boy, you don’t waste any time.”

  “If this is the only date I’m going to get, I don’t have any time to waste.”

  “This isn’t a date,” she reminded him. “It’s just-to use your words-one little dinner.”

  Not if I can help it. If he had his way, this one little dinner was going to turn into one hot night followed by one hot morning. Then repeat same. Until neither of them could move and this fire she had lit in him was put out.

  Obviously a plan best not put on the table right now.

  “Okay,” he agreed. “So since this is the one little dinner I’m going to get, tell me why you don’t like firefighters.” He studied her for several seconds then guessed, “Bad breakup?”

  “I suppose you could describe it like that, but not in the way you’re suggesting. It’s nothing to do with a boyfriend.” She drew a deep breath, then with her gaze steady on his, said, “I used to be a firefighter.”

  Brad couldn’t hide his surprise. “Used to be? What happened? Were you injured?”

  “Not physically, although it came close. You sure you want to hear this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right. During college I dated a firefighter-nothing serious, but it whetted my interest, and even after the guy was gone, the interest in a firefighting career remained. I enrolled in fire school and became certified as a paramedic. Four years ago, I was hired by a station in Woodton, a small city about one hundred miles east of Santa Barbara, which is where I’m from. It was my first experience living away from home, and I thought everything was going to be perfect.”

  She paused to take a sip of wine and he sat back, waiting for her to continue. “But I take it everything wasn’t perfect,” he said.

  “Everything was a disaster. I was the first woman to be hired at that station. I think the only reason I was is because the chief felt pressured to break that gender barrier. Unfortunately, almost without exception, the men I worked with resented having a woman there. I was the interloper in the all-boys’ club and they let me know from day one that they weren’t going to make it easy on me.”

  Brad nodded. As much as he disagreed with that mentality, he knew it existed. “They made your life difficult.”

  She made a humorless sound. “Difficult would have been a blessing. It was hell. I have three brothers so