Flashpoint Read online

  She could see the kitchen off to the right and a hallway to the left, but still no sign of life, which was odd—they couldn’t all be off on calls, not with the rigs still out front. “Hello?”

  Still nothing.

  With a shrug, she headed toward the gurgling sound, which took her into the kitchen, and a coffeemaker, making away. “Who’d want coffee on a hot day?” she asked herself.

  “A crew who’s been up all night.”

  Turning around, she faced sexy firefighter Zach Thomas, and as potent as he’d been lying down, his hotness factor shot up exponentially now that he was standing, even with bed-head—or hammock-head—which was good news for him…and bad news for her.

  Letting out a huge yawn, he covered his mouth, then grimaced. “Sorry.”

  He looked good even when yawning. She was so screwed. “Don’t be.”

  He set down his boots and shirt and stretched. His T-shirt rose, giving her a quick peek at a set of lickable abs. He ran a hand over his hair, which only encouraged the short strands to riot in an effortlessly sexy way that might have been amusing if she hadn’t been in danger of drooling.

  She’d never been one to lose it for a guy in uniform, so she had no idea why now was any different, but oh my.

  “We had seven calls last night,” he explained. “Fires, an explosion in the sugar factory, a toxic-waste spill at the gas station on Fifth. You name it, we were at it, all night. None of us got more than an hour.” Again he ran his hand over his already-standing-on-end hair. “We’re wiped. Everyone’s sleeping.”

  Beneath all that gorgeousness, true exhaustion lined his face, and suddenly Brooke saw him as a flesh-and-blood man. “I’m sorry I woke you. Especially after such a rough night.”

  He lifted another shoulder, not anywhere close to how irritated and frustrated she’d be if she’d had only an hour of sleep. “That’s the way this job works. You wanted to meet the crew?”

  “I’ll come back.”

  “You want coffee first?”

  She opened her mouth to say no thanks, but then she saw it in his gaze. His guard coming up. Here he was, overworked, the place obviously short-staffed, and in his eyes, she was just one in a long line of people that had flaked. That would flake. “You know, coffee would be great.”

  He turned to the cupboards while she took in the kitchen. The table was huge, with at least twelve chairs scattered around it. On the counter ran a line of mugs the length of the tile. “How many of you are stationed here?”

  “We’re on three rotating shifts, with only six firefighters and two EMTs each, which makes us…twenty-four? Down from thirty, thanks to some nasty cutbacks.”

  A medium-size station, then, but huge compared to the private ambulance company she’d last worked for, where there’d been only four on at all times.

  She’d have to be far more social here than she was used to. The firefighters worked twenty-four-hour shifts to the EMTs’ twelve, but it was still a lot of time together. She told herself that was a bonus, but really it just drove home that, once again, she was the new kid in class.

  Zach eased over to the coffeepot. “Black, or jacked up?”

  “Jacked up, please.”

  He reached for the sugar. Without her permission, her eyes took themselves on a little tour, starting with those wide shoulders, that long, rangy torso, and a set of buns that—

  He turned and, oh perfect, caught her staring.

  At his butt.

  Arching a brow, he leaned back against the counter while she did her best imitation of a ceiling tile. When she couldn’t stand the silence and finally took a peek at him, he was handing her the mug of coffee, his eyes amused.

  “Thanks,” she managed.

  “You’re not from around here.” He poured another mug for himself.

  All her life she hadn’t been “from around here,” so that was nothing new. Getting caught staring at a guy’s ass? That was new. New and very uncomfortable. “Is that a requirement?”

  “Ah, and a little defensive,” he said easily. “You look new to Santa Rey, that’s all.”

  “And you know that because…?”

  “Because of your skin.” Reaching out, he stroked a finger over her cheek, and instantly she felt as if all her happy spots sparked to life. She sucked in a breath.

  So did he.

  After a pause, he pulled his finger back. “Huh.”

  Yeah, huh.

  “You’re pale,” he said. “That’s what I meant. You’re obviously not from a beach town.”

  Okay, 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�€