Page 15 of Sizzling Desire

“Kane,” he says, his expression grim as I approach. “Thanks for coming.”

“What’s strange about this one?” I ask, falling into step beside him as we head toward the house.

He gestures to the charred remains of the porch. “Point of origin doesn’t add up. It’s not near any outlets or obvious sources, and there are traces of accelerant—same as the other fires.”

I crouch near the edge of the porch, my eyes scanning the burn patterns. The fire spread fast, too fast for an accident. The scorch marks are uneven, erratic, but there’s a rhythm to them if you know what to look for.

“Someone lit this intentionally,” I mutter, running my hand over the blackened wood.

Chance crouches beside me, nodding. “That’s my read, too. Whoever’s doing this knows what they’re doing. It’s not random.”

I stand and dust off my hands, my gaze shifting to the house—or what’s left of it. The roof’s half-collapsed, smokestill curling from the rubble. This many fires don’t just happen, not in a town like Hibiscus Harbor.

“What do you think their angle is?” I ask, my voice low.

Chance exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. “Could be anything. Insurance scam, a message... hell, maybe they just like watching things burn.”

“Or it’s Torres,” I say, the name slipping out before I can stop it.

Chance’s head snaps toward me, his eyes narrowing. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

I nod. “If Torres is behind this, it’s not about fire. It’s about control. Fire’s just the tool.”

Vincent Torres. The name is a curse, a weight that hangs over everything it touches. He’s been untouchable for years, a ghost who always seems to stay one step ahead. If this is his handiwork, we’re not dealing with some firebug looking for thrills. We’re dealing with something calculated.

“Shit,” Chance mutters, running a hand through his hair. “If it’s Torres, this isn’t gonna stop with abandoned houses.”

“No,” I agree, my voice hardening. “It’s not, but I wonder why now?”

We walk back toward the trucks, the night heavy with unanswered questions. Chance is scribbling in his notepad, muttering about patterns and connections, but my thoughts drift back to the fire. Back to Grace.

Because even as I focus on the scene, even as I try to piece together what’s happening in this town, I can’t escape her.

Her fire isn’t the kind that burns houses down. It’s the kind that lingers, searing its way into every corner of my mind, refusing to let me go.

Chapter 5

Grace

Ithrow myself into the spreadsheet in front of me, willing the numbers to take up all the space in my head. The little cells blur together on the screen, my eyes darting over percentages, balances, and projections. It’s mind-numbing, and that’s exactly what I need. If I think about Kane for even one second, I’ll lose what little composure I have left.

The memory of his hands on me, his mouth against mine, his low, rough voice murmuring my name—it all flashes through my mind like a movie I can’t pause. No. Focus. Kane Mitchell is not allowed to take up this much real estate in my brain.

“Hey, Grace!” Yolanda’s chipper voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. She leans against the edge of my desk, holding a coffee cup and wearing that knowing smirk of hers.

“What’s up, Yolanda?” I ask, keeping my tone as casual as possible.

“You’ve been staring at that screen like it holds the meaning of life. Everything okay?” She arches a perfectly manicured brow, clearly fishing for gossip.

“Just busy,” I say quickly, gesturing to themountain of papers on my desk. “You know how it is. Quarterlies don’t calculate themselves.”

She laughs, taking a sip of her coffee. “Well, if you need a break, we’re talking about Shari in the break room. Poor thing thinks she’s coming down with something.”

I glance at her, grateful for the distraction. “Shari? She’s always the picture of health. What’s wrong with her?”

Yolanda shrugs, her smile turning mischievous. “Morning sickness, probably.”

The words slam into me like a freight train. My stomach drops, and my pulse quickens. “Morning sickness?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend.

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