Page 14 of Avery's Hero

Damn him for making me ache.

Tearing my eyes away, I try to focus on the rest of theteam. I need to study how they function. Reeves is easily recognizable. He’s taller than the rest, almost as tall as Brock. Frank is square-shouldered and quick on his feet. The others I haven’t spent any time with yet, so it’s hard for me to recognize them.

But one thing is certain, they respect their boss.

Within minutes, the small kitchen fire is extinguished. An easy job, and soon, the team is packing up their gear, sharing good-natured banter.

I’m tempted to get out of the truck but consider the thin ice I’m walking on with him right now. The more I cooperate, hopefully the sooner that he will let me get to work.

When they are nearly finished, Brock walks back toward the truck, watching me through the window.

The big, strong firefighter could be on the front of a magazine… no wait, a calendar. Yes, Firefighter of the Year.

His jacket is open, revealing the sculpted shape of his muscles beneath his T-shirt. He’s got his helmet off now and carries it in his hand. His hair is damp again, and tousled from his fingers running through it. If I had to name his expression, I’d say it was satisfied.

A shiver of awareness skates down my spine and out to my fingertips. He looks good enough to eat, and I’m suddenly ravenous for him.

I have to clear my throat to speak. “Nice job there, bossman.”

He shakes his head once and grins. “They did all the work.”

Pointing toward the radio, I say, “I heard you. You’re good at being in charge.”

I didn’t know Brock Mitchell could blush, but I swear I think that’s what’s happening. Okay, maybe not a blush, butthere’s definitely something going on with those angular cheekbones of his.

He makes himself busy reorganizing his equipment in the back floorboard of the truck. “Thanks for staying put.”

“You’re welcome. See, I can listen. I didn’t want to make things any more stressful.”

He’s quiet as he pours a bottle of water over his head and changes his T-shirt for a fresh one. I don’t know who does the man’s laundry, but they must be busy.

I try to keep my eyes ahead. Anywhere but on the contours of his glistening skin. Sunlight loves the man, it seems to worship the angles and dips along his muscles.

My mouth goes dry when I get a glimpse of the water running down the column of his throat.

Good lord.Brock Mitchell is my vagina’s new favorite sight.

This is never going to work. I’m going to be a puddle of incoherent lust every time the man gets near me.

Stifling my groan, I uncurl my fingers from the door handle. How embarrassing would that be if I ripped the thing off?

Frankly, I’ve had enough humiliation for one lifetime.

When Brock climbs behind the wheel, he doesn’t start the truck. He sits there thinking for a moment, staring straight ahead. His eyes are unfocused, but his energy is buzzing.

I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I try not to let him hear my ragged breathing.

As if he’s made some difficult decision, he turns toward me. For a few seconds, his eyes trace over me.

Awareness burns beneath my skin. I’m cold and hot and everything in between, all at one time.

I want to scream,‘What?’

His eyes soften, and I’m even more confused. Then he says, “Since we’re out, I’ll take you to show you some of the arson scenes.”

What the heck?

So much for not being alone together.

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