Page 23 of Raging Inferno

“Are you okay?”

Mortified, I blink and meet his concerned gaze. In an attempt to pull myself from his lap, I grab a hold of his arm.

“I’m fine,” I croak, squeezing his arm. “There must be something wrong with the floor.”

His lips quirk slightly.

“Must be.”

“You work out a lot, huh?” I ask, sounding like a total fool. For extra emphasis, I squeeze his bicep again because… well, it’s a lovely piece of a muscle and let’s be serious, I don’t remember the last time I squeezed anything other than an eggplant.

“A little,” he replies modestly.

Helping me to my feet, he glances down at my shoes and the unruly floor.

“Let me help you back to your chair,” he offers. Quickly, I wave a hand dismissing him and make my way back to my seat, sashaying my hips ever so subtly.

Amber would be so proud of me.

Once my ass is planted safely in the chair, I take the full glass of wine and bring it to my lips. Jimmy raises an eyebrow as he smiles back at me.

He really has a great smile.

Aside from his arms, it might be my favorite part of Mr. Fireman.

“So, tell me, have you taken part in one of those sexy firemen calendars?” The moment the question escapes my lips, I slap my palm to my forehead. “Forget I asked that. I bet you get that all the time.”

Jimmy laughs and for some reason that encourages me to make more of a fool of myself.

“I’m also willing to bet you’ve had your fair share of women. I mean a fireman walks down the street, and it’s like Moses parted the sea. The only difference is, women of all ages throw their panties at him,” I pause, taking another sip of wine. “Occupational hazard I suppose.”

“You didn’t throw your panties at me,” he points out. “Want to give it another shot? I’ll walk out, come back in and we can test your theory.”

“Ha! You got the wrong Moscato sister,” I reply, snorting a little. “Now, if you were out to dinner with Amber, she would be all over that. She loves firemen. She’s not a slut or anything like that but, my sister is definitely more promiscuous than me. Not that I’m promiscuous at all. You have to have sex to be promiscuous and I don’t remember the last time I’ve done that.”

“That long, huh?”

“Jesus,” I groan, fanning myself. “Let’s just say, my hymen may have grown back.”

Jimmy covers his mouth as he chokes on his wine and my eyes bulge.

“Oh, please don’t die,” I tell him. “I have no idea how to save a life. I flushed my son’s fish down the toilet last week because I forgot to feed it.”

It’s not funny but suddenly I start giggling like a hyena.

“Besides,” I start, struggling to get the words out through the laughter. “You’re 9-1-1.”

The waiter arrives with our food and I quickly try to compose myself but the aroma of garlic turns my stomach. Covering my mouth, I lurch forward and my face nearly falls into the dish.

“Melissa?”

“I’m going to be sick,” I mutter.

Pushing back my chair, I make a mad dash for the ladies’ room and hear him warn me to watch my step.

Too bad he didn’t tell me to watch out for the vanilla extract.

Some hero he is.

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