Page 140 of Smoke and Fire
He blinked, then nodded. “Okay. I hope I’ve thought of everything.”
A young girl and her mother stepped inside the shop, so I pushed away from the table, grateful for another moment to think. The hint of a smile on his face contributed an obvious redeeming factor to his hard-to-crack exterior, and now I only wanted more. Was my desire to help born from a hope to satisfy answers . . . or from something else? My fascination couldn’t be stopped.
When I returned, a different screen popped up on the computer. It looked like an empty document. He saved it, then navigated away.
“Keep track of your hours and I’ll pay you when I get back, if that works for you.”
“Sure.”
He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here’s my cell, and I wrote down the access password to the computer beneath it. Text me if you need anything. I probably won’t get reception, but if I do, then I’ll try to check before I go to bed at night.”
“Sure.”
“It could be two weeks before you hear from me again.”
I shrugged. “No worries.”
He hesitated, then pushed the paper and computer to me. He set the backpack he’d been carting around on the table next to it. “You can keep this to work from, since all the passwords are in there.”
“Thanks.”
I reached for the bag, my fingers just brushing the tops of his. He pulled quickly away, gaze diverted, and acted like it hadn’t happened.
Unbeknownst to him, my blood sang. I closed the laptop and tucked it safely inside the bag. I’d conquer the emails later. For now, I wanted to enjoy the low buzz that the warmth of his skin sent through me. The amusement of his reticence sent a smile to my face.
Really, when it came right down to it, this guy was nothing but a shy kid trapped in a man’s body. Adorable.
“Is it hard?” I asked, studying the sculpted angles of his face. He glanced up, brow furrowed.
“What?”
I held up the bag. “Giving your computer to someone else? As an author, seems like it would be anxiety-inducing or something. It’s sort of your lifeline, right?”
He did smile this time, a quick flash so subtle it shocked me. I longed for more of the way it cut quick hollows across his cheeks and illuminated his entire face.
“Nah. I’m used to being away from it for weeks on end in the summer. I spend all winter in front of the screen, so it’s a nice break. Besides, I’m always writing my ideas down when I have them out there.”
He drummed his fingers on something in his pocket, and I assumed by the rectangular surface it was a small notebook. The idea of a masculine fire fighter running around a mountain set to flame, but thinking of romantic ideas for his next plot, almost sent a cackle through me. He’d been one surprise after another from the very beginning.
I tilted my head to the side, my hair falling in waves as I regarded him.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked. “Writing in the winter, fire fighting in the summer, and hiding behind a pen name so no one knows who you really are? Is this your dream, or something?”
Any amusement in his features dissipated. He drew in a deep breath, then said, “No, it’s not really my dream. I do it because there are people that need me.”
Before I could comment, he shoved off the chair and stood up. I had to tilt my head back to take in his whole form. The insane desire to have his strong arms wrapped all the way around me sent a shock through my middle and I caught my breath.
“Priyanka is my agent,” he murmured. “She knows I’m going to pay someone to help manage the launch. She should leave you alone, but I can’t promise she won’t try to snoop in. Chocolate is her weakness, so if she’s driving you crazy and emailing in all the time, or something, just ignore her and send her chocolates. Her address is in my contacts. I’ll pay you back.”
I laughed. “You treat your agent like a puppy? Give her a treat and hope she’ll go away?”
To my relief—and delight—another hint of a smile cracked that serious veneer. “If you want to look at it that way, then yes.”
“Got it.”
I nodded, gratified that I likely wouldn’t have to deal withhis people.Answering emails and responding to written interview requests? Easy. Besides, there was something authentic and beautiful in the way he carefully responded to all the sincere fan emails. Like a butterfly that he didn’t want to fly away without thanking it first. It put a gentle edge on such a hard, broad man. The disparity of who he was, against who he appeared to be, struck me yet again.
“I’ll start in the morning,” I said.
