Page 7 of Her Silver Fox Firefighters
“Don’t worry about them. Every time they team up to cook dinner, it gets loud and messy as hell. The food’s great, but it takes nerves of steel to put up with both of them while they’re making it.”
“That means they’re passionate,” I giggle.
He motions to the living room. “Care for a drink?”
“Sure.”
No! Olivia, you dropped the cookies off. Turn around and go home. You promised you’d keep a low profile, and now you’re about to have drinks with your devastatingly handsome neighbors. It’s a terrible idea.
I follow Dax into the living room, rendered briefly speechless by the minimalist décor—neutral, earthy tones; simple, sturdy furniture; and a comfortable sprawling sectionalnestled around a large round coffee table with a thick glass top. It’s welcoming, airy, and warm, but still masculine.
“These look fantastic,” Dax says as he sets the box on the table and opens it.
“One of my go-to recipes,” I reply, “Easy to whip up.”
“I can’t wait to try them,” he says. He heads over to the minibar, which is built into a massive bookshelf that covers the entire southern wall. “Are you a scotch girl?”
“How’d you guess?”
He gives me a long glance—the kind that doesn’t need words to convey everything he seems to have figured out about me. I feel naked under his gaze, left wanting for more than just a look, and the way that white tee hugs his massive torso only makes it harder for me to focus.
“You’ve got an edge about you,” he says.
I offer a slight nod. “Don’t we all?”
“Something tells me you’ve got a complicated history,” he adds as he proceeds to take out two tumblers and a bottle of twelve-year-old scotch, a high-end single malt, judging by the label. “You have your share of secrets, a spicy dark side.”
“Spicy dark side?” I chuckle nervously.
Dax comes over with the glasses and hands me one. As I take it, our fingers touch, and for the longest second, I feel as though our bodies are intricately, intensely connected. It’s a strange but powerful sensation.
“I’ve met my fair share of people over the years,” he says. The distance between us isn’t much, and the air thickens with every breath I take. I notice his chest rising and fallingshallowly as well, and I know I’m not the only one feeling the electricity. “And you, Olivia. You’ve struck a nerve.”
“Oh?”
I wish I had something smarter to say, but it’s hard to concentrate while lost in the simmering blue heat of his eyes.
“You’ve got a spark, something that will cause one hell of a blaze if ignited,” he says, his voice deepening with each word.
“And you know plenty about fires, right?”
“Yours is the one I’d like to know more about,” he says.
I’m rendered speechless, breathless, mindless. I don’t know what it is about this man and his friends that has me reacting this way, but I’ve spent too many years refraining from what I truly wanted. I have my freedom back, and now my freedom has brought me here, to this place, to Dax.
“I have to admit, I’m curious what you think about that toy you assaulted my garden gnome with,” he adds.
Laughter erupts from my throat. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you? It was a gift from my best friend, okay? I had no idea what it was until I took it out of the box. I accidentally turned it on, and it startled me, so I threw it. I’m sorry for putting your garden gnome through such a trauma, Dax. How’s he doing?”
“He’s recovering, the poor little guy,” he says this line with a faint smile. “He’s only slightly traumatized, but I think he’ll be alright. Me, on the other hand?—”
“You’re traumatized as well?”
“Yes, by the idea that you’d need a contraption to keep you satisfied when there are better, more natural options.”
His implication is clear long before he lowers his head. My lips part swiftly, my body parting from my mind as I prepare for the contact. Dax kisses me—it’s short but incredibly intense—and I taste the scotch on the tip of his tongue.
A ragged moan escapes my throat.
