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Heatwave
Jamie Denton
To say Emily Dugan's life has been a blur is an understatement. She's lost her job, her boyfriend is in love with someone else and he's kicked her out of their apartment.Ready to recoup, she's heading to sunny California to visit her grandmother for some relaxation. But when she finds out Grandy's cooking school has been plagued by a series of mysterious fires, Emily's shocked. Only her surprise turns to instant heat when she meets sexy-as-sin arson investigator Drew Perry.When Emily literally faints at his feet, Drew's certainly flattered. Of course, her collapse may have had more to do with her pregnancy than him! Now, instead of focusing on the firebug on the loose, Drew finds himself fantasizing about Emily…day and night. And what's a guy to do when the woman you want makes it crystal clear she's having the same delicious thoughts?


“I’m worried about you, Em. Is that such a crime?”
Never had Drew encountered such an exasperating, stubborn, sinfully sensual woman. His conscience told him to walk away now and keep going until he’d gained enough distance so he couldn’t look back.
What was it about this particular woman? Why, out of all the women he’d dated—and there’d been plenty—was she the one to make him forget his cardinal rule of absolutely no involvement?
Emily’s eyes darkened, the color reminding him of thunderclouds at midnight. Wild. Untamable. Worthy of a power he deeply respected. A hypnotic, sensual power she effortlessly and unconsciously wielded over him in ways he’d never imagined possible.
He dipped his head, but stopped before his lips brushed against hers. Her warm breath caressed his mouth.
“This is a mistake,” she whispered.
He waited for her to push him away. She didn’t.
“What’s life without a few mistakes along the way?”
She grinned, and her soft laughter made him smile. “Pretty darned boring.”
Dear Reader,
Have you ever had one of those days when just about everything goes wrong? No matter where you go or what you do, it seems as if a black cloud is following you?
Emily Dugan is having one of those days. In twenty-four hours her life is turned upside down by a series of events that would leave most of us struggling to catch our breath. So when she literally falls at the feet of scrumptious arson inspector Drew, the youngest of the three ultrasexy Perry brothers in my SOME LIKE IT HOT trilogy, she’s certain things have just gone from bad to…better?
Commitment-shy Drew is always game for a short-term relationship, and the hotter the better. But when sassy, seductive Emily keeps turning up the heat to rival the heat wave blanketing the city, even he has a hard time keeping his cool.
I hope you enjoy Drew and Emily’s steamy romance. And be sure to join me next month for Under Fire (Temptation #950), the final story in the SOME LIKE IT HOT trilogy. Until then…
Warmest regards,
Jamie Denton

Books by Jamie Denton
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
708—FLIRTING WITH DANGER
748—THE SEDUCTION OF SYDNEY
767—VALENTINE FANTASY
793—RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
797—BREAKING THE RULES
857—UNDER THE COVERS
942—SLOW BURN* (#litres_trial_promo)
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
10—SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY
41—SEDUCED BY THE ENEMY
Heatwave
Jamie Denton


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Stephanie

Contents
Chapter 1 (#uf13f4ebe-de11-52ce-bc07-ab3415b4cb0a)
Chapter 2 (#u9b1a9b01-7ec2-531d-aba3-9666aa45a21e)
Chapter 3 (#u9c0e9ae5-b88d-5bdd-9512-a8da637a0890)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

1
AS FAR AS Emily Dugan was concerned, New York City had the only decent cab drivers in the country. Case in point, the rude excuse for a cabbie who’d left her and her bags at the curb in front of the Norris Culinary Academy on the hottest day to hit Southern California in over a decade. Even at four in the afternoon, not so much as a whisper of an ocean breeze ruffled the palm trees high overhead, or dared to hint at the promise of relief from the blistering heatwave.
The thickening afternoon traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard whizzed past her as she fought back another wave of nausea. The last thing she wanted during her much-needed month-long vacation was another bout of the flu that had plagued her weeks ago, which had followed on the heels of the most wicked cold she’d ever suffered. She’d been looking forward to this visit with her grandmother for over a month. Nothing, she thought determinedly, not the flu or even the mess her life had unexpectedly become, was going to put a damper on a visit with Grandy. Besides, she had some big decisions to make. The relative peace and quiet would provide her ample opportunity to take the steps necessary to set her life back on track.
She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly in an effort to quell another bout of nausea. Tugging up the handle on the largest suitcase, she piggybacked the matching smaller case, then slung her carry-on over her shoulder. An acrid scent filled the air, like wood smoke or maybe burning charcoal from a neighbor’s backyard barbecue, only nowhere near as pleasant.
Since the parking lot to the right of the building was vacant this late in the afternoon, Emily avoided the front entrance of the cooking school her grandmother had started nearly fifty years ago, and wheeled her luggage along the side to the house in back where Grandy still lived. The sight of chipped stucco and peeling paint on the side of the school building took her a little by surprise, as did the thin wisps of grass growing between the cracks in the concrete path. The Norris Culinary Academy had always been Grandy’s pride and joy, and for as long as Emily could remember, had been kept in nothing but pristine condition.
She reached the wooden gate and pulled the handle with her free hand. The hinges creaked, as if unaccustomed to movement. Dragging her luggage behind her, she pushed through the gate and stepped into the courtyard. She frowned as she did a quick glance around the area. The acrid scent of burnt…something, assaulted her. The wonderland where she’d played as a child retained a mere shadow of its former beauty.
Small patches of dark moss dotted the putti fountain in the courtyard’s center, while the small pond below stood bone-dry. Weeds choked the flower beds running along the front of the house. Even the large white plastic urns, usually filled to overflowing with petunias, portulaca or begonias, housed nothing more than the shriveled remains of their original inhabitants.
Something was definitely wrong, but when she’d spoken to Grandy on the phone two days ago to reconfirm their plans, everything had appeared to be the same as always. Never had Emily expected to find the property in such a state of neglect.
She maneuvered her luggage up the two brick steps of the porch to the house and knocked on the door. The only sound came from the distant traffic on the boulevard behind her, and the gentle hum from the central air conditioning unit one of her uncles had installed for Grandy a couple of years ago. Emily didn’t hear a sound from the television or one of her grandmother’s Big-Band-era CDs, which Grandy often played while puttering around her house. Absolute silence.
Perhaps she’d gone out for the afternoon, but that, too, was highly unlikely. Her grandmother, a creature of habit, reserved errands and shopping for Saturday mornings. Emily decided to check the garage first, then she’d unearth the key hidden on the porch and let herself inside to wait.
She parked her luggage in the shade of the porch, then turned and found herself looking into the most stunning pair of sea-green eyes this side of heaven. Alarm skidded down her spine. She’d been so absorbed in her concern, she hadn’t even heard anyone behind her, something a New Yorker never did. She must be more upset by the recent and completely unexpected turn of events in her life than she realized.
“Can I help you?” she asked cautiously. She took a good look at him, committing his features to memory. With her luck lately, anything was possible and she wanted to be able to give the police an accurate description. She might forget the way his eyes skimmed her body, and she could have a hard time remembering her name, but she doubted she wouldn’t remember how his angular features seemed carved from granite. Too bad he wore a frown that would make Ebenezer Scrooge proud, she thought, because with this man’s chiseled good looks and his slightly wavy hair the color of rich mink, he’d be nothing short of scrumptious if he actually smiled. Not that it mattered to her. She was through with men.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” He had one of those deep, smooth voices capable of coaxing a woman to do just about anything. Oh, she knew the type well. A charmer, and incredibly dangerous to women who made a habit of picking the wrong men. Not that she would ever fall for something so blatantly obvious again.
She smoothed her suddenly clammy palms down the skirt of her loose floral summer dress. “I asked you first.” Okay, could she sound any more childish?
“I’m here on official business. And you are?”
Official business? He wasn’t a cop. Cops didn’t carry shovels around with them. He did wear a badge, though, and a crisp blue uniform that outlined a body spectacular enough for a blue-jeans ad campaign. The man was one-hundred-percent enticing. Well, maybe if she was interested she might call him that, only she wasn’t. Much.
No, she firmly reminded herself. Men were a thing of the past for her. She was just too good at making the wrong decisions when it came to the opposite sex.
“What official business?”
He ignored her question. “Are you related to Mrs. Norris?”
“Yes,” she said carefully. Her roiling stomach took another dip and swirl before settling back down. Feeling none too steady, she reached for the porch railing. “I’m her granddaughter.”
He finally smiled and her breath deserted her. Scrumptious only scratched the surface. The laugh lines surrounding his eyes deepened, which told her that despite that earlier frown, this gorgeous man actually did smile, and often. “Then you must be Emily.”
Obviously, he knew something she didn’t, which made her feel a half step behind him in their conversation. When her stomach gave another lurch, she tightened her grip on the railing. “Who are you, and where is my grandmother?”
His smile widened. Was it really possible for this man to appear any more sinfully handsome?
Apparently so. Her pulse revved up, underscoring that very point.
He leaned his shovel against the porch before he moved up the steps. “Drew Perry,” he said, extending his hand in greeting. “And your grandmother is going to be just fine.”
That half step behind shifted into two giant steps as her vision went all funky and blurry on her for the space of two heartbeats. She shook her head to clear it. “Going to be fine? What happened? Where is she?”
“Hey, are you all right?” Drew asked. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” Except she didn’t feel fine. Her voice sounded distant and tinny, a perfect accompaniment for the dull ringing in her ears. Either she was about to suffer a recurrence of the flu or the cardboard excuse for chicken cordon bleu she’d been served on the airplane planned to make an unwelcome reappearance.
She swayed slightly. “Just tell me what happened to my grandmother.”
Warm, work-roughened hands settled over her bare arms as he gently urged her away from the railing to the brick steps. “Maybe you’d better sit down,” he suggested.
Feeling decidedly fuzzy and tingly all at the same time, Emily didn’t argue. She allowed him to assist her down onto the steps. Though she wasn’t exactly certain what she expected to happen next, Drew taking her pulse didn’t even make her list of possibilities. The feel of his fingers holding her wrist sent a chill down her spine and she shivered. A ridiculous reaction, especially considering the record hot temperatures.
“Your pulse always this high?” he asked her.
She tugged her hand away from him. “No,” she lied. “It’s not high, either.”
The look he gave her said he knew otherwise. “Your pulse is elevated, and you’re as pale as a sheet.”
“The airline food didn’t agree with me,” she managed to say around another wave of nausea. “Will you please tell me who you are and what you’ve done with my grandmother?”
“I’m with the Los Angeles Fire Department. Your grandmother had a little accident and was transported by the paramedics to the emergency room.”
Her stomach dipped and swirled again. “What kind of accident?”
He smiled again, causing her pulse to click up a couple more notches. “She’s going to be fine,” he said.
Why wouldn’t he give her a straight answer? She shook her head again. Too late, she realized the drastic error in judgment. Her vision blurred and the ringing in her ears amplified.
“Emily? Stay with me, Emily.”
She tried to tell him she wasn’t going anywhere until he told her exactly what was going on, but her peripheral vision faded to gray. In a matter of seconds, all she could see was a minute pinpoint of light, filled with the rapidly disappearing vision of the handsome stranger, until the lights finally dimmed.
DREW HAD BECOME an arson inspector for a reason—he absolutely detested hospitals. In his opinion, emergency rooms were the worst. But here he was, at the UCLA Medical Center for the second time in one day, hanging around a place he didn’t like, keeping a promise to an old woman he didn’t even know. A sweet old woman who could very well be an arson suspect.
He leaned against the wall nearest the electronic doors a few feet away from the ER’s waiting area. The space was crowded for a Thursday afternoon, with people hoping to be seen soon or anxious for word on the status of a loved one. A pair of sunshine-blond little boys played with plastic trucks on the asphalt-tile floor near the feet of a man Drew assumed was their father. The kids made car engine sounds and scooted their toys around in circles, seemingly oblivious to the worried expression on their father’s face, or the fear and despair mingled in the guy’s eyes.
Drew looked away as an old memory nudged him. He’d seen that look before, on his own dad’s face as the family had waited to hear if his mother was going to pull through. But Drew had known. He might have only been a little squirt at the time, but he’d known that he and his older brothers would never see their mother again. The score of firefighters that had hovered around the emergency room that night pretty much told a story that even Drew, at the tender age of six, had known would not hold a happy ending. As an adult, twenty-three years later, he understood that Joanna Perry had died doing what she loved, fighting fires and saving lives. As a kid, he hadn’t been quite so wise or understanding.
Like his oldest brother Ben, Drew had done his best to avoid doctors and hospitals ever since. As third-generation firefighters, they found visits to emergency rooms came with the job, but at least were somewhat minimal. Their brother, Cale, however, worked as a paramedic and passed through the electronic doors of the ER numerous times during each pull of duty. Since transferring to arson two years ago, Drew’s trips here were slim to none unless he needed to question a witness with regard to an arson investigation. He couldn’t avoid the sterile, antiseptic halls completely, but any time spent in hospitals now was routinely confined to the morgue or the medical examiner’s office.
“Hey, what are you doing here? Come to ask that new ER nurse out on a date?”
Drew looked up and acknowledged his brother. “Cale,” he said, straightening. “Speak of the devil.”
“And the devil appears,” Cale countered with a wide grin, something he’d been doing a lot of lately. Drew gave all the credit to Cale’s fiancée, Maggie. Or was it Amanda? Amanda, he corrected. Maggie had been her persona when she’d been suffering amnesia. He really liked Amanda, but it had been a lot of fun to watch Maggie keeping his brother on his toes.
“So why are you hangin’ around this place?” Cale asked. “Don’t you have a firebug to catch?”
Drew let out a sigh. How exactly did he explain his presence in the ER, especially when he wasn’t really sure himself how he came to be playing the role of knight in shining armor, not once, but twice in the same day? “Long story,” he said, hoping Cale would leave it alone, because he had no easy answers.
Earlier today he’d come to the ER to question Velma Norris, the eighty-year-old owner of the Norris Culinary Academy, regarding the outbreak of recent fires at the school. While the fires themselves were relatively harmless in nature, Drew had his suspicions. First, a grease fire inside a deserted classroom, seemingly caused by a grease spill and a faulty pilot light. Then, a short tower of crates filled with newspapers behind the school had caught fire, caused, at first glance, by a careless smoker. The most recent incident—involving a Dumpster—had also looked innocuous on the surface, except the fire had been the third in two weeks. With the blazes occurring so close together, Drew didn’t plan on dismissing the last case as accidental without proof.
To complicate matters, he’d never expected to be cajoled by Velma into returning to the school to meet her granddaughter, Emily, and bring her to the hospital. When Emily had literally fainted at his feet, he’d had no other choice but to bring her to the ER. With the record high temperatures, dehydration or heatstroke were real possibilities, and he didn’t believe in taking chances.
Cale stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his navy uniform trousers. “Give me the condensed version. I’ve got a couple minutes until Brady finishes up.”
Just his luck, Cale wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon because his partner was damned thorough when it came to paperwork. “Someone passed out, and I was handy.” Drew opted for a minimal exchange of information. “Heat exhaustion, I think.”
Cale’s grin widened. “A woman someone, no doubt.”
Drew frowned. “Yeah, so?” He knew he had a reputation within the department as a ladies’ man, however unfounded in his opinion, but it wasn’t like that this time. He’d been doing someone a favor, and well, when a woman fainted at his feet, his training took over. Period. End of story. So what if he’d liked the way Emily Dugan’s big brown eyes sparkled when she’d looked at him? Was it a crime for him to appreciate a beautiful woman?
Cale’s laughter irritated Drew. “Only you, little brother, only you.”
Usually the ribbing he received from his brothers or the guys at Trinity Station failed to get a rise out of him. Unfortunately, today was a different story. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you don’t have enough women chasing after you, now you’ve got them falling at your feet.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Really?” Cale crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. “Then how was it? It’s not like you to wait around a hospital to find out about a patient.”
“Like I said, it’s a long story.” One he didn’t care to share with his brother at the moment, not when he had a hard time explaining his actions to himself.
“An interesting one, too, I’ll bet.” Cale sobered. “What’s her name?”
Drew let out a sigh. “Emily Dugan, not that it’s any of your business.”
“She was brought in for heat exhaustion, right?”
At Drew’s nod, Cale spun on his heel and headed toward the examination area.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Drew asked, following his brother.
“I wanna see her.”
“Why?”
Cale stopped and let out a stream of breath. “Curiosity. There’s a damn good reason if you’re hanging around a hospital when you don’t have to be here.” He repeated the words slowly, as if Drew was being deliberately obtuse. “I’m betting she’s one hot reason, too.”
Drew could continue to argue with Cale, thereby raising his brother’s suspicions and determination, or he could drop the subject as if it held little importance. Either way, he knew from a lifetime of experience, Cale wouldn’t back off until he’d thoroughly satisfied his curiosity.
Drew followed Cale through the electronic glass doors into the heart of the ER. Nurses, orderlies and physicians moved at a brisk pace between curtained partitions, through trauma room doors or hovered around a large horseshoe-shaped desk area, filling in charts, speaking on telephones or viewing lab reports in an efficient display of organized chaos. Positioned at the counter in a pair of mauve scrubs stood Tilly Jensen.
“Hey, Tils,” Cale called to their childhood friend and neighbor. “Where’s the woman Drew brought in? The heat exhaustion.”
“Curtain three,” she told Cale.
Tilly glanced up from the chart she’d been reading, her gaze intent on Drew. He and Tilly had been best buddies from the time he and his brothers first went to live with their aunt Debbie. Tilly’s mother had died in childbirth, and the Perry boys had not only lost their mother, but their father, who had passed away less than two years later. The Perrys and Tilly had been kindred spirits, with Debbie Perry filling a void in all their lives.
“She’s going to be fine.” Tilly pushed a stray lock of her soft brown, chin-length hair behind her ear. “We don’t think it was the heat, but we’re waiting on labs just to be sure before we release her. It shouldn’t be much longer, then you can take her home.”
“Thanks,” Drew said, oddly relieved, yet frustrated with himself for even harboring the emotion. Heat exhaustion or heatstroke could easily be fatal if not immediately treated. He ignored the knowing lift of his brother’s eyebrows and attempted to convince himself the relief stemmed from the fact he’d been handy when Emily had needed someone with a modicum of medical training.
The argument was a hard sell, even to himself.
“What about her grandmother?” Drew asked. “Velma Norris?”
Tilly capped her pen and stuffed it into the front pocket of her scrubs. “She’s staying the night. Her burn isn’t too bad, but her doctor decided to keep her for observation as a precaution because of her age.”
A doctor motioned for Tilly. “Curtain three,” she said to Drew, pointing down a short corridor, before heading into another room.
Cale was unusually quiet as they neared Emily. Drew pushed through the opening in the curtain and his heart thumped heavily against his ribs.
Emily lay resting on a gurney. With her eyes closed and the cloud of wavy shoulder-length blond hair surrounding her face, she looked like something out of a fairy tale, waiting for the right guy to come along and kiss her awake so they could live happily ever after.
He didn’t believe in fairy tales.
She must have sensed their presence. Her lashes fluttered, and then Drew found himself drawn into a pair of big soul-searching eyes the color of sweet, dark chocolate. Cale’s assessment of hot didn’t exactly sum up Drew’s impression. Breathtaking did, however.
She looked from Drew to Cale, then back at Drew. The barest hint of a smile curved her lips. “Please, tell me I’m not seeing double.”
“Nah.” Cale stepped up to the gurney. “There’s two of us. I’m Drew’s older, much better-looking brother.”
Drew ignored that comment and adjusted the head of the gurney for Emily as she attempted to sit upright. “Emily Dugan, my brother, Cale. The maladjusted middle child.”
“Middle? You mean there’s more of you?” Her gaze scanned them both again. “And you’re both firemen?”
“Paramedic,” Cale said. “Drew here likes to catch firebugs, and Ben, our oldest brother, he’s the firefighter.”
Emily frowned and looked at Drew. “You’re an arson inspector?”
Cale slapped a hand down on Drew’s shoulder. “Yup, he knows what a fire thinks.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to go?” Drew asked his brother.
“Not at the moment.” Cale never could take a hint.
Drew decided to continue ignoring him. “Have they told you about your grandmother?” he asked Emily.
She nodded. “I’m going up to see her as soon as they release me. Do you know how it happened?”
He had a pretty good idea. Someone was setting fires. Until today, no one had been injured. Velma Norris’s burns might not be life-threatening, but next time she might not be as fortunate.
“A fire was smoldering in the trash bin outside the school,” Drew told Emily. “When your grandmother opened the bin, oxygen fed the flames. Her right hand and part of her forearm were injured.”
Emily opened her mouth to say something just as a young doctor pushed through the curtain. He glanced at Emily, then at Drew and Cale. “Which one of you is responsible for the patient?”
“I am,” Drew said, before he could stop himself. He wasn’t really responsible for her, but he sure felt as if he’d been assigned the task of taking care of her. Exactly why, however, remained a mystery, especially since rescuing damsels in distress was Cale’s gig, not his.
The doctor looked down at the chart, then back at Emily. “We have good news. Your labs came back in good order, and there were no signs of heatstroke. But I do suggest you take it easy and be sure to drink plenty of liquids as a precaution.”
“May I leave now?” Emily asked, a hopeful note in her husky voice. The kind of voice that held the power to drift over a man’s heart.
The doctor nodded, then tucked the chart under his arm. He gave Drew a stern look. “Don’t leave her alone tonight. Just to be on the safe side…considering.”
Drew frowned. “Considering?”
“Yes, considering her condition.” The doctor smiled suddenly and extended his right hand to Drew. “You’re going to be a father, Mr. Dugan. Congratulations!”

2
PREGNANT?
How on earth had that happened?
Emily wasn’t stupid or naive. She knew all about the how, but the whys and why nows had her more than a little dumbfounded.
Alone on her grandmother’s side of the semiprivate room, amid the get-well bouquets already arriving from friends and relatives, Emily lounged in the hard taupe vinyl chair and absently nibbled on her thumbnail while staring at the television screen where Pat Sajak interviewed the contestants on Wheel of Fortune. She hadn’t spent five minutes alone with Grandy when an orderly had come and taken her away for therapy on her hand and arm, which was probably a good thing. At least Emily had a few minutes to herself to try to absorb the news the doctor had given her.
Drew had left, too. Well, run away was more like it after the doctor had mistakenly assumed she and Drew were together, not that she could blame the gorgeous arson inspector. She’d been as shocked by the news as Drew had been horrified by the doctor’s assumption. Drew’s brother had been highly amused, something which had brought a nurse in to ask Cale to leave because his chuckles were disturbing the other patients.
Drew had really surprised her when, despite everything, he’d told her he’d come back for her in a couple of hours so she’d have some time to visit her grandmother, no matter how much she’d insisted otherwise. Didn’t she have enough problems without the unwanted attention of a handsome stranger, who was apparently very into playing Prince Valiant? Obviously someone thought her plate wasn’t quite full enough.
Not that she was all that worried about it since she’d sworn off men, effective immediately.
She let out a sigh, her third in as many minutes. Pregnant? How on earth had that happened?
Better yet, how had her life managed to spin so completely out of control in virtually the blink of her eyes. She’d been a successful advertising executive, leading a creative team through a multibillion dollar ad campaign for a major department-store chain. She’d believed she was in a secure, stable and very comfortable long-term relationship, living together with her own supposed Mr. Right in an absolutely perfect two-bedroom, rent-controlled apartment on the west side. The next thing she knew, she was not only unemployed and single, but homeless and now pregnant, as well. All in the space of twenty-four hours.
Forget lemons. Life had handed her a whole basketful of limes, which everyone knew were much more bitter-tasting. In her state of impending motherhood, she didn’t even have the luxury of being able to reach for the closest bottle of tequila and shaker of salt to make the best of a bad situation.
She nipped the skin surrounding her thumbnail and winced. On the other side of the pink-and-gray striped curtain, Grandy’s roomy snored softly while a very enthusiastic young woman bought vowels on the television. If Emily was feeling sorry for herself, which she wasn’t, she figured even Shakespeare would be hard-pressed to write anything more tragic than the mess her life had become. Somehow, everything had managed to tilt so far off balance, she wondered if she dared tempt fate by holding even an ounce of hope that she might regain a modicum of control. She’d leapt from being a smart, savvy businesswoman with not only solid goals for her professional future, but with a finely detailed map of what she planned to accomplish in her personal life, onto an emotional roller coaster with more twists and turns than she could keep up with, even on a good day.
How in the world had that happened?
Before she did more damage to her thumb, she wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward in the chair. She was pregnant, something she figured would take her a little time to get used to.
But she’d been on birth control, for crying out loud. Why now, especially since her so-called boyfriend had dumped her for another woman just two hours before her flight to Los Angeles. For a junior partner in his law firm, he’d said. A woman more in tune with his professional needs.
Professional needs? The last time she’d looked, relationships were based on matters of the heart.
Charlie, now unaffectionately known as Cheatin’ Charlie, hadn’t even had the decency to end their relationship in private, but in the passenger check-in area of JFK Airport, of all places. Correction, he’d ended their relationship and informed her he would have her stuff moved into storage while she was in L.A. Considering she’d just been handed a pink slip the day before, along with twenty percent of the work force at Anderson and McIntyre Advertising because of corporate downsizing, she hadn’t put up much of a fight. Yep, she’d gone from smart and savvy all right…straight to doormat.
Perhaps she’d just been too stunned to feel anything. With one striking blow after another, who could blame her? Even now, a dozen or so hours later, she still had a hard time mustering up anything close to an emotional outburst, angry, hurt or otherwise where Cheatin’ Charlie Pruitt was concerned. Well, other than the fact that she’d decided to swear off men for a good long while. And for good reason, too.
Charlie wasn’t the first bad choice she’d made in the relationship department. According to her small group of women friends, she was practically famous for her lousy choices. If she wanted to examine her twenty-seven-year history of relationships truthfully, which she most certainly did not, even she knew they were right. When it came to the opposite sex, she had a radar for men that were wrong for her, and the track record to substantiate the claim.
High school had been a series of dating disasters she’d tried hard to forget once she went away to college. She hadn’t dated much her first couple of years, but her junior year she’d met and fallen head over heels for Rick Murdoch. He’d been premed, an all-American track star and vice president of the junior class. He’d also been stunningly gorgeous, just the kind of guy women spent hours drooling over in magazine ads. They’d had a lot in common, more than she’d ever imagined. Unfortunately, Rick turned out to be gay, something he decided right after she’d lost her virginity to him. How was she supposed to know the one thing they both really had in common was their attraction to men?
When she’d first moved to New York, after landing the account-rep job at Anderson and McIntyre, she’d actually met a wonderful guy who she was sure would make her forget about Rick. Jake was an actor, good-looking in a smooth pretty-boy sense. Attentive. A wicked sense of humor. And an absolutely incredible lover, which went a very long way in restoring the level of her battered sensuality-ego after the disaster of Rick.
She wasn’t a perfectionist, not by a long shot. She understood people weren’t perfect and came with quirks and baggage. Only there were some quirks she simply could not overlook. Jake turned out to have a taste for pornography she found a little too distasteful—like him being cast in the starring role of several X-rated films.
Then there’d been the guy who could never make a decision about anything unless he conferred with his mother first, followed by the borderline obsessive-compulsive who carried his own set of plastic ware to restaurants, something the maître d’ at the Tavern on the Green had found so offensive, he’d asked them to leave. Alan Fontaine had had a few other idiosyncrasies regarding the physical aspect of relationships, as well, but she thought wearing surgical gloves while making love was taking things just a bit too far.
Finally a little over a year ago, she’d thought she’d finally found Mr. Right with Charles Pruitt, III. Tall, slender, with preppy Ken-doll good looks, he had a mesmerizing gaze filled with intelligence. He was a brilliant research attorney. Not a skin flick or latex glove in sight—that made him a plus. He had lacked any real sense of humor, but he had goals similar to her own, which made them work well together.
Turned out Cheatin’ Charlie was really Mr. Not-A-Chance and the father of her baby.
Well, she thought resolutely, she wasn’t the first woman to find herself pregnant and alone. As sure as the sun rose at dawn, she wouldn’t be the last, either.
She shook her head, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact she was going to have a baby. It wasn’t that she didn’t want children, she was just…well, stunned. Starting a family had been part of her most recent five-year plan, but she’d hoped to have a husband, a home and a job first. She still had another couple of years before she figured she was ready to purchase a house, but she did have enough money saved that it wouldn’t be a problem readjusting the real-estate portion of her plan. Provided she found another job first. The husband part, however, had just become moot. Good grief, she hadn’t even realized she and Charlie were having problems.
She sat up straight and slid her hand over her tummy. A baby. Boy or girl? she wondered. Would her child look like her, or like Charlie? She had to admit, other than his rotten sense of timing and the fact that he’d apparently been cheating on her with Ms. Junior Partner, Charles Pruitt, III, wasn’t all bad. A little too self-absorbed obviously, but not completely narcissistic. And they’d had a good time together. At least until she’d been assigned to lead the team of advertisers for the large ad campaign. She’d been keeping long hours for the last couple of months, and Charlie hadn’t seemed to mind. Of course, she hadn’t known he’d been otherwise occupied.
She hadn’t even realized she was pregnant, and she couldn’t help wondering what that said about her. When she’d become increasingly tired, she’d first suspected the long hours spent on the ad campaign had her run-down. She’d caught that wicked cold, followed by the flu, and had just never seemed to regain her usual verve. With her hectic and demanding work schedule, there hadn’t been time to take off work to see a doctor for antibiotics, so Charlie had stocked her up on over-the-counter cold relievers. She’d managed to muddle through the cold, but the flu had left her feeling weak and tired much of the time.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. That was it! That was the how—the antihistamines in all those over-the-counter flu and cold medications she’d been taking must have counteracted her birth-control pills.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside her, but she tamped it down lest she wake Grandy’s roomy and the poor woman thought a lunatic was loose in the room. It might take two to tango, as the centuries-old saying went, but it looked as if Charlie was even more responsible for her newly acquired status as mother-to-be than she’d originally believed.
Cheatin’ Charlie might have a skewed version of the meaning of monogamy, but he did know about responsibility. Of course, she couldn’t tell him. He might be the father and he did deserve to know, but not now. Later, when he wouldn’t dream of accusing her of stooping low enough to make a desperate attempt to hang on to a relationship that had gone south.
As for a place to live and finding gainful employment, she knew all she had to do was ask and she could temporarily room with either of her two dearest friends, Susan or Annie, until she found a job. She and Susan Carlson had been roommates in college, so it really wouldn’t be much of an adjustment for either of them, especially since Susan traveled a great deal, thanks to her recent promotion in the public relations firm where she worked. Annie Pickett, on the other hand, a struggling actress who waited tables in between plays to pay the rent, would no doubt appreciate the financial assistance of a roommate.
Emily wasn’t exactly destitute, but finding a job that paid as well as Anderson’s would be difficult in the current job market. And an employer willing to hire a pregnant woman would be virtually nonexistent. Equal opportunities and discriminatory laws aside, when it came down to a final decision, why would someone hire her when she’d be taking a couple of months off for maternity leave within six or seven months of being hired?
She had a lot of thinking and planning to do. A natural list-maker, she reached into her purse for the small pad and pen she always carried with her and started making notes.
She was out of her home, out of a job and her man had dumped her.
Home, she wrote, followed by, Call Annie.
Job…Call headhunters.
Man. She made a noise and crossed that one off her list.
Baby. She tapped her pen, staring at the word, not having a clue where to begin.
A small smile curved her lips as she put pen to paper again.
Ashley, Adam.
Brandi, Brandon.
Chloe, Charles.
She drew a line through Charles. Carter.
Daisy, Drummond.
Eleanor, Ethan.
Fiona, Franklin.
Georgia…
DREW PARKED the state-issued, red Dodge Dynasty in the lot behind the firehouse, then took the rear entrance into Trinity Station. He headed up the back stairs to the second floor, avoided the bunkroom and walked straight to the deserted locker room. The guys who weren’t out on calls would either be playing a few rounds of pinochle, watching the tube or catching some Z’s before the next alarm sounded. Since he’d promised Emily he’d come back for her in a couple of hours, he didn’t have time to guzzle coffee and shoot the breeze the way he usually did at the end of his shift. All he wanted was to change out of his uniform and take Emily back to her grandmother’s house.
What came next, he couldn’t say. He agreed with the doctor’s opinion that Emily shouldn’t be left alone tonight. She’d suffered a shock to her system, physically and definitely emotionally based on her stunned reaction to the announcement of her pregnancy. When he’d asked her if there was anyone he could call for her, she’d recovered enough from her surprise to give him a hard stare and emphatically state there was no one in her life to call.
He wasn’t exactly certain what that meant, but one thing he did know, Emily Dugan was not his responsibility. Unfortunately that didn’t prevent him from feeling otherwise. Not only had she fainted on him, but he’d gone and promised her grandmother he’d look after her. And a Perry’s word was like oak—solid and unbreakable.
Before returning to the station, he’d gone back to the school to further inspect the damage. While he’d suspected an accelerant had been used, he’d been unprepared to find cooking oil coating the trash bin, which meant he had to consider Velma Norris as a suspect, at least temporarily. He didn’t want to think the sweet old woman could be his firebug, but neither could he discount the evidence. The blaze hadn’t been an accident. No one had simply disposed of old cooking oil. Someone had literally taken the time to coat the interior of the Dumpster. In his book, that spelled arson. Firebugs weren’t limited to a specific gender, age group or even social or economic status. In Drew’s experience, there were usually four motivating factors for an arsonist. Vandalism was a typical one, and these fires were usually started by teens. Trash bins, like the one today, were often the most common starting point, and if it hadn’t been for the two previous fires and the evidence he’d found at the cooking school, he might have discounted this latest incident to vandalism.
The motive to profit from an insurance claim, especially during hard economic times, as a way to escape a failing business or a big mortgage was likely, and something he had no choice but to consider. The place was definitely run-down, and from his two prior visits, he hadn’t seen all that many students hanging around.
Revenge was often an arsonist’s main objective, and usually an enraged, jilted lover or disgruntled employee was responsible for the burn. Actually, Drew considered revenge fire starters the most dangerous because of their emotional instability. They were also the easiest to catch, primarily because they were more concerned with the act of revenge than with hiding their crime. He’d considered this option briefly, but since there’d been no witnesses, he had his doubts this was the motive. Nor did he believe he was dealing with a garden-variety pyromaniac or even a firebug wanting to cover up another crime. Which brought him back to the answer he dreaded the most…fire for profit.
He tugged his shirt out of his trousers before he sat on the varnished wood bench to remove his work shoes. Reaching forward, he lifted the latch on his locker and opened the door. A basket tumbled out, followed by the plaintive cry of “Mama” from a child’s doll. It sounded more like a braying lamb than a baby as it rolled over the concrete floor to his feet.
He leapt up and nearly toppled over the bench as a series of bubble-gum cigars in blue and pink fell from the top of the locker, raining over his head and shoulders. “What the…”
Snickers and the shuffling of feet echoed in the locker room. “All right, who’s the comedian?” Drew called as he stooped to pick up the doll.
“Mama,” the doll whined, followed by louder chuckles.
He turned to put the doll back in the basket, but set it on the bench instead, since the white wicker carrier that had held the little baby doll with blond ringlets was stuffed full of disposable diapers.
“Mama,” the doll cried again.
Drew let out a sigh as his eye caught the shelf in his locker. Upon closer inspection, he realized the guys had replaced his shampoo with a no-more-tears formula of baby shampoo. Instead of his black comb was an infant’s brush and comb in pink, with tiny blue flowers no less. His bar of soap had disappeared, too, but his co-workers had included a bottle of baby soap, along with economy-size bottles of pink baby lotion and talcum powder.
“You can come out now,” he said. He suspected Cale was responsible for the joke since he’d been with him when Emily’s doctor had mistakenly assumed Drew was “the responsible party.” A big joke at that, since marriage and family were absolutely not part of his lifelong agenda. He might have one of the lower-risk jobs in the fire department, but he still faced a good amount of danger investigating fires each time he entered a burned-out structure. Since he had no intention of hanging up his gear, he’d decided a long time ago there was no way he’d put a child or a wife through one ounce of the pain he’d suffered at the loss of his parents.
“Drew, buddy,” Tom “Scorch” McDonough said as he rounded the corner. A wide grin split the paramedic’s freckled face. “You should have told us.”
Cale slapped Drew on the back. “He’s been keeping this one quiet.”
Drew shrugged off his brother’s hand. “Hey, I hardly know her.”
“Wow.” Fitz, another third-generation firefighter, laughed. “That’s fast work. Even for you.”
Cale crossed his arms and leaned against the row of lockers, careful to avoid the bubble-gum cigars littering the floor. “Yeah, but you’re interested. I saw the look, Drew.”
He frowned. “What look?” Since when had he become so transparent that Cale could tell what he was thinking?
“The one you get when your interest is piqued by someone of the opposite sex,” Brady, Cale’s paramedic partner, added.
Scorch nodded knowingly. “That starving-dog look.”
“More like a lovesick-puppy look,” Ben Perry said.
Drew shot them all a scathing glance, then tugged his T-shirt over his head and tossed it in the bottom of the locker. “I’m doing an old woman a favor. End of story.”
A slight smile curved Ben’s mouth, something that didn’t happen often enough. “Sounds like the beginning of one to me.”
Drew shucked out of his trouser and briefs, then picked up a clean towel to wrap around his waist. “Shows how much you don’t know. Now if you comedians will excuse me, I need to shower and get back to the hospital.” He turned his back on the practical jokers, shrugged and grabbed the bottle of baby shampoo from the shelf. Shampoo was shampoo, after all.
“See what I mean?” Cale said.
“He can’t stand to be away from her,” Brady added.
Scorch laughed. “Looks like his Casanova days are numbered.”
Drew stopped in front of the last locker at the end of the row and turned to face them. He could give and take with the best of them, and had even been the engineer behind more than a practical joke or two. But they’d just gone too far in his mind. No way in hell were his bachelor days in danger of disappearing. He enjoyed women, a lot, and preferred the freedom of sampling all they had to offer too much to be tied down to only one woman.
“You guys should talk,” he told them. “Cale’s engaged, Brady’s wife is pregnant and not talking to him again, and Scorch is tied up in knots over Tilly. Now whose days are numbered?” He couldn’t blame a woman for putting Ben through the wringer. As far as Drew knew, the last time his older brother had gone on a date was at least three, maybe even four, months ago.
Cale grinned. “Not Scorch. Tilly’s ticked off at him. Again.”
“What’d you do this time?” Ben asked Scorch. “Forget the one-month anniversary of your first date or something?”
Scorch shoved a hand through his permanent case of bed-head carrot-red hair. “Worse,” he admitted. “Her birthday.”
“Aw jeez. You’re screwed,” Fitz offered sympathetically. “I missed Krista’s birthday once and let me tell you, it’s gonna take some major sucking up. Think jewelry, pal.”
Scorch let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his head. “She hated the flowers I brought her today. She threw them at me. Plastic vase and all.”
Drew grinned triumphantly. “See what I mean? Until you idiots can get your love lives straightened out, don’t even think about lecturing me on mine.”
Not that he had a love life that included Emily Dugan. Then again, she had made it crystal clear she was single. When it came to women, Drew was always open to exploring the possibilities…of anything short-term, of course.

3
NIGHT MIGHT HAVE FALLEN over Southern California, but the disappearance of the blazing sun didn’t mean the sizzling temperatures had bothered to follow suit by more than a degree or two. By the time Emily had walked from Drew’s black SUV to the brick steps of her grandmother’s house, her calf-length cotton floral dress was already starting to cling uncomfortably to her back.
“You really don’t have to do this,” she told Drew, for what had to be the fifth time since he’d returned to the hospital for her. Once she’d bidden her grandmother good-night, Drew had given her a choice: his place or hers. The devil had even tried to blackmail her, threatening to tattle to Grandy about the baby if she refused. His underhanded, and quite effective, tactic had worked like a charm, too. How on earth he’d known she hadn’t uttered a single word about the day’s events to Grandy was beyond her, but not wanting to upset her grandmother had Emily complying without much of a fight. Since she’d already informed the hospital staff they could reach her here if Grandy’s condition should change during the night, she’d reluctantly agreed to let him stay. Not that she expected anything to go wrong. Grandy might be in her twilight years, but the old gal was still as strong, and twice as stubborn, as an ox.
Drew’s hand settled on her sweaty back as she carefully made her way in the dark to the porch. The tingles chasing up and down her spine like the crazed lights of a pinball machine had nothing whatsoever to do with sexual attraction. No, those little pinpricks of excitement were merely caused by the surprise of an unexpected touch.
Could have happened to anyone. Uh-huh. That was her story. And dammit, she was sticking to it.
“Do you have the key?” Drew asked, tugging open the wood-framed screened door.
Thank heavens she’d only have to suffer his presence until morning, she thought. If the sound of that low, sexy rumble in his voice just asking for a stupid key had the power to put her feminine senses on alert, she hated to think what her reaction would be when he asked her where he’d be sleeping for the night.
She withdrew Grandy’s key ring from her purse and handed it to Drew. Within seconds, he held the door for her and she walked past him into the cozy and, she noted thankfully, air-conditioned living room. Warm light from the automatic-timed lamp bathed the area with the same welcoming sense of coming home she always experienced whenever she returned for a visit, which hadn’t been nearly often enough in the last couple of years. She’d been busy building her career.
And for what? she wondered with an unexpected stab of bitterness. Just to receive a pink slip and a somewhat decent severance package that would tide her over for a couple of months before she’d be forced to dig into her savings? A fat lot of good all those long hours had done her.
While Drew brought in her bags, which they’d left stowed on the porch during her unexpected visit to the emergency room, Emily tried to forget her employment status for the time being. Instead, she breathed in the familiar scents of lemon wax, the faint aroma of cinnamon from the big jar candle resting on the mantel of the small brick fireplace, and something that smelled suspiciously like fresh-baked cookies. Oatmeal-raisin cookies.
The ancient tole-painted wooden box nestled near the fireplace still housed various cars and trucks hand-crafted by her grandfather for her male cousins and half brother, along with a pair of well-loved baby dolls once shared by her, her half sister and a handful of female Norris cousins. The requisite coloring books and a fat round Christmas tin filled to the brim with crayons of every shade imaginable, now shared by the next generation, rested on top of the pile of toys. A generation, she suddenly realized, that would include her own child in a matter of months.
She needed time to come to terms with what had happened, which was why she hadn’t yet shared the news with her grandmother. Besides, if the state of disrepair around the property was any indication, Grandy had plenty enough to concern herself with and didn’t need to add worry over her unwed, pregnant granddaughter. Once Grandy was released from the hospital, and Emily assured herself that the time was right—when she had a firm plan in mind on exactly what she was going to do next—she’d tell her grandmother about the baby, about her loss of employment and all about Cheatin’ Charlie. So far, only she and Drew, along with Drew’s brother Cale, knew of her status as mother-to-be. In Emily’s opinion, that was already two too many people.
The screen door snapped shut, drawing her attention. “Where do you want these?” Drew asked her.
Her vocal chords refused to function at the sight of all that corded male arm muscle straining with the weight of her suitcases gripped in his large hands. She stared, fascinated.
“Emily? You’re not going to faint on me again are you?”
She shook her head, and pointed toward the hallway off the living room.
“Which room?” he called from the corridor.
“Second on the left,” she managed to answer. Apparently her capacity for speech worked just fine when she wasn’t staring at him like a loon.
Her tummy grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t had a thing to eat since her flight.
She headed into the kitchen in search of sustenance. In the fridge, as she suspected, Grandy had stocked up on Emily’s favorites. She considered a bowl of cottage cheese with fresh sliced strawberries and some dry toast, but didn’t think her self-appointed guardian would consider her choices much by way of a real meal. She dug a little deeper, found some American cheese slices and set them on the counter.
“Have you eaten?” she asked Drew when he sauntered into the kitchen. She didn’t possess one iota of her grandmother’s culinary gene, but she’d been known to manage just fine with a grilled cheese sandwich and a can of soup. Occasionally. If she was really, really careful.
“Actually, no.” He pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his trousers. “I thought we could order in. Maybe some Thai or Italian.”
She appreciated the thought, but wrinkled her nose just the same. Besides, she didn’t trust her stomach with food quite that solid or spicy. “Something a little less exotic, please. How does grilled cheese and a can of soup sound?”
The sexy tilt of his mouth, combined with the charming glint in his eyes, had her pulse revving all over again. How was it possible for one man to possess so much blatant sexual magnetism? It was a test, she decided. She’d sworn off men and she was being tested by some unseen entity with a wicked sense of humor. Well, she’d never flunked a test in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now. Her life had become a disaster within a twenty-four-hour period. She shouldn’t even be lusting after some guy, no matter how hot and bothered just looking at him made her.
“Boring,” he said. That way-too-charming smile never wavered.
He started pressing buttons on his phone then reached for the pad of paper and pen her grandmother kept handy on the counter.
Emily stepped as close as humanly possible to the open refrigerator, hoping the cool blast of air would quell those hot, hot images spurring to life. A wasteful wish if one ever existed.
“Would a BLT be exciting enough for you?” Maybe she could even manage to convince him to fry up the bacon since she usually charred the stuff beyond recognition. The beauty of living in New York was that just about anything could be delivered practically every hour of the day, even a BLT. A service she took advantage of plenty on a regular basis.
While Drew continued to jot down phone numbers, she wondered if Cheatin’ Charlie’s new lady lawyer cooked for him.
Drew flipped his cell phone shut and slipped it back inside his pocket, then shrugged those incredible line-backer-wide shoulders. “Why not? Want some help?”
This man had to have angel wings hidden somewhere on his body. Too bad she wasn’t interested—much. Obviously her pregnancy-induced hormones were running rampant because she had a feeling exploring that heavenly body to find them could be a whole lot of fun. “You do the bacon, I’ll do the rest.”
While Drew started the bacon, she avoided anything to do with actual meal preparation and set the table. Her tummy grumbled again thanks to the mouthwatering scents floating on the air. Thankfully Drew’s good manners kept him from commenting. Her own good manners fled the scene when she caught sight of the notepad on the counter.
She counted. Thirteen telephone numbers? And the names of thirteen different women.
Thirteen?
She glanced over her shoulder at Drew. Thirteen?
“Excuse me?”
“Uh…” She hadn’t realized she’d even spoken out loud. “You always this popular, or are you running a sale?”
He turned his head slightly to the side, a bewildered expression on his handsome face. “What are you talking about?”
She rolled her eyes. What had her first impression of him been? Oh yeah. A charmer. The kind of man incredibly dangerous to women who made a habit of picking the wrong guy. The kind she’d never be so foolish to ever fall for again. Especially when he was the kind who collected messages from thirteen different women.
She picked up the pad of paper and started reading. “Leanne, Karenna, Dora, Elise, Sophia and, oh—please—Tiffany?” She laughed and continued reading. “Wendy, Frenchie? Gee, I wonder what she’s known for. Debbie, Amanda, Tilly, Nina, and…”
She peered closer, but the last name was nearly illegible. “H.B? What is that? Code for hot babe?”
A true scoundrel’s grin curved his mouth, and heaven help her, she almost found him irresistible.
“No,” he said, his voice coated with humor. “It’s shorthand for Hannah’s Bakery.”
She dropped the tablet back on the counter, pretending disgust. “I don’t think I want to know what baked goods and a baker’s dozen of women have in common.”
“Since you asked—”
“I didn’t.”
The teasing glint in his eyes said otherwise. “Debbie is my aunt,” he explained. “Amanda is my brother’s fiancée and Tilly is my best friend.”
She pulled plates and soup mugs from the cabinet. “Strange name for a guy.”
“Probably because she’s a woman.”
Now why wasn’t she surprised to learn a sweet-talking, drop-dead gorgeous specimen of male perfection had a woman for a best friend?
“Debbie called to see if I could pick up the cake for Amanda’s bridal shower at the bakery by noon on Sunday,” he said.
“You really don’t have to explain.”
“Tilly,” he said, ignoring her, “wanted to let me know she’d taken care of Cale and Amanda’s wedding present, and my future sister-in-law wanted to know if I’d been able to find the gift she wants to give my oldest brother to celebrate his promotion to lieutenant.”
Emily handed him the dishes then crossed her arms and looked at him skeptically. “Let me guess. You want me to believe you’re really related to the other women on that list, right?”
He shrugged and his grin turned sheepish.
What did she care anyway? She’d sworn off men.
Well, she had!
Fifteen minutes later they were seated at the round oak table in the corner of the kitchen. Drew had unearthed sliced turkey in the fridge, and rather than BLTs, they shared the best turkey Newburg on toasted English muffins she’d ever tasted, expertly prepared by Drew. Which sure beat anything she could’ve created in the kitchen. Almost anything was preferable to her cooking, a term she used loosely.
Emily looked across the table at Drew. The man really was way too sexy for her own good, but she couldn’t think about that now. Or ever, and she firmly reminded her wayward hormones of that telling list of women. There were questions that had been simmering in the back of her mind all afternoon that required answers. With everything that had gone on, there hadn’t really been an opportunity to talk to him privately and when she’d had the chance, she’d allowed herself to be sidetracked by that harem of his.
“Why would a garbage-can fire necessitate an arson inspection?” she asked him suddenly.
He took a bite of his meal and chewed instead of giving her an answer, making her wonder if he’d even heard her.
“I noticed some charred crates, too,” she continued. “And soot stains near the exit. The fire today wasn’t the first, was it?”
Drew let out a sigh and set his fork on the delicate china plate. He’d expected her questions sooner or later. He’d just wished it’d been later, when he had some solid answers. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”
“No. I’m…” She paused and let out a short huff of breath. “I was an advertising executive.”
“Was?” he prompted, attempting to steer the conversation into a more personal direction. Emily intrigued him, but then most women did on one level or another, so he wasn’t overly concerned.
“Corporate downsizing.” She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. “The fires?”
So much for a redirection of topic, he thought, although he planned a revisit shortly. He wanted to know more about this absent father of her baby, which should be reason enough to ignore the faint stirring of need in his gut whenever he looked into Emily’s big brown eyes. Only he couldn’t seem to help himself.
“Today was the third incident,” he told her.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “The third?” She shook her head as if trying to absorb the information. “Grandy never said a word to me about the fires.”
Maybe because she was guilty as hell. “Maybe she didn’t want to worry her family,” he said instead.
Emily set her plate aside and rested her arms over the oak table. Her frown made a reappearance. He’d known plenty of women in his lifetime, and not a single one of them looked half as tempting as Emily Dugan when they frowned.
“What else has happened?” she demanded. “How long has this been going on?”
“Maybe you should talk to your grandmother about it.” He wasn’t concerned with putting his investigation at risk by sharing information with her, but he did feel she should be talking to Velma rather than to him. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t even be having this conversation.
“And let Grandy excuse the incidents as insignificant little nuisances? Not a chance.” Her big soulful eyes filled with determination that matched the firmness of her tone. “Besides, any investigation performed by the fire department is a matter of public record. Which translates to you not being in danger of breaching confidentiality laws by telling me what’s been going on around here. If someone is trying to hurt my grandmother, then I have a right to know.”
She had him there. “What makes you think someone else is responsible?”
Her mouth formed a perfectly shaped “O” before her gaze narrowed. “You can’t possibly believe an eighty-year-old woman is responsible for setting those fires? That’s absolutely insane.”
He leaned back in the chair, enjoying the heat in her voice a whole lot more than was prudent. She was, after all, carrying another man’s child, which classified Emily as strictly taboo, no matter how much she intrigued him. A guy did need to have his standards, and lusting after another man’s woman went against his own set of values. Unless the guy had indeed pulled a disappearing act.
“Is it?” he asked. “Have you taken a good look around? This place is falling apart.”
“That does not mean my grandmother is an arsonist!”
He shrugged and bit back a smile. Too bad such an exciting woman was off-limits. Maybe off-limits.
“Yes, it could, especially if the property is heavily mortgaged and she wants out. Believe me, Emily. People start fires for a variety of reasons, and a huge pay-off by their insurance company to get out from under a large debt is right there at the top of the list.”
“Well, not in this case,” she retorted. “Grandy and Pop paid off the property years ago.”
“Do you know for certain she’s never mortgaged it?”
“No,” she admitted. “I don’t. Not for certain, but it’s highly unlikely. Grandy would never risk the school or her home.”
Deep down, he agreed with her. Velma Norris hardly came across as the criminal type: she appeared to be quite sharp and seemed to be a savvy businesswoman despite her advanced age. Yet, the subject still required a thorough investigation, if for no other reason than to clear her of any wrongdoing.
“Drew, would you please tell me what’s going on?”
He sat forward and braced his arms on the table. “As I said, today was the third incident. The first fire happened about two weeks ago and looked to be nothing more than a grease fire that had flared out of control in one of the classrooms. No one was hurt, but according to your grandmother, the classroom was deserted when the fire started. It looked like someone had accidentally spilled grease beneath the top of the range and it was ignited by a faulty pilot light.”
“That doesn’t make much sense,” Emily said as she began to stack their dirty dishes. “Grandy has those ranges checked by the gas company once a month to prevent something like that from happening.”
He filed that information away for later, and made a note to contact the gas company to check out the service records.
“Last week the department received a call from a neighbor who spotted smoke billowing from the back of the school. Those charred crates you noticed behind the building? They were filled with old newspapers. A lit cigarette was the cause.”
Emily stood and carried the dishes to the sink. “Grandy doesn’t smoke,” she said, turning on the tap. “Couldn’t it have just been an accident? A careless student maybe?”
Drew pushed away from the table and joined Emily at the sink. At least standing next to her he wasn’t quite as prone to sit and ogle the seductive curve of her derriere. “I might believe that if the cigarette had been tossed on the top. But this was tucked inside in a way that leads me to believe it was intentional.”
He took the dish towel Emily handed him before she sank her hands into the soapy water. “The fire today was the most obvious. Someone took the time to coat the trash bin with cooking oil then set a rag on fire and toss it inside. Your grandmother didn’t realize there was something smoldering inside the bin and when she opened it, oxygen fed the flames. She could’ve been seriously injured.”
Emily glanced up and handed him a plate to dry. “All of which should eliminate her as a suspect, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “Unless she’s the one responsible.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Off the record, I have my doubts.”
“Doubts?” Her expression said loud and clear what she thought of his doubts. “Whatever happened to common sense?”
He set the dried plate on the counter, then lifted another from the drain board. “Every possibility has to be considered, Emily. She refuses to close the school despite my recommendation to do so. Someone is setting these fires, and until the firebug is apprehended, no one is above suspicion. Not even your grandmother.”
She let out another little breath and shifted her attention back to washing dishes. “I just can’t imagine who would do such a thing. Or why, for that matter. Grandy has to be one of the most generous, kindest people on the planet. Why would anyone want to hurt her?”
Any number of reasons, he thought to himself. Firebugs didn’t do things that made sense in the logical scheme of things, except in their own twisted minds where their actions were justified. So far only Velma had been present on the property when the fires started.
For obvious reasons, he didn’t like the idea of Emily and her grandmother staying alone with an arsonist on the loose, if Velma wasn’t the one responsible. He couldn’t very well move in with them until the culprit was apprehended. Besides, he didn’t get involved. Period. Saving damsels in distress had been Cale’s gig until Amanda had come into his life. Just because he had retired his white charger, didn’t mean it was Drew’s job to pick up where Cale had left off. Not a chance. Drew was only staying the night because he’d been rendered temporarily insane.
Emily drained the sink and started putting the dishes he’d dried into the cabinets.
He crossed his ankles and leaned against the counter, enjoying the delectable view of her backside. “Mind if I ask how long you’re planning to visit?” he asked her.
She drew in a deep breath, effectively drawing his gaze to the rise and fall of her breasts. Her very full breasts.
“Initially, only one month.” After closing the cabinet, she turned to look at him. “Suddenly I find myself in not much of a hurry to return to New York.”
He nodded slowly, struggling to ignore the itch in his palms to feel the weight of her breasts against his hand. “The corporate downsizing?”
She braced her hands behind her and leaned against the gleaming countertop. “For starters. I think there’s a black cloud following me around.”
He chuckled when she wrinkled her nose in that cute way of hers. “It can’t be all that bad.”
A wry, self-deprecating grin curved her lips. “It’s a good thing I have a sense of humor because I definitely hit the double trifecta today. Not only am I out of a job, I got dumped—at the airport of all places—and since I gave up my rent-controlled apartment six months ago to move in with my now ex, I’m out of my home.”
She folded the dish towel and draped it over the drain board. “If that’s not enough to heap on one person within twenty-four hours,” she continued, “I also discover I’m going to have a baby, my grandmother’s in the hospital and now you’re telling me that someone is trying to burn down her life’s work.” She shook her head and managed a short burst of laughter that held little humor. “I’m almost afraid to ask, what’s next?”
He wondered if she had any idea how her eyes brightened when she laughed. Or how his gut just tightened with need at her announcement that there was no longer a man in her life. Which could very well be a temporary situation for all he knew. Besides, once she told the guy about the baby, in Drew’s opinion, there was a pretty strong chance the guy would be back in her life again, provided he had any sense of responsibility.
“Wanna talk about it?” He resisted the ridiculous need to look out the kitchen window to see if a white steed was grazing nearby.
“And spread around my doom and gloom? Thanks, but no thanks.” She pushed off the counter. “I’ve had about as much as I can stand for one day.”
He flipped off the light switch and followed her out of the kitchen into the living room. “It’s not healthy to keep things inside.”
He’d bet his trust fund he’d just heard the clank of armor.
She sat in a wooden rocking chair near the fireplace and looked up at him. Curiosity filled her eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t even know me. Obviously you’re not short on dates, so it’s not as if you’re hard up for female companionship.”
He winced at the reminder of his overloaded voice-mail box. No answer—at least none he cared to admit—sprang to mind.
He shrugged, then took a seat on the sofa. “I made a promise,” he answered evasively. Not exactly the truth, but he sure didn’t want to tell her that, in his opinion, she far outranked those other women on the intelligence scale. And then, of course, he did enjoy her sense of humor. Better yet, she didn’t appear to want anything from him, either. From what he knew of her thus far, she didn’t strike him as the type of woman to play games and she most certainly said whatever was on her mind. Traits, he realized, that were downright refreshing.

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