Melt For Him Read online

  “You saw Jamie at the Panting Dog, right?”

  She nodded as she watered. “Yes,” she said, then immediately her chest tightened. She hated lying to him. “No, I mean. It was too crazy in there, Trav. I just sat out back in the alley and read a book.”

  Fine, so that wasn’t the truth, either. But it bore a semblance to the truth.

  “Ah, you’re such a good girl, keeping your nose in books and staying out of trouble,” he joked. Then he narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t getting into any trouble while you’re back in town, are you?”

  Megan scoffed. “Please.”

  “Well?”

  “What sort of trouble would I get into in one day back in Hidden Oaks? I’m going to the olive oil fair with Jamie in a little bit.”

  “I mean things like skipping school to hang out by the river. Skinny-dipping in the waterfall. Making out with some boy behind Jamie’s parents’ vineyards,” he said, recounting her high school antics.

  “Trav,” she chided. “I’m not seventeen anymore.”

  He roped his arm around her neck and gave her a noogie. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll always be my baby sister, and it’s my job to keep you out of trouble.”

  “You need to stop worrying about me,” she said, but she knew that was a futile request.

  He’d always worried and had always protected her, stepping into the role of “man of the house” when their firefighter father had died. She’d been six, and Travis had been ten.

  Her mom had been devastated for years over their father’s death, broken and hobbled by grief. He’d saved a family in a fire, but when he went back for one of his men, the home collapsed under the flames, pinning him beneath a burning beam. Megan hadn’t just lost a dad; she’d lost her mom for a time, too. She and Travis had grown up fast—the two of them together taking care of laundry, meals, and cleaning the house on the days their mom could barely make it out of bed.

  Finally, years later, her mom had surfaced again. But she didn’t truly move on until she met and married a guy who ran a bookstore. There weren’t very many hazards to life and limb when you peddled books—a fact that her mom had pointed out numerous times to Megan’s brother when he decided to take up the mantle of their dad and add volunteer firefighter to his credentials. Her mom had argued and battled and bargained to try to keep Travis out of the firehouse, telling him his moonlighting job playing and teaching poker was all he needed, but had no such luck.

  Travis was a gambler, and fire was in his blood.

  In Megan’s, too. The aversion to it, at least. She had no intention whatsoever of following in her mom’s footsteps, and that’s why firefighters were eye candy only to her. That’s all they’d be for the next week as she shot the calendar, especially since she had real candy in the form of one very sexy bar owner.

  “Want to get a cup of coffee?” Travis offered. “I’m meeting up with some of the guys from the firehouse. Smith is probably bringing Jamie along,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  “All right, let’s go, Miss Megan. There’s a great coffee shop a block away from the firehouse. McDoodle’s has the best coffee in Northern California. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Stop it. You know I love McDoodle’s. I used to live here, you know.”

  “Yeah, and you act like you’ve never set foot in this town.”

  If he only knew how much acting she’d done last night. She’d never even told Becker that she was from here and that she knew this town inside and out.

  Maybe because she liked the idea of not settling down anywhere.

  Chapter Five

  Becker finished the day’s crossword puzzle in twenty minutes flat. It was damn near a record for him, but he wasn’t surprised. Puzzles made him focus on the simple action of thinking about clues, rather than about people. Puzzles kept his brain trained on the present, so he wouldn’t linger in the past.

  But this distraction was done, and he didn’t have a new one handy. When he put down the pen, his mind instantly tripped back in time, revisiting that punishing loop in his head of one night last year when everything was lost. He ran through all the things he could have done differently. If I’d moved faster. Turned sooner. Grabbed harder. As if that would change anything. Still, hitting replay had become a habit for him, and one he showed no signs of kicking.

  Memories flashed by, and he let them crash over him.

  A frigid night in Chicago. A crackling on the scanner. A 911 call had come from a condo downtown. Candles left burning had toppled over, and just like that, the entire top floor of the building was consumed. He could still hear the hiss of the flames if he listened hard enough. Could see the wall toppling. Pain sliced though him, like it was happening right now as his hands couldn’t hold on to his men. As he watched them take their last breaths.

  That’s why he hadn’t wanted to be toasted for doing his job here in Hidden Oaks, when he’d rescued two kids a few weeks ago from a fast-moving fire that tore through the second story of an old house down at the end of a quiet lane. His name and Travis’s had been plastered all over the local news and radio, declaring them heroes. But that wasn’t what the job was about. It wasn’t about the attention, or the congrats, or any of that. He’d do what he did if no one noticed, if no one came by, if no one thanked him. Because it could go either way. Sometimes you saved the people you needed to save; sometimes you lost them.

  He folded the paper, slapping it down on the stack, recalling his conversation with Travis about the way the job could dig into you, how losses could stick with you. That was what they signed up for. They knew the costs. But those nights, those calls—no matter the outcome—had a way of latching onto you, of claiming some ownership to your brain or your heart. Given how things had gone in the last year, there was a lot of real estate in him that was already staked. He honestly wasn’t sure how much was left for the taking.

  He glanced over at his phone on the table, as if it were a reminder of the good things in life. The moments that didn’t hurt. Like last night with Megan. He could recall perfectly the taste of her, the smell of her, but more than that—all of her. She’d been a fiery lover, daring and direct. She’d told him what she wanted, she’d challenged him, and he had risen to the task and then some. She’d shown a vulnerable side, too, that drew him in, like the way she let go and shared parts of herself. Add in that quirky sense of humor, and she was exactly what he’d needed. He picked up his phone and texted her. He could write something dirty, something romantic, or something direct about seeing her tonight. But she’d left him a drawing of a raccoon wearing a bra, so he went in a different direction.

  I see our mascot is a bit of a nudist.

  A few minutes later, she replied. It’s fun being naked.

  Then a second text arrived. With you.

  And just like that, he was hard again. You should get naked with me again tonight.

  Another answer. I will. :)

  Ah, now some things were just nice and easy. Like connecting with her. She eased his mind.

  With a grin on his face, he grabbed his keys and wallet from the counter, then headed to the local coffee shop a few blocks away.

  He rounded the block and saw that the line at McDoodle’s was long. He took his post and started running through his plans for the next few days. Tomorrow, he was meeting the photographer at the firehouse, so before then he’d go for a long morning run. Running was his therapy. It let him clear his head as best he could so the pain didn’t clutch him like a vise. Running could do wonders to numb a brain. So he’d run some more tomorrow, then the next day, then the next…

  “Let me guess. You’re going to take a coffee. Black. No sugar.”

  It was Smith Grayson. Becker turned around, grateful for the distraction. Smith, also a volunteer fireman, was always in a good mood. Becker often wished he could siphon a little bit of that off, use it for himself.

  “Let me guess. You’re going all frothy and getting something with caramel
and sugar in it,” Becker said.

  Smith smiled broadly. “We can’t all be stoic and go for the no-frills drinks.” Then he added, “But I’m here to get a latte for the lady.”

  “Right. You just pretend the caramel mocha frappa treat-o you order is for Jamie.”

  Smith and Jamie had hooked up at the Spring Festival last month, and it had been about time. It had been obvious to him and anyone else with a pulse that they were hot for each other. Now they were nearly inseparable, and deeply in love.

  “As a matter of fact, I’m not pretending. She’s out walking the dog, and is going to join me here soon. And she was saying an old friend of hers she was supposed to see last night is meeting us here any minute now, too.”

  Becker’s ears pricked at the last few words: supposed to see last night.

  What were the chances?

  “Yeah? Where’s this friend from?” He reached the counter and was greeted by one of his favorite ladies in Hidden Oaks, Mrs. McDoodle, a longtime Hidden Oaks resident who’d taken a shine to Becker after he arrived in town last year. There was something very no-nonsense about the sturdy, gray-haired woman. She worked hard, ran a solid business, and took care of her customers. Becker could appreciate that kind of workmanlike approach to life.

  “Hi, handsome, what’ll it be for you? The usual?” She smoothed her hands over the once-white, now coffee-stained apron.

  “Cup of joe. Straight up. And whatever my friend here wants,” Becker said as he pointed to his buddy.

  Smith placed a hand on his heart, as if he were overcome with emotion at the gesture. “Oh my, Becker. Aren’t you the nicest fella in the world to pay for my drinks.”

  “Watch it. Or I’ll rescind the offer.”

  “One latte. Two-percent milk. With room for cream,” he said. Smith leaned closer to Mrs. McDoodle and whispered in a low voice, but one Becker could still hear. “And a hot chocolate for me, okay? Whipped cream and all the works. Even those little chocolate shavings.”

  Mrs. McDoodle winked and went to work. A minute later, she served the drinks, pushing them across the counter to Becker.

  “How’s that old Ford running?” Becker asked, since he helped her with her car from time to time. He might not have family here in Hidden Oaks, but he’d become a part of the community through the bar, through his work, and by helping out when he could. That had all gone a long way to making Hidden Oaks a true home.

  “It’s a little shaky. Kind of rumbles a bit when I idle at lights.”

  “Want me to come by and take a look?”

  “I would love that,” she said and beamed at him.

  He saluted her playfully. “It’s a date, then. Tomorrow.”

  He joined Smith at the end of the counter as his buddy added a little bit of half-and-half to the latte. Becker took a swallow of his coffee, then returned to the thread of their conversation. “So you said Jamie has a friend back in town,” he prompted, wondering if somehow that friend was Megan. She’d seemed like a wanderer, breezing through town, hitching a ride on some sort of star in the distant sky. Even the way she vanished this morning, leaving a sexy-flirty little note as he slept, felt sort of like a dream. Then he remembered he didn’t even know where she hailed from. Could Megan somehow be friends with Jamie?

  Smith nodded. “Oh yeah. Apparently they go way back. All the way to high school and before. They were supposed to see each other last night, but I guess something came up, so Jamie was pretty much bouncing with excitement when she was getting ready this morning. She can’t wait to see Megan.”

  Ah, so Megan was a local. Interesting that she hadn’t mentioned being from here. Interesting too that she was friends with his employee.

  “I just hope Travis doesn’t monopolize all Megan’s time. He’s super close to his sister.”

  Becker nearly choked on the hot liquid that burned his throat. “What did you say?”

  “Travis is super close with Megan.”

  His brain froze, and he was sure all the systems in his body had stopped working. He was desperately searching for a way to rewind time, to erase what Smith said, to replace it with something else. Because there was no way that Megan could be Travis’s sister, right? She’d said she was just passing through. She’d never said she was from here. Maybe there were two Megans. After all, Megan was a common name. Besides, Travis barely used his sister’s name, usually referring to her, quite simply, as “my sister.”

  “The one who’s going to shoot the calendar?” Becker asked in a stilted voice. His Megan had said she planned to be a tattoo artist. She’d never said a word about photographing firemen. He held on to the slim hope that the Megan he had planned to spread out on his bed again tonight and the Megan who shared the same last name as Travis weren’t one and the same.

  Smith nodded. “Yup. She’s a good photog, Jamie says. Good artist too. She can draw pretty much anything, Jamie was telling me.”

  The possibility of two Megans went poof.

  As the harsh reality set in, his stomach plummeted to the ground, then free-fell another several hundred feet. He’d had sex with his good friend’s little sister last night, with one of his closest buddies’ completely off-limits sister. Amazing, mind-blowing sex that he wanted more and more of.

  He worked with Travis. Fought fires with Travis. Played poker with the man. Travis came from the same stock as Becker. Knew pain, knew hardship, knew guilt.

  When he looked up, he spotted Megan walking through the door of the coffee shop—right next to her brother.

  Chapter Six

  Everything slowed, like the warbling of a record played at the wrong speed. Out of tune and too hard to make out.

  The floor of the coffee shop felt wobbly as Travis made the introduction. She dug her toes in, gripping the floor like she was on a tram taking a curve at high speed.

  “And this is the one and only Miss Megan,” he said proudly, gripping her shoulder. “My amazingly talented sister who’s going to shoot our calendar. And this is my fire captain, Becker Thomas.”

  Megan willed her cheeks not to flush, urged herself to keep the sheer and utter surprise coursing through her body from showing. She couldn’t let on, wouldn’t let on.

  Be impassive.

  Becker extended a hand to shake, and her mind flashed back to last night, to them shaking hands, then to all the places where his hands had been. In her hair, on her hips, between her legs as he spread her thighs wide open for his mouth.

  Her insides were jumpy, and it was half from the shock and half from the delicious memories.

  “Nice to meet you, Megan Jansen,” he said, keeping his eyes locked on her, as if he’d caught her in a lie. She hadn’t lied, though; she simply hadn’t offered up a last name. There’d been no need to. Just like he hadn’t mentioned being a fireman.

  “Nice to meet you, fire captain,” she added sharply, but he didn’t let go of her hand. She didn’t let go, either. For a brief moment, the clock stopped ticking, and in that stitch in time her mind was bursting with images from last night, her body flooded with the recall of the most delicious sensations they’d shared. Their eyes remained locked on each other, and she was sure he was seeing and feeling everything too. A shiver dared to race down her spine.

  He dropped her hand, and she brushed her palm against her thigh, wishing she were anywhere but here.

  Being near him was too damn difficult.

  Minutes later, the five of them were outside the coffee shop, seated at a table, with Jamie’s German shepherd puppy at her feet. Thank God for the dog—the adorable creature was the perfect distraction from the awkwardness of sitting across from her brother’s boss whom she’d screwed last night. Not to mention rode, came hard on, and made plans to saddle up again.

  Her head pounded. Maybe her brain was annoyed with her body’s decisions.

  “Chance is such a good boy,” Megan said, stroking the little dog’s head.

  Jamie beamed. “He is, isn’t he? I love him madly. We’ve been doin
g dog training lessons with Cara. You remember her, Megan? She’s amazing.”

  “Wait. I thought it was all my superior training skills that made Chance into the perfect pet,” Smith said jokingly, and Chance looked up, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, his tail wagging slightly.

  Megan forced a laugh, then caught Becker’s gaze once more. He looked back at her, those dark brown eyes connecting with her, full of unsaid things. She wanted to know if he felt as uncomfortable as she did, if he felt guilty. But she couldn’t read him, and she swore she saw the slightest touch of anger in his eyes.

  “You know,” Travis began, “since the dog is so well-trained, maybe he should be in one of the pictures in the calendar. What do you think?” He directed the question to Megan.

  “Sure,” she said quickly.

  Travis looked to Becker. “You like the idea?”

  He simply nodded, but still kept his focus on Megan. For a second there, Travis glanced from Becker to Megan, then Megan to Becker, before he returned to the conversation. They chatted more about dogs, and the calendar, and the plans for the shoot. But the words were all mush in her head, because she was at war inside—hot memories swamped her brain at the same time as the shock over what she’d done.

  She pushed her chair away.

  “Excuse me for a minute.”

  She headed inside to the ladies’ room, turned on the water, and splashed a cold stream of it on her face. She turned off the faucets, took a deep breath, then grabbed a paper towel to dry her cheeks.

  Get it together, she told herself. She was going to be professional and cool. She couldn’t let one mind-blowing night—which was a mistake—cloud her head. She left the bathroom and startled when she found Becker waiting in the hall.