Hot Attraction. Lisa Childs
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If you hadn’t brought the extra ones...” She shuddered.
He lifted his arm to the back of the booth, tempted to slide it around her—to offer her comfort. But the boys were fine. He hadn’t had to lie to them.
“Everybody survived,” he said.
“Because of you!”
He shook his head. “Because of the team.”
“But you deserve to be personally acknowledged like Wyatt Andrews was,” she insisted. “Let me do a special feature—about you.”
At the thought of all those reporters focused on him, shoving mics in his face, asking him questions, he shuddered. He’d endured too much of that as a kid. “Hell, no!”
She flinched, making him regret the harshness of his refusal.
But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be hounded by the media again—couldn’t have his life laid bare for all the world to see. Because they wouldn’t be happy reporting just the current event. They would drag up his past and his pain...
“Why not?” she asked.
He forced a grin and told her, “There’s nothing special about me. I’m just a man doing my job.”
“A dangerous, heroic job,” she said.
He shrugged. “It’s not the only dangerous profession. You have plenty of other subjects for your special features.”
“But I want you.” She reached out and brushed her fingertips over his chest.
Beneath her touch, his heart slammed against his ribs; it began to pound fast and hard. If only...
But she was playing him, just working him over so he’d agree to her interview. He shook his head.
“Let me do the feature on you,” she said, “as a thank-you for saving my nephews.”
He chuckled. “That’s the last way I’d want to be thanked.”
Her eyes narrowed for a moment, and she studied his face as if trying to figure out why he wanted no publicity. Then her eyes brightened as they sparkled again with amusement. “Well, I did have another idea of how to thank you...”
He knew he was going to hate himself for asking, but he couldn’t resist. “How’s that?”
She pitched her voice to that low, husky whisper again and leaned closer—so close that her lips nearly brushed his throat. “With a kiss.”
He couldn’t resist her, either. His heart hammering now in his chest, he closed his arms around her and drew her even closer.
AVERY’S PULSE QUICKENED, and her breath caught in her lungs as Dawson’s arms tightened around her. He was going to kiss her.
But he lifted her, instead, right out of the booth. He moved with her and set her on her feet. Her legs trembled beneath her. Maybe it was just that her heel was on a peanut—maybe that was the reason. It couldn’t be because she’d wanted him to kiss her, that just anticipating his kiss had weakened her knees.
No man had ever weakened Avery’s knees before. Not even while kissing her. She had never felt an attraction like this. His photo had intrigued and interested her. But in person...
He was even more handsome. More muscular. More serious and tense...
She clutched at his arms before he could release her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Wrong?” He shook his head. “You’re unbelievable. I’ve heard about you—the whole town talks about you.”
She was aware of that. Kim told her stories—with pride and admiration. There was no admiration in Dawson’s deep voice—only disgust.
“I knew you were ambitious,” he said.
She supposed she’d made no secret of how badly she had wanted to leave Northern Lakes, where nothing ever happened—until the fire.
He continued, “But I had no idea the lengths you’d go to for a story.”
She blinked and released his arms. She had apparently already given him the wrong idea, the wrong opinion of her. “Now you have offended me,” she admitted. “I wasn’t trying to seduce you into agreeing to that special feature.”
His amber eyes were narrowed though, as if he didn’t believe her. Or trust her.
“It was just a thank-you kiss...”
A muscle twitched along his tightly clenched jaw. That square, sexy jaw with a shadow of stubble on it. Although she was grateful that he’d rescued her nephews, she hadn’t wanted to kiss him only out of gratitude. She’d wanted to kiss him because she was attracted to him.
He was so tall, so broad, so muscular. In heels she wasn’t used to having look up so far into a man’s face. He had to be well over six feet.
She uttered a regretful sigh. “Second time I got rejected today...”
He laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?” she asked. “You turned me down.”
“I turned down the interview,” he said. “Not you...”
Then his arms slid around her again, and he pulled her up against his hard body. His chest crushed her breasts as he leaned down, and his mouth covered hers.
She was supposed to kiss him. That was the thank-you she’d intended to give him. But he was kissing her, his lips gliding over hers. At first it was just a brush of his mouth, a tantalizing taste of passion.
She gasped as sensations raced through her, the attraction between them intensifying. Her pulse quickened and her skin tingled. He was touching her, too, one hand moving up her back to tangle in her hair. He held her head while he deepened the kiss. He parted her lips and slid his tongue inside her mouth, over hers.
She moaned as desire coursed through her. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened, pushing against the thin material of her bra and dress. They rubbed against his chest, and she moaned again, wanting more than a kiss.
He tensed and his head jerked back. His amber eyes had gone dark, his pupils dilated. His skin was slightly flushed. He shook his head and glanced around them.
And her face flushed—with desire and embarrassment. How had she forgotten where they were? That they were in a public place?
Because of his kiss...
She hadn’t remembered lifting her arms, but they were linked around his broad shoulders. Her fingers had slipped into the short hair at his nape. It was silky against her skin.
Maybe he would be the one—the man she would finally miss when they broke up. Not that they ever had a chance of being together. They didn’t live in the same city. And it was clear that Dawson had no use for reporters.
She didn’t need a man in her life, though. She needed to focus on her career—on breaking the story that would guarantee her airtime. Even though her body ached for his, she didn’t need Dawson Hess.
He released her and stepped back so that her arms dropped from his shoulders. Then he stepped around her, leaving her standing—legs shaking—next to that booth. Just before he walked away, he leaned down and murmured, “You’re welcome.”
* * *
“SO DID YOU get rid of her?” Wyatt asked when Dawson walked into the firehouse.
He was lucky his legs could carry him; they weren’t quite steady yet—not after that kiss. The passion that had burned between them was so hot he’d nearly gotten scorched.
He glared at Wyatt. The guy wasn’t alone.