The photographer snaps half a dozen pictures of Ash’s misery.
Finally he calls it. “We’re done!”
The crowd disperses. Ash grabs his shirt but doesn’t put it on yet. He walks toward me. Slow. Controlled.Predatorcontrolled.
“Lucy.” My name sounds dangerous in his mouth.
“Yes?”
He stops in front of me, so close I smell cedar and winter air and warmth.
“You can’t volunteer for my shoots anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he says, eyes locked on mine, “you’re going to get me into trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The kind I can’t walk away from.”
His voice wraps around me like a heated blanket.
I step closer without meaning to. “Ash…”
He leans in, eyes dropping to my lips?—
And for one impossible second?—
He’s going to kiss me.
My heart launches itself out of my chest.
But then?—
“UNCLE ASH!” Holly barrels toward us. “Can we go get pizza with Lucy now?”
He jerks back.
I could scream. Instead I plaster on a smile. “Pizza sounds perfect.”
Holly grabs both our hands. Ash looks at mine, then at me.
Something softens. Something surrendering. He threads his fingers through mine. Not by accident. Not this time.
And as we walk out of the firehouse—him shirtless, annoyed, flustered, huge—Holly swinging between us?—
I know one thing with absolute certainty:
He nearly kissed me tonight.
And next time? I don’t think he’ll stop.
Chapter Nine
Ash
The firehouse is loud tonight.
