Reluctant to give up the ruse and hoping to keep her distracted from her current plight, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“Firefighters, first responders, sheriff’s deputies. You’re always in the news.”
I chuckle, relieved by her oblivious answer. It’s a first for me. “May I call you Cat?”
“Everyone does.” Her voice sounds exasperated.
“Then, let’s stick with Catalina.”
That earns me a ghost of a smile.
I shouldn’t feel this protective of someone I just met. But the idea of her falling, of her getting hurt on my watch, sets my teeth on edge. Strange, how fast a stranger can matter.
“Why not be like everyone else?”
“Because you clearly don’t appreciate the nickname.”
“How can you tell?”
I can sense the emotions rolling off this woman in waves. I don’t know if it’s the frantic situation she’s in or something else. But it’s intoxicating as fuck, like a vibrant river washing through me.
Of course, I can’t tell her this. I’d sound like a total whack job and maybe undermine her confidence in my ability to rescue her safely.
Instead, I say, “You’re not very good at hiding your feelings.”
“My mom always said that would be my downfall.”
I grimace. “Maybe if you’re a professional poker player. But I think it’s beautiful.”
She presses her cherry-stained lips tightly together, and I’d give far more than a penny for her thoughts.
When I reach her, I place the glasses in her hand. Her fingers brush mine, warm, soft, electric. For a heartbeat, the autumnal air feels charged, like sparks snapping between us.
“Alright, Catalina.” My voice comes out low. “Let’s get you down safe. Then maybe we’ll both laugh about this.”
But something tells me I won’t be laughing. Not when every nerve in my body is already wired to her.
Chapter
Three
AMBROSE
Catalina slides her glasses on as I secure the top of the ladder with the rope. I’m not taking any chances with this woman’s safety.
A thick black fringe of lashes frames her large cinnamon doe eyes. Her cheeks blaze, and her eyes round as she stares at me, filling the air with a tension thick enough to cut.
“Wow, I had no idea you looked the way you look,” she says too fast, pressing her lips firmly together.
Women usually drool over Hollywood me, not firefighter me. For some reason, her words make me want to believe she’s seeing the man, not the part I played.
“Is that a good or a bad thing?” I ask with a lopsided grin.
“No comment.”
“No comment?” I furrow my brows. “As in ‘I take the fifth.’”
“Exactly. In order not to incriminate myself.”
