Page 13 of Bewitching the Firefighter

“Well, you scared away our friend, and you’re sitting, so isn’t the question a moot point?” I trace a finger along the leather cuff on his forearm before sitting back in my seat, fully aware of the way my skirt drapes on either side of my legs.

Lincoln’s eyes heat as he stares at the thin gold laces laddering up my legs. Then, he leans forward, his eyes dark and intense. “No.” The way he practically growls the word makes my stomach flip.

“You’re sitting, aren’t you?” I laugh. I can’t help it.

Resting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward. “I want to know if you mind.” His shoulders flex underneath his breastplate, the way I envision him doing before heading into a fire. So freaking hot.

“I don’t mind.”

He studies me, his gaze dropping to the fingers that traced his cuff. “I need you to know that I didn’t ask you out because of the bet.”

“Hah! Everyone in Indigo Hills knows about the lasagna, Lincoln.” I cock my head, waiting for his reaction.

“I’ll concede that the reason for the invitation was dumb.”

“You concede?! I can honestly say I’ve never been wagered against for a pan of lasanga. There must have been a really good reason.”

“Fuck, Isla.”

Lincoln scrubs his face, his nostrils flaring like he’s attempting to find the right words but can’t. I would almost feel sorry for him, but I deserve better. Near the bar, the sheriff’s deputy I was talking to before catches my eye. Am I a fool for not talking to him?

Lincoln looks over his shoulder, following my gaze, his expression souring as the party-goers mill about in a blur of horns and capes and glittering masks. Rihanna’s “The Monster” thrums throughout the tent, and Linc reaches for my hand.

“What I mean is, yes, I accepted the bet. But I wanted to take you for coffee as a friend. At least at first.”

I stare at him, waiting for more, proud of how I’m handling this... because all I want to do right now is jump the firefighter’s bones. He doesn’t disappoint.

His large body shifts in the chair, the panels to his gladiator skirt shifting so that his thigh muscles flex. Mamma mia, I am in so much trouble.

Clearing his throat, he says, “I have dated no one in a while, and when the rookie proposed the bet, I still wasn’t interested. But a friendship with someone new to town? That seemed doable.” He takes a deep breath, placing his hands on his knees. “But that’s not why I’m here. I am genuinely sorry for acting like an immature asshat who didn’t consider how you might feel. That was thoughtless and not what I’m about as a person. And it’s for that, that I’m sorry.”

Lincoln stands and holds out his hand. I take it, though I’m uncertain why. Then he leans close and whispers in my ear. “But if you think for one damn second that I’m going to apologize for asking you out? That’s never going to happen. I’m so into you, Isla, that I can’t sleep or eat or remember what life was like before you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you need to decide who you want to spend your time with. Because I can’t say you’d find a better guy than Marty McFly over there.

As he turns to leave, I grab his arm. “Don’t go,” I say, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “I’m into you too, Lincoln West.” I stand on my tiptoes because even with my heels, I’m still half a foot shorter than him.

His words are low and quiet. “Not here.”

Our fingers lace together, and I don’t remember following him, but we end up in a darkened corner near the edge of my cousin’s house. Our lips crash together as the distant hum of voices and music permeate the air around us. Our mouths open instantly, our tongues meeting in a desperate tangle of heat. My hand slides around his neck as his body presses against mine. His arousal obvious, causing my center to heat and my nipples to harden.

As Lincoln’s arms encircle my waist, one arm at the small of my back, his fingers centimeters above my bottom. I’ve never had a kiss like this where I lose all sense of place and time and just lose myself in the sensation of want. He squeezes my hips lightly and pulls back, panting. “Isla, no.”

“No?” My lips are swollen, my breath ragged. As my eyes search his in the moonlight, the cool October air rustling the leaves in the trees, his thumb brushes my lip.

“I want you so damn bad it hurts. But you deserve better than to be some make-out session at your cousin’s party. I want to take you out on a proper date, not for coffee.” He chuckles, his hands tracing the skin on my upper arms. “Not yet, at least. How about dinner after the car wash?”

I can see that Lincoln’s really trying, and there’s just something about the firefighter that makes me want more from him.

He pulls out his phone, a hopeful expression on his handsome face. “Can I have your number? May I text you?”

I smile, biting my lip. “You can have my number.” I air drop my contact information. “Let’s see how you do.”

Chapter 9

Lincoln

The morning sun peeks through the clouds on this crisp fall day. I zip into the library parking lot, the first one of my crew here to wash cars. Ready for the day, I step out of my Charger, popping the sleek black trunk and withdrawing the hose and bucket, which is filled with soap and sponges. I grab the stack of old towels and set them on the bucket next to my front tire.

I scan the lot and text Gentry to bring extra cones, then I wait. It isn’t too long before Isla pulls into the lot. I got great intel last night from Capri that Isla’s usually the first one at work. When she pulls into what I assume is her regular space, I reach inside my car to grab a cup of her favorite latte.