Read Online Slow Burn (Smoke Jumpers) by Anne Marsh - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Marsh
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face-plant on the floor and carting said someone off to your cabin and taking her to bed.”
“True.” He shrugged. “But what are you going to do about it now?”
Time to bring out the big guns. “I’m betting,” she said, “that Nonna might do something about it for me. If I asked her.”
His hands tensed on the hood. “You met my mother.”
“Uh-huh.” And reconciling the woman she’d met briefly with this great big taciturn bear of a man was unexpectedly difficult, although they shared the same sly, quiet humor in addition to an uncannily similar I-can-fix-this attitude.
“Adopted,” he said quietly. “In case you’re asking yourself right now how come Nonna and I don’t look anything alike.”
“You think alike,” she groused. “That’s got to count for something.” He looked interested. How long had it been since a guy who looked like this had also looked interested in her? Last night’s drunken audience didn’t count, she decided. And only partially because the later part of the evening was an embarrassing blank.
“Tell me about it.” He tested the hood again, the well-washed cotton of his shirt pulling tight over his back. She’d bet he looked spectacular naked—too bad he’d pretty much hauled ass out of bed this morning. Since last night was already going down in the annals of most spectacularly embarrassing evening ever, she should have gotten some benefit from it. Like a really good, really long, hot look at his bare chest. Not that five-second peek she’d had.
He was staring at her now, and she was mumbling to herself. Crap.
“She’s a rare one. Not too many of these made,” he said, nodding at the Vette and kneeling to work the jack with expert hands. A couple of quick pumps and it sure looked as if her Corvette was back in business. His eyes found hers, and that matter-of-fact glance had heat exploding in her. God, she couldn’t look away, and that was one more problem she could add to her growing oh-shit list. He had beautiful eyes, dark, with unexpectedly long lashes. Those were the best kind of bedroom eyes watching her.
His gaze dropped down her body briefly—then snapped to her eyes and stayed there, like he hadn’t meant to go there and was appalled that he had. While she, on the other hand, was unrepentantly imagining undressing him. Imagining exactly how she’d unbutton those jeans and push up that cotton T-shirt. She wasn’t going to apologize for it, either. Evan Donovan was one fine-looking man.
“No,” she answered, doing a little more looking of her own. “Chevrolet made sure these beauties were specials. Fewer than four thousand came off the line in 1965.”
“She’s a beauty, all right.” He stepped back, all business once again. “You were a witness to that brush fire yesterday.” He shrugged casually. “Fire chief—Ben Cortez—he’ll still want a statement from you. We need to get that done.”
When had she become half of a we ? “I didn’t see much of anything. I told you that.”
He shrugged again, carefully stowing his tools in the box at his feet. “Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes people don’t realize what they saw. Plus, you’ve got your photos. He’ll want to see those, too. Ask you some questions.”
“You think I know something and don’t know that I do?”
“It’s possible.” An unexpectedly hard look in his eyes chased away the sleepy indolence. “I want to rule it out.”
“Why is this brush fire so important?”
He ran a hand over his head, clearly considering what to tell her. She sensed what he wasn’t saying. This was firefighter business—not her business. That sentiment was too familiar, so she pushed him. At the very least, she’d make him say it.
“You gave me maybe six words this morning, Evan. In the larger scheme of things, one brush fire doesn’t compare to the kind of blaze you were called out to today. Mine merited one guy and a pickup—yours earned a plane and an entire crew of smoke
“True.” He shrugged. “But what are you going to do about it now?”
Time to bring out the big guns. “I’m betting,” she said, “that Nonna might do something about it for me. If I asked her.”
His hands tensed on the hood. “You met my mother.”
“Uh-huh.” And reconciling the woman she’d met briefly with this great big taciturn bear of a man was unexpectedly difficult, although they shared the same sly, quiet humor in addition to an uncannily similar I-can-fix-this attitude.
“Adopted,” he said quietly. “In case you’re asking yourself right now how come Nonna and I don’t look anything alike.”
“You think alike,” she groused. “That’s got to count for something.” He looked interested. How long had it been since a guy who looked like this had also looked interested in her? Last night’s drunken audience didn’t count, she decided. And only partially because the later part of the evening was an embarrassing blank.
“Tell me about it.” He tested the hood again, the well-washed cotton of his shirt pulling tight over his back. She’d bet he looked spectacular naked—too bad he’d pretty much hauled ass out of bed this morning. Since last night was already going down in the annals of most spectacularly embarrassing evening ever, she should have gotten some benefit from it. Like a really good, really long, hot look at his bare chest. Not that five-second peek she’d had.
He was staring at her now, and she was mumbling to herself. Crap.
“She’s a rare one. Not too many of these made,” he said, nodding at the Vette and kneeling to work the jack with expert hands. A couple of quick pumps and it sure looked as if her Corvette was back in business. His eyes found hers, and that matter-of-fact glance had heat exploding in her. God, she couldn’t look away, and that was one more problem she could add to her growing oh-shit list. He had beautiful eyes, dark, with unexpectedly long lashes. Those were the best kind of bedroom eyes watching her.
His gaze dropped down her body briefly—then snapped to her eyes and stayed there, like he hadn’t meant to go there and was appalled that he had. While she, on the other hand, was unrepentantly imagining undressing him. Imagining exactly how she’d unbutton those jeans and push up that cotton T-shirt. She wasn’t going to apologize for it, either. Evan Donovan was one fine-looking man.
“No,” she answered, doing a little more looking of her own. “Chevrolet made sure these beauties were specials. Fewer than four thousand came off the line in 1965.”
“She’s a beauty, all right.” He stepped back, all business once again. “You were a witness to that brush fire yesterday.” He shrugged casually. “Fire chief—Ben Cortez—he’ll still want a statement from you. We need to get that done.”
When had she become half of a we ? “I didn’t see much of anything. I told you that.”
He shrugged again, carefully stowing his tools in the box at his feet. “Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes people don’t realize what they saw. Plus, you’ve got your photos. He’ll want to see those, too. Ask you some questions.”
“You think I know something and don’t know that I do?”
“It’s possible.” An unexpectedly hard look in his eyes chased away the sleepy indolence. “I want to rule it out.”
“Why is this brush fire so important?”
He ran a hand over his head, clearly considering what to tell her. She sensed what he wasn’t saying. This was firefighter business—not her business. That sentiment was too familiar, so she pushed him. At the very least, she’d make him say it.
“You gave me maybe six words this morning, Evan. In the larger scheme of things, one brush fire doesn’t compare to the kind of blaze you were called out to today. Mine merited one guy and a pickup—yours earned a plane and an entire crew of smoke
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