her-sexy-challenge

Caitlin Tyler doesn’t do bridges—she just doesn’t know it until she lands her dream job and freezes halfway across her new town’s towering death span. Cue the cocky, infuriating fireman who goads her off the bridge. He’s hot, but he’s also exactly the kind of guy she wants to avoid…which she manages to do for a whole four hours.

Lt. Shane Hendricks is only two weeks away from leaving Dry Rock. He sure as hell doesn’t need to get involved with a woman he has to rescue twice in one day. The fact that she’s clearly annoyed by him doesn’t deter him from throwing down a challenge—one that proves hard to resist for all the wrong reasons.

They’re moving in different directions. Leaving should be easy, but falling for Caitlin might be the one fire he can’t put out…

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EXCERPT

“Private Sex Advice to Women,” Shane said, making Caitlin jump.

This was ridiculous. It was her store. Maybe it hadn’t burned down because of him, or at least the rest of his shift had handled it while he goaded her, but that didn’t give him an unlimited open-door policy.

“I’m not interested in your advice,” she muttered.

“It’s a book,” he said. “So far you’ve given me childbirth, feminism, and sex. Is there a message here?”

Yes, yes there was. A message not to hang out in her store.

“An ABZ of Love.” The sound of flipping pages cracked the silence. “Hey, did you know alcohol can provide a form of substitute for a reasonably harmonious sex life?”

“You’re not getting me drunk,” she said, though she made a note to research if that might be true. As if a bottle of anything could compare to the smallest touch from a guy like him.

“I don’t recall offering,” he told her. His tone could have been teasing, though she didn’t know him well enough to make that call. All she knew was that her face was on fire, and it would just have to burn because there was no way she was putting in another call to the fire department, even if he clearly wasn’t on duty at the moment. “But,” he added, “if it’s a substitute for sex, and you’re refusing it, does that mean you’ve found other forms of self-plea—”

“Stop. Enough.” God, she hoped he was only there until she gave in, because otherwise she was about to make a huge fool of herself. Again. “I’ll do one thing. One. One nonsexual, non-alcoholic thing on what is absolutely not going to be a date, and then we’re done.”

She’d managed to emerge from the stacks before spitting out the entire sentence, which meant she had an unobstructed view of his infuriatingly cocky grin when he closed the book.

“I thought you’d never ask.”