The Hot Line (11 page)

Before she reached an orgasm, her cell phone rang and jolted her back to reality. Startled, she sucked in air, but the constricting lingerie prohibited her from filling her lungs. The bustier hampered her breathing, and frustration welled up inside her, although at the moment she was pretty certain her frustration had more to do with the unanswered ache between her legs than it did with the tight bustier.

Feeling light-headed from lack of oxygen, she picked up her cell phone. “Hello?” She sounded breathless, even to herself.

“Jenna, is that you? You sound odd.”

Upon hearing Megan’s voice, Jenna blurted out, “Are you trying to kill me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You tied this bustier so tight I can hardly breathe and then you skipped out without helping me get it off.” Jenna could hear pool balls banging in the background. She immediately thought of Dean and the way she’d watched him the previous evening while his strong athletic body circled the pool table. Her body heated in remembrance. Warmth flared through her, and for a brief moment, anger segued to passion.

The sound of Megan’s voice brought her attention back around. “Hmmm…that definitely sounds like an emergency to me,” Megan said, humor evident in her voice.

Jenna sat on the edge of the bed, trying to take deep belly breaths. “It is an emergency. If you don’t get over here and get this thing off me, I’m going to pass out.”

“Then maybe you should call the Hot Line. I hear they can handle all kinds of…
emergencies
.”

Her gaze flew to the card as Dean’s words came rushing back:
If you have any other emergencies, I’m your man.

“Megan,” Jenna said, her voice raising an octave, “did you plant this card in my room?”

“Card? What card?”

Exasperated, Jenna threw herself back onto her bed. “You set this whole thing up, didn’t you?” God, didn’t Megan realize the sexy playboy firefighter was completely out of her league?

Megan gasped, as though appalled by her accusation. “Would I do something like that?”

“You are so dead, Megan.”

Megan chuckled and lightened the mood. “You want him. He wants you. I’m not seeing any reason for murder here. In fact, I think you’ll be thanking me in the morning.”

Jenna flew to her feet. “Who said he wanted me?”

“If you weren’t so busy drooling over him, and running in the opposite direction all week, you would have noticed that he has the hots for you too, chicky. It’s clear to everyone but the two of you that you both want each other.”

Jenna gulped in air and paced around the room. “Are you serious?”

“Hell, yeah, I’m serious. Now call that number and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

Silence reigned as Jenna took a moment to wrap her brain around things. She perched on the edge of her mattress and sorted through matters.
Dean wanted her?

“Make the call, Jenna,” Megan pressed. “Live a little, have an adventure, get yourself laid. Deep inside you there is a sexy siren just waiting to break free. Let her come out to play before you implode from sexual frustration, and in the morning, I want all the juicy details.”

The last time Jenna listened to Megan’s advice and had an adventure, she’d found herself half dressed in a roomful of strangers. Lord knows what would happen next time. She’d probably find herself half dressed in a room with just one stranger—a stranger who could fulfill every wild fantasy she’d ever had, and some she didn’t even know she had.

O-kay…

Jenna swallowed past the lump in her throat and croaked out, “Good-bye, Megan.” As her gaze slid to the card once again, her breath came in a ragged burst, her libido pulsing with the promise of things to come.

Without censor, her mind took her on an erotic journey, leaving her to wonder what it would be like to experience the lust, passion, and mind-blowing sex like other women experienced, wondering what it would be like if the sexy firefighter from Station 419 appeared at her door, ready and able to handle all her emergencies.

Every sinfully delicious…
emergency.

She studied the card longer, committing the number to memory, and worked to extinguish the flames lapping at her thighs. Of course there was one surefire way to accomplish such a task. One very scandalous way to be precise.

Not that she’d ever dial the Hot Line, however. She liked sex—loved it even—but she would never be so bold as to call in a playboy firefighter to help extinguish the flames of desire licking a path up her thighs. It was something she’d never, ever do. Not in a million years.

No way.

No how.

She drew in air, but the lack of oxygen circulating through her bloodstream made her dizzy and prompted her into action. Jumping to her feet, she reached around her back and fumbled for the lace. Her efforts proved futile. Frustrated, she planted her hands on her hips and began pacing around the bedroom looking for something, anything to help her.

She caught her reflection in the mirror. Outwardly, she looked like a sexy siren, a wanton seductress—a seductress who wouldn’t hesitate to call a firefighter to her rescue.

If you have any other emergencies, I’m your man.

Jenna stopped midstride and considered her dilemma a moment longer. Did a too-tight bustier constitute an emergency?

She bit down on her bottom lip, Dean’s parting words drumming in her head. She wasn’t really considering calling him to her aid, was she? Lack of oxygen had to be clouding her judgment.

Once again her gaze panned over the numbers. She let her mind drift, remembering the erotic way his seductive strawberry-flavored breath caressed her nape like an intimate kiss. Suddenly, frustration morphed into desire, leaving her warm, wanting, and
hungry
—for a hard-bodied firefighter.

As her fingers curled around the card, she drew a fueling breath and mustered all her courage.

Because heaven help her, she was going to do it!

Psychology textbooks in hand, Dean made his way into the firehouse kitchen, dropped down into a chair, and planted his elbows on the long oaken table. He felt sexually frustrated and unable to dispel the image of a sexy siren parading around the room in a skimpy red negligee. He buried his face in his palms. Biting back a groan of longing, he angled his body, enabling him to better hear the special phone kept in their sleeping quarters, should it ring.

Even though Jenna had barely spared him a glance over the past week, there was no denying that tonight she’d made up for her lack of interest. He saw the desire in her gorgeous green eyes and felt the way she’d beckoned him from across the room. When their bodies collided, and skin connected with skin, everything in her reached out to him.

The sound of Brady Wade’s voice pulled him from his musings. “Coffee?”

Shaken from his fantasies, Dean glanced up to see Brady hovering over the stove, and at his feet his chocolate Lab, Jag, salivating over the delicious smells. Dean nodded and then inhaled.

“What’s cooking?” he asked, his own mouth watering.

Brady wiped his hands on his apron and went to work on the coffeepot. “Your favorite. Chicken cacciatore for dinner, and since strawberries are in season, strawberry pie for dessert.”

Strawberries…

Dean groaned and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His gaze went from Brady to their sleeping quarters back to Brady again.

Never one for subtleties, Brady got right to the point. “Waiting for a call?”

Dean rolled one shoulder and said in a noncommittal tone of voice, “No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Dammit.

Brady leaned against the counter with a knowing grin on his face. “Well, well, I never thought I’d see the day.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, digesting Brady’s cryptic words. “What day?” he asked, annoyed that Jenna had reduced him to a hormonal teenager who could barely see straight, let alone hold an adult conversation.

Brady smirked. “I never thought I’d see the day that sworn bachelor Dean Beckman would fall so hard for someone.”

Dean scoffed and arched a brow. “You’re out of your frigging mind.”

Brady rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh,” he said, sounding unconvinced. “I wonder if it could be love at first sight.”

“Like fuck,” Dean said. “I don’t believe in such a thing.”

Feeling antsy, Dean hoisted himself from his chair, walked over to the counter, and popped a strawberry in his mouth. Not his brightest move, apparently. The taste immediately brought back memories of Jenna and how he yearned to drip sweet strawberry juice all over that lush body of hers and then lick her clean, every groove, every nook, every hidden valley. A slow burn gravitated south. His cock hardened to the point of pain.

He purposely stepped behind the island counter in a maneuver that enabled him to hide his raging erection. No need to show off the hard-on he was sporting. Nope, no need of that at all. The truth was, what he really needed was one wild night between the sheets with Jenna. To fuck her out of his system once and for all. Then he’d be able to move on and get back to completing his thesis.

Redirecting the conversation, he shot Brady a dubious look. “Besides, what do you know about falling hard or love at first sight? I haven’t seen you with a woman in ages. You spend all your free time in this kitchen. Not that we don’t appreciate that, mind you,” he added with a grin, “because we do.”

Brady drummed his fingers on the counter, waiting for the coffeepot to fill. “Oh, I know all about such things, my friend.”

Dean angled his head and waved his hand, offering Brady the floor. “Yeah, you want to enlighten me?”

At the sound of the beep, Brady twisted around and filled two mugs with coffee. “I’m crazy about someone,” he said, handing Dean a cup. “And she’s crazy about me, too. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

With a nod of his head, Dean gestured toward the CPR training doll. “I hate to break it to you, pal, but Blow-up Betty doesn’t count. Besides, I think she’s smitten with Christian.”

“Speaking of our newest rookie,” Brady said. “I heard he really had your back when you guys were out on a call the other night.”

“Yeah, he’s a real stand-up guy. Definitely a guy I want on my team.”

“I guess it’s time to initiate him into the brotherhood.”

Dean grinned. “Leave that to me.”

As Dean sipped his coffee, Brady turned the conversation back to him. “So tell me about her.”

After a long pause, Dean gave a resigned sigh and said, “It’s Jenna Powers.” Jesus, just saying her name out loud fired his blood and rendered him senseless. Rattled by the way she threw him off balance, Dean shook his head. “She’s been getting under my skin all week.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Dean’s head came up with a start. “What?”

Brady nodded toward the textbooks strewn across the kitchen table. “And you’re supposed to be the intuitive one.” He threw his arms up in the air. “Come on, Dean. It’s obvious. You’ve been walking around here all week like a lovesick puppy. Everyone knows it but you. I guess in your case love really is blind.”

“Not love. Lust,” Dean clarified. “The woman’s got a killer body.”

“And you know this how? She walks around in baggy clothes all the time, downplaying her figure.”

Dean paused, unable to deny Brady’s observations. As Dean knocked around that thought, Brady lifted a brow and said, “Which raises the point that maybe your attraction to her goes beyond the physical and maybe your interest goes beyond a night of wild sex. Have you ever thought of that?”

Ignoring Brady’s sudden epiphany, Dean shifted his stance after recalling the sight of Jenna’s hot little body in a barely there negligee. “If you’d have seen her tonight, you’d know what I was talking about.”

The bell on the stove chimed. Brady shut it off and tossed his words over his shoulder. “Grab a couple of plates. Dinner is ready.”

Dean reached into the cupboard and grabbed two plates. The sound of the phone ringing in the other room stopped him dead in his tracks. His pulse leapt. He sucked in a tight breath. Heat spread like wildfire through his body. The phone rang a second time, jolting him out of his carnal stupor.

“You want me to get that?” Brady asked, smirking.

Dean shoved the plates at Brady. “Fuck off,” he grumbled good-naturedly. He listened to Brady’s laughter as he negotiated his way to their sleeping quarters, double time.

When he glanced at the caller ID, heat and desire rocketed through him. He whipped the phone from the cradle and shot a look around the room, ensuring his privacy.

He lowered himself onto his bunk. “Hello.”

“Dean?” Jenna’s voice sounded low, rough.

Breathless.

His body buzzed to life at the sound of her deep, sexy tone. “Yeah.”

Jenna cleared her throat. “Hi.”

His heart thudded and he closed his eyes against the flood of heat rushing south. “Hi,” he finally managed in return. After a moment of silence, he pitched his voice low and practically whispered, “I’m glad you called.”

“Yeah?”

He heard the surprise, the excitement, and the anticipation in her voice.

“You told me to call if I had any other emergencies.”

So he had. Damned smartest thing he’d ever said. Inhaling, he scrubbed his hand over his chin, praying they were on the same page here.

“What kind of emergency are you having, Jenna?”

“I’m not sure it’s the type of emergency you handle.”

“You might be surprised at the types of emergencies I handle.” He heard her breath quaver and then there was a noise, like she was licking those plump red lips of hers.

“Well, I’ve sort of found myself in a terrible predicament.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what the problem is, what kind of emergency you are having, and how I can be of assistance?” He could think of a million ways to assist her, but he wanted to hear her say it, to ask for it.

Her chuckle was soft and low. “Well, it’s a bit embarrassing,” she stalled.

“Tell me, Jenna,” he urged.

Her hesitation only lasted a second, and then she said, “I’m having a clothing emergency.”