Playing with Fire

“I don’t want anything
from
you,” she finally answered. “I want something
for
you. Something like peace of mind. Your old personality. A flash of happiness now and then. That’s all I want, Derek. Forgive me for cleaning. I was trying to be nice, but that seems to be a foreign concept to you.”

“I didn’t ask you to be nice. Matter of fact, I made it very clear I wasn’t up for a visit when you came to town.”

Fine. She got his message. Blindly, she grabbed her purse and hurried down the hall to the door.

“Macey… Wait.”

When I first started writing
Playing with Fire,
it centered on a little beach bar in Texas, but there were no firefighters. The hero, Derek Severson, kept trying to get through to me, though. Kept insisting that while he currently managed the bar, he used to be a firefighter. I tried to shut him up—tried to tell him the bar was enough—but in the end, Derek was right. He was a firefighter before fleeing to San Amaro Island to manage the Shell Shack.

Of course I’ve always looked up to firefighters and the job they do, but delving further into their world, researching what they do on a daily basis, has grown my admiration for them immensely. They’re true heroes, through and through.

Even though Derek is grieving a recent tragedy, and mixing drinks for a living, he’s still that hero deep inside. Still the kind of man to put others first, to drop everything to rescue someone in need.

Now his best friend, Macey Locke, has to turn the tables and rescue the brooding firefighter. Because she’s known for years that Derek is the perfect man for her.

Thank you for picking up Derek and Macey’s story. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I love to hear from readers, so please feel free to stop by my Web site, www.amyknupp.com, my blog, www.writemindedblog.com, or contact me directly at [email protected].

Amy Knupp

1402—THE BOY NEXT DOOR

1463—DOCTOR IN HER HOUSE

1537—THE SECRET SHE KEPT

Not that that would happen. Not now, not ever.

She sat up, cringing as she recalled the night before. She’d driven all day to get to Derek’s bar on San Amaro Island, and though she’d tried to prepare herself for the state he was in, his less-than-enthusiastic reception had cut deep. She’d stupidly thought just the sight of an old friend—
her
—would dig through his layers of grief and sorrow and at least warrant a smile.

She’d thought wrong.

Macey helped herself to the connecting bathroom and splashed water on her face, then looked longingly at the tiny shower stall. Maybe later. She’d made herself at home enough already, barging in and stealing his bed while he closed up the bar. That she’d never intended to fall asleep didn’t make it any more acceptable.

She ran a brush through her hair and pulled it up into a sloppy bun as she returned to the bedroom. Her flip-flops were next to the bed, where her feet had been hanging over the side; she must’ve kicked them off in her sleep. She slipped them on, and was about to go find Derek when she noticed the framed photo she’d left among the pile of blankets. Once again she was compelled to pick it up.

Julie. Derek’s girlfriend who’d died.

She’d known Julie vaguely. Had watched as Derek fell in love with her. It was part of what had pushed Macey to do something as drastic as joining the Peace Corps two years ago.

But instead of the cutting jealousy she’d felt toward this woman, now sorrow made her throat burn and her eyes water anew.

Feeling even more like an intruder, she set the photo back on the nightstand and left the room, wiping tears away.

Had Derek even bothered to come home?

The soft drone of the television answered her question as she reached the open kitchen and living area. There he was. Crashed out on a worn, once overstuffed chair that looked too small for his long, muscled body to be anything close to comfortable. He was still asleep. She should give him privacy but…

Wow.

He wore a pair of black boxers, nothing else. A large tattoo of the Texas Longhorn logo, with flames added behind it, emphasized the size of his biceps. His chest was sculpted with muscles and a sprinkling of light-colored hair trailing down the most ripped abs she’d ever seen. She’d thought six-pack abs were fictional, but they were totally alive and oh-so-well here. Her eyes tracked slowly, appreciatively downward and eventually landed on strong, solid thighs. She swallowed hard, knowing this little inspection of hers was a really bad idea for a girl who couldn’t afford to be attracted to this man. She watched his chest rise and fall for a few breaths before her gaze traveled up to his face.

That was like having a bucket of cold water poured over her head. Derek looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept for a month. The hair on his chin was more than a shadow, making him appear older, rougher than he was. His ash-blond hair was longer than she’d ever seen it; for Derek, normally with military-short hair, that meant maybe long enough for a woman to run her fingers through it. She clenched her hands into fists.

Macey recalled the emptiness in his eyes last night, and she ached to comfort him somehow. To touch him, to run her palms gently down his arms, to hold his hands in hers.

Derek would never tolerate her sympathy, though.

What he’d have to figure out was that she was no longer the shy, afraid-of-confrontation girl he’d known. The Peace Corps had changed her in so many ways, and she wasn’t going to back down from him, tough firefighter or not, no matter how ugly he got with her.

Derek stirred in the chair, turned his head the other way, and she waited for him to discover her admiring him. But his eyes remained closed, and he exhaled deeply before slipping back into even breathing.

Macey stepped away silently, filled with so many emotions her head felt as if it would burst.

She belatedly noticed the view out the sliding-glass door and the mostly glass wall. Waves. Sand. Patches of sea grass. Lots of people. She unlatched the door, glancing toward Derek to make sure he was still asleep. She needed to get her head straight before round two with him, so she slid the door open without a sound and went out.