Playing with Fire (3 page)

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he ambled in
the house and threw himself on the couch.
Damn
. Finally, he
squared his shoulders, sat up, and reached for the phone.

He slung the phone cord in circles and waited
for the silver-tongued devil to answer. After the fifth ring,
surprise rendered him almost tongue-tied when a soft, breathy voice
answered.

Not too sure he wasn’t dreaming, he spoke
cautiously. “Dr. Prescott?”

“Yes, how may I help you?”

“Shane Hartwell, Primrose Fire
Department.”

Both her voice and his body warmed. “Hello,
Captain Hartwell.”

“Where’s your watchdog?”

“Who? Mable?”

“The blue-haired bombshell I met at your
office earlier.”

Her light giggle seeped across the line and
tickled his libido. “She only works mornings.”

“Lucky you,” he teased, “otherwise you might
not have any patients left.”

“Oh, no. My patient’s love her. In fact, she
gives a lot of good advice.”

“I’m kidding. I’ve known Mable a long time.”
Shane sighed. Enough small talk, he was just too damn tired. “I
hoped you might have some time to meet me this afternoon.”

“Of course. Did you find another problem with
my inspection?”

“No.” He swallowed tightly and cleared his
throat. “It’s a personal matter.”

A tense silence crossed the line. “I’m not
interested in dinner, Captain.”

“I didn’t call to hit on you, Doctor.” He
entertained the thought of slamming down the phone.
Hell
. He
didn’t blame her. “I need to see you in a professional capacity.”
He almost groaned out loud. Considering her specialty, that
explanation probably didn’t sound much better.

“I see.” Papers rustled in the background. “I
have an opening at three thirty p.m. Will that fit your
schedule?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Can you give me an idea of how I can help
you?”

“Insomnia.”

He heard her release a whoosh of breath.
Relief, probably. “Great. I’ll see you at three thirty.”

Liberty disconnected, intrigued by Captain
Hartwell’s call. She flashed back to their meeting and began to fit
the pieces together. Red, bloodshot eyes. A clear clinical
indication of sleep deprivation. The dark circles underneath were
probably not from keeping company all night like she originally
thought. And, his lack of concentration at times could be
attributed to extreme fatigue. She smacked her forehead with the
palm of her hand.

That’s why he asked her out! He used that
excuse instead of asking for help.

She had a sneaky suspicion the tall,
handsome, beautifully-proportioned Captain Hartwell did not admit
to weakness. Therapy with him would be quite interesting. Her brain
lived for stuff like this.

She spun in her chair and grabbed her book on
sleep deprivation from the shelf. Wouldn’t hurt to brush up before
their appointment. She flipped pages, absorbing every piece of
information she found, until finally she reached the end. Now very
concerned, she wondered just how much sleep he lost before he
sought help. She frowned. It wouldn’t take much to render him
helpless. According to science, lack of sleep for three solid days
caused dangerous symptoms. Something told her he wouldn’t call for
three days’ worth of lost sleep.

She jumped when the phone rang beside
her.

“Hey Lib,” Maddie sang over the line. “Are
you free?”

“For now.” She closed the book and checked
her watch. “My next appointment was supposed to be here thirty
minutes ago.”

Maddie cleared her throat. “I know you can’t
tell me, but if that appointment happens to include Shane Hartwell,
you’ll have to go get him.”

“From where?” She rolled her eyes. “If it
happens to be him.”

“At his house. 1403 River Birch. He probably
chickened out.”

Liberty was almost amused. “I’m not in the
habit of forcing therapy on my patients.”

“I know, but he really needs you.”

Liberty caught something a little too
dramatic in Maddie’s voice. “Are you playing matchmaker?”

“I hadn’t really that about it, but now that
you mention it —”

“No.” She shook her head forcefully. “Not
only is it unethical, it’s impractical.”

Maddie’s voice softened. “You’re too
beautiful inside and out to spend your life alone, Lib.”

“Thanks, Mad. I won’t be alone forever.”

“Besides,” Maddie pressed, “surely you
noticed his enticing assets.”

“Oh yeah.” She licked her bottom lip and then
quickly reeled herself back in. “Did you call to cancel our slumber
party?”

“No way! Besides, I need you to explain how
some of these toys work.”

“I told you I don’t know. Just read the
instructions.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“It’s more fun to make Dylan figure it
out.”

“I’m sure,” she agreed.

“I’ll let you go then,” Maddie said. “See you
soon.”

Liberty disconnected and settled back into
her chair while Maddie’s words taunted her.

He needs you
.

She exhaled loud, jumped up from her chair,
and left her office. One time.
I’ll go one time
.

A few minutes later, Liberty stepped onto
Shane’s front porch, smoothed her short, black skirt with one hand,
and squared her shoulders. She knocked once then held her breath
and waited. After a few silent seconds, she knocked again, only to
be left waiting on the welcome mat.

Liberty took a shot in the dark and turned
the doorknob. The door popped open an inch and allowed her to see
inside. The room appeared empty. Now both curious and worried, she
stepped inside and closed the door. Light breathing in the
stillness led her down a hallway to a bedroom. The sight before her
threatened to buckle her knees.

Her eyes caressed the muscled Adonis who
slept in a bed, at least king-sized. And judging from the one
exposed leg, apparently only a thin sheet covered him.

She paused and allowed herself to appreciate
his tempting physique. Smooth. Sculpted. Sexy. No doubt, women
found him deliciously appealing.
Stop staring, Liberty
.

Very gently she placed her fingers on his
biceps and traced the carved indentions.

“Captain Hartwell,” she whispered. She
applied pressure to wake him.

He shot straight up in bed, his steel blue
eyes drilling a hole right through her. The sheet rested low on his
muscled, tanned abdomen.

“Good afternoon,” she drawled.

“What time is it?”

“Four o’clock.”

“What the hell are you doing in my
house?”

“We had a meeting at three thirty,
remember?”

“Vaguely.”

“When you didn’t show, Maddie suggested I
find you and drag you to my office.”

“Maddie?”

“Yes, Maddie,” she said impatiently. “Dylan’s
Maddie.”

“Yeah.” He scrubbed his hands down his
already visible five o’clock shadow.

A shudder climbed her spine.
What a
delightful rash that would leave
. She shook her head to clear
her thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He lifted his head and gave her an
irresistibly devastating grin. “I just haven’t slept much.” He
shifted and the sheet loosened its hold. “Come to think of it, I’m
pretty sure I was asleep.”

“You were. Sorry.”

“Did I forget to lock the door?”

She nodded, still entranced by the position
of that lucky sheet. She finally raised her eyes. And met his
head-on.

“I can help, you know.”

Another grin. “I don’t need sex therapy, Dr.
Prescott.”

“I’m a psychiatrist.” She rolled her eyes,
personally thankful for the change in conversation. “You men. You
hear the word sex one time and that’s all you think about.”

He ran his hand through his hair and the
crisp white barrier slid yet another inch further toward the vee of
his hips.

“You really think you can help me sleep?”

She wet her bottom lip with her tongue as her
eyes traveled the length of the bothersome sheet. “Absolutely,” she
murmured.

“I’ll bet you can.”

She snapped her eyes off his lean hips, not
sure she heard him correctly. Not that she exactly concentrated on
the conversation. “What?”

“Nothing. I need to throw on some clothes.
Then we can talk.”

“Sure,” she agreed, now out of breath. “I’ll
wait in the living room.”

The sound of the shower running did little to
distract her thoughts as she waited in an oversized recliner. She
groaned when she heard the water slap the floor of the shower. Her
imagination went rogue. How utterly satisfying it would be to chase
those water droplets over his carved physique. Down his neck, over
his molded pecs, across his washboard abs, and finally between his
legs. Her body began a nice hum. If those muscles were any
indication of what treasure occupied that space, she’d died and
gone to Heaven. She groaned again and pushed herself out of the
recliner. Surely Captain Hartwell kept coffee somewhere.

She scrounged through the kitchen cabinets
until she finally managed to locate coffee and filters. As she
measured coffee, a mountain of red candy caught her attention. A
smile curved her mouth. Apparently the sexy captain fought a demon
other than insomnia. She piled a handful of candy into a bowl on
the table and began a search for mugs.

She tuned back in to the sound of the shower,
her thoughts deliciously naughty once again. Did he always shower
alone? Would those deep, hypnotic eyes snap open in surprise if she
climbed in to play? Her hand trembled as she placed two cups on the
counter and continued to daydream. The soap would slide easily over
his smooth skin. She’d begin at the top of his broad shoulders then
move down his long, lean back and over the tight muscles of his
glutes. Coffee sloshed inside the pot as she lifted it to pour.

“Do you always make house calls, Dr.
Prescott?”

Liberty gasped at the sound of his voice. Hot
coffee splashed onto her skin.

“Damn,” she mumbled, sticking her finger in
her mouth as she turned to face him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Shane stood braced in the doorway, his
miraculous body tempting her screaming libido yet one more time.
His dress shirt, although stretched over his shoulders and arms,
remained unbuttoned. The same as the first two buttons of his
jeans. Damn her wicked thoughts.

He sat down at the kitchen table and propped
his bare feet in the chair opposite him.

“No harm done.” She managed to roll her
tongue back inside her mouth and placed a cup of coffee in front of
him. “I thought you could use this.”

“Thank you.”

She took an extra chair beside him and
scooted the bowl of candy his direction. “And these.”

He chuckled and popped a Fireball out of its
package.

“So, how long have you been awake now?” She
wrapped her fingers around her cup.

He grinned. “I haven’t agreed to
therapy.”

“I know,” she answered lightly. “I’m just
curious.”

She took a sip of coffee and waited him
out.

“Six months,” he said finally. “Same damn
nightmare.”

His admission shook her. Six months? Although
extremely concerned, she read the penetrating challenge in his
stare. She gave him control of the conversation.

“Thanks for coming over.”

“You’re welcome.” She took another drink then
wiped the pink lipstick from the rim with her thumb.

He dropped his feet from the chair and braced
his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers against his chin.
“If I agree to therapy, Dr. Prescott, it has to be on my
terms.”

She placed her cup on the table. “I only use
Dr. Prescott at the hospital, Captain. My name is Liberty.”

“And Captain Hartwell is the fire
inspector.”

“Well, Shane,” she began, “sleep deprivation
is very dangerous.”

He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of
his nose. “It’s a bitch.”

“Tell me your terms,” she said quietly.

“You come here,” he insisted. “I can’t be
seen going in and out of your office.”

“I have a back entrance.”

“No, Liberty.” His eyes burned with
seriousness. “It has to be here.”

She sat emotionless while her fingers tapped
her coffee mug. “You realize that’s a highly unethical
arrangement.”

“Is it?”

Another challenge. “Yes.”

“Where exactly are you from?”

“Minneapolis. Why?”

“This is Primrose. We do things a lot more
personally here.”

She cleared her throat and met his determined
stare with one of her own. “We’ll have to meet twice a week.”

He nodded in agreement and exhaled
slowly.

“And you’ll have to take me seriously.”

“Not a problem.”

So far so good. And then she asked the
question she wasn’t sure she wanted him to answer. “What if someone
sees me coming and going from your house?”

“I’ll tell them we’re dating.”

Although sorely tempted to veto the whole
arrangement, she took a moment and mulled his explanation over in
her brain. One single woman. One single man. One extremely lethal
chemical explosion waiting to happen.

“Are you sure?”

A mischievous smile played at the corners of
his mouth. “Of course.”

“I can help you, Shane.”
In many ways
.
Liberty squeezed her cup harder, shocked by her reaction.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’ve had lots of practice.” She searched the
depths of his bedroom eyes. “In the meantime I want you to try
something.”

“Anything.”

She gave a mental sigh of relief, immensely
grateful to talk professionally. “Tonight before you try to sleep,
visualize your nightmare with an alternate ending and play it back
several times.”

“I tried that,” he scoffed.

“No.” Her hair slipped from its clip when she
shook her head. “You’ve probably thought about what you could have
done differently to change the outcome.”