Brave the Heat (27 page)

Love. Gratitude. Contentment.

The full weight of his statement surrounded her and she knew, with every ounce of her soul, that what Gavin said was honest, heartfelt, and real. Love welled and Jordan took a moment to revel in the purity and beauty of it. This man would never raise a hand to her or her daughters, but more than that, he would always love them. Unconditionally.

“You know what, Chief?” she whispered. “That sounds like magic to me.”

Order Sara Humphreys's fourth book
in the Dead in the City series

The Good, the Bad, and the Vampire

On sale January 2016

Click here!

Order Sara Humphreys's fourth book
in the Dead in the City series

The Good, the Bad, and the Vampire

On sale January 2016

Click here!

A great big shout-out to the Yonkers Fire Department arson specialist, the YFD lieutenant at Squad 11, and the guys in the Eastchester Fire Department, Engine Company 4. Thanks for taking the time to answer all of my questions and give me the info I needed to bring Gavin to life. Thanks also to Nedra and Tony for giving me extra feedback on one of the fire scenes and helping me make it more authentic. I hope I did it justice.

As always, a big
Thank
You
to my editor, Deb Werksman, and the entire crew at Sourcebooks. You guys rock! Thanks to my agent for knowing exactly what to say and for being a great partner in an ever-changing business.

Most of all, thank you to my husband and four boys. You are my real-life heroes!

Read on for a sneak peek of Terri L. Austin’s

Monica Campbell eyed the refreshment table, ignoring the appetizers and zeroing in on the champagne. “Why ruin a perfectly good Saturday night with a wedding?”

Evan Landers flicked a piece of lint off his green-and-black tartan jacket. “This isn’t the way I want to spend the evening either, and I’m not even related to the groom.”

“Don’t remind me.” Monica uncrossed her arms. “Okay, I’m going in for another glass. Keep a lookout for Allie.” Monica’s sister had already pulled her aside once and told her to slow down. Not happening. Even Allie’s disapproval couldn’t keep Monica away from the booze. It was the only thing this party had going for it.

Not party. Wedding.

So her dad was getting married. Great. Monica was happy for him. Really. He was moving on, and good for him. That’s what people did, right? They moved on, got remarried, started over. Totally natural. But the cloying smell of all these flowers reminded Monica of that hot, cloudless day when they’d buried her mom. Patricia Campbell had loved gardenias. Her casket had been covered with them.
You’d think he would have remembered that.

Yeah—definitely time for another drink.

Stepping forward, Monica threw a smile at the cute waiter manning the table and trailed one hand across her bare shoulder. “How are you tonight?”

His gaze dipped to her cleavage. She showed quite a bit of it. Allie had bitched about that too. Along with the color of her dress. What was so terrible about wearing red to a wedding? It was a joyous occasion. That’s why they were all here—the bride’s small family, Monica’s tribe—to celebrate her dad’s new life.

“Good,” he said. “I’m very good.” He leaned forward and stage-whispered, “Technically, I’m only supposed to serve you sparkling cider.”

Ugh, Allie
. Monica might have been a few months shy of legal, but since when had that ever stopped her? “I hate getting technical. Don’t you?”

After glancing over each shoulder, he reluctantly nodded. “Go ahead,” he said. “I won’t tell.”

Monica plucked up two glasses. “Thank you. You’re sweet.” As he blushed at her words, she spun around and did a quick scan of the room. Filled with bright, delicate flowers and dripping in candlelight, the glass-walled conservatory reeked of romance. A perfect setting for a perfect couple. Yep. Happy, happy.

Monica tipped back her head and chugged the expensive champagne as if it were tap water. She ignored the burst of fizzy bubbles that tickled her tongue. Barely tasted the dry, cool flavor. She needed to get her buzz on—ASAP.

“Easy there, Slugger. This isn’t a kegger,” Evan said.

“God, I wish it were.” Monica set down the empty flute and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. He’d come as her “acceptable date,” per Allie’s instructions. Evan lacked a criminal record and attended college, although
attended
might be a liberal use of the term. He deserved a best-friend award for suffering through this with her.

Monica had met most of Allie’s requirements for this event. Appropriate date?
Check.
Mandatory attendance?
Check.
Stone-cold sober?
Not for long
.

Allie had commandeered Monica’s day from the time she woke up this morning until now: breakfast with the bride and her family, mani-pedis, hair and makeup, pictures. Monica had reached her snapping point. She just wanted out of here.

She missed her mom all the time, but today that grief was a persistent ache. It sat in the middle of her chest—a hot, painful burn that never let up, not for one minute.

This time, Monica didn’t bother to look around before she drained the champagne. If Allie didn’t like it, tough shit.

“How long do we have to stay?” she asked.

Evan patted her arm. “I’m not sitting through all this without getting a piece of cake.”

“I’ll buy you a cake. You can eat the whole damn thing.”

“Come on, Monnie. It’s one day. You’re tough, suck it up.”

She might be tough, but she was restless and unhappy, and
oh shit
—

“Uh-oh,” Evan whispered. “Incoming.”

Allie Campbell Blake headed toward them, her long, white-blond hair flying outward with each step. At five months’ pregnant, Monica’s sister had never looked better. The bright blue dress she wore matched the color of her eyes. A fake smile she’d perfected over the years graced her lips. That smile fooled most people. Not Monica.

“Hey, Evan, do you mind if I speak to Monica for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

He turned to leave, but Monica snagged his arm and refused to let go. “He can stay.”

Allie’s smile grew brighter. That always spelled trouble. “I thought we talked about the champagne.”

Monica raised her brows and attempted a look of innocence. “I’ve been drinking sparkling cider.”

Evan nodded. “Yep. I can vouch.”

“See?”

Allie stared at Monica until she nearly squirmed. “Okay. I won’t nag you anymore.”
Right.
“But this is Dad and Karen’s special night, Mon. Please don’t ruin it.” Then she walked off to greet the officiant.

“Thanks, Ev.” Monica gave his forearm a quick squeeze. “Do me one more favor? Keep her away from me.”

“I’ll do my best. But you could at least make an attempt at being subtle.”

“I don’t do subtle.”

He laughed. “No kidding.”

After a few minutes, Monica began to feel it—that nice little sensation starting at the base of her neck, the one that numbed her brain. She welcomed it. One more glass, and she just might make it. But before she could reach for it, Evan nudged her arm.

“And I thought you were underdressed. I think that guy stumbled into the wrong place.”

Monica followed Evan’s gaze.
Whoa.
Her restlessness disappeared, blown away like dust in a windstorm, and in its place stood the best diversion possible—a smoking-hot bad boy.

Monica may have been inappropriately dressed, but he took the jackpot. Long brown hair brushed his jawline. His leather jacket appeared battered, worn at the cuffs and rubbed bare at the elbows. His faded jeans fit him just right, showcasing his long legs. On his feet—black motorcycle boots. Whoever he was, he’d be right at home in a biker bar, but he looked completely out of place among the well-behaved guests.

“Who is he?” Evan asked.

What does it matter?
This night had just taken a turn for the better. Her body responded to him. Attraction tugged at her, pulling her toward him. Straightening her shoulders, Monica started across the room, intent on finding out more.

Before she could take another step, the officiant walked to the front of the room, and the string quartet began the opening strains of “Pachelbel’s Canon.” Damn. That was her cue. Time to find a seat.

Evan grabbed her wrist and drew her back to him. “Come on,” he whispered. “The wedding’s going to start.”

For the next thirty minutes, while her dad and Karen exchanged vows, Monica’s eyes kept straying toward her mystery man. He sat across the aisle, two rows back. She tried to take Evan’s advice and do subtle, angling her chin and glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Finally she gave up on subtle. Twisting her head, she openly studied him.

She tried to guess his age—late twenties maybe? Excessively badass, that much was obvious. Who strutted into a wedding like that, completely at ease with himself, unapologetic? Monica could respect that kind of
fuck you
attitude.

Every time he moved, that leather jacket creaked, just a little bit. Her eyes slid back to him once more. He had a strong profile—straight nose, square jaw. As if he felt her staring, he turned his head and looked her right in the eye.

And then he gave her an uneven grin.

Completely charmed, she smiled back. Monica wanted to talk to him, find out his story.
Who are you kidding, Campbell? You want to fuck him.
Absolutely. But exchanging a few words first wouldn’t hurt.

She tapped her fingers against her bare thigh. This ceremony couldn’t end fast enough. It just dragged on and on—rings, candle lighting, pouring sand into a glass jar for some reason. All the cheesy, clichéd symbols. Was it really that easy for him to forget her mom? Commit to another woman?

Whatever. Maybe that guy would give her a ride on his bike. Then she could give him a ride back at her apartment. That seemed fair.

The next time she glanced at him, he’d slipped his jacket off. Nice arms—tanned, muscular. He threw her a broad wink, and it earned him another smile. God, he was hot. Flirty. Cocky. Just her type.

When Evan lightly slapped her arm, Monica returned her attention to the front of the room. Her dad and Karen kissed. Then, hand in hand, they gazed at each other and walked up the aisle, stopping to greet people along the way. When they reached the row where Monica sat, her dad leaned down and pecked her cheek.

“Congratulations, Daddy.” It almost physically hurt to say the words.

Yet, he did look happy. Content. One chapter closed and another one opened. That was life.

The sadness that pierced Monica’s chest burned a little hotter. She tried to ignore it.

Once her dad and Karen left the room, Allie took front and center. “Just a few announcements.” Monica suppressed a groan. Like an airline hostess, Allie gave directions, complete with hand gestures, about the buffet dinner in the dining room.

Monica looked back once more. This time, the stranger was waiting for her. He lowered his head a notch, and his eyes traced over her face. No smile. Just heat.

Monica stood, her gaze unwavering. They simply stared at each other, ignoring everyone else. People began filing out of the conservatory. Chatter filled the air, and the quartet played a chipper tune. Hardly any of it registered.

Evan leaned down and spoke in her ear. “Are you coming?”

“You go on,” Monica said, keeping her eye on the prize. “I’ll catch up later.”

“Okay, but whatever you do, don’t get caught.” He sidled past her and left the room.

Soon, everyone cleared out, even the musicians, until only the two of them remained. Monica and this stranger. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he moved forward. Every step brought him closer. Finally, he stopped in front of her, the tip of his boot resting against the toe of her stiletto. He stared down at her with the greenest eyes. They danced over her, lighting on every part of her, eating her up. Monica breathed it in, loving the attention.

“And who are you, then?” he asked. He had a British accent. A bad boy Brit. Too perfect.

“I’m the daughter of the groom. Monica Campbell.” She held out her hand.

“Cal Hughes. I believe your sister married my cousin, Trevor.” He took her hand and didn’t let go. His skin felt hot against hers. “Felicitations on the wedding and all that.” His deep voice made her nipples tighten. His gaze kept darting from her face to the tops of her breasts.

“Thanks. You have very interesting taste in wedding attire.”

He glanced down at his clothes. “Sorry about that. I rode into town this afternoon. Didn’t think to pack a suit.”

“Rode? As in motorcycle?”

“Yeah.”

Ha, she knew it.

When Cal let go of her, she missed the contact. Wetting her lips, she watched as he dropped his jacket in a chair. A hint of ink peeked from under the sleeve of his black T-shirt. Tattoos made her weak. Pretty much everything about this guy checked all of her boxes. He even smelled good. Woodsy and fresh.

“Is Cal short for something?”

He took one step closer, so her breasts brushed his chest. Now she had to lean her head all the way back to look up at him.

“It stands for Calum.”

“A British name, huh?” She swung her head so that a curl bounced off her shoulder. “Do you live in Britain?”

“Some of the time. And what do you do, Monica?” The way he said her name made her skin heat up. She wanted to hear him say it again. Monica could use a good distraction tonight, and Cal Hughes was the man to give it to her. Hopefully, he’d give it to her twice.