Up in Flames [The Heroes of Silver Springs 10] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) (2 page)

Yeah, maybe, but taking advantage of an inebriated woman wasn’t his style no matter how badly he wanted her. Especially when said woman had the added weakness of being down in the dumps about something. And when was the last time he’d seen that?

Never.

The Regina Zimmer he knew always came across as tougher than nails, feisty, determined, and possessed a short temper fuse he was usually able to ignite by simply looking at her.

He watched as she polished off the rest of her drink before he’d barely finished half his beer. No doubt about it, the woman was attempting to drink away whatever troubles she thought she had tonight. He saw her gaze go in search of the bartender and went with the first impulse to come to mind.

“Dance with me.” He purposely made it more of a statement than a request and waited for her to snarl, laugh him off his barstool, or tell him to go to hell. He certainly never expected her to push her glass away and get shakily to her feet.

She gestured to the dance floor with a drunken flourish of her arm. “Lead the way.”

Stunned, Max slid off his barstool, took her hand in his, and escorted her to the dance floor. As if on cue, the music faded to a love song he didn’t recognize and half the dance floor emptied, leaving them plenty of room.

Max turned to Regina and used his hold on her hand to pull her close. There was no sign of the two-by-four in the woman who staggered into his arms. She tipped her head back, looking at him as she wound her arms around his neck, pressed her amazing breasts to the flat planes of his chest, and slowly started swaying her hips to the beat of the song.

Max swallowed a moan as his cock leapt to instant attention behind the zipper of his jeans. He couldn’t tell if she was intentionally grinding her belly against his shaft or if she was merely dancing, but, if she kept it up, he’d give it another half a second and she’d know he had a hard-on that would give a porn star a run for his money.

She held his gaze as they danced, the fingers of one hand delving into the hairs at his nape while her other hand flattened on his shoulder and glided down his bicep. His hands were on the small of her back, and it took every ounce of control he possessed to keep from letting one drop to her ass. Instead, he dragged a hand up, skimming it along her spine, and watched as her eyes fluttered closed. He pulled his hand down again, barely stopping it from falling past the imaginary barrier he’d drawn in his mind when the tip of her tongue peeked from her mouth to travel along her upper lip.

His attention fixed on the path of her tongue, his balls tightening and cock aching to feel that strip of satiny flesh gliding down his shaft. Her fingers caressed his nape, the nails seeming to be equipped with tiny needles that pierced his skin and injected him with a heavy dose of desire. Needs ignited in his system, the flames feeding off his desire as they burned a scorching course through his body.

Her eyes opened, and he realized his mouth was a breath from closing in on hers. He stared down at her, wondering if he should dare kiss her, wanting to with every fiber of his being. He eased his face toward hers another fraction, and she lowered her head, resting her forehead on his chest as the song ended.

* * * *

Get a grip, Regina.

She already had one, and it was threatening to destroy her resolve. Her fingers were closed around Max’s nape and bicep, and she felt his muscles flexing beneath her palms. Her hands burned to feel more of him, to glide over the hard planes of his chest, the well-defined ridges of his abs, and delve lower to close around the cock she felt impossibly long and marvelously thick against her belly. Her head swam, as much from the feel and scent of the man as the alcohol she’d consumed tonight.

Absently, she heard the fast beat of another song claim the atmosphere, felt bodies bump against her as the dance floor started to fill, and lifted her head. Max gazed down at her, his wise, dark eyes filled with more knowledge than she needed him to have.

Why did the son of a bitch have to be so fucking hot? She pulled her gaze from his, her attention sliding over his spiky brown hair, back to his eyes framed by a set of lashes many women would die for, and down his long, tanned, angular face. That tan no doubt spread over nearly every inch of his six feet of work-developed muscles and solid planes designed to make a woman forget her own name in a rush to surrender to her hormones.

He’d done it tonight. He’d made her forget everything, at least for a while, and she’d damn near surrendered. It had been close. Too close.

Time to back away.

She eased her arms from around him and took a full step back. She didn’t bother to thank him for the dance, doubting he would hear her over the pulsing music pumping from the nearby speakers. She felt him follow her off the dance floor as she turned and weaved her way through the crowd to the bar.

Time to go.

She signaled the bartender, nodded once when the woman lifted a finger in request for a minute, and propped her elbows on the bar as she waited. She saw Max slide in next to her, watched out of the corner of her eye as he picked up his beer and took a swig, then slid it to the edge of the bar.

The hand he flattened on the small of her back sent a flaming zing of excitement up her spine, and she bit the insides of her lips together. God, it felt so good,
too good
, when he touched her. The heat of his body seeped through her clothes, warming her flesh as he leaned closer. His breath fanned the fine hairs beneath her ear when he spoke, sending goose pimples dancing over every inch of her flesh.

“Are you sure you need another drink tonight?”

Regina didn’t look at him, knowing if she turned her head right now she’d find herself far too close to his mouth again. “I’m getting my tab and asking her to call me a cab.” She didn’t want to wait around for who knew how long on a taxi to show up, but getting behind the wheel of her car was the last thing she needed to do tonight.

The bartender started toward her, and she felt Max shift at her side. Before she could tell the bartender what she needed, Max slipped the woman a credit card, told her to cash out both their tabs, and the woman hurried away.

Regina straightened and snapped her head toward him. The swift move had the world spinning around her, and she closed a hand on the edge of the bar to steady herself.

“Don’t snap at me for paying the tab,” Max told her before she could get her bearings back. “You can make it up to me some other time. There’s no sense waiting around here for a cab. I’ll drive you home.”

He wasn’t asking her. He was telling her in a no-nonsense tone that didn’t leave room for argument. On a normal day, she would’ve argued anyway. How dare he give her orders and expect her to comply like some obedient female? But she’d had enough fighting for today. Barely ten minutes ago, the last thing she had wanted was to be at home. Now, she would give just about anything for the ability to wiggle her nose and find herself instantly there.

“Fine.” She didn’t miss the shock that washed over his handsome face before he turned his attention to the bartender as the woman returned with his credit card. He quickly scribbled his signature on the slip, shoved his card back in his wallet, and pocketed it with one hand while he reached for her again with the other.

It took more effort than Regina wanted to admit to walk out of the Paradise Lounge with him. Each step proved a test of both her stability and self-control. A chilly March evening breeze drifted from the beach across the street, and she shivered, folding her arms beneath her breasts in a futile search for warmth.

“C’mere.” Max hooked an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close at his side as they walked. The heat of his body enveloped her, and she couldn’t find the strength or steadiness to pull away. “Where’d you park?”

She unfolded her arms long enough to point across the parking lot. “Over there.”

“The red Dodge Avenger, right?” Even as he asked, he steered her toward a midnight-blue Chevy Avalanche on the opposite side of the lot. “I’ll drop you off and come back for it.”

Regina tipped her head back to look up at him. “How will you get home?”

“I’ll call in a favor. Rayne, Cory, and Ford live across the hall from me. One of them is bound to be up. I’ll swing by, pick one of them up, come back here, and they can follow me back to your place in my truck.”

“Save your favor,” she told him as he slowed their steps when they reached his truck, pulled his keys from the front pocket of his jeans, and unlocked the passenger door. “Drop me off and I’ll find a way back here in the morning.”

He opened the passenger door for her, turned, and surprised a soft squeak out of her when he lifted her off her feet and gently set her on the seat of the truck. “Don’t start arguing with me now, Gina. Tonight’s been a nice change of pace.”

Regina snapped her mouth shut as he closed the passenger door, rounded the front of the truck, and climbed in behind the wheel. “I wasn’t arguing. I was just…”

“Arguing,” he supplied, his lips curving into a slow grin as he started the truck and backed out of the parking space.

That grin shut her up. It did funny things to her insides, too. Christ, the man had one hell of a smile. She’d seen it before, though usually when he was in her presence, it faded far too quickly.

It was her fault. All the butting heads and snipping that had passed between them since she’d taken the job as fire investigator in Silver Springs had been her doing. She’d walked into town with a chip on her shoulder and a steadfast determination to prove herself. He’d made one comment and that chip had turned into a wound he managed to poke at every opportunity. She knew she should apologize, but how could she when that chip wasn’t her only problem when it came to him?

“How are you feeling?” Max glanced at her as he pulled out of the parking lot and merged into the light evening traffic on Bienville Boulevard.

Regina sighed and let her head fall back against the headrest. “Drunk.” She left her head where it was, but turned it toward him when he chuckled. The sound of his laughter was as devastating as his smile.

“Yeah, I kind of gathered that. What was that you were drinking, anyway?”

Regina studied his side profile in the brief moments of light that illuminated him from the streetlamps they passed. He drove like she’d noticed he did everything else, calm, confident, and relaxed. His right wrist rested on the top of the steering wheel, while his left elbow was propped on the window frame, his long fingers lightly touching the wheel. He’d glanced at her when he’d asked the question, but was watching the road ahead now.

“Rum runner.” She moaned and rolled her eyes. “They should call it a rum racer.”

“Trying to say it raced straight through you?”

“That last one damn sure raced to my head awfully fast.” She sat up straighter, turning toward him as much as her seat belt would allow. “How does that happen?”

“You mean why does it feel like your head is swimming?”

“No. Well, yeah. I guess. You have one drink. Fine. You’re okay. Hey, let’s have a second.” She smacked her lips. “Yep, still good to go. You might have a buzz depending on your tolerance for alcohol, but you’re not plastered, so you go for a third or fourth or whatever. You’re talking and dancing and walking and then,
bam
, you’re shit faced and don’t even know what hit you.” She frowned. “Well, I guess you do
know
because you were the one drinking, but how the hell does alcohol manage to sneak up on you so fast? And why does it make you babble when it does?”

Max chuckled as he slowed the truck and eased into a turn onto a side street. “It’s all a chemical process. You drink, and it heads straight for your digestive system. It’s water soluble. That’s how it gets into your bloodstream. From there, it pretty much goes everywhere in your body, including your head. When you drink faster than your body can metabolize it, you feel, well, drunk.”

Regina blew a breath up her face. “Spoken like a man with some true experience on the subject.”

Max shot her a grin that sent her belly into a riot of warm fuzzies. “Half experience and half education.” He lifted a shoulder. “It’s science.”

“And you, being B-shift’s all-around mad scientist, eat the shit up.” Regina watched his grin widen as he slowed at a stop sign, looked both ways, and got the truck moving again. Max Jasper wasn’t just hot, he was hot with brains. His fixation with science had garnered him the nickname mad scientist around the fire station, and it fit.

So did the whole getup he did at the benefit last year.

Oh, no. She so didn’t need to think about that right now. The Silver Springs Fire Department had held a benefit for breast cancer research, a strip show fundraiser they’d called Fired Up for Boobs. Regina knew her boobs had damn sure gotten fired up when Max had strutted his stuff onto the stage dressed in a lab coat left open over a stained dark shirt, dark pants, and scuffed bowling shoes. His spiky brown hair, wild dark eyes, and crooked come-get-me grin had completed the perfect picture of the mad-scientist look he was known for.

“Like a kid in a candy store. Your babbling”—Max spun the conversation back to the starting point—“could have a couple of different causes. You’re either a happy drunk with a lot to say, or you’ve got a lot on your mind you don’t want to say so you’re covering it with mindless chatter.” He glanced at her again, his smile gone, his expression intensely serious. “I’m betting on the latter.”