Slow Burn

“You sure you want to play this game?”

Maggie laughed at Cale’s words. She knew without a doubt she was playing with fire, but the slow burn of desire in the pit of her tummy was too intoxicating for her to walk away now.

The wicked grin on his face should’ve scared her off, but instead of hightailing it to safety, she deliberately crossed the kitchen toward him. “When I play,” she told him, “I play to win.”

His laughter warmed her as he set the dishes on the counter. He turned and slowly peeled the filthy T-shirt over his head, revealing inch by delicious inch of his well-tanned, muscular torso.

She itched to smooth her hands over the texture of his skin, to press her lips to that glorious wall of flesh. As she wrestled with the wisdom of her actions, he tossed the shirt aside and reached for her. With his hands locked firmly on the swell of her hips, he backed her up against the refrigerator and pressed his body into hers.

“So do I,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “And I won’t lose.”

Dear Reader,

The idea for SOME LIKE IT HOT first came to me when one of my closest friends decided to pursue a new career, that of an EMT followed shortly thereafter by her successfully becoming a firefighter. Our discussions during her education and training fueled my creative fire to the point I could no longer ignore the three sexy hunks you’re about to meet.

This month, meet Cale, a hot and sexy paramedic with a penchant for saving damsels in distress, something that often leads him into trouble. Every man loves a mysterious woman, but what could be more intriguing than a woman without a past…especially a past she can’t remember?

Join me again in October, when a blistering Heatwave isn’t all that’s heating up for arson inspector Drew. Will this diehard playboy finally torch his little black book? In November, things get even hotter when firefighter Ben comes Under Fire when he’s asked to fulfill the ultimate fantasy—of the woman investigating him.

I would love to hear from you! Feel free to drop me a line anytime at P.O. Box 224, Mohall, ND 58761 or [email protected]. Be sure to stop by my Web site at www.jamiedenton.net for the latest hot and steamy news!

Until next month,

Jamie Denton

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

708—FLIRTING WITH DANGER

748—THE SEDUCTION OF SYDNEY

767—VALENTINE FANTASY

793—RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

797—BREAKING THE RULES

857—UNDER THE COVERS

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

10—SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY

41—SEDUCED BY THE ENEMY

Slow Burn

Jamie Denton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Crystal Denton

My first trilogy for Harlequin Temptation would never have become a reality if it wasn’t for the help of a few people. First, Leslie Nielsen. Without her patience in answering my questions these stories would never have been possible.

To the crew of the Somers Fire Department, for generously sharing their time and expertise. My editor, Jennifer Green, for always making me look good.

My agent, Ethan Ellenberg, for his wonderful guidance and support.

And, as ever, Tony, my own special hero, for his love and steadfast encouragement.

I wouldn’t be here without any of you.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

“WHAT’S YOUR NAME, sweetheart?”

She looked up into the clearest, bluest eyes this side of the Rockies and would’ve sighed with pleasure if her throat didn’t feel so darned ragged. All she could do was blink before her world tilted again, and those sexier-than-sin eyes swam before her blurred vision. Her head ached, her chest burned and a searing pain gripped her right arm. Someone said it was because of smoke inhalation, but she couldn’t be sure.

She tried to shake her head to clear the haze, but a pair of large, warm hands held her still. Her head rested against a pair of rock-hard thighs she assumed belonged to the black-haired angel of mercy who’d hefted her over his shoulder and carried her from the burning building seconds before the explosion.

What she was doing in a paint warehouse, she couldn’t say.

“You got a name, honey?” he asked again in a rich, soothing voice that made her think of silly things like white picket fences, children’s laughter and golden retriever puppies.

“Maggie.” She tried to shake her head again, but he held her still. Maggie? That wasn’t right. Or was it? “I think,” she added with a croak, her throat raw and as hot as the Sahara Desert.

Someone jammed a needle into her left arm and she winced. She hated needles. Her frown deepened. Why did she hate needles?

She fought down a sense of panic as voices she couldn’t decipher rose around her. She looked up at the prime male specimen again. “What happened?” she asked in the croaky voice only a bullfrog would envy.

“You’ll be fine.” His lips curved into a smile and those eyes the color of blue topaz filled with a reassurance she wasn’t exactly buying. She didn’t feel fine. She felt as if her body was on fire.