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Also by Susan Lyons:
Sex Drive
She’s on Top
Touch Me
Hot in Here
Champagne Rules
Also by Rachelle Chase:
Sin Club
Sex Lounge
Also by Jodi Lynn Copeland:
Escape to Ecstasy
Sweet and Sinful
Handyman
Body Moves
Operation G-Spot
After Hours
MEN ON FIRE
Susan Lyons
Rachelle Chase
Jodi Lynn Copeland
CONTENTS
Too Hot to Handle
Susan Lyons
Acknowledgments
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
The Firefighter Wears Prada
Rachelle Chase
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Playing with Fire
Jodi Lynn Copeland
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
TOO HOT TO HANDLE
Susan Lyons
Acknowledgments
Warm thanks to my critique group for their invaluable assistance: Elizabeth Allan, Michelle Hancock, and Nazima Ali. Special thanks to my editor, Hilary Sares, for offering me the opportunity to contribute to Aphrodisia’s second firefighter anthology. (I love firefighter heroes!) And thanks, too, to my wonderful agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, for her wisdom and enthusiasm.
Most especially, thanks to the brave men and women who serve as firefighters, and to the families and friends who worry about them and support them.
I invite readers to visit my Web site at www.susanlyons.ca; e-mail me at [email protected]; or write c/o PO Box 73523, Downtown Postal Outlet, 1014 Robson Street, Vancouver, BC, Canada V6E 4L9.
I hope you’ll look for my new Wild Ride series, starting with Sex Drive in December.
1
“What the hell is wrong with my image?” I asked my two best friends, trusting them to tell me the truth. On this warm July evening, we were seated outside at Hapa Izakaya, a Japanese fusion restaurant on Yew Street, sipping sake martinis.
“Nothing, Jade.” Kimberly’s mass of blond corkscrew curls tossed as she shook her head vigorously. “You’re proof that black plus Chinese equals gorgeous. You’re smart, responsible, successful, not to mention trilingual. You’re generous and loyal and fun. Damn, woman, you’re perfect. Right, Amarjeet?”
“You truly are all those things.” Amarjeet studied me, deep-set brown eyes thoughtful below perfectly shaped black brows. “This is about your job?”
“Yeah.” I’d told them my boss, the CEO of the Families First Foundation, had recently had a health scare and was retiring to spend more time with his family. I was VP of Communications and truly believed I was the best person to fill his position. But today I’d had a depressing conversation with the chair of the board.
“I would guess the image problem is that you’re single,” Amarjeet said.
I sighed. “That’s what the chair more than hinted at. But why should it matter? Not to mention, it’s illegal to discriminate based on marital status.”
“Damn right!” Kimberly said.
“Yes, of course,” Amarjeet said. “But Triple-F has a mandate, a public profile, and it’s all about families and children.” A doctoral student in philosophy at the University of British Columbia, she always reasoned things out thoroughly. “The CEO is the figurehead. If she’s a single woman…” She shrugged and took a soybean pod from the bowl of seasoned edamame in the middle of the table.
“If they refuse you the job because you’re single, sue them.” Kimberly, a fourth-grade teacher, liked to cut to the chase.
Amarjeet munched the last bean from the pod and shook her head. “How would that help? Jade loves Triple-F.”
“Exactly,” I said grimly. “It’s not that the chair said flat out I won’t get the promotion. She said there are numerous factors to consider, image is one, and Candace’s—she’s VP of Donor Development and my main competition—might be a better fit for Triple-F. Candace is also gorgeous”—I glanced at Kimberly, who made a face—“and smart, et cetera, though only bilingual, I might point out. However—damn her!—she’s married to a handsome lawyer and has the cutest twins. One girl, one boy. Blonde. Can you imagine how image-worthy that family is? Compared to me?”
“That sucks,” Kimberly said, and Amarjeet nodded vigorously.
I downed the last of my melon sake martini as our Japanese waitress arrived with tapa-sized platters of food. She decorated the table with strikingly presented salmon sashimi, fried udon noodles with chicken and veggies, soft-shell crab tempura, and a salad of field greens with shrimp and avocado in a tangy citrus sauce. We thanked her, ordered another round of drinks, then picked up chopsticks and dove in.
As I swirled up udon noodles, I sighed. I’d devoted the last three years to Triple-F and totally believed in the work we did, funding services to families in need. I had ideas for new sources of funding, ways to cut administrative costs, all sorts of things to improve the organization. My current boss was an idealist, Candace was Ms. Practical, and I combined both qualities. “Damn it, I’d be the best CEO. So, any brilliant ideas? Aside from suing Triple-F? Or getting married?” Finally, I popped the noodles into my mouth.
Kimberly wiggled her left hand so her solitaire engagement ring sparkled in the evening sunlight. “I vote for marriage.”
“I’ve wanted to get married since I was six,” I reminded