Her Fiery Fix
Her Fiery Fix
Sofia Grey
This book is a work of fiction.
While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Sofia Grey
All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Acelette Press
V1.0
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Her Fiery Fix
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Epilogue
About Sofia Grey
More by Sofia Grey
Playlist
Author Note
Her Fiery Fix
Love at the Beach #4
He’s setting fire to my heart
I’m detoxing my life. No drink, drugs or messing around with guys who use me. I don’t need Dean, a bossy-but-sexy firefighter to take an interest in me. He saved me once before, and when he figures out where he knows me from, I guarantee he won’t be able to get away from me fast enough.
One night turns into two, and I still want more. His take-command attitude in the bedroom is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced, and every time he says “good girl” I want to wrap myself in the praise, even when he’s got me doing the dirtiest things.
We’re scorching between the sheets, but it’s my heart that’s going to get burned, and I don’t know how I’ll survive.
Acknowledgements
A huge thank you to the real Leanne and Tim, for all the pesky little details about the New Zealand Fire Service (now called Fire & Emergency New Zealand).
Prologue
I wasn’t really going to jump.
Fresh air seemed like a good idea after the crush inside the bar. I remembered wondering where the little staircase went, and following it up, and up. In my drunken haze it felt like miles, and my feet hurt in their high heels. When I reached a tiny balcony of sorts, I was glad to stop and rest.
I stared at the late-night city streets sparkling beneath me, many floors below. Auckland was so pretty at night—all those people dancing and drinking and being happy. I’d gone out to escape my thoughts, but they followed me anyway, taunting me. Not good enough. Not smart enough. Failure. Loser.
I let Marnie down so bad. So much for being her best friend. Her brother would never forgive me. And now she was gone, and I couldn’t tell her how sorry I was.
The only thing between me and the ground was a single waist-high rail. It would be easy to lean over it and let go. So easy.
Did I want to?
I curled my hands around the cool metal, surprised to find it wet. I hadn’t noticed the rain until now. It fell in a gentle drizzle, like the mist at the top of a mountain, and I peered up at the night sky. Pockets of stars appeared in the distance, the same as they’d always been, timeless and beautiful. I could have stood there all night, watching the stars playing peek-a-boo with the clouds.
A flash of colour jogged my attention, and I looked down again, to see a police car and a fire engine, blue and red strobes slicing through the darkness. No siren or alarm sounded, so I was safe to stay here. Burning to death wasn’t on my list of ways to go. I’d contemplated stepping in front of a train or walking into the ocean, but so far, I’d resisted. It’d been hard today, though. Everything crowded me.
I drew in a deep breath and then another, and peered over the railing again. I heard music—faint strains of some smoky jazz drifting on the air—and swayed along to it. This would be good for slow-dancing with a guy.
“Hey.”
The deep voice shocked me. I spun on my toes and let go of the railing. My foot slipped on the wet platform, but before I could fall, a strong arm wrapped around my waist and tugged.
I gazed into odd-coloured eyes and an intoxicating smile. Was this a dream? “Hey, yourself,” I said, my voice croaky from too many Tequilas.
“It’s getting a bit crowded up here. Let’s go back inside.”
I stared, fascinated. The stranger held me so close, I could have been plastered onto his body. His tall, built body. For some reason, he was dressed like a fireman.
“Are you a strippergram?” I asked.
Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Nope. A fireman.”
“Is the building on fire?
“Nope.” He took a step back inside and hauled me with him.
“Where are we going?”
“Another step. And another. That’s it.”
After the blissful darkness, the blazing lights inside hurt my eyes, and I covered them with both hands. “Don’t want to.”
“Steph. Oh my God. You’re okay.” My fellow student, Tara, threw her arms around me. “Thank you. We were so scared.” She spoke over my head to someone. The fireman? “Don’t ever do that again, Steph. You hear me?”
I sagged against her, my knees giving up the battle to hold me up. “I wasn’t doing anything.” My voice slurred, the alcohol catching up with me. “Only dancing.” Maybe the fireman would dance with me? I lifted my head to look for him, but he’d left, if he was ever here in the first place. I couldn’t be sure.
Chapter One
Three months later
I tapped my fingers on the counter along with the bassline. I liked nineties Trip-Hop, and it soothed my jagged nerves. The little café was busier than I’d expect for seven in the morning. We opened at six in the summer months, but my workday started at five thirty, when I took the milk delivery and watered the myriad of plants in tubs that filled the courtyard.
Looking after flowers and veggies was new to me, but it came with the job, and since I now lived in the room above the café, it was easy. I’d only been here a week. Not long enough to fuck up yet.
A steady stream of customers queued up, to place their orders with Lou. Most were regulars she greeted by name, her husky voice calling out their f
ood and drink requests. As a concession to me, she wrote them down too, and a line of brightly coloured sticky notes trailed across my workspace.
I snapped the cap on the paper cup and lifted my head. “Two trim flat whites. Eric.”
“Aye.” A stocky guy in paint-splattered overalls stepped forward and took the drinks. “Thanks, lovie.”
I nodded, smiled, and looked down at the next order, but something jogged my attention. I glanced to my right, at the customer talking to Lou.
“Morcheeba.” He snapped his fingers. “Big Calm.”
Lou chuckled. “You’re the first person to recognize it. The new girl won the draw for which playlist we used.”
“Large flat white, please.” The man held out his debit card. “It’s forever since I heard this. She’s got good taste in music.”
“Good with the Gaggia machine too.”
Her compliment warmed me inside. I must be doing okay. So far. I watched them while I steamed the next jug of milk.
The man looked familiar. Did I know him from somewhere?
“You must be the new guy at the fire station,” Lou said. “How are you liking it here?”
“Love it,” he said, but his tone was off.
I took my eyes off him while I poured the hot milk onto the next shot. This was the tricky part. Pouring it at the right angle and speed made the difference between a good latte and a great one.
“Where were you before?” Lou leaned on the counter. There’s no way he could miss her generous cleavage. She must like him.
“Auckland City Central.”
“Must be a change of pace for you. Steph just moved here too.”
I paused before I finished the current drink.
“If you’d like someone to show you around, give me a shout.” Yes, she liked him. She didn’t normally hit on patrons. But what did I know?
The coffee was ready. “Sue. Large latte.” I handed the drink to the woman waiting, and then looked at the fireman again, and this time he faced me. As soon as I saw his curiously coloured eyes, one brown and one blue, I was transported back to the night at the club. Tara’s birthday party.
I froze.
Jesus. What were the chances of meeting him again? Here in Peka Peka, the middle of nowhere, hundreds of miles from Auckland?
What I’d thought to be a balcony that night was a section of scaffolding. I shouldn’t have been able to access it, but the door hadn’t been locked. Tara and all her friends thought I was going to throw myself over the edge.
No. I’d built a new life here, and one brief encounter wasn’t enough to bring it crashing down. Anxiety bubbled in my chest. Focus on the drink orders.
I stared at the next note in line, but the words danced in front of me. He recognised me. I saw it in his eyes. The stupid drunk girl, who almost killed herself. No. I wasn’t that girl any more.
With the soft, haunting tones of Morcheeba still playing, I sucked a deep breath, blinked a couple of times, and forced myself to concentrate.
Next up was Dean. He wanted a large flat white.
The buzz of the beans grinding helped to block out the incessant chatter in my head. Did I take my meds this morning? Yes.
I didn’t dare look up to see where Dean was.
The espresso shots were dripping nicely, and I steadied my nerves while I heated the milk. I was good. This was a blip. Not enough to throw me off.
I finished up, snapped on the cap, and wiped away a stray trickle of foam from the side of the paper cup. “Dean,” I called.
Before I could announce the drink, the fireman was in front of me.
“Thank you.” He took the coffee, and his fingers brushed mine. He frowned. “Do I know you from somewhere?” His voice was mellow, like liquid caramel.
There were a dozen different answers I could have used. Everything from I don’t think so, through to a simple no, but I froze again.
The gods of technology came to my rescue. The fireman—Dean—dug into his pocket and whipped out a cellphone, which he pressed to his ear. “Dean Logan,” he said, and turned on his heel to walk away.
I forced a smile and reached for the next order. Focus, I told myself again. Think about work. Tamping down the coffee grounds. Heating the milk. Blending the ingredients to make a sublime drink. The familiar repetition helped numb my thoughts.
“You okay?” Lou nudged my hip.
“Good, thanks.” My response was automatic. It became easier the more I said it. I was good. A damn sight better than I was six months ago. Out of habit, I tugged down my sleeves to cover my wrists, my multiple bangles jingling as I did. No sense in freaking out my new workmates.
Chapter Two
I was happy to work another double shift, both for the distraction and the extra money, and I finished up around six in the evening. The summer sun was high in the sky, and today had been another scorcher. My new bedroom caught the evening sun and would be unbearably hot for the next few hours. It was just as well I had plans.
I went upstairs long enough to apply sunblock, grab a floppy hat, and pick up my camera and King’s lead. Another bonus of working here was that my dog could stay with me during the day. He dozed in the courtyard, happy to hang out with the café patrons and make eyes at them for scraps. I had to make a special tag for his collar, to ask people not to feed him, otherwise he’d be enormous. He was a huge dog anyway, like a shaggy rug with legs, and I adored him.
The café was a ten-minute walk from the beach, and I dawdled, King ambling beside me. I enjoyed the feel of the sun on my arms and the shriek of the early cicadas in the trees. Keeping busy was essential. The quiet times were when I’d get stuck in my own head, and the dark thoughts would creep in.
Thoughts of Marnie were never far away, but today I tried to push back on the guilt and focus on the happy times. The pizza restaurant where we sometimes ate with her brother, Zack, was around the corner, and I still loved the place. Every time I went, I pretended they were both here with me. It was a harmless fantasy, and really, every daydream of Zack was a fantasy anyway. He only ever saw me as his little sister’s best friend. And now he had a girlfriend, Holly. I wanted to like her, but I clung to the hope that they’d split up and Zack would turn to me.
Yeah... I believed in the Easter Bunny, too.
When you were in love with the perfect guy, nobody else matched up.
It was hotter outside than I expected. I should have picked up some water. I ducked into the corner shop and was assaulted by another jolt of memories. I came on holiday to this sleepy village, as a kid, tagging along with Marnie and Zack and their mother. We used to walk here for ice creams. I could picture Marnie now, counting out her coins to see what she could afford, and Zack lending her another ten cents to buy her favourite. I shook my head. There were ghosts everywhere.
Gritting my teeth, I paid for a bottle of water and hurried out, glad to be back in the sunshine.
I sat on a wooden bench at the top of the beach and gazed at the damp sand near the water’s edge. My canvas.
A young woman lay on a brightly striped towel, two toddlers playing nearby. Further down, an elderly couple walked a grey-haired poodle on a long lead. Apart from that, it was empty. The sun wouldn’t be setting for a couple of hours, so I had time for my art.
There were plenty of sticks lying in a blanket of driftwood, and I selected one with care. Smooth enough for me to hold comfortably, strong enough to dig into the sand without snapping, and the right size. Finding one the width of my thumb was perfect.
The tide was on the way out, and King was happy to nose around at the water’s edge. I walked toward the sea and found a space that was just right. Grasping the stick firmly, I scraped letters in the damp sand, pausing every so often to make sure they were lined up correctly. I needed to get the depth even too. I took my time. If I rushed, I’d make a mistake and have to start again on a fresh patch of sand.
It takes courage to grow up
and become who you really are
&
nbsp; I hadn’t read much ee cummings, but this quote resonated with me. When the words were complete, I sketched out a simplistic tree that leaned over the text, with leaves drifting down. I usually drew trees or flowers, depending on the positioning of the quotes, and this one worked like a dream. I finished with my signature, a stylised S.
I stepped back a pace, and then another. I liked this one, especially in the evening light. The sun was dropping and the shadows were long. I snapped some pictures. Turned and walked further away, crouched to get a different perspective, and then snapped some more.
“So you’re the one who does this.”
Lost in my own world, I only saw the jogger when he spoke to me, but I recognised him right away. Dean.
He was smartly dressed this morning, in the Fire Service uniform, but now he looked edible—tall and fit, with his head covered by a ball cap, and his eyes obscured by expensive Oakley shades. His arms and legs were tanned and corded with muscle. He jogged on the spot, his breathing easy.
“Um, yes,” I said. Did he watch me scrape the letters out?
“What did yesterday’s say?” He flashed me a grin. “Half of it was washed away by the time I ran past.”
My mind went blank. In the face of such overt confidence and so much testosterone I could practically smell it, I wanted to curl up and hide. I tugged down my sleeves and averted my gaze.
“You’re the new girl from the café.” Amusement lined his voice.
And you’re the new fireman, I wanted to reply. “Yes.”
“It was great coffee.”
“Thank you.” Why was he still talking to me? He was a customer, and I couldn’t be rude and ignore him. Good manners ingrained from childhood wouldn’t let me.
The on-the-spot jogging stopped. “I’m sure I know you from somewhere.”
Please go away. “I don’t think so.” I stared at my sand art and willed him to leave.
“Where did you come from?”
What kind of question was that? “How d’you mean?”
“Your colleague, Lou? She said you just moved here too. Did you come down from Auckland?”