Thursday, April 13, 2017
Blog Tour Excerpt: Hot for the Fireman by Gina L. Maxwell
“Unlock this door, gorgeous, or I’m breaking it down.”
Okay, screw payback, she’d waited for him long enough. She reached out, threw the deadbolt, and immediately hopped back when the door swung open like a gale-force wind was behind it. She was dimly aware of it being kicked shut, but most of her brainpower was totally focused on taking in the sight of the hottest thing she’d ever seen: Erik, standing in her neat little apartment, larger than life and fully dressed in his bunker gear.
Ho…ly…shit. She’d imagined him in his ranger kit before, certain it would melt her panties to see him geared up and ready for battle, but she never thought she’d find his turnout gear so damn sexy. He stood there, massive, like a first-responder god, dressed head to toe in bulky black attire striped with bands of reflective yellow. The coat hung open, revealing a tucked-in navy blue BFD T-shirt, and his helmet dangled from the fingertips of one hand.
“Why are you dressed like that?” she rasped through a suddenly dry throat.
“Training took for-fucking-ever.” Setting his helmet on the counter, he pulled his cell from a pocket and held it up before tossing it on the counter. “Totally dead, or I would’ve called. Couldn’t wait. Guys dropped me off.”
One of her favorite things about Erik was how well-spoken he was. As primal as his characteristics might be, he wasn’t a Neanderthal grunting his likes and dislikes in disjointed phrases. But tonight was obviously no ordinary night. Since walking through the door, he hadn’t uttered a single complete sentence, and his whiskey-colored eyes might as well be saying Me, Tarzan. You, Jane for all the civility she saw in them.
“The fuck are you wearing?” he asked, heat flickering in his eyes.
Unable to remember, she glanced down. Oh, right. “An oversize sleep shirt I’ve had for years.” She frowned, rethinking her choice. “Not the sexiest thing, I know.”
He’d said she shouldn’t wear anything she wanted intact, and this thing was a handful of washes away from dissolving into the ether. The white cotton shirt, which hit her at midthigh, was threadbare and transparent enough that the dusky rose color of her nipples showed through without the aid of special lighting, and the neck was so wide it was forever sliding off one shoulder or the other. Underneath, she wore a white lacey thong. She almost hadn’t worn any panties at all, but she couldn’t bring herself to be quite that bold.
“No,” he said, “it’s perfect.” Rolling his shoulders back, he shucked the heavy coat and tossed it over one of the kitchen bar stools, then advanced, ambling toward her…