Controlled Burn by Desiree Holt Page B

drunk. And probably leave her in a better mood.
     
     
    Boone Crider tightened his grip on the beer bottle. He needed the shock of the cold glass to counteract the sizzling heat from the warm woman he’d been stupid enough to reach out and touch. But the minute she’d hoisted herself onto the bar stool, he felt as if a charged field of sexual energy had wrapped itself around him. Around them. His cock, which lately had gotten little attention and somehow didn’t seem to miss it, practically poked a hole through the fly of his soft denim jeans, trying to stand up and salute. Why the hell he should have that little “problem” with the mood he was in was a mystery to him.
    Stopping at Pete’s had seemed like a good idea when he’d pulled into the parking lot. He’d had a bitch of a day and an even worse evening. Another barn fire, this one nearly out of control by the time he and the other volunteer firefighters got there. He could still smell the burning wood, feel the heat of the flames, hear the crackle and snap. This made the fifth one in eight weeks. The chief had an investigator combing the debris at each site for evidence the fires were deliberately set, but the firebug was apparently very clever. And they all agreed it had to be arson. So many barn fires in such a short period of time were no accident or coincidence. Especially since months had gone by with nothing more than a small brush fire to call them out.
    They were all damn lucky no one had gotten hurt so far. In two cases, the owners weren’t even home. Neighbors had seen the flames and called it in. In the others, the homeowners had called right away then did what they could with hoses. None of the barns had contained animals, but Boone felt sure it was only a matter of time before whoever this was hit one that did. The prospect of what could happen made him sick to his stomach.
    Getting drunk and sleeping it off in The Highway Motel had seemed like an outstanding idea. Then, in the morning, he could drag his sorry ass home, wash away today’s memories, and hope the rest of the week was a lot better. And no more emergencies like tonight’s.
    The she’d walked in, and his hormones had stood up and poked him in his dick and his balls. A thick mass of blonde hair cascaded from a face highlighted with emerald eyes, thick lashes, high cheekbones, and a full mouth just begging to be kissed. Or wrapped around his aching shaft. He wondered what she’d say if he told her he wanted to fuck her mouth almost as much as her pussy.
    And do a lot of other things with her. To her. Things that—
    Forget it. She probably likes her sex plain vanilla. Probably orders her drinks the same way, too.
    But she’d surprised him when she ordered Jack Black on the rocks. Most of the women he knew, even in tiny Winslow, Texas, drank wine. For some it was a preference, for others an affectation. He always seemed to wind up with the ones who had nothing going on below the surface. After the last few months, he’d give anything for a warm, understanding woman who loved hot sex, had a good mind, and listened attentively.
    Yeah, ask Santa Claus for one, right?
    Maybe Santa had brought him an early Christmas present, at least for one night.
    He was fascinated, watching her drink, not slugging down the aged whiskey but not taking tiny sips, either. No, she took healthy swallows and smiled as it burned its way into her system.
    Touching her was a big mistake. Her blonde hair felt like corn silk against his fingers, and the contact with her skin was like touching a live wire. If his cock had hardened from merely being near her, now it was screaming for freedom from restriction and demanding to fill her soft mouth or the wet heat of her pussy. He wanted to bury himself in her so deep he could forget tonight—and the others like it—and the depression he was fighting would simply disappear.
    He had never really been much for one-night stands. It just wasn’t how he rolled. Of