Smolder (Firefighters of Montana Book 1) by Tracy Solheim

the barn. Thunder boomed outside the wide-open doors and she hurried to pull them closed. A scream caught in her throat when a bolt of lightning lit up the barn, exposing Sam Gaskill lurking in the dark.
    He was the picture of natural vitality sitting on the tack box outside of Tator Tot’s stall, dressed in dark jeans, and an untucked white button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal his tightly corded, tan forearms. The sight of him unnerved her. Not just because he was unexpected, but because of the gnawing want the man always seemed to stir up in her.
    “What are you doing here?” Stupid question.
    Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light in the barn. She watched as Sam lifted a bottle of beer to his lips and took a long pull. Even the way the muscles in his neck contracted as he swallowed was sexy.
    “I’m checking on my horse,” he said, finally.
    “You mean your wife’s horse.”
    His head snapped around and his amber eyes bored into hers. Laurel shifted uneasily. She’d gone too far again. She had no idea why she continued to play this game with him.
    “My late wife’s horse.”
    Lightning crackled in the distance as if to punctuate his words.
    Laurel wrapped her arms around her middle, wishing she’d pulled on a jacket or something to cover up her revealing cami. “Either way, the company’s likely better at The Drop Zone tonight.”
    “Company’s just fine right here,” he drawled before turning his head back toward Tabitha’s stall and taking another drink from his beer.
    A rumble of thunder shook the barn and the horses groaned in their stalls, their hooves moving restlessly over the shavings. Laurel could honestly say she knew how they felt. She turned her back on Sam and began shuffling down the aisleway, checking water buckets and stall doors as she went. When she turned back, he was still there, eyes closed and the beer bottle dangling from his long fingers. She wanted him to leave. Unfortunately, not quite as much as she wanted him to stay. And that was the problem.
    The words were out before she could stop them. “The storm is going to take a while to move off. I have coffee upstairs.”
    He was still for an agonizingly long moment before he turned to face her again. His mouth was drawn tight. “You don’t want to invite me upstairs, Laurel. You’re working on your impulsiveness issues, remember?”
    “Yeah, but right now, you’re looking a whole lot more interesting than my business law study guide.” And just like that, Impulsive Laurel was back in charge.
    *
    What the hell was he doing here? After three days clearing trails and sleeping outside, Sam was tired and sore. He should have stayed in the A-frame, downed his beer, and hit the sack. But he couldn’t seem to get this woman off his mind. Laurel had told him very plainly that she didn’t want him. The trouble was her body sang a very different tune every time he got near her. And Sam couldn’t quite get his own body to settle down and stop humming that song.
    Being the jerk that he was, he knew the good girl persona Laurel was so desperately trying to hide behind wouldn’t take much work to peel away. Hell, deep down, she was as impulsive as Sam was. Sam had gambled she wouldn’t turn him away, and it had just paid off.
    She’d made it clear he wasn’t what she was looking for long-term and that was fine with Sam. He wasn’t looking for happily ever after either. That ship had sailed. But he was looking for happy tonight. Whether she knew it or not, so was she. As he followed Laurel’s Hello Kitty-clad ass up the stairs to the loft, he vowed he’d make sure she wouldn’t regret her decision in the morning.
    Sam wasn’t sure what he expected Laurel’s home to look like, but the elegant apartment with bleached wood floors and sloped cherrywood ceilings looked more like something out of Architectural Digest than a hayloft above a barn. Three large dormer windows spread along the length, and French doors at