May

"Your hose is loose."

The call to the fire station was relatively routine—a simple gas leak. However, there is nothing simple about this location. The elegant home is in the Gold Coast historical district of Chicago. Recently renovated with modern conveniences, the place also includes a permanent carbon monoxide detector, which set off the alarm. A young female resident called 911, but upon inspection of her, there isn't anything innocent about her either. She has curves made for sin and a deliciously pouty mouth.

"I'd like to loosen your hose," she mutters, as I meet her in the backyard after our inspection. She's been sunning herself in a black bikini that barely covers her most private parts.

Ignoring the tone of her voice, my fellow firefighter Nick Santos rolls his eyes. Being hit on isn't uncommon, but occasionally surprising considering Nick and I are both around forty. Women love a man in uniform, but sometimes the attraction is out of hand. Like now, when a twenty-something beauty makes a comment to me.

I could take her up on her offer if I didn't already have plans for the evening. As soon as my shift is over, I have another assignment to fulfill. And I'm not into girls under thirty anymore.

"What's going on here?" A terse female voice asks behind us, causing me to turn toward another beautiful woman exiting through French doors into the yard. With pursed lips and a pinched brow, plus the coolest eyes glaring at me, I instantly recognize her.

Ember Matherson.

Ember was not only the girl of my dreams in high school, she had also been my young heart's downfall. With her vibrant red hair and sky-blue eyes, I'd whacked off more times than I can remember to visions of the arrogant debutante who attended our private school. Under popular in the dictionary was her picture. Back then, I wasn't good enough for the likes of Ember. She was a standoffish, spoiled brat.

But damn it, even twenty years after high school, she still looks hot in her a tight-fitting shirt and hip-hugging pencil skirt. Her red hair is muted in color, but it looks fuller, richer, sexier. The very air about her, though, says don't fuck with me. Unfortunately, I wanted to. Fuck her, that is.

Obviously, she never felt the same way about me. In fact, I'm quite certain she had no idea who I was. The kids south of Touhy Avenue were too lowly for her attention. Ironic considering where she now lives, which is in the heart of the city. What's not ironic is that she does not remember me.

Her gaze roams up and down my body in a sweep of disgust that pisses me off yet strangely turns me on.

"And who might you be?" she asks.

Nick explains the call and Ember's attention falls to the sunbather. "Are you okay?"

Falling back on the lounge chair, facing the bright June sunshine, the girl whines. "I'm fine. Why would I be anything else?"

"I apologize." Ember looks at us once more, her eyes shifting directly to me, then away again. "My sister loves to pull these little stunts for attention." Her brows crease, eyes narrowing. I hadn't noticed it before, but with Ember standing in front of me, the resemblance is clear.

"She's seventeen," Ember states, as if the explanation excuses the younger girl.

Holy fuck. She's seventeen? I want to scrub my skin and Brillo pad my brain. What kind of creep am I? And this is why I don't pick up random chicks anymore. They're getting younger and younger as I age.

"Sweet seventeen and never been kissed," the girl pouts.

"Yes, well, seventeen, nonetheless," the older sister snaps before aiming those chilly blue eyes at me.

"She's impressionable." Strangely, the comment feels like a reprimand.

My mouth falls open. Is she kidding me? Her innocent, little sister was the one who came onto me. Never mind my first impression and responding thoughts.

Just like in high school, my tongue is tied around this woman, and I sputter out senselessly. "The hose was kinky . . . I mean, the hose was kinked . . . It was curled. Bent."

Ember's sister chokes, and I close my eyes in embarrassment. The heat outside is suddenly oppressive, and with my gear on, I'm melting. In fact, I want to dissolve right into the lush landscape of this yard.

Deciding to ignore me, Ember brushes past me, her arm swiping against mine on her way closer to her sister. She flinches back from the accidental touch and glares at me, like my soiled skin touched hers on purpose. A spark crackles between us, but she makes an exaggerated show of wiping her hand over her elbow, brushing off imaginary sweat, then rubbing her hand on her skirt.

Yeah, fuck you, too, you spoiled brat.

+ + +

"You." Her pouty lips gape and I instantly envision a good use for that mouth.

"Me." I smirk, my gaze rolling up and down her smoking body which is covered in a coal-colored, floor-length dress that compliments her red hair and shows off every delicious curve of her figure.

Her fiery attitude from this morning has not been doused by the coolness of an early summer evening.

Ember and I stand opposite one another at the base of a wide staircase in the Drake Hotel located in downtown Chicago.

Snapping her fingers, she sneers. "You're that smelly firefighter from earlier today." Those bright blue eyes blaze, and she scrunches her nose.

She might remember me as smelly, but I know her scent—rich bitch. And I want to clear the smirk off her pretty pink mouth by kissing the fuck out of her, like I imagined doing back in high school.

"Yeah," I mock. "I'm the hot fireman."

"What are you doing here?" The question suggests she can't believe someone of my caliber would attend the same event as someone like her. Screw that malarky.

"I'm meeting someone." Glancing over her slender, bare shoulder, I peer into the bustling area. The Drake Hotel is one of the oldest hotels in Chicago, with one hefty price tag for a night's stay. Fortunately, I am not footing the bill to be here.

The King's Consorts is my second job, an elusive group of men for hire as male escorts. It isn't sex work, but more like paid companionship. Although I rarely turn down a paying customer, if an attraction is present and consensual. If the tip is exceptional, I don't have a problem dipping into the jar, so to speak. What I don't do is lead on my assignments. I might have a reputation for being a ladies' man with the fire department, but I can still be a gentleman. Only a select few know the truth. How much I need the money. Where my debts lay.

Tonight, I'm scheduled to meet a woman named Flame, a Chicago sweetheart turned actress. A television star, I guess. I'd never heard of her, and it isn't my concernthat the woman doesn't have a legitimate date for the exclusive fundraiser for the world-renown children's hospital. However, I am curious. I mean, if you're famous, aren't people falling at your feet to date you?

"Who?" Ember snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Flame Marshall." A hint of pride laces my voice even though I had no idea who the actress is. The name easily rolls off my tongue, but Ember is staring at me with wide, stricken eyes.

"No." She hisses. "You can't be him." She looks down her nose at my fitted tux and curls her lips.

A moment passes before I process what she means. She couldn't be— But her disapproving look flares my anger. "Why not?"

Ignoring my questions, she spins away from me and opens her slim purse. "I need to make a call."

A breath of relief releases from me when she steps away, but old hurts ignite. Her insulting glare reminds me of all the times I tried to talk to her in high school, and she ignored me. However, I am no longer that awkward teenager. She may have been out of my league, but not tonight. Hell, I'd been June in the annual firefighter's calendar. Women adore me. And I won't allow her high society attitude bring me down.

Reaching for her arm, I turn her to face me. With clenched teeth, I question, "What's going on here?"

"You are not what I asked for." She stares at her phone and types with her thumb while her other arm is still in my grasp.

"Excuse me," I choke.

She yanks her arm from my grip. "Around forty, unattached, and not in the media," she mutters. "But not you."

"Wait." Slowly, I connect the dots. "Why would you hire an escort?"

She scrunches her nose again. Her voice lowers. "Why don't you say that a little louder? I don't think they heard you by the pool."

"But you're Ember Matherson."

Her eyes shift left to right. "I'm Flame Marshall."

"What?!"

Once we graduated from the misery of high school, I went off to college, and I didn't keep up with those who didn't want to know me, like Ember. There were plenty of other female fires to stoke and I burned my way through the ladies, forgetting all about this one. But somehow, I should have known that she'd turn out to be someone famous. I recall her starring in a few school plays, and while I wasn't a theatre nerd, I'd slip into the performances just to watch her.

Straightening my spine, I ask, "If you're so famous, why do you need an escort?"

"I—" Her luscious lips open then shut tight. Her expression shifts, as if briefly questioning if she can tell me the truth, then deciding she can't.

For some reason, this bothers me more than anything else.

She lifts her shoulders, holds her head high, and speaks haughtily. "I needed a date."

"This isn't a date. I'm an—" Well, I mean, I am a date but not like a date-date. Not like the kind who willingly asked her out and the exchange of money wasn't involved.

Exasperated, my fists clench at my sides. "Look." I exhale, brushing my hand through my dark waves before smoothing down my tux jacket. "Forget it. I can have the agency refund the money, and I'll just get another gig."

Tonight's commission would have brought me that much closer to financial freedom but whatever. There will be other nights, other women, other assignments.

Placing a delicate hand on my forearm, she surprises me, and I stare down at where she voluntarily touches me.

"I can't go in there alone," she whispers, her eyes wild, full of fear.

What the hell? I try to remind myself sometimes appearances can be deceiving, and attitudes are used as smoke screens. Vulnerability twirls around her.

Taking a deep breath, I stick out my hand. The decision is hers.

Surprising me again, she links her fingers with mine. Slowly, we walk toward the elevator bank.

"So, what's going to be our story?" Being an escort is kind of like acting, and I just need to know what role I am playing.

"Our story?" she questions, as we enter the lift.

"Yeah, how did we meet?" The elevator pauses on the next floor. With a hand on Ember's hip, I shift her to stand in front of me. She stumbles back into me as people enter the space. I stiffen at the contact but keep her from moving forward. Her back against my chest reminds me of my youthful, nightly fantasies. The ones where I have her bent over a classroom desk and . . .

"Our story?" I inhale near her neck, intoxicated by her warm scent.

"I have it," she replies. The previous intensity of her voice drops to a silky tone. "Just follow my lead, fireman."

A sudden desire strikes to follow her anywhere and I curse myself for allowing her voice to rekindle old emotions.

When we exit the elevator, we return to holding hands as we walk toward the ballroom.

"Hold tight?" She squeezes my fingers. Her skin is cold with a thin layer of sweat I imagine tastes sweet.

Large, ornate doors open in front of us before I can question her sudden anxiety. The roar of a crowded ballroom slaps me in the face, and I'm blinded by bright flashes from cameras.

"Flame, over here!"

"Flame Marshall, this direction!"

"Flame, who's the man tonight?"

The question gives me pause. Does she do this often? Does she regularly hire men to escort her to events? Is she known for a different man on her arm every night? The thoughts make my blood run cold.

"This is an old friend from high school," she announces, turning to face me with a too-wide smile. "Ash Flaherty is one of the city's finest."

Damn right, city's finest. As a third-generation firefighter, the occupation is in my blood.

Then I do a double take, realizing what she's said. She knows my name, and she mentioned high school.

She winks at the cameras and the social media mongers eat it up. Curling into me, her nearness brings me strange comfort.

"So, you know who I am?" I mutter through clenched teeth, as I force a smile and lead her through the crowd. Ember is greeted by numerous people I recognize as the city's elite.

"Oh, I remember you." Her tone shifts, almost teasing me.

"The sweaty fireman, right?"

We're stopped by a couple before Ember can answer me. The gaudy dressed woman wearing a diamond choker that could pay off my debts and more, leans forward to kiss each of Ember's cheeks.

"Ember, darling, I'm so happy you were able to make it." The woman's gaze slithers to me, making my skin crawl when I'm normally not affected by older women.

"Yes, well, you didn't leave me much choice, Aunt Caroline," Ember replies through gritted teeth. "And the name is Flame."

"Right." Aunt Caroline gives me more of her attention when she adds, "The silly fa?ade of fame." She pauses, forcing a smile, then waves a diamond clad hand through the air. "Well, no matter. Anything for the children."

I assume she means the hospital.

"Yes, the children," Flame retorts then looks away. The tension between these two women is as thick as smoke.

Without a thought, I wrap my arm around Ember and pull her into my side.

"And who is tonight's delicious dish?" Caroline inquires, ignoring the elderly man next to her as she eats me up with another gaze that makes me shiver. Her gaze roams over my tuxedo, undressing me. Instinct tells me to cover my most prized possession. While I no longer swing down a level to younger women, moments like this remind me why I don't take escort requests from cougars either. They only have one intention.

"This is Ash Flaherty. He's an old friend," Ember explains, and again, the label shocks me. She despised me in high school.

"I'd like him as more than a friend." Her aunt continues to visually disrobe me to the point I feel naked and exposed.

"I did," Ember admits and excuses us, practically dragging me away from the couple.

"Wait?" I tug on her fingers when we are a few feet away from the creepy aunt. "What was that all about?"

Abruptly she stops moving and spins toward me, and I crash into her. I wrap my hand around her waist, holding her steady against me. The feel of her slender body pressed against mine causes an embarrassing instant reaction.

"Everyone is watching." She glances over my shoulder.

"If you didn't want to be seen with me, you shouldn't have hired the service."

Her gaze snaps back to me and she lowers her head. Her voice is quiet, almost shy. "I had a crush on you in high school."

"You— What?" I don't know how to respond. She was always so aloof, so cold in high school. Even tonight, she'd been cool while asking me to stay.

I've been with hundreds of women, both to sow my wild oats and fill the wallet, but with one damn comment, this woman crushes the memory of everyone else. But I'm also insulted, grappling with whether there is any truth in her confession. She has mad acting skills, if she's lying.

"I don't need this." Releasing her, I step back, ready to leave her again when dinner is called.

Her hand comes to my forearm once more, clinging to my jacket sleeve as her eyes plead with me. "Please, just stay through dinner."

Hanging my head, I acquiesce, and she leads me to a table near the front of the ballroom. Once seated, conversation easily flows around me among people whom I don't know. I order a whiskey on the rocks from a passing waitress.

"How is your sister?" The woman to my right leans over my plate and places a gentle hand on Ember's arm.

Ember takes a short breath. "She's . . ." She swallows. "Those earrings are simply lovely, Mrs. Cooper."

I stare at Ember, feeling another pull to wrap my arm around her and protect her. Ignoring the magnetism, I reach for the whiskey that was quickly delivered.

"So admirable what you've done for her. Such a remarkable story." Mrs. Cooper turns to me "You're with one amazing young woman."

Cold fingers entangle with mine beneath the table, holding firmly once again. When I look at Ember, her gaze is lowered to her lap. With my fingers wound in hers, I squeeze once, and her eyes flick up to mine.

"She is incredible." I face Ember while addressing the compliment paid to her, although I have no idea what she's done that's remarkable for her sister.

Ember's mouth twitches, curling into her first genuine smile this evening. Something in my chest pinches.

New assignment—see that smile again.

She holds my hand until dinner is served. The conversation eventually includes me, asking about my position in the fire department, recognizing my father as a former commander, and inquiring about my past friendship with Ember.

"I was in love with him, but he ignored me." She gushes.

I choke on my drink. The older woman beside me simpers at the admission.

When dinner is finished, a live auction begins. An evening with Flame Marshall is up for bid. The pinch in my chest turns to a full vice grip. I don't want another man paying for the pleasure of her company, even if I'm being paid to be here with her tonight.

If she'd only asked me, I'd be here for free.

The opening bid is one-thousand dollars which feels like a mockery of Ember's status. Still, I choke on another sip of whiskey. I can't afford to win my own date, unless . . .

"Five thousand dollars," I offer, holding up the ridiculous paddle placed in the middle of the table. I'll forfeit the night's pay to prevent another man from having her.

"What are you doing?" she mutters beside me, covering my thigh with her delicate fingers again.

The crowd rumbles with appreciative applause until a voice in the back offers six thousand.

Ember purses her lips and closes her eyes at the masculine voice, while I turn to see a man in the back of the room holding up a martini as a bidding tool. He sips coolly, eyeing Ember over the rim of his glass.

Ember digs her nails into my thigh. Leaning toward her, like I intend to tell her a secret, or kiss the exposed column of her throat, I whisper, "I don't have that kind of money."

"It's alright," she says, opening her eyes and glancing at me as I pull back from her neck. Her gaze lowers to my mouth. "It's all for a good cause."

"Fuck, I don't like this, though."

Her eyes lock on mine. "Why?"

"I had a crush on you, too." Leaning toward her once more, like a moth to a flame, my mouth waters to taste her sweet skin. "Don't go with him."

"It's for charity," she whispers, her throat rolling, swallowing hard at my nearness.

"Sold!" The auctioneer announces, and the hammer on the podium causes us both to flinch.

What was I thinking? I am out of my league among these people. Thousands of dollars for a date? Hell, Ember has paid thousands of dollars for me for the evening.

Because Flame Marshall is a well-known television star and can afford such a thing. She is not the girl of my high school wet dreams.

"I need a minute," I say, rising slowly from my seat.

I've never walked out on an assignment, but I can't sit here, and let a woman I've crushed on be sold to the highest bidder. Flame can hash out the night's payment with the agency, but this date is over for me.

As I wind my way through the packed tables, crossing the room with the intention of exiting, I suddenly make a right turn and head for the man with the martini.

"What's your deal, man?"

He is everything I am not. Poised. Polished. Pretty. He has solid gray hair, a sharp nose, and mouselike lips. His crisp tux alone costs more than my fee. His body language confirms I don't belong here, especially when he casually places his drink on the bar behind him before scanning me with disgust.

"Don't you know when you play with Flame, you get burned, fireman?" He nods in the direction of Ember, who is making her way through the crowded tables toward us.

"Don't worry, old man," I taunt. "I was raised on how to put out fires, but that also means I know how to start them."

"Down, bulldog." He snorts, combing his fingers through his hair like he's practiced the move a time or two.

"Ash?" Flame's concerned tone pushes me over the edge.

Spinning to face her, I state, "You're either with him or me. I'm not into sharing." Ironic considering she paid me to be here tonight, and I work for an escort service.

But beneath the famous actress is Ember.

When she doesn't answer me, I turn for the exit and leave the ballroom.

As I make my way down the hallway, I decide waiting for an elevator is not an option. Boiling lava courses through my veins and I have energy to burn before I combust. The stairs will do nicely for now. Loosening the thin tie at my throat, I head for the stairwell. In such extravagant locations, even the evacuation areas are carpeted, so I don't hear Ember behind me until the emergency exit door slams shut and she calls my name.

"Where are you going?"

I stop at the bottom of the first flight, turning back toward her, watching her struggle to race down the stairs in high heels and a long dress. Fearing she'll trip, I wait for her on the large landing.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I don't need your money that badly." I don't want her money at all. "And if you have a man in your life, why the fuck do you need me?"

"I don't have a man in my life. And why would you care? You're an escort."

This woman has looked down her nose at me one too many times.

Stepping closer to her, I can smell her warm fragrance. The scent burns my nose, igniting my attraction to her.

"This is on the house." I wrap my arm around her, tug her to me, and crash my mouth against hers. The kiss is cruel at first. Then she nips me, and the shock is like the crackling lit wire leading straight to dynamite. I'm rock hard in an instant, and then we are melting into one another, hands roaming over each other. Tongues clash. Teeth gnash. Fingers tug. The kiss does nothing to dose the flame she's caused inside me.

We spin until her back connects with the wall.

"So beautiful," I groan against her mouth as I run my hands wildly over her curves, feeling the silky material of her dress against my palms. The blaze she ignites deep within me is about to burst through my tuxedo pants.

"You're everything I imagined you'd be." Her words startle me, but our mouths continue to connect, drawing out the fire between us, stoking it higher until she says, "I used to fantasize about you."

Pulling back, I stare at her swollen lips. "What did you fantasize?"

"I'd imagine you touching me." The confession is breathless while her eyelids lower as if embarrassed by the truth.

Could this be real? Is she teasing me?

When her hand covers mine and she guides it up her middle to cover one breast, I have my answer. I also learn she isn't wearing a bra beneath the sinful fabric. I squeeze at the swell, loving the feel of it in my hand, then I pluck at the ripe nipple, tugging it to a sharp peak and pinching her.

She yelps but arches toward me.

"I'd fantasize about you, too." Our mouths return to discovering one another, but my hands are on the true mission. One continues massaging her breast while the other caresses over the curve of her hip until I cup her ass and tug her closer to me.

Her leg slips free of the long slit in her dress, and she wraps it over my hip, using the strength of her inner thigh to hold me tighter against her. She grinds against me as our tongues continue to tangle.

Holy fuck. I'm not certain she's wearing underwear and while I'm tempted to continue my exploration of her body, another thought occurs.

"Where you expecting something to happen with your escort tonight?" If she hadn't known it was me, would some other guy be touching her right now? Be kissing her senseless?

Like a wild firehose, caught and restored to control, it hits me. This is not how I want her. I wasn't opposed to wall sex, but having Ember Matherson for the first time is not going to occur in a stairwell.

"No," she hums, pulling back from me, fiddling with the collar of my shirt. "Until I saw it was you." Her eyes are bright as they connect with mine. "Then I became afraid nothing would happen."

My brows pinch, uncertain of her meaning.

"This is so embarrassing." She gently presses at my chest, but I don't release her.

"Tell me."

With a heavy exhale, her gaze drops again to the starched material around my neck. "I was afraid you'd leave, and I'd never have my chance."

"A chance for what?"

"A chance to just be with you. If this isn't a date, what would one be like with you." Her voice is shy and quiet, vulnerable.

Was she talking about sex? Or something deeper? The set of her lowered shoulders and diverted gaze tells me are not discussing option one at the moment.

Fuck, she's unraveling me.

Pinching her chin, I lift her head, so she looks at me again. "It wouldn't cost you five-thousand dollars for a date."

Her eyes instantly display her hurt, and I lean forward to kiss her again, sweet and tender, before lowering my forehead to hers.

"So, Ember Matherson, would you have a drink with me sometime? Maybe dinner? A real date." Not for a fundraiser. Not as a paid escort.

I hold my breath, almost expecting a rejection.

"Ash Flaherty, I thought you'd never ask."