Fighting the Flames Within

Playing with fire never felt so awkward . . . or so good.

One minute I was covering a routine car accident for the paper. The next, I was staring up—way up—at the broadest shoulders I'd ever seen. Dane looked like he'd been carved out of granite . . . if granite could smirk and smell faintly of smoke and danger.

When my editor decided I should shadow him for a "day in the life" article, I figured it would be easy. Take notes. Snap a few photos. Try not to drool. Instead, I found myself dangling from ladders, dodging flames, and blurting out comments that sounded suspiciously like flirting.

He's stoic. I'm sarcastic. Apparently that combination is combustible—just not in the way OSHA recommends.

What starts as a professional ride-along quickly turns into lingering looks, undeniable chemistry, and feelings neither of us expected.

From bowling dates to steamy kitchen encounters, Dane proves there's more than one way to turn up the heat. The more time we spend together, the harder it is to tell if I'm writing a story about him . . . or about us.

Contains mature themes.

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Hljóðbók: 11 augusti 2026