I grab my purse and let Jake tow me back toward the fire station. “I didn’t lock the doors,” I tell him.

Jake grins down at me. “You’re worried about that in this town? No one would dare vandalize the preacher’s daughter’s car. They’d be afraid of getting struck by lightning.”

“What if they don’t know it’s my car?” I ask, ignoring his teasing.

He stops suddenly and turns toward me. “I guarantee you that everyone in this town knows. You make people notice you whether you intend to or not.” His eyes rake me from head to toe. “You just can’t help it. You have this touch-me-not quality about you that makes people want to touch. Even dressed like this. I’ve never found church clothes to be attractive until right this minute.” He leans in to whisper in my ear, “I’ve never wanted to peel them off someone before, either.”

Chills shoot down my arms and chest, making me glad I wore layers, even though they’re light ones. I can feel my ni**les pucker into pebbles and I’d hate for him to notice something like that.

“You really have no shame, do you?” I ask.

Jake’s grin returns, more wicked than ever. “Not one bit.”

He tugs me forward and on to his Jeep. “Where are we going?” I ask as I climb inside. It smells like him. Soap and man. Clean, yet dirty. Sexy.

He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he yells to the men gathered at the door, watching the spectacle. “See you assholes tomorrow. I’m taking her to get some gas.”

I wait until Jake is situated behind the wheel and the motor is running before I speak. “Assholes? Friends of yours, I presume?”

“Nah.”

“They’re not? Then what are you doing here?”

“I’m going to be working here.”

“Working here? Doing what?”

“Fighting fires. I’m a fireman.”

Oh precious God! He’s a fireman.

Big, long hoses and sweaty skin flash through my mind.

With a wink that says he knows exactly what I’m thinking, Jake backs out of the parking lot. “So if you have any fires that need to be . . . put out, just let me know.”

I resist the urge to fan my hot face as we turn onto the main road. I make no reply to his comment; I just focus on the road ahead.

I’m counting the seconds until we get to the gas station when Jake surprises me by stopping right in the middle of the road. I turn my puzzled gaze to him just as the car behind us honks. “What are you doing?” I ask.

Jake doesn’t respond; he just watches me. His golden eyes are narrowed on me, turning my bones to warm liquid goo.

“Come to the Blue Hole with me. You look like you could use a little fun.”

“I-I don’t think—I mean, I don’t think I should—”

“I’m not inviting you to an orgy, Laney,” Jake interrupts. “It’s just a few locals getting together for some hot dogs and beer, and some music. One of my high school buddies will be there. He plays with Saltwater Creek.”

Saltwater Creek is a local band. I know this because my father has disapproved of them for the last decade.

“That doesn’t sound like—”

Before I can finish, he butts in again.

“Rather than put so much energy into making excuses, why don’t you just come with me? It’ll do you good. I promise.”

Years of my father’s warnings and my mother’s advice, coupled with a lifetime of knowing exactly who and what I want give me pause. But before I can turn him down, something else bubbles up. Some part of me that is inexplicably drawn to Jake, to the freedom he represents. He’s nothing like what I’ve ever thought I wanted or needed in my life, yet, at the same time, he feels like everything I want and need in my life right now.

If I go back to my car, there is only the drive back to my parents’ house awaiting me. That and possibly another run-in with Tori, which is not something I really want to tackle right now. But if I go with Jake . . .

Before I can think better of it, I find myself agreeing. “Okay. I’ll go. But if I need to leave, you have to promise to bring me back to my car.”

“Damn, it sounds like you think I’m going to kidnap you.”

The thought of being held by Jake, of being restrained and at his mercy sends an unexpected thrill down my spine. Throwing caution to the wind and going out with someone like him only intensifies it.

Pushing all troubling thoughts aside in favor of letting go of it all for once, I smile and lean my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes. “Maybe today I want to be kidnapped.”

Even over the revving of the engine as Jake takes off down the road, I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

EIGHT: Jake

I glance at Laney where she sits in the passenger seat. I’m sure this is her version of relaxed—hands folded demurely in her lap, spine ramrod straight, head tilted back, eyes closed. Something tells me that not only does she not kick back and really relax very often, but that today she needs it more than ever. She seems . . . troubled. A little more agreeable to leave care behind her. And I’m just the guy to drive her away from all her hang-ups. Whatever it is she’s running from, I can take her mind off it. I’ll give her something much more enjoyable to think about if she’ll let me.

And she will.

She’s already mine, whether she realizes it or not. We can be the perfect distraction for each other while we’re in town. Then we’ll go our separate ways. Her to the quiet, predictable life she’s no doubt always dreamed of, and me to the next rush. It’s the ideal arrangement—a short-term, no-strings romp with a girl that offers a little bit of a challenge. I’m all but licking my lips just thinking about it.

“So, you gonna tell me what it is that you’re trying to escape?”

In my peripheral vision, I see Laney’s eyes pop open, but she doesn’t raise her head. “What makes you thinking I’m trying to escape something?”

“Oh, come on. A girl like you—gorgeous, great job, bright future—comes back to this place to take a random assignment and move back in with her parents. That’s got ‘running’ written all over it.”

I hear her sigh as she turns her head on the rest to stare out the window.

“Just trying to figure out what to do with my life. That’s all.”

“Seems to me like you’ve got everything going for you. What’s there to figure out?”

“You’d be surprised,” she says softly.

I get the feeling there’s a lot she’s not saying and doesn’t want to talk about, which is fine. I’m not really the kind of guy that likes to get that involved, anyway. I’m more curious than anything. I’ve never met a woman quite like Laney. She intrigues me. But beyond that, I just want her. Plain and simple. Nothing more. Just her in my bed, warm and soft and moaning my name. Yep. That’s it.

And I’d prefer it sooner rather than later.

“Well, lucky for you, you’re in the company of the one man who can make you forget all your worries. Just leave it to me.”

* * *

The Blue Hole is actually a deep spot in the river that happened to coincide with a brief widening, so it’s like a private cove, surrounded by trees. There’s a beach area between two big boulders, one of which is flat at the very top, making it the perfect platform for diving. There’s also a tire swing that flings you right out into the deepest part of the hole. I mean what the hell kind of country hangout would it be without a tire swing? All in all, it’s a damn cool place to chill out with friends.

Or work your charms on a goody-goody preacher’s daughter.

It takes about an hour to get there. Neither of us has said much, and that’s fine with me. I’m not one of those people who feels the need to fill every silence with small talk. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’d rather people keep their mouth shut unless they have something to say. Don’t talk just for the sake of talking. That’s one thing that ninety-nine percent of the women I’ve been involved with (however briefly) have done to irritate the shit out of me—talk too much.

But not this one. Laney seems content to stare out the window and keep her thoughts to herself. I must admit it makes me wonder what she’s thinking about, though. Is it possible that she’s daydreaming about me pulling off the road and shutting off the engine? About me dragging her out of the Jeep and walking her into the woods? About me raising up her chaste little skirt and feeling her wet panties? About me tearing them off and putting my fingers inside her? About sliding her hot, tight little body down over my c**k until she loses her breath?

Damn, I hope that’s what she’s thinking about!

Just in time to save me from getting a raging hard-on, I see the line of cars that leads up to the turn off the main road. I bypass all of them in favor of exercising my fully equipped four-wheel drive and taking to the woods to park right up next to the edge of the cove. When I cut the engine, I can hear the music before I even open the door.

I glance over at Laney. “Ready to have some fun?”

She gives me a small, doubtful smile and nods once.

I walk around to open the passenger door and help Laney out. For one thing, my Jeep is pretty high and she’s pretty tiny, but more than that, my mother taught me better. Even though I was young when she died, there are some things that stuck. This is one of them.

I take her hand in mine and lead her through the trees to the waterfront. There is a total of about thirty people in attendance, I’d guess. Some are in the water playing chicken, some are lined up to try out their acrobatic skills on the tire swing that hangs from a tree, and some are lounging on beach towels in the dappled sun.

I see lots of tan skin revealed by lots of skimpy bikinis, which is just the way I like it. Makes me wish Laney had something else to put on.

I glance at the three guys sitting on a fallen log at one end of the beach. Two are playing guitar and one is thumping his leg in time with the music as he sings backup to the lead guitarist. He’s the drummer. Drum-less, of course.

Since they’re in the middle of a song, I steer Laney toward the table set up at the edge of the trees.

“You hungry?” I ask as we approach.

She nods.

“Somebody always brings a shitload of food to these things so everyone can help themselves.”

“Should we have brought something?”

“Nah. He who throws it feeds it,” I tell her as I walk up behind the “chef” and tap him on the shoulder. “Can I get two hot dogs, man?”

When he turns around, I see a face that looks vaguely familiar, but like most of my life here in Greenfield, I’ve tried (and have mostly succeeded in) blocking it out.

“Sure thing, Jake,” he answers. He starts to turn around, but does a double take when he sees who’s at my side. “Holy shit! Laney Holt. I never thought I’d see the day . . .”

I watch the guy’s eyes slide slowly over Laney from the top of her shiny head to the pink-painted toes peeking out of her shoes.

“See what day? When she’d take her chances on a guy like me?” I ask amicably.

The guy’s eyes flicker back to me and widen for a second before his cheeks turn bright red and he starts fumbling through an apology. “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant to say . . . um . . . what I really meant was . . .”

“It’s all right, Marshall,” Laney jumps in, sweetly rescuing the poor bastard before he makes things worse. “I knew what you meant. I guess we all grow up and start living our own lives after a while, right?”

Marshall, who I can almost remember but really don’t want to, laughs uncomfortably. His eyes dart over to me a few times before he finally just gives up and turns around to stab us each a fat, blistered hot dog.

I grab a couple of plates and buns, and hand one to Laney. We walk along the table, putting condiments on our dogs and taking a handful of chips before we make our way back past Marshall whatever-the-hell-his-last-name-is.

“What’s to drink, Emeril?”

“Beer on tap in the barrel over there and purple people eater in the cooler right beside it. Take your pick.”

I nod my thanks, snag two cups, and lead Laney over to the drinks.

“What’s your poison?” I ask as I set my plate down to fix our drinks.

“Uh, what’s a purple people eater?”

“Pure grain, grape pop, and fruit.”

“Mmm, that sounds good. I think I’ll have that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, why?”

I shrug. “No reason.” I think she has no idea what pure grain is.

I fill her glass and then pour myself a cup of beer from the tap. We head to a grassy spot in the shade, right at the edge of the sand and sit down to eat.

By the time Laney delicately picks her way through her hot dog and chips, I’ve already gone back for seconds and thirds. When she finally wipes her mouth with her napkin, I ask, “Done?”

“Yes.”

“Good?”

She grins. “Yes.”

“More?”

“No, thank you.”

“More to drink?” I ask, eyeing her empty cup. She debates for a second before she agrees.

“Yeah, I think I’ll have one more glass.”

She comes to her feet and we take our plates to the trash bag and get refills on our drinks.

“Hell, if it ain’t Jake Theopolis,” I hear someone say loudly from behind us. I turn to see Jet Blevins making his way toward us. He’s an old high school buddy, as well as the lead guitarist and singer of Saltwater Creek.