How to Tame a Wild Fireman

Free How to Tame a Wild Fireman by Jennifer Bernard

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Authors: Jennifer Bernard
made it sound like some kind of sexual invitation, instead of simply her name.
    “Annabella. I’m definitely feeling that hike. I could use a good rubdown, if you’re really offering.”
    “Oh, I really am.”
    “Dan, mind if I take five?”
    Lara started. Even though the Aussie firefighter was good-­looking, with his hazel eyes and big cheeky grin, she’d forgotten he was even there.
    “Take fifty. You earned it. I’m going to go grab a feed. Take it easy, Psycho.” With a salute, the other firefighter jogged away.
    Lara flicked the syringe to make sure it was completely filled. A drop of fluid flew into the air. The llama bleated nervously. Patrick patted her on the side of the neck and she subsided, rubbing her head against his hip.
    “Where to, Annabella? Shirt on or shirt off?”
    “Shirt off, most definitely. Do you mind essential oils or would you prefer . . .” Annabella’s voice trailed away.
    All set to plunge the syringe into the llama’s vein, Lara couldn’t help looking up to see why Annabella had stopped talking. Patrick was pulling off his sweat-­soaked shirt, revealing a sight so sensational, he ought to sell tickets. Muscle after taut muscle was revealed, one by one, ridge after ridge of sheer male power marching up his torso. On top of all those muscles glowed a layer of vivid color, wild shapes in turquoise, crimson, and sapphire blue that resolved into a gargoyle, a horned demon, a sea monster, and there, on the right side of his rib cage . . . a fireball.
    He drew the T-­shirt over his head and balled it up. That motion made the sharply defined muscles on his upper arms flex. Biceps, she thought, half hysterically. And pecs and triceps and deltoids. That’s all they were, anatomical parts like any others. They each had a medical name. Pectoralis major, pectoralis minor, biceps brachii . His shoulders were so broad . Had they always been like that?
    Her gaze slid back to the fireball. After he’d gotten that fireball tattoo, everything went wrong. It blasted into their lives and changed everything. None of it would have happened if he hadn’t insisted on that damn fireball.
    Patrick was looking at her, she knew, even though she was still fumbling with the hypodermic and petting the llama. She felt the insistent weight of his gaze pulling hers like a magnet.
    When she met his eyes, they held a stone-­cold sober look, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, and he agreed. It was all his fault . Everything. In that moment, he looked nothing like the wild boy she remembered.
    He dropped his gaze and turned to follow Annabella to the massage chair. The llama gave a loud hum and tried to follow.
    “No, Goldie,” said Lara firmly. “You stay here with me.” Since Goldie had turned her body in Patrick’s direction, Lara poised the hypo over the animal’s furry haunch. Panicked, the llama launched herself toward Patrick. Her soft back hoof struck the side of Lara’s head and everything went gray.
    A moment later she found herself in the arms of a bare-­chested, magnificent Patrick, being transported through the air. She was staring into the cobalt eyes of a stern-­looking sea monster on the front of his shoulder. Her brain was still a little dazed; it must be, because she thought for a wild moment that maybe Patrick was going to make love to her right here and now. Annabella could give them some pointers.
    She giggled helplessly, then winced at the ache in her head.
    “If it’s that much fun,” he murmured, “maybe I should get Goldie to kick me in the head too.”
    A sunbeam of sanity stole through her haze. “Goldie. Don’t forget,” she mumbled. Poor llama. After being rescued by broad-­shouldered, strong-­armed Patrick, she was probably in love with him. But since she was a llama, Patrick would never look at her in that way.
    Lara knew just how she felt.
    “I won’t forget,” said Patrick. “I never forget the important things.”
    It was all too much. She

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