Free Wildfire by Cathie Linz

cradle, rattling the bell inside the central mechanism.
    Had it not meant getting up even earlier the next morning, she would have been sorely tempted to leave before Brady’s arrival. He had no right to play the domineering drill sergeant with her. Muttering under her breath about the foibles of the male half of the human race, she returned the phone to the table before checking to make sure the front door was locked. The safety check had been part of her nightly ritual since her first apartment, and inherent to her cautious nature.
    So why did Brady treat her like a half-wit, accusing her of not knowing left from right, of being unable to automatically lock the doors at night?
Stop being so touchy,
her practical side advised.
Go to bed. Tomorrow
’
s going to be a long day and you
’
re going to need a clear head.
    Of course getting a good night’s rest is sometimes easier said than done. By six forty-five the next morning, Amanda had already been checking the time at five-minute intervals for the last half hour.
    “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, kicking aside her comforter.
    She padded across the hall into the bathroom and stood under a refreshing shower. The massaging spray soothed the remaining tension from her neck and upper back. Exactly thirty-six minutes later she was downstairs and fully-dressed. After some initial hesitation she’d decided on a pair of beige chinos and a blue oxford-cloth shirt. The overall effect was a tailored casualness that she found pleasing. Whether Brady found it so, or not, was his problem.
    Brady rang the front doorbell just as she was rinsing out her coffee cup and cereal bowl in the kitchen. Even from the hallway, the top of his dark, curly hair was visible through the portal’s diamond-shaped window. Taking a deep breath, she willed her uneven heartbeat to steady itself before opening the door.
    “Good morning, Mandy.” He greeted her with that special smile of his. “Are you ready to go?”
    “Just about,” she replied.
    “Well, hurry it up.”
    “What’s the rush?”
    “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
    “I don’t know if I can handle another one.”
    “What are you muttering about? I haven’t given you any surprises yet.”
    “Really? What about taking me to the arcade on Friday?”
    Brady hooked his thumbs around the belt loops of his jeans, resting his hands on his lean hips in an attitude of relaxed assurance. “I gave you a hint.”
    “That’s right, Tempest, knowing I’d assume it was the play by Shakespeare.”
    “Did Shakespeare write a play called Tempest?” he questioned with feigned ignorance, his eyes sparkling with humor.
    “Don’t play dumb, Brady. You knew that’s what I’d think.”
    “Just like you knew I’d think we were going to a popular concert that first night.”
    “Classical music is popular,” Amanda retorted.
    “You know what I mean.”
    She couldn’t deny it. “If I surprised you, then you got even on Friday night. Can’t we call it quits?”
    “Do I look like a quitter?”
    “You didn’t play Tempest like a quitter,” she had to admit with a smile.
    “Neither did you,” he countered. “I had no idea librarians were so competitive.”
    “Are you still upset because I beat you?”
    “That was beginner’s luck,” he dismissed.
    “You’re asking for it,” Amanda warned, shaking her finger at him.
    “I know,” Brady intimately acknowledged. “But you haven’t given it to me yet.”
    How could she begin to describe those looks he gave her? They consisted of equal parts of deliberate suggestiveness, sexual awareness, and latent desire. Itmade for apotent combination. And when the play of words was added to the skirmish, Amanda was hard pressed to maintain her distance.
    “I thought you were in a hurry to go,” she countered, gathering up her sweater and purse.
    “I am.” Brady took her wrap away and held it up invitingly. Amanda slid her arms in, but the knit material of the sweater got caught on