Free Rapid Entry: Firehouse 69, Book 3 by Delilah Devlin Page A

after flirting outrageously. His impatience was stretched by the time he stood in front of her door carrying flowers he’d bought in the gift shop.
    When she opened the door, it was to find a different Viviana than the ones he’d met before—naked and embarrassed Viviana, shy librarian Viviana. This one wore a nightgown that would have given a corpse a boner. Red peek-a-boo lace barely covered her breasts and a fall of sleek satin ended just below her thighs. Her hair was held up with a clip, feathers of dark silk sticking up in back. If not for the dark glasses sliding down her nose and that pretty red gloss on her lips, he might have thought her doppelganger inhabited the hotel room.
    To keep from drooling, he thrust out the flowers. “These are for you.”
    Her eyebrows shot up and the corners of her mouth tipped upward. “Nice to see you too.”
    Her gaze trailed up and down his frame and did that little dance across his chest that made him want to puff it up to make sure she appreciated how hard he worked out.
    “My place not good enough for you?” He sucked in a breath, damning himself for being angry she’d left. She had every right to want nicer surroundings. Although why she’d rented Herman’s place was still a mystery. She could have afforded better.
    “Your place was your place,” she said softly. “And I wanted neutral ground…for our conversation.”
    He gave a nod and realized he’d kept her in the doorway, every curve and her curvy legs exposed to anyone who might walk by. He nodded toward the interior of her room. “Can I come in?”
    “Of course.” She moved back, letting him enter, but not so far back his shoulder and arm didn’t brush against silk.
    Instantly, he felt calmer.
    She waved toward a small dining table where her laptop was opened and a notebook lay beside it. “Have a seat,” she said. “I’ll just put these in water.” She found a vase in a cabinet in the small kitchenette and filled it with water, then quickly unwrapped the bundle of daisies and roses and silly little white flowers that smelled like armpit. He knew because he’d sniffed the bouquet before he’d selected it. The roses had reminded him of her blushes. The daisies were simpler, pretty and unfussy, which had reminded him of her until he’d opened the door.
    When she’d finished, she walked around the table to stand beside him. Slowly, she lowered to his lap. “Think that chair will hold us both?”
    “We could always move to the bed…” Her mouth crimped—whether in humor or irritation, he couldn’t tell. “Sorry, you wanted to talk.”
    “You wanted to talk.”
    “Yeah, right.” Only now he held an armful of fragrant, pretty woman and he didn’t think his big brain could control his little one. He started to open his mouth but realized any questions he’d had were gone. Blown away. “I’m not much of a talker.”
    She skimmed her fingertips over his cheek and followed the curve of his ear. “Which makes us pretty compatible, because neither am I. I’m much better at putting my words on paper.”
    He tilted his head into her touch, liking her gentle glides. Right about now, he’d love them trailing over his balls. “Have I told you how pretty you are?”
    Her little indrawn breath held for a second. “No. I’d have remembered that.”
    “I’m an idiot. Thought you would have guessed how attracted I was by the way I hustled you straight to bed.”
    “Thought I did the hustling. I asked you to dinner.”
    He grunted. “And I made you cook—in my place—because I wanted you close to the bed.”
    “You didn’t make me. I chose…to be close to the bed.”
    His mouth twitched. His eyelids fell as he watched a rosy blush fill her cheeks. “I like that you can blush. With what you write, I would have thought all your blushes would be long gone.”
    “I don’t blush when I write because my heroines know the score. I’m bolder when I’m inside someone else’s head.”
    “Sounds