How Do Firemen Make Love (Flame On) (3 page)

*****

Laura was a little slow in answering Dréa because she was still trying to get a good look at that official-looking hottie who was walking around with a clipboard, making notes and looking around.
 
He was a walking hunk of writing material.
 
He looked like a hero she would conjure up in her mind and that readers would love.
 
And since Shara had issued that challenge, well, her overactive imagination was already in overdrive.

“Okay, short stuff, what are you thinking about?” Dréa asked, interrupting her daydream.

“That man over there talking to that nasty investigator you almost killed, you see him?
 
He’s the one with the clipboard,” she added. “I could so totally spin a fantasy about him for the challenge.”

Dréa finally located the man in question and totally agreed with her.

“Dayum, that man is lip-smacking good.”

Laura couldn’t agree more.

“I wonder who he is and what that nasty little bug is telling him.
 
You know it can’t be good…OH SHIT, he is coming this way.”
 
Laura fell silent and just stared as the beefy official guy made his way closer.
 
Dréa wasn’t so quiet.

“I’ll bet Mr. Lil’ Man’s Syndrome is over there fronting like he knows all the goods and has properly chastised me. I should go set his bug-eyed self on fire…bet they wouldn’t expect that. Could you see him trying to stop, drop and roll? Probably end up burning the whole Strip down. That’s what he gets for c’blocking. I see the way you’re eyeing Mr. Officially Fine over there. Boy, we might just win this challenge, and for my reward, I want our next vacation to not be hot as hell. This is freaking ridiculous, and again I ask you, when do we eat?”

Laura idly listened to her friend’s rambling.
 
Something was bothering her about the way the first investigator was wildly gesturing to her hunk. She was really on the verge of going over there when she noticed the short man move his hands together to make the international sign of motor mouth talking and then point in her and Dréa’s direction. It was at that point that she looked up and realized that Mr. Official Hottie was staring directly at her and Dréa—and he did NOT look happy.

He dipped his head and ran his fingers though his thick locks before patting the shorter man on the shoulder and making his way towards them.

“Shit, Dréa, whatever that little bug told him pissed him the hell off. We are so in for it now.
 
Okay, let me do all the talking and you just nod, okay?”

She didn’t hear what Dréa said because hot pissed-off man was already in front of them asking questions.

“Ladies, my name is William Harveston.
 
I am a Fire Marshal called in to investigate what happened.
 
I have a couple of questions for you two, and then you all can be free to go and enjoy our city.”

“OMGHISNAMEISFIREMARSHALBILL,” Dréa snickered. Laura elbowed Dréa as she started laughing hysterically and gave her a look that said ‘shut the hell up.’

Luckily he must not have understood what Dréa had said, because he started with his questioning.

“Why don’t you start by telling me your names and what happened from the beginning,” he asked.

“My name is Laura Guevara, and that is Dréa Riley.
 
We had all just got back from our shopping spree and were resting up in our suite, when all of a sudden there was a fire.
 
I wasn’t really paying attention, because I was going through my bags looking for my outfit I was going to wear for tonight.
 
I had found this perfect dress and wanted to have it dry-cleaned before I wore it when suddenly someone yelled.
 
I looked up to see what was going on and saw that a fire had started on the floor.”

Laura paused for a deep breath, her hand twirling a lock of her dark wavy hair, something she did when she was nervous.

Dréa was still snickering beside her about Fire Marshal Bill, so she tried to ignore her or else she would be laughing her ass off.
 
Mr. Fire Marshal had taken off his sunglasses, and she could see his deep green eyes watching her.

She cocked her head to one side, “Dréa, doesn’t the new dress I bought match his green eyes?”
 
Dréa stopped laughing long enough to agree with her.

“Too bad it went up in flames,” she lamented.

“The hell it did.
 
I was not about to leave it behind—it’s over there.” She pointed to where the rest of the Posse was sitting.
 
The garment bag was draped over one of the vacant chairs.
 
“I paid a lot of money for that dress; no way was I leaving it behind.”

“Did you manage to save the shoes, too?”

“Ladies, can we please get on track” Mr. Fire Marshal interrupted, which set Dréa off again.
 
He gave Dréa a quizzical look.

“Sorry, but, well, your name just reminds her of Fire Marshal Bill—you know, that character Jim Carrey played.
 
Do you know who we’re talking about?”

“No, I don’t, but I would like to stay on task here.”

“OMG, you don’t know who Fire Marshal Bill is?” Dréa asked in shock, and then she was off trying to explain to him who he was.

Laura elbowed her again to stop her because she could tell that Mr. Fire Marshal was not a patient man.

“Dréa, shut up.
 
Sorry, Mr. Fire Marshal, but we are all a little stunned and pissed off at what happened.”

“Pissed off?” he asked.

“Well, yeah.
 
All of our stuff was up there and is now all gone.
 
We just managed to get a couple of things out.
 
So yeah, I am pissed off.
 
The hotel needs to hire electricians or an electrical engineer to inspect the wiring because something is obviously wrong.”

“So you think what happened was a wiring problem?”

“Yes I do, which I am sure is what your investigation will find.”

“Laura, hurry up or they’ll start the challenge without us,” Dréa whispered beside her, looking at the Posse gathered about ten feet from them.

“Are we done, Mr. Fire Marshal?” Laura asked sweetly.

“No, Ms. Guevara, we are not.
 
I still need to hear what Ms. Riley has to say.”

“Look, Fire Marshal Bill, Laura already told you what happened,” Dréa snapped.
 
“We had just gotten back and then bam, there was a fire.”
 
She of course didn’t mention that she’d had a lighter in her hand—she wasn’t stupid.

Laura was turned around to look at the Posse and noticed there was an exact replica of Fire Marshal Bill standing near the Posse, wearing a firefighter’s uniform.
 
Except he was a little dirty and sweaty—but she could have sworn they were the same person.

“Do you have a twin brother,” she asked, swinging her gaze back up to the man standing in front of them, “or am I suffering from a smoke inhalation side effect or something?”

“Huh, you feel sick, Laura? Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

Before she called the Posse or a swarm of paramedics, Laura stopped her.

“Over there by the Posse, you see that firefighter a couple of feet to the right? Doesn’t he look like Fire Marshal Bill?”

Dréa drew the same conclusion.

“Oh shit, he does.”

Both of them turned questioning eyes towards Fire Marshal Bill and waited for him to respond.

“Yes, that is my twin brother, Matthew.
 
He’s a firefighter.”

“Holy shit, Laura, we so have to start on our challenge. Twins—OMG, this is going to be great,” and off she went in the direction of the Posse and sexy twin firefighter.

“You want to explain what she meant by ‘challenge’?
 
Is this why the fire started?”

“Of course,” she said in a huff, “we would never burn anything down that didn’t need burning.
 
And even if we did, we would never get caught.” At his raised eyebrow she added, “We are writers, so the only fires we start are in the bedroom or wherever our characters have sex.
 
And we are all very creative and talented, so that could damn well be anywhere.”

She was really pissed off now.
 
How dare he assume they would intentionally burn down the hotel?
 
As if they didn’t have anything better to do.
 
To think that she was imagining a sexy fantasy encounter with him…. Maybe she should talk to his brother; she did have a small fascination with firefighters.

“You will stay away from my brother,” he growled.

“Oh shit, I did not just say that out loud.” She was mortified.

*****

While Laura and the Fire Marshal where staring each other down, Dréa seized the opportunity to escape. She sidled up to the rest of the Posse long enough to hear Jayha declare that they had to split up until the investigation was finished. They could still hang out, they just weren’t allowed to stay in the same hotel.

Dréa shrugged at hearing this. She wasn’t really fond of staying on the Strip when they were in Vegas anyway. Catching a glimpse of the man who looked just like fire Marshal Bill, but with shorter hair, an idea struck her.

Making a beeline directly for the hunk, she pasted a big “aren’t I adorable” smile on her face and prepared to get herself and Laura a ride home. Taxi’s were hella expensive in Vegas, and since they’d been carpooling with the Posse, neither of them had a vehicle at their disposal.

“Excuse me, Mr. Fireman, sir.” Dréa raised her voice to interrupt the small group of men who were making plans for the evening at their station.

Four extremely muscular bodies turned to face her, all with arms crossed over their chests and eyebrows raised as if to question her presence.

“Damn, okay, dudes; don’t get all hostile on me. I didn’t freaking burn the place down, at least not on purpose. I’m just wondering if one of you guys knows when we can talk to management. I need to see if anything is salvageable, and I need a phone so I can call a cab to get home.”

“Wait a min, did you say ‘get home’?” the dark-chocolate hunk in the back asked in shock. “You know they probably aren’t going to let you leave Vegas until this is cleared up—you could still end up in jail.”

“You could end up in jail,” Dréa muttered back in a falsetto voice. She hated to be crabby, but this was not going how she’d planned, and she was still hungry.

Letting out the millionth soul sigh of the day, she dipped her head just a bit.

“Look, fellas, I’d say I was sorry if it’d help, but I keep telling everyone, I don’t freaking know what happened—it just caught on fire. I’m glad no one was hurt, and I’m sure everything will be ok. This hotel hasn’t had this much action or publicity in ten years—they’re already having to turn people away from the casino and shops because Fire Marshal Bill over there is spouting off about legal capacity and blah blah blah.

“Secondly, the only person going to jail in Vegas is….never mind, OJ or DMX jokes are so too easy right now.

“And yes, I said ‘get home.’ I live here; well, Laura and I have a house here. I hate staying in hotels in Vegas.”

Dark and sexy smirked at her and turned his back. Dréa knew these guys weren’t about to help her. So much for research for her fantasy. Hungry, angry and aggravated, she attempted to make her way around the group of hulks and toward the front of the hotel. The concrete was starting to really burn her feet, and she was just about to break into a dash when she was scooped up and tossed over a really broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.