Reckless

She shook her head. “Alex, I—”

“Zoe, listen.” His voice dropped, brittle and tight. “I'll find a way to get it done. But I can't lose my job, which means you can't boot me.
Please.
”

The words took a straight path to her sternum, kicking the air from her lungs without the argument she'd intended to use it for. Alex's eyes glittered, dark blue and determined in the dusky light shining down from the bare bulb over their heads. His normally cocksure demeanor was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by an expression so oddly intense, Zoe's pulse sped even faster through her veins.

For just a stop-time sliver of a second, Alex Donovan was vulnerable.

And she could either give him one last chance, or she could sign his walking papers out of her kitchen.

The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap
by Donna Kauffman, Kate Angell, and Kimberly Kincaid

 

 

 

 

 

Just One Taste
(eBook novella)

 

RECKLESS

K
IMBERLY
K
INCAID

ZEBRA BOOKS

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

I cannot even explain how excited I was to write this book, but it definitely wasn't a solo endeavor. First and foremost, I have to give a huge shout-out to the unbelievably patient men on C shift at Station Four in Atlanta, Georgia, specifically Captain Williams, Lieutenant Nour, Clark, Jason, Jordan, and Peter. Showing a romance author the ropes (and Halligan bars and obstacle courses) for a full twenty-four hours was a tall order, and you all taught me so much more than you know. Any mistakes or liberties taken for the sake of fiction writing are purely mine, while the awesome? Yeah, that's all you guys.

Alyssa Alexander, Tracy Brogan, Robin Covington, Avery Flynn, and Jennifer McQuiston . . . you are simply the best friends I could ever, ever ask for. Your encouragement, your laughter, your wisdom, and your solidarity get me through every day.

To Liliana Hart and Bella Andre, thank you for your kindness, both professional and personal. I don't know anyone with more sass and savvy than you.

To the fabulous Tina Payne, for “loaning” me your name, and the also fabulous Pamela Clare, for showing me what endurance and strength of spirit look like.

To Reader Girl, Smarty Pants, and Tiny Dancer, who are funny, fantastic girls, I'm so very proud to be your mom, even when you tell your teachers that I “write really inappropriate books for a living.”

And oh, Mr. K. Where would I be without your unending patience, love, and support? Spoiler alert: not here, doing my dream job and writing about the happily-ever-after I know exists.

Lastly, the biggest thank-you goes to you, my readers! From my die-hard street teamers (woo-hoo, Taste Testers!) to my very newest fan, I simply couldn't write if you weren't so excited to read. I am thrilled and honored that this book is in your hands. I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it.

Chapter One

Two things in firefighter Alex Donovan's life were dead certain. The first was where there was smoke, you could bet your lunch money there was going to be fire. The second was wherever there was fire, Alex wanted in.

No contest. No question.

“Okay, listen up, boys, 'cause it looks like we've got a live one,” Alex's lieutenant, Paul Crews, hollered over the headset from the officer's seat in the front of Engine Eight, scrolling through the confetti-colored display from dispatch with a series of clacks. “Dispatch is reporting a business fire, with smoke issuing from the windows at a warehouse for a chemical supply company on Roosevelt Avenue. Looks like the place has been abandoned since the company went under last year.”

“Is that down in the industrial park by the docks?” His best friend Cole Everett's tried-and-true smile disappeared as he reached down from the seat next to Alex to yank his turnout gear over his navy-blue uniform pants, and yeah. This wasn't going to be your average cat stuck in a tree scenario.

“Yup. Nearest cross street is Euclid, which puts it four blocks up from the water and smack in the middle of Industrial Row.” Crews looked over his shoulder and into the back step of the engine, jerking his chin at the two of them in an unspoken
get your asses in gear,
and hell if Alex needed the message twice.

“Pretty shitty part of town,” he said, his pulse jacking up a notch even though he reached for the SCBA tank in the storage compartment behind his seat with ease that bordered on ho-hum. Not that his adrenaline wasn't doing the hey-now all the way through his system, because it sure as shit was. But getting torqued over a promissory note from dispatch without seeing the reality of flames only wasted precious energy. He'd learned that well enough as a candidate eight years ago.

Plus, there would be plenty of time to go yippy-ki-yay once shit started burning down.

“Does it matter that we're headed into Fairview's projects?” Mike Jones asked from Alex's other side, yanking his coat closed over his turnout gear with more attitude than anyone with three weeks' experience had a right to.

Hello. The candidate has a sore spot.
Not that it would change Alex's response, or his delivery. Sugarcoating things was for ass-kissers and candy store owners, and neither title was ever going to go on his résumé.

He fixed Jones with a hard stare. “It does when there are probably squatters inside the building, Einstein. How do you think a fire starts in an abandoned warehouse anyway?” Even money said the place hadn't seen running electricity in a dog's age, and with the city still in the tail end of winter's hard grip, there was a zero percent chance this call site had nobody home.

“Oh.” Jonesey dropped his chin for just a split second before picking up the rest of his gear. “Guess I wasn't thinking of it like that.”

But Alex just shrugged. He'd never been one for getting his boxers in a wad, let alone keeping 'em that way. Especially over the small stuff.

After all, life was too short. And hell if he didn't know
that,
up close and personal.

“Gotta use it for more than a hat rack, rookie.” Alex tossed back the emotion in his chest like a double shot of Crown Royal, and it burned just the same as he slapped the kid's helmet with a gloved hand. “You'll learn.”

Crews eighty-sixed his smile just a second too late for Alex to miss it, the wail of the overhead sirens competing with the lieutenant's voice over the headset as he blanked the momentary blip of amusement from his face. “There's no reported entrapment, but Teflon's right. An abandoned warehouse in a neighborhood like this is ripe for squatters, even in the daytime. Plus—” Crews broke off, the seriousness in his voice going full-on grim. “We don't know what kind of chemicals might've been left in the place. We need to go by the book on this one. Thirteen's already on scene.”

“Outstanding,” Cole muttered, tacking on a few choice words to the contrary about their rival house, and Alex's gut nose-dived in agreement.

“Those guys are a bag full of dicks.” Not to mention their captain was a douche bag of unrivaled proportions. Alex might not stay mad at most people for long, but he sure as hell knew a jackass when he laid eyes on one.

“I mean it, Teflon.” Crews's warning went from dark to dangerous in the span of half a breath. “I don't like those assclowns at Thirteen any more than you do, but a call's a call. Head up, eyes forward.”

“Yeah, yeah. Copy that.” Alex took off his headset, his mutter falling prey to the combination of Engine Eight's growl and the rush of noise that accompanied the final prep for a real-deal call. He went the inhale-exhale route as he triple-checked his gear, monitoring his breath along with the time as they approached the edge of town leading into Fairview's shabbier waterside neighborhoods.

“So, um, how come your nickname is Teflon?” Jones shifted against the SCBA tank already strapped to his back, the heel of one boot doing a steady bounce against the scuffed black floor of the engine.

Alex's laugh welled up from behind his sternum, and what the hell. The rookie might be ten pounds of nerves stuffed into a five-pound bag, but at least he was curious, too. “I guess you could say it's because I've got special talents.”

Jones's head jerked back. “You cook?”

Cole flipped the mouthpiece of his headset upward, tugging the thing off one ear to interject. “Hell no,” he said, his tone coupling with his laugh to cancel out any heat from the words. “Clearly, you didn't partake in dinner last week when he was on KP.”

“Hey,” Alex argued, although he had a whole lot of nothing to back it up. He was a single guy who'd lived all by his lonesome for twelve years. Sue him for not being a gourmet chef. “Dinner wasn't that bad.”

“Dude. You fucked up spaghetti.”

“Italian cuisine can be extremely tricky.” He tried on his very best cocky smile, the one that got him out of speeding tickets and into the panties of every pretty woman he set his sights on, but of course, Mr. Calm, Cool, and Buzzkill just snorted.

“The directions are on the freaking box.” Cole lifted a hand to stop Alex from going for round two, turning his attention back to Jones. “To answer your question, Donovan here got his nickname for exactly what you just witnessed.”

The candidate's blond brows lifted upward, nearly disappearing beneath the still-shiny visor on his helmet. “Which is . . . ?”

“He's slick enough to sell a cape to Superman. No matter what he gets himself into—and believe me, I've seen him get into some high-level shit—he talks his way right out of it. Trouble always slides right off him.”

“Ah.” Understanding dawned on Jones's face, and he swung his gaze from Cole to Alex. “Nothing ever sticks to Teflon.”

“Nope,” Alex said with a grin. Going through life on a bunch of should-haves and maybes was about as appealing as a prostate exam with a root canal chaser. If he wanted something, he did it without hesitation. Dealing with consequences was for after the fact, and despite Cole's smart-ass delivery, he wasn't wrong. Alex could handle anything that came his way, no matter how big, how bad, or how dangerous.

And he tempted all three on a regular frickin' basis.

“Gentlemen!” The staccato clip of Crews's already serious voice popped him back to full attention in the back of Engine Eight, and Alex replaced his headset with a swift tug. “We'll be on-scene in two minutes. Squad is right in front of us, and O'Keefe and Rachel are in the ambo directly behind, but we need to be ready for anything. Look sharp and be on point to set up water lines if Thirteen needs an assist. Let's get ready to work.”

Alex shot a gaze out the window, balancing the now palpable push of adrenaline in his veins as he used all five senses to calculate and categorize. Getting a good line of vision on the call site was impossible with the rows of tightly packed factories and warehouses on either side of the street, but even though he couldn't get his eyes on the telltale column of smoke that always marked an active fire, the acrid bite of something burning filled his nose, growing stronger as they approached the heart of Fairview's industrial park. Squat, boxy buildings in various states of dingy and decrepit lined either side of the street, and when Engine Eight screeched to a stop in front of one of the filthier suspects, Alex didn't even burn an unnecessary nanosecond hitting the pavement to get a better visual.

“Whoa.” Even from the opposite side of the street, the warehouse was a nightmare waiting to shake out. Although access to the block had been cut off by the imposing presence of all the emergency response vehicles, a smattering of onlookers dotted the perimeter of the scene. Dark gray smoke chuffed from the partially boarded front windows of the shabby warehouse, painting a thick layer of haze over the bright early-morning sky. Thin ribbons of orange firelight glowed behind the few surviving windowpanes on the Alpha side of the warehouse, but instead of staring at the flames, Alex focused on his assessment.

The fire wasn't always where the biggest problem lay. Or the biggest threat.

“Nice of you girls to show,” came an obnoxious drawl from his left, and great. Looked like it was time to play Name That Asshole.

“Captain McManus,” Crews deadpanned, all business. “What've we got?”

McManus jabbed his pointy chin toward the dilapidated warehouse. “
We've
got a warehouse fire, Lieutenant. Showing flames on the Alpha side, second floor, roof intact. My men are trying to set up water lines, but the goddamn hydrant's stripped.”

“You're not going to search ahead of the water?” Alex asked, and McManus turned to pin him with a stare, his lips pressing into a thin, white line of
screw you.

“Use the big head for thinking, would you, Donovan? This warehouse is abandoned. As in, no one's inside.”

He straightened, pegging McManus with the irritation free-flowing beneath his sternum. “Nothing's abandoned in the projects.” Come on, this was Common Sense 101. Not that McManus's overprivileged and underachieving ass seemed to care.

“Dispatch says this place is, and I'm not inclined to disagree.” The guy stepped up, his chest barely inches away from Alex's. “A search isn't necessary in this situation.”

Only if you're too chickenshit to do one.
Alex opened his mouth to tell McManus exactly where to shove his “situation,” but Crews shouldered between them, decisive and quick.

“Captain McManus, can you advise?”

A smug smile twisted the man's lips into an expression that was all teeth. “Let's get Squad Eight on the roof for a vent. Engine Eight can run backup water lines if Thirteen needs an assist. You can clean up whatever my men don't catch.”

The muscle over Crews's jaw gave a single twitch. Alex silently begged the guy to argue, to tell McManus to get bent, to do
something
other than fall in line.

But then Crews's expression went blank. “Copy that. Jones, you come with me to ready the hoses from Eight in case we need them.” He turned, snapping Alex's brewing protest in half with a don't-fuck-with-me frown. “
If
we see any evidence of entrapment, I'm sure we'll reevaluate the need for a search. Until then, Donovan, you and Everett stand by. Clear?”

“Crystal,” Cole said, walking Alex out of McManus's earshot before either of them could respond.

“This is bullshit,” Alex hissed, grinding his molars hard enough to test the limits of their integrity. “The fire's not fully involved, and the roof is sound. You and I both know if we'd been first on scene, Westin would've had us in that warehouse looking for squatters while squad vented the roof.”

“I do.” Cole stepped in, his voice low and level. “But I also know that's a judgment call, and someone who outranks me made it. I want to make sure that building is clear just like you, Donovan, but as much as it sucks, we have no way of knowing what's inside. Or more to the point, what's not.”

Anger ricocheted through Alex's chest, leaving a bitter exit path in his mouth as he exhaled. “Someone could be trapped in there.”

“And the second we see evidence that someone is, we'll go in and get them out.”

Alex swore roundly under his breath, channeling his irritation into examining the scene again to look for any signs of life inside the building. The front doors were old and unchained, and although they were likely locked, it was nothing five seconds with his Halligan bar wouldn't take care of. Heat blurred the edges of the dirty wooden window casings, escaping beneath the splintered boards nailed over the openings from the inside. Smoke poured from the building in thicker bursts, indicating the fire was growing, and God damn it, this warehouse had shit for visibility in or viable exits out. Not to mention that their chances of getting anyone
to
those limited exits were circling the drain with each passing second.

Alex's boots had him on a trajectory for the building before the movement made it all the way up the chain of command to his brain.

“Hey!” Captain McManus scrambled forward to step directly in front of Alex, puffing out his narrow chest as his face turned the color of the fire truck blocking the street behind them. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“I'm going into that warehouse to do a search,” he said, and what do you know, it wasn't a question. He'd have plenty of time to make nice with McManus later. Right now, he needed to do his job. His way.

No hesitation.

“Your level of fuck-uppery knows no bounds, Donovan. You're not going anywhere.” McManus refused to budge, crossing his arms as if awaiting an argument. But Alex was done yapping, and he moved to just sidestep the guy so he could get on with what mattered.