Big Hose, an all new sizzling stand-alone workplace romance from New York Times bestselling author Jasinda Wilder, is out now!
Putting out fires is more than just a job, it’s my passion in life. There’s no time for anything else but the job…until I meet her. And now I’m on fire for her, only there’s no hose big enough to extinguish these flames.
She’s too hot to handle, and I’m about to get burned.
* * *
Saving lives is what I do. As a career paramedic married to the job, I’ve never thought much about my love life—or my lack of one, if I’m being honest—until it’s his life I’m worried about saving. Now I’ve got a scorching hot firefighter burning up my life and setting my body on fire. No matter how hot he is or how hot things are between us, however, there’s one rule in my life which I refuse to break: Never date a fireman.
* * *
Will we find each other in the flames of this romance, or will we simply add another scar to the collection?
It’s the medic from earlier, the curvy one with the long-ass black hair. I’m closer, this time, and up close, she’s even more stunning. Her face is perfectly symmetrical, her eyes huge and brown, her lashes thick, lips plump and in a naturally perfect cupid’s bow. And shit, the way her medic blues fit her insane curves leaves my jaw damn near on the floor.
She doesn’t even register me standing at the entrance, mere feet away: there’s a godawful ruckus coming from the back of the bus. She yanks open the rear doors and heaves herself up and in.
“Mr. Wilson, you need to calm down.” Her voice is hard, commanding. Short-tempered. “If you keep kicking up a fuss like this, I’m going to be forced to sedate you.”
“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, YOU DUMB BITCH! LET ME GO! LET ME GO, GODDAMMIT!”
The medic goes flying backward out of the bus, landing on her heels and quick-stepping backward. Instinct takes over, and I lunge forward, catching her in my arms. For a split second, I’m just holding her. She’s equal parts taut and firm, lithe and soft, delicate and warm. And for that split second, she seems tempted to just…relax into my arm. Let me hold her.
A spark jolts through me, like I grabbed onto a live wire. My skin tingles, my hair stands on end, and my lungs seize, breath whooshing out of me.
I’m hard as a fucking diamond, behind my pants.
The split second is gone, and she’s rocketing out of my arms like she felt the shock as clearly as I did. She shakes herself like a dog shaking water off, storming forward with her fists clenched.
“That’s it, Mr. Wilson,” she grits out between clenched molars. “I told you.”
Mr. Wilson is a wiry old white guy, with a shock of hair that looks like he stuck his fingers in an electrical socket. He’s wigged the hell out, thrashing like a madman despite being restrained by the gurney straps. The other medic, the young Black man from earlier, is trying his damndest to hold the old man down, but it’s like trying to wrestle a wet horse.
I grab the sexy medic’s arm and hold her back. “Let me.”
“The fuck I will,” she snarls.
I’m already climbing up and into the bus, ignoring her protests. I latch onto the patient’s wrists and pin his thrashing feet to the gurney with my hips. I fix him with my you’re gonna listen like it or not glare, and make it clear no amount of thrashing is going to budge my iron grip.
“Cool the fuck off, old man.” I growl the command. I let go of one of his wrists, pinioning them both with one hand, and hold out my empty hand. “Needle.”
I feel the syringe slap into my palm.
“You got two options, here, pal.” I flick the cap off the needle and press the tip to the outside of his skinny little bicep. “One, you quit the tantrum and get yourself treated like a goddamn adult. Option two, I jab this shit into you, and I can’t guarantee how gentle I’ll be. You feel me?”
He stills, but his eyes snap with defiance. “Get off me.”
“Wrong answer.” I press the needle harder. “Last chance.”
“Fine, goddamnit, fine. That shit constipates me.”
I snicker. “Then quit acting like a child.”
“I don’t need no ambulance. I’m fuckin’ fine.”
The Black medic coughs a laugh. “You had a stroke two weeks ago and you just overdosed on Vicodin. You’re not fine.”
I blink. “How is he alive? Much less upright and pitching a tantrum?”
The medic shrugs. “Hell if I know. Bastard isn’t human.”
“I heard that you goddamn—”
I silence him with a glare. “You better not fucking finish saying what I think you’re about to say.”
He holds up his hands. “I wasn’t gonna say that. I ain’t no racist.”
“Get out of my bus,” a female voice says from behind me.
I climb backward and out, turn to face a very pissed-off but still drop-dead sexy medic. “What’s his story?”
She just glares at me. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“You’d be the one getting stitches if I hadn’t caught you.”
She just glares. “My bus, my patient.”
I hold up my hands. “Fine, sorry for nothing, then. Damn.”
She reaches for the syringe still in my hand. “Give me that.” She snatches it from me as I extend it to her. “You can’t threaten patients. Who the fuck trained you?”
“If the patient is acting a fool and risking the safety of the medics trying to help him, I sure as fuck can. I didn’t threaten him, anyway. Not with anything you weren’t about to do.”
She goes nose to nose with me—well, nose to collarbone, since she’s several inches shorter than me; her glare is impressively intimidating, but it’s somewhat undercut by the fact that as she sidles up and stands nose to nose with me, holding her ground and glaring fit to murder, her breasts press against my chest, and that’s all I can fucking think about.
“My bus,” she repeats, slowly, furiously, “my patient. Go back to your fire and your hoses and leave me the hell alone.”
I hold her gaze and try like hell to keep my eyes from wandering down to her generous, button-straining chest.
Her hiss of disgust is…well, if it could be used as a weapon, I’d be dead.
She presses all five fingers of both hands into my chest and pushes me away, eyes stabbing murderous fury into mine. “Go…away.”
I back up slowly, holding her eyes. “You’re welcome.” I wink at her, shooting her the grin which, according to the guys at the station, is guaranteed to melt panties at fifty paces.
She growls like a cornered raccoon; her panties are decidedly not melted.
I hold up my hands palms out. “Damn, girl. Don’t shoot. I was just trying to help. It’s instinct.”
“Well take your instincts and fuck off.” She pivots away from me, heading toward her bus, where the Black medic is currently wrestling the gurney down, the patient still muttering imprecations under his breath.
Fuck, fuck, and double-fuck—the girl is all curves. If her tits were about to pop the buttons off her shirt, her ass is popping the seams of her uniform slacks. Not tall, maybe five-six, five-seven at most, she’s one hundred percent hot-as-fuck, mind-altering, cock-hardening, dead-sexy curves.
I don’t even try to not stare at her ass as she helps pull the gurney off the bus. I can’t not stare—it’s a biological imperative.
She stops and shoots a glare at me over her shoulder. “Quit staring at my ass.”
“I’m trying, I swear. Not my fault you’ve got an ass that don’t quit.”
There’s a muffled cough from her partner, and his eyes cut to mine, expressing amusement he dares not otherwise let her see. “We’d better get Mr. Wilson into treatment before the sheer stubbornness that’s keeping him alive wears off.”
I finally manage to rip myself away from the sexy medic and her hypnotic ass. Head for my truck, climb behind the wheel, start the motor…and go nowhere.
She’s pushing from the back end while her partner pulls from the front—I just can’t resist one last long, lingering look as she vanishes inside.
“That is one hell of a woman,” I say out loud.
She hates me, but goddamn is she gorgeous. And honestly, the fiery fury of her is intoxicating. I don’t know her name, but I know I’ll be dreaming about her tonight.
NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY, WALL STREET JOURNALand international bestselling author Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. Her bestselling titles include ALPHA, STRIPPED, WOUNDED, and the #1 Amazon and international bestseller FALLING INTO YOU. You can find her on her farm in Northern Michigan with her husband, author Jack Wilder, her six children and menagerie of animals.
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