1.You could have chosen any profession, why a firefighter? I’m not a suit and tie kind of guy. I’m good under pressure, so I figured I’d play to my strengths. After being an Army Ranger, it felt like a good fit.

2. What’s the most challenging aspect of being a firefighter? Besides having to stomach our rookie Slater’s cooking? Probably dealing with the stuff we see. Calls can get really intense. But a lot of them turn out okay, so that makes it a lot easier.

3. Boxers or briefs? Boxer briefs. Best of both worlds.

4. Would you pose for a pin-up calendar, if it was for a good cause? And get the crap that goes with that? No way! I’d make a donation for the good cause, though.

5. What’s your guilty pleasure? (remember we have a PG-13 audience Kellan 😉 PG 13, PG 13…okay, then I’ll go with action movies. Isabella and I will sometimes stay home and marathon a whole bunch of them back to back. Then we make our own action 😉

6. Hard Rock or Country? Mostly hard rock

7. Favorite Movie? I’m going old school. Die Hard. Bruce Willis is a badass!

8. Most romantic thing you’ve done? I’m not really a hearts and flowers kind of guy, but lucky for me, Isabella’s even tougher than I am. I surprised her with a trip to the gun range last week. She loved it, and I loved that she did. Everybody won.

9. You open up your ipod, top five songs in your playlist? Moth Into Flame, by Metallica, Animals, by Maroon 5, Sucker for Pain, by Lil Wayne, Radioactive, by Imagine Dragons, and Til the Love Runs Out, by One Republic

10. It’s Sunday and Baseball is on the TV, who are you rooting for? I’m not much of a baseball guy. But if I had to pick…the San Francisco Giants.

Kellan made his way up Washington Boulevard, where he’d parked yesterday morning before shift. Funny how quiet the city could be before things like rush hour and regular workdays kicked in, all soft sunlight and clean storefronts. He slid in a breath of cool air, scanning the sidewalk and the two-lane thoroughfare where Station Seventeen was situated.

He saw the woman leaning against his ’68 Camaro from forty feet away.

Kellan’s pulse flared even though his footsteps never faltered. Long, denim-wrapped legs leading to lean muscles and lush, sexy curves. Loose, confident stance that spoke of both awareness and strength. Long, caramel-colored hair that she tossed away from her face as soon as she saw him coming, and God dammit, that was the second time this week he’d been blindsided by Isabella Moreno.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, wincing inwardly as the words crossed his lips. Not that he didn’t feel every inch of the attitude behind them, because after her f#&k-up had put his sister’s life in danger three months ago, he so did. But slapping his emotions on his sleeve wasn’t on Kellan’s agenda, good, bad, or extremely pissed off. Of course, Isabella already knew he was chock full of the emotion behind door number three, anyway.

She pushed herself off the Camaro’s cherry red quarter panel, sliding one hand to her unnervingly voluptuous hip while the other remained wrapped around a cup of coffee. “Waiting for you.”

“I got that.” His tone left the what-for part of the question hanging between them, and Kellan had to hand it to her. Moreno wasn’t the type to mince words.

“I need a favor. I want you to walk me through the scene of Monday’s fire.”

Jesus, she had a sense of humor. Also, balls the size of Jupiter. “You want me to take you back to the scene of a fire that gutted a three-story house just to give you a play by play?”

She nodded, her brown eyes narrowing against the sunlight just starting to break past the buildings around them. “That about sums it up, yeah.”

“It’s a little early for you to be punching the clock, isn’t it?” he asked. Most people weren’t even halfway to the door just shy of oh-seven-hundred on a weekday morning. 

Moreno? Not most people, apparently. “What can I say? I’m feeling ambitious.”

Kellan resisted the urge to launch a less-than-polite comment about her work ethic, albeit barely. “I already told you and Sinclair everything I know.”

“Okay.” Her shoulders rose and fell beneath her dark gray leather jacket, easy and smooth. “So humor me and walk me through it again anyway.”

His sixth sense took a jab at his gut, prompting him to give the question in his head a voice. “Is this part of the investigation?”

“Why do you ask?” she said, and yeah, that was a no.

“Because you called it a favor, and you just answered my question with a question.”

Moreno paused. “I’m a cop. We do that.”

Nope. No way was he buying this. Not even on her best day. “And I’m a firefighter who’s not interested in putting his ass in a sling just to humor you with an unsanctioned walk-through.”

The RFD might offer a little latitude on firefighters revisiting scenes—a fact Kellan would bet his left nut Moreno damn well knew—but just because he’d worked the job didn’t mean he had carte blanche to prance through the place like a fucking show pony now that the fire was out.

Not that a little thing like protocol seemed to bother Isabella in the least. “Your ass will be fine. I’ll take full responsibility.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that one from you before.”

The words catapulted out before Kellan could stop them. Moreno flinched, just slightly, but it was enough. “Look, I need to get back onto that scene,” she said. “Are you going to help me or not?”

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Author Info:

Kimberly Kincaid writes contemporary romance that splits the difference between sexy and sweet and hot and edgy romantic suspense. When she’s not sitting cross-legged in an ancient desk chair known as “The Pleather Bomber”, she can be found practicing obscene amounts of yoga, whipping up anything from enchiladas to éclairs in her kitchen, or curled up with her nose in a book. Kimberly is a USA Today best-selling author and a 2016 and 2015 RWA RITA® finalist and 2014 Bookseller’s Best nominee who lives (and writes!) by the mantra that food is love. Kimberly resides in Virginia with her wildly patient husband and their three daughters.