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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Burning Love

  Copyright © 2014 by Cassandra Carr

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-625-0

  Cover art by Mina Carter

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  www.decadentpublishing.com

  The Calendar Men Stories

  Outback Dirty

  February Lover

  Seducing Helena

  Frontier Inferno

  Shockwave

  The Other Brother

  The Letter

  Burning Love

  A Model Hero

  Falling for Her Navy Seal

  Thankful for You

  Snow Angels

  Burning Love

  The Calendar Men Series

  By

  Cassandra Carr

  ~Dedication~

  For firefighters everywhere—thank you for your dedication to service.

  Chapter One

  “Dammit!”

  Jude Fisher’s leg collapsed underneath him again, and he nearly took a header down the small flight of stairs in his physical therapist’s office.

  “Try again,” his PT, Stacey, encouraged him.

  He shot her a dark look, which she ignored. Jude figured she got similar looks all the time, especially since this place catered to first responders and sports-related injuries, including the two professional sports teams in the area.

  For about the millionth time, he wished he hadn’t gotten disoriented in that burning multifamily home. If he had turned left instead of right, he wouldn’t have been trapped underneath the fallen beam, and his leg would still be in one piece. Yeah, and if wishes were rainbows, I’d have filled the freaking sky.

  “How about I try something else? I’m sick of going up and down these stupid stairs. I know the stairs are part of the reentry test, but I’m bored and getting annoyed.”

  “You know as well as I do that the stairs are important for stability in general, and yes, for the reentry test. But if you want to come back to them, that’s fine with me. What else haven’t you done?”

  “The bike.” Jude made a face. He hated the bike, too. He hated this whole place.

  “Why don’t you do a half hour on the bike—taking it easy—and do another set of these?”

  “Slave driver.”

  He had to direct his anger somewhere. Life didn’t care how he felt. A month ago he’d been riding high. The chief had named him a lieutenant a few weeks before, and he’d just gotten settled into his new role when this happened. Now he didn’t know when or even if he could go back to work. His chances would be a lot better if his stupid knee would stop buckling.

  Climbing onto the bike, Jude dutifully set the resistance down. Lately he’d been trying to push it by upping the resistance and had ended up with a swollen knee. Stacey had been exasperated that he hadn’t listened to her advice about how to handle his injury and now watched him like a hawk whenever he did the bike or weights. How could he get better if he didn’t challenge himself, though?

  A half hour later, he dismounted, happy when his leg held up. Stacey told him to do another set of stairs and he groaned. The stairs were a necessary evil to rehab his injury, but he had the most trouble on them and therefore hated doing them. What guy wanted to be constantly reminded of his body’s betrayal? Jude was a good firefighter. If he couldn’t do that, he had no plan B.

  Jude walked with a limp he tried his damndest to hide toward a treatment table when he finally finished his tasks for the day. If he didn’t, Stacey would notice and say something about him overdoing it again, and he feared he might lash out at the poor woman if she did. She was no pushover, and only trying to do her job, but he could only handle so much ego-swallowing in one day.

  Stacey brought over the TENS machine and strapped it to his knee. “Fifteen minutes, and then we’ll ice it.”

  He lay back as the rhythmic pulses worked over his muscles. These PT sessions kicked his ass. Before he’d been hurt, he’d been in top physical condition, but now, since he couldn’t use his leg for any harder cardio than the bike at light resistance, his stamina was tapped. Thank God he could still do upper-body stuff, but even that was a challenge since the beam had hit him on the shoulder on the way down to destroying his knee. But the shoulder only gave him occasional twinges, luckily.

  Pulling out his cell, he decided to check e-mail and any messages on Facebook. Nothing, as if he’d dropped off the face of the Earth. For a few days after his injury, the guys had contacted him, but their lives got busy and now he hardly heard from them at all. Jude knew self-pity when he saw it, but it stung that a group of guys he’d been with over two years seemed to have forgotten he existed.

  Once Stacey dismissed him, he picked his way through the puddles to his truck. After climbing inside, he slammed the door, then glanced out the window. The stormy gray sky matched his mood perfectly. His stomach grumbled. It was past lunchtime and he hadn’t eaten, but hated the idea of eating fast food yet again, or choking down another frozen meal. He wanted real food.

  Jude drove to a grocery store and grabbed a cart, not sure what he was even looking for and telling himself he needed the cart for the food, not because he could lean his weight on it so his knee would stop screaming. Making his way to the meat section, he picked up about a half-dozen cuts, putting each back before getting disgusted with his inability to make a decision. Jude put a London broil steak in his cart just to move on and turned toward the produce, selecting a large potato to bake. The process of buying two simple things had taken nearly a half hour between his indecisiveness, dodging the crazy mothers barreling their way through the store, and willing his knee to keep him upright.

  After paying, he drove home and put the steak in a large bag with some teriyaki sauce to marinate while his potato cooked and he took a shower. When he’d dried off, he threw on a pair of sweat shorts and a T-shirt and went out to his garage to fire up the grill. He hadn’t counted on said grill being jammed into a corner of his too-small garage, unused since his injury. It took much swearing and his knee giving out again to wrestle the stupid thing out. Finally, he got the grill preheating and sat on the steps leading from the foyer to the garage to wait for it to be ready.

  His kneecap had been shattered from the force of the beam landing on it and was now the source of many of his continuing problems. The steel plate they’d added for stability either wasn’t doing its job or wasn’t up to the task. A wide swath of puckered, discolored skin on his leg was a permanent reminder of where the flaming beam had reached right through his firepants to kiss his skin as he lay there, unconscious. If he hadn’t woken up as quickly as he had, he might’ve died. But even regaining consciousness within a moment or two and immediately using every ounce of strength available to him to push the beam off hadn’t let him escape injury.
/>   The question that made his head pound day and night gnawed at him. Would he ever be the same again?

  Standing and wincing at the additional twinge of pain, he went back for the steak. He took it off the grill, added the potato to his plate, and sat at his kitchen table. As he ate, the thing that stuck out most to him, besides the ever-present twinges in his knee, was the quiet. He’d never noticed the silence as he’d rushed through his hectic life before the accident, but now—now it overwhelmed him. He’d taken to leaving the TV on all day just to hear the background noise. The only things loud right now were the voices inside his head. What are you going to do if you can’t fight fires? Jude had no answer to that question.

  With lunch done, he sat on his recliner, put his knee on a cushion, plopped ice on top of it for the second time that day, and began flipping through channels. A few minutes later, his phone rang, and Jude snorted at his own excitement when the caller ID showed someone from the station calling.

  “Hey man,” his friend Lyle Anderson greeted him. A few years older than him, Lyle had made captain several months before Jude’s injury.

  “What’s up?” Jude tried to modulate his voice so he wouldn’t sound overeager, but hell, this was the first time in nearly a week he’d heard from one of the guys.

  “Don’t hate me.”

  “What did you do?” Immediately on his guard, Jude flashed through different scenarios. Had they already replaced him?

  “I volunteered you for something.”

  Jude made a disbelieving noise. “Why the hell did you do that? You know I’m not cleared for duty.” And won’t be for a while, based on my current progress. Just thinking about the reentry test made him queasy, and he wished he hadn’t eaten quite as big a lunch.

  “This doesn’t have to do with the station. Well, not directly, anyway.”

  “Spit it out, dude.”

  “It’s like this. You remember my buddy Leo from the marines? We’ve gone out for beers with him.”

  “Yeah….”

  “He’s in charge of a charity calendar—”

  “No freaking way am I posing for some nudie calendar.”

  Lyle laughed. “This is in honor of his dead brother, man, so hear me out. He died in Afghanistan, and Leo made a foundation or something in his name. There’s not gonna be any nudity. Besides, who’d want to see your ugly ass anyway?” The phone line clicked. “I’ve got you on speaker.”

  “I’m going to regret asking why you’re calling me about this, aren’t I?”

  “Don’t be such a girl,” one of the other guys said.

  More voices chimed in with similar thoughts until Lyle said, “Would you guys shut up? I didn’t put him on speaker to get harassed.”

  “Why am I on speaker?”

  “Because I wanted the guys to help me convince you to pose for this calendar. You can hear how good an idea it is. Look, bud, you’ll be wearing at least part of your gear. I promise you won’t be naked.”

  “Wearing my gear?” Jude shifted in his chair, and the ice started to slide off his knee. With a muffled curse, he righted it. “Sorry, I missed that. What did you say?”

  “I said there would be guys representing all kinds of professions. So hey, at least you won’t have to wear a silly construction outfit like that dude in the Village People.”

  Jude frowned. “Why are you calling me about this? There are other guys around there who could do it.”

  “For one thing, no one’s prettier than you are.” Lyle chuckled when Jude growled. “And also, it’s in two days, and we’ve got that training thing.”

  “So since I’m not working, I’m the only person free. Awesome.”

  “Think of the people you’ll help. The proceeds will go to—hang on, I’ve got the name written down somewhere here—The Hero Family Fund. Leo’s brother died, man. Won’t you at least let some dude take a bunch of pictures of you?”

  “That was a low blow, Anderson.”

  “You’ll do it?”

  “I don’t even have gear right now. It was destroyed, remember?”

  “Yes, you do. We ordered new stuff so it’d be here when you got back. It’s sitting in your locker, waiting for you.” Lyle clicked off speaker. “Do you need me to drop it off to you?”

  “No, I can drive.” But Jude thought better of it. He didn’t want to limp into the station and have everybody feel sorry for him. “Actually, could you, if you’re headed out this way?”

  “Of course. I’ll bring everything so you’re prepared no matter what they want you to wear.”

  “Or not wear.”

  “Thanks, man. I’m sure Leo would thank you himself, if he could. And the kids and families that the association helps, too.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Layin’ it on a little thick, aren’t you?”

  “Seriously. This’ll be good for you. Get you out of the house. Pump up the ego a little when the ladies swamp you after it releases. Sex is always good for a mood lifter.”

  Jude wanted to ask how Lyle could know anything about his mood since he hadn’t called but kept his mouth shut. If he reacted with venom when people did call him, they’d never want to do it again. And he couldn’t take that. Firefighting and the guys at the station were his whole life.

  “E-mail me the details about where I have to go and when, okay?”

  “Sounds good. Later.”

  “Later.”

  Sitting back, Jude settled his hands behind his head. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. At least it would break up the monotony of waking up, going to physical therapy, and feeling sorry for himself that his life had become lately, and he’d be doing something worthwhile rather than continuing to be the drain on society he felt like now.

  ***

  Jude actually had a lot of fun at the shoot. In deference to his knee, the photographer, an absolutely hilarious man named Pedro, let him sit on a block. Pedro had suggested he wear just his pants, suspenders, and hat, and even though Jude felt pretty silly, he agreed, sending up another little thank you that his chest and arms were still in close to peak condition. Pedro snapped picture after picture and yelled ridiculous directions. “Give me more pout! Smolder, baby, smolder!” After the shoot, he said he did that to keep his subjects loose and laughing. Jude had to admit it had worked for him.

  “The association’s got me on a pretty tight schedule.” Pedro fiddled with the lighting. “I’ve got a bride and a one-year-old coming in later today.” He flashed a sardonic grin. “I really wasn’t in the mood to tell either the bride or the baby we’d have to reschedule. Oh, and a bunch of pictures for a company’s annual report. Executives aren’t real keen on being told to cool their heels either.”

  “Wow, long day for you.”

  Pedro shrugged. “It’s the business. I work when there are things to be done, whether it’s at noon or midnight.”

  “True. I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks for being so understanding about my injury.”

  “No problem. It’s the least I could do, considering what you firefighters risk every day of your lives. Plus, I’m just happy I got to see a hot firefighter in his gear. Lawd have mercy.” Pedro fanned himself, and Jude was laughing when a flurry of white suddenly knocked him off balance.

  He clutched at the door frame, cursing as pain shot from his knee up through his hip. He realized, as he managed to right himself, that the blur was a woman, and that both of them were covered in some sort of sauce.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” She began wiping at his T-shirt with her hand, which only spread out whatever it was. Judging by the smell, some sort of salad dressing. The woman turned huge, expressive eyes to him, and he about forgot his name.

  “That’s okay.”

  She made a derisive sound. “You’ve got oily dressing all over you.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a T-shirt. I’ll wash it, and if it doesn’t come out, I’ll throw it away.” For some reason, he wanted to reassure this woman that everything was all right. She looked mortified, with twin
spots of color intensifying on her cheeks.

  God, she was gorgeous. Curvy, just the way he liked a woman, with long, wavy, dark brown hair and olive skin. Her eyes were also dark. Jude was instantly drawn to her exotic beauty.

  “Michaela, what are you doing? I swear, you’re the clumsiest chef I’ve ever seen.” Pedro stood a few feet from them, his arms crossed over his chest as he grinned at Michaela. It was obvious the two had met before.

  “My fault.”

  Pedro’s gaze flicked to meet his. “Yes, I can see that, since you’ve taken a bath in Michaela’s special house dressing.”

  “It’s no big deal.” Jude turned to her. “I’m Jude. Sorry about that. Do you need help bringing stuff in?” His knee protested the idea, but he ignored it. This was the most interested he’d been in a woman in months, and he couldn’t let something like pain stand in his way.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I insist.” Jude noticed the raised eyebrow from Pedro but didn’t spare the man more than a glance. Yes, his knee was killing him and, no, he had no intention of making her aware of that. He waved toward the door. “After you.”

  “I need to wash my hands, but I’ll be right out.”

  Thankful for the opportunity to make his way outside slowly, Jude concentrated on each step and tried to forget the heated look in Michaela’s eyes. Once at his truck, he pulled his shirt over his head, being careful not to get dressing on his face or in his hair, crumpled it up, and threw it in the back with his other crap. When he turned away from the truck, Michaela blushed and pivoted, reaching for the back door of her van. Hmmm. Maybe she’s interested, too.

  ***

  Michaela very much feared she’d swallow her tongue when Jude took his shirt off. He was carrying firefighter gear, so she assumed that was what he did for a living. That would account for arms that looked like he could bench press a small car and a chest any woman would weep to have the chance to run her hands down. Dark brown hair styled in one of those unkempt I’m-trying-to-look-casual styles so popular these days capped off a tremendously appealing package.