Five Alarm Forever: A Reverse Harem Holiday Romance Read online

  Five Alarm Forever: A Reverse Harem Holiday Romance

  Dizzy Hooper

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  47. Epilogue

  Thank you

  Excerpt from 5 Mountain Men Of Lonely Peak

  Also by Dizzy Hooper

  About the Author

  1

  It turns out that ninety percent of what Duke Hopkins told me over the decade and a half I knew him was absolute bullshit. But one thing he said was the God's honest truth.

  The first time you walk into a new fire house, you walk in like you have the biggest dick in the entire district.

  It doesn't matter that I'm a girl. Standing in front of Engine Company No. 3 in Evansburg, Illinois, I try to hold onto that one piece of good advice, even as I throw everything else that asshole ever said to me away.

  After all, he's the reason I'm stuck here.

  I bite down on the inside of my lip hard enough to draw blood.

  In the last six months of 'administrative leave', paper-pushing, and being shuffled around to any firehouse that would have me, I've had more than enough time to stew. This might not be where I wanted to end up, but it's the one company desperate enough to risk taking me on. I'm not about to blow this chance with some shitty attitude.

  Throwing my shoulders back, I lift my chin and summon whatever swagger I still have left.

  Then I channel as much Big Dick Energy as I can muster and stride forward.

  Despite the early December chill, the doors to the firehouse garage are wide open, revealing two big engines and a ladder truck. Someone has made a vague effort to give the place some holiday cheer, with a few strands of tinsel strung up around the open doors and a wreath hung between them. It's not the most convincing effort ever.

  And it's not exactly what draws my eye, considering the rest of the view.

  Two guys are already at work on one of the engines, checking out the gear.

  Heat tickles low in my belly. Goddamn.

  It's probably a cliche to say this about a couple of firefighters, but these men are smoking hot. The one on top of the rig has his back to me, but even through his jacket, the breadth of his shoulders is obvious. The faded jeans he's wearing show off a perfect, toned ass.

  Coming to a halt, I clear my throat. The guy on top of the engine turns.

  Shit. He isn't just hot—he's cute, too. His skin is a medium brown, his black hair buzzed short. As our gazes meet, his full lips curl into a grin that's unfairly sexy, and my pussy throbs.

  "Hey," he calls.

  At the sound, his partner lifts his gaze from the hose he'd been inspecting. Just like his friend, the guy is built. He's Latino, his skin a golden tan, his dark hair hanging almost to his shoulders. His smoldering eyes look me up and down.

  For a second, I see myself through his gaze. My long, dirty blond hair is tied up in a practical ponytail. No jewelry. Only a little concealer and tinted lip balm on my face. I'm wearing a plain black T-shirt that's flattering enough but not overly tight, and the surplus army jacket I have on over it further obscures my curves. Simple, dark-wash skinny jeans with holes in the knees and old work boots complete the outfit.

  But the way this dude is staring, you'd think I was wearing a skin-tight dress and heels.

  Not that I couldn't rock that look if I wanted to—and sometimes I do. But I don't bring that shit on-shift with me, partly to avoid precisely this kind of gawking.

  Only, just before it can get weird, the guy snaps out of it. Heat still lives in his eyes, but he directs his gaze up to meet mine. Somehow, instead of objectified, I feel…flattered?

  Whatever the guy was thinking five seconds ago, he gets professional real fast.

  He reaches for a rag and wipes his hands off. "You Chapman?"

  I nod.

  His voice is clear, no accent. His tone rumbly and deep. "You prefer that or Heidi?"

  "Doesn't matter to me."

  "Chapman, then." He holds out a hand, and I don't really want to, but I shake it all the same. To his credit, it's not a creepy, lingering-touch kind of handshake; it's not some bullshit power play where he tries to crush my bones. It's just firm pressure, the heat of his skin on mine, the roughness of his calluses.

  For a second, all I can think about is what that hand would feel like on more sensitive parts of my body.

  But I force the thought away.

  He lets me go, then points to the center of his chest. "Sal." He gestures to his buddy, who's climbing down. "And that's Jaquan."

  Damn, but Jaquan's swagger puts mine to shame. Every movement of his big body is sexual, while at the same time remaining unthreatening.

  He's a giant engraved invitation, letting every woman in his path know that he's ready to throw down anytime, anywhere.

  And fuck me if I'm not tempted. It's all too easy to imagine him over me, under me, maybe behind me. My pussy goes wetter and hotter at the idea of bending over for him and letting him show me what his thick cock can do.

  Then he holds out his hand. His grasp is even warmer than Sal's was. The hum of electricity vibrating under my skin burns brighter.

  "Nice to meet you," he says, smooth as silk, and at this rate I'm going to have to excuse myself to the locker room to go wring my freaking panties out.

  Shit. This is not the first impression I was planning to make on these guys. I'm here to do a job—nothing more. I'm definitely not here to get down and dirty with my new co-workers.

  Gritting my teeth together, I grip his palm harder, then pull my hand away. I tip my head toward the main part of the station. "Rest of the crew inside?"

  "Sure are." He holds my gaze a beat too long—like maybe he can read my conflicting thoughts.

  The flirtatiousness radiating off of him simmers down a notch. But just a notch.

  I bite down on the inside of my lip, right where it's already raw.

  That guy is going to be trouble. My plan is to learn from my mistakes, to not get attached. To keep my distance. But already it feels like this man has breached some of my defenses.

  "Come on," Sal says, glancing between us. "We'll introduce you."

  He leads the way. Jaquan motions for me to follow, so I do. He brings up the rear as we head toward the back of the huge garage and through a set of double doors. I keep my gaze trained straight ahead, taking in my surroundings. Not getting distracted by Sal's tight bubble butt or Jaquan's hot presence behind me. His heady s
cent.

  Right.

  It's not as if there's all that much to see, anyway. This is a small town station, and not the main one at that. Only six pros are on duty at any given time. While the place is neat enough, it shows its age. We pass the turnout room and a couple of supply closets. A few more half-hearted Christmas decorations and some pictures of firemen clearly drawn by third graders. What looks like a locker room and a staircase up to a second floor where the bunks must be.

  It's as we pass those steps that the sounds of deep, male voices reach us. Two of them, I think, plus the drone of a TV turned down low.

  Back on high alert, projecting as much confidence as I can, I round the corner.

  What comes into view is a big, open area. One half of it is a kitchen. Some of the locals must have been feeling generous at some point, because it's decently outfitted, with stainless steel appliances instead of the harvest gold ones from the seventies I was half expecting. Bar stools are set up at the edge of the counter, and there's a table with seating for another half dozen.

  The other side of the room is a lounge with a couch that's seen better days and a couple of recliners. A fake Christmas tree stands in one corner, draped in tinsel and lights. Opposite it, a modest flat-screen TV is playing the local news, because of course it is.

  But I'm really not paying attention to any of that.

  "Hey, LT," Sal calls out.

  I focus in on the two men in the kitchen who turn around, and Jesus Christ.

  This is a middle-of-nowhere, downstate Illinois firehouse, and this is C shift. It's supposed to be made up of the losers like me who don't have any seniority or any family they can hold up as excuses. C company works every holiday. C company works Christmas. It's supposed to be the dregs.

  It is not supposed to be a freaking underwear model recruitment agency.

  And yet that's what I seem to be looking at.

  Both guys are over in the kitchen section of the space. The older of the two is frying something in a skillet. He turns off the burner and strides toward us, a broad smile on his face.

  "This is our fearless leader," Sal says by way of introduction.

  "Aiden Walker. Everybody calls me Walker, though," the lieutenant supplies, and hell. I feel the hot rumble of his voice between my legs.

  He's taller than either Sal or Jaquan, with pale maybe-Irish skin and blond hair. His clean-shaven jaw looks sharp enough to cut glass, his blue eyes crystal. Exposed beneath the short sleeves of his gray T-shirt, his biceps bulge. Thick veins stand out on his muscular forearms, and it's all I can do not to actually salivate.

  Instead, I keep my composure and I accept his handshake when it comes.

  People joke about lieutenants never doing any work, but just from the grip on this guy, that clearly isn't true. He's strong and firm, and he doesn't linger. I don't really like having to touch people, but it's almost regret I feel as soon as he lets go.

  He's replaced soon enough by the other guy, who has got to be a probie. The kid grins, and he can't be more than—what? Eighteen? Maybe twenty?

  "Hi," he says. His voice has dropped already, at least, so yeah, maybe twenty. His hands are still awfully soft, though. He flips his too-long, chestnut-brown hair from his eyes. "I'm Corey."

  I manage a tight smile. "Nice to meet you."

  He steps back, looking up at Walker with stars in his eyes. The worst part is that I can't even blame him.

  Seriously. Forget an underwear model, though he looks like one of those, too. Walker could be on the cover of GQ. Or the firefighter's handbook—you know, if that were a porno for ladies.

  He radiates calm collectedness, competence, leadership.

  He even smells good.

  And I swore when I parked my crappy, used truck in the parking lot of this dump that I was here to do a job. I wasn't going to make any attachments or form any loyalties—only to watch them inevitably get crushed under someone's boot.

  But this is the kind of guy who could get under your skin.

  He's the man you'd follow into a burning building.

  Pretty soon, I'm probably going to have to do just that.

  All the more reason to keep my cool and not offer to blow him in a supply cabinet. I guess.

  "Jaquan and Sal here giving you the tour?" Walker asks.

  The place is tiny. There's really not that much to see.

  I shrug. "You could say that."

  He raises a brow, looking to the guys standing to either side of me. "There isn't anything else I should say, is there?"

  An insinuation lies beneath the surface of his tone. I glance to Jaquan, who's faintly smirking.

  Okay, yeah, apparently Jaquan's a flirt with everyone, just like I figured, and his commanding officer knows it.

  "No, sir," Sal says.

  Walker doesn't look impressed, but he seems willing enough to let it go. "Good." He claps Corey on the back. "Corey, go finish the job."

  Corey looks like a puppy whose human has just produced a frisbee. "Yes, sir."

  Walker turns to me again. "We'll go over everything when you're done, but no pressure. I'm sure you want some time to settle in and get acclimated. Make yourself at home."

  And Jesus, how do the echoes of the past carry across so much distance? Over so much time?

  I can almost hear Duke on the air. When I started my first shift as a probie, he told me practically the same thing. He used the same welcoming, almost paternal tone.

  It's all I can do not to crush the formica counter tops to dust.

  Grinding my teeth, I flatten my mouth into a grim line. "With all due respect, sir, that won't be necessary."

  That catches him off guard.

  He's not the only one. Except the background noise of the television, the whole places goes quiet all of a sudden.

  "No?" Walker asks.

  I stand firm. "I'd prefer to get straight to work."

  He regards me for a long moment. Some buried, conditioned instinct inside me tells me to back down or to curl up and protect my soft underbelly. I ignore it, looking him straight in his gorgeous, crystal clear blue eyes.

  The slice of air between us seems to shiver. He leans in an inch, and did I mention that he smells incredible? The warm, male scent of him washes over me.

  Quietly, he says, "Request denied."

  Okay, it's my turn to act surprised. "Excuse me?"

  "Follow Corey, get the lay of the land. Take some time, settle in," he repeats. "That's an order."

  My mouth snaps shut. I want to contradict him, but even I know better than that.

  His voice softens. "We're happy to have you, Heidi. You're one of ours now, you understand?"

  No. No, I really don't.

  But I can't say that. My throat is too tight for any words to come out at all.

  "We take care of our own," he insists. "So your orders for the rest of the morning are to make yourself comfortable. Then report to me when you're done."

  With that, he leans back. I suck in a breath after what feels like minutes of going without. My head swims, his scent still surrounding me.

  But with the extra couple of inches between us, the rest of the world seeps back in. Someone clears his throat.

  Right. Because the whole shift crew is here, watching this exchange.

  Except one.

  I ignore that thought—that we're missing someone. All I can think about right now is the lieutenant in front of me, telling me in no uncertain terms make myself at home or else.

  The other men, standing around, watching it play out.

  Judging.

  Condemning, if my track record has anything to say about it.

  "Sir, yes, sir," I force out.

  "Good." Walker takes a step back, returning to whatever he was cooking. He shows me that professional, courteous smile of his again, as if he hadn't just aggressively welcomed me against my will. He nods to Corey, then looks down and switches the burner back on.

  "Whenever you're ready…" Corey says.


  I turn away. I refuse to avert my gaze, but I don't meet his, either. I don't look to see what kind of expression might be playing out on Jaquan's face, or Sal's.

  I walked into this station projecting confidence, determined to make the best of a shit situation. Intent on staying detached.

  Now I don't know what I'm doing.

  Or what the hell kind of crew I've signed up to be a part of.

  2

  "It's not just you, you know."

  I frown, pausing in my perusal of the bulletin board and duty roster set up in a little office area in the back half of the station. Corey's been showing me around the place for a while now, but this is the first thing he's said that hasn't basically been labeling a room or a piece of equipment.

  Fingering a pad of sticky notes somebody left out, I turn to look at him. He's shining that guileless, puppy dog smile at me again.

  "Hmm?"

  "The lieutenant. He does that overly protective thing to everyone." Corey shrugs. "In case you thought it was." He gestures vaguely at me. "You know."

  I raise a brow. "Sexist bullshit?"

  His cheeks go pink, and that I probably shouldn't find that quite so adorable.

  I definitely shouldn't find it kind of…sexy?

  I blink a couple of times. What is it with this place and these hot firefighters? Clearly, it's been too long since I've gotten any. My hormones are out of control.

  But I manage to focus as he crosses his arms over his chest.

  His tone is conciliatory. "I mean, that kind of thing happens, I know."