Up In Flames. Kira Sinclair

       1

      “LOOKING GOOD, as always, babe,” Sean said. Lola Whittaker frowned as he slung his arm around her waist, pulling her into the warmth of his body even as his fingers dipped dangerously close to her butt.

      It was a familiar gesture, one that said he was comfortable touching her. Lola wished she felt the same. With a shake of her head, she dropped one hand from the camera she’d been holding up to her eye and used the easy excuse to direct his hand higher. “I’m working.”

      What was wrong with her? Sean Morris was a good guy. Easygoing, intelligent, honorable. Sexy as hell in a boy next door kinda way. He’d asked her out several times over the past few months, and while her head said she should give him a chance...she’d never found a reason to say yes.

      Considering he worked as a firefighter for her dad, she had two good reasons to say no.

      Lola twisted her fingers into her worn camera strap. The camera he’d given her so many years ago. The one she couldn’t get rid of, no matter that she’d upgraded to a newer model at the studio. Whenever she took photographs just for herself, this was the camera she pulled out.

      A good reminder why getting involved with Sean—or any firefighter—was a bad idea. She’d already messed with one and had the battle scars to prove it. She wasn’t ready to jump into something with another guy who embraced danger for a living, even for a noble cause.

      “Get your hand away from my sister’s ass, you moron,” Colton drawled, punctuating his order with a smack across Sean’s arm.

      Sean laughed good-naturedly, holding his hands up and backing slowly away. “I’ll just go sweet-talk a slice of cake from Mrs. Monahan.”

      “You do that,” Colt grumbled. Her brother steered his wheelchair beside her, looking out over the group of people scattered across the park. The Memorial Day family picnic was a tradition, one her grandfather started. He’d been fire chief in Sweetheart, South Carolina, before her own dad had taken over twelve years ago.

      Both of her sisters had come into town for the long weekend. Over by the tables, her older sister, Suzi, bustled to organize the casseroles, congealed salads and fixings that appeared at every Southern potluck. Her younger sister, Kayla, type A extraordinaire, was busy grouping the desserts by type. Heaven forbid that pies, cakes, brownies and cookies comingled.

      Memories of her mom filling that role, organizing things in her quiet, authoritative way, reared up. A stab of pain accompanied the memory. It had been fourteen years since they’d lost her to a drunk driver, but the pain never seemed to go away. Lola had simply gotten used to living with that hole in her heart.

      Her father, along with half the Sweetheart fire brigade, stood around the exceedingly huge grill. She wouldn’t have been surprised if several of them were grunting like cavemen as they stared at the obscene amount of sizzling meat.

      Raising her camera again, Lola snapped a quick picture, somehow managing to capture the pride and contentment on her dad’s face. There was nothing he loved better than having all of his team gathered around him.

      Wives and girlfriends clustered together, chatting and intermittently hollering at kids as they tore through the town park.

      This was home. Family.

      Lola had worked hard to find her place in the sleepy little town she loved so much. She was proud of the successful business she owned. Between graduation pictures, spring family portraits and wedding season, she’d barely had a weekend off in months. She loved, absolutely loved, what she did and was so lucky to be able to make a living at it.

      So why had she felt so restless lately?

      It was hard to put her finger on it, but even now, during the weekend that she looked forward to every year, she couldn’t shake her sense of disquiet. Not even the weight of a camera in her hand calmed her—and it had always calmed her before.

      Frustrated with herself, Lola tried to refocus on the view through her lens. She walked several paces closer to the playground, crouching down to capture action shots of the Mitchell twins. At four, both boys were holy terrors, but adorable ones.

      Spinning in place, Lola tracked across the gathered group, looking for other moments to capture.

      “Sis, why don’t you put the camera away and enjoy the party?”

      She was so used to the quiet whoosh of Colton’s tires across grass and gravel that she hadn’t even heard him follow her. But she should have known he wouldn’t be far behind.

      He’d been her right hand for the past six years...ever since the accident. They’d always been close, two years apart, sandwiched between Suzi and Kayla, but working together had only strengthened the bond between them.

      That and almost losing him.

      “Try interacting with folks for a change instead of just watching through that camera of yours. Remember? I purposely left this weekend open so you could take a few days off. But in order for that to happen, you actually need to put down the camera.”

      Lola breathed deeply and tried not to let her bad mood spill out over her big brother. He was just trying to be helpful, although this conversation was becoming increasingly frequent—not to mention increasingly annoying.

      “I enjoy having a camera in my hand, Colt. You know that.”

      “Sure, but every now and again you need to engage with people. You know, create your own memories instead of preserving other people’s.”

      With a sigh, Lola cradled the camera in her palm and let it drop to her side. “Fine.” If for no other reason than to get him off her back, she walked to the parking lot. Popping the hatch on her small SUV, she carefully packed her camera back into the worn padded bag.

      The sound of crunching gravel whispered behind her, but Lola ignored it. No doubt a late arrival to the festivities. Stepping back, she slammed the door shut, whirled around and barreled straight into a solid wall of muscle.

      Her body reacted, shock and awareness crashing through her. Heavy hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her. Electricity crackled across her skin.

      A lump formed in her throat. She recognized him long before her gaze could travel up to take in his face. But she knew. Her body remembered. Reacted.

      All too much.

      Slowly Lola’s gaze tracked up from the center of a wide chest, over unbelievably rounded shoulders, up the long column of a thick throat to the eyes that still haunted her dreams—and her nightmares.

      Those familiar