Ablaze wasn't enjoying a pulled pork sandwich in the break room. No, she settled on a folding stool in the yard to watch the trucks pour out of the gates of the fire station, including Truck 12. Her cheeks blushed with excitement. Her red mouth is a bud on the cusp of full bloom. Someone's tongue could work it ‌open, and it would taste like— 

Like she-is-not-for-you, moron.

The District Chief's truck zipped out after Truck 12, with the squeal of tires and everything. Yeah, Villarreal must have been heartbroken to abandon his page-turner report!

Ablaze got up and waved at the departing crews. Sam filmed her fake enthusiasm, her smile, and her curves until the last puff of dust roused by the trucks had settled down.

Then... then Harris sighed. He was like a dog left behind after his owners went on their vacay. Be a good boy, stay in a kennel, play with the other puppies, and entertain a Singaporean heiress. Jesus!

"The show is over for now," Harris made a beeline for his charge. "Ready for your tour?"

"Not as ready as you are, apparently." She inspected his overalls tied at the waist and his black polo shirt. He even threw the PPE jacket over his shoulders.

"I was born ready, Miss."

"Well, then, let's rock n-roll!" She beamed again at Sam and his camera, saving the longest smile for Harris.

Dammit, if he could hit on her, it would ease the pangs of FOMO. But no, Villarreal had ordered him to worm into her confidence, and not—once again, for those in the back!—not into her bed.

They inspected the gear room, the lockers, and the cubbies. Every damn step of the way, Ablaze stopped to point her crimson nail at rolled hoses, red-tagged valves, and oxygen tanks. The more trivial the piece of equipment was, the longer she smiled at the camera next to it. The tour that took thirty minutes with the most inquisitive and most unruly kindergarteners stretched to two hours with this attention fiend.

'And these are our dumpsters, Miss,' hang on the tip of his tongue. She'd squeal in delight over these as well, it seemed. He bit his mischievous tongue, cleared his throat, and stared at the concrete under his feet. Steady, clean, and bland, with barely any cracks—a perfect example for him to emulate. He wasn't quite on that level by the time they completed the loop and returned to the garage, but Truck 18 sure exuded more emotions than he did. It glowed, fresh from the wash.

Ablaze slanted a glance at him from under her artificial eyelashes as she ran her hand along the truck's gleaming panel. "Gorgeous. May I climb into it?"

"Yes." Harris handed her a shiny hardhat. "Put this on, Miss. Regulations."

She cocked an eyebrow at the golden words 'Junior Fire Chief' emblazoned on the hardhat.

"Tomorrow, we can get you kitted out if you're going to stick around the station for a few more days." He ran out of things to show her otherwise.

"So, I'm on the fast track from the junior ranks? I'll take it!" She tossed her head back, giving her hair a bit of a shake. Her fingers ran down the entire length, almost to the waist, as if she had any tangles to smooth out. But if the grand design was to show off the swan-like bend of her neck to Harris and her viewers, she had nailed it.

"Although, it would be such a pity to give you helmet hair..."

"I'll risk it, for safety's sake." She adorned her head with the helmet like it was a tiara. "By the way, Harris, how will it work tomorrow with your 24 on, 48 off?"

"I'm on office duty, so it's eight a.m. to five p.m., every day, just like a bank clerk." Until she took her cute bum, her loyal Sam, and her arsonist slash stalker the hell out of Milwaukee.

She looked at him with such a rapt expression; he felt obliged to continue. "It's a normal reassignment when someone gets injured—"

Ablaze separated herself from Truck 18 to invade his personal space. "Did this hurt very much?" She touched the stitch on his chin with the tip of an expertly manicured fingernail. An amber crystal sits in the middle of it. Fake, most probably fake.

"No. A little. I—I'll live." His breath caught, thanks to her. Whatever she was doing, she had to stop it. His neck was already sweaty under the collar of the PPE jacket. Maybe he shouldn't have worn it, but then he'd feel naked under her gaze. Dammit, he couldn't win. " Ahem. The office duty normally involves filing, investigations—"

"Like arson investigations?"

Her nail kept brushing his chin, but the pleasant haze her touch put over him evaporated. "Yes, Miss. Exactly like that."

"Fascinating!" She checked over her shoulder and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Harris, may I ask you a question blending personal and professional?"

Did she plan to flirt with him all day? What about tomorrow? Firefighters drew some arsonists irresistibly. Same with the cops and the criminals. They were uniform bunnies, thriving on the weirdest, most extreme hook-ups. These crazies would commit minor misdemeanours for attention. The way Ablaze acted, setting a hotel on fire might have been minor in her books...or her podcast.

"I'm not comfortable answering personal questions, since this is for your podcast."

"Don't worry, it's nothing intimate, though if you want to share that too, I wouldn't mind." She released his chin to push the hair out of his left eye. Her hand hovered even after his bangs lay to her satisfaction, as if she didn't know what to do with him. "When you were investigating, did you ever run into a case of pyrokinesis?"

Her scent was heavy on almonds. Sweet almonds, not bitter, and the tips of her neat, little breasts—woah! How did we get here from there?

He cleared his throat, hoping it would somehow do away with the brain fog. "Not in Milwaukee, Miss. Definitely not in Milwaukee. We do serial killers, beer and pork sausage here."

"Serial killers? Your Chamber of Commerce must love you, Harris!"

"Some people love darker tourist attractions. What about you? What brought you here all the way from Singapore?"

Her laughter jingled like a bell. "The sausage, what else?"

"Great. It's terrible to have 'napping in hotels about to catch fire' on your bucket list." He checked both Ablaze and Sam's faces. The cameraman seemed harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Harris had heard of a chubby cellist, a real sweetheart, who lobbed Molotov cocktails at bakeries.

"No...no, I didn't come here to burn to crisp in my hotel room," she whispered and her mouth remained slightly ajar, with her low lip trembling. Her fingers clasped at her waist.

Every second made ignoring her allure more of a struggle. God only knew why her forays affected him so strongly, but he couldn't succumb. The Chief said so. "It's important to evacuate as soon as the alarm sounds."

Ablaze danced away a couple of steps, and the smell of almonds faded out. "I'm so dreadfully sorry for missing the fire alarm. I...I was trying something new to raise funds for flood victims in India and Bangladesh, and it was so successful, I simply forgot about the time. I was exhausted and slept right through."

Her smile was so disarming, and her hands folded in a pleading gesture so cutely, Harris just knew she'd have this exchange on her podcast. She'd parade him as another asshat in front of the entire world. He rubbed his forehead. "Pyrokinesis and floods. You have wide-ranging interests."

"I don't choose whom to help by theme, Harris. I just help whenever and however I can—"

"Is it more fun than using your family's money anonymously?"

"My family?"

A wounded crease appeared by her lips.Bingo, family drama, but why couldn't he get her to be real without being a jerk? Now success tasted as poisonous as bitter almonds.

"My uncles have managed my trust fund ever since my parents' death," Ablaze said.

"I'm sorry for your loss." He was. It tugged at his heart, already full of guilt, yet the words came out stiff. "I...er. I didn't know."

"Thank you, but what I'm saying, Harris, is I don't determine Leung International's spendings, charitable or otherwise. It may change soon, but for now I just..."

"You drift through life."

"I make my own way."

"Got it. That's commendable." How was he supposed to think when she was looking at him with those troubling eyes? His theories crumbled before he finished building them like houses of cards in the wind.

Luckily, Truck 12 came to his rescue. Back from the call, Colin backed it into the shop, and the beeps interrupted the awkward silence. Harris' glance swung to the truck and Ablaze watched it as well. Her breath baited in wonder, much like his. "How does it feel to drive one of those to a fire?"

She could be the most dangerous uniform bunny in Milwaukee, she could be an arsonist, and she was irresistible. He'd tell her anything, even on camera...except for this. "I wouldn't know. You...you wanted to climb into the truck, right? We better do it now, before there's another call."

Her eyes glinted with glee. "So long as it doesn't endanger the Milwaukee Fire Department."

He gave her a thumbs up. "You're catching on."

Ablaze whirled, offering a one-hundred-and-eighty view of her red blouse, whipping hair and off-white leggings. They hugged her calves lustfully, but... "Miss? Would you like to pull up a pair of overalls? White isn't the best color around the machinery."

"I thought the Fire Station's pride rides on keeping everything in tip-top shape."

He said that, verbatim, even boasted of spending every spare moment on the upkeep of gear, since it was so vitally important. Dammit, what did he care if she put overalls on or not? She already had that silly hardhat on, and her bum would be amazing to look at in the leggings. "Yes, Miss, it does."

"Sam!" Ablaze screamed. "Sam!"

Sam rushed to film Ablaze climbing into the truck. Then he filmed her leaning out of the cabin, the junior firefighter's hard hat sitting at a jaunty angle. Its red cupola emphasized the arch of her neck and the brightness of her hair. Harris swallowed. How did she make the plastic look sexy and slick? Just how?

"Imagine racing toward a burning building in one of these and not knowing if you'll be in time to save lives. It must be an incredible, simply incredible test of strength! Can you tell me something about it, Harris?"

Harris stared at the camera. "Ah, yes."

The rush that gripped his heart every time he heard the call lifted him above the small things. It propelled him to a different dimension of living, but they wouldn't understand. "Yes, it's like a test of manly strength, and...."

Belatedly, he remembered it wasn't only about men. "We have women firefighters too. That's why we don't say fireman anymore, ahem." His neck burned under his collar, heat radiating into his neck and cheeks. One more idiotic thing out of his mouth, and the sweat would trickle down his nose. "They're also very strong... Not in a butch sense, obviously. I mean, they are good. Tested for, you know, strength."

Sam rolled his eyes, because behind the camera a guy could emote all day long.

Dammit, couldn't Ablaze give him a few seconds' lead before startling him with that kind of question? Then he wouldn't sound like a jerk before a bunch of judgmental strangers.

While he sulked, Ablaze turned her back to get down from the truck. A giant grease stain graced the white leggings to the south of her cute bum. Miss Smarty Pants should have changed those pants when he told her to!

"There is one thing about cleaning, Miss, that's essential to know." He all but choked up from keeping a juvenile giggling fit back and speaking like a lecturer. "There're lots of parts we have to grease or they would rust. Suede is the best material for buffing and polishing, except of course it's too pricey, so sacrificing your leggings to help out is quite generous."

Ablaze's back stiffened.

"Go on, please." That was Sam, who had swung the camera from the grease-stamped butt to Harris. "Great material."

Crap. He'd mocked Ablaze after calling his female colleagues butch. Her fans would have a field day with that. Forget her fans! Mandatory sensitivity training loomed on his horizon.

While Harris schooled his face—no winces, smirks, or anything more macho than stoic—Ablaze hopped, presenting her pristine front to Sam. "I'm having so much fun at the Milwaukee fire department, it's unreal!"

The dispatch called for the trucks again, and Harris grabbed Ablaze by the elbow. "Glad you are, but there are lives at stake! Let's get you over there."

Sam wasn't on hand to film the right thing, too busy taking the action footage. Harris glared daggers at the ecstatic cameraman from the corner.

"Don't worry, he'll stay out of the way," Ablaze shouted into his ear over the din.

In her place, Harris would twist self-consciously to see how bad the stain was, but she watched the proceedings with greedy eyes. Her lips parted again, breath quickened to an alarming rate.

Harris' gaze drifted to her lips, so he saw rather than heard her whisper-scream, 'Fire!'

"The angel comes with fire," he replied.

Ablaze staggered back until she hit the wall and there was nowhere to go, her eyes flung wide in abject terror.