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LENGTH: Mid Novel
SENSUALITY: Spicy

Cover art (c) Jenny Dixon
ISBN 1-58608-440-2
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Sexy firefighter Rory Crewe is happy to pose as Mr. October for the Firefighters’ Charity Calendar, and takes on a leadership role in the Firefighters’ Calendar publicity campaign. It’s not Rory’s nature to act as a testosterone-driven, outrageously sexy ladies’ man—and that’s what the campaign seems to require. But he’s willing to play the part for the cause. It takes conscious effort at first, but Rory finds that in fact, he’s good at it. Especially around Grace, who sets him on fire.

Trouble is, he’s falling for Grace, and he’s been playing the role of unrepentant womanizer so well, that she believes it’s the real him!

Rating: Contains explicit sex scenes and adult themes.

"Four and 1/2 Hearts! MR. OCTOBER was such a fun book to read it is HOT, sexy and very sweet. The twelve sexy firefighters in this book will leave you drooling and asking for more. Charlotte Vye has done an excellent job and I will say this book is a definite must read." Dina Smith, The Romance Studio

"Four and 1/2 Stars! MR. OCTOBER is a charming tale of misunderstandings. Charlotte Vye gives us a story about a rugged, sexy, caring hero, and a heroine who is impressionable, sensitive and rather straitlaced when it comes to sex. Watching these two characters interact with each other made me smile many times while reading this delightful story. Ms. Vye has written a tender love story with two very dynamic characters, who will have the reader pulling for a happy ending." Amelia Richard, eCataRomance Reviews

"This quick, fun romance is not to be missed. Charlotte Vye's unique point of view gets into the heads of both Grace and Rory, showing the reader the true emotions of both characters. This romantic comedy filled with passion, lust, and maybe even a little bit of love, is truly a fabulous read." Alison Lynch

"I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. Watching how far Rory went while being Mr. October, and then how much fast-talking he had to do to get Grace to give an inch was interesting. The sex, after Grace unleashes her inner bad girl, smokes the page, and the sincerity of emotions threatens to overwhelm both characters several times throughout the novel. With realistic, fascinating characters, sizzling lovemaking, and a feel-good ending, MR. OCTOBER is a novel readers will want to add to their libraries today." Angela Camp, Romance Reviews Today

"Five Angels! Mr. October is an erotic journey through the heart. The chemistry between Grace and Rory sparks off the page and makes the reader want to see these two shy souls fall in love once and for all. Mr. October should not be missed, it hits all the right notes as it is emotionally charged, has great character development, and portrays firefighters as not only heroes but also as regular humans. Get your hands on a copy of Mr. October as soon as you can." Sarah W, Fallen Angel Reviews

"Hats Off To Charlotte Vye !!!! What an absolutely wonderful read. Heartfelt, sensual, spicy, and above all, a good dose of humor. This one is most definitely a keeper." Shelina Emery, MyShelf.com

MR. OCTOBER

By

Charlotte Vye

© copyright April 2004, Charlotte Vye
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright April 2004
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Chapter 1

"Have you seen it yet?"

Grace, seated at her desk in the office she shared with her assistant, Margaret, gave a little jump. Margaret had a way of bursting in on her. Now she was brandishing the eagerly anticipated advance copies of the Firefighters’ Charity Calendar.

"Hot off the presses!" Margaret enthused.

Her excitement was infectious. Grace grabbed at one of the sleekly produced calendars that Margaret tossed on her desk, while Margaret plopped down on the chair in front of her. Even though Grace, as the publicist in charge of the calendar, had seen the mock-ups and the proofs, it was always thrilling to see the finished product for the first time. And this one was special.

"Wow—this looks terrific," Grace said, quickly fanning the pages. Long and narrow, shot mostly in black and white, the calendar featured twelve of the hottest-looking firefighters in the metropolitan area, in various states of undress, each in a different, provocative pose. No wonder it was consistently one of the best fundraisers for the Hospital’s Burn Unit, Grace thought, as she looked admiringly at the strong chests, rippling muscles, and suggestive poses of the city’s best.

Her mother was going to have a fit.

Grace flipped back to the beginning and began to methodically examine each glossy page. January was darkly handsome, naked from the waist up, his strongly muscled upper body glistening with sweat as he coiled a thick rope. He looked like he was about to do something—something exciting. Grace turned the page, trying not to give herself away by racing recklessly to the picture she knew was farther along.

February was rugged, with only suspenders over his naked shoulders, and carried an axe against a backdrop of trees. He’d tossed back the visor of his protective headgear and looked as though he’d just put out a forest fire single-handedly.

March stared provocatively into the camera lens, the dark nest of hair on his chest showing beneath his firefighter’s jacket worn carelessly open, as he nonchalantly leaned against the front grill of a powerful fire truck.

Grace began turning the pages a little faster.

April, shirtless, slid down the pole of a fire station, on his way to save lives; May, bare-chested, effortlessly shouldered the heavy Jaws of Life, and looked grave.

Margaret was way ahead of her—she’d seen the proofs too. "Take a look at Mr. October!" Margaret said.

Grace skipped June through September entirely and flipped eagerly to October. She took a deep, steadying breath—she didn’t want to behave like a silly schoolgirl mooning over a movie magazine, especially not in front of her assistant. But it would be difficult, she thought, staring appreciatively, for any woman not to be affected by Mr. October.

He was drop-dead gorgeous. He looked boldly into the camera as if he were looking directly at her. He was naked from the waist up, and the top button on his trousers was deliberately undone, leaving a slight, suggestive V pointing downward, like an arrow. And he was holding a heavy fire hose, pointing it away from his body at an almost indecent angle.

He had a remarkable physique. Rugged, more muscular than lean, Mr. October had the kind of chest, shoulders and strong, masculine arms that made Grace want to abandon all her inhibitions. But it was his face that made her linger at that page. She’d never seen anyone so handsome—not in real life, anyway. Unfortunately, she’d been miserably ill the day of the shoot. He had tousled dark hair, arresting eyes, and the sexiest, most irresistible smile she’d ever seen.

He looked like he could rescue Christians from the lions with his bare hands. He looked like he could bring her the forbidden pleasure she’d only dreamed about. He looked like—trouble.

"I’d set fire to myself if I knew he’d be the one to save me," Margaret said. "I’d give anything for one night in bed with him. Look at that body!" Grace looked, silently agreeing with her. "Try and tell me you don’t think Mr. October is a total hunk," Margaret challenged.

"He’s a total hunk," Grace said, not lifting her eyes from the page.

"Doesn’t he make you want to rip off all your clothes?"

"He absolutely does."

Grace heard an unexpected sound, the sound of someone deliberately clearing his throat. She lifted her head abruptly as Margaret turned in her chair to face the door. Grace felt her face redden as she awkwardly slapped the calendar closed on her desk. But it was too late.

"You’re…" she stammered, burning with embarrassment. What the hell was he doing here?

"Mr. October," the interloper said, in a deep, amused voice. "In person."

The photograph didn’t do him justice. In person, he was even more striking. His eyes were a conspicuous green, and his smile—

"How long have you been standing there?" she demanded, standing up.

"From about, ‘Take a look at Mr. October,’" he said with a wicked grin, leaving the open doorway and venturing further into the room. He looked almost as good in his jeans and leather jacket as he did in his firefighting gear, Grace thought.

"Oh," Margaret said, gaping from her chair.

Grace felt him staring at her, as she mentally reviewed what he must have overheard. Not good.

"I’m glad you like the picture. My real name is Rory Crewe," he said, offering her his hand.

"I’m Grace Whitney, and this is my assistant, Margaret Soames."

Margaret rose from her chair. "I’m very pleased to meet you," she gushed.

Margaret was actually batting her eyelashes, Grace noticed with annoyance. She attempted to bring the situation back to a professional level. "Can I offer you a coffee?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure," Rory said. "Black, no sugar."

"Margaret, why don’t you get coffee," Grace suggested. The only place to get good coffee was in the hospital’s Coffee Kiosk, seven floors down, and this time of day there would be a line-up. It would give Margaret a chance to pull herself together, and allow Grace to get things back onto a more professional footing.

But the moment Margaret left them, in a visible huff, Grace regretted sending her. Rory’s scorching stare was making her uncomfortable. She felt his eyes rest boldly on her breasts, and then travel down to her hips and back up again.

Grace knew how to dress. Her blouse and skirt, while professional, still flattered her figure. But his piercing gaze made her feel like he was seeing right through to her underwear. For a long moment neither one of them spoke. Grace felt awkward about what he’d overheard, and embarrassed by his frank, very male, appraisal. But she felt warmed by it too.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, taking her seat, motioning for Rory to sit down opposite her.

Rory was enjoying himself. He hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. He’d come to pay one of his regular visits to the patients in the Burn Unit, and while there had decided to drop in at the publicist’s office. The door had been open, and he’d been interested in what they had to say about him—who wouldn’t be? He smiled again. Being called ‘a total hunk’ by a woman as attractive as Grace wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a guy coming off a 24-hour shift.

Maybe that was what had prompted him to try out the role of outrageously sexy firefighter on her first—to practice a little bit—before he had to do it for real.

It helped that Grace was gorgeous, with long, blond hair and fresh skin. She had beautiful blue eyes, and the kind of body a guy wanted to kiss all over…

If he had to act like a strutting stud that had a different woman for breakfast, lunch and dinner, at least being around her made it easy.

If Grace seemed a little uncomfortable, he couldn’t blame her. He’d never looked a woman over quite like that—with undisguised lust and a brazen disregard for good manners. Rory felt almost ashamed of himself. But reassured too. Maybe this sex god stuff wasn’t going to be so hard to pull off after all.

"I was in the neighborhood. I visit the patients on the Burn Unit once in a while," he explained. "And I wanted to drop in and tell you that me and the boys think you’ve done a great job promoting the calendar."

She seemed pleased. "Thank you. It’s my job, but this cause is especially important to me." Grace added, sounding more comfortable, "I should be thanking you—and the other firefighters who posed for the calendar. It’s going to raise a lot of money for the Burn Unit."

He nodded. "Let’s hope so. The buzz is definitely out there, bigger than last year. The radio spots were a great idea."

Now that he was sitting down, Rory realized how bone-tired he was. It had been a long, busy shift. Two three-alarm fires over a 24-hour period. He was beat. He wanted nothing more than to go home and climb into bed.

With her.

The unbidden thought startled him. He didn’t usually think that way the first time he met a woman. But she wasn’t about to leave her office to come home and sleep with him—that was the stuff that fantasies were made of.

He ought to be going, he thought, realizing that if he spent any more time looking at her and letting his perfectly normal male imagination run wild, he’d never be able to get to sleep when he slid between the sheets. But instead he leaned back in his chair and said, "So, can I see it?"

"What?"

"The calendar." Rory jerked his chin in the direction of her desk.

"Oh. Of course," she said, handing it over. He took his time scanning the pages, impressed at how well it had turned out. The picture of him was…well, it was a good picture, but as far as he was concerned, it was a little embarrassing. But he’d do anything for a good cause.

"Is it just me, or is the calendar a little…sexier this year?" She nodded in agreement. "I guess that was your call?"

She cleared her throat. "I’ve been studying the market and I think that’s the direction we need to go in—to get the revenue we’re after."

Rory grinned at her. "I’m sure you’re right," he said. He began to get up.

"Don’t you want your coffee?"

"On second thought, I’d better not. I’d better go home and get some sleep," he said, realizing that, as much as he’d like to spend more time with her, her assistant would be back any minute.

Grace rose from her chair. "I guess I’ll see you at the launch party then," she said as he turned to leave.

"Right. I’ll be there," he said, pausing. She really was delicious. He gave her a last, bold once-over that brought out her color again. "We’ll all be there, in full gear, as arranged."

The launch party was only a few days away. I’ll see her again then, Rory told himself, as he left her and walked down the hall—looking forward to the future, as always.

* * * *

When Margaret returned to the office, Grace noticed that she was breathless from hurrying, and that there was coffee sloshed all over the cardboard carrying box.

"What happened?" Margaret asked, clearly disappointed at finding the handsome firefighter already gone.

"He changed his mind about the coffee, that’s all," Grace said from behind her desk, affecting a nonchalance she didn’t feel. She’d found Mr. October’s blatant sexuality unnerving. She hoped he wasn’t like that all the time—they’d have to work together on the campaign, and she didn’t think she could take it.

Margaret sighed heavily and sat down at her own desk in the corner of the office and began leafing through the calendar again. "Wow," she said at last. "This calendar is the raciest one yet—by far. This is going to get you noticed."

"Do you think it’s a little over the top?" Grace asked. It was the first time she’d handled the calendar. She knew she’d pushed the envelope a little—the men showed more skin this year, and the poses were deliberately provocative. Even though she’d had the necessary approvals all the way down the line, now that the calendar was done, soon to be out in the public domain, she felt a little uneasy. It was hot. Most people would like it. It would make a lot of money for the Burn Unit—and that was the point, wasn’t it? After all, the target was much more aggressive this year, and Grace was determined to reach it.

But how would the older ladies who worked so tirelessly on the volunteer committee for the hospital react? And most of them were friends of her mother’s.

"No, it’s perfect," Margaret said with her usual confidence. "Besides, you can’t please all of the people all of the time."

Grace remembered that she’d agreed to have dinner at her parents’ house that night. She wasn’t looking forward to it. This calendar was going to knock the wind right out of them.

* * * *

Rory drove his truck home from the hospital in the late afternoon twilight. A hot shower to ease his aching muscles and then he would hit the sack. Eight hours of oblivion and he’d be as good as new. That was the great thing about being really fit, Rory thought as he peeled off his clothes—you bounced right back.

And Rory was definitely fit. He worked at it. As far as he was concerned, it was part of the job. You couldn’t be one hell of a firefighter if you weren’t in top shape.

It was no coincidence that he’d chosen a job that offered equal parts excitement and physical exertion. Rory thrived on a heavy dose of both. He liked to be active, and push himself to the physical limit. He thrived on the risk, the inherent danger of the job. And he wanted to help people more than he wanted to make money.

Rory stepped into the shower, remembering his mother’s reaction to his decision three years ago to join the fire department. She’d struggled to raise three boys on her own after their father had left when Rory was only two. She’d wanted something different for him—she’d made no secret of it. She hadn’t liked his walking away from a promising career as a chemical engineer to fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming a firefighter. But Rory had a mind of his own, and called his own shots. It hadn’t taken her long to come around though, he remembered. She’d worried about him, said she’d rather have him sitting safely behind a desk. But she’d been proud of him too.

And then she’d been the one to be killed a year later in a car accident.

Rory wondered what his mother would have thought about this calendar thing, and decided she would have been okay with it. She’d known he’d do almost anything for charity. Rory only had to remember the little girl he’d recently pulled out of a burning building—with first-degree burns to eighty percent of her body. Or the firefighter in his unit who’d been trapped when a house had collapsed on him—and who was now badly disfigured and unable to work. Rory knew how badly the money was needed to upgrade the Burn Unit. He was absolutely committed to raising as much money through the campaign as he possibly could. And how would he do that? By taking a leadership role in the campaign, that’s how.

He had a buddy who was a firefighter in Florida, and they’d raised an astonishing amount of money with their calendar. Rory had asked him how they’d done it. The secret to their success, his friend had assured him, was to have a sexy front man to lead the campaign. Some guy for all those women to focus their fantasies on.

Rory had looked around and realized that most of the men on this year’s calendar were either married, involved, or just not the type. He figured he was it.

He realized he’d have to do a lot more than just pose for a picture. He’d have to be out there, attracting attention, drumming up support—making a spectacle of himself. Because if his friend was right, what was needed to lead this campaign was a man who was willing to be outrageously sexy—and to play on every woman’s erotic fantasies.

Rory soaped his torso, and then stood under the pulsing stream of hot, steamy water, enjoying the feel of it against his tired muscles. All in all, this calendar project was turning out to be way more interesting than he’d expected. It had led him to Grace Whitney, for one thing. He’d wanted to kiss her. He hadn’t dared to carry his newly hatched scheme that far.

He thought about that kiss that didn’t happen, about what it might have been like. Would she have tensed up on him, and pulled away? Or would she have melted into his lips like a living fantasy? He felt a surge of adrenaline at the thought, coursing right to his groin. He imagined his mouth on her soft, yielding lips, his hand touching her hair, as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off. He imagined reaching for the clasp of her brassiere, her full, warm breasts spilling out into his cupped hands, her breath coming faster…

Damn. He’d never get to sleep now. He turned the cold water tap full on.

As Rory toweled off and slid naked between the sheets, he anticipated seeing her again. He was definitely looking forward to the calendar’s launch party now. Most women found firefighters irresistible—especially in uniform. He’d bet Grace wasn’t much different.

Rory was a man who went after what he wanted—and usually got it, too. He punched his pillow. Right now, he thought in frustration as sleep eluded him, what he wanted more than anything was Grace Whitney.

* * * *

Grace pulled into the drive of her parents’ impressive Rosedale home, slightly apprehensive. Her parents were mostly supportive of her decision to pursue a career as a publicist, and of her working for the Hospital Services Charity. But her mother especially, who had steered the volunteer committee of the hospital for years—until quite recently—had never liked the idea of a firefighters’ calendar as a fundraiser in the first place. She’d always thought it was in poor taste.

Wait till she sees this, Grace thought, glancing at the calendar lying on the passenger seat beside her.

Grace remembered the single conversation she’d had with her parents about this particular project, months ago. At first, her mother had been horrified at the thought that Grace would have to handle that calendar as part of her job—until she saw it as an opportunity to bring the tone of the campaign back up to where it rightly belonged. She’d emphatically urged Grace to "get a full suit of clothes on those poor boys."

"Now Mary," her father had said, "Grace knows her job—let her do it her way. I’m sure she won’t disgrace us."

But Grace hadn’t followed her mother’s advice. Quite the opposite. What’s more, she hadn’t told her mother, either. Grace knew what needed to be done to make the calendar a runaway success, and she hadn’t wanted her mother to try to dissuade her. But it made what she had to do now even harder.

The thing was, Grace told herself firmly, she did know her job. She knew what the trends were, what the market wanted. She’d done first class work on the calendar and its promotion so far, and she knew it. But she didn’t think her parents would see it that way.

Grace slipped the calendar into her briefcase and made her way up the walk of the rather grand Georgian-style home, the shrubberies already twinkling with early Christmas lights. Without knocking, she opened the front door and stepped into the spacious foyer, the familiar smell of furniture polish and fresh-cut flowers momentarily reassuring her.

"Grace, dear," her mother said, coming up to her smiling, her shoes tapping lightly against the marble floor, and giving her only child a kiss. She was wearing pale yellow cashmere and pearls, and had recently had her hair done. "It’s so lovely to see you. Your father’s in the library."

Grace followed her mother down the hall only half-listening, as she thought about how to broach the subject of the calendar. She wasn’t prepared for what she heard next.

"There’s certainly a lot of interest in this firemen’s calendar this year," her mother said.

"Interest?" Grace repeated.

"I’ve told everyone I know that now that you’re in charge of it, they’re going to see a welcome change."

Uh-oh.

"Grace, honey," her father said, putting his newspaper aside as Grace entered the library and leaned down to kiss him. "Are you all right?" he asked, leaning back a little to look at her. "You look a little off."

"No, I’m fine, Daddy," she said, sitting down in an armchair and forcing a smile. This was going to be worse than she thought.

"I was just telling Grace how pleased everybody is that she’s in charge of the firemen’s calendar this year. What a relief it is for the ladies on the committee!" her mother said.

"I’ve been hearing quite a bit about it—heard about it on the radio even," her father said. "Be out soon, will it?"

"When can we see it dear?" her mother asked.

Before Grace could answer, her mother plunged on. "You know, your father and I weren’t planning on going to your launch party—as you know, we had another engagement. But what with all the excitement, I think we had better attend. In fact, I’ve already told a number of people that we’ll be going."

Could this get any worse?

"Quite a few of our friends have already bought tickets," her mother said. Grace listened with dismay as her mother went on. "What a good idea to have a launch party! That’s never been done before, has it? Was that your idea?"

"Er, yes," mumbled Grace distractedly. "Maybe you should keep your original engagement," she suggested. "The launch party’s no big thing. I don’t really think it’s the sort of thing you and your friends would enjoy. It’s more of a young people’s event. I’m sure I could get refunds on those tickets—"

"Nonsense," her father said. "We wouldn’t miss it now. We want people to know how proud we are of our girl." They beamed indulgently at her from the sofa.

"You might feel differently, once you’ve seen the calendar," Grace said.

"Nonsense," her father repeated.

Grace reached reluctantly into her briefcase. She withdrew the long, glossy calendar, and without speaking, handed it to her parents.

"Oh!" her mother said eagerly, reaching for it.

"Oh, my!" her mother said, a moment later, her hand fluttering involuntarily to her mouth.

"My word!" her father exclaimed, knitting his brows fiercely.

Grace sat in resignation as they turned the pages—her mother now clutching at her pearl necklace, her father’s face turning an apoplectic red.

Grace told herself that objectively speaking, the pictures were not offensive. Suggestive, yes. Sexy, sure. But they were hardly…pornographic. By today’s standards, they were nothing out of the ordinary at all. But somehow, her parents had neglected to enter the 21st century along with everybody else.

"Did you still want to go to the launch party?" Grace asked uncertainly.

Chapter 2

Rory scanned the room again, hoping to catch his first glimpse of Grace. For the last couple of days he’d been thinking a lot about her—anticipating what she’d look like in a slinky evening gown.

Anticipating what she’d look like slipping out of it, too.

The event was already packed. She could be anywhere, in this throng. Who would have thought that a simple calendar could draw this kind of crowd, Rory said to himself, impressed. He had to hand it to Grace. She certainly knew how to create excitement.

That was an understatement.

At $100 a plate, this launch party, in one of the most expensive hotels in the city, was going to make a hell of a lot of money for the Burn Unit. At Grace’s request, he and the other eleven firefighters who’d posed for the calendar were here tonight to sign their autographs on calendars for anyone who asked. And, in the spirit of things, they were here in uniform—heavy, fire-resistant trousers and jackets, striped with reflective tape.

Tonight was Rory’s first real opportunity to play the role he’d assigned himself, and he was going to play it to the hilt. He was going to draw as much attention to himself, flirt with as many women—and push as many calendars—as he possibly could. Even if it did make him feel like an idiot.

Rory stood apart, his helmet tucked under one arm, surveying the room. He already knew from experience that firefighters were a big favorite with women—and little boys who liked shiny red fire trucks. But this was a diverse, well-heeled crowd.

However, it had its share of attractive young women too, Rory noticed, as yet another admiring feminine glance was sent his way. Nothing like being in uniform, Rory mused, smiling roguishly back, playing his part.

There. He felt like the temperature had just shot up twenty degrees. If he’d thought Grace was a knockout before, nothing had prepared him for how she looked tonight.

The full-length black evening gown hugged her woman’s body like a jealous lover. The gown, cut low on her bosom, showed off her full breasts. Her shoulders were smooth and pale. Her blond hair was swept up and she wore siren-red lipstick.

Rory’s eyes slowly covered every luscious inch of her. The dress accentuated her slim waist and the soft, feminine curve of her hips. And that slit up the side—he got a tantalizing glimpse of long, shapely leg, sheer black stocking, and strappy sandal. Rory ran a finger around the inside of his collar, as if that would somehow help him breathe.

She hadn’t seen him yet. She did a half turn, and he got an intoxicating view of her back, which was bared by the deep plunge of her dress to just above her hips. The provocative curve of her round, firm bottom was almost more than he could stand.

Some guests passed between them, temporarily obscuring his view. He shifted his position a little. For the first time, it occurred to Rory that she might have brought a date. He’d noticed the other day that she wasn’t wearing a ring—but she could have a boyfriend. At the moment, he didn’t see how a woman like her couldn’t have a boyfriend. Rory fervently hoped that wasn’t the case. So far, he didn’t see anyone around who fit the bill.

She was speaking to an older, expensively dressed couple. Big patrons of the hospital, by the look of them. Given their dress and demeanor, his bet was they had a lot of money. The woman wore a pinched expression, as if something had annoyed or upset her. The man, silver-haired and distinguished, looked uncomfortable. They seemed to glance about apprehensively, as if expecting something unpleasant to happen. As far as Rory could tell, they were the only people at the party who didn’t seem to be enjoying themselves. It looked as though Grace was trying to tear herself away, but as she moved to go, the older woman put a hand on her arm, forestalling her.

Rory considered whether it was the right moment to approach Grace. If she was having difficulty getting away from a couple of old moneybags, he figured, she’d probably be glad to see him. His mind made up, he shouldered his way through the crowd toward her.

"Good evening," Rory said at Grace’s ear. Already, the faint scent of her perfume was playing havoc with his senses. It was gratifying to see, as she turned and recognized him, the sudden, rosy flush that touched her cheeks.

The older, annoyed woman was now looking mildly shocked, even scandalized, at his sudden appearance. Maybe she hadn’t liked the calendar, was Rory’s first thought. Maybe his timing wasn’t so good after all.

"Allow me to introduce you," Grace said. "Mr. Octo—I mean," she hastily corrected herself, "Rory Crewe, I’d like you to meet my parents, Robert and Mary Whitney." Rory formally shook hands with the older couple.

His timing was definitely lousy. There were undercurrents here he could only guess at, but he thought he had a pretty good idea of what was what. Grace’s mother evidently did not approve of him—she looked like the type who would have a fainting spell if anybody said the word sex out loud.

However, both her mother and father smiled civilly and told Rory that they were delighted to meet him. Then there was a frozen silence, as Rory watched them mentally consult their internal etiquette books on what to do next.

Rory was amused by the situation, but he guessed Grace was not. "I’m sorry to steal your daughter away, but she’s needed elsewhere. I’ve been sent to collect her," Rory said smoothly, taking Grace by the elbow and steering her deftly away with a pleasant, departing smile at her speechless parents.

He guided her through the crowd, and when Rory judged them to be safely away from her parents, he stopped and turned to face her.

"What was that all about?" he asked, looking down at her, fully enjoying his unfair advantage of height. Her breasts were right there in front of him; God give him strength. She was so close to him now, thrust against him by the press of people, that he was unable to prevent a note of huskiness from creeping into his voice.

"That was my parents being my parents. They’re a little—" she seemed to cast around for just the right word "—old-fashioned." She looked up at him and their eyes locked.

"I take it they don’t approve of your calendar," Rory said.

"That’s for sure. I think they’re trying to figure out some way to have me put in a convent," Grace said. "My mother especially finds the calendar in poor taste." She sighed heavily. "They weren’t even supposed to be here, but they told all their friends they were coming, so now they feel they have to come and hold their heads up." She shrugged her bare shoulders, charming him with the gesture. "Personally, I don’t think people are half as scandalized by it as my parents think they are. I mean—do these people look like they’re mortally offended to you?"

Rory glanced around the room along with her. He smiled. "Nope." He reached out and gently grabbed one bare arm, pulling her even closer to him, giving her the sexiest look he could muster. "I take it you have no interest in convent life?" he said softly. He didn’t know if it was Mr. October speaking, or Rory Crewe—a very turned-on Rory Crewe.

Judging by her reaction, he’d gone too far. She stiffened and stepped away from him a little. He dropped his hand. "I think maybe you’ve got the wrong impression of me," she said.

"How so?"

He noticed a little blush warm her cheek. "Because of … because of what you overheard the other day." Rory was unable to help the smile that began playing about his lips. Maybe she thought he was laughing at her, because she seemed to bristle right before his eyes. "I want you to know that for me, this calendar is strictly business," she said a little too firmly. "I chose the pictures I thought would sell the most calendars. That’s what I was hired for." Rory looked at her, eyebrows raised, remembering what she’d said about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have started grinning, because then she went one better. "I didn’t choose the pictures based on what I like. But sex sells." She lifted her chin at him defensively. "Excuse me," she said. Abruptly, she turned and weaved her way through the crowd away from him.

Rory cursed lightly under his breath and tried to stifle his frustration as he watched her go. Then he went in search of a much-needed cold drink.

Grace’s heart beat furiously as she fled Rory and his bold, challenging sexuality. She pushed her way through the crush of people until she’d put a sufficient distance between her and the man she’d been secretly obsessing about for weeks. Sure he was the embodiment of every woman’s erotic fantasies. Of her erotic fantasies. That’s why he was in the calendar in the first place.

A man like that was only after one thing.

Unfortunately, he made her want the exact same thing. He made her want to slip away in the dark with him and open her mouth to his and feel his rough man’s hands touching her, exciting her, everywhere.

No one had ever looked at her that way before, like he was ready to have her on the spot. And she liked it.

Grace had to acknowledge that what she was feeling right now was pure, unmistakable arousal. Her nipples tingled, and she’d been warm and moist with wanting the moment he’d touched her. Now, despite what she’d just told him, she had a disturbing urge to fling good sense aside and throw herself at him. Well, she could dream. It wasn’t going to happen. A man like that had probably been with more women than he could count. Grace wasn’t about to have a meaningless fling with a man who looked—and acted—like he bedded every attractive woman who crossed his path. No matter how much she might want to.

She wasn’t about to become one more notch in his bedpost.

Grace had never even been attracted to Rory’s type before. She’d always preferred men who had university degrees and worked in offices and wore nice suits. Men who were polite and predictable. Not the kind of men who expected you to peel off your clothes when they snapped their fingers.

And she’d never had wildly erotic sex before, either.

Where had that thought come from? One touch from Rory and she was thinking in terms of wildly erotic sex? Maybe she was reacting this way because she hadn’t been seeing anyone for a while. Maybe she was just lonely, and needed to meet someone. What she didn’t need was anybody to tell her that Rory Crewe was the wrong man for her. She could see that perfectly well herself. A sexy firefighter who’d posed half nude for a calendar. A man who’d probably propositioned ever female under thirty-five he’d seen since he got out of bed this morning.

He wasn’t that sexy, was he? Sexy enough for her to throw away a lifetime of self-respect and prudence, just like that?

Yeah, he was that sexy.

A server came by and offered Grace a glass of chilled white wine, which she gratefully accepted. She felt the cool wine slip deliciously down her throat and surveyed the room with satisfaction. For a moment she forgot Rory and her preoccupation with the dangerous pleasure he represented, and congratulated herself on a job well done. She may have embarrassed and alienated her parents, bought herself trouble with the ladies on the volunteer committee, and made a fool of herself in front of Rory, but she’d made a splendid success of this calendar—and this evening’s event. Early projections looked even better than expected. This was going to be the best year of fundraising for the Burn Unit ever, and she could at least be proud of that. She just wished her parents could see beyond the scantily clad bodies in the calendar to recognize her achievement.

Suddenly she froze. Her eyes narrowed as they fastened on Rory, holding court to a cluster of fawning young women. She felt an unwanted pang at seeing again just how handsome he was, how manly. He was gallantly signing autographs and handing them back to the giggling, eager women. He’d certainly forgotten about her in hurry, Grace thought in annoyance.

She watched as he impulsively kissed one of the young ladies on the cheek. Someone had pulled out a camera, and now they were all taking turns posing with him. Honestly! Next he’d be baring himself to the waist, and unzipping his trousers, so they could get a better picture.

Grace stared in increasing annoyance as he put his arm familiarly around one attractive woman after another, smiling cockily for the camera. But he kept his clothes on. Now, Grace’s eyes widened as one pretty woman in the group handed him a piece of paper, which he slipped casually into his pocket. That’s probably her phone number, Grace told herself. She took a couple of quick gulps of her wine, finishing off her glass.

She’d make a point of staying away from Rory Crewe for the rest of the night—and from now on. She’d keep busy. After all, she had a lot to do, and lots of people to see and thank. A publicist’s work was never done. She didn’t have time to dally with a firefighter.

But if she was going to have to endure the likes of that, she thought, watching Rory flirt, it was going to be a long evening.

* * * *

The sit-down dinner was over, and the tables had been cleared away for the dancing to begin. The lights had been lowered and the band was beginning to play. Rory finished his drink restlessly.

He’d been aware of Grace all evening, imagining being with her in all sorts of exciting ways. His libido was at a feverish pitch. He wanted her.

If he couldn’t have Grace tonight, there was more than one woman who’d fallen hook, line and sinker for his Romeo routine—and who’d made it obvious that she was willing to go home with him. But contrary to what his behavior here tonight would seem to indicate, he wasn’t into one-night stands. Besides, it was Grace he wanted. If he couldn’t have her, he’d rather go home alone.

One thing was for sure—his Mr. October persona seemed to be working. He’d certainly created a stir. And the calendars were just flying off the tables.

Although it had taken conscious effort at first, Rory was somewhat surprised at how easily he’d slipped into the role. Surprised because he’d never been much of a flirt. He’d always been too serious, with too much on the go to waste time pursuing women he didn’t really want.

He wasn’t the only one who was surprised by his behavior here tonight. Rory had overheard one of the other firefighters say in disbelief, "Hey, get a load of Rory," as the women flocked around him.

For the time being anyway, his autograph signing duties were over. Some of the other guys had happily stepped in to give him a break—or to get a piece of the action, Rory thought, smiling. He was free to pursue Grace.

Suddenly alert, Rory noticed that Grace was leaving the ballroom. He quickly decided to follow her. Maybe if he could get her alone out in the corridor, or perhaps in the lobby of the hotel, away from prying eyes, they could start over.

He hastened toward the exit, his strides lengthening as she disappeared from view. As he entered the carpeted corridor, leaving the din of the party behind, he heard the muted hiss of an elevator door, and glimpsed Grace’s slender figure slipping into the open elevator. In long strides, he was there. He put out his hand to stay the elevator door. He saw the startled look on her face, and that they were completely alone.

"Hi," he said, keeping his hand pressed firmly against the door. "Mind if I join you?"

After a moment’s hesitation, she shook her head. "I was going down to the lobby," she said. Rory stepped into the elevator, still facing her. He twisted at the waist and punched the button for the lobby, sixteen floors down. The doors hissed closed.

He wished this ride could go on forever. Being alone with her was something he’d been thinking about all evening. Now, the way she looked—and the way she was looking at him—was he reading her right? Maybe she’d had a couple of drinks, because if he wasn’t mistaken, she was looking at him like she wanted—

She took a small step closer to him. Impulsively, Rory reached out and touched her face as she lifted it to his. He brought his mouth down to softly brush hers, unable to suppress a low, throaty groan of desire. He felt her relax against his lips as he kissed her. He felt the full, hard length of his erection pressing stiffly against his trousers, and knew that he was completely, ardently aroused.

He pressed his lips against hers slightly more urgently, as he cupped her face with his hand. He felt her lips begin to part, on the verge of inviting him in—

A loud, high-pitched screech and a sudden, jolting lurch of the elevator startled them out of their kiss. Grace tumbled against Rory’s chest, and instinctively he put his arms protectively around her. Instinctively, he looked overhead, and then at the panel on the side of the elevator. For a moment, all was silence. They were suspended between floors, Rory realized.

"What happened?" Grace asked.

"Looks like we’re stuck in an elevator," Rory said. He looked down at her clasped tightly in his arms, her mouth moist with kissing, and thought about kissing her again. He wasn’t worried. They weren’t in any danger. To him, this looked like a golden opportunity.

But judging by her expression, she didn’t see it that way. Damn.

"Well, do something," she urged. "Can it—can it crash?"

He smiled. "It’s not going to crash. These things have all sorts of safety systems. We just have to wait it out," he said in his most persuasive voice. He attempted to tilt her chin up to kiss her again, but she was having none of it.

"You don’t know that," she accused, shrugging out of his embrace.

"I am a firefighter, remember?" He jerked his thumb at his uniform jacket as if to emphasize his point.

She looked at him suspiciously. "I think we should press the Emergency button," she suggested, pointing at the red alarm button on the panel.

"You’re kidding me," he protested. "Me, in full gear, pressing an Emergency button for a stalled elevator—and when I’m alone with a beautiful woman? Do you have any idea how embarrassing that would be?" He shook his head in disgust. "The guys would never let me live it down. I have a reputation to uphold you know." At the look she gave him he quickly added, "As a firefighter, I mean."

Seeing her expression, he sighed, realizing that she’d completely lost her previous, receptive mood. He’d fix the damn thing, and then maybe she’d be able to relax again. She might even be grateful. "Don’t worry. I can probably fix it," he assured her, straightening to his full height and tapping, then pushing through, the trap door in the ceiling of the elevator. It would be hot up there, he realized. He quickly discarded his heavy, fire-resistant jacket, tossing it onto the floor, until he was standing before her in trousers, t-shirt and suspenders. "This shouldn’t take long," he said.

He reached up and effortlessly hoisted himself through the trap door and out onto the roof of the elevator. He kneeled back down and leaned his face through the opening. "And don’t press that Emergency button."

Grace decided she was going to give him ten minutes, and then she’d press the Emergency button whether he liked it or not. She didn’t like being suspended a dozen floors up in a contraption that clearly wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. He might be a firefighter, but that didn’t make him an expert in elevators, did it?

She was in a painful state of excitation—nervous at the perilous state of the elevator, and intensely aroused by the expert kisses of the sexiest man she’d ever met. She didn’t know what had come over her when she saw him at the elevator doors. She should have told him that she wanted to be alone. But he was so ruggedly handsome in his firefighting gear that she hadn’t been able to resist him.

And she was the one who had initiated that first kiss. What about her intention to stay away from him for the rest of the night? To stay away from him for good?

She heard him tinkering overhead, and looked up toward the trap door opening, still in a state of arousal, despite the jarring interruption. When he’d shed his jacket and she’d gotten her first real look at his impressive physique—up close and personal—it had been almost more than she could stand. She remembered the bulge of his muscles as he pulled himself so nimbly up onto the roof of the elevator, and felt another rush of warmth flood her body. Everything about him turned her on. The way he looked, the way he looked at her. The clean, manly smell of him, his deep, masculine voice, and the velvety, firm pressure of his mouth …

If she didn’t stop thinking about it, she was going to faint.

She’d better get over it, she told herself firmly, because once he climbed down from there, they were going to get out of here and go their separate ways. She couldn’t trust herself to be alone with him one more minute. She did not want to have a one-night stand with an oversexed firefighter who clearly thought he was God’s gift to women—especially not one she’d have to work with on the campaign.

"It’s hotter’n hell up here," she heard him grunt, and then his t-shirt plopped down through the opening and onto the floor at her feet. She looked at it in dismay. That meant that he was half-naked up there.

He grinned down at her through the opening, a smudge of grease against his cheek. "Just a few more minutes."

Only a few minutes to prepare herself for seeing him shirtless, in close quarters, after the best kiss of her life—

"I think we’re all set," he said finally. "Stand back."

She moved away to give him room and he jumped expertly through the trap door, landing lightly at her feet, not even slightly out of breath. She stared. His tautly muscled torso was bare but for the suspenders that held up his trousers—and a light film of perspiration. A faint pattern of dark hair spread across the center of his tawny chest. And those arms—she wanted to melt into the protective strength of those sturdy arms forever.

He bent down and retrieved his shirt, wiping his hands on it as best he could. Then he looked directly at her, as if challenging her to pick up where they’d left off. "All we have to do is hit the lobby button again, and we’re in business," he said, his voice low and tempting. But he was suggesting something else.

Even as she told herself to press the button, to escape from a situation she couldn’t control, her body betrayed her, silently inviting his touch. She knew he could sense her desire, and that his need was rising to meet hers.

As she hesitated, he took control. He stepped closer to her, until their chests were almost touching, and placed his strong, masterful hands on her shoulders. He looked down at her with intense, smoldering eyes, and then pressed his mouth on hers in a hot, demanding kiss.