Ignite (Firefighters of Montana Book 3) (3 page)

Cherrie led her around the smattering of tables to the bar, and Lina knew she couldn’t talk herself out of this one.
You shouldn’t want to. You’re trying to get to the bottom of this guy for Jess. Jess, your best friend.

Besides, him being here was a one in a million chance, really. She’d get a drink, hope to hell he wasn’t here, and then head home, talking herself out of sticking her nose where it didn’t belong ever again.

“Two Long Island iced teas,” Cherrie said, grinning at the bartender.

“Jeez, what are you trying to do, kill us? How are we going to get home?”

“No, sweetie, I’m trying to get that scowl off your face. And as they’re both for you, I’m going to drive you home. Now, drink up.”

When the bartender slid her the glass, she took it. She wasn’t going to drink much of one let alone two, but it was easier to pretend like she would than argue with Cherrie.

Lina glanced around the dimly lit bar while Cherrie kept talking to the bartender, flirting with ease and skill. The kind of ease and skill Lina had never had, and wouldn’t know how to employ—even if someone smiled at her as invitingly as the bartender smiled at Cherrie.

Well, you just have to figure it out, don’t you?
Right. For Jess. Lina watched Cherrie for a few minutes. Smiling seemed to be the biggest thing, and leaning in to absorb whatever the other person was saying. Dainty laughter seemed to be a must.

She was full out of dainty. She wasn’t even particularly good at smiling. This was a terrible, terrible idea.

She focused on the surroundings rather than how much better Cherrie was at talking to people than Lina was.

There were parachutes on the wall with names, all sorts of pictures, and plane and fire paraphernalia. The customers were a lot of big, strong-looking men, some playing pool toward the back, one or two dancing with a female companion next to an ancient-looking juke box.

Lina felt small and out of place, which was not a feeling she particularly enjoyed. But she didn’t see
Ace
, if that was, in fact, his ridiculous name. She didn’t feel that little prickle of…tension, like when his gaze had zoomed in on her after reading her name tag in the exam room. So, she was safe. She didn’t see him at any of the tables, or even down the length of the—

Then her eyes met his, followed by that little jolt she didn’t know how to name. She wanted to believe any jolt or weird stomach flip was the way her body would react any time she made eye contact with a hot guy. She wanted to believe it was because she was suspicious of him being Jess’s brother, because Jess had talked about him for so many years, searched for him, and so Lina must just…recognize him from that.

And because she was Lina McArthur,
Dr
. Lina McArthur, that was exactly what she decided to believe.

*

Ace didn’t believe
in much. He’d never believed in things like Santa Claus or the tooth fairy because those things hadn’t ever been offered to him. The only things he believed in were the things he could do with his own two hands—and sometimes not even then.

But something about insightful, blue eyes, the color of the sky at dusk or dawn or some in-between time, made him…something. It felt like an internal shudder, like a premonition, and he’d learned long ago gut feelings were bullshit. Feelings of any kind were bullshit. All he could trust was reality.

The unfortunate reality was
Dr.
McArthur made him nervous, and he hated that anyone could, but he supposed anyone who might have a connection to his sister would.

He just wished that was all it was.

But he had to be Ace Clark, someone who barely knew the skinny kid kicked out of every foster home he’d ever graced, which meant he had to smile. It meant he’d have to flirt—he’d have no reason not to hit on the pretty doctor who’d obviously tracked him down.

If he avoided her, got weird around her… Well, she was
here
—which could only mean she was looking for him. So, she obviously wasn’t the type to just forget about it. To let things go.

He didn’t let the impulse to scowl win. He let his mouth curve, a slow, cocky grin that would make her blush much like she had in the exam room.

She didn’t disappoint and, as he casually slid off his stool at the end of the bar and took his sweet time walking toward her, he noticed she fidgeted. Ace stopped to talk to Vin, who asked about his head, and did everything in his power not to look at her.

Normally, he kept his flirtations simple and straightforward. He was a man who enjoyed flirting and charming women, but he wasn’t a man who liked playing games. The good doctor was going to have to be different, because he had the sneaking suspicion she was playing a game of her own.

He left Vin’s well wishes, doing his best to ignore his frustration at the question about his health. Doing his best to ignore how it grated that he was being forced into playing a game. But he hadn’t left his old life behind on a whim, or a childish fit of temper.

He had his reasons, and Dr. McArthur wouldn’t find them out. He wouldn’t allow it, because since he’d finally escaped all the adults who’d failed him time and time again, he’d never let
anyone
push him where he didn’t want to go.

She was perched on one of the bar stools next to a woman he thought he recognized as one of the nurses who’d asked him eight zillion questions in the ER. The woman was talking to Jake, the part-time bartender, and the doctor was studying her surroundings.

Invading his territory, and there were only two ways he’d learned to conquer the enemy. One was to run away, the other was to charm them into thinking he wasn’t a threat—and then attack.

He knew which one he was going to go for with this one. So, he swallowed down the frustration and focused on the target. On the
mission
. Like a fire to put out, he had to put out Dr. McArthur’s suspicions. As irritating as that might be, he couldn’t let it show.

Are you sure frustration’s all you’re feeling, buddy
? Okay, so she was attractive. So flirting with her would be no hardship, and hadn’t he gotten used to the lies about who he was? This was just an extension of that, not new ones.

He sauntered, taking in the fact she wasn’t exactly dressed to impress. Oh, he liked the way her jeans skimmed those long, lean legs, and there was certainly something to be said for the form-fitting top she’d paired them with.

But it was a turtleneck. In
June
. The sleeves were short, yeah, but what woman in a
bar
wore a short-sleeved
turtleneck?

She fidgeted as he approached, but then she lifted her chin, steadied herself, seemed to cloak herself in the calm, professionalism she’d bestowed on him most of the time yesterday.

“Well, doc, what brings you here?” he drawled, poking his thumbs through his belt loops.

“Lina.” She met his gaze with a clear, level one of her own. “My name is Lina.” When the woman next to her cleared her throat—loudly—Lina’s no-nonsense, straight-to-the-heart gaze shuttered and her mouth curved.

He fought the urge to narrow his eyes, fought the urge to give into the notion that this woman affected him in a wide variety of ways. Fought the little voice in his head that said her smile was a lie, a trick.

Because it was—he knew it was—but he had to pretend he didn’t. He had to pretend the calculated if edgy smile was exactly what he’d been looking for.

So, he smiled back and the little pink in her cheeks deepened. Which was a strange kind of fascinating. He’d made no shortage of women blush, but he had a feeling
Lina
didn’t do it much. She was too…contained for that.

He found himself all too interested—and not in her motives in being here. No, his interest was in just
how
contained, and how much he could get her to smile, but he couldn’t entertain those thoughts. Not when she knew his sister.

She was hot and she was…different, but she had a connection to the one person in the world he wasn’t ready to face. So, it was time he put his expertise in lying into play.

Which meant he turned to her friend and offered her the same broad smile. “I’m Ace Clark.”

“Cherrie Simmons,” the woman replied with a smile and a wink.

“How’s your head?” Lina asked, something in her tone a little sharp, making his smile a little more genuine.

“Fine. Haven’t had one side effect.” Which wasn’t precisely true. He’d had a little bit of a headache when he woke up this morning, but that was the last thing he’d tell her.

But little lines across her forehead appeared as she drew her eyebrows together. Studying him like she could read the fib a mile away.

Yeah, he didn’t like that at all. “Buy you a drink?”

“Well, that is my cue to leave,” Cherrie said brightly, hopping off her stool.

“Bu—” Lina looked as though she was ready to grab onto her friend and hold on for dear life.

“I’ll go find someone to talk to,” Cherrie said, patting Lina’s arm. “Find me when you’re…” She eyed Ace, a quick up and down look that held a glint of appreciation. Ace couldn’t say he minded. “…ready to go.”

She sauntered off, and Ace looked down at Lina, sitting primly on the bar stool. She blinked, her forehead smoothing out, her blue eyes meeting his gaze. Her eyes seemed incongruous to the rest of her—a deep, warm blue that reminded him of dusk on the beach, where the rest of her was all sharp angles and…well, a turtleneck.

“I already have a drink,” she finally said, before taking a dainty sip. And then she winced.

His grin kept getting more and more genuine, but as long as he remembered his amusement was about as genuine as it was going to get, everything would be fine.

“Checking up on me, doc?”

“Lina,” she said again, a hard note to her voice.

“You know, most of the doctors I know want to be called doctor all the time.”

“I guess I’m not most doctors you know.”

She said it so primly he couldn’t help but laugh. “Touché,
Lina
. I guess you’re not. But you’re also not exactly the type who hangs out at a bar specifically geared for men who fight fires in dangerous conditions. Kind of the
opposite
of medical work. We, you know, charge into the fire and put our lives on the line.”

“And, much like doctors, you charge into that fire to save people, do you not?”

Again the prim little note affected him in ways that almost—
almost—
made it easy to forget who she was and what threat she posed.

“I suppose that
is
the point.”

“So, then, maybe we aren’t really all that different.”

“Would you like to test that theory?”

Again she blinked in surprise. “How on earth do we test that?”

“Finish your drink and I’ll tell you.” If only so he could come up with something ridiculous to make her laugh for the test. Suddenly, he desperately wanted to know what her laugh sounded like.

What was
wrong
with him?

She narrowed her eyes. “I might not know exactly how much liquor is in this drink, but I know I’m not going to drink the whole thing.”

“Then, Lina,” he drawled, doing his best to appear lazy and carefree, “we’re not the same at all.”

She rolled her eyes and, somehow, her condescending disapproval struck him as funny. She was a woman who had zero patience for bullshit and he appreciated that about her. But what was the point of appreciating anything about her? He had to prove to her he wasn’t who she thought he might be.

As much as this was a game he had to play, and play exactly right, he was getting a little frustrated with the bullshit himself. “Why are you here, doc?” he asked, letting some of the edge infiltrate his voice.

Her eyes widened in such mock innocence he mentally awarded her some points in this little competition.

“A woman can’t come to a bar to enjoy a drink for fun—no reason needed?”

“Other women could. I don’t believe you can. You’re wearing a turtleneck…to a bar.” He settled himself into the barstool Cherrie had left.

She frowned, looking down at her shirt. “What’s wrong with that?”

“The last person I saw wear a turtleneck was my grandmother. It had embroidered dogs on it, and I think the dogs were wearing Santa hats.”

She pressed her lips together in an attempt at a scowl, but the left side worked up a little bit as though she found it funny. Damn, if he didn’t like a woman who could take a little teasing.

You don’t like this woman. You are trying to convince this woman she has no place here with fake grandma stories.
Right.

“I can guarantee you I didn’t come here for your take on my wardrobe,” she said tartly.

“And yet this bar exists in a free country with freedom of speech. I believe I can comment on your wardrobe all I like.”

“Don’t be an ass. It doesn’t suit you.”

“You flirt with every guy by calling him an ass? Because let me say, that’s not the best road to take.”

“Who said I was flirting with you?” she demanded, though there was more prissiness in her demand than outrage.

Ace flashed his most confident, charming, arrogant grin. One that would likely set her teeth on edge, if he was reading her right. “Oh, honey. You’re too smart to act dumb. I know why you’re here.”