Hot as Hell - Jessa James

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talkie, and sounds erupted from it like wild animals.

      Cade tried to call for them, but the smoke filled his throat and burned his lungs.

      “Dominguez, can you hear me? Dominguez, do you copy? Barron? Fields?” Cade barely had enough in him to get the words out.

      I’m going to die. It wasn’t an entirely unwelcome thought.

      Dominguez’s voice roared over the walkie talkie, intermittent and subdued. “… perdónanos nuestras deudas, asì como nosotros perdonamos á nuestros deudores…”

      “No!” Cade cried, even as the smoke almost blinded him.

      He watched as the flames circled the three men below like a playful lover. It licked at their feet, and none of them flinched. It should have been me.

      “No,” Cade said again, even as the darkness hugged him close.

      “Amen,” Dominguez’s voice rang through the walkie talkie.

      Cade watched him drop the walkie talkie into the flames. As the fire trailed along Barron’s leg, the three men looked up at once, right into Cade’s eyes. Into the darkest, inkiest part of him.

      Barron let out a keen like nothing Cade had ever heard before. It crashed into his soul and buried itself deep.

       I’m sorry.

      1

      Lily

       Current day

      What is it about a missed opportunity for romance that, in retrospect, makes a man so much more attractive?

      Lily was wondering that very thing while she worked in the back of at Wilde’s Bakery, carefully frosting some petit fours. She wasn’t thinking of anyone in particular, but Cade Moore was in the back her head. Cade was always in the back of her head, though.

      “Your petit fours are looking much better.”

      Lily looked up and smiled at Jean-Michel as she finished icing one of the Christmas-themed creations.

      “Thanks,” she said. Lily had been at Wilde’s Bakery in historic Salem since finishing the patisserie course at Le Cordon Bleu in Portland last year. “I think maybe I’ve finally mastered these little beasts.”

      “Mastered? No,” Jean-Michel said in his thick Parisian accent. “Made acceptable for the sale section, maybe.”

      “Wow, thanks, boss,” she said with an eye roll.

      “Is a compliment,” he said as he swapped out the register beside her. “You know how many pastry chefs with a bachelor’s in chemistry I hire?”

      “Zero. I know, I know,” she said as she slid the tray into the display case. “And you know I don’t agree with that. What is baking but based in science, anyway?”

      “Baking is art, mon canard,” he said. “Remember that.”

      “Right. So, can I do macarons today?”

      “No,” he said bluntly. “You practice enough today. Back to counter work up front.”

      “But, Jean-Michel—”

      “Your last macarons, they were too dry. Tomorrow, maybe, I show you more and you try again.”

      “Alright,” she said, defeated.

      “By the way, you find out more about the… how you say, graphic-y?”

      “Graffiti,” she corrected. “And, no. I talked to the police again, but they think it’s just kids.”

      “Just kids,” Jean-Michel repeated. “Why they graphic my bakery? Who they think is going to pay for that?”

      “Maybe you should just stop covering it up then,” Lily said as she snuck one of the macarons Jean-Michel had created that morning into her mouth. “I mean, you can’t even tell what it says anyway.”

      “Is French. Or supposed to be,” he said.

      “Yeah? And what does that last thing they wrote mean?”

      “Stop eating. You want to keep French woman waistline or no?”

      “Fine,” she said as she tried to covertly run a hand along her trim waist. “But only if you tell me what it means.”

      “Bâtard Français. French Bastard. Of course, they spell it wrong,” he said with a huff. “Right, French bastard. Those kids probably the ones without parents, running wild in the streets—sorry,” he said quickly. “Pardon, I didn’t mean—”

      “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” she said quickly.

      Lily hated how everyone walked on eggshells around her. She barely remembered her mom. Lily had been six when she’d died in that car accident. But her dad’s death six months ago, that still hurt, of course. Even as Jean-Michel apologized, she felt the sting in her eyes.

       What did you expect? He had one of the most dangerous jobs there is.

      “Really, it’s fine,” she said and forced a smile. “You didn’t mean to bring it up.”

      “You watch the front,” he repeated. “I need to finish the cake for the ridiculous wedding. Can you believe it? Naked icing, is the most ridiculous trend…”

      She smiled as she listened to Jean-Michel tick off the woes of modern-day wedding cakes in the back. She slipped out into the front, dusting off her jeans.

      “Hey, Lil.”

      Lily looked up at Elijah’s voice, complemented by the gentle chime of the front door. EJ, as they called her brother, tipped his hat to her.

      “Hi. Nice shirt,” she said with a wry smile.

      “This old thing?” He pulled at the taut new shirt advertising the firehouse’s latest fundraiser.

      “Yeah. Totally subtle. No girl will fail to realize you are a firefighter, for sure,” she said.

      “Finally, something to help drop the panties of this town. Not that I really had any problem before, of course…”

      “Ew, would you stop?” Lily asked with a fake shudder. “Your sister’s here, you know.”

      “I’ll stop for now, but only because you hook me up,” EJ said. “Can I get the usual?”

      “I’m way ahead of you.” Lily started to pour dark roast into large canisters while arranging eclairs in Jean-Michel’s trademark pink boxes. “You know, with how much of these pastries you guys eat, you’re all going to have to double down at the gym to work this off.”

      “Do I look like I need extra gym sessions?” EJ asked. “Feel these,” he said and flexed his arm.

      “Thanks, I’ll pass.”

      The door chimed again, and Lily plastered on her customer smile. Cade strolled in with his matching firehouse shirt and Lily felt the heat rush to her face.

      He was the same as ever, big and strong and muscular all over. He still had the broad chest and narrow hips of an athlete, and he was still covered in tattoos, the whorls of ink covering both of his arms to the wrist.

      She bit her lip. And you just happen to know exactly what those tattoos look like up close…

      Fuck, Lily thought as her heart began to hammer. She hadn’t seen him, not really, in what? Three years, she told herself. As if she needed to think about it. It’s been almost three years since that day…

      “Hey! Lily! Watch it,” EJ said. He

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