The Burn List Read online

  The Burn List

  Julia Devlin

  After spending her thirtieth birthday with her parents, straight-as-an-arrow Abby Simmons drowns her sorrows in a bottle of tequila and a splash of margarita mix. All she wants is a little excitement, one chance to go wild before she settles back into her regularly scheduled life. Fueled by liquid courage, Abby sets out to give herself the perfect gift—her bad-boy neighbor, firefighter Lukas Marlow.

  Sure, Lukas likes intoxicated girls looking to turn their fantasies into reality as much as the next guy, but this is sweet little Abby. Definitely on the do-not-touch list. Determined to save her from embarrassment, he sends her away with an order to sleep it off and a promise to fulfill her desires in the sober light of day. Confident he’s scared her away for good, nothing could have shocked him more than an email from Abby the next morning, outlining her sexual to-do list.

  Turns out his quiet neighbor isn’t such a good girl after all, and Lukas has no other choice but to make her burn.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  The Burn List

  ISBN 9781419937118

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  The Burn List Copyright © 2011 Julia Devlin

  Edited by Mary Moran

  Cover design by Dar Albert

  Photography: wtamas/Shutterstock.com

  Electronic book publication November 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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  THE BURN LIST

  Julia Devlin

  Chapter One

  Home on her thirtieth birthday by seven thirty. How wild. How crazy.

  How sad.

  There’d been nothing special about the day. Nothing to distinguish it from any other boring day of her life. Well, unless she counted the piece of double-chocolate fudge cake she’d devoured.

  Normally she didn’t let herself have dessert.

  Abby Simmons slammed the door to her Honda Civic and started the depressing trek to her front door. What had happened to her? Where was the exciting life she’d dreamed about? So far, she hadn’t done one exciting thing in her whole miserable life.

  Weary, she sighed. It was official. She was throwing herself a nice little pity party and intended to enjoy every minute of it.

  “Hey, Abby.” Neighbor Lukas Marlow’s gorgeous head shot up over the bushes separating their houses.

  She jumped and let out a screech, dropping her work bag on the sidewalk. “Don’t scare me like that!”

  From behind the shrubs that separated his house from hers, he rose like a Greek god to his full six-four.

  She gulped. Of course he was shirtless. Toned muscles, probably honed by hours in the gym to stay in shape for all his heroic rescues as a firefighter, gleamed in the fading evening sun.

  The deep dimple on his left cheek creased when he smiled. “Sorry about that. How’s the birthday girl?”

  She wanted to snarl. Instead, she picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

  Why was he so freakin’ unbelievably good-looking? With his stupid chiseled jaw, full mouth, thick dark brown hair and hypnotic matching eyes, he was the poster child for tall, dark and dangerous. The big jerk.

  He’d lived next door for a year, and it had taken her six months of run-ins before she could talk to him without stammering like an idiot. Even now, she practically salivated every time she saw him. It was humiliating!

  Not that he suffered from the same affliction. Nope. Not even a little bit. Quiet, reliable little Abby was the best-friend sidekick, never the object of desire. Lukas treated her with nothing but respect. The bastard.

  That dimple still on full display, he winked. “How was dinner with your parents?”

  She wrinkled her nose. What was there to say about dinner with the folks? Other than singing “Happy Birthday” they’d spent the rest of the time dealing with her big sister’s latest drama. Eden always stole the show.

  And like the good girl Abby was, she sat quietly, nursing her one glass of wine and thinking she’d rather be curled up on her couch watching TV. “No big deal.”

  Those dark brown eyes sparkled with good-natured friendliness. “So, the big three-o… You stopping home before heading out on the town for a wild night?”

  Ha! Her wild nights consisted of watching The Daily Showfollowed by The Colbert Reportin bed before drifting off to sleep. “Nope, I have to work tomorrow.”

  A grin Lukas probably reserved for returning lost kittens to their elderly owners flashed across his stupid gorgeous face. “Saving your celebrating for the weekend, huh?”

  Revealing her boring weekend plans of going to a movie with her best friend Jane to the man whose weekends probably consisted of nonstop sex romps with a couple of orgies thrown in for good measure was not on the to-do list. The last thing she needed was his pity on Sunday as he pushed his latest glamour girl out the door.

  With considerable sarcasm, she said, “You know me, one party after another.”

  He ran his hands over his washboard stomach, wiping away the dirt that clung to his perfect body. Hell, if she got to touch that, she’d cling too. She scowled.

  “Good for you, but remember what I told you,” he said, completely missing her scorn.

  Annoyed…and getting crankier by the minute, she parroted back his favorite line. “Yeah, yeah… Stay away from guys like you.”

  “Good girl.” Lukas was a whole three years older than her, and therefore had taken it upon himself to act like her much older, much wiser brother.

  It made her want to jab him with a sharp object. Maybe then he’d pay attention.

  When he’d moved to the quiet tree-lined street, nestled on the outskirts of Chicago, she’d known he’d never give her more than a passing glance. The treatment she received was exactly the treatment she expected from a man like Lukas. If she were Eden, it’d be a different story. But Abby knew her place and expected nothing different.

  Still, the knowledge grated.

  “Sure,” she said, wanting to get away from this miserable conversation. She turned, starting back up her front walk.

  “Happy birthday, Abby,” he called.

  She waved over her shoulder, wishing she could flip him off without looking like a lunatic. In ballet flats that looked fashionable on other women but sensible on her, she bounded up the stairs two at time, desperate for the co
mfort of her house. Moments later, she’d shut out the outside world and slumped against the cherry wood front door.

  This sucked.

  At fifteen, she used to lie on her bed and dream of the day she’d be free. She’d dreamed of traveling to exotic lands, going to fantastic parties where some mysterious, powerful man would sweep her away. Obviously she’d spent too much time sneaking her mother’s Harlequins.

  Now, fifteen years later, she was a bored, dissatisfied thirty-year-old accountant who’d never really done anything remotely interesting. What had happened to that girl who’d craved adventure? She threw her purse on the foyer table, kicked off her shoes and padded into the living room.

  Unable to help herself, she walked to the big picture window, watching as Lukas attacked his bushes with a hedger. Those heavily muscled biceps bunching under the exertion, gleaming with sweat. He was to die for.

  She hated him.

  Sick of her own pathetic thoughts, she turned away from the window and stomped into the kitchen, yanking open the refrigerator. She reached for a bottle of water only to freeze when a bottle of ready-made margarita mix she’d forgotten caught her eye.

  She stared at it. A good stiff drink, that’s what she needed. She nibbled her bottom lip. Did she really want to drink alone on her birthday?

  What the hell. She was damn tired of feeling sorry for herself.

  She pulled out the bottle, grabbed the tequila hidden in her top cabinet and a glass with ice. She filled the tumbler half full of alcohol and splashed some of the margarita mix in to take out the bite.

  She’d have her own freakin’ party.

  * * * * *

  Thank you, Jose Cuervo.One hour later, tequila had done wonders for Abby’s mental perspective.

  So she was thirty and destined for a life on the straight and narrow. Who cared?

  There were worse lots in life. Acceptance was the key. So what if she’d never travel to exotic lands or was whisked away by a handsome stranger? Big deal. She was almost forty percent sure excitement was overrated.

  Safe and narrow was great. Exactly where she needed to be. According to the actuarial tables, she’d live a long life, so it was important she accept her nature.

  But…

  Would it be so bad to have a little wild? Just once? Was it too much to ask to have one teeny, tiny adventure? Didn’t she deserve fun and exciting one time? Since she’d be living so long, she’d need some memories for her old age.

  Lukas Marlow would be fun.The idea prickled at the back of her mind, and she sat up straight, her heart pounding. No. She couldn’t. Ha! As if he’d even consider it.

  But…what if?

  The man looked as though he knew his way around a woman’s body. Didn’t she deserve one wild fling with a man who knew what he was doing? It would give her something to fantasize about when she settled into life with a guy who kept his socks on during sex. A flutter of excitement, mixed with hope, licked in her belly.

  No, it was impossible. He’d never go for it. She had no seduction skills. And even if she did, they wouldn’t work on him in a million years.

  Deflated, she settled back on the couch and took an unladylike slug of margarita.

  But…what if?

  Abby scowled, it was time to face facts. There was no Prince Charming coming to rescue her. If she wanted wild, she was going to have to take care of it herself.

  And why not her? Sure, with her limited experience, she didn’t have the skill to seduce him, but a simple proposition might work. She’d appeal to him as one friend helping out another. Like asking him for a neighborly cup of sugar…but with orgasms.

  He liked sex. He had enough of it. And he was a guy. Guys didn’t turn down free sex. Did they?

  Besides, she was tired of sitting back and letting life pass her by. She’d turned thirty today. The time had come to get what she wanted. And she wanted a wild, no-strings-attached fling with Lukas Marlow. The worst thing that could happen was he’d say no and she’d never be able to face him again. Big deal. She only lived next door.

  The liquid courage racing through her blood spurred her to action. Before she could change her mind, she hopped off the couch, ready to go to his house, only to glance in the mirror across the room.

  She frowned at her reflection. She couldn’t go over there like this. With her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, no makeup and dowdy work clothes, she looked more like a candidate for Librarian of the Year, instead of a sex kitten.

  Lips pursed, she thought through the clothes in her meager closet. Very limited choices, but she’d have to make do. She had decent cleavage.

  Oh! She could put on a tank top—without a shirt over it!

  Yes, that might work.

  There was no time to waste. Her nerve and buzz wouldn’t last all night. She was a woman on a mission, determined to take control of her own fate. She’d make her own excitement. Her own fun.

  Downing the rest of her drink, she slammed the empty glass on the coffee table.

  She was going to proposition Lukas Marlow for sex.

  And she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Chapter Two

  Buzz, buzz, buzz.

  Beer in hand, stretched out on his couch watching SportsCenteron ESPN, Lukas shot a glare at the door. Who the hell rang his doorbell at nine o’clock? Anyone he knew would call first. That left a solicitor, politicians or religious fanatics. After a twenty-four-hour shift and the war he’d waged on the weeds, he had no patience for any of them. He threw the remote on the coffee table and downed a third of his bottle in one long swallow.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Persistent sons of bitches. He shrugged. They’d get bored soon enough and move on to the next house.

  Buzz, buzz, buzz.

  He raked his hand through his hair and let out a growl. If they wouldn’t go away, he’d make them wish they had. He put down the beer and sprang up off the couch, stalking to the door. He flung it open. “What the fu—”

  The expletive died on his lips.

  Abby Simmons stood before him, a bottle of margarita mix in one hand, Jose Cuervo in the other.

  Ah hell. He couldn’t yell at sweet little Abby, he’d scare the poor girl to death. In the year he’d lived here, she’d never once stopped by. It was one of the things he liked best about her, so he couldn’t find fault with her impromptu visit. He plastered a friendly smile on his face. “Hey, Abby, what’s up?”

  “Hi, can I come in?” she asked, her tone bright and cheerful.

  He frowned, studying her. Head tilted to the side, color rose high on her cheekbones as glassy brown eyes blinked back at him. Normally she wore her brown hair in a ponytail, but this evening it tumbled around her shoulders in a mass of thick waves. She looked…pretty, sweet and, if he had to guess, drunk.

  He had a sudden desire to force her back to her house. Drunk girls on their birthdays were a recipe for disaster. But he couldn’t turn her away. Even after a long shift, he didn’t have the heart to say no to her. She was too nice and his mom had always taught him to be a gentleman to nice girls.

  Besides, she probably just needed something. Salt perhaps?

  “Sure, come on in.” He stepped aside, gesturing her in with a wave of his arm. She swayed as though she wore four-inch heels. He glanced down, his attention snagged on her breasts, and froze. Smooth, creamy skin contrasted with the black spaghetti-strap tank top, revealing a set of full breasts so perfect they made his mouth suddenly water. Ripe and round, plump flesh spilled from her tiny top and hard nipples poked the fabric. His throat went dry. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t throw him, but this was Abby.

  Jesus, he was staring.

  He ripped his gaze away from those breasts and broke into a sweat over a killer set of legs showcased to perfection in skintight jeans. This was what she’d been hiding under those ill-fitting, too-big clothes that hung off her like a burlap sack? But why?

  He shook his head to
clear it from his inappropriate thoughts. Pretty pink toes peeked out from under the hem of her jeans. She’d walked over in bare feet. Concerned, he raised his gaze to meet hers. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s great. Why?” A big grin slid over her glossy pink lips. Full, lush lips he’d never noticed before.

  He pointed at her bare toes. “You don’t have any shoes on.”

  She looked down, shrugging. “I brought drinks.”

  “I can see that.” He said the words slowly, carefully. All his instincts kicked into high alert as if he’d just heard the five-alarm bell. He’d seen her in her backyard plenty of times on the weekends, and she sure as hell hadn’t been dressed like this, so why the change? He had a bad feeling about this.

  She giggled and crossed over the threshold, weaving as she made her way into the foyer.

  Okay, she was definitely drunk.

  When she’d gotten home, she seemed a little depressed, she must want someone to drown her sorrows with, and since she’d already started on those margaritas, he was the closest person within walking distance.

  That must be it. Abby was nothing if not responsible. If he hadn’t been so distracted by her unexpected visit, he’d have thought better than to ask her in, but he couldn’t turn her away now. He shut the door and trailed after her. “It appears you’ve already started on those drinks, little girl.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and smiled those pink glossed lips, and he was disconcerted when his cock stirred to life.

  “You may not have noticed, but I’m not a little girl.” She practically purred the words, her voice sounding nothing like his nice little neighbor. She weaved her way to the couch, placed the bottles on his apothecary coffee table, which had been a present from his sister and plopped down on the couch. She eyed him like a hungry cat eyed a big, juicy steak, rubbing the seat cushion next to her in slow, rhythmic circles. “Aren’t you going to come sit down?”