Putting Out Old Flames by Allyson Charles

darted through his head. She probably wouldn’t appreciate that. Remembering just how riled up his Jane could get, he figured she’d try to punch him in the nuts if he tried.
    He’d have to think of some other way. Some way to remind her of their friendship. That he’d been the only one who could make her smile when she’d learned of her dad’s cancer diagnosis. That he was basically the same guy.
    Some way that didn’t put his family jewels in the line of fire.
    * * *
    Chance clambered out of Jane’s small Mazda and stretched, his cotton shirt rising to reveal a bronze strip of abs. The skin above his hips indented in two lines of pure muscle. Jane’s jaw dropped. Snapping it shut, she turned toward the hotel. She needed to minimize her time ogling Chance. Being cochair with him wouldn’t make that easy, but she had willpower. She could be strong.
    He caught up with her halfway across the parking lot, his long legs eating up the pavement. Something fluttered deep in her stomach. Damn, he’d filled out into one fine man. The past two days she’d made several trips past the fire station, just to pick up odds and ends she kept forgetting, but hadn’t caught a glimpse of him.
    Not that she’d been looking. And if Firehouse 10 had stopped its practice of making the newbies wash the firetrucks in the station’s driveway, covered only by water, soap, and a pair of skivvies, then good for Chance.
    She swallowed. Wasn’t there a little park across from the station? Sitting on a bench catching up on her reading was something anyone in Pineville might do. Not suspicious at all. Did he still wear briefs or had he graduated to boxers?
    â€œSo this is where you want to hold the charity ball?” Reaching in front of her, Chance grabbed the door and held it open. They stepped into the lobby, the burgundy and gold carpeting muffling their footsteps. “It’s nice.”
    She paused on her way to the front desk. “You don’t like it?”
    â€œI just said it’s nice.”
    She snorted. “Your words said nice. Your tone, not so much.” She walked up to the counter and nodded when the receptionist, phone receiver tucked up between her face and shoulder, held up one finger. “What’s wrong with this hotel?”
    â€œNothing’s wrong with it.” He shrugged at her continued stare. “There’s just not much personality. It’s . . . generic.”
    Jane scowled. “This place is very nice. And there aren’t any other hotels in the area that have a space the size we need.”
    He placed a hand on her shoulder, and heat seared her bare skin. “Like I said, it’s fine. And I’m sure when your mom gets done decorating the ballroom, it will be great. If anyone can make a boring space look fun and interesting, it’s Edith.”
    The receptionist hung up the phone. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”
    Jane stepped closer to the counter. Chance’s hand slid off her shoulder, and she resisted the urge to step back into his warmth. “Yes. Hi. I’m Jane Willoughby and I’m going to be holding a fundraiser in a month. I’m interested in renting out your ballroom. I was hoping I could get another look at the space and maybe talk to the manager about a contract afterwards.”
    â€œOf course.” She picked up the phone again and pressed a button. “Let me just find someone to show you the ballroom.”
    Jane nodded, turning to look out at the lobby as she waited. Her lips pursed. It was true. This hotel didn’t have any character. It looked like any other three-star hotel trying hard to work its way up to four. A large chandelier dominated the room, similar to the ones in the ballroom, if her memory served her correctly. The glass prisms didn’t have the same shine as crystal. The artwork adorning the walls were inoffensive abstracts, their subdued colors asking