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The fireman is hot—able to burn me. But still, I crave the singe.
The professor is cold—brooding with intrigue, making me yearn for more.
The police officer easily unlocks my laugh—something I thought was caged for life.
Two years ago, before my cheating husband died, he promised he'd right his wrongs--and there were so many wrongs. On his deathbed, he swore he’d send a slew of men to worship me and treat me like a goddess.
I don't know how, but my husband kept that one promise. Unbelievably, I get to choose between three men—one’s perhaps too hot, another too cold, while the other might be just right. And faintly, I can hear my husband chuckling and whispering that I don’t have to choose.
Maybe—just maybe, they could all be mine...
The set-up for this scene is that Jane Emory, the protagonist, has just performed the Heimlich maneuver for her friend, Bethany, who was choking during dinner:
Someone tries to take my shoulder and bodily move me. But I won’t have it. I need to keep Bethany in my view. I need to make sure she’s okay because I love her so much and if one more person dies on me I’ll buy a gun and…okay, not really. But I couldn’t stand life without her.
I fight strong arms, gripping me around my waist, pulling me away from Bethany. I kick, buck, do everything possible to get my body back under my own volition.
Whiskers rake my cheek. “Shh, shh, I got you,” a man whispers. His arms hold me even tighter.
That’s when I see the firemen around Bethany. Their royal blue pants, royal blue t-shirts, light blue gloves over large hands.
“That’s it,” the man holding me says. “That’s it. You gotta make room for the men to work on your friend, baby.”
I’m breathing so hard my lungs feel like there are fissures in every inch of them. The man has me in a weird grip, almost cupping one of my breasts, and I realize the position of my hands are forcing him to hold me that way. But I don’t let go of him.
“You saved her?” the man whispers into my ear.
“Yes, she saved me,” Bethany says loudly, smiling at me, still so red-looking it scares me. “She did the Heimlich thing. That’s my friend, Jane, Jane Emory. She’s super smart and super fast and she saved my life.”
I want to laugh at Bethany’s statements, but I just can’t. I want to cry. However, my hands relax against the man’s iron-like forearms. I notice the striations of his muscles there. They twitch, still holding me in a firm grip. He has blond hair. Golden. It sparkles in the light. His chest encompasses me from behind. It’s so firm, and his heart is beating into my back. His whiskers are still against me. This is intimate.