Bestselling Author Delilah Devlin
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Hotter with a Pole

Hotter with a PolePublisher: Samhain
Series: Firehouse 69, Book 2
Genre: M/M, Contemporary; BDSM
Format: eBook
On Sale: August 11, 2015

When your heart is stuck in the wrong gear, a quick fix isn’t going to cut it.

When Noah buys a classic ’68 Camaro from a fellow firefighter’s widow, he hopes it will ease some of the grief crushing his heart. But the grinding noise under the car’s hood sends him straight to a mechanic. Something about the burly, imposing Hoyt sparks Noah’s interest, and it’s not just Hoyt’s ice-blue eyes and bad-boy biker looks. It’s the mutual interest they have—Club LaForge.

After losing his partner to cancer a year ago, Hoyt never thought he’d feel the same kind of rush with another man. But his reaction to Noah throbs deep in his body like the rumble of his Harley.

LaForge seems like the perfect place to meet and work off some sorrow, to feel alive again. But the flood of desire quickly gets hot enough to melt their emotional barriers into unexpected connections.

Connections Hoyt isn’t sure he’s ready for…especially since history has a scary way of repeating itself.
Product Warnings

Warning: Get your motor running for a Harley-riding hunk of muscle who doesn’t give a damn about the rules of being a Dom, and a firefighter who can take the heat. Buy a case of your favorite coolant. You’re gonna need it.

Excerpt

Note for Readers: You must be of legal age in your country of origin to read this excerpt.

Noah pulled into the automotive shop and cut his engine. He sat for a moment, breathing in the fresh air, feeling light and happy—surprisingly fresh given the fact he hadn’t slept a wink during his shift.

It had been a good fire. Yes, several units of the apartment building had been left charred hulls—but no one had died. He’d rescued a baby from a crib before the smoke had roiled in to smother her. Retrieving a dead child from a fire was the worst fate a firefighter faced. A save was the best. Once he’d placed the crying infant in her mother’s arms, he’d felt like a superhero and was reminded why he loved the job.

All the firefighters had looked up as he’d handed over the little blonde-haired cherub and smiled. The mood at the station had been happy even if they were dead tired.

When he entered the auto shop, a young woman with a dirty-blonde ponytail sat at the desk.

She glanced up and offered him a smile, then her gaze went to the Camaro just outside the door. “You’ll want Hoyt.” She raised a hand and pointed inside the garage. “He’s working on the Beemer.”

Noah entered the shop and passed a row of empty, rectangular pits, heading straight toward a shiny black BMW. The hood was raised and a tall figure bent over the engine.

He couldn’t help but look. Hoyt was a husky dude, thick arms and thighs, a tattoo ringed the upper arm exposed by the rolled sleeve of his T-shirt—something black and tribal. But Noah’s gaze didn’t linger there. He noted the long black hair tied back and the stubble on the side of a firm jaw.

Noah cleared his throat. “The lady inside said I’d want you.” A flush heated the back of his neck when he realized what he’d said.

Hoyt glanced to the side, straightened, reached into his back pocket for the greasy bandana hanging there and wiped his hands before offering one to Noah. “Did she now?” His gaze narrowed and gave Noah a bold onceover.

Was he checking him out? Noah’s stomach tightened. Felt…fluttery. A blush spread across his cheeks. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the lot outside. “I have a Camaro.”

Hoyt’s mouth quirked up on one side.

Noah couldn’t help but drop his gaze to that smile. He didn’t miss the sparkle of humor in Hoyt’s pale blue eyes.

Feeling flustered and not liking it one bit, Noah turned on his heel and walked through the garage doors to the car.

Outside, with the sun beating down, he felt more in control, until he reached the Camaro and turned. The closer Hoyt drew the more unraveled he became. Damn, he liked the way the other man moved. His hips rolled. His long legs ate up the pavement as he neared. He moved gracefully, like a big cat. Every move economical. The front of his dark tee depicted a Harley and a local bike club’s name. Already in his mind’s eye, Noah was picturing Hoyt in black leather pants as he strapped him to a St. Andrew’s cross.

“I haven’t driven her much since I bought her,” Noah blurted. “She died at an intersection yesterday, and ever since, she grinds when I twist the key.”

Hoyt grunted and held out his hand for the keys.

Noah passed them and nearly groaned when Hoyt’s gaze snagged on the La Forge key fob in the shape of an iron anvil. From the way Hoyt hesitated, his expression tautening, Noah had the sneaking suspicion the other man recognized it.

Hoyt opened the door and slid behind the wheel, taking a second to adjust the seat backward to accommodate his longer legs. He adjusted the throttle and turned the key. A grinding sound was followed by the slow tumble of the engine as it roared into life.

“Your starter’s going.”

“Yeah, I figured it was the starter.”

Hoyt glanced around the interior of the car, pursing his lips as he gave a slow whistle. “She’s in nice shape.” He glanced up, his gaze squinting. “Might take a while to get the part.”

“She’s an old car. I figured that too.”

Hoyt smiled. But his expression became shuttered and a hint of some bleak emotion entered his pale eyes for a moment until he blinked and leveled a challenging stare on Noah. “Need a lift home, or are you going to keep driving her until I can get the part in?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Hoyt he could drive home and park it, but the thought of sharing a ride with the man…

Excitement stirred inside him. That look had probably meant nothing. The other man might even be mocking his interest, but on the off chance the spark was returned, he nodded. “Yeah, I could use a ride.”