Single Mom’s Firemen: A Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance (Lucky Lady Reverse Harems)

I couldn’t help myself. Halle was surprisingly responsive, though. My instincts guided me to her lips and she didn’t see it coming. She wasn’t ready for it.

Her body screams for me and she doesn’t even know it yet.

Maybe I should’ve given her more time to settle in first. Who are we both kidding, though? Her eyes beckon me. Her lips part slowly, begging for mine whenever I get close. Just remembering that kiss stirs things within.

“Earth to Eric,” Wyatt drags me back into the real world.

“I’m here, I’m here,” I promptly reply.

Chase and Wyatt know about the kiss. We’re still processing the whole thing. Then again, we process pretty much everything together. Ever since we were kids, my brothers and I have shared every detail, every aspect of our lives, mainly because we are considerably stronger and better together.

We went to war together. We share women. Ideas. Dreams. The house we live in. It comes naturally to us, though few people would understand.

“No, you’re not. Not really,” Chase chuckles dryly. “Get your head out of the gutter for a second. This is serious.”

We’re at the firehouse, conferring in the meeting room. Chief Holt mans the main office, waiting for Halle to come in for the interview.

It’s been a weird morning, to say the least, especially as I keep looking over the photos of the diner fire’s aftermath. They’re spread all over the conference table, concerning details glaring back at me from each print. My stomach churns as I observe certain things. Traces that shouldn’t be there. Patterns that do not speak of an accident but something much more sinister.

“Look at this,” Chase says, pointing to one photograph in particular. “Look at the burn marks here and here. That’s accelerant.”

“You can see it here, too,” I add, drawing attention to another shot, this time from the outside of the diner. “The trail is clearly visible. Probably gasoline.”

“They don’t have any CCTV, though,” Wyatt says, his brow furrowed with concern. “Maybe we can obtain footage from across the street or the next-door parking lot. We should at least check.”

“We should contact Charlie over at the Arson Squad,” I reply. “Though Dallas PD usually investigates these things.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Wyatt says, crossing his arms as he leans back into his chair. “The uniforms I spoke to that night were convinced that it was just an accident. I doubt they’re gonna dig deeper.”

“We’ll make them,” I say. “I’ll reach out to Charlie and send him every image we’ve got, along with our conclusion. He’s trusted my gut before and he’s got every reason to trust it now.”

“This begs two questions,” Chase cuts in, “Who’d want to burn that diner down, and why?”

“Most importantly, did they know that Halle and the kids were in there?” I add my own suspicion. This is beyond serious.

It’s fucking terrifying to think about. Who would want to hurt her and two innocent children like that? It’s true what I said to Halle the other day—two minutes later, and they would’ve died up there.

From the moment I walked into the diner and saw Halle for the first time, I knew she was different. Shy and hardworking, she carried herself with muted strength and a certain noble air. There’s something about her that doesn’t quite click with the whole diner waitress gig, but I figure she’s got some skeletons in her closet that she doesn’t want anybody to find. We all have those, to be fair. Things we wish we hadn’t done. People we wish we hadn’t met.

But Halle always looked at the door whenever a customer came in, fear in her grey-blue eyes.

Of course, it’s a stretch to make any connection at this point. Right now, I’m a lot more curious about her, about who she is, where she’s been, and what she’s like. Last night’s kiss only served to confirm what I was already suspecting. She’s drawn to me, just as I’m drawn to her. And she’s not indifferent to my brothers, either. That’s rare and I plan on exploring that further. Right after I figure out who almost killed her and the kids the other night.

“She’s quite something, isn’t she?” Wyatt asks, half-smiling as he looks at me. “You keep fawning over her like a lost puppy.”

“Not lost,” I mutter. “But yeah. She is definitely something else.”

“She’s scared, that’s what she is,” Chase cuts in. “Confused. Traumatized as fuck. Don’t make it worse for her, brother.”

My twin. My mirror. My inner Jiminy Cricket but with a potty mouth. He does have a point, though. In my head, I was doing what I was already planning on doing long before the fire. Alas, the fire does change a few parameters in this dynamic. I don’t want to confuse Halle, nor do I wish to chase her away.

“We’re just going to have to make sure she feels safe,” I calmly reply. “We’re hosting her and the little ones. Might as well make the most of it.”

“Agreed. But we do need to get to the bottom of this,” Wyatt points back at the photos.

“I say this comes first,” Chase replies, picking one of them up to get a better look. “This is beyond disturbing. I could smell the accelerant long after we put the fire out. The whole front of the diner reeked, and there’s only so much you could blame on whatever seeps out of cars left in the parking lot overnight.”

“There weren’t any cars left overnight, except Halle’s, and that thing had an empty gas tank,” I say. “I didn’t see or smell any of it anywhere near the actual car.”

“No, it was definitely the accelerant,” Wyatt confirms our suspicions. “My nose caught it at the back of the diner, too.”

“So the fucker went all around the building with a gas canister,” Chase bites out, lips twisted with muted fury and disgust.

“Probably,” I sigh deeply. “We need to check any cameras in the area. There’s got to be something.”

The diner itself is positioned at the street corner, half a block away from our firehouse. It’s pretty popular in the morning and at lunch, but they don’t get much foot traffic otherwise, except on the weekends.

It’s mostly frequented by uniforms—not just us, but also cops from the 46th precinct, situated one block farther south. Which begs the question… who’s crazy or bold enough to pull something like this at a place that’s a law enforcement darling?

Maybe they didn’t know.

“Are we going to tell Halle about this?” Wyatt asks.

“Good question,” I mutter. “Should we?”

“We should,” Chase says. “Maybe she has a clue about who might’ve started it.”

I give my twin a troubled look. “Seriously? I get that you’re skeptical about her, but maybe that’s pushing the envelope a tad too far.”

“No, Eric, it actually isn’t. I absolutely get Halle’s appeal, I’m not ignorant or indifferent to her. But the fact is, we don’t know much about her. We don’t know where she’s been or anything about her past,” he says. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy here.”

“He does have a point,” Wyatt cautiously intervenes. “Halle seems like one hell of a woman, and those kids of hers are the sweetest I’ve ever met. But—”

“We don’t know her history. Yeah, I get it.”

It’s an unpleasant reminder but a truthful one. It’s not meant to put Halle in a bad light. It’s meant to keep our heads clear as we proceed. Because I have no intention of backing down. Not after I’ve tasted the nectar of her lips. Not after I’ve held her in my arms and felt her so soft and warm against my body.

I need more.

Voices outside capture my attention.

I see a familiar silhouette moving through the main hall, but the meeting room’s frosted glass walls don’t give me much else, so I’m compelled to step outside just in time to see Halle shaking hands with our Chief.

“Ben Holt. It’s a pleasure, Miss…”

“Harrison,” Halle says. “Halle Harrison.”

Only now do I realize that this is the first time I’ve heard her last name. We’ve been so enthralled, so absorbed by her mere presence in our house that we didn’t even think to do a basic background check. We’re usually a lot more careful in these matters. Dallas is a big city, filled with all kinds of people.

“She looks damn good,” Wyatt mutters behind me.

That, she absolutely does. Halle’s full, hourglass figure stands out in a pair of flared, pale blue pants, a white shirt hugging her bosom, a cream and gold belt cinched around her waist. Her long, curly brown hair is pulled into a loose but elegant bun at the back of her head, and her beautiful eyes scan our chief from top to bottom.

“Harrison,” Holt says, his grey brow furrowed. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Oh, hell,” Chase picks up on it before anybody else. “She’s John Harrison’s daughter.”

“What?” I ask, my synapses rapidly firing back and forth until I remember. “Oh, hell,” I echo, finally putting two-and-two together.

“My father was a firefighter here,” Halle tells Holt with a soft smile. “You might’ve met him. John Harrison.”

Our chief is speechless, which is a rare thing to see with this man. He’s in his early sixties, soon to be retired, and he spent his career right here at Fire Station 45, where he started. If the math is right, then he surely must’ve worked with John Harrison. The man died a hero a long time ago, but we still keep his picture on the wall, along with other fallen firefighters from this house.

“You’re John Harrison’s girl, I can’t believe it,” Holt gasps, his dark eyes lighting up. “Halle, that’s right. You’re all grown up.”

“Yeah, time will do that,” she giggles.

“We never forgot John, you know. To this day, we honor him. I’m alive because of him.”

“He was a really good man.”

Holt motions Halle toward his office. “So, you’re here for the PA interview?”

“Yes, sir,” Halle replies, putting on a most polite smile.

She has no clue as to how appealing, how magnetic she can be. Holt is melting, the old fox. Of course, in a more fatherly manner, given the circumstances. But I’m fairly sure Halle already has the job.

“I guess we do know a little bit more about her now,” I mutter to my brothers while the three of us watch her follow Holt into his office.

“John Harrison’s daughter. I’m impressed,” Wyatt says.

“Where has she been this whole time, then?” Chase asks.