My Favorite Hero (My Favorite #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

JESSE

M y phone rang a couple of blocks from my house, and I answered, curious as to why the station was calling me. I had left the building only ten minutes prior and waved to Martha as I did.

Covington had one fire station and one police station, and we shared the space with the paramedics as well.

My shift as a firefighter had ended at two, and I was headed home for a few days off.

I was tired, sore, and ready for the break.

I planned on a shower, a cold beer, and twelve hours of sleep.

And aside from a few groceries, my days off would be a replica of that plan.

“Martha,” I greeted her. “What’s up?”

“Jesse,” she replied. “Lila just called to say she saw some unknown vehicle parked at your place. And a strange woman poking around. Want me to send a car over?”

I withheld my groan. Lila was always seeing something in the neighborhood to report.

“A strange woman?” I repeated. “What sort of strange woman? Like a clown?”

“I didn’t ask her, you little shit,” she snorted. “Lila is a little strange herself, so God only knows.”

I chuckled. “Probably someone selling something. I’m almost home. If I need a car, I’ll call.”

“I could get Henry to swing by. I’d hate to have your grumpy face messed up by a criminal.”

“If they’re parked at the house and wandering around, I doubt they’re much of a criminal. Maybe the woman has the wrong address. I’ll check it out.”

I hung up, cursing. All I wanted was some peace and quiet. I hoped whoever it was realized they had the wrong place and had left when I got home.

No such luck.

As I approached the house, I frowned. There was an old white SUV parked in the driveway, some boxes in the back. I parked on my side of the driveway, glancing at the porch. The door was locked, and everything seemed fine.

I walked around the side of the house, stopping in surprise at the sight greeting me. The weather-worn ladder I kept by the shed lay on its side, obviously having fallen over by the kitchen window. And it was—occupied.

A pair of short but shapely legs that were definitely female hung out of the lower half of the window. She had a pair of Doc Martens on her feet. The top half of the window rested just above the perky, round ass of the woman currently filling the space.

Not at all what I expected.

I could hear her curses. The mutterings were loud enough for me to know it was a feminine voice but not make out the words, aside from the louder-sounding curses.

Who the hell was she?

And why was she attempting to break in to my house?

Suddenly, her legs began to kick, and I could see she was trying to use her body to lift the weight of the window pinning her into place.

And failing.

The windows were old and heavy. If the top casement had fallen on her, not only did it have to hurt, she was going to have a difficult time getting free with that curved ass.

Not that I’d noticed it.

I walked to the back door, using my key to open it.

Inside, I was met with another amusing sight.

The stranger dangled from the window, caught figuratively between a rock and a hard place.

Or in this case, literally between the window and the floor.

Long, dark hair swept the tile. Her arms didn’t.

They were flailing, trying to find purchase somewhere.

Anywhere. But with the kitchen half gutted, there was nowhere to grab.

The window had her pinned. She didn’t have the strength to pull herself up and get free, and she was wedged too tightly to slide down.

Another interesting fact was the black T-shirt lying crumpled on the floor.

The deep blue of her camisole set off her skin, which was covered in a sheen of sweat, indicating how hard she was struggling.

She kept trying to tug it over her exposed skin, but it was impossible to do so and try to use her arms to get free. It was a losing battle on both fronts.

I cleared my throat, and her head snapped up. She tried to grip the wall, but the old wallpaper made it slippery. For an instant, our eyes met—her blue gaze panicked and red, mine curious and amused.

“Help,” she croaked.

I cocked my head. “Help you break in to my house? That’s taking common courtesy a little far.”

“It’s my place!” she informed me.

I laughed. “Lady, you got the wrong house.” I crossed my arms. “Maybe I should call the cops to sort this out.”

She wiggled some more, frantic and angry.

“I’m supposed to live here!” she yelped, trying to keep her camisole down but failing as the silky material bunched under her breasts. She gasped. “Please, help me.”

I shook my head, exasperated and upset. I strode over, slipping my arm around her torso. “Stop struggling.”

“I’m getting dizzy.”

“Hardly a surprise.”

She went quiet, her body limp. Suddenly, I didn’t find this as amusing as I had a moment ago.

I lifted one leg, bracing her body with my knee, keeping my arm around her.

It took some effort, but I got the window open wide enough so she slipped downward.

I held her weight gently, lowering her to the floor, then let go of the window.

I bent and lifted her, carrying her to the living room and sitting her on the old sofa.

I took a moment to look at her. She was small, her hair long, and her skin creamy.

Her camisole was pulled up again, and I saw the red mark across her torso, just above the denim waistband.

Feeling badly, I pulled the material down, but not before noticing just how full and lush her breasts were in the lacy lingerie.

I shook my head.

I shouldn’t be noticing the underwear of home invaders. Or the assets they covered.

I tapped her cheek. “Hey. Wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked around, first confused, then panicked.

“Who the hell are you?” she snapped.

I crossed my arms and stood. “Since you’re in my house, I’ll ask the questions.”

She glared, struggling to get up.

Instinct took over, and I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Whoa. You passed out. No sudden movements.” I looked around. “You need water. Hold up.”

I hurried to the small bathroom off the kitchen, grateful for the stack of disposable cups. I filled one and went back to the living room. The woman was still sitting on the sofa, looking around as if transfixed. I handed her the cup. “Look at that—you can follow instructions.”

She glowered but took the cup, draining it. I was pleased to see the bright red fading from her cheeks and chest. Realizing I was, in fact, staring at that chest, I returned to the kitchen and grabbed her shirt off the floor. I handed it to her wordlessly.

A different color flooded her face as she took it and pulled it over her head. “I was really hot.”

“Again, hardly a surprise. Breaking and entering is a lot of work.”

“I was not breaking and entering.”

“This is my house.”

“But I’m going to live here.”

“No, you’re not,” I snapped, exasperated. “I already have an unwanted tenant coming, and he isn’t arriving for another two weeks. You have the wrong house.”

She blinked. “Wait, are you Thorne?”

“Jesse Thorne, yes. And you are?”

“Your new tenant.”

I shook my head. “KC Lawson isn’t set to arrive for another two weeks,” I stated again. “And you’re a woman. Not KC.”

She smirked at me. “Wow, you’re observant. I am a woman. But it’s Casey, not KC.” She then spelled it out. “And I’m not a man.”

“But—”

She shook her head. “I’m early, but I wrote and told you I would be.”

“I expected a man,” I insisted, as if by saying it often enough, it would be true.

She snorted. “Sorry to disappoint.”

I was so confused. “And I didn’t get a letter.”

“I emailed one.”

“I never got that either. But wait—the paperwork says you’re supposed to be a guy.”

She shrugged. “Not my problem. I’m your new tenant.” She glanced behind me. “What the hell happened to Aunt Lou’s kitchen?”

I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. I had left the very feminine and early Casey in Lou’s place and came over to mine. I dug out the paperwork, reading through my emails, and dammit, she was right.

In no document or email did it mention that she was a he.

Lou had said what sounded like KC, and I assumed the wrong gender.

Given the field they were in and how male-dominated it was, I had drawn the incorrect conclusion.

And that had been further cemented in my thick skull by Sims, who simply referred to KC as… KC.

I remembered the day I’d met with him regarding the sale of the house. He had pointed out the stipulation, smiling. “It’s not legally binding. Simply a request. One that Lou insists you will honor.”