Fearless firefighter. Mesmerizing voice.
Damaged single dad.
Stick a freaking fork in me…
There’s a reason he’s called Mr. Silver Tongue.
Blake Silverton could sweet talk an angel into sin.
Fierce small-town fire chief. Rough velvet voice. Drop dead gorgeous.
Don’t even get me started on the tortured single dad thing.
Wintering in Heart’s Edge isn’t a choice when my van goes kaboom!
Neither is gawking at the human bulldozer who keeps charging to my rescue.
If only we could stop butting heads.
But I’m a healer. What’s wrong with offering a grumpasaurus a massage?
I’m hardly obsessed.
I’m not tuning into his radio love line every single night.
That charred lump of coal he calls a heart isn’t that fascinating.
I can handle one itsy bitsy insta-wildfire kiss.
Those fires some arsonist punk keeps setting around town, though…
Fine. I know I don’t belong in Blake’s desperado world.
Only, he won’t let me go until I’m safe.
Some men wear Bad Idea on their sleeve.
But sometimes the heart falls hard for damaged goods.