She needs to be good.

Five years ago, Kit Landry was homeless and alone at sixteen. Determined to ditch her crappy life, she moved to Nashville with only $200, her guitar, and a notebook full of songs. She hit it big as America’s country sweetheart, but a year of living like a rock star plus a stint in rehab has killed any good will she had with her label. The suits have ordered Kit to shape up or ship out of the limelight. The last thing she needs is a hot, sexy distraction with a sinful smile.

He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

Max Butler is as far from a celebrity as you can get and he likes it that way. A Nashville firefighter, he’s living the single life with a revolving door of parties, friends, and a different woman in his bed every night. When his normal life suddenly collides with the girl on his favorite Rolling Stone cover, he sees the perfect chance to fulfill his ultimate fantasy and see just how bad Kit can be.

Sometimes bad is so very good.

With three weeks until Kit leaves for her big tour, Max promises to give her a break from being the good girl–no strings attached. But when hot days lead to sultry nights, the lines get blurred and suddenly three weeks of bad might not be good enough.

Finished with his ribbon, I rested my hands on his chest and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

Under my hands, his chest constricted with his swift intake of breath at the moment my lips touched his skin. I inhaled deeply, soaking in his scent of cedar wood, citrus, and warm male while the blood pounded in my ears and my skin grew warmer. Pulling away, we both exhaled slowly as our eyes locked in a heated exchange of shock and desire.

There was no mistaking the look of desire in his eyes, and I’m sure it matched the one in my own. I wanted him with jaw-clenching intensity and the part of me that was all woman unfurled after being packed away for so long. I might as well have been back on that fire escape, because this felt just as dangerous. More dangerous.

Behind me, the gathered paparazzi began to call out above the murmuring of the crowd.

“Give him a real kiss, Kit!”

“Is that how you thank a hero?”

“Kiss him!”

At the sound of their voices, I glanced over my shoulder. Everyone was smiling encouragingly; the press wanted the photo, the other firefighters were cheering on their boy.

I looked back at Max for his opinion.

A smirk pulled at the edge of his lips. “I did save your life.”

I narrowed my eyes, not really mad at the suggestion. “That’s not fair.”

He shrugged his shoulders the slightest bit and grinned. “Chicken?”

Oh. Hell. No.

Determined and rising to the bait, I lifted my face, slowly closing the distance between our mouths. This would be quick, fun and flirty, and over before it began.

I had no fucking clue what I was talking about.

The first press of our mouths was like being hooked up to a live wire. We both broke contact in surprise but quickly began again, the lure of such intense pleasure already addictive.

I was the one who took it deeper, running my tongue along his, dipping inside to taste him. I couldn’t help myself; it was like putting my favorite dessert in front of me and saying that I could only have a sample. Good luck trying to stop me.

Max groaned and grabbed my hips, his fingers lightly digging into my flesh—tugging me closer and turning the kiss hotter, wetter. His mouth slanted over mine and his tongue stroked past my lips, taking what he wanted and what I freely gave. My knees went weak, and I clutched the fabric of his uniform, holding him close as the kiss went on and on.

The sound of whooping and clapping startled me and snapped me back to reality. This wasn’t good.

I distanced myself from Max, only far enough away to end the kiss but not far enough to lose the physical contact of his hands on me. I was breathing hard, my breasts swollen under the tight dress, my lips tender and tingly. Max was panting, his face hard and eyes hot.

Painfully aware of our audience and my management and label resident glaring at me from the other end of the room, I tried to pull back further but Max shook his head, holding me in his grip.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” I said.

“Maybe not, but I want to do it again,” he answered, his smile intimate and naughty enough to make me shiver. “And I want to do more.”

I sucked in a breath. I had thought the fire was dangerous, but I was wrong. Max was the thing I needed to worry about.

“You’re no angel,” I whispered.

“I’m glad you finally figured it out.”

Robin Covington, who NYT Best Selling authors, Robyn Carr and Carly Phillips, said was their new “auto-buy author”, writes sizzling hot contemporary and paranormal romance.

A Night of Southern Comfort, her best-selling debut novel was a 2012 finalist in the RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice Awards, earned 4.5 stars and was touted by RT Book Reviews as bringing a “fresh, modern feel to the genre while still sticking to the things that get our adrenaline pumping — sex and danger”. When she’s not exploring the theme of fooling around and falling in love, she’s collecting tasty man candy, indulging in a little comic book geek love, and stalking Joe Manganiello.

Robin is a member of the Romance Writers of America, the Washington and Maryland Romance Writers, a faculty member at Romance University, a member of the Waterworld Mermaids, and a contributor to the Happy Ever After blog at USA Today. You can find Robin on her website, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter (@RobinCovington).

Robin lives in Maryland with her hilarious husband, brilliant children, and ginormous puppy.

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